#and she may not share my obsessive connection to those two cups

[alirhi]

It really sucks being the only one in the house that cares about something. Like, I get it's trivial, which is why I don't say anything, but god damn.

I want so badly to just stand in the middle of the living room and say "you have your own goddamn dishes. Please stop using mine."

it's just so fucking annoying to go into the cabinet to grab something and it's not there, because it's in the sink covered in gross remnants of food and germy dishwater. And I have a few things that have special significance or sentimental value to me that I'd rather not get touched at all but I have nowhere else but the kitchen to put them. Even sticking them in a separate cabinet away from everything like them hasn't helped. Stocking the main cabinet with things that are just as useful that I care less about doesn't help. All I want to do is scream at them HANDS OFF. GRAB SOMETHING ELSE. but the two things I'm most pissed off about aren't even fragile or expensive. their cheapness was actually kind of the point. their sole purpose is for a tradition my sister and I have and every time I see them dirty and thrown carelessly on the counter or in the sink I want to fucking scream.

[skelltan]

musings: moments of peace/who i am

moments of peace

are rare for some

most even, I’d wager

for me it was the same

but lately I’ve been content

more and more

I mean not to brag

and I solemnly hope

that your future holds

the same as my present

(should your present differ

in the current moment)

leaving preconceptions at the door

then let me stew on this peace

and should you choose to

you may join in my regaling

like two friends over a cup of tea

I spoke of her before

and truth be told she is not one

she is many

I shall never be her

that once brought me turmoil

but now contributes further

to the aforementioned peace

there is the old saying

of the world being boring

should everyone be like you

I used to disagree

were I less rare

then so too would be my suffering

caused from loneliness

but the truth is far more abstract

she is like me and I am like her

or at least the idea of her

in some superficial ways

perhaps some are grounded in reality

but the point is we are alike

and yet also not at all

and that is the beauty of identity

would you want to be a clone

to be someone else, twofold

tenfold, even

would it hurt more to not measure up to them

or to be them on the surface

but deep down, not at all?

It is not a sin to see yourself in others

or to want to in any capacity

but we are like my eternal favourite

the monster born of shelley’s nightmares

we came into this world unaware, perhaps unwanting

yet here we are, and who are we?

there are some things we cannot control

but to a certain degree

we are the masters of our own fate

--

I am many

we all are many

I am the first and last

the first of my father

the first my name

the first of my gender

in the long line that led to me

and I am the last

as after me there shall be no more

at least, not directly

for we all share a world

not only with those around us

but those in countries far

in times past, and times future

and we impact this world

we may not all be trailblazers

but we are born, we interact with said world

and the world is not the same for us being

it is up to us to determine said change

I used to be obsessed with bloodline

but as I say, legacy is not bound to blood

in fact, not much is

you can have connections to blood

of which I do and perhaps

shall write another time

but for now, let it be known

that blood only goes as deep

as you wish it to

[stopeatingwhales]

the 1995 brits x damon albarn & liam gallagher

hhhiiii I'm here with a very cute little fic about the brits!! the idea of writing something with Damon and liam fighting over someone was requested quite a long time ago (sorry it’s taken so long omg) but I loved the idea!! I do hope you all enjoy it as I enjoyed writing it a lot hahah xx

Pairing: 90s damon albarn & 90s liam gallagher x reader

Warnings: nothing, just a little bit of bickering n dat

Word count: 3.057

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Being a part of the madness that adapted the name ‘Britpop’ was truly an experience. Paparazzi at every corner you turn, equipped with the brightest, flashiest cameras, also having the most annoying click noises to the point that after one image you’ve earned yourself a migraine that would last the entirety of the day; parties that would last entire nights, bearing millions of different kinds of drugs - some that hadn’t even been given a name yet, but you’d still give a try anyways, since you’re so high and drunk that you simply lose the intellectual capability to construct decisions, you say fuck it, and get so high to the point that you’ve blacked out in a booth in a bar, with the owner asking you to get out since you’ve been inside for one too many hours after closing time; as well as constant press coverage. With your name plastered over literally every newspaper and music magazine known to man, as well as having your entire life consistently dictated for the entire nation to read about every Sunday morning and indulge themselves into as a form of entertainment, it was what being famous delivered, right on your doorstep at 7 in the morning. Any earlier and you’d feel rude not to give them a cup of tea as a form of dignity and respect towards their sublime dedication to the job. Although it was fun being associated with it all, my band in particular gaining a different form of calidity due to it being a female fronted band, by the time that the entire nation was hooked on this ‘Blur vs. Oasis’ rivalry, it was as if every other britpop band had been washed away from existence, due to eight boys arguing as to whom had the better music. And the better looks, according to Liam Gallagher.

Tonight was the night of the Brit awards, perhaps the most prestigious awards ceremony for music. To be awarded a Brit was probably the largest achievement possible in British music in the form of an award, and it was definitely either going tonight to either Blur or Oasis. The chances that another band, say Pulp, were to get the award, would not only be extremely amusing to see the reactions of the two biggest names in the Britpop game, but would also cause the largest uproar in the nation. It’s either Blur or Oasis. “Their drama is so silly,” laughed Emily, the guitarist in our band whilst flicking through the latest edition of the Sun, the cover of the newspaper being, of course, Liam Gallagher. “They’re literally bickering about who looks the best. How do people find this interesting?���

“Because of how silly it is, people never leave their secondary-school-like selves. Just a bit of fun I guess.” I replied, fixing up my hair in the mirror in front of me. We were currently getting ready to go to the award show, and needing to look your best was an expectation. Though I wasn’t dressed in anything that would result in jaw’s dropping, it was important that I at least appeared somewhat admirable - the entire nation always had their eyes on us, but tonight they were going to see us all, live. Perhaps the reason why bands like Oasis and Blur are so obsessed over nowadays, since all they’ll do is turn up in some flimsy Adidas t-shirt and call that fashion. I suppose scruffy was the new elegant.

“Who do you think they’ll give the award to?” she questioned, still aimlessly flicking through the recycled pages of the magazine. “I think Oasis. Their music is so much better than Blurs.”

“Really? I’d say Blur. They won on top of the pops, so the likelihood of them winning the Brit award is highly likely,” I answered, shuffling away from the strong reflection of myself towards Emily, my eyes quickly scanning the page that she had her eye on currently. “Gosh Liam’s so full of himself.”

“He’s got his eye on you, you know,” She said, shoving the paragraph she had just read in my face of Liam boasting about his little crush he had supposedly gained from watching our latest performance on top of the pops. “Thinks you’re ‘well fit’.”

Scoffing in response, I mumbled back to Emily. “If he thinks that he’s sleeping with me, he’s very deluded.”

By the time we had arrived at the venue, you weren’t able to walk into the entrance without at least 50 cameras blinding your eyes and the shouts of so many begging for you to quickly turn your head and grin - the price for the photo would reach the many thousands. Once walking in, it was less crowded, only having select people by the ground floor, dedicated for musicians and bands, with the occasional interviewer walking past to every circled table, adorned with white cloth and champagne glasses, asking questions about how they’re feeling, who they think may win, and what they thought of the music throughout the past year. What was nice was that people didn’t have that much interaction with one another, just with their groups. It created a sense of formality in the space, which made me feel a bit at ease from the idea of some random row happening in the middle of the floor, most likely between Liam and Damon. The past year in music was truly something. Britpop was at its peak the entirety of the year, with songs like Parklife and Supersonic pouring out of every radio station in Britain that by the end of the year, you had ditched casual radio music and began blasting the classical station. It was a nightmare. Since the fall of grunge subsequent to Cobain’s death the previous year, the talk of any other genre in Britain apart from Britpop didn’t occur. It was as if we were living on this mystical island, miles away from any other music and culture, whilst adorning and obsessing over our own. What was nice about Britpop was that it was a pure celebration of English culture, whether it be a simple Sunday roast, or going to school, they all carried the same ambience of nostalgia and pride - also disregarding whichever band wrote what song.

“Free champagne… Yes please,” said Madeline, the secondary guitarist of the band, whilst heading to the first seat she could sit on, then quickly indulging herself with the first taste of the rich drink. “Oh my gosh it’s heavenly!”

Laughing at her reaction, the rest of the band took a seat around the table and took their first sips of the champagne, which we would all come to find to be indeed heavenly. Small talk was shared here and there with the rest of the group, but overall I stayed silent. In all honesty I found attending award shows was quite boring because if you didn’t end up getting an award, you would essentially be sitting there for two hours doing nothing. Even if you did win an award, it’s simply a minute of glory with the speakers blasting your music, and another minute of all eyes piercing into your soul as you make sentences about your gratitude towards those who had helped you along the way to earn such an achievement. I doubt anybody genuinely liked attending shows like these.

“The champagne is good, yet we don’t get enough for our table,” I complained, grasping my now empty champagne glass and waving it around in the air. “I’m gonna head to the bar to get a refill, anybody want anything?”

After receiving a handful of nos from the rest of the band, I took myself out of my seat and wandered over to the bar, which was empty, perhaps due to the venue not yet being completely filled with all the artists that were set to attend the night. “Just a refill of the champagne, please.” I asked politely, handing the bartender the used glass I had kept in my hand. Whilst waiting, I noticed that Damon was on the other side of the bar, who also didn’t notice me there, until he caught eyes with me.

A grin broke out on his face as I walked over to him. “You alright?” He asked me, quickly thanking the bartender for his drink and turning back to look at me. The height difference between us was evident, but it wasn’t the case of something so dramatic that he was the height of the empire state building and me, just a measly common tower in the city. He looked quite content, his hair scruffy yet neat, along with his outfit being just as I had assumed: a white shirt with jeans, a used pair of Adidas for shoes.

I smiled back at him and nodded. “Suppose you have high hopes for the award tonight.” I said, simultaneously receiving my refill of the beverage I had ordered, followed by my thanks. We stood adjacent, although there was enough distance between us to establish our relationship - mutual acquaintances whom had met every now and again, since they’ve both been dragged into this wormhole of madness. He was quite the opposite in comparison to his rivals, though he himself could be quite bothersome occasionally, he still had a grasp to what those may call sensibility.

“Oh well we’re better than them, aren’t we love?'' He chirped, his head now cocked to the side in a teasing manner. “I’ve heard that you’re rooting for us this year.” He added, a little smirk pasted on his face.

“Do you read every paper you see?” I questioned, my face turning away from him in slight embarrassment. Between us, there was no shared intention for a relationship to stem, though there was definitely a flirtatious tension that followed between us wherever we had met. Whether it be a random photoshoot for a magazine double-spread, or backstage at top of the pops, we always managed to share a chat with one another, and nothing else followed on from then. It was quite sad, because once you’ve established a connection between something you either both disagree or agree with in terms of societal views, something in the press, or life in general, you’re instantaneously cut off and asked to hop onto stage to record a meaningless three-minute performance with fake, plastic instruments which practically mean nothing.

“Well it was nice seeing someone else's face on the papers for once.” He replied, downing his drink, then ushering at the bartender for another. A thing that we both realised was that, between our conversations, we indirectly indicated that we were both there for each other, because we both had a complete understanding towards what may be happening to the other person. It was stressful being in the limelight constantly, and for someone who was the frontman of a band so large, with his face plastered on every magazine cover imaginable, things were bound to be stressful.

Sighing, I turned to face him again. Despite the fact that before I had the ability to respond, our conversation was cut short from a voice shouting my name from behind. “Well if it isn’t bloody Y/N.” the voice said, and from then I instantly knew it was Liam’s. Turning my face away from Damon’s, I locked eyes with Liam. As always, he was dressed in the usual: a parka, with casual jeans. Oh, and don’t forget the Adidas shoes. Even though he and Damon practically hated each other’s guts, they always seemed to have similar fashion senses, but I could never picture Damon in a parka. And I don’t think I even want to.

“How’ve you been love?” He asked, swinging his arm around my shoulder in a warm, but nonchalant manner. Me and Liam had a similar relationship to that of mine and Damons, simply just minusing the sentimentality of it. We were friends, and had come across each other at random parties, which opened the gateway for us to drink and get high together many a time. While he was quite the idiot, he was also a very fun guy to be around, but I knew Damon would never understand that. “And why’re you letting this twat chat to you?”

A laugh escaped Damon’s throat. “I think you’re the only twat here, Liam,” he began, a sigh leaving my mouth as I was trapped in a situation that I could only pray didn’t gain much traction from the rest of the attendees. “Me and Y/N are friends, don’t suppose we’re getting jealous are we?”

Liam’s grip on my shoulder tightened as I stared at his reaction to Damon. I felt quite small in this situation, due to me needing to tilt my head a good amount to properly look at Liam, and knowing if I left it would just erupt chaos and make it worse. “No need for me to be jealous when I know that she wouldn’t want to spend a minute with you in bed you bastard.”

“And you’re so sure about that are you?” Damon replied, amusement laced in his words. “Because you’ve totally spent a minute with her haven’t you?”

“Well I’ve got my arm around her haven’t I? And she’s not stopping me,” Liam argued back, a smirk entwined on his lips. Reaching for my hand, Liam grasped it lightly, then then brought it to his lips, kissing it, before holding it gently. Method of intimidation, perhaps, and though it was sweet, there was a time and place. And this was definitely neither the time, or place. “Who’s the jealous one now, eh?”

“The last I recall, she had hoped that we were winning this year, not you,” He boasted, moving the contents of his drink around whilst grasping it firmly. Whilst it would be something that would offend Liam, he was simply the type of person to not take criticism regardless of whomever it was coming from. I respected him for that. “So much so for a healthy relationship.” Damon mocked, staring into my eyes as a small laugh escaped my lips.

Granted that I had found the argument shared between the pair of them to be extremely silly, it was good entertainment as the time passed before the award show would begin. Watching them both, attempting to throw insults at one another, each one trying to cut a little deeper than the one previous, made me almost laugh at the both of them right there. “You know, it’s so silly that you both think you know me so well to think which one I’d pick from the both of you,” I said, detaching myself from Liam’s embrace and snatching my half-empty glass of champagne. “At this point, it’s neither of you.”

Walking back to my band’s designated table, I quietly took my seat as the show began. “Saw you chatting to Damon,” Emily whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Also saw you grinning like a madwoman.”

“Oh shut up you,” I replied, looking back at the bar to notice that both parties had left, assuming back to their places. “There’s nothing going on between me and Damon- Liam too in fact.”

~~~

As the ceremony went on, the boredom got to us. Even the amount of drinks I had didn’t entertain me, but what could we do, we were stuck in the middle of an award show celebrating music, even though I had largely doubted that the majority of those attending were enjoying themselves. I had no clue who the awards were going to be handed out to, and whether that somebody may be us in a category, but we all knew Blur were going to win something. Yes, Oasis had gained a lot of fame and had become one of the most famous bands in the music scene at the minute, but by the way things had gone for Blur after the release of Parklife, things only seemed to go further up from there. And that was only proven to be truthful, after Blur had left with four different awards.

After Blur had received their fourth award for best British group, we all knew that there was nothing left for Oasis. “They’ll get it all next year, they only debuted this year you know.” I said to the table, who were staring at the four smiley boys on stage as they trotted up to receive their award. I admired Damon as he said his speech, then also turning to look over at Liam, who looked quite evidently pissed off. He was practically drooling in anger from the sight brought to him at that particular moment, and I couldn’t blame him - their band hadn't gone home with one award that night, but neither had ours. “They’ve taken four awards home, isn’t that like, the most anybody has ever taken?”

“Indeed it is,” Madeline replied, taking a sip from her drink. “Must be a good year for them then, eh?”

As I watched the band leave the stage in absolute glee, I stared at Damon as he walked back to his designated seat for the short remainder of the evening. Despite the fact that my band had been sat in our seats the entire evening in complete boredom, just like Oasis and so many other acts that had been nominated for pointless awards, it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t proud of how far Blur as a whole had come and evolved through their music, and especially Damon. From beginning as young, bowl-cut boys only charting so far on top of the pops, to creating songs and melodies that could unite our entire nation, it was impressive.

Damon was the face of Britain at this very moment, and a very good looking one. Once I watched him sit down, he scanned the room for a while until he was able to find where I was sitting, which was parallel to his seat, merely a couple metres away. He connected eyes with me as soon as he found me, also accompanied with a small smirk painted on his expression as he raised his eyebrows and sent me a wink. I simply smiled back at him in response before turning away abruptly, disrupting the little moment we seemingly shared, and though I felt my heart flutter a little, he’s definitely not winning me that easily.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things: Wingmen (Aaron Hotchner x Female BAU! Reader)

this is based on season 10 episode 10 “amelia porter”

Warnings: None. Pure Fluff.

A/N: I am so beyond obsessed with the mutual pining. Initially, this was going to be one part, but I have to slow burn the heck out of this, so it'll be a few parts. Enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

august 2014

Bookend: "You meet thousands of people and none of them really touch you. And then you meet one person and your life is changed forever." – Love & Other Drugs

I walk into the jazz club, searching for Rossi. For the past year and a half, we have frequented this classy establishment, bonding over our shared passion for jazz and fine liquor. We come here every Friday unless the job keeps us away. It's a form of escapism that I have grown to cherish deeply. With a job like ours, finding something to look forward to each week, some semblance of a routine is crucial.

I stroll over to “our” booth, but instead of seeing David’s familiar face, it's that of the Unit Cheif. I throw my head back and laugh, “Of all the people I could have expected to see here...you were not one of them.”

Don't get me wrong; I'm not upset to find him here. I could never get enough of him. I see him nearly every day of the week, I have weekly movie nights with Jack, and Aaron and I have been to hell and back with each other over the years.

He shakes his head and smirks, “What can I say? I'm full of surprises.”

“So tell me Aaron Hotchner, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?”

“David Rossi, ” he emphasizes.

“So you’ve been recruited as one of his wingmen too huh?”

“Apparently so.”

“Well I'm glad you're here.” I slide into the booth next to him.

He glides his cup in circles along the tablecloth, “Me too.”

“May I pry?” I inquire.

He nods, “You may.”

“Why exactly are you here? Believe me, I'm thrilled you're joining us, but David and I have been coming here for over a year. Why'd he invite you now?”

His shoulders tense up, and then he inhales deeply, the tension releasing when he exhales.

“If I'm being completely honest, I think it has something to do with the fact that Beth and I are no longer together.”

“Oh my God, Hotch. I'm so sorry, I didn't know.”

Aaron looks up at me; the professional man, the profiler I'm so familiar with, is gone. Instead, he looks at me with the eyes of a vulnerable man, someone who loves so passionately and craves that same love in return. This isn't the first time he's looked at me with those eyes, and I pray that it is not the last time. If it were anyone else, the prolonged eye contact would deter me; my glance would dart in the other direction. But, for years, I have savored these intimate moments with him. I'm not exactly sure when this connection began or when it deepened to the awareness we now have of one another.

Most likely, it began shortly after Haley’s death, when I started to spend more time with Jack or those late nights working in the office with him. Maybe it was that time I brought him his favorite coffee and bagel to his house because I knew he wouldn’t feed himself otherwise.

(Aaron’s P.O.V.)

I gaze at her with utmost fascination. She is a mystery I have never been able to solve, a profile I cannot complete. She is whole, a pillar of strength for our team, her family, me, and Jack. Yet, there is a fear within her that mimics a young child scared of the monsters that are both imagined and real. She’s seen and experienced things that no one her age should have to witness. I can see through the worn expression on her face. She’s holding herself together for the sake of everyone around her, but inside she’s slowly falling apart. All I want is to help mend those crumbling pieces and hold her together. She doesn’t realize that she has been doing that very thing for me for the past four years.

In my life, I have had the opportunity to love deeply and freely. But two of those loves stand in realms of their own. The first time I fell in love, it was with an opposite. A precious, symbolic tale of love and loss.

With Beth, I did love her. She gave me the strength to feel something again after Haley died. I found the ability to move forward with hope and recognition that I deserve happiness once again.

The second great love came in the form of a mirror. We share an empathy, an understanding of the fundementals of life and love that shapes our individual values. I was far from perfect when we met; I was detached, damaged, and hopeless. I felt like I was barely a man. Truth be told, I won’t be perfect after the fact either. But, she gives me a sense of realness that I never perceived as possible. And since the day we met before I even accepted the actuality of my affections for her, I strove to better myself. Every day since, and for the rest of my life, I want to work every day to be the man she deserves and needs.

Awakening from my trance, I speak up, “I am grateful every day for the relationship I had with Beth. I truly did love her. I love her still for the person she helped me become. I realized, through her, that I can choose to move forward with my life.”

“You deserve to be happy, Aaron,” she interjects.

“Some time ago, Rossi came into my office encouraging me to start dating again. He reminded me that Haley wouldn’t want me to avoid moving on. Of course, my immediate instinct was to deny that I was guilty of just that. But he was right. He told me that I am no good to anyone when I’m miserable.”

She throws her head back and laughs, “Miserable? No, I wouldn’t call you that. Slightly uptight? Absolutely.”

I gasp, exaggerating a look of offense, “I’m hurt.”

She touches my arm, and I can feel my heart stop for a beat. Something about her touch elevated my heart and soul to another plain. It’s as if her small hand on my forearm revealed the certainty I had been searching for.

I chuckle, “Don’t worry. David and I came to the same conclusion.”

“Phew,” she breathes out a sigh of relief, “Good because I didn’t know how I was going to dig myself out of that hole....but please, continue what you were saying.”

I take a deep breath, “When you and I met I had already lost my entire world. Haley had just recently taken Jack, we were fighting constantly, and then...” I feel my eyes beginning to sting, and I realize that she hasn’t taken her grip off my arm once she squeezes it reassuringly.

“When Haley died, it felt like I was staring into an abyss. After the funeral, you found me alone, in some room that I had escaped to for some solace. But I didn’t feel any relief. And then, you came in. You sat across from me, and we just sat in silence. Somehow though, more was said in that silence than I had ever dared to utter out loud to someone. You didn’t know it then, but you saved me that day. You saved Jack too.”

I hear her short intake of breath and look over to see her lip beginning to tremble.

“Aaron...”

As much as I want to hear her melodic voice speak to me now, when I am most unarmed, a feeling that is entirely foreign to me, I have never felt so driven to yell from the top of my lungs a profession of love for this woman.

I begin to speak again, and I am immediately interrupted by Rossi, accompanied by the jazz singer hooked on his arm.

“La mia bella ragazza! Finalmente sei arrivato,” he says, kissing the top of her head. She blushes slightly, her eyes flickering to me briefly.

“You are a sight for sore eyes my dear. Is she not Aaron?”

I take a sip of my drink, glancing at y/n, her beautiful y/e/c sparkling back at me. How can anyone put into words just how beautiful she is?

I nod, “She is indeed.”

I’m suddenly made aware of the absence of her touch on my arm. How can someone’s touch both simultaneously have such a stronghold on you and also set you free? Regardless of the reason, I long to savor that feeling once again.

“Well,” she inches out of the booth, “I’m going to get a drink. Can I get you boys anything?”

We shake our heads in unison. Rossi suggests that his date join her.

He places his hand on my shoulder, “So? Any progress made?”

“I don’t want to overwhelm her. There’s so much I want to say. But I feel like I’ve put her through enough already. I’m an old man Dave. I’m a widower with a son. The damage I’d be asking her to cope with, the burden I’d be subjecting her to...”

David clears his throat and slips his phone out of his pocket. He swipes through some photos in his camera roll and lands on a photo of y/n and me. It’s from a cocktail party he hosted a few years ago. Jack, y/n, and I are sitting on the grass in Rossi’s backyard playing with dandelions. I can still hear their laughter filling the air: Jack’s squeals and y/n’s child-like giggles. We felt like a family. I would give anything to relive those moments of genuine bliss, to feel that sensation of being complete, heart, mind, and soul once more.

“Sometimes,” Rossi begins, “when people are destined to be together, their love grows over an undetermined span of time. It could be months, weeks, even years. You both may feel the shared pain of this rollercoaster called life and the hurt that comes from being separated from one another, but this helps you better grasp the priceless value and purity of the love you share. There is no easy road to love. Anyone who claims otherwise is doomed to be plagued by the mediocrity that is a false sense of security. The path you are on, Aaron is the one walked by the greatest lovers in history. In layman’s terms, don’t screw this up.”

[lacrimaomnis]

BRF Reading, 5/7/2021

I am planning to continue reading for the rest of the BRF members on how their July would be, but I had this question popping on my mind when I had my tea earlier today, so I feel like I need to draw on this. I've been seeing allegations and teas of Meghan did this, Meghan did that, she's crazy jealous towards Catherine, she's overly obsessed with William, she is abusive towards Harry, she wants to be the Queen Consort, etc etc yadda yadda. This honestly had me wondering, how does Meghan look at herself? What does she see when she sees herself in the mirror? How does she perceive herself? This is also one reading I'd like to try a new spread of cards, so there is also that.

As written, this is merely a speculation and therefore must be taken with a grain of salt. This speculation is not true until proven otherwise.

Naturally, my question is, how does Meghan perceive herself?

Cards drawn: Six of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles, Five of Wands, King of Wands, Three of Cups, The High Priestess, The Fool, Temperance, The Hanged Man, Knight of Pentacles

Remarks/Comment: I tell you, working with a spread where half of the cards are major arcana is honestly shit. So many energies to read from, so many energies pulling the reading this and that way.

To make it more digestible and bearable to read for us all (and for me to type), I will divide the cards I've drawn into two parts. I will start my analysis with the first part, and then I'll be going over to the second part, and then the conclusion will be an overall overview of the spread.

First part: Six of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles, Five of Wands, King of Wands, Three of Cups, The High Priestess.

This section of the spread is the so-called "the cross" part, where these cards represent the happenings of the subject's life, internally and externally.

Now, the cross part itself can be divided into two parts: the axis and the wheel. The axis is the two centre cards, which are the heart of the matter, the foundation of the reading, the energy of the reading, whatever the semantics are. The rest of the cards are the wheel, the events that revolve around the central issue.

First card: Six of Pentacles. This is the so-called "present situation" card, mostly about what is currently happening at the present time, and also reflects someone's state of mind and how they perceive the situation (or themselves). Now, this is interesting, because this reaffirms what I have been seeing a lot with other readers: that Meghan and Harry are in debt. Six of Pentacles is generally a card of generosity, self-care, sharing wealth, and charity -- but one of its meanings is also unpaid debts and that meaning just jumped out of the cards. As one of the two cards of the axis, this tells me that this is one of the two parts of the heart of the matter. Meghan and Harry are in debt and they cannot pay for it.

Second card: Three of Pentacles. The so-called "problem" card. Generally, this card represents teamwork and collaboration, but because of its place, this card tells me that Meghan perceives herself as working alone and without allies. There are disagreements, or to be more Shakespeare-ish, disharmony. Combined with the Six of Pentacles, this tells me that Meghan and Harry are in disharmony, probably because of the outstanding debts that they cannot pay.

Third card: Five of Wands. The card of fighting for the sake of fighting. This is the "past" card, and as such, this is also similar to the card of "past influence". There have been fighting in the past. There is a change. There is tension. This card tells us that everyone is fighting to be heard, but no one is listening. This is how Meghan viewed herself: that no one is listening to her. She has told herself in the past that she was a victim, that no one listened to her when she spoke, and she used it as a weapon in public. Remember how she told Oprah in that interview that she was not "heard"? That she was "belittled" and "bullied"? That the Royal Family "bullied" her by allegedly asking what Archie's skin colour would be?

Fourth card: King of Wands. This is the so-called future card. Along with the tenth card, this usually speaks about how the near future would impact the final resolution/the outcome. King of Wands is a card about someone who is a natural-born leader, a visionary, honoured, and an entrepreneur. So, this card could mean that in the future, Meghan perceives herself and wants to be perceived as all these good things. But in reality, she is someone who is impulsive and ruthless. She doesn't think things through and cannot decide which lies to keep feeding the public with, which is why her stories are riddled with lies and holes. And the more she gives in to her impulsiveness, the more that everyone can see those holes in her stories. And even if she decides on one lie to keep and feed the public with, that can be debunked. Very easily.

Fifth card: Three of Cups. This is the "conscious" card of the cross part, talking about assumptions and desires. Cups are the suit of emotions, and Three of Cups is strongly associated with celebration, and it is an interesting card to come up with, to say the least. She desires to be celebrated. The centre of attention. But, this could also say that she's been partying very hard or is just overspending in general, which could answer why she had those outstanding debts she cannot pay.

Sixth card: The High Priestess. This is the so-called "unconscious" card, the underlying reasons for the manifestation of desires/assumptions seen in the fifth card. The High Priestess is a feminine card, speaking about intuition, the subconscious mind, secrets, withdrawal, and silence. This is interesting because at least for me, the cards do not match. When we celebrate something, it is because of something that has been answered. A birth, a promotion, a big event that brings such joy that it is worth celebrating. The High Priestess is the card of being quiet, trusting your intuition, and discarding all the unnecessary influence in order to understand your mind and what your intuition is telling you. This tells me that Meghan's desires and her underlying unconscious, the things she cannot control, are not matching, meaning she does not even understand what she wants.

But, as I am not confident in this interpretation, I decided to draw a clarifier on The High Priestess.

Clarified by: Three of Wands. Man, what's up with the Threes today? This card is about progress, expansion, foresight, but also about the lack of foresight. This tells me that Meghan lacks the foresight to see ahead, and so she doesn't understand what she wants and how to get there.

This part explains the second part of the spread, the so-called "staff" section. This part is given context by the cross-part, and this part is generally about someone's life outside of the situation presented by the first part of the spread.

Second part: The Fool, Temperance, The Hanged Man, Knight of Pentacles.

Honest to god, I do not like working on this part. The energy here is confusing, it feels like four people are pulling me in different directions at the same time. I've tried my best.

First card: The Fool. This is the card of beginnings, innocence, holding back, recklessness and risk-taking. Position wise, this is the card of the so-called "influence of self", so this card shows us that Meghan put herself in the situation represented by the six earlier cards by being reckless.

Second card: Temperance. This is the card of balance, moderation, patience. This is also the card of imbalance and excess. As the card of external influence, this led me to believe that people close to Meghan may have been advising her (and probably advising Harry as well) to not live excessively. To temper their emotions and not to get set off by the slightest of things. Now, as we all know, this is not their forte.

Third card: The Hanged Man. The card of waiting, stagnancy, resistance, indecision, and sacrifice. This is the card of hopes and fears -- so this card can be interpreted two ways. First is the interpretation of hope: this card might be interpreted that Harry and Meghan are hoping that people would be waiting to hear from them (aka positive PR), that everyone would bend their backs and knees at their whim, available at their every beck and call. That everyone would sacrifice everything for them.

The second interpretation would be that the fear of sacrifice. They feared sacrifice, particularly Meghan. Meghan does not want to leave Hollywood and the US, the reason she moved back to California soon after Megxit. I am thinking that she wants to be a non-working royal while she still has those juicy royal connections, something that we are all familiar with. She is asking for benefits but does not want the sacrifice that comes with it.

Fourth card: Knight of Pentacles. The so-called card of "possible outcome", this card is closely tied with the fourth card of the first part, the King of Wands. The Knight of Pentacles is the card of hard work, productivity, routine, self-discipline, boredom, and perfectionism. The King of Wands tells us that Meghan is way too impulsive to be able to be productive and do something more worthwhile other than doing PRs attacking BRF and sending out the same narrative again and again (productivity). She is too impulsive to have any kind of self-discipline and to accept responsibility.

Conclusion: This is one long and exhausting reading. Meghan and Harry are presumably in some kind of situation, money-wise, most probably outstanding debt. But instead of acknowledging that, Meghan still insists on pushing the narratives to make her the Diana 2.0, the People's Princess, the person that BRF throws away because she stands against "injustice", and above all, a victim. She desires to be celebrated, but she doesn't even know why she wants to be celebrated; she doesn't even know what she truly wants. She lacks the foresight to get what she desires. She wants the benefit of being a working royal but does not want the sacrifice that comes with it. So yes, she perceives herself as someone so important that she must always get what she wants, but she doesn't even know what she wants.

[thefeelswhale]

The Nervous Energy in Everything - Part 4

Author’s Note: TW for narcissist parent. 

It was the most magical moment of his entire life so of course Hitoshi’s dad had to barge into it.  

“Why don’t you show Hitoshi your room?” He said to Izuku who jumped guiltily at the reminder that other people were in the room. 

“Oh! Um.” Izuku turned bright red and some of Hitoshi’s instant and embarrassed irritation with his father must have leaked through their connection because he gave Hitoshi a concerned look before tugging him away. It was clear to everyone involved -except his father who didn’t question it when he got his way- that Izuku wasn’t obeying an adult so much as he was getting Hitoshi away from his dad. “Here, it’s this way.”

Izuku’s room was little and would have been plain except for all the All Might posters.

“Wow.” Hitoshi turned a slow circle. They were still touching, but switched to holding hands. To his surprise they were still getting a little bit of transmission, but not to the degree they’d gotten from touching their marks. 

“Ah, haha.” Izuku rubbed the back of his head. “I’m a little bit of a fanboy.”

Hitoshi had a strong recollection just then of when he was twelve and still had his bedroom walls plastered in band pictures. They’d been torn down after he turned thirteen and got into a fight with his dad. Hitoshi didn’t remember what it was about, but he remembered what came after. It was one of the few times his uncles had been forced to intervene. Uncle Shouta had appeared in the doorway with a kind of stillness about him that Hitoshi never wanted to see again, took in the wreckage of the bedroom, and quietly said “I want a word” while maintaining eye contact with Hitoshi’s father.  

Hitoshi never found out what they talked about, but his dad never set foot in his room again. They didn’t even make eye contact for a week afterwards. His dad had offered to replace the posters a couple of times, but Hitoshi hadn’t trusted him not to do it again the next time he got mad so his walls had been bare for the past two years.

“It’s good.” He said, unable to convey his weird gratitude that his soulmate was allowed to like what he liked at home. 

Izuku cupped his own cheek with his free hand and Hitoshi was enveloped in something that felt like a hug from the inside out. 

“Woah.” Hitoshi wobbled on his feet and landed on the bed, hard on his butt. “You’re going to have to show me how to do that.” It felt amazing. “I had to sit out of bond management class in grade school.”

“It’s not hard.” Izuku sat next to him. “I’ll teach you whatever you want.” He promised. “I don’t have a lot of practice though. Ka… my old soulmate. He wore a cover all of the time.” He rubbed his wrist like it was an old aching wound. 

No guesses about where his first mark used to be. The skin was a little paler there when Hitoshi caught a glimpse of it.

His heart sank a little bit at the reminder that he wasn’t Izuku’s first. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, because he was going to be the only one from here on out and anyway who in their right mind wore covers? Izuku’s old soulmate sounded like an asshole.

Hitoshi had had his soulmark for less than a day and it was amazing. He never wanted it sealed off. If the material of his shirt wasn’t thin enough to transmit bond contact he’d be shirtless at that very moment. Maybe it just went to show that any level of privilege could be taken for granted if you were born to it.

“What happened to him?” Hitoshi asked, but Izuku shook his head.

“Nothing. He’s fine.” There was a rich and terrible vein of unanswered questions in that statement. Hitoshi had no idea where, if anywhere, to start. “We just broke.” Izuku looked down and started to fidget with his hands. “You don’t have to be jealous.” He turned his face away. “I’m the one who gave up.”

Interestingly, Hitoshi realized he could tell when Izuku was telling the truth and when he was lying. That hadn’t exactly been a lie. Izuku didn’t really believe he’d been the one to break his old soulbond, but he didn’t have any better answers either. 

Hitoshi remembered the feeling that had crossed over to him when his soulmark came in; the grief, the disbelief, the… he didn’t really have a word for it. It had been like falling in love, but in reverse. ‘Giving up’ was one way to describe it, but to feel like that and then be able to truthfully say the other person was ‘fine’? He couldn’t believe it had been so simple.

“Hey.” Hitoshi had no idea what he was doing except that he didn’t like the idea that his soulmate’s first instinct was to not touch him. He caught Izuku’s wrist and gently tugged him closer. “C’mere.”

Izuku hugged like he’d heard of the concept or maybe seen it on TV once, but had rarely put it into practice himself. He was reluctant and awkward at first, but sank into Hitoshi’s side with enthusiasm as soon as he’d figured out where his arms went. 

He’d meant to keep the conversation going -to learn everything about his soulmate that he’d missed before they found each other- except he didn’t have a lot of experience with this kind of hugging either. He got plenty of affection from his uncles and his mom whenever she could slip it in past her quirk; turns out it was very different when the person you were hugging was both a cute boy and your soulmate. His brain shut down and it was kind of like being affected by his mom’s quirk, except way nicer and he was aware of everything going on. 

Someone tapped at the door and Izuku sat up to say, “Yes?”

When the door opened Hitoshi was aware just long enough to recognize his mom’s pinched and unhappy expression before everything whited out. 

He came back to himself alone in the room with an unhappy, anxious Izuku.

“You’re back.” Izuku cupped his face and titled Hitoshi’s face this way and that; checking his pupils, Hitoshi realized. When his mom quirked someone their eyes went totally white. 

“I… what happened?” He looked around. “Where did my mom go?”

“She left.” Izuku wet his lips. “I don’t know what happened. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Hitoshi shook his head to clear it. He felt weird. Usually his mom’s quirk felt like the first few seconds of waking up from an amazing nap. This time it was… not like that. “Her quirk activates whenever she pays attention to someone.”

It was an amazing villain’s quirk if you were inclined that way, but super debilitating if you were an ordinary nice person. There were lingering side effects too if she accidentally used it on someone too many times. Hitoshi was immune to that part. He already loved his mom as much as he could, but strangers got weird obsessions with her. As a result she didn’t get out much and was totally reliant on her husband, who was also immune to her quirk by dint of being her soulmate.

“Oh yeah? Is it eye contact or just any amount of…” Izuku clapped a hand over his mouth. “Not the time.” He muttered and refocused on Hitoshi. “She hugged you really tight. Then she left. Maybe…” He gave the bedroom door an uncomfortable look. “...maybe we should check?”

Hitoshi was starting to get a bad feeling too. His dad had been trying to get rid of him earlier. That wasn’t a good sign, but he’d been too blissed out by meeting his soulmate to pay attention.  His mom couldn’t intervene whenever he started acting up without making it worse. She was stuck as a bystander.

“Yeah.” He grabbed Izuku’s hand. “Just for a minute.”

Only, his parents were gone by the time they went into the living room. A little round lady with Izuku’s features, softened by age and gentleness, looked up from where she was locking the door. 

“Oh, there are my boys.” She went over to pat their cheeks. “What an exciting day! How do you feel about something special for dinner? Do you like pork, Hitoshi-kun? We like katsudon for celebrations here, but I’ve got a full fridge. We can probably make anything you like.”

“Am… am I staying for dinner?” Hitoshi asked with a sinking stomach. He was pretty sure he knew what had just happened.

“Well, your father mentioned how much you’d like living with your soulmate.” She chuckled. Yup. She’d been Persuaded. “I just knew Izuku would love having you around too so I offered to let you live here.”

That… person had hustled him out of the room so there was no one around to stop him from manipulating Izuku’s mother into taking Hitoshi off his hands. His dad’s quirk, Persuasion, was incredibly difficult to protect someone against. The only way to stop him was to know about his quirk in advance. Usually Hitoshi knew to interfere before it was a problem --just, not today.

For whatever reason, Hitoshi’s dad had never liked him and made no bones about the fact that Hitoshi needed to have a new living situation lined up as soon as he turned eighteen. He was jovial most of the time and seemed to be kind of aware that he wasn’t acting right. Sometimes he’d try to make half-hearted overtures or make up for whatever awful thing he’d done or said recently. He wasn’t violent --much. He hadn’t ever hit Hitoshi, but he would break stuff or call him names or misrepresent him to people; making Hitoshi seem stupider or more trouble than he was in reality. 

Hitoshi knew the root of the problem was his mom although he could never blame her for it. She was the one who’d wanted a kid and his dad, for all his other faults, would move heaven and earth to get her anything she asked for. It just turned out that sharing her attention was the one thing he absolutely could not do or fake.

“Ma’am. I’m really sorry.” He gulped, realizing he didn’t know her name yet. “My dad used his quirk on you. It’s called Persuasion. He can talk anybody into agreeing with him or into doing something to make him happy.”

“I… what?” Izuku’s mom blinked slowly; the artificial happy buzz leftover from giving in to Persuasion was fading. Sometimes telling a person about his dad’s quirk right after helped them shake it off. It looked like this was one of those times. “I… I may need to sit down.”

“Mom, over here.” Izuku seemed to know what to do when she wobbled on her feet. “Hitoshi, there’s a little bottle in the end table over there. Could you grab it?”

The bottle contained honest-to-god smelling salts when Hitoshi got it. Izuku accepted it and cracked it open under his mom’s nose. The smell was ghastly, but startled her into clarity. She blinked hard and patted Izuku on the shoulder.

“Thank you, dear.” She patted her cheeks to settled herself. “Did…” She looked at Hitoshi and something in his expression made her pivot from upset to concern. “...honey, are you okay?”

His dad had just ditched him with strangers. That hug from his mom had been goodbye and he wasn’t even awake for it. No, he was not okay. 

“I can call my uncles.” Hitoshi swallowed on a hard, sore lump in his throat. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll let that pass because we don’t know each other that well yet.” She got up and patted his cheeks with both hands. He had to bend over so she could do it, she was that tiny. “I’m going to worry. Ask Izuku. I worry about everything and this is definitely worth worrying about. Call your uncles please. Then we can discuss the situation.”

“It might be a bit before they can come get me.” Hitoshi apologized. “They’d have been here, but they had to work.”

“That’s fine, dear. You can have dinner here and we’ll work everything else out as it comes.” She glanced at her son. “Izuku, don’t forget to make that other call.” 

Izuku’s shoulders turtled up. “I won’t, mom.”

They had to split up to make their phone calls. Izuku seemed no more enthusiastic about makin his than Hitoshi was to call Mic’s station office. 

Ami-san, the agency-side receptionist, picked up on the first ring. “Present Mic agency and radio station!” She chirped. “If this is an immediate emergency then tap the line and I’ll start a trace on your number.”

“It’s Hitoshi.” He usually liked chatting with her, but his heart wasn’t in it right then.

“Oh, hi, honey!” Ami-san cooed. He’d known her since he’d been born and had spent more than one afternoon in a bassinet under her desk as a baby when his uncle’s station/agency had been located in the back of a garage. “What can I do for you? Mic told me the good news! Did you want me to slip him a note?”

“Could you?” He decided to just rip the bandage off. “My dad used his quirk on my soulmate’s mom.”

“You’re joking.” Her good mood evaporated. “He’s on probation! He knows he’s on probation!”

“He talked her into offering to take over custody of me.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” She got real quiet. “I… I’ll let Mic know. Don’t call Eraserhead until Mic can talk to him first. If she presses charges….” Ami-san let the sentence trail off without finishing it.

Quirk misuse laws operated on the three strike principle. If they reported it, this would be his dad’s third strike within five years. He’d gotten off with petty fines the last two times he’d gotten caught; convincing a cabby driver to pick him up over someone else and talking a panhandler into leaving him alone. Most people didn’t notice Persuasion, but sometimes someone with a really stubborn will or certain mental illnesses could shake it off by themselves and if they did they knew he’d tried to quirk them. If Izuku’s mom pressed charges then his dad was going to jail this time.

Hitoshi didn’t actually care about that much except for the ways it would affect his mom. She couldn’t work. She couldn’t talk to people. She had a small disability stipend and did some work as a freelance writer, but it hardly brought in anything. If his dad went to prison, even for a few months, then she would be the one who suffered most. 

The one thing his dad could be counted on was to not work against his soulmate’s interests. This time he either hadn’t thought far enough ahead or was banking on Hitoshi protecting his own mother over a stranger.

“We’ll make it work.” Hitoshi decided out loud. His uncles were proof she could live with other people. It wasn’t ideal, but they used a whiteboard and messenger apps to talk. 

“I’ll have Mic call you as soon as he’s off the air.” Ami-san promised. 

Hitoshi sat in the little tatami room he’d used to make his call. Someone had turned it into a computer room at some point, but it had a curious empty feel to it; like it belonged to someone who was long gone.

Izuku was finishing up his own call when Hitoshi went looking for him.

“...not yet.” He was saying. “The officers took my statement and samples off me at the second incident. The paramedics didn’t say anything when they sent me home, but Death Arms and Kamui Wood were… um… yelling so it was hard for them to talk. I’ll go if you think I should… yes, sir. Under the Dooku foot bridge. Through the manhole there. No, he had to leave once I came to. He left his autograph.” He paused and gave a dry little laugh. “Yes, sir. It was in two soda bottles. I noticed the one with the eyeballs in it was still moving. That’s why I hit it in the eyes afterwards.”

What.

“Bakugo Katsuki.” Izuku was still talking. “Yes, it probably got into his mouth. That’s how it happened to me; the nose and mouth. I wasn’t… I couldn’t breath. I don’t think he meant for me to live.” He wrapped his free arm around his knees. “He said something like ‘twenty seconds and it’ll all be over.’”

WHAT.

Hitoshi stood frozen in the door. He’d thought what his dad did was the worst thing that could possibly happen to him that day, but as he listened he realize Izuku was describing a villain attack; an attempted murder on himself. 

They had been within inches of never meeting each other in this life.

There were a lot of reasons Hitoshi wanted to be a Pro Hero. His uncles were a huge influence on him, but part of it was to prove to himself that he was nothing like that man. Now there was a whole new third reason.

“Yes, I’ll come in tomorrow after school if that’s okay.” Izuku said to the police officer he was apparently talking to. “Oh, um, the registry matched me up today. Ah, haha. Yes. Thank you. It was really good timing, actually. Okay, thank you. Goodbye.”

He ended the call, tossed his phone onto the bed, and flopped face first onto the mattress. 

Hitoshi suddenly understood why Izuku’s first instinct was to comfort him through their bond before. He had no idea if touching was good or bad right now. It looked like he had a lot to learn about being a soulmate. 

He tapped on the doorframe and Izuku looked up at him. The helpless smile that eased across his face did a lot to sooth Hitoshi’s exposed nerves.

“Hey.” He sat up and smiled, a little tired looking. Now that Hitoshi was looking he noticed a line of road rash up the outside edge of Izuku’s forearm, ending just below his elbow. It looked red, angry, and fresh. “How much did you hear?” 

“Enough to have a small heart attack.” Hitoshi felt like he was getting a green light to go over there so he did. Izuku catted into his touch so that his palm skated over the handprint on Izuku’s cheek. He got a brief window into his soulmate’s state of mind: he was tired for sure and running out of steam, but secretly (guiltily, even) glad to have Hioshi around for even just a little bit longer. “How did I not feel you get attacked?”

“Oh, that was me.” Izuku squirmed guiltily. “You’re supposed to pull away from the bond if you’re in danger and you don’t know where your soulmate is or what they’re doing. What if you were on stairs or handling a knife or something?” 

This was getting complicated.

“I guess I’ve got a lot to learn.” Hitoshi admitted. 

He was kind of angling for another extended hug, but a faint call of ‘supper!’ echoed down the hall. He could smell food too; really good food too. His mom tended to cook really healthy and he liked that, but the smells coming from Izuku’s kitchen were rich, fatty, and indulgent; comfort food on a day when no comfort could possibly be enough. Maybe he needed to move in with them after all…

Uncle Mic called while he was helping clean up. Izuku waved him off with a smile.

“Where are you?” There was wind in the background. “That son of a bitch isn’t answering his phone.”

Oh boy. Present Mic was swearing. This was bad.

He rattled off Inko-san’s address. “I’m okay.” He said. “My soulmate’s mom is mad at dad, but she seems okay with me. She fed us and said I can stay as-as long as I need to.”

“Okay, that’s ---good?” Mic took a breath and Hitoshi could picture him tugging on his hair. “Then I’ve got time to get out of costume. She’s probably not up to having a pro hero showing up on her front step, huh?”

“It’s been a rough day.” Hitoshi agreed and shielded the receiver so his voice wouldn’t carry. “Izuku, um ---my soulmate. He got hit by a street killer today. He’s okay. There was a hero in pursuit, but Inko-san almost fainted earlier. I don’t think it’d be a good idea to push it.”

Present Mic was, objectively, A Lot.

“By a… a what?” Mic snapped. “I thought you were in Aldera?”

“I am, I am.” 

“Hang on.” Mic carried multiple phones and Hitoshi could hear him get out the one he used exclusively for internet. It had a distinct noise when you unlocked the screen. “Aldera… street attacks…” He was quiet for a moment. “...well, alrighty then. This went down while I was on air. No wonder I missed it. Your boy is scrappy. He beat the crap out of some guy trying to kill a middle schooler with his backpack. All Might was responsible for the takedown. Okay, I’m a little less worried. The villain was a purse snatcher who escalated. That’s less terrible than a possible serial killer in the area.”

Hitoshi compared that to what he’d heard. “That sounds about right.” If he was right then that was the second incident. The first incident must have been when All Might caught the guy the first time. “Could you… could you talk to him about it? I don’t think the police really interviewed him.”

Hitoshi only had second hand knowledge of working with the cops, but he’d never heard of one taking a statement over the phone. Plus there was the matter of Mic’s official report only mentioning the second attack. There was a good chance that officer had just pretended to take the report and had really blown Izuku off. It wasn’t entirely negligent. People sometimes tried to insert themselves into big incidents, especially if it showed up on TV or a big name hero was involved.

“Sure can, buddy.” Mic’s tone went concerned. “Are you all right?”

Hitoshi couldn’t find words to describe how he was feeling. It had been easier to have opinions about Izuku’s problems. “It’s nothing I didn’t already know.” He said at last. 

“We’re coming to pick you up.” Mic promised. “If Hiroshi thinks he can kick you out of the house then he’s got another think coming. We’re gonna make this okay.”

“Okay.” Even Hitoshi could tell he didn’t sound convinced.

The doorbell rang about thirty minutes later. Izuku had pulled him over to the TV to watch the nightly Hero Report and got super into it. Hitoshi liked getting his after action breakdowns from spotter blogs and podcasts. Listening to his soulmate talk about the action on TV was like that, but better. Inko-san watched with them -alternating between that and an embroidery project- and seemed to amuse herself by asking her son questions about what was going on even though she clearly knew the answers.

Uncle Shouta stood at the door sans Uncle Mic and he looked pissed.

“Hitoshi.” He stared into the house over the top of Inko-san’s head. “We’re leaving.”

Hitoshi started to look for his shoes, but drew up short when Inko-san san said, “No. I don’t think you are.” 

She sounded like she was just barely keeping her knees from knocking together and when she stared up at Hitoshi’s uncle she looked like a bunny trying to stare down a Balrog. 

“Excuse me?” Uncle Shouta was dressed down for the evening, but spiritually channelling Eraserhead more than he normally would when faced with a middle-aged homemaker. 

“I am not comfortable sending Hitoshi-kun back into that house.” She didn’t back down and Hitoshi’s heart did something complicated and painful. “How does that --man act at home if that’s how he treats a stranger? Hitoshi-kun is my son’s soulmate. That means I have equal rights to him and I don’t want him back under that man’s roof.”

“It’s not his roof.” Uncle Shouta’s tone was a little less obstreperous than before. It might not seem like it, but Hitoshi’s maternal uncle responded best to logic and that was a good counter argument. “It’s my roof and all his shit’s gonna be in the yard as soon as I get home.”

That… answered some questions Hitoshi had been nursing about his family’s living situation. His dad had a good job and made good money, but he deferred to Hitoshi’s uncles in ways that made no sense --unless he was living in their house. 

Inko-san’s chin wobbled, but firmed up. “Then you can have Hitoshi-kun back as soon as he’s gone.” 

Uncle Shouta’s unsettling black gaze slid towards Hitoshi. “You okay with that?”

Hitoshi found the strength to nod. “Don’t kick mom out.” He probably didn’t need to ask. Uncle Shouta had been looking after his sister long before her soulmate or son came into the picture. Like Hitoshi, he wasn’t totally immune to her quirk but he didn’t get the creepy side effects from it. 

“I can’t stop her if she decides to go.” His uncle warned him and that was exactly what Hitoshi was afraid would happen. He looked back to Inko-san. “I’ll be back with an overnight bag for him.”

“Thank you.” Inko-san relaxed slightly. “I don’t know if we have anything comfortable to lend him for the evening.”

“It’ll be taken care of.” Uncle Shouta stepped back into the shadow of the open air corridor outside Inko-san’s door and vanished like Batman. She carefully shut the door when she realized he wasn’t going to say goodbye and was quiet until she got into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

“Your uncle is… an intense person.” She said at last.

“He’s an Underground Hero.” Hitoshi explained and Izuku bopped a fist into his open palm.

“Eraserhead!” He realized out loud. Somehow it wasn’t surprising that Izuku knew about Eraserhead. He didn’t have a big following and was mortally embarrassed by what fandom he did have, but the people who knew about him at all often knew him very well.  

“Is he?” Inko-san relaxed a little further. “Well, then I hope he punches your father right in the nose.” Both her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she realized what she’d said.

“He might.” Hitoshi was a little worried about that. As ever, he didn’t really care if his dad had to deal with negative consequences except for how it affected his mom. 

Mic showed up with a packed overnight bag and his school stuff right about the time Hitoshi was wondering if he was going to have to sleep in his boxers. The upshot was that Inko-san had laid out a double futon in the living room floor without having to be persuaded to let them bunk together. She might have even let them share Izuku’s bed, except there was no hope in hell that they’d both fit on his undersized twin mattress at the same time. 

 Izuku did not recognize Mic, who was harder to spot out of costume because -unlike his husband- he actually put effort into it. He swept in and dazzled Inko-san straight off. Turned out she was weaker to a megawatt smile than to intimidation.

Despite that, Mic looked tired and kind of sore. Hitoshi REALLY hoped it wasn’t actual physical soreness from beating someone up. He still swept Hitoshi up in one of his big bear hugs. “Heya, kiddo.” His voice was a little raspy. “We’re working things out at the house. Shouta’s with your mom. Your dad… well. He’s, uh… he’s checking into a hotel.”

Inko paused as she set down a cup of tea on the coffee table for Mic. “Without Ayame-san?” She asked, confused.

Mic coughed. “Yeah, without Ayame-chan.” He sounded a little down. “She locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out unless he left. Shouta was still getting the story out of her when I had to leave. I think your dad still has her phone. I’m gonna go get her a new one after this and then you guys can text again.”

His dad keeping his mom’s phone for her wasn’t quite as creepy or controlling as it came off as, but Hitoshi couldn’t deny his dad liked gatekeeping his mom’s access to other people more than he should have. 

Hitoshi’s mom’s quirk was called ‘Siren’ for a reason. She could stun anyone she concentrated on, but the more subtle obsessive secondary effects weren’t universal. Hitoshi, Uncle Shouta, and Uncle Mic were immune because they were all either related to her, super gay, or both.

They’d figured out some loopholes that let her talk to other people. She could text so long as she didn’t hit ‘send’ herself or carry the phone around. Emails were safer, especially if they used a service that routed her outgoing mail through a couple of servers before delivering it. 

“Oh my.” Inko-san sat back on her heels. She glanced at Hitoshi. “I’ll let you two talk.”

“No, I…” Mic took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “...sorry, this actually concerns you too.” He glanced at Hitoshi. “I don’t think there’s a good way to bring this up so I’m just gonna do it.”

Well, that wasn’t unnerving at all. 

Izuku leaned into his side. He’d been quiet since Mic showed up, but stayed very close to Hitoshi. His presence was more settling than words could describe.

“Your mom says she wants a divorce.” Mic spoke slowly and carefully “Your Uncle Shouta is prepared to ram it through as soon as he possibly can. Knowing your dad though, he’s going to make it as ugly as possible. Some stuff is going to come up and we didn’t want you to have to know about it, but if I know Hiroshi he’s going to drag it all out into the open.”

That was how his dad operated when he wasn’t getting his way or felt under attack so Hitoshi didn’t necessarily agree. He knew his family situation was weird and most of it could be explained away by the fact that his mom needed a lot of support, but could be exposed to too many people. 

Not all of it.

Hitoshi’s dad made really good money. He could afford to buy whatever services she needed. They didn’t need to live with Hitoshi’s uncles, but they did.

“You’re not worried that he’ll try to get full custody of Hitoshi-kun, are you?” Inko-san asked. “I’ve heard of men doing that sometimes, even if they don’t get along with their children.”

“That’s, uh, not a concern for us.” Mic coughed and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s what I came to talk about really. You see… ah…” He squinted at Hitoshi and tried to smile. “Hiroshi isn’t your father. I am.”

Izuku reached over without a word and clapped a hand over Hitoshi’s sternum, squelching his first furious response before it could even happen. Hitoshi covered his soulmate’s hand with his own, holding it there and making use of the soothing vibrations of their bond for a couple of seconds before he could ask questions that weren’t ‘Are you out of your goddamn mind?’

“It’s not what it sounds like.” Mic hastened to reassure him. “You see, Ayame-chan wanted a baby really badly. Hiroshi turned out to be infertile. I was just a donor. You were born through IVF.”

That was way less bad than what Hitoshi had first assumed, given the way Mic had phrased that. For one awful moment he thought Mic had cheated on Uncle Shouta ---with Hitoshi’s mom no less.

“We thought Hiroshi was okay with it.” Mic went on to explain. “He seemed to look forward to you at first, but things changed when you were born. I think it wasn’t real to him before that or he hadn’t thought about what it would mean to be a father so…” He fought to keep an uncharacteristically grim look off his face and only met with middling success. “...he refused to let his name be listed on your birth certificate. Normally it doesn’t matter, but he made such a stink about it that the hospital agreed to put my name down. I’m your legal male parent and I share custody of you with Ayame-chan. Hiroshi isn’t involved.”

Holy crap.

Did that mean Uncle Shouta was both his uncle and stepdad? How did that even work?

“It’s going to be hard to get the divorce decree.” Izuku piped up. “I heard there’s precedent now for not granting separations to soul mates if one of them has a quirk disability and there’s no evidence of abuse.”

“Oh believe me, little li--guy...” Mic slid his glasses back on. “...my lawyers are used to way higher stakes. They’ll chew him up and pick their teeth with his bones. Shouta’s been after this for a long time too. No one was going to take her soulmate away from her, but if Ayame wants him gone then we’ll run him out of town on a rail.”

[parablesoftheone]

Ginko and Adashino: a study in Daoist perspectivism

Huizi said, “I am not you, to be sure, so I don’t know what it is to be you. But by the same token, since you are certainly not a fish, my point about your inability to know the happiness of fish stands intact.”

Zhuangzi said, “Let’s go back to the starting point. You said, ‘Whence do you know the happiness of fish?’ Since your question was premised on your knowing that I know it, I must have known it from here, up above the Hao River.”

—Zhuangzi: Essential Writings, pg. 76

It would be criminally neglectful to talk extensively about Mushishi without discussing Ginko and Adashino’s friendship. Apart from Ginko himself, Adashino is the most frequently recurring character in the stories, and he and Ginko obviously share a connection that goes well beyond trading in mushi-related goods. 

In contrast to Ginko’s other significant relationship, this one is not with someone who shares his degree of centeredness. Adashino’s focus is markedly external, his habits of life and outlook very much out of line with the teachings of Lao Tzu. Most obviously, he stockpiles a wealth of mushi-related treasures and is always on the lookout for more, while Ginko’s possessions are pretty much what he has in his backpack. The storing up of wealth and possessions, the Dao De Jing warns, can only bring grief: "Amass a store of gold and jade,” it says in verse #9, “and no one can protect it.” And indeed, Adashino’s storehouse is invaded with dire consequences no later than the tenth episode of the first season. His insatiable desire for interesting items persists nonetheless, leaving him open to a level of emotional excitability Ginko never displays even at his most distressed.

(Still, a man’s gotta protect his property...)

This is hardly the only particular in which Adashino and Ginko are decidedly unalike. S2 E8 "Wind Raiser” especially develops their differences. When Adashino takes credit for Ginko’s cure, Ginko completely ignores it; when Adashino speculates about what the young man Ginko advises will do, Ginko responds with a laconic, “Who knows?” These simple interchanges point toward their fundamental contrast: Ginko’s mindset is Daoist, and Adashino’s is (mostly) not. In accord with multiple verses of the Dao De Jing (#2, #10, #30...), Ginko doesn’t care a damn about who gets credit for his work; neither does he care to speculate about future events, preferring to “move with the present” (Dao De Jing #14). His focus is centered; Adashino's is outward.

Given these divergent values and the fact that Ginko reguarly cheats Adashino—of which Adashino is well aware—an observer might wonder why these two have anything to do with each other, much less why they’re such good friends. 

But their bond makes perfect sense through a Daoist eye. 

Daoist perspectivism

To the Daoist mind, contrasts and differences are part of how the world functions—and this includes differences from the Daoist mind. Zhuangzi not only teaches followers of the dao to not disdain non-Daoist values but hold “perfectly to the differing allotments of things” (Zhuangzi: Essential Writings, pgs. 70–71); his own closest friend Huizi is a man with whom he trades debates and criticisms throughout the Zhuangzi (pgs. 8, 38, 112...). This worldview doesn’t seek the exclusion of others—the Daoist idea of “oneness” means that opposing views and forces are inherently one, without being made to unite or agree.

Along with this embracing of contrasts comes a firm belief in perspectivism: that anything that can be affirmed from one perspective can be negated from another and vice versa, and that each person and creature’s nature and experiences determine what is right from her/his/its own perspective. "The embrace of the same viewpoint,” says the Zhuangzi, “comes simply from being in the same position” (pg. 101).

Just as Ginko understands that the natures of the mushi are rightful parts of the world whether they’re valued by humans or not, he also understands the validity of differing human viewpoints. Though he scolds Adashino for the trouble his collection causes, he doesn’t consider him lesser or unworthy of friendship because of it, or because of any other contrasts between them. Through all the disparity in their values, they share a connection—and in true Daoist fashion, their differences are likely what brought them together in the first place. Ginko gathers mushi-related items, and Adashino wants them. Ginko has no desire to collect things or haul them around, so he’s happy to sell... if not always honestly.

Which raises the next point about their relationship: Ginko’s shady business ethics. 

Perspectivism applies here too. As Zhuangzi tells us, “whatever might be [from some perspective] strange, grotesque, uncanny, or deceptive” (pg. 13) can be affirmed as right from another view, and this certainly applies to Ginko and Adashino’s exchanges. To an outsider, they’re questionable as all get out—but it’s not an outsider’s view that matters. Both Ginko and Adashino freely choose to associate with each other on their current terms, because that choice makes sense to them. Adashino knows from the start that Ginko isn’t always on the level—from his first appearance in S1 E5 “The Traveling Swamp,” he’s questioning Ginko’s story about the green sake cup. And as Ginko points out, Adashino is under no obligation to buy from him—he chooses to, knowing the odds, and continues to choose to. And we can see in “Wind Raiser” that Adashino values even the more questionable items Ginko’s sold him; he’s held on to all of it, even the stuff he's probably guessed is junk.

Whether this arrangement makes sense or seems right to an outsider is irrelevant. Ginko and Adashino accept each other as they are, and the only ones who need to validate those choices are themselves. 

So, for all their differences, do Ginko and Adashino have anything in common? 

In fact, they do—and one significant value they share is the very perspectivism that shapes their relationship. We can see as much in “The Traveling Swamp,” when Adashino asks Ginko why he’s so determined to save Io from becoming a mushi. 

“If the girl said she wanted desperately to live,” he says, “I’d understand. But she wanted to become part of the swamp, right? That might be her happiness... Sometimes that’s the way it is in this world, though it sounds cruel...”

Adashino’s statement points to the path along which he and Ginko connect: No less than Ginko, Adashino is open to another’s perspective, even one that he acknowledges sounds terrible. He fully understands that “rightness” for one person is not the same as “rightness” for another.

Ginko’s reply underscores that he shares this value. In S1 E1 “The Green Throne,” he made a human a mushi because it was her choice—despite his own assessment that becoming a mushi is a terrible fate for a human. He seeks to prevent the same from happening to Io, not because he doesn’t value her choice, but because his observation of her has convinced him that she doesn’t understand what she’s giving up—that she’s making her choice without full knowledge. 

Interestingly, in this sense, Ginko and Adashino’s exchange is reminiscent of one between Zhuangzi and Huizi. Crossing over a river with his friend, Zhuangzi comments on the happiness of the fish below. Huizi protests and asks, "Whence do you know the happiness of fish?” In his frequently smartass fashion, Zhuangzi replies that he knows it from the position where they stand, above the river, watching the fish (pg. 76).

Not simply a play on words, this exchange is an illustration of Daoist perspectivism. Zhuangzi’s point is that, while we truly can’t know the perspectives of anyone other than ourselves, we must proceed from our own—including our observations of what may or may not make others happy. Not able to consult Io on the matter, Ginko has to proceed from his own observations, which lead him to believe she still cherishes human feelings.

Like Zhuangzi and Huizi, Ginko and Adashino both know that perspective is individual, and they respect the choices others make from their own. Adashino respects that Io may, after all, want to become a mushi, and Ginko respects that, in his assessment, she probably doesn’t—just as, in Renzu’s case, he respects that she does. 

By this same principle, they respect each other’s natures, Ginko accepting that Adashino is an outward-focused, obsessive collector of things, and Adashino accepting that Ginko will occasionally chastise him or sell him a bad coat. 

On these multiple levels, their relationship is one of Daoist perspectivism. And in the same way that Ginko can guess what Io’s happiness might be, we can “know” from observing them that Ginko and Adashino value their relationship just as it is—with no need for any foundational “rightness” other than their own choices.

With all that said, there is another kind of rightness to their friendship. In their contrasts to each other, Ginko and Adashino fit together. This is even signaled visually: Adashino's light-reflecting monocle signifies the yang within his yin, just as the tokoyami in Ginko's opposite eye is the yin within his yang. Like Ginko and Tanyuu, Ginko and Adashino form a Taiji, interlinked and corresponding through their similarities and their differences alike.

[writings-of-dumpy]

VooDoo Doll: George Weasley x Reader blurb

A/N: This is actual garbage. Like it’s just bad. I’m so sorry.

Summary: Based on VooDoo Doll by 5SOS. George doesn’t really like Y/N, but suddenly he has feelings he can’t explain... until he can.

Fred and George played pranks on everyone, almost no exceptions. They tried to stay away from those much younger than themselves, but sometimes a know-it-all Slytherin first year would get on their nerves, so slipping puking pastilles into the morning pumpkin juice of that specific student would be deemed appropriate by them. Hey, they were getting him out of class at least.

Most of their pranks were directed at their fellow classmates or their siblings and their friends, and there was one in particular George liked to prank. Not because he disliked her, she was just an easy target being only a year younger than them and Ginny's best friend. She usually took it well, but George could tell by her frustrated sighs after a raincloud had followed her all day or her robes were suddenly made of feathers that the pranks were getting a bit more annoying throughout the years. Fred and George decided to give Y/N a break in their last year at Hogwarts especially with Dumbridge spoiling their fun. During the DA meetings, George found himself not able to stop himself from looking at Y/N. She performed the spells so well. He felt a feeling swell in his very soul and he couldn’t fight the urge to do one last prank on her before their time was up at Hogwarts.

“It’s brilliant,” Fred said with a grin when George proposed the idea. “Who’s the target?”

“The usual. She’s just a good sport about it,” George said and smiled devilishly. Fred raised a brow and shook his head and they made arrangements.

The following day, the Weasleys staked out the hallway Y/N always walks down to charms class. Her head was in a book and she didn’t even notice the trip wire that they had set up. Her ankles were caught in the wire and she nearly fell over as the wire tugged. George watched her look around on the floor, but then their fake dementor swooped in from the roof. The sound effect triggered and Y/N jumped, then screamed at the appearance of the shadowy figure. It swooped down and then the twins revealed themselves to Y/N as the perpetrators behind the childish prank. Y/N looked terrified, then annoyed when she saw them sniggering in the end of the hallway.

“Very funny,” she said sarcastically and walked away quickly. Fred and George high-fived and made their way to their class. George noticed that he hadn't seen Y/N as much throughout the day today as he usually does and bu the time lunch rolled around, he was concerned. He looked to where Ginny and Y/N usually sat and chatted during the lunch hour and saw that both of them were gone.

“Hey, where's our sister?” Fred asked Ron as if he were thinking the same as George. Ron shrugged.

“Maybe she's comforting Y/N. I heard that Y/N was really upset and crying in the girl's bathroom,” Hermione informed them without looking up from her papers. A wash of guilt fell over George and he looked at Fred, who appeared to also be feeling slightly guilty. After lunch, George went to find his sister, but had no luck and wished that he could apologize to Y/N.

When Fred and George returned to the Burrow early, Molly wasn't surprised, but was slightly disappointed that her prankster sons weren't going to graduate Hogwarts. Luckily their misbehavior was swept under the rug at the ministry and the pair were able to keep their wands and continue practicing magic.

“Would you two like to meet them at the train?” Molly offered on the morning the Hogwarts Express was to return students to their homes. Fred and George smiled and nodded having missed their two younger siblings.

“Oh, Harry and Y/N will be staying with us this summer, just to let you know,” Molly said as the train pulled into the station.

“What?” George said in surprise. Y/N was a name he hadn't heard in a few months, but she wasn't very far from his thoughts. He still felt bad about their last interaction and how it may have effected Y/N. He never plucked up the courage to talk to her about it, and she kept her distance after that.

“Hi mum!” Ron greeted Molly with a hug.

“Hello there boys,” Ginny greeted her brothers with a warm smile and hugs all around.

“Oh, it's so good to see you, Y/N dear! And Harry, welcome back, my boy,” Molly said with a  smile and hugged them.

George wanted to say something to Y/N, but their greeting was cut short as they were all ushered out of King's Cross and hurried back to Diagon Alley to use the Floo system. It wasn't until they were all back at the Burrow that George was able to have a moment to talk to Y/N.

“So how was the rest of the year?” he asked her. She raised a brow at him.

“It was horrible up until the very end when Umbridge finally just went missing,” Y/N said. “But... well, poor Harry.”

George nodded as he had heard about Harry's godfather and order member. “I'm sorry I left.”

“I'm not. Umbridge deserved it, and it looks like you two have been doing better than you were at school, so... it worked out,” Y/N said with a smile.

After a few weeks had passed and the summer assignments were complete, they had all taken to playing quidditch on the large property. Hermione and Y/N sat off to the side while the rest of the Weasleys plus Harry played. The match was well underway and Fred and George reprised their beater roles to help their sister and brother become better keepers and chasers. After the quaffle had been passed around a few times and a few bludgers had zipped around, George felt himself gazing in Y/N and Hermione's direction. His eyes lingered for a bit too long on the way the sun hit Y/N's hair and made her eyes shine when she smiled. Behind her, he saw a bludger heading straight towards her head.

“Watch out!” George said to them, which caused Y/N and Hermione to look around in confusion. Acting quickly, he zoomed his broom behind her and beat the ball into submission.

“Finite incantatem,” George said with a wave of his wand and the balls dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

“Well that's it for today I think,” Ron said as they all flew to the ground and dismounted.

“Are you alright?” George asked Y/N, who looked at him in shock.

“Um, yeah... Thank you,” she said and smiled politely at him.

George felt his cheeks get hot and he nodded.

“What's gotten into you, mate?” Fred asked once they retired to their rooms that night.

“What do you mean?” George responded.

“You just seem... distracted. Like you kept looking over at Y/N the whole match and last week you nearly dropped a stack of dishes when she walked by you. She slip you a love potion?” Fred teased.

“What? No,” George scoffed. He remembered that incident well, though. Y/N had just woken up and George was so distracted by how attractive she looked in an oversized shirt and shorts that he felt his whole body go numb and he nearly shattered the plates he was carrying to put away.

Well into the night, George found himself thinking about the light brushes that Y/N and he had shared throughout their time at Hogwarts and he could still feel how soft and warm her skin was in the places they had connected. He felt embarrassed as if she were watching him obsess over such a small gesture like a prank to get her attention even though she was in the other room. He kept imagining her in his mind, and he remembered several times now that he had done this exact routine at night. He couldn't help but think of nothing but her.

He rolled over and saw that Fred had fallen asleep. He didn't know what time it was, but the house was silent so he assumed late. His stomach made an ungodly sound that signaled for him to feed it and he happily complied. He glanced at the clock and was astonished to find it was nearly two in the morning. Had he really been so involved in his thoughts about Y/N that he hadn't noticed several hours passing? He opened the refrigerator and found a small sandwich up for grabs. As he closed the door, he saw a small figure outlined in the darkness and nearly screamed his soul out of his body.

He pointed his lit wand at the figure to find Y/N in her sleepwear standing next to the counter with the glasses cabinet open.

“Jesus fucking christ, don't scare me like that,” George exhaled.

“Sorry, I was really thirsty..” Y/N chuckled. George watched as she moved about the kitchen, his hunger forgotten for the moment. His eyes trailed along her body many times as he took in every bit of her he could.

“Can I help you?” she asked after taking a drink from the cup.

Without thinking and fatigue beginning to cloud his judgment, George responded, “Tell me where you're hiding your voodoo doll.”

“Pardon?” Y/N said in an almost offended tone.

“I can't sleep, there's pins in my head in my heart in my chest and I can't breathe around you. What have you done to me?” George asked as he walked closer to her. By the end of his sentence, Y/N's back was against the wall and George's eyes connected with hers through the dim light of his wand that rested on the counter.

“Is this another cruel prank?” Y/N asked.

George's heart clenched. Cruel prank? Did he really hurt her? He hadn't meant to, he wanted her to laugh with them like she used to. George shook his head.

“If you think for even one second that your face doesn't haunt my dreams and that you're the reason for my heart beating at all or that you're not the motivation for me to breathe... you're dead wrong,” George said with his heart in his throat. George's eyes searched hers as he leaned closer, but he found no resistance. He acted purely on instinct and kissed her mouth with a conviction that he could only muster through inhibition of his doubts and fears.

She kissed him back and for a moment, time stopped for George. It was as if the world had been completed when their lips collided and moved together. George felt Y/N pull away from him and he opened his eyes to find hers tearful.

“You're ruthless, George Weasley,” she said with a small sob. George's heart shattered as she walked away from him and up the stairs.

~*~

Y/N couldn't believe the audacity of that red-headed heartthrob. The last interaction they had was a terrifying dementor prank, then he abandons the school and now suddenly he's a proper gentleman asking how her day has gone and saving her from a trip to the emergency room during a quidditch practice and then kissing her in the kitchen? Y/N's heart was racing, but she couldn't wake Ginny up to tell her. Ginny could never find out about Y/N's massive crush on George in spite of her heart being broken. She felt bad for calling him ruthless, but there was no better way to describe such a horrible joke. He had to be joking, there's no way he could feel so strongly for Y/N, not after all the years of torment he put her through. Y/N curled up under the covers and only let a few tears of frustration escape. She longed for his lips on hers again, but wouldn't dare let that show.  Maybe she'd wake up and this entire night would be a dream.

That was not the case. Y/N woke up and remembered the feeling of George's lips against hers vividly. The sun shone through the window and Y/N could hear Ginny start to stir. Sighing to herself, Y/N got up from her bed and got dressed. Throughout the day, she and George would make eye contact briefly, and Y/N's heart ached to talk to him, but she couldn't find it in herself to play into his game. She was convinced he was playing a prank on her, not that he had feelings for her the way she did for him. By the end of the day, she could tell George's irritation growing.

“I need to talk to you,” he said after dinner in a low voice. Y/N was hesitant but didn't dare deny alone time with George.

They went to the back yard and sat down on the patio. Y/N had noticed Ginny's sly smirk and raised eyebrow at the two of them when Y/N had exited the room with George, but Y/N ignored the glances.

“What is it?” Y/N asked once the door had shut.

“I meant what I said. My feelings haven't changed once. You've become my entire world, I need you to know that,” George said.

Y/N looked into his eyes and found remorse and a warmth that she wanted to envelop herself in. She nodded in response and urged him to continue with raised brows.

“I want to be yours... if you'll have me,” he finished after a moment.

Y/N was taken off guard and her nerves seemed to get the better of her because she felt sick to her stomach and her mouth went dry. Her mind screamed with glee, and she was sure the smile she formed was involuntary as she nodded. George grinned and pulled her into a close embrace.

[solarscholarsofmagick]

Cosmic Love: An Astrologer’s Notes on Eclipses

Solar and lunar eclipses are spectacular events for those who enjoy watching the sky, but did you know that they also act as major triggers for life events? Essentially, a solar eclipse is a maxed-out new moon, while a lunar eclipse is a maxed-out full moon. For those of you who are familiar with the phases of the moon and their meanings, this means that a solar eclipse would signify a big new beginning, and a lunar eclipse would signify a majorly emotional ending.

Eclipses can trigger a huge number of happenings, good and bad. You can get an idea of what exactly will happen by looking at the house and sign placement of the eclipse and what it activates in your chart. Speaking of which, only eclipses that aspect your natal chart directly will impact you significantly. We all may feel the intensity of these astrological events but only those who have an aspected planet or point can truly feel the weight of the eclipse, in particular those with an aspected Sun, Midheaven, Ascendant, or Moon, as they are the most significant.

If you don’t already, begin tracking eclipses, specifically those that make close aspects to a natal planet or point, and see if anything happens around that time. Events may occur on the exact day of the eclipse, or they may be dragged out. For a solar eclipse, you can expect to feel the energy of the eclipse about 3 to 6 months beforehand, and it may last for well over a year afterwards, especially if the eclipse aspects one of the more important placements noted above. For a lunar eclipse, there’s a slightly shorter time frame of about 2 months before and after the eclipse for major events to take place. However, you may feel the effects of a lunar eclipse well beyond 2 months after the eclipse took place.

Eclipses run in cycles like the planets do, and they go through one family of signs at a time, based on the qualities (Cardinal, Fixed, Mutable). It takes about 7-8 years before a sign family will repeat itself, and roughly 19 years for an exact degree of a sign to repeat itself. This means that in the course of a year, there can be anywhere from four to six eclipses in the same sign family, with the potential to affect you significantly if any of these signs are emphasized in your natal chart.

Now let’s get into some examples of eclipse-triggered events. I’ve collected research on a handful of different people’s charts during different eclipses and they’ve all been affected in different ways. To start, I’ll use my family as an example.

On July 27th of 2018, there was a lunar eclipse at 4 degrees Aquarius, exactly conjunct to my brother’s natal Uranus. This triggered a major health crisis for my brother, as well as an emotional crisis as well. On the night of the eclipse, he was admitted to the hospital with severely high blood pressure and was going into kidney failure. Now, keep in mind that my brother was only 20 at the time – much too young to be dealing with these kinds of health problems! Mars was conjunct to the lunar eclipse as well, and transiting Uranus was making a square to his natal Uranus, further aggravating his condition. Uranus rules the nervous system, and the nervous system controls the blood pressure. Mars rules the blood, and Uranus was in Taurus, ruled by Venus, which rules the kidneys. All the stress on these planets from the lunar eclipse triggered my brother’s high blood pressure, which runs in our family on both sides. And because Uranus was involved, activating his 4th house of home and family, he felt a deep need for personal freedom as well. At the time, he was living with our parents and having many arguments with them. He had been planning to move out for a while, but this lunar eclipse solidified his decision with all the stress it caused him at home with our parents. Four days later, he was released from the hospital and the doctors had prescribed him medication for his blood pressure that he will be taking likely the rest of his life. This is the nature of an eclipse (causing life-changing events) and with Uranus involved, it was very unexpected and abrupt.

Rewind to a solar eclipse in March of 2006 in Aries, this one activating my mom’s natal Mars in her 12th house of hidden enemies. This was right around when my parents were fighting a lot and just before they got a divorce. This solar eclipse triggered many arguments between my parents, some even a bit violent. This event is pretty self-explanatory, with Mars being the most aggressive planet in its own sign, placed in the 12th house. This would translate to an abundance of anger and excessive arguments with a man in the native’s life, which is exactly what happened. My dad became an enemy to my mom, an enemy that she didn’t expect to discover when she married him. This eclipse also loosely activated my mom’s Neptune in her 7th house of marriage, dissolving the marriage over the next few years in court. On the other side of the story, the same eclipse activated my dad’s natal Pluto in Virgo in his 8th house of shared resources. Natally, Pluto here would point to a partner who is obsessed with money, and before the divorce, this might not have been the case, but after the eclipse triggered my dad’s natal Pluto, the fighting ended up being primarily over finances and child support. This eclipse triggered a series of court battles between my parents obsessively fighting over money. My dad ended up having to pay my mom a large amount of money in child support over a span of about 5 years. This same solar eclipse in March of 2006 also triggered my natal Sun by opposition, indicating the loss of a male figure in my life. This manifested for me as a temporary loss of my father, as he moved out and I saw him less often.

In my own experience, I’ve dealt with many significant eclipses. However, one stands out more than the rest. In November of 2013, I had just started school at University, when I met another student through a ride share group. This student seemed to be just another freshman guy starting school and didn’t pose any threat to me when we met. However, the eclipse on November 3rd that year triggered my Midheaven and Mars, bringing a major change in my life. Later that month, the student invited me to a party and I went. Being a college party, we were drinking and socializing, but as the night progressed, he started acting more and more possessive of me. I had barely known him a week or two, but he was acting like I was his property. He kept tipping my cup back, forcing drinks down my throat, and as a result, I lost consciousness later on in the night. He dragged me upstairs onto a bed and proceeded to climb on top of me to assault me. What’s interesting about this eclipse though, is that it was a solar eclipse in the sign of Scorpio, which rules obsessive behavior, taboos, and sex. Activating my Mars and Midheaven in my 11th house, this translates to me as a life-changing physical event (sexual assault) occurring in a social setting or related to a new acquaintance (11th house). Saturn was also involved with this eclipse, conjunct the eclipse by 2 degrees. Saturn implies a long-term effect, and in my case, I received an ongoing diagnosis of PTSD, and my depression was magnified during that year after the incident, as Saturn can cause major depression also.

I’ve observed my friend’s charts and their life events related to eclipses as well. In June of 2012, there was a lunar eclipse in Sagittarius, directly triggering one of my friend’s natal Mercury and Uranus. On the other end, the Sun was also activating his Chiron. This was the day his brother died in a car accident when he was hit by a drunk driver. Mercury rules siblings and Uranus rules unexpected events and accidents. As you can imagine, Pluto was transiting his 8th house, activating his North Node in a trine and his South Node in a sextile as well.

Someone I knew even was imprisoned after a series of eclipses activated his natal Sun and Moon in Libra as well as his Mercury in Scorpio. It was deserved- think justice- as Libra is a fair-minded air sign and rules judges. Uranus was also involved in the eclipse, conjunct the Sun, indicating a loss of freedom. Pluto was squaring his Sun exactly at the time too.

On a more positive note, eclipses can trigger very positive changes as well! In another friend’s chart, I’ve seen a solar eclipse activate her Venus in her 1st house (Leo) in a conjunction by 2 degrees and her Midheaven exactly by trine in her 9th house (Aries). She was rewarded with a new job teaching young children in China- this is her Midheaven being activated in the 9th house of distant travels, and the eclipse is coming from her 1st house of Leo, the sign of children. She even made a significant connection to one of the students who made a noticeable first impression on her second day there. The student ended up being one of her best students!

Sometimes there can be large amounts of money involved when a solar eclipse activates specific houses. One friend of mine inherited $100,000 from his grandmother when she passed, right around the time of a lunar eclipse that activated his natal Saturn (grandparents) in his 2nd house of finance, from the 11th house of large amounts of money. The Sun was activating his 5th house of fun and pleasures, so as a result, he went on a major drug/alcohol/stripper binge (Neptune was squaring his natal Moon at the time as well) where he encountered many fake friends who used him for his money. The 11th house is friends and acquaintances as well as huge dream amounts of cash, and his 11th house falls in Scorpio, so there was definitely manipulative behavior involved.

There are many other kinds of events that eclipses can trigger as well. Depending on the planets, houses, and signs involved, there may be marriages, engagements, pregnancies, divorces, promotions, traveling, moving homes, major health issues or improvements, surgeries, educational developments, major accomplishments… The list goes on! Just think big, though, as that seems to be the theme with eclipses. During my research, I asked each of my friends what the most significant time or moment in their life was, and almost every single one of them had an eclipse as their first answer. They recalled the exact month and year, some even the date, and it came immediately to mind. When I went to check the dates of that year’s eclipses and compare them to their natal charts, sure enough, there was an eclipse activating something in their chart.

So next time you hear of or get to witness an eclipse, no matter where it is in the world (as these cosmic events affect all of us), think to yourself what in your life might change or be disrupted. What might evolve or take action? Or even better, consult your natal chart and try to figure out exactly what will happen, guided by your intuition!

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[illfoandillfie]

Hi! May I please get a creative block reading with your movie tarot deck? My initials are mmc if that helps. Please and thank you. You’re honestly so incredibly amazing for offering readings.

of course darling!! I hope this helps!

Tarot: 8 of coins, temperance, knight of cups, four of wands, the hierophant, 5 of wands

Okay so there are 2 things we look at in a creative block reading – the internal and the external – because both can influence creative energy in different ways. You may feel that one resonates more than the other or it could be a mix of both. Just take whatever makes most sense to you.  

So let’s start with the internal stuff. The 8 of wands in this reading represents internal difficulties that keeping you from creating. It relates to apprenticeship and passion and, notably, high standards. I think it’s possible that you’re expecting perfection from yourself and get frustrated when things don’t turn out the way you were picturing. High standards can be good! But they should be something to work towards that makes you edit and rewrite paragraphs or makes you redraw that one thing over and over until it’s muscle memory. High standards can inspire passion and ambition and skill but they can also get in the way of all those things.  

Temperance is what you need to change in your attitude so you can get back to a more creative headspace. It’s a card of patience and moderation. You need to balance out those high standards. Be patient with yourself when things don’t immediately go the way you planned. Take a breath, remind yourself that it’s still a work in progress and that you can change things later, and stop beating yourself up. Manage your expectations of yourself so you can get back to a place where those high standards push you to try more and to improve your skills rather than frustrating you and make you stop altogether.  

Next we have the external difficulties that are keeping you from creating. The 4 of wands symbolises community, home and celebration. It could be that something about your home life is getting in the way of your creating – maybe your favourite room to create in needs a tidy, maybe you find that every time you sit down with the intention of making something new someone interrupts you. It could be that you thrive under pressure and things are just too peaceful at the moment and it’s not sparking that creative energy. Or maybe it’s the opposite, maybe you’ve been too busy or someone has disturbed your routine (my first thought was builders coming through to fix something and changing the feeling of your usual creative space). Whatever it is it has something to do with your home life.  

The Hierophant tells us what you can physically or practically do to change this. This card relates to tradition and conformity so it may be that you need to reorganise or re-establish your “creative space” – tidy off your desk, organise your tools, make sure it feels comfortable and inspiring. It could also be a case of breaking tradition – if you usually create inside maybe try going and sitting outside in the fresh air instead, or if you usually sit on your bed try moving to a desk or the floor instead. Shake things up a bit! The Hierophant also relates to rituals and ceremonies so it could be that by creating a ritual for yourself you can more easily slip into the creative mindset and warn people that you’ll be busy without telling them – get yourself a drink or a snack, set your laptop up, light a candle, put on a favourite album, whatever helps you transition from regular thinking and your everyday brain to the mindset you need to create.  

This leaves us with two cards – the knight of cups and the 5 of wands – which represent the lesson to take away from this creative block as well as any extra advice the deck wants to share. So the knight of cups is about following the heart. He’s a card of imagination, a little bit idealistic and romantic. He’s in touch with his emotions and his intuition and uses them for his own wellbeing. He’s telling you that the lesson to take from this is to reconnect with yourself. Use this as a time to reflect on what you enjoy about creating and why, and what you need from your environment to feel comfortable creating in it. Figuring out the background whys and hows can make you more receptive to creative ideas.  

Finally the 5 of wands. This is a card of conflict and competition. It’s advising you that conflict isn’t always bad. It could be a friendly rivalry that pushes you to do better or, like the high standards I mentioned earlier, it could be an inner conflict between what your mind imagines and what your hand actually makes. Don’t let the idea of conflict hold you back. New opportunities rise from battles. Learn from whatever conflict arises – do you need to communicate your needs better so others don’t interrupt as much? Do you need to spend time practicing a particular skill so you can improve and eventually produce those amazing things you think of? Accept whatever conflict appears and use it to drive you forward.  

So I pulled a few different oracles for you. 

First up is a card from the artist oracles - Charles & Ray Eames. This card offers three pieces of advice - one for life, one for work, and one for inspiration - you may find that all of them are relevant or that only one of them is. Take whatever resonates most! 

Design your days - don’t plan them / Aspire to profound practicality /Be unbending in your flexibility.

I really like that last one, especially in connection with the cards that talk about the external blocks. This card is encouraging you to be a little more flexible with how you create so try some new things and see what works!

Your literary witch is Charlotte Perkins Gilman. She represents freedom, oppression and the systems at work. I think the dichotomy between freedom and oppression connects strongly with the internal/mental blocks. It definitely speaks of needing to free yourself from something - negative/overly critical thought or a rigid idea of what you want to make, etc. It could also relate to the external side too with that “systems at work” bit. Perhaps there is something in your current system that is holding you back. 

I also pulled 3 cards from my new sacred creators oracle deck. Creator Alchemy / Feed Your Artist / Over-Thinking Can Spoil The Magic 

Creator Alchemy - This card says that you are a powerful alchemist and you’re ready to transform the ingredients of your life and make gold. It suggests that there is a need for focused determination in order to get out of the creative block you find yourself in. I see it connecting with the external side of the reading because it talks of the minutiae that anchors you down like day to day home life and regular responsibilities. It does also suggest that you could be dealing with too many different ideas or projects at the same time but i think that’s secondary to the other parts. 

Feed Your Artist - This one 100% ties into those internal block cards. It speaks of self-judgement being a problem, especially in regards to harsh expectations. And it suggests some down time could be a way to break out of that headspace and, like the knight of cups, also that there’s a need to reconnect to your creative joy. 

Over-Thinking - This is the first card in this deck which I think goes to show how common of a problem this is lmao It says that analysis-paralysis or the fear of making the wrong decision is part of whats holding you back. It’s causing doubts in your own abilities which means your worrying about the outcome before you’ve even really begun. It could manifest as obsessive planning or perfectionism. You need to switch to a more positive mindset and trust that you are capable of making something good, something people will enjoy.

And finally, I also got you a Frida Kahlo card which will hopefully be of some inspiration. It says:

Breathe deeper, extend your breath and listen to your heart. Create a life from here. 

[guildedlily6]

You Plus Me Equals Soulmates Part 5 (Peter Parker x Reader Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Y/N notices Peter acting weird and possibly keeping secrets.  Now, when the National Decathlon rolls around, Peter continues to disappear at odd times.  Will Peter’s sudden disappearances get Y/N and Peter’s best friend Ned into trouble?  Has Liz finally changed her attitude towards Y/N?

Author’s Note: Oops.  Sorry, this took longer to write than I had wanted.  I was experiencing some major writers block, so this was a little bit more difficult to write.  This part also doesn’t have too much Peter and Y/N in it, so I also apologize for that.  As always, you might be lost if you haven’t read the parts before this, so click on the links below.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Word Count: 2,357

Warnings: swearing

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

I used to not believe in soulmates.  Even now, the concept of soulmates, destined to be together forever, seems slightly extreme.  But now that I’ve found mine, I guess I could understand where all of the hype comes from.

After the revealing of matching wrist tattoos between Peter and I, we’ve grown close.  I found myself opening up to him, which I subconsciously told myself I wouldn’t do again after being afraid of what Liz would do with my secrets.  He also told me his secrets.  Most of his secrets, anyway, except one.

What he’s keeping from me is still a complete mystery to me.  All I know is it’s big and it has something to do with why he left Liz’s party that one night and why he isn’t coming to Washington.

Well, he wasn’t until now.

“Mr.Harrington!  Mr.Harrington!  I’m coming and I want to join the team again,” says Peter, surprisingly not out of breath from running all the way down the sidewalk to meet up with the Decathlon team.

“Mr.Parker, I don’t think you sent me an email,” Mr.Harrington says, peering at Peter from over his glasses.

“Well, yeah… But I’m here now.”

What changed his mind?

“Hey!  He can’t join the team.  He said he quit and we’re literally about to leave, Mr.Harrington.”  Flash peeks his head outside of the bus window, bestowing his opinion on us all, as per usual.

“We haven’t left yet.  Mr.Parker… You’re always welcome to join us, but did you really have to run in on the last moment?”  Mr.Harrington glances down at his watch, checking the time.

“If he’s welcome that means he can come, right?”  I can’t help but cut in.  I have to admit I knew I was going to miss Peter if he didn’t come along to Washington. “I um… Yes, Mr.Parker can join us,” declares Mr.Harrington, grabbing Peter’s suitcase and loading it into the bus.

I beam at Peter and he grins back at me.

He climbs into the bus and takes a seat next to me.

“So what changed your mind?” I ask.

“Aunt May told me I should go and not miss the opportunity.’’

Is that the real reason?

“Oh,” I reply simply.  Peter takes my hand and interlocks our fingers.

It hasn’t exactly been established, but since Peter and I discovered we’re soulmates. Over the past few weeks, we’ve been ‘together’.  By that, I mean the whole boyfriend and girlfriend thing, but those words seem too childish for big things like soulmates for life.

The rest of the bus ride is quiet except for the occasional banter between Flash and Mr.Harrington.  I put in earbuds and Peter leans his chocolate brown head on my shoulder, falling asleep.

Once we finally arrive at the hotel, Mr.Harrington realizes he only booked 5 rooms, which would force two of us to join separate two person rooms since he needed his own room.

I gladly volunteer Liz and I split up.  It would’ve been an unnecessary mess if we were forced to share a room together, like we had planned before everything happened.

“Alright so Liz Allen… You can share a room with-”

“Peter and Ned?  Y/N told me earlier she wants to share a room with girls,” Liz interrupts, smirking devilishly at me.

“I thought Y/N might want to share a room with Peter and Ned, considering…” Mr.Harrington looks at Peter and I’s connected hands.

“Isn’t that against school guidelines?  That wouldn’t be very professional for a school trip.” Liz maintains the annoyingly innocent look on her face while talking.

“I never asked to share a room with two girls.  Mr.Harrington, you know I wouldn’t do anything on a school trip when sharing a room with Peter and Ned-” I start.

“I think it would be best if you shared a room with Betty and MJ,” Mr.Harrington states.

This is not happening.  When will Liz stop trying to hijack anything?  I know Peter wouldn’t do anything with her, but what will Liz do?

I glare at Liz.  Beside me, Peter tenses up and looks at me.  I give him a look that says ‘we’ll be fine’.  He nods and lets go of my hand, grabbing his suitcase and walking to his room with Ned, Liz not far behind.

I turn around to face Betty and MJ, who’s got her arms crossed.  “Sorry you have to stay with us,” MJ says.

“I’m not angry that I’m staying with you guys, I’m pissed that Liz is staying with Peter and Ned,” I explain, irritated.  MJ and Betty are pretty chill for the most part and I don’t need them thinking I hate them or something.

Mr.Harrington hands us three room key cards.  I grab my suitcase and take the elevator with Betty and MJ to our room.

Liz obviously has some sort of plan to act out since she jumped so hastily on the opportunity to stay with Peter.  I thought we were done with this.  How could I have never realized my best friend was so cold and decisive?

I set my suitcase down against the wall.

“So whose bed is whose?”  I look between Betty and MJ, silently deciding I would rather sleep in the same bed as MJ.

“I require a good sleep and my body refuses to sleep well if there is someone else in the bed.  You and MJ can sleep in the same bed,” declares Betty.

“No thanks.  I’ll take the small couch,” MJ says, setting down her bag on the desk.

I shrug.  “Fine by me.”

I change in the bathroom and then climb into bed, falling into a restless sleep after thinking about what Liz and Peter are doing.

________Peter’s POV________ I’m wary about Liz sleeping in our room.  If worst comes to worst, I’ll just take the couch to sleep on.  No way I’m sleeping in the same bed as her.

“So Peter, who’s going to sleep in what bed?” Liz looks at me, winking suggestively.

“I’ll just take the couch.  You and Ned can have a bed each,” I say while grabbing my pajamas out of my suitcase and heading to the bathroom.

“Are you sure?  You and I could-” but Liz doesn’t get to finish her sentence before I’ve closed the bathroom door, blocking her out.

I get changed and then walk back out to the main area.  Liz is laying in her bed, reading a book.  Ned is already asleep.

I set up blankets on the couch and place down my pillow before Liz says something.

“So you and Y/N are together now, huh?  How did that happen?  What’d she say to make you get with her-”

“Y/N and I are soulmates, Liz.  There’s nothing you can do about that.  We’re quite happy, actually.”  I get under the blankets and face away from her.

“Oh.”

_________Liz’s POV________ They’re soulmates?  Honestly?

My insides feel empty and useless all of the sudden and I get a creeping, horrifying realization of what a complete fucking idiot I am.

I went through everything for this to happen?  I dumped a cup of party punch down the front of my best friend’s dress over this?  I ended our entire six years of friendship over this?  The entire time I didn’t have a clue that Peter and Y/N were soulmates.

To say I feel awful is an understatement.  I was such a bitch for nothing.  I really thought…

I really thought Peter was the one for me.

When I think about it in this moment, I guess the feeling wasn’t exactly as scientists describe soulmate connections.  It was more of an obsession rather than attraction to Peter.  I had liked him because he seemed so genuinely nice to me, opposed to how I felt everyone around me was acting like they enjoyed my company.

You have to find a way to make it up to Y/N, is the last thing I think before I fall asleep.

_________Y/N’s POV_________ The first couple days of the Washington trip were actually quite enjoyable.  Peter and I took a shit ton of pictures with Ned photo-bombing in each and every one, and we even got to see the White House, which wasn’t as exciting as I had imagined.  I’ve also noticed that Liz has been more quiet recently and not as obnoxious and pushy.

But today’s the day.  The National Decathlon.

Peter’s been disappearing at random times, which makes me anxious and further curious as to what his secret is.  Last night, everyone had snuck down to the pool and I saw Peter leaving his room, but fully dressed in a hoodie and carrying a backpack.  I had invited him to go down to the pool with me, but all he responded with was “I really wish I could, but I can’t,” before he left, walking the other direction.

It’s weird and really starting to actually hurt.  Why won’t he just tell me what his secret is?

“Everyone get on the bus.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… Nine?” Mr.Harrington looks around, confused.  “Where’s Peter Parker?”

I scan the room. 

Where the hell is Peter?

“Wow.  Turns out he was just in it for the cool trip.  What a shithead,” says Flash, who’s just in it for the cool trip.

“I’m sure he’s just taking a bit longer to get dressed…” I try to cover for Peter, but I don’t know why.  I don’t even have a clue as to where he could be right now.  I didn’t see him this morning…

I make eye contact with Liz.  She has a questionable glint in her eyes.  

Does she have something to do with this?

Liz makes her way over to me and whispers, “Do you know where he is?”

“Oh, so you’re talking to me now?”  I get the urge to be a brat.  It’s only fair, isn’t it?

Liz rolls her eyes.  “Seriously.  Peter’s, like, the best one on the team.”

Something tells me she’s not trying to trick me.  “No, I don’t know where Peter is.  I saw him leaving the hotel last night, but-”

“Miss Y/L/N, you saw Parker leaving last night?  Do you know what he was doing?  What were you doing last night?” probes Mr.Harrington, having apparently overheard us. 

“I don’t know what Peter was doing… I had gone down to get more towels… because I uh- I knocked over a glass of water during the night,” I lie to cover up for everyone else.  My teammates around me collectively let out a breath of relief.

“Alright, well… We’ll have to go on without Mr.Parker.”  Mr.Harrington continues herding us into the bus.

What?  After all of this and Peter isn’t going to compete at the National Decathlon?  What the fuck is he doing?

I grudgingly get on the bus and sit down next to Ned.

“Do you know where Peter went?”  I glance sideways at Ned, half-expecting him to burst out and tell me Peter’s secret.

“I uh...Nope.  I have no idea where Peter is.  Yep.  Asleep last night.  Wasn’t there this morning.  Totally have no idea.” Ned’s tone of voice and expression is suspicious, outright displaying the lie in his answer, but I don’t ask again.

The ride to the event center for the National Decathlon is short and we arrive within a few minutes.

The actual Decathlon goes by quickly.  The whole time, however, I’m distracted by worrying about the trouble Peter could be in right now.  Still, our team answers every question correctly and we actually win.

Everyone jumps up, Mr.Harrington is crying, MJ looks mildly pleased, and Flash looks surprised.

“There’s only one way to celebrate,” says Mr.Harrington through tears.  “We’re going to the Washington Monument.

Everyone cheers.  “Now THAT'S what I signed up for,” exclaims Flash.

I can’t help but feel even more uneasy.  

Will Peter miss out?  Why is no one else concerned about Peter?

I follow along with my team anyway.  

Everyone is going through the checking area.  I get a call from Peter.

Finally.  I immediately pick up.

“Is Ned with you, Y/N?  Tell Ned he needs to take the purple glowy thing out of his backpack!”  Peter’s voice sounds panicked from the other end of the phone.

While scanning our group for Ned, I answer back.  “Yeah, Ned’s with me.  Where are you Peter?  Where have you been?  What the hell is ‘the purple glowy thing’?”

“I’ll answer all of your questions later, trust me.  Did Ned take the thing out of his backpack?

I find Ned and hold the phone slightly away from my ear so I can talk to him.  “Ned, Peter says to take the ‘purple glowy thing’ out of your backpack, whatever that is.”  

Ned looks worried.  “Why?  Did he say?  Why didn’t he just call me?”

“Ned asks why you didn’t call him.  I think his backpack has already gone through the scanner so he can’t take anything out.”  The lady in the personal scanning area gives me a look that says ‘put your phone away now, stupid teenager’.

“I tried to call Ned but he wouldn’t pick up!  The scanner?  Where are you guys?”  Peter’s voice goes up a few pitches, meaning he’s extremely on edge.

“We’re about to get in the elevator for the Washington Monument.  You should be here.  Are you okay, Peter?”

“The Washington Monument?!  Shit.”  After Peter finishes his sentence, the guard lady comes up to me and tells me to put my phone away.

Peter never curses.

“Peter I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Wait, no,Y/N, if anything happens, know I lo-”  His voice gets cut off when I hang up and shove my phone into my backpack.

We all cram into the elevator and the tour guide instantly starts reciting history. It’s nice for a while up until I notice a purple glow coming from Ned’s backpack. I nudge Ned and point to his backpack, sending him a look that says ‘What the fuck?’.

Then, an explosion goes off.

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

Hey, so guess you’ll have to come back to see if you (Y/N) die or not.  Thanks for reading!

@disfunctionalcellmembrane @marvel4geeks @ilovesupersoldiers @sovereignparker @averyfosterthoughts

Part 6

[andromeda-sapphire]

Eclipses in Astrology:

(EDIT: This is an article I wrote for my old blog back in 2018.)

Solar and lunar eclipses are spectacular events for those who enjoy watching the sky, but did you know that they also act as major triggers for life events? Essentially, a solar eclipse is a maxed out new moon, while a lunar eclipse is a maxed out full moon. So for those of you who are familiar with the phases of the moon and their meanings, this means that a solar eclipse would signify a big new beginning, and a lunar eclipse would signify a majorly emotional ending.

Eclipses can trigger a huge number of happenings, good and bad. You can get an idea of what exactly it is that will happen by looking at the house and sign placement of the eclipse and what it activates in your chart. Speaking of! Only eclipses that aspect your natal chart directly will impact you significantly. We all may feel the intensity of these astrological events but only those who have an aspected planet or point can truly feel the weight of the eclipse, in particular those with an aspected Sun, Midheaven, Ascendant or Moon, as they are the most significant.

If you don't already, begin tracking eclipses, specifically those that make close aspects to a natal planet or point, and see if anything happens around that time. Events may occur on the exact day of the eclipse, or they may be dragged out. For a solar eclipse, you can expect to feel the energy of the eclipse about 3 to 6 months beforehand, and it may last for well over a year afterwards, especially if the eclipse aspects one of the more important placements noted above. For a lunar eclipse, there's a slightly shorter time frame of about 2 months before and after the eclipse for major events to take place. However, you may feel the effects of a lunar eclipse well beyond 2 months after the eclipse took place.

Eclipses run in cycles like the planets do, and they go through one family of signs at a time, based on the qualities (Cardinal, Fixed, Mutable). It takes about 7-8 years before a sign family will repeat itself, and roughly 19 years for an exact degree of a sign to repeat itself. This means that in the course of a year, there can be anywhere from four to six eclipses in the same sign family, with the potential to affect you significantly if any of these signs are emphasized in your natal chart.

Now let's get into some examples of eclipse-triggered events. I've collected research on a handful of different people's charts during different eclipses and they've all been affected in different ways. To start, I'll use my family as an example.

On July 27 of 2018, there was a lunar eclipse at 4 degrees Aquarius, exactly conjunct my brother's natal Uranus. This triggered a major health crisis for my brother, as well as an emotional crisis as well. On the night of the eclipse, he was admitted to the hospital with severely high blood pressure, and was going into kidney failure. Now, keep in mind my brother was only 20 at the time - much too young to be dealing with these kinds of health problems! Mars was conjunct the lunar eclipse as well, and transiting Uranus was making a square to his natal Uranus, further aggravating his condition. Uranus rules the nervous system, and the nervous system controls the blood pressure. Mars rules the blood, and Uranus was in Taurus, ruled by Venus which rules the kidneys. All the stress on these planets from the lunar eclipse triggered my brother's high blood pressure, which runs in our family on both sides. And because Uranus was involved, activating his 4th house of home and family, he felt a deep need for personal freedom as well. At the time he was living with our parents, and was having many arguments with them. He had been planning to move out for a while, but this lunar eclipse solidified his decision with all the stress it caused him at home with our parents. Four days later, he was released from the hospital and the doctors had prescribed him medication for his blood pressure that he will be taking likely the rest of his life. This is the nature of an eclipse, causing life-changing events, and with Uranus involved, it was very unexpected and abrupt.

Rewind to a solar eclipse in March of 2006 in Aries, this one activating my mom's natal Mars in her 12th house of hidden enemies. This was right around when my parents were fighting a lot and just before they got a divorce. This solar eclipse triggered many arguments between my parents, some even got a bit violent. This event is pretty self-explanatory, with Mars being the most aggressive planet in its own sign, placed in the 12th house. This would translate to an abundance of anger and excessive arguments with a man in the native’s life, which is exactly what happened. My dad became an enemy to my mom, an enemy that she didn't expect to discover when she married him. This eclipse also loosely activated my mom's Neptune in her 7th house of marriage, dissolving the marriage over the next few years in court. On the other side of the story, the same eclipse activated my dad's natal Pluto in Virgo in his 8th house of shared resources. Natally, Pluto here would point to a partner who is obsessed with money, and before the divorce, this might not have been the case, but after the eclipse triggered my dad's natal Pluto, the fighting ended up being primarily over finances and child support. This eclipse triggered a series of court battles between my parents, obsessively fighting over money. My dad ended up having to pay my mom a large amount of money in child support over a span of about 5 years. This same solar eclipse in March of 2006 also triggered my natal Sun by opposition, indicating the loss of a male figure in my life. This manifested for me as a temporary loss of my father, as he moved out and I saw him less often.

In my own experience, I've dealt with many significant eclipses. However, one stands out more than the rest. In November of 2013, I had just started school at University, when I met another student through a ride share group. This student seemed to be just another freshman guy starting school and didn't pose any threat to me when we met. However, the eclipse on November 3 that year triggered my Midheaven and Mars, bringing a major change in my life. Later that month, the student invited me to a party, and I went. Being a college party, we were drinking and socializing, but as the night progressed, he started acting more and more possessive of me. I had barely known him a week or two, but he was acting like I was his property. He kept tipping my cup back, forcing drinks down my throat, and as a result, I lost consciousness later on in the night. He dragged me upstairs onto a bed and proceeded to climb on top of me and assault me. What's interesting about this eclipse though, is that it was a solar eclipse in the sign of Scorpio, which rules obsessive behavior, taboos and sex. Activating my Mars and Midheaven in my 11th house, this translates to me as a life-changing physical event (sexual assault) occurring in a social setting or related to a new acquaintance (11th house). Saturn was also involved with this eclipse, conjunct the eclipse by 2 degrees. Saturn implies a long-term or chronic effect, and in my case, I received an ongoing diagnosis of PTSD. Also, my depression was magnified during that year after the incident, as Saturn can cause major depression.

I've observed my friend's charts and their life events related to eclipses as well. In June of 2012, there was a lunar eclipse in Sagittarius, directly triggering one of my friend's natal Mercury and Uranus. On the other end, the Sun was also activating his Chiron. This was the day his brother died in a car accident. A drunk driver hit him. Mercury rules siblings and Uranus rules unexpected events and accidents. As you can imagine, Pluto was transiting his 8th house, activating his North Node in a trine and his South Node in a sextile as well.

Someone I knew even was imprisoned after a series of eclipses activated his natal Sun and Moon in Libra as well as his Mercury, Jupiter & Venus in Scorpio. He has this Scorpio stellium in his 12th house, and Saturn was closely conjunct the first lunar eclipse in Scorpio (which triggered his Mercury) to set off this series of events. This Saturn conjunction to his natal Mercury represents a loss of freedom indicated as a consequence for impulsive actions (Mars was opposite the lunar eclipse, also triggering his Mercury in a hard aspect). It was deserved, think justice, as the next year and a half while he faced imprisonment in court, the eclipses were activating his Libra Moon, Sun and then Midheaven. Libra is a fair-minded air sign and rules judges. Pluto was squaring his Sun exactly at the time too, and Mars joined in on that square on the day he was convicted.

On a more positive note, eclipses can trigger very positive changes as well! In another friend's chart, I've seen a solar eclipse activate her Venus in her 1st house (Leo) in a conjunction by 2 degrees and her Midheaven exactly by trine in her 9th house (Aries). She was rewarded with a new job teaching young children in China - this is her Midheaven being activated in the 9th house of distant travels, and the eclipse is coming from her 1st house of Leo, the sign of children. She even made a significant connection to one of the students who made a noticeable first impression on her second day there. The student ended up being one of her best students!

Sometimes there can be large amounts of money involved when a solar eclipse activates specific houses. One friend of mine inherited $100,000 from his grandmother when she passed, right around the time of a lunar eclipse that activated his natal Saturn (grandparents) in his 2nd house of finance, from the 11th house of large amounts of money. The Sun was activating his 5th house of fun and pleasures, so as a result, he went on a major drug/alcohol/stripper binge (Neptune was squaring his natal Moon at the time as well) where he encountered many fake friends who used him for his money. The 11th house is friends and acquaintances as well as huge dream amounts of cash, and his 11th house falls in Scorpio, so there was definitely manipulative behavior involved.

There are many other kinds of events that eclipses can trigger as well. Depending on the planets, houses and signs involved, there may be marriages or engagements, pregnancies, divorces, promotions, traveling, moving homes, major health issues or improvements, surgeries, educational developments, major accomplishments... The list goes on! Just think big though, as that seems to be the theme with eclipses. During my research, I asked each of my friends what the most significant time or moment in their life was, and almost every single one of them had an eclipse as their first answer. They recalled the exact month and year, some even the date, and it came immediately to mind. When I went to check the dates of that year’s eclipses and compare them to their natal charts, sure enough, there was an eclipse activating something in their chart.

So next time you hear of or get to witness an eclipse, no matter where it is in the world, as these cosmic events affect all of us, think to yourself what in your life might change or be disrupted. What might evolve or take action. Or even better, consult your natal chart and try and figure out exactly what will happen, guided by your intuition!

I hope you enjoyed this article!

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[hunnybadgerv]

Writer Ask Meme 3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? 10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with 12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why? 17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? 29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published? 36. Post a snippet 49. Favorite fictional world?

Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing: 30 Questions for Authors

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing?  Getting started. Once I’m writing, I can usually find the zone. But it’s getting started that is always the hardest for me. Like this morning, I didn’t know where to even start. So, I opted to edit, since it is something I wanted to accomplish this week. And I know that in the revision process I also tend to refine my prose, i.e., write, so my editing and writing work today coincided. 

I have, however, written every day this month and I’m hoping to continue that trend. But regardless of the time of day, getting started tends to be my biggest obstacle overall. 

10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with. Must it only be one? Gosh. 

There are so many great writers I know, more than I could ever even try to consider for this.  

I’ve always admired @theoriginalladya for the uniqueness of her ideas and character development are second to none; I equally love and hate when she and I talk about her characters because I get super excited about them because of how amazing they are. Then I quickly become obsessed, which may or may not be the only “bad” thing. @painterofhorizons has angst super powers; even in a snippet of text she can rip your soul clean from your body. Her writing is so evocative and emotionally striking. Then there is @chyrstis, whose ability to seamlessly weave humor into her fics sparks more than envy. She manages to put characters into such believable, yet laughable situations that it only serves to endear them to readers. 

I’m not sure I could ever co-write a piece, but I would count myself lucky to write with any of the writers I regularly associate with, especially one of these three. Apologies to all the amazing writers I know who I did not mention by name, but I already didn’t follow the question in the first place by mentioning three rather than a single one. 

12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why?  Oh gosh. This is so cruel. One story! Really? That’s all. Honestly, First Watch of the Night (Guardians in the Darkness Series) is one of my favorite. I think that might be in part because of nostalgia--it is Nyx Shepard’s WIP. I actually have it planned all the way through ME3, though I’ve currently stalled in the revision process in the ME1 timeline. I’m not sure why either. 

I find myself wondering if the reason I have not finished it is because once I know what happens, maybe I won’t have the drive to finish writing it. Maybe I can’t get past the block because I’m worried that finishing their story will vacate those muses from my mind, which I kind of don’t want. I really have grown quite attached to Nyx, Kaidan, and her crew. 

Honestly, I think that might be the struggle I end up in with all my longer fics. Short fics in collection are so much easier because the story never has to end. A long fic follows a certain line and has a definite conclusion, which I think worries me.

17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing?  Umm, If you were to look at characters like Tayen Quick, Nyx and Feign Shepard, Furia, Remy McGinnis, Mari Ryder, Cyna Mahariel, and Laerke, you’d see a common thread connecting them. I tend enjoy writing strong female characters, especially those that are flawed or broken in some way. Honestly, Nyx and Furia, also to some extent Leah Rook, all share imposter syndrome to one degree or another--so does Mari. I always tend to have one or two characters that share a flaw. I have Mari, Laerke, and Furia who have all lost their entire families. Characters that come from big families. But I tend to write female protagonists more so than males. 

29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published?  I published a short story in college. And I really would like to be published some day. Right now, I am mostly writing for me. I’ve got original fiction ideas, but I don’t work on them currently. I focus on my fandom work in order to practice and hone the skills and plans I have for future pieces.

I want to write something in the mix of fantasy/sci-fi. But I also have a strong sense of realism. I still hold tight to Mark Twain’s statement that the difference between real life and fiction is that fiction has to make sense. Things have to stem logically from one another in a story, and I always try to ground my writing in experience--sights, smells, sounds, textures that my readers can be familiar with--in order to add some sense of connection. I try to make my characters flawed in ways that feel accurate to them. 

A part of me screams in the back of my head that I am a writer. I can be an author, but a part of me worries that perhaps it may not happen. I keep writing. And I keep trying new things. I’ll always be a storyteller. I will keep writing and falling in love with fictional beings and places that I cannot resist exploring.

36. Post a snippet  This is from First Watch of the Night. I really love the characters and depth I managed to capture in this piece. Honestly, it’s one of the pieces of my own writing that intimidates me ... a lot. I don’t write the same way anymore. I feel like my writing lacks the same emotional depth right now. And I’m not sure why. It might have to do with how disconnected from other humans I have been in the last decade.

The scene here is Nyx Shepard and her father from Chapter 18:

The two Shepards watched one another for a long moment, before Taranis returned his attention to one of the soft cherries. The commander sighed, sipping her tea quietly while the captain waited. It was his usual tactic. He knew there was more and he could always wait her out. Nyx would talk to him in her own time, even if it had to be in carefully crafted abstractions. His daughter knew the drill. Taranis' methods were nothing new to her. He would take long pauses, allowing her to consider all the things she was not telling him. Then he would ask careful questions in case it was actually related to her current or a classified assignment--since need to know could interfere with her desire to disclose and his fatherly curiosity.

Whatever it was, Nyx held onto it much longer than usual, which told him she really did not want to bring it up. Despite this, Taranis knew she would relent because she kept glancing over at him with a look that suggested she was merely trying to find the way to bring it up. Nyx always came first for him; he redirected his career to give her the life she had, a life where there was always one parent there to hold her tight when things weren't just so. He knew it was not perfect, but he did everything he could to be there for her.

Nyx sighed as she set the tea cup on the table between them. "Fine," she breathed heavily.

It took another few moments for her to look up at him. Then she scooted a little closer, lowering her voice in discretion. Watching her carefully Taranis could not quite be sure what she was going to say, but she bit her lip and winced a little when she finally asked a question he never expected to hear.

"What did you do when you met Mom?"

Everything froze for a second or two as he stared at her. The little blush on her cheeks threw her father for a loop, but made him smile. "Well, damn."

The commander shook her head at him, trying to discourage him from thinking too hard about what she had just asked.

"Answer the question, please."

Captain Taranis Shepard rubbed his hand through the short stubble on the back of his head as he stared at his daughter in stunned silence. "I avoided her. Tried to just keep my distance. I even put in for a transfer," he admitted with a wry smile. "It got denied because I did not put in what command thought was a valid reason. Then, on leave, I talked to your Grandpa Shepard about it."

Nyx smiled and laughed. "And what did the old devil dog have to say about that?"

Her voice held a note of disbelief that her father was not surprised to hear. Taranis' father was a stickler for rules, regulations, expectations. He was strict and set high expectations. The captain could tell by the way his daughter eyed the dregs in her tea cup that she was as completely unprepared for what her father was about to say as Taranis had been when he heard it.

"He told me it was not a weakness to want someone to be part of your life."

Nyx's eyes darted to his. She was easily as shocked as he had been. Moving the tea cup, Taranis laid her hand out in his and covered it with the other.

"I told him all the things, I'm pretty sure you're telling yourself right now. All the excuses about regs, concerns, and bad experiences and stories you've heard," Taranis said quietly as he stroked the back of her hand lightly.

She leaned toward him. Her voice was tight with emotion. "And?"

Holding her hand tightly, her father smiled at her softly. "He told me that there are some things that outweigh the regs."

They were both quiet for a moment as Nyx let herself fall back in the chair. Her mind was clearly racing. Kirk Shepard had always stern, at best; he still was totally by the book in everything except when he met his wife. That was the only rule Taranis could think of his father ever even bending, let alone breaking out right. Nyx had been very close with both her grandfathers; she respected them as men and as marines. For her they were role models, people she that influenced her greatly.

"I'm going to tell you something you probably don't know. My parents met in the service, too. We Shepards seem to fall for our brethren," he said playfully. Nyx did not look relieved in the slightest. "He almost lost her on a mission. Even in love, your grandfather was still the same man. He couldn't justify risking the primary objective. The mission at all costs, you know?"

Taranis knew she understood it. Hell, he knew she lived that decree just as solidly as his father.

"She made it out alive, barely. Your grandfather, sentimental bastard, proposed to her when she woke up from surgery. Grandma Amelie was just as stoic as he was. Told him she would consider it, but only if he promised to do always put the mission first, even if she was in his command. She believed him when he said he would. Even lived up to it. Had to put her at risk once more in the field before they got married."

"And he told you this when you asked him about Mom?"

"Yep," Taranis said, nodding as he studied his daughter's reaction. "I was rather hoping I wouldn't have to tell it to you, but I guess it was too much to hope you'd break the trend of falling for servicemen."

She shrugged and looked at their hands for a long moment. "Seemed to be going well for a while," Nyx said quietly.

"Just tell me it's not the Zingel kid."

Her laugh made him smile, and brightened her eyes. "No, it's not Caz."

Taranis leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with his uniform for a moment. "So, tell me something about this fella."

The way she tilted her head at him suggested that the question might have been her maximum.

"At least tell me his name so I can start checking up and get a little peace."

"Da."

"Fine." Taranis let his hands fall on the arms of his chair. "Don't relieve your old father of the undue stress he is now placed under worrying about what kind of man his plucking his daughter's heart strings."

"Seriously?" she replied with a doubtful look.

They both knew she did not see herself as the type of woman who was plucked, but Taranis had a long and vivid memory and he could still recall the girl with the romantic sensibilities.

"What? I remember the shelves of Austen, Gaskell, and the Brontes. Then there were the sonnets your grandmother always sent you. And if I recall you were planning on marrying Captain Wentworth." He tilted his head at her slightly. "Perhaps I should have seen this coming after all."

They both laughed. Then Nyx sprang forward and hugged her father around the neck. "I've missed you, Da."

"I love you, Nyxy-girl."

Her lips were warm on his cheek. "Love you, too," she repeated before she stood. "I should probably go."

"We should do this again," her father offered, as he stood and proffered his arm. "Soon."

His daughter smiled and looked away for a moment. "Sure. As soon as I can."

Once they exited the little shop, they stopped and he touched her cheek before he bent and kissed her forehead again. He did not like her chosen phrase. Taranis knew she meant it, but he also knew the schedule she had kept for the past several years and there was little hope of relief given the most recent change.

"I'd prefer sooner," he noted.

It always killed him to say what he said next, the phrase was tradition, but always made his heart ache because he knew there was always a chance that he could lose his girl in the line of duty. He had been in her boots and hung them up for her. She had taken them up with fervor and so much more skill and determination than Taranis ever possessed.

"Good hunting, Commander," he said, a waver in his voice, as he saluted her sharply.

Nyx returned it as smartly as she would to an admiral. "Thank you Captain."

Taranis watched the girl with her mother's hair and his eyes weave through the crowds in the wards. He remembered meeting a boy once, at her basic graduation. Keith or Kyle or something that started with a K. He managed to stick around until a few months after her graduation from Exeter. Somehow the kid had stuck it out through three mission deployments before the relationship ended without so much as a whimper. The captain could not remember his name or much else about him. Even after a few years together, his daughter never hinted at the question she just asked. It elated and scared the hell out of him.

49. Favorite fictional world?  I really enjoy writing ME and in SWTOR. They are amazing worlds full of science, magic, adventure, and drama. Though I’m also drawn to fantasy for the same reasons. But I think futuristic worlds and space are some of my favorites.

[phoebtcnkin]

ABOUT ME.

NAME/ALIAS: Kayla / Satan 

TIMEZONE: PST (for now, but don’t ask me where we’re moving next LOL)

RANDOM FACT: I was adopted when I was three, am 11wks pregnant with our newest and long awaited wee one, and shamefully have over 10,000 likes on this blog with zero chance of ever fully clearing them out lmfao

CHARACTER ONE.

NAME: Lauren “Ren” Victoria Livingston (29)

FACECLAIM: Phoebe Tonkin, my queen.

in COCONUT GROVE you’ll find LAUREN LIVINGSTON who’s lived there for FOUR YEARS and they spend their days working as THE MANAGER OF NATALIA ESCABIAS LUXURY SPA AND A FREELANCE WRITER. They’ve been described as ROUGE STAINED MARLBOROS STUBBED OUT IN ANTIQUE CAVIAR BOWLS, POSTCARDS SENT FROM PLACES SHE’S NEVER BEEN, CHAMPAGNE IN SOLO CUPS, AND UNMET DEADLINES by the people that know them. Which makes sense when you consider that they can be ENGAGING + ADVENTUROUS but also IRRESPONSIBLE + IN DENIAL  

BACKGROUND.

grew up with a single mom who could never weave the same story twice about the origins and subsequent disappearance of her father.

lived on the cusp of wealth but didn’t actually have it… her mother, jane, was presumably from old money, but either the family lost it ages ago or she’d been cut off for reasons unknown.

they were ‘adopted’ by an older wealthy couple without children of their own when ren’s mother was pregnant with her aka given permission to live out of the guesthouse on their property for basically free

went all over when she was younger to “soul search” and sort out her life. basically just bummed around with a bunch of other barely legal adults who ate gas station food and drank expensive champagne and just a whole bunch of other nonsense

is approaching that age / stage of life where she’s meant to have her shit together but really doesn’t.

is still spending her money and maxing out credit cards on stupid things she can’t afford and doesn’t need. skips rent to go to fancy clubs. probably abuses something bc she can and she’s #lostandbroke inside

claims she’s an aspiring writer, and she’s trying she really is (sometimes), but doesn’t have anything to show for it if ppl asked

basically put together and #fine on the outside but a disaster on the inside

HEADCANONS.

HOMETOWN: Newport, Rhode Island

BIRTHDAY: tbd

NICKNAMES: almost exclusively goes by ‘Ren’, but a small few may call her L.V.

ORIENTATION: bisexual

MUSE SONGS: Girls Like You by The Naked and Famous, rock bottom by Caro, tba

CHARACTER TAG: can be found here.

PINTEREST BOARD: can be found here.

on any given day the only things you’re likely to find inside of ren’s fridge are a bottle of something alcoholic, a gel eye mask, and one of many credit cards frozen in the freezer.

in a similar vein, her oven is absolutely full of half clothes, half books.

is literally always on the verge of eviction bc, as mentioned above, she prioritizes p. much anything over responsibilities.

will 1000% justify buying five pairs of shoes she can’t afford bc she got them at a sample sale for the price of one at full retail

once upon a time she excused bad habits and terrible choices under the premise that they were hands on experience for the sake of her writing... except all these years later she’s still on her bullshit and hasn’t written anything of quality in ???

can’t be trusted to keep a pet rock alive let alone anything else

has never, not once, been able to say no to anything made of silk or velvet

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

this is already crazy long so i’m going to be making a sep. post for these and will add the link as soon as it’s finished, but you can expect to see things like: neighbors, coworkers, friends she’s met since moving to miami, the people she hung around during her years of travel and shenanigans, messy exes, drug dealer, former (kinda) sugar daddy lmfao, secret family, etc.

CHARACTER TWO.

NAME: 👑 Alicia Josefine Palmeiro (30)

FACECLAIM: Ana de Armas

in CORAL GABLES, you’ll find ALICIA PALMEIRO who’s lived there for ONE WEEK and they spend their days working as A (CURRENTLY UNEMPLOYED) LAWYER. They’ve been described as SHARP GLANCES, RUNNING IN HEELS, AND THE SCENT OF ACRYLIC PAINT FAINTLY LINGERING BENEATH ARMANI PERFUME by the people that know them. Which makes sense when you consider that they can be ELOQUENT + AMBITIOUS but also MATERIALISTIC + INDIFFERENT.

BACKGROUND.

comes from one of those richer than god families that have a library named after them somewhere and flaunt it. grandfather was the former governor of NC and her father is the current state attorney there

basically grew up with anything she wanted under the sun aside from attention and love. she was more of a business/brand investment than a beloved child in their eyes. rafael and gabriella (true monsters, lemme tell u) had her entire life mapped out and signed in blood before she was even conceived.

thought it would be really fun once to get a boyfriend in HS and hasn’t been able to get rid of him since. pls don’t call the cops if she threatens to light jaxon on fire bc she’s not serious. except for the one time she prob almost did.

speaking of things she almost did... she almost ran away with him after hs graduation in the pursuit of true love and following her dreams

daddy blackmailed jax into leaving her without a word, though. he listened (with good reason). instead of being happy and painting to pay rent, ali sucked up her tears before her mascara could run and went off to duke.... u guessed it.... exactly as her parents planned.

years later ran into jax again and they had an affair while she was engaged to another man. it ultimately led to their birth of their now 1.5 year old son

wyatt is probably the only thing she cares about more in this world than birkin bags and lingerie and shoes. on wednesdays she’ll let jaxon grace the list, but only if he leaves his muddy boots and potato chips at the door.

they’ve just moved to miami in a panic bc she found evidence against her father that proved they weren’t safe around him anymore (can share deets, but it’s chalk full of triggers so i won’t add it here)

HEADCANONS.

HOMETOWN: Wilmington, North Carolina

BIRTHDAY: August 16th, 1989

NICKNAMES: Ali, Princess, Queen Alicia P.

ORIENTATION: attention and diamonds (no but really she heterosexual)

PERMANENT PAIN IN THE ASS: Jaxon Martins

CHILDREN: Wyatt Martins, 1.5 years

MUSE SONGS: Me Too by Meghan Trainor, tba

CHARACTER TAG: can be found here.

PINTEREST BOARD: can be found here.

currently living in the penthouse suite at the biltmore hotel while they house shop for a mini mansion up to ali’s standards

is the stomping parrot when jax refuses to give her the attention she wants. or when she’s giving him the silent treatment but wants him to know she’s still mad.

thinks $20 t-shirts are just the result of misprinted tickets.

might cry if you try to take her inside of a dollar store or walmart.

couldn’t cook a meal to save her life and will absolutely get something catered and then take the credit when you tell her how delish it is.

has extreme trouble expressing her verbal emotions, so her displays of affection typically manifest in the form of gifts. ali will secretly obsess for weeks over finding the perfect present to fit the recipient 

not saying she’d throw u in front of a bus but…. if she doesn’t like u she prob wouldn’t hold out a hand to save you either.

is actually a warmhearted arsenic laced cupcake with a painter’s soul beneath her icy shield and devil blood. she does care. stg. mommy and daddy just never taught her how to show it.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

just like before, i’m going to be making a sep. post for these and add the link as soon as it’s finished, but you can expect to see things like: neighbors, family local to the area (depending on from which side, would also need to be discussed with @fcntastical​), new friends, artsy friends she can be herself around, mom friends (gimme a real housewives of miami club pls), people connected to her father and all his maniacal ways, fr/enemies, etc.

[demytasse]

[Shizaya] Coping Mechanism — Ch 6

[Previous Chapters | Ao3]

     The thing about running away from your problems is that it's not a solution, it's a coping mechanism. It resolves one issue but replaces it with another; a cowardly deed that re-stations one’s weakness out of sight while it remains in mind for everyone else.

It’s a strategy, running away, and not a very good one. Nothing more than a poor excuse for a sad soul — and a detriment to an unfortunate case put in recess.

    “So you're back to ignoring him?”

Izaya flipped his phone so the screen could meet the table surface; it amplified a vibration or two.

    “Now what would give you that idea?”

A buzz came from Shinra’s coat pocket which interrupted another and a subsequent in queue; he brought it out to hold a foot before Izaya in a seamless flash. Normally some amount of glee would have met the doctor's lips for how he mimicked one of his love’s trademark poses, but flat displeasure won out.

    “I wonder why that could be?”

    “How many times has it been?” The informant skimmed the screen before it was pulled from his purview.

Certain keywords had stuck out from the rest as if bolded; words like, ‘Izaya’ and ‘kill’ were interspersed between phrases, like ‘I swear’ at the beginning, ‘this time’ in the middle, and ‘I won’t’ somewhere near the end. Shizuo's compulsion to clarify his intent was so natural that it may as well have been a confession of murder before it was committed. Maybe that should be reassuring?

    “I don't pay attention past my disappointment to count. It's annoying to assume that the stream of text messages is Celty narrating her day for me only to find that it's your boyfriend—”

    “Ex.” Izaya corrected, a stern look to his eye.

    “—that’s been abusing redial and over-utilising text prediction. Or maybe it’s text-to-speak; sometimes I get incoherent messages that somehow manage to sound more rage filled than if he abused my doorbell instead.”

    “That's not my fault. You could pick up your phone, you know.”

    “So could you!” Shinra threw his hands onto the back support of the couch, not too far from clipping Izaya’s nose while he slammed them down in frustration; upon impact his glasses fell askew, made him more comical than intimidating.

In jest, Izaya pulled back from Shinra’s tired pout and into a shrug. “Now that's silly. Why would I pick up your phone?”

—

    The act of weakness stretched out across a week — less than tolerable for all of Izaya’s friend-like connections, easier to deal with himself as he fled Shizuo’s text message war zone with ease, but those neutral parties forced into the fray dragged him back into the trenches to which he met hell without so much of a helmet to protect him.

    “Why would Shizu-chan assume we're hanging out?”

    “I don't know, ask him when you call him back.” Kadota’s eyes flashed and his crossed arms mimicked a disappointed father.

Izaya was lucky that any attacks weren’t physical just heavily fired with baritone.

    “But you realise, Dotachin, calling him would defeat the purpose of ignoring him.”

    “I'm not even going to act surprised that you’ll admit to ignoring him. For my sake, at least, get him to stop calling me. It’s annoying on its own, but Erika’s demands for the next installment of her real-life soap opera are worse, and I don’t think I can fake that the messages stopped for much longer.”

    “Sounds like trouble in otaku paradise.”

    “Any paradise, if there ever was one, has been lost.”

They shared an easy chuckle. One of the two bookstore loiterers tugged his beanie back into place while the other corrected the lay of fur over his shoulders; they walked each other to the automatic sliding doors without a single glance to confirm they were going the same way.

    “Well, it's been nice catching up with you old chum.” Izaya clapped Kadota on the back as he lead their exit through the doorway. “Maybe next time your gang and us can share cup ramen out of the back of the Mystery Machine.”

With a shocked expression, Kadota felt impressed that any effort was made to schedule time to hang out — faked or not, it was more than Izaya ever tried to in the past.

    “I'll even splurge for you guys and bring the 900¥ kind, my treat!”

And it was that syrupy sarcasm that called the comment for what it was meant to be: a precursor of Izaya committing to nothing, promising nothing. Running from his duty to end Kadota's involvement with the odd-couple’s immature fight.

    “It really is a wonder that Shizuo thinks we hang out.” Kadota sighed as Izaya gave him a cutesy wave goodbye.

—

    It was quickly day seven — the dawn of week one since the incident and Izaya was still avoidant of the simple solution that everyone else seemed to know but him. Rather he knew it, he just didn’t care to put it into practice; and everyone wished he would stop pretending that his bone-bruised ego paralysed him from fixing things with Shizuo. It was psychological warfare at this point, stubbornness to win against his ex’s persistence for closure or resolution.

The whole scenario was pathetic.

      [Ku] Iza-nii, it's weird for Shizu-nii to be texting us and not the other way around.       [Ku] Are you going to text him back already?

      [Mai] Fool.

      [Ku] Exactly! You’re a fool! An idiot brother. We’re not even in high school anymore, but you’re involving us in adolescent drama like we are!!!       [Ku] Gah! You’re like a teenage girl!!

      [Mai] You’re sad.

      [Ku] Tell you what! We’ll send Shizu-nii over to your place so you can just make up and fuck.

      [Ku] Or fuck and make up. Either one.       [Ku] Hahaha.

      [Kanra] If you two interfere I will stop sending my dear sisters loving gifts of extra spending money.

      [Mai] No bother.

      [Ku] Keep the petty change, Nii-nii. We make enough on our own.       [Kanra] Do I even want to know where you get your money from?

      [Mai] …

      [Ku] Huehue, better off only knowing that we make more than you do!       [Ku] Bye-bye, Nii-nii~.       [Ku] We do this out of love!

      [Mai] Die.

Izaya wasn’t positive that their proclamation was legitimate, all things considered he’d act as if it were. Though his line of defense was likely to go against their wanted outcome, they wouldn’t know that fact until it was too late.

    “Too bad your brother can outwit you two twerps.” Upon his schedule, he made a note on to send the obsessed duo on a wild-Yuhei hunt and moved onto better use of his work hours.

Furthermore he ignored a stray text message. Despite the sender’s hopes, the fairy had a fairly low chance to get a conversation going — that scarily passive threat was the type that’d only have an affect on her partner, assuredly not him.

      //I'm tired of you playing this game, Izaya. Shizuo is really messed up this time around...//

Celty could play no head games with him.

—

    Days later Izaya had been made an audience to a concert of metal all afternoon; intentionally raucous and purposely harsh, the crashes, clangs, and slams of kitchenware upset his continued productivity. All musical measures were a tune played out by an ornery employee, these days a willing partner in crime, but her overpaid salary still wasn’t enough to mute her percussion nightmare.

It only stopped when Izaya stopped his keyboard staccato for the day, progress little as it might be.

    “Take it.”

    “Woah there, Namie-san. Didn't know you were into that.”

Izaya addressed her phrasing rather than the food container wrapped in a cloth bag that was extended out to him. Namie’s arm was firm in front of herself, her offer pressed against his chest and demanded that he ‘take it’ or face repercussions.

    “Take your cowardly ass over to your boyfriend's—”

    “Ex.”

    She spoke louder, “—to your boyfriend's apartment and talk things over with the bastard over dinner.”

Although it looked like it was a traditional bento made with love, akin to ‘what mom used to make’, his secretary looked a lioness that threatened an attacker of her pride rather than the human mother of a man-child that she was.

    So thanks to the literal shove through his apartment door, Izaya found himself propped against the front of another. Slunk with his elbows upon his knees, a cloth bag dangled by an ear between his legs. He watched it spin before he directed it to go counterclockwise and around again to meet the same pattern.

Whether it was his misjudgement of time or Shizuo was late, it didn't change the fact that the mystery wasn’t one he could solve with pulled fabric, not like the uncover of what food Namie had made for the unhappy couple. For some reason it felt wrong to peek without the other recipient present as well. Maybe it was bad luck, as if anything that Namie touched could be blessed with good omens. What misfortune awaited him upon Shizuo’s eventual arrival made him refuse to take chances with weak willed boredom, and it itched his fingers to fiddle with the tight knot.

    “No.”

Izaya perked up; he hadn’t noticed an elevator beep nor heavy footsteps — an oddity for the perceptive man.

    “Don’t pretend that you weren’t desperate for my attention all week.”

    “I’m not pretending.” Shizuo stoically defined his scowl.

    “Are you sure? Maybe you were secretly hoping that I would fulfill some psychic booty call.”

    “Fuckin’ hell, just go home! You’re drunk.”     “We both know I’m not.” He muttered, “and that joke was hardly funny the first time, Shizu-chan.”     “Then how else are you here?”     “Easy, I walked.”     “WHY else are you here?”

    The long since hot, now room-temperature meal finally made its cameo. Izaya held up the bag with a dainty flirt, his pinky up on high, “a gift from my secretary.”     Shizuo scowled harder. “Give my compliments to the chef and leave.”

    “There’s dessert.” The emotionally exhausted man grumbled while he kicked his head back, his eyes pinched closed just as he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed with aggression. Shizuo was annoyed that everyone assumed that sugary sweets would automatically sway him. In any other case it would have, but in this particular scenario...it still did, though only to shut Izaya up and get him to stop with the needy pout that he wore as a secondary tactic.

Izaya knew that Shizuo couldn’t make him disappear, he also knew that he couldn’t let him run away of his own volition — he was certain that in a matter of seconds he would invite him in just to stop their passive aggressive squabble performed through pigeon mail.

    “Hm, looks like it’s strawberry shortcake too. She knows you—”

    “For the love of… Just get the fuck in here, fleabag!!”

AN: Needless to say, I had a tad bit fun with this one — what, with a horde of characters all randomly showing up within the same chapter, just to prove how much I love writing dialogue between petulant Izaya and anyone annoying Izaya and Shizuo can be to everyone around them. Feel free to comment or give feedback.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 30 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I finished this chapter a few days ago but I’m hard at work on 31, hence me taking my time on getting it up. I appreciate my Duckenzies more than I can say, but it’s important for me to remind myself that this fic is, primarily, for me and my own fulfillment and happiness. I started it because I couldn’t find anything like it in the world and it was what I wanted to read. But don’t worry. I’m going to share everything with y’all to the end. I’m just really wrapped up in actually WORKING on it, you know? A reminder that this is Kenzie’s dress in this part, this is Duncan’s shirt. The first song Kenzie finds on the radio is Halsey’s HEAVEN IN HIDING, a song so wildly Duckenzie it took my breath the fuck away the first time I heard it, the second song is Halsey’s YOUNG GOD, which is also very Duckenzie. I decided to discard most of the canon scene from HOUSE OF CARDS where Duncan discusses his mother with Annette (mostly because I wanted Bill to be dead by the time they got back from the cabin); the only thing I really retained is her “from the moment I saw you...” dialogue. My!Duncan’s birth mother Valerie is a Connie Britton/Vivien Harmon AU, and rather than working for Annette as a cleaning lady (like the HoC canon), I made her a woman Annette only knew in passing. Duncan’s real father in my story is an unnamed Evan Peters/Tate AU. It was important to me to emphasize that Duncan hasn’t really changed as a person, rather the moral compass was in him all along and he’s chosen not to ignore it anymore. We all have a spectrum of morality in us, one that we choose from daily. Duncan’s soul is endlessly redeemable because his nature, like all of us, is determined by his choices. Annette calls her “Kenzie” for the first time in this chapter, and Duncan calls Madeline “Momby”; cue tears from me. I’m obsessed with the rose choker, so Duckenzie are obsessed with it too, and now it’s become an integral part of their sex life, more than any of their other toys. The young reporter who speaks to Kenzie is my own character; a bright young soul touched by the love she can see in Duckenzie, nothing more, nothing less (I may have thought of my sweet Diah @surprisebitchwrites a little bit for her, ngl). Kenzie and Duncan see the Triple Goddess this time because every time they fuck their sex is legitimately a holy act; sacred, and they’re waking up to that. If you’re reading this fic, please like and reblog the masterpost and the individual chapters--it helps people find my story because tumblr’s tags are so fucking broken and awful. Shout out to @goddess-of-inferno who has made not one but TWO Duckenzie moodboards over the past week, here and here. Jaz, you are an angel. When I finish the fic I’m going to make a masterpage for all the edits my Duckenzies have done for the fic, because I love and appreciate them all so fucking much and want any future Duckenzie fans to be able to find them. I love you all.

Duncan had gone downstairs to wake Rosemary a half hour later. Kenzie had been reading to him still for a little while, a story called The Rose Garden from the book of M.R. James ghost stories, and had been delighting over his squirms of discomfort.

“I love how easily you get scared,” she had murmured up to his mouth, and he gave her a look of affectionate annoyance, which softened immediately at her next words, “because you grab onto me and hold me so tightly and bury your face on me--” which Duncan proceeded to do, egged on, happy to please her. Kenzie had glanced over his shoulder to the clock on one of the laurel-adorned mantels a moment later, and noticed it was past midnight. The smell of the fire pit was still drifting inside, the night without darker than yesterday, the sky peppered with thick clouds. When Duncan had come back upstairs, Kenzie’s eyes on him half-lidded in sleep, he’d had a note clutched in one hand, written out on Shepherd-crest monogrammed note-paper.

“She’s gone, Kenz,” he’d whispered, reaching it out to her. Kenzie sat up, gazing down at it, a sudden sadness pressing on her. She could tell by Duncan’s eyes that he was too--we loved her immediately, entirely.

High Princess and Evening Star,

I’m needed back in New Orleans. The Goddess has new work for me to do (such is the life of her seers). I expect a wedding invitation. Come see me sometime on the bayou. I took the rest of that good blue-strain, Duncan. I’m sure you don’t mind.

Rosemary Antigone Delacroix

Below this she’d left an address on the Vieux Carre. “That’s a beautiful area,” Duncan said, sliding back onto the bed. “This gives us an excuse to go to New Orleans, anyhow.”

Kenzie was falling back into the pillow, her eyes drifting closed. She felt warm, tingling vibrations all over her body, as if she had been submerged in warm water for the second time that night; she felt the cloudy hand of sleep pressing down.

“Come here, Dunny, turn the light off,” she whispered, and she watched the shadows under her eyelids as he leaned to the lamp; then the room was dark and his arms were coming around her, his lips cupping against her cheek.

“I feel like we owe her a lot more than a quarter of an ounce of weed,” she whispered to him, aching with relief at the feeling of his large body enveloping hers.

“We definitely do,” he murmured into her ear, the soft tickle of his breath making Kenzie shiver and smile, burrowing down against him, his hand catching hold of her breast. “I wonder what she does for a living. Maybe she’d accept a position in the company.”

“Something tells me she’s probably not interested in corporate life...” Kenzie murmured, her words bleeding out into unintelligible mumbling. Before she drifted into a dream, she heard his reply.

“I don’t think I’m interested in corporate life anymore, either, Kenz.”

And then she was asleep.

In the dream she had, she was her other self. The one with white-gold hair that fell to her knees, and clothing made of fabrics that did not exist on earth, and she was staring out over a vast expanse of clouds in dusky colors that she couldn’t quite remember the names for--they were more iridescent, more obtuse, ever-changing, miraculous in their design. The colors of heaven. There were plants growing all around her, but she didn’t recognize any of them; they too were in colors that seemed too lovely to match anything she knew, in shapes that on earth would have been impossible, some in a soft gold that was more like an emotion than a tangible object.

Blessed one, she heard a voice call behind her; the language it spoke wasn’t English, but she knew what it said all the same--and she knew the voice, the sound of it like perfect nectar. Exalted of the pantheon of all beauty, all goodness, all brightness, all marvels. Please bless me. Look upon me, and give me your blessing. I have ached for you. My soul has been wracked with your multitude.

In the dream, she turned; her eyes, clear with a sight that no human could achieve, could make out every detail of that Duncan’s fair face, the marvelous strands of his golden hair, the piercing, eternal depth of his eyes. There was some kind of blade or long stick at his back; she could see the dip of it above the silvery circlet of leaves and tiny flowers around his head. Leaves made of silver; but, maybe not silver. That doesn’t look like any silver I’ve ever seen. It seems much softer. The blade pulsed with an bluish energy like fire, a force that flickered, seemed to shift between the place they were and another place. As blue as the nebulas in his eyes; for they are inextricably connected.

Flame of the Evening Star, she thought, and knew that’s what it was called; and that it was holy, gifted to him by Her, the triple-faced Goddess, The Fates, and that it protected him and it protected her, too, in this strange garden, and for that, Kenzie was infinitely grateful, her emotion deeper than the dream, further, consuming, immense. She knew I would love him. She wrote the Law so that I could always be with him--that never long would he suffer in my sight, that if taken by Darkness, as he was in That Other Place, when he became that dark self, Michael, as Rosemary called him, I would be able to save him still, my power greater, my will unshakable. My will to love him always; to redeem him, always. And so it is.

The dream, after that, she couldn’t remember when she woke; but she knew she was with him, in it, and that they were full of joy.

When she opened her eyes she knew it was early still from the light, and was glad for that; as lovely as it had been to sleep into the day yesterday in Duncan’s arms, she’d been sad to lose the time, sad to not be conscious of this wonderful place as long as she could be. Kenzie Lou, go get some flowers. Flowers for the bed at home, flowers for the housekeepers who work so hard, flowers for Momby, Clairebear, Candice, Samuel, Harris, Anchaly, and yes, flowers for Annette too, Annette whose heart is broken because you know, as Rosemary told you, that her brother is dead, ushering in the new world. Those flowers are special, the ones that grow inside the black oaks, and they are your blessing for the ones you love, flowers touched by the universe, as you are Duncan’s flower, bringing him your light. As the destiny of this world has shifted towards fortune, those flowers will signify the change.

Kenzie turned, sliding carefully out of Duncan’s arms, lips brushing his cheek. She wondered, sunlight dappling the bed as she watched him, if he’d had the same dream. I think so. I think we were together. It felt like we were, but I just can’t remember. She sat still on the sheets, breathing in and out, watching him; wanting to press her lips against his heart, the bump of his throat, the shivering delicacy of his eyelashes.

Soon to be my husband, but I feel like he already is. Getting married, having a wedding; that’s for our families, our friends. We’re already married, aren’t we? We have been for a very long time. We’ve been tied with an unbreakable bond for immeasurable time. Kenzie reached out, her fingers almost brushing his russet-caramel hair, but stopped, afraid to wake him, afraid to disturb the shrouded halo the sun was making along his forehead. She saw the silvery leaves and flowers there again--thought of the purple alyssum crushed under his curls.

If he woke when she was in the black oaks, she knew he would be able to find her if he looked for her. The way you found me at the Gala, with your mind. The thread between us. Your power, my power. Always together.

Kenzie slid out of the bed quietly and got dressed--slipped the little white mini dress over her head, cool against her flushed skin, clasping her rose quartz stone (love love love) around her neck and pulling on her hiking boots. She could feel the heat of the day strongly already, the scent of the fire’s ashes drifting in the morning air through the window--as they had slept Duncan had pushed the blanket off himself so it hovered right above his groin, his body turned to the side, the roundness of his ass just visible above the sheet. Kenzie looked down the incline of his body, the rise of his hip, the fine hair trailing down his abdomen from his belly button, the perfect jut of his sharp jaw, the fullness of his lips, open just a whisper. His stomach was virtually hairless, the tiny hairs on his chest barely visible from where she stood, and one of his arms drifted over the spot where she had been a moment ago, the other under her pillow. Like a painting, she thought again. Adonis in marble. Endymion sleeps, and I, the moon, busy with my task, watch him in longing. She thought of the desire he’d spoken of to her to commission a painting of them together. High Princess and Evening Star, she thought, and shivered despite the heat.

Kenzie made her way downstairs and to the kitchen--and a little later, she had an apple and a handful of blackberries in her hands as she used her elbow to open the sliding door. The smell of the fire pit’s ashes drifted over to her again, and she glanced to the lake. Wish we could stay forever, she thought again, its surface reflected blue from the clouded sky. The ducks were nowhere to be seen and the surface seemed like a sheet of some strange, unbroken alloy. Soft silver. Kenzie made her way down the path to the line of trees at the forest’s edge, stepping through them with a careful, quiet pace. Bill Shepherd is dead, she thought. Duncan is the heir to all of Shepherd Unlimited. Almost 20 billion dollars. I can’t even begin to fathom that much money.

She was at the bridge now; the day was rising, the light deepening, and the sun was beginning to burst over the edge of the world, dappling through the trees with insistent strength. I’ll come no matter what, it seemed to tell her. I’ll shine down on you and the one you love through everything, in every time, every age, every passing storm. As I am constant, so are you. So is every living thing. One day, when you return to Her, you’ll see. It’s never really the end.

The blackberries were wonderfully sweet on her tongue, and Kenzie felt awash in emotion--in the state of being alive at all. I always suspected, believed, that there were beautiful things in the world, things beyond description in their beauty, and she moved to the edge of the black oaks as she approached them, their immense, quiet trunks knowing, ancient, and present. She touched the craggy bark of the one closest to her, her hand stained with a smear of purplish juice, and Kenzie knew, in the deepest depth of her heart, that the Goddess was here; She is in everything. In the sun, the berries I ate, every star that exploded above us, the fire that Duncan made from the energy of his own body, and she made him, with his eyes like the depth of cerulean sky, the delicate mastery of his face, his hair like the softest leaves touched by the chilly winds of an autumn soon to come, and his hands, the epitome of the ecstasy of all human touch to me, the sweet-tempered truth of his heart, the physical proof of his goodness, to me--and when he touches me, I feel all his love flow through him into me, the tips of his fingers each an invocation of his love.

It’s time to write my book. I need to write it down. I need to find the words to describe what it’s like to be loved this way. There are more things we have to do, and she knew that with assurity, and those things have to do with the company, with having these tools now to cause serious change, but me--Goddess, I feel it--I have to write something. That’s what I’m supposed to do, by myself, with all the beautiful things that have happened, and all the beautiful things he’s said to me, the way he’s given his whole soul to me as I’ve given mine to him. I have to find the words. I have to try.

She stepped inside the circle, the flowers in their impossibly intricate spirals as ever (forever), their colors drifting into her hands, petals trailing through her fingers, the softest embrace, and it dawned on her, the way the sun was dawning on the land now, kissing the oaks good morning, the way the world was waking up. I have to do this. I have to make it clear that this love is possible. That not only is it possible, but that it exists in everything, and it will heal everything. That love can heal everything. That it’s the only thing. I have to share this love with the world. It won’t be diminished by the sharing. It never becomes smaller, it can’t. It only grows, and the more I speak of it, the more I take it into myself, the more I have to give to him, the more gold I have to give to everything. To everyone. In its immensity, unending, is the divine. Inside it is the universe.

Kenzie’s thoughts quieted, as if Duncan’s hands had come around her, as if Momby’s had, as if Claire was holding her in a quiet place when she had cried as a young girl. I feel You here. Three-faced. Soft as the summer rain. Quiet as the night wind. Vast as a thousand oceans. Your beauty terrible, like the storm. Your beauty moving beyond every flower, every green growing thing. Your beauty in everything. Your mercy in everything. Your eyes are the stars and they see every tiny thing. Your body, your sex is the plains and the forest, the mountains, the water, the face of the deep. You’ve always been with me--as you’ve always been with him. And now he’s awake to You. Now, he can see You, too. Love has opened his eyes. Oh, Goddess.

And Kenzie gathered flowers in her arms, the sweet alyssum, the goldenrod staining her fingers with yellow, the asters with centers like tiny starbursts, her hair dipping down in a wave of gold in the bursting sunrise. It dried her tears, soothed on her skin, and in that quiet place, hidden from everything in the world but the eyes of Fate, Kenzie wondered at the far-reaching hand of all meaning, at the winding path that had led her here, intricate and unshakable. She thought of The Youth of Bacchus, its revelers, their smooth bare skin, the joy of being alive, and knew the Goddess was in that, inside joy. She thought of Evening Mood, the Goddess there on the sea, and Star of Heaven, where the Goddess was in every bright sphere, of Athena, Dike, and Nike, in Duncan’s penthouse living room, three faces, three aspects, and so She’s been there with him all along, moving him to where I would be. And she thought of Duncan.

I love him.

----------

As Kenzie emerged from the line of the forest, her arms bursting with the wildflowers (and no matter how many I took there never seemed to be less, as if they grew again immediately as I plucked them), she saw Duncan coming towards her from the deck, two coffee cups in his hands. He saw her, and his smile threw crushed petals into her heart. Hi, baby.

They reached each other and he leaned to kiss her, the coffee and his woodsy smell falling down, the richness of the flowers drifting up. He was wearing the feathery shirt she had liked so much when she saw it hanging in his closet--it gave him a soft glow that melted at her heart. My soft Evening Star.

“You look so fucking lovely,” he breathed. “Persephone, marry me.”

She grinned. “I already said yes.”

“I’ll ask you every fucking day, I don’t care.” His eyes, the curving space of his mouth. She cocked her head towards the deck, moving ahead of him, the sun warm on her skin now, in the open air. Tingling in anticipation of his touch. She could feel the weight of him, the height of him coming up behind her as she laid the flowers out on the deck table, then turned to him and grasped one of the coffee cups from his hand.

“Thanks, baby,” she whispered, and leaned to kiss him again. A lock of his hair had fallen over his forehead, as was its way; she reached her fingers up to brush them against it, softly, and watched the way his eyes closed, almost involuntary, at her touch.

“My uncle’s dead. I had a dream this morning about him. He was in a boat on the lake,” here Duncan gestured to the calm water past the gazebo, yards off. ”He started at the shore, and as he drifted out into the water, he turned back to me where I was watching him from the dock. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were--they were different. They were sad, and relieved. To die.” His eyes stayed closed--she could feel the muddled pain, relief, and confusion of his feelings. Kenzie’s hand drifted down his cheek.

“I know, baby. I feel it too. I think--I’m going to give Candice my resignation when we get back. I think--when I was in the circle this time, I felt--that it’s time. For me to write my book. And for us to change things. The way Rosemary said we’re meant to.”

“I think we have to go back today, Kenzie.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t be here for longer. We can come back soon--we can bring Claire and Momby. We could go to the beach house again. We can go anywhere you want. But I think right now it’s--it’s time baby, you know?”

Kenzie reached up to hold his cheeks, heart aching.

“Baby, you don’t have to explain. I love you so much,” and she felt her lip trembling, her voice cracking, his expression falling into terrible tenderness as his arms came around her. “The time we had here was so beautiful--so beyond anything I could have imagined--”

And he was silencing her words with a kiss that she knew was another entreating plea; she could feel the warmth of it settling through her senses, the absolute constancy of him as his mouth savored her. Marry me, Miss Stone. Be my wife in this life. As you were long ago. As you’ve been for a thousand years. Oh, fuck. Baby. Angel. High Princess, goddess of my heart. How many times have I held you, and yet it’s never, ever enough. You are heaven in my arms. Marry me, Kenzie. I’ll build a shelter of flowers for you that will never die.

Yes I will yes, she thought, and their thoughts held each other, irrevocably, with a closeness that was almost unbearable to her senses; their souls holding each other, his fierce, beautiful blue lost inside the velvet hold of her gold, locking together with an intricate orchestration, a perfect harmony that was a outpouring of immense light, like a wound of exquisite pain, a colossal melding of time and space, of a moment, extended for them alone--

Yes I will yes my love yes I will my radiant love hold me in the flowering halo of your arms because I will yes I will I love you Duncan I love you like the rain like the stars like the roses that bloomed when I saw your soul for the first time I will so kiss me, kiss me, soul of my soul, body of my body, because yes, I will...

-----------

They’d gone out on the lake for a little while that morning before leaving.

A half hour before, over her coffee and buttery toast with a perfectly sliced grapefruit Duncan had brought her, Kenzie had divided the wildflowers into bunches; one for each of the people we love so much. She knew innately as she touched them, arranging them carefully, that they were not ordinary flowers; their power felt like an electrical current through her fingers. These flowers will be the fortune of the Goddess unto them. And they won’t die for a long time. I know that too. She gathered one bunch, lots of the purple alyssum with goldenrods in the center, especially to display in the penthouse. These will go over our bed among the roses and peonies. It will always remind us of when we found out about our true selves. When our eyes were opened to our destiny.

As she did this, Duncan had been weaving stray, tiny alyssums in pink, purple and white through the golden fall of her hair. He’d brushed it out in the sunlight for her, an achingly tender act that had made her want to cry, though she held the tears away. Hades opens, a blue flower of infinite depth, in the eyes of his Persephone. His thoughts drifted, full of the imagery of them as the Lord of the Underworld, the Goddess of Spring. Kenzie was moved again by how beautiful it was to be inside his mind; the loveliness of his inner world, the exquisite details of his imagination. Inside you I see the universe, Duncan. Inside you is every kind of beauty.

When they went on the lake in the little canoe, the sun dipped behind a cloud. Kenzie stared at Duncan as he rowed them out onto the water, the sinewy strength in his arms, the fall of his hair, the dip of skin below his open collar. Your soul is at peace here, your body relaxed, your mind beautiful with ease. She leaned back, knowing he was admiring her too, smiling at him. The water was drifting in small winds, but the canoe was surprisingly still. Or maybe it’s us, she thought across to him. Maybe we are the stillness. Our love the constant thing.

We are. To love you is to feel the greatness of the eye of the storm, Mackenzie Stone.

They hadn’t spoken in words out on the water, rather Kenzie had let the meandering patterns of her thoughts and feelings fall against him, and she felt his, reaching for his hand, the Cartier bracelet falling down her arm, their fingers twining with delicate, slow curiosity.

I know what to do, baby, he had thought. We’re going to change the production companies. We’re going to build gardens on the rooftops of every building the company owns, and buy land to preserve the forests and natural resources. We’re going to produce solar panels for every building in DC. We’re going to fund projects with the Foundation that will change the hearts of people who have been living in darkness, build protections for those living in need. It’s just the beginning. I have this incredible feeling; like we’re going to be able to do things no one has ever dreamed of. I’m going to go to Claire Underwood again and speak with her, Come with me. Talk to me with her. And I know...this time I can feel it...it’ll be different. She’ll see the sincerity in our hearts. And she’ll feel it too. We’re going to do this, Kenzie. It’s in motion. Oh, goddess. I feel it like a wave. It’s so much. It’s beautiful.

Kenzie had nodded, clutching his hand, looking into his sky-colored eyes, and she had known, too. Annette’s heart has changed--it’s changing--in light of our love, and the death of her brother, which has shaken her deeply. She loves you Duncan, and she, in her way, loves me now, too. She’ll find peace inside letting go of her need for control. And she’ll find family with us--a real family. One of real love. But first you have to go to her, baby. You have to go to her and talk to her, and forgive her.

Duncan looked at her, squinting against the sun peeking out from behind its cloudy bed; there were tears in his eyes, making them glisten like twin sapphires. I know you’re right, angel baby. And I will.

“I think it’s time for us to go back, baby,” he whispered, and Kenzie bit her lip at the resolute longing in his eyes. To have been alone with you this way has been the purest happiness for me. His thoughts were drifting in nostalgia; wishing to turn back the hours to their time under the stars, in the coppery tub last night, or dancing beside the fire, watching her swim in the lake on the dockside, fucking in the big, soft golden bed or in their holy circle of oaks, the way she read to him as he rubbed her feet. To be alone with you is my home.

“We’ll go live in the garden house all summer long next year, baby, for months,” Kenzie whispered, reaching for his other hand. She knelt in the boat’s shallow bottom, slowly, achingly, between his thighs, clutching his fingers tightly. Duncan brought his legs together, wrapping them around her, pulling her against him, his mouth falling against her chin. “We won’t come back until every autumn leaf falls and every flower in our garden dies. We’ll eat the fruits and vegetables we grow and I’ll put a hundred flowers in every room of the house--”

“Every flower reminds me of you, High Princess,” he murmured against her, and Kenzie shivered in the building heat. High Princess. That was me, once. Rosemary said it will be again someday. It’s beyond anything I could ever imagine. But it’s not a dream. I know, I know, I know it’s not a dream. Anymore than you are, beloved. “And even when we die we’ll be born again and find each other again--oh, god, Kenzie, baby--”

“I know, I know--”

It’s almost too beautiful to bear. You are. We are. This love moves beyond time; nothing can destroy us. Nothing can keep us apart. Oh, sweet beloved, dearest love.

His hands fell through her hair, his eyes gazing into her, and his mouth hovered close to her, brushing with unbearable softness at her nose, the slip of skin above her lips, the dip of her chin below--and then, finally, on her mouth, pulling her to crush against him, and his scent was the forest, the earth, the fire, blue, sweet smoke, tie us back together, keep me here against you always, in the hallowed place of your protection, my Evening Star, fairest of all the holy Princes. How my heart must have sung when first I beheld you, and knew you were forever mine.

--------

“I want to put Cupid and Psyche in the garden house when we find it, baby,” Kenzie murmured as she came up behind Duncan, who was loading their suitcases into the the G-Class with a careful heave. They’d gathered everything else into the rear trunk and the backseat. The afternoon was drawing hotly around them--she could see the thin sweat stain along the back of Duncan’s shirt--and Kenzie knew they wouldn’t get to the city until the light had begun to fall; the heat was at its zenith now, and they would drive through it back to DC. “Can we do that? I love it so much. The tiny flowers in Cupid’s hair...like you laying in the flowers in the circle--”

Duncan turned to her, grasping her tightly in his achingly warm hands, catching her lips in his hot, needy kiss--he tasted like some low, lustful fruit, his tongue sweet and demanding. And it makes me want you so fucking bad, he thought. It’s got magick too, magick from us and this place. Kiss me, angel. I beg you to please kiss me and never stop kissing me--but Kenzie was wriggling out of his grip, laughing. Gonna make you beg for it, you know how I can do that, you know how I can make you beg, fairest of all the holy Princes. Her skin was flushed and she shivered at his eyes, the way his body turned to her as she stepped away, his movements full of desperate desire.

Kenzie tried to ignore the look he gave her, the thoughts crashing against her out of his sky-kissed eyes, snatching her breath away (fuck me sweetness fuck me and choke me and put your little fingers in my mouth, press your honeyed clit into my mouth, the nectar of your flushed skin oh god this heat I wanna bend you over and fuck you fuck you fuck you beloved most beautiful of all my golden goddess loveliest in the eyes of heaven and my eyes let me worship you I pray) and pulled her little iPhone in its golden case out of her convertible bag, slung over her shoulder, sliding her round sunglasses over her eyes. Don’t look at me that way, and don’t think at me that way either, baby, behave. Fuck, stop, I can’t stand it. Her body was vibrating with him, the crimson-cerulean tide of his imaginings. Three hours in the car and I’m gonna think about how much I wanna fuck my baby the whole time, and he smiled at her, biting into his lip, bringing his hand up to his jaw to brush it there, distracted in her.

You are the most beautiful boy I have ever seen, but you bow to me, bow to me, bow to me, my sweet soon-to-be-husband, the fairest prince of heaven and you bow to me.

Duncan was stepping toward her again from where she had slipped away, his movements slow and deliberate, his sunglasses hanging lazily from his hand, the Cartier gold on his wrist glinting at her. He dipped his head down to her, hands drifting near her bare shoulders. She could feel him thinking about the rose choker, his eyes on her neck, about the sheer white lingerie, his mouth closed around her breast and the tulle, about the plug glittering in the low bedroom light, the glistening line of drool that had fallen from her mouth...

“I’m scared to turn this back on,” she whispered to him, looking down from him to her phone, blushing furiously, and his smile drifted from desire into wistfulness at that. His hand reached for hers, soft, comforting. “I wish we could just throw them away,” he replied.

Kenzie gripped his long pinky and ring finger in her fist, feeling the blue of him, his thoughts. Me too, angel baby. I don’t want to go back. I wanna run away with you. Back in time, to that place where we were together for eons, in perfect love and happiness. Oh, goddess. I can’t begin to imagine how beautiful it was. He hesitated, hand coming up through his hair--then his words drifted against her in the heat, their sweetness cooling her skin.

“I know, baby. I wish we could just stay here and hide from the world forever. It was so short. I’m sorry for that. I wanted--wanted it to be longer. But it was perfect, wasn’t it? It was like our day at the beach. It’s a perfect memory now.”

“Everything with you is a perfect memory,” Kenzie lifted her chin, keeping her head perfectly still as Duncan brushed her hair from her shoulder, and for a little while they stood there in the graveled drive of the cabin’s entryway, the heat a heavy, silent cocoon; Kenzie thought of Rosemary, arriving in her glorious violet aura, the lake and the stars, the oak circle, the magic in their fingertips. And of Duncan--Sword of the Evening Star, divine too, baby--and tried to fathom the depth of everything they’d experienced since that night, just a few short weeks ago, when she glimpsed him staring at her with a burning fire in his ocean-colored eyes, had let him, infamous, handsome heir to a billion-dollar company, buy her an old fashioned on a rosy balcony. But that was Fate, she knew now. Nothing so beautiful could be luck. Nothing so perfect, so right, could be chance. You were ever mine.

The moment broke apart, fragmented, as a breeze fell over Duncan’s hair and he blinked it away, bringing her out of his eyes, back into the heat. She heard a loon out on the lake somewhere again; a farewell call to them; until we meet again on this other side of time.

“I think it’s time to go,” he said softly. And she knew he was right. Goddess speed us on, help us know what is best, most right. I can feel you with me now. I can feel the halo you gave me so long ago, the one Duncan can see sometimes. I know you’re there now. I can feel You.

She nodded to him. “Let’s go, baby.” Let’s go save the world. Let’s get married, surrounded by a thousand flowers. Let’s go talk to the president and change the company and people’s hearts and scatter this light on everything, a thousand stars tossed over the whole world.

Duncan stepped to the passenger’s side, opening the door for her and grasping her hand tightly for a moment, eyes burning (I know you feel Her too now, that holy sword you once held), helping her inside. He shut the door behind her and Kenzie sat in the silence for a breath as he walked around to the other side; she let the breath out as he got into the driver’s seat, his sunglasses on his nose now, and hit the power button on the side of her phone as he clicked his seatbelt into place, glancing over to her.

“Duncan. I have the weirdest feeling. Rosemary said when we got back the world would be...different.”

“I feel it too, Kenz. Like an earthquake in the air.” Duncan hit the smart key and the G-Class roared into smooth life, the air conditioner blasting immediately into Kenzie’s face, cooling her hot cheeks. He reversed the SUV as she squinted in apprehension down at her phone screen--the apple logo flashed there for a long moment--then her lock screen came up, Duncan’s face in the silver circlet from the Esquire shoot turned up to her. She hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the home button; then she looked up, flipping the knob on the stereo as Duncan accelerated the car on the long gravel driveway towards Lakeside Trail. She flipped through the Sirius XM channels for a moment, then stopped at one called Venus as she heard a soothing electronic melody bleeding into a rhythmic beat and an elegant feminine voice singing out eagerly--

Sitting on the counter in your kitchen, can you hear my heartbeat, fuckin’ kickin’, your eyes light up cuz you best believe that I got somethin’ up my sleeve, I walk my talk no time for wishful thinkin’

Sounds familiar, Kenzie thought, glancing to Duncan; he looked back at her, his long hands drifting easily on the steering wheel, and though she couldn’t see his eyes clearly from behind his dark Yves sunglasses, she saw the heady loveliness of his smile and could feel his agreement. Remember that? Let’s do that again, baby love. Let’s fuck on the counter again, divine angel.

Kenzie grinned, bringing her hand up to cover her teeth, biting into her palm. Fuck. We should. Why don’t you lean me over that smooth, achingly black obsidian at home and fuck me senseless, Evening Star. We haven’t done that yet. She could smell the dozens of bunches of wildflowers in the backseat cascading forward, the one bunch of roses tucked in among them; the roses had already begun to fade, but Kenzie knew they’d hang with the others over their bed. Our altar. Where we worship each other endlessly.

And when you start to feel the rush, a crimson headache, aching blush, and you surrender to the touch you’ll know, I can put on a show, I can put on a show--

She giggled to hear his groan; his hand drifted over to her thigh, riding up the tiny white dress as she went back to her phone, her heart aching between her breasts, the space between her legs tingling. She raised her phone to her eyes again--

Don’t you see what you’re finding, this is heaven in hiding

--but now Kenzie saw, heart leaping into her mouth, the long line of text messages that had popped up on the lock screen. Oh, fuck. We must have been out of range for a minute. She thumbed her password in (her birthday, 0717), whispering under her breath. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Kenz, what’s wrong?”

“Just--a shitload of texts. Claire. And Momby. And Candice. Annette. Fuck.”

Duncan let out a little groan. “I’m about to just throw my phone out the window and not bother, Kenz.”

Kenzie opened a string of texts from Clairebear. The first was from two nights ago, when Kenzie had texted her before the Gala. The music pounded in her ears as she read it. Oh this is heaven in hiding, this is heaven in hiding, ‘cause I’m heaven in hiding

Clairebear: Kenzie Lou, you both look so GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL, I’m fucking crying. I just saw the photo you took now because alkgdlghflgdlsg Harris stayed over last night. OH MY GOD KENZIE OH MY GODDDDD

Kenzie grinned at this. “Well, some good news,” she said to Duncan, who glanced at her, raising his eyebrows as they drifted onto the highway, the lake, dappled in the sun, disappearing past Kenzie’s window. “Claire and Harris are officially a Thing.”

“Fuck,” he laughed a little, “that is good news. I love that.”

Kenzie looked back down at her phone. There were several texts after, each with a sort of increasingly manic energy.

Clairebear: God he’s so hot and so tall and so gentle? I guess you probably don’t want too many of the gory details about your bodyguard but HE IS TALL I WILL SAY THAT AGAIN (Kenzie snorted into her hand) and we went to this lovely jazz place and god I love his smile??? Anyway, we’re gonna go out again this coming weekend but that seems so far away, fuck! UGHHHH KENZIEEEEEE

The next one came from a few hours later.

Clairebear: Okay I know you said y’all are kinda going off the grid for a few days so I don’t know when you’ll see this but people are freaking the FUCK out over your Gala photo on Instagram, you have 2.4 million likes??? I checked the number like ten times because that just seemed like a typo to me. But no, you have 2.4 million likes.

An hour later.

Clairebear: Gala press photographer photos went up a few hours ago and you two are on the front page of like literally every fashion website including Vogue.com holy FUCK!!!

Claire had included a link. Kenzie clicked it. The headline read: DUNCAN SHEPHERD AND PARAMOUR MACKENZIE STONE STUN IN DRAMATIC MORGAN WINTHROP GOLD COUTURE FOR SHEPHERD FOUNDATION GALA IN FIRST PUBLIC EVENT TOGETHER. 

Below it was a photo that stole the breath from Kenzie’s lungs: she and Duncan were gazing at each other in it, away from the camera, his head dipped down to her, her chin angled up to him, and the radiant happiness that emanated from both of them in it instantly brought tears to Kenzie’s eyes. Kenzie’s hair fell from her shoulders in a cascade of roses and gold (like a fairy tale, fuck me, Hannah really made it look incredible); her dress shimmered with soft, opulent beauty, perfectly tailored to her small frame, the gold Cartier necklace glinting at her throat. Her expression was soft, joyful, dazed. I look...I look really fucking lovely. That’s me, fuck. That’s me. I look beautiful. Duncan was strikingly tall next to her, his soft curls falling on his forehead, his eyes dark with dramatic shadow, the masculine beauty of his profile clearly outlined. His elegant hands were dipped down to her waist, holding her with tenderness so obvious it made Kenzie feel faint to look at it. The soft painted gold of his blazer was beautifully illuminated. The expression on his face, in his intoxicating eyes, the overjoyed smile playing at his mouth, dug a sharp knife into her heart, through the softest part of her soul; anyone who looked at this would know immediately how much he loves me. Oh my fucking goddess. He looks at ME this way. Only at me. Like I’m the sun. The moon. And every star. The Cartier bracelets on their wrists were visible; she could clearly see the diamonds on hers, same as the bracelet she wore now, scattering a line of stars along her skin there. Everyone who looks at this will notice them too. They’re very distinct, aren’t they; you can tell they’re two parts of one idea--one promise. Me and you, baby.

“Baby, oh my god,” she breathed. “You have to look.”

Duncan jerked the steering wheel smoothly to the right, bringing the G-Class onto the shoulder of the highway, several cars passing them. It drifted to a stop as she leaned over to him, holding her phone up. Duncan slipped his sunglasses down his nose, gazing at it; then he gently pulled her phone out of her hand, his eyes widening. The moment extended--Duncan continued to look at it raptly, his expression going soft and slack in a way that made the tiny hairs on Kenzie’s arms stand up. Then he turned to her, sliding his glasses all the way off now, clutching them in his hand.

“Oh Kenz,” he whispered. “Baby.”

You can see it in this. Us. Our High Destiny.

Kenzie bit into her lip; don’t cry, Kenzie. Don’t cry. Not now. But oh, fuck. Fuck, I love you so much, Duncan. My Evening Star. Your beautiful soul here, so obvious, so brilliant, so sincere, all your gentleness that you’ve hidden for so long, bursting out of you like a thousand colors. I could just die. She reached for him; he pulled her over the center between their seats, crushing her into his arms, his nose and mouth falling into the small space of her neck, her hands clutching together in the warm nook of his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath shaking on her, his words shivering inside the emotion. “Kenzie. I love you.” There was nothing else he could say--she could feel the tangle of him, the overwhelming wave that rose inside him, fell against her; she gasped at it, its immensity, its warmth, its weight.

To be loved by you is to behold the multitude, and yet to be unafraid of it.

“And I love you,” she whispered against him, and then she gently pushed away from him, bringing her hand up to his cheek to cup it, nodding at him soothingly; his eyes were liquid around a blue ring of fire, and their burning shook her soul and scattered it apart. “I will always love you, Duncan Shepherd. You are the home of my heart. Let’s keep going, baby. We have so much to do now. So much to do. And you need to comfort your mother.”

Duncan took a shuddering breath, clutching onto her hand with a grip that seemed to drain all the blood from her fingers; then he softened his hold on her and slipped the sunglasses back over his eyes, gently sliding her phone back into her palm with reverent hands. Kenzie turned back to it, sending a soothing golden burst over him, as though she were scattering dust against him. Duncan gently pressed the gas pedal, and the G-Class glided back to the road.

Kenzie scrolled down through the article; there were a dozen other photos of them, each one seemingly more lovely than the last; one of them laughing together that made Kenzie grin widely and reach for Duncan’s hand--he gripped her fingers strongly again, his sunglasses shielding the moisture she knew lingered around his eyes. In another Kenzie’s head was turned to the side, probably at a photographer’s behest; Duncan stared at her with adoring awe. In yet another Duncan stared out, forwards, at the camera--and in this one, I’m the one who’s starry-eyed. She looked at herself, her own expression of exquisite adoration. So what. It’s true. I love him...so fucking much. As though it simply can’t be contained inside me--as if it’s everything and everywhere and touches everyone. I’d die for him. My dark blue Evening Star. My Hades, Prince of sweet shadows that I would drown inside of if he willed it. My sweet Endymion, flawless in sleep. My Eros whispering his flowery worship in my ear. The blood of my body, breath in my lungs. She saved several, immediately making the one of them gazing at each other her lock screen--when you’re away I’ll look at this picture and know you are mine for all time, and she tried not to gasp again inside the emotion of it.

“Baby, it’s okay,” Duncan was whispering, his fingers drifting on her hand, eyes on the road. She knew he could feel her, the wild emotion bubbling in her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “More than okay.” She opened the Instagram app, fingers shaking, blowing a breath out in a steady stream. @kenzielouwho. 15 million followers.

No fucking way. No no no fucking way.

“Dunny.”

“Yes, Kenzie.”

“I have 15 million followers on Instagram now...how is that even possible?”

“What.” Duncan jerked the steering wheel in shock, then slid it back quickly to straighten the G-Class. “Fuck.”

“People must--they can feel it. Oh god, Rosemary wasn’t kidding. Remember she said--she said the world would have changed when we got back. I think this is what she meant. That some people would be able to see it; see what’s been hiding inside us. The divinity of us and--who we used to be. In a small way, I think some people can see it now. Those pictures. Her telling us. It’s like it stirred up something in the air.”

“I can fucking see it in those pictures. And it’s me. That’s us.” Another song playing low on the radio now echoed the thoughts whirling in Kenzie’s mind, uncanny, thrilling around her nerves, making her scalp tingle

But do you feel like a young god, you know the two of us are just young gods, and we’ll be flying through the streets with the people underneath and they’ll be running, running, running

That’s it. I’m going to post one. If it can help us with what we need to do--and I feel like it will--I’ll post some photos from the Gala. Kenzie added three of the photos she’d saved from Vogue (the two of them staring at each other, Duncan staring at her while she looked to the side, and her gazing at him with the adoring expression) and added a caption.

It was such a magical night to be with the person I love the most in the universe in @morganwinthrop’s extraordinarily beautiful creations. @duncanshepherd and I have some major announcements coming soon. A special thank you to DUCKENZIEFANS.com and the warmth and love you’ve shown us. With all of you helping us, we will change the world in no time.

Kenzie took a deep breath and hit Share. Then she went to Duncan’s profile. Claire hadn’t been kidding; “the photo you posted of us on the night of the Gala has...over 5 million likes, Duncan. And your profile has 18 million followers.”

“This is insane.” Kenzie noted the worried expression that had creased his face under his glasses now.

“Duncan, we have to just...trust. Trust that this is what is meant to happen. This is all part of it. I--I feel it.”

“We’re going to need a bigger entourage. God, I’ve tried to avoid that for so long. But now that Bill’s dead, there won’t be as much of a buffer between us and the paps. I don’t think Harris is going to be enough.”

Kenzie leaned her elbow on the window’s edge, staring out on the highway.

“Okay. If that’s what we have to do, that’s what we have to do. I’m not going to hide in the penthouse, that’s for sure. People want to see us--if that’s what the Goddess means for us to do, I’m ready.” Kenzie looked back at her phone, feeling a bubbling anxiety from Duncan now. There were more texts from Claire, bleeding into yesterday and then this morning.

Clairebear: Kenzie, this is INSANE.

Seven links followed her text; each one a different piece about their Gala looks from major online fashion and news publications. The articles had a wildly adoring edge to them that made Kenzie’s stomach churn with knots. People can SEE us. It’s sort of frightening--to have this sort of power over other people. I feel so strange. Every article seemed to note the “mysterious” way they disappeared from the event after the photos were taken.

From GQ she read: “Duckenzie whisked through the press area as though they were the ethereal incarnations of a fae king and queen--Oberon and Titania come to strike into the hearts of us poor mortals with gnawing desire--then seemed to disappear into the night, their absence noted almost as quickly as their presence. They did not appear to bless the mortals of earth again at the after party, to our deep dismay. Like Hades and Persephone descending back into the Underworld at the breaking of autumn, it was as though a chill fell on the evening without them, the full moon doubtless gazing down on them in some secluded, secret place of infinite romance the world could not penetrate. Needless to say, to see them again on any red carpet will be a blessing, wherever and whenever it happens. For now, we bask in the beauty of the shots the press pool managed to snatch, like precious raindrops from heaven; good god, wish someone would look at US like that.”

From yesterday, Clairebear: Kenzie, media people are FREAKING OUT wondering where y’all have gone. It’s like you blew some kind of insanity dust on everyone at the Gala and now everyone is HUNGRY for you two. Hope everything’s going okay off the grid, but I’m worried about you, so text me back when you can.

Two hours later, Clairebear: Holy fuck, Kenzie. Bill Shepherd died. Are you two aware? Call me when you can.

Later that day: Clairebear: Vanity Fair just dropped their editorial about you and Duncan and Annette on their website like two weeks in advance of their original publishing date. People are losing their minds over these photos.

This text included a link to the article; as Kenzie opened it, she was shocked--at the top, rather than the photo of them with Annette, was one of the photos of her and Duncan Anna had taken of them by the bourbon roses. Fuck. Kenzie’s head lay gently against Duncan’s tall form, his arms enveloping her in the lacy red dress, her lips dark, eyes liquid and huge. Kenzie couldn’t tell if it was some filter on the photo, but Duncan’s eyes were wildly, beautifully blue, illuminated, and hers seemed lit from within with some kind of lingering golden-green. Both of them stared into the camera, defiant. The photo was a shock of beauty, their tenderness in it like a painting or some heavenly sculpture, but too real, too lovely and earnest; like the Gala photos, you can see all our love in this--you can see our strangeness, too, the other, hidden part of us. It’s mesmerizing. Kenzie saved the photo. This is the one. We should hang this one in the penthouse. It makes my heart ache. It’s us. It’s our Destiny, as though it’s written on our faces here.

And the title of the piece: THE YOUNG ROYALS: Duncan Shepherd and Mackenzie Stone take Shepherd Unlimited to Heavenly New Heights.

“They put the Vanity Fair article up already, Dunny. Two weeks early, I guess, after the news that your uncle passed away yesterday. The Young Royals, they called it.”

Duncan laughed, surprising her. “What? Really? The Young Royals?”

Kenzie nodded. “The photo at the top is one of the two of us, too. Not the one with Annette.”

“Holy shit,” he murmured, glancing over at her. They see it too. Everyone can see it. It’s like a veil was pulled back. “She’s gonna be pissed about that.”

“Something tells me that’s not really going to matter very much from the way the press and everyone online seem to be reacting,” Kenzie said, leaning a hand over to his thigh. He glanced at her again, his smile deep, his affection strongly brushing against her. Keep your hand there, my love.

Baby, I gotta check these messages. There are a LOT.

Who cares. Touch me. I love you.

I will soon, baby. I will. Just be patient.

Kenzie turned back to her phone, sliding her hand away from him reluctantly. One more from Claire, sent this morning.

Clairebear: Fuck, Kenzie, PLEASE text or call me when you get a chance. I think you need to hire a PR person--I’ve started to get incessant calls and emails from people who want to interview me about you, it’s so surreal. Please please please send me a message when you get a chance to let me know you’re okay. All the stuff online is making me so fucking nervous for you. When are you coming back?

Kenzie typed now. Clairebear, we’re on our way back from the lake right now. I had my phone off the past two days, but an unexpected visitor told us about Bill Shepherd. I love you so much. I can’t tell you how happy the news about you and Harris is to me!!! I’ll try to call you later on.

She moved on to the texts from Momby. There were two; one from yesterday, one from today.

Mom: I’m aware you told me there was a chance you’d be unreachable for a few days; so of course that’s when Bill Shepherd decided to kick the bucket. Please give Duncan my condolences and pass along my love to him. But I can’t say I’m particularly sorry to see Bill Shepherd in the ground, and I doubt Duncan is either. I know this is a strange request, but if you can get Annette to come along to my place when we have taco/margarita night when the two of you get back, I would like that very much.

And the one from yesterday.

Mom: Sweet Kenzie Lou, please call me when you see this. The media frenzy happening right now over the two of you is, frankly, alarmingly far beyond anything even I could have imagined, and I can imagine A LOT. I’m concerned about your personal safety. I don’t think you should be going to One Franklin Square anymore without a more extensive security detail.

Kenzie immediately hit the call button in her mother’s contact, turning on the speakerphone so Duncan could hear, turning the stereo down so the music was very low. The phone rang three times; in the middle of the third, Madeline picked up.

“Mackenzie?”

“Hey, Momby. We just saw your messages. My phone’s been off since we left the Gala. Duncan’s here.”

Duncan turned his face toward Kenzie’s iPhone. “Hey, Madeline.”

“Mackenzie Louise, you picked a hell of a time to keep your phone shut off for two days. Ever since they released those photos from the Gala it’s like everyone’s lost their minds. I can see why everyone loves them so much--you look so beautiful in them, both of you, they almost don’t seem real--it’s--odd…” Madeline trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words, it seemed.

“Momby, I’m really sorry you were worried. We really needed some time to ourselves. But we’re on our way back now and--”

“Momby.”

Kenzie’s heart flew into her mouth as Duncan broke in, her beloved nickname for her mother falling from his tongue. The instant sweetness of it made her stomach drop.

“Duncan.” Madeline’s voice was suddenly breathless. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, Momby. It’s me. We want to tell you something. I asked Kenzie to marry me.”

The other end of the phone was silent for a long moment--Kenzie could almost see the shape of her mother’s surprise, the warm flood of her wordless sentiment in the air, despite the distance between them. We’re a long way from you scolding me in the kitchen over the spaghetti pot, aren’t we, Momby. You can see it too. How lovely he is--what was hidden is now on the surface. His gentleness, his sweetness, his goodness, all coming out now, extending out of him like a tidal wave. Momby, I know--isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t he?

Then Madeline finally spoke. “Well? And?”

“I said yes, Momby. Of course I said yes.” Kenzie’s voice tinged with tears, but she was laughing, too. Duncan reached his hand for her, pressing his long fingers into her cheek, hungry for the warmth of her; she could feel it in his touch. His smile was too much; the tears drifted from her eyes. Duncan brought his thumb up to brush them away, his eyes skirting back and forth from the road.

“Well of course you fucking did. Or he wouldn’t be calling me Momby, would he.”

“...Can I call you that, Madeline?”

“Baby, Duncan, you already did. I am your Momby, so why wouldn’t you?”

Duncan fell silent at that; his glasses were still shielding his eyes, but Kenzie felt them burning on her; could feel the tears in them.

“We love you, Momby,” she said quietly.

“As I love both of you. With all of my heart. To the moon and back.”

For a moment, Kenzie contemplated trying to describe any of what Rosemary had told them to her mother; she looked at Duncan, who glanced at her a few times, back and forth from the road. She felt him in her mind; I don’t know, baby. We could try. I wouldn’t even know where to start.

I don’t think so, baby, she thought her reply into him, shimmering and golden. I think maybe it was only for us to know for now. I think maybe it’s a secret we’ll have to keep between us for awhile--maybe for a long time.

I think maybe you’re right, my beautiful Kenzie. I feel like I wouldn’t have words for it anyway. I feel like it’s unspeakable now that Rosemary isn’t here. For now it’s only for us; just me and you. That old life we had in that perfect place. And the one we’ll have again someday, far, far away, in another life.

“So what’s all this about the media and a security detail?” Kenzie spoke in an even voice into her phone again, despite the remnants of tears still on her face. She didn’t want Momby to worry more than she already had.

“I don’t know if either of you have had a chance to look at the internet after your sabbatical, but it seems like all anyone has talked about for two days on every major social media platform is the two of you. First with the Gala photos, and now the ones from Vanity Fair--which are just as beautiful. Something about them really is very uncanny...almost...otherworldly. I’m finding it difficult to describe how they make me feel. You’re my own daughter, Kenzie Lou, and yet I’m really struck by them, too. I guess it’s everything the two of you have been through lately...maybe...but you can really see how much you love each other in them. Even Annette should be able to see it. I can’t imagine not seeing...whatever it is. How bright you both are.”

“Oh, Momby.”

“I agree about a more serious security detail, Momby,” Duncan said, cocking his head towards Kenzie’s phone without looking away from the road. “I’ll be contacting the service later today and requesting additional bodyguards for Kenzie.”

“More bodyguards?” Kenzie balked.

Duncan winced at her a little. “And I think it’s time--I think I’m going to have to finally get one too. Probably more than one.”

“He’s right, Kenzie Lou. May I remind you, you’re going to be a permanent billionaire now.”

Kenzie ignored the last part, her stomach flipping again. “Well--I mean, I did see some of the media stuff. Claire sent me some. Vogue and GQ and a few others.” Kenzie felt too hot, clammy sweat suddenly on her skin. I may be some cosmic space princess, and I know that’s true, but right now I feel horribly human again.

“Kenzie, it’s every major online entertainment publication, and the front page of every paper on the east coast this morning, alongside the news of Bill’s passing. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about those photos of you two. They really--resonated. As far as the public is concerned, you’re the new American royal couple right now. Think Prince William and Kate, but your palace is the penthouse. You know that website, DUCKENZIEFANS.com? They hit a million subscribers yesterday.”

What.

“Madeline, can we do margarita night tomorrow?” Duncan was trying to veer the subject away from the media, Kenzie could feel it. He was on I-70 now; they were halfway home. Wow, we’re making good time. “Oh, also, Claire and Harris, Kenzie’s bodyguard, are officially an item. Can we invite him? I’m so curious to see them together.”

“No kidding,” and Kenzie could hear her mother’s delighted laughter now through the phone. “That’s fucking wonderful. Since I haven’t met him yet, that’s the perfect opportunity. Tomorrow is great. Be careful when you get back. All of DC has been keeping its eyes peeled for you two.”

“We will, Madeline. When we see you I want to talk about our plan moving forward with the company; especially about the new board, which is going to be comprised of all women--women you and Kenzie decide on. I’ll make sure Annette is there. It’s long past time to bury the hatchet between you two, I agree entirely.”

“Guess you knew my thoughts there without me having to say them,” Madeline joked.

He knows mine, Momby, Kenzie thought. He really does know mine. Someday I’ll tell you all about it.

“See you tomorrow night, my moon babies. Be safe. I love you both so very, very much.”

And with that, Madeline hung up before they could reply to her. Kenzie knew, innately, that her mother had felt a sudden urge to cry--and wanted to be alone to do it. Oh, Momby. Kenzie sighed, deeply. Her mind was racing, and yet there was an underlying calm in her that she knew she hadn’t had prior to the past few days.

“I feel like a door inside me’s been opened, Duncan,” she said, softly, going back into her text messages. “Like it’s letting in all this calm strength, and pushing out all the fear I felt before. You know?”

“I know, baby. I know. I feel the same way. Did you get any other messages?”

“One from Candice. She says Ben wants to publish the article he wrote about you now that Bill’s passed, and he’s waiting on your permission. That doesn’t surprise me. He was so anxious to interview you in the first place.”

“Tell her I said yes.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Kenzie. Yes. It’s time. I know you feel it. It’s like everything’s--fuck, I dunno--on a conveyor belt now. Everything’s pushing us forward. I feel like we’re making impossibly good time getting back, even. It seems like we’ve only been driving for an hour or so, but we only have twenty minutes to go to be back in DC, according to the GPS.”

“Really?” Kenzie squinted at it. “Maybe it’s broken.”

“I don’t think so, Kenz. I think it’s--you know. Us. Her. Magick.”

“I think maybe, eventually, we’ll be able to tell a few people about it. Claire. Momby. About our powers, I mean. The people we’re close to. The people we love.”

“I think so, too,” Duncan said quietly.

“But it’s not time yet.”

“I think so. Not yet.”

The calmness I feel from you right now, Kenzie thought, her breath shuddering in her throat, is so beautiful. It’s making me want cry. It feels like you’re holding me.

I am, Kenzie. I’m always holding you. In my mind. In my senses. In my soul. Always. His fingers reached for her again, settling warm and reassuring, on her thigh.

“I love your hands so much,” Kenzie murmured, threading her fingers into his. “I have since the first moment I saw them. I knew I’d love the way you touched me. And I do. I do so much. I love you so much.”

She heard the emotion in his throat as he breathed in, the tears from Madeline’s photo call still evident. “I love you, too. Can you get my phone out of my pocket, Kenz? I think I need to call Annette.” He nodded at the front pocket of the black chinos he was wearing. Kenzie reached her hand into it; Duncan shifted a little to ease the phone out. She brought it into her lap, loving its large, smooth feel in her hand; I love it because it’s yours. She hit the side power button--as the apple logo flashed, she looked at her own phone one more time, at the last unread text on her phone, from Annette.

Annette: Mackenzie, it’s Annette. Can you please ask Duncan to call me when he can? His uncle has passed away. I know he’s very upset with me, but we need to discuss the transfer of the majority share to his name. Bill signed his official Will before he died. Duncan is now the primary owner of Shepherd Unlimited LLC. I love you both. I wish I could have spoken to you at the Gala. You both looked so lovely. The photos of you together moved me very deeply. Please contact me. I’m so deeply sorry.

I love you both. Kenzie read the line again and again. I love you both. I’m so deeply sorry. Rosemary’s words resounded against it in her mind. The world will have changed, will have changed, changed.

And Rosemary meant this too, she knew. Annette’s heart has changed, too.

Duncan’s phone had restarted now; Kenzie made a little involuntary sound of affection in the back of her throat when she saw his lock screen. It was the picture he’d taken of her in the Led Zeppelin shirt, her hair damp, eyes gazing down in serene affection to her sedum morganianum. The first picture he posted of me on his Instagram, she thought. Only a few short weeks ago, but it feels like it’s been ages. Because it has. For us, it’s been forever and always.

“Nice background, baby,” she grinned at him.

“I think so,” and his smile was so sweet and beautiful her heart clenched again. “It’s my favorite picture of you. My baby and her plant baby.” He echoed the caption he’d written for it.

“Annette texted me, too. She said--she said she loves both of us. That she’s...deeply sorry.”

Duncan was quiet for a long moment, eyes forward. Then he spoke, his voice achingly soft.

“Can you call her for me now, please, Kenz? Put her on speakerphone?”

Kenzie typed his birthday into the phone: 0706. They’re soon, she thought. Coming so soon. I can’t wait to share my birthday with you, Dunny. I wonder what I could possibly get for you that you would love. What do I get for the man who has literally everything.

Anything you ever give me I will cherish endlessly, Mackenzie Stone. She knew he’d heard her from his answer, azure-tinged, whirling, warm. Because it’s from you.Your Hades cherishes every tiny flower from his sweet Persephone’s hair, for nothing grew in the Underworld until she arrived.

Kenzie found Annette in his contacts, hitting the call button, then the speakerphone, holding the phone up between them, her heart tight in her chest. The phone rang once--in the middle of the second ring, a breathless voice came through.

“Duncan.”

Kenzie’s eyes lifted to Duncan’s face; she watched him bite harshly into his lip at the sound of Annette’s voice. He lifted a hand to slide his sunglasses off; his fingers shaking.

“Hi, mom.”

There was a trembling silence that hung in the air, stretching out into bleeding, invisible colors of emotion. Like us, it has a color. It’s the blue of him, his resentment, his sadness, his forgiveness, his love for the only mother he’s ever known. It’s me, and my forgiveness, my love for both of them, the depth of my concern for him. And there’s a dark red, like raspberries on a bushel, like the blush of a stormy sunset. It’s Annette. Her remorse. Her spirit, forever changed by something. By Bill’s death. And by us.

“I’m here too, Annette,” Kenzie said, quietly.

“Hi, Mackenzie. Are you--are both of you alright? I was...I was so worried.”

“We’re fine,” Kenzie answered. “We’re heading back to the city. We were at the cabin for a few days. The one on Deep Creek Lake.”

“Oh. I--I’m so--it’s lovely, isn’t it? The lake there.”

“It really is. It was beautiful. It was perfect.”

The silence stretched again.

“Duncan...I--I’m…” Annette’s voice hitched. There were tears on Duncan’s cheeks now, and Kenzie’s heart felt shattered by his sadness. They were already turning from US-29 N towards Wisconsin Avenue. How are we back in DC already, Kenzie marveled. That should be impossible, we’ve been driving for an hour at most.

“I love you so much, Duncan.” Kenzie’s heart hammered and clenched to hear Annette’s tears. Annette Shepherd, crying. That steely exterior melting. Who could have imagined.

“Mom.” Duncan’s voice was shuddering. Kenzie reached for his hands, her own eyes full of tears now, too. He clutched her fingers, desperately. “I forgive you. For not telling me.”

“Oh, Duncan. Your uncle. He--”

“I know, Mom. I know he’s gone.”

“It’s yours, Duncan. Everything is yours. Shepherd Unlimited belongs to you now. I want you to know--that you are--always, always, and forever--my son.”

Kenzie could see Duncan was crying freely now, his eyes bright as sapphires on the bottom of dappled water, and his tears bled into his voice. “Mom. Can we come see you right now? We just got back in the city and--I want to see you.”

“Oh, Duncan. Yes. Yes, please. I’m at the house.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

“I love you, Duncan. Mackenzie. I love you too.” Annette hung up, and Kenzie lowered Duncan’s phone into her lap, her hand tight on his knee. Duncan stared ahead, tears still dripping into the crook of his neck, along the collar of his feathery shirt. His thoughts were jumbled beyond her ability to conceive, but his pain was deep. Kenzie focused on the feeling of the swirling weight of her gold against him, her fingertips against the weight of his body. The sunny day had bled into a cloudy one as they had drifted back into the capital--storm clouds seemed to be gathering overhead, their faces darkly staring down on the G-Class as it turned towards Annette’s mansion. Storms in our hearts, but soon they’ll clear, I know they will. I can feel Her in everything now. She’s guiding us through everything. She’s going to help us build the world we’re dreaming of.

They turned to the gate, which opened for them almost immediately; Annette waiting anxiously for her son, Kenzie thought. Duncan pulled up to the front walk; the driveway was quiet today, and the air was still as Kenzie gathered one of the bunches of wildflowers from the backseat; this one had some of the wild fuschias in the center, surrounded by pink and white alyssum. The darkness of the fuschias reminded her of the color of Annette in her thoughts--she looked up, the flowers gathered in her arms, to Duncan as he came up beside her, fingers falling through the tiny flowers he’d woven into her hair. Kenzie still wore her hiking boots and the little white dress--guess it doesn’t matter what I wear around Annette now, does it, she thought, smiling up at him. She gathered a wave of golden hair in her fingers, lifting it up to his cheek, using it to brush his tears away.

No, baby, he thought, his smile grateful, tender. It really doesn’t. And you look so beautiful right now I can’t stand it, High Princess.

She grasped his hand and pulled him to the big double doors. “I can’t believe the Gala was only a few nights ago,” she murmured. “It’s like it never happened.”

Duncan didn’t reply in words--but his thoughts drifted to her. That night feels like a dream. But we have those photos of us, don’t we. Those photos of me and you, radiant with the beauty of our love. Everyone has seen them; everyone has seen the greatness of it.

Kenzie grasped the gold knob of the door and it opened--as she pulled Duncan inside she immediately noticed the hunched figure on the staircase in the quiet, head turned down to earth, hands buried in long, sleekly styled chocolatey hair. Annette. Her head came up immediately at the sound--and Kenzie’s heart was crushed by the drawn state of her beautifully delicate features, teary mascara streaked on her cheeks lined with tiredness and grief.

“Mom,” Duncan whispered again, and let go of Kenzie, rushing to the stairs, kneeling--wrapping his arms fiercely around her. Annette clutched him, and a sob erupted from her that tore into Kenzie like a ripping gust of wind. Kenzie came beside them and sat, holding the flowers quietly. The three of them stayed that way for awhile--Kenzie could hear Annette’s low crying breaths, the tick of an ornate grandfather clock the only other sound. Kenzie remembered sitting here on the steps a few nights ago--the stale breath and hateful stare of Bill Shepherd in her face as he clutched at her arm, hissing his malice to her. And now he’s dead. And I forgive him, too.

Annette reached her hand out from Duncan’s arms and clutched Kenzie’s fingers.

“Mackenzie,” she breathed, the hiccup of her breath hitching her words. “I’m s-sorry. I’m so-s-so sorry. For all my cold-coldness. I saw those beautiful photos--saw--I s-saw--”

“Annette, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” Kenzie spoke very quietly, soothingly. “Everything’s forgiven. We love you.”

Duncan let go of his mother; Kenzie passed her the flowers, and Annette’s face was lit with a gentleness Kenzie had never seen there before.

“These are beautiful.” Annette’s fingers brushed out along the tiny alyssum; fell to the ones in Kenzie’s hair, knowingly. Your son threaded these through my hair, Annette. Your gentle, beautiful son. I know you feel that. I know you can see the difference in him. It’s not a change--it’s who he always was.

“We found this spot in the forest behind the lake house; a circle of oaks. Inside it, flowers grew in a beautiful pattern. We brought some back with us--for everyone we love.”

The three of them sat together there in the quiet on the ornate steps--Annette clutched the flowers to her breast, breathing in their richness, her shuddering tears slowly calming. Duncan stared at Kenzie, the affection in him making her feel faint. Annette, do you see? Do you see your son and how radiantly lovely he is? How he’s become the lovely soul in aspect that he always had within? It moves my soul, kindles every sense of my body to him. I love him more than anything on this earth.

“Mom,” Duncan said after a long while. “Can you tell me about my birth mother? I just--I would like to know about her. Please.”

Annette’s breath came out in a shudder once more, then she seemed to gather herself as the flowers were gathered against her. Kenzie reached out to Duncan, grasping his knee. He brought his large hand over hers, holding her tightly.

“She was so lovely. Long, wavy hair, the same color as yours. Dark green eyes. A kind, beautiful face. I only knew her in a passing sense...I met her by chance. I would often see her when I was at grad school--she worked at a diner on campus and cleaned houses. She got pregnant by accident, by a much younger man, one who was very erratic and unwell. She was going to terminate the pregnancy, but I--Duncan, I always wanted children, I just--”

“You couldn’t have any.”

“Yes. I knew it was the only way. Her name was Valerie. Valerie Lawford. I was told that she died a few years ago--I--I’m so sorry, Duncan. I wanted to tell you for a long time, but, when she died, I thought, maybe, that I should let the truth be buried with her. I was wrong about that.”

She breathed out, the whistle of her tears in Kenzie’s ears; then continued.

“From the second I saw you, Duncan...your beautiful, little, scrunched-up face--I just knew. It was instant. We just belonged. We belonged--we did.” She fell against Duncan again, the flowers crushing between them, their rich scent falling into Kenzie’s nose.

The way I knew when I saw him, too, Annette. I knew, too. I knew we belonged. That he was always going to be the place where my heart belonged. How could you not love him. I know. His beautiful soul, so obvious, so bright. How could you not love him the moment you saw him.

“Mom.” Duncan spoke against his mother’s hair. “Kenzie and I are engaged. I want you to know that. We’re going to get married.”

Annette pulled away from Duncan, looking at him, not speaking; and then turned to Kenzie. Her eyes were liquid, their dark brown depth full of a sincerity Kenzie had not felt from them before.

“Can I--Kenzie. Can I hold you?”

Kenzie gasped a little at that--and then her hand was slipping out of Duncan’s so she could wrap her arms around his mother, tightly. Annette was warm and soft, and her hair smelled like warm amber; rich and somehow immediately nostalgic. I will always think of you this way now, Annette, Kenzie thought, looking into Duncan’s eyes over his mother’s shoulder. So softly vulnerable, in need of love, and at last, finally, allowing yourself to be comforted. Finally, allowing me to love you.

-------

They’d asked Annette to come to Madeline’s with them tomorrow, as she arranged the flowers they’d brought her carefully in a gold vase. She had nodded, shyly, her features still awash in love for her son; in relief towards him, in the love Kenzie had seen in her eyes. The world will have changed, Rosemary had said. And everything in it seemed to be flowers on Kenzie’s heart.

“I never thought the day would come where my mother and your mother would willingly agree to be in the same room together again,” Duncan said, bringing a hand along his jaw as they walked back through the doors--they’d said their farewells to Annette a moment ago after a relatively simple (at least, for Arturo) dinner of salmon and spanish-style quinoa with her, Ingrid overseeing the meal in her protective, silent manner. The G-Class was nowhere to be seen now, Annette’s personal service having taken their belongings along to the penthouse without them; instead, like some magical force had called it, Duncan’s telltale black BMW idled on the corner.

“I know, I--Samuel!” Kenzie squealed, noticing it. She raced away from Duncan, coming to the driver’s side window--Samuel pushed the door open, standing, his blindingly white smile flashing at her, and Kenzie threw herself into his big arms, laughing.

“I know it’s only been a few days, but I missed you terribly--” she murmured against him.

“I feel the same way, Miss Mackenzie. To see both of you is a relief.”

“Samuel, we’re engaged.”

Samuel’s laugh was instantaneous and burst out of him like peal of thunder.

“There is nothing else in the world that would have made me so happy to hear.” Duncan came up beside them, and to Kenzie’s surprise, Samuel pulled him into a crushing hug. When he let go, Kenzie could see the joyful emotion on Duncan’s face; feel waves of intense blue love for the older man in his mind.

“Duncan, Mackenzie, I must tell you,” Samuel said, suddenly serious. “There are so many paparazzi at the penthouse--a sea of them. As of Bill Shepherd’s passing, it seems they have decided to ignore his arrangements. I think an escort will be necessary today.”

“Fuck. Right. Okay.” Duncan pulled his phone out, deftly typing, bringing it to his ear. How does any one person look so good doing the simplest things, Kenzie thought. I’ll never not be in awe of you, my love. The Cartier flashed on his wrist, the breeze ruffling at his hair. A drop of rain fell on his cheek as Kenzie watched and both he and Samuel moved to pull the side door open at the same time for her. She laughed a little, awash in affection. The rain is washing away the last of the old world, she thought, sliding into the BMW’s familiar backseat. And now there are only beautiful things ahead. Whatever we imagine, we’ll create it. I can feel it. Whatever we dream up, we’ll make into reality.

By the time Harris arrived with an entourage of dark-suited men, the rain had started in earnest, and pealing thunder was bursting in the sky with long streaks of lightning. Kenzie had settled, half-sleepy, into the crook under Duncan’s arm--Harris slid into the front seat beside Samuel, shaking his hand warmly, then turning to dip an arm through the partition, Kenzie grasping his fingers in greeting, Duncan smiling at both of them, his cheek on the top of Kenzie’s head. Harris looked radiantly happy; he’s in love, Kenzie thought, and wanted to cry again. He’s in love with my beautiful Claire Augustine. My dearest friend, whose soul burns with sincerity.

“Harris,” she breathed, and she could see the brightness in his sepia eyes; the joy. “It’s so good to see you.”

“My god, Miss Mackenzie, Mr. Shepherd,” Harris laughed a little. “You both look wonderful. Brilliant. I can’t...it’s hard to describe it. It’s like you’re shining with light from within.”

“Some really strange things happened to us the past few days,” Duncan said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Harris, we’re engaged,” Kenzie grinned at her huge bodyguard, and her heart melted at the look that came over his face; its softness and approval.

“That’s the sweetest news to hear.” This man is so strong and so gentle at the same time, Kenzie thought. This is the perfect person for my Clairebear.

“Claire told me,” Kenzie gripped his hand for another moment, then let go. “About you two.” Harris pulled it back through the partition, shyly. “My mother’s having some people over for a little gathering tomorrow--I’d like it very much if you’d come with Claire.”

“Oh, Miss Mackenzie, I--”

“Please, Harris. I insist.”

Harris blushed; he really is very handsome, Kenzie thought. He’s got a lovely heart. Only a great heart could match the heart of my Claire.

“Then it seems I have no choice,” he murmured to her, his wide smile spreading over his face. “I’d be honored to come.”

“Good.” Kenzie leaned back into Duncan, her mouth dipping open on his soft shirt, satisfied. The rain pinged against the BMW’s windows, a sweet lull in her mind, the cedar-jasmine scent of her beloved (for all time) in her nose.

Fuck me when we get home, baby? Put my rose choker on me and fuck me naked on the black, smooth stone. Tomorrow I’ll go see Candice and tell her I’m resigning; I’ll tell her our plan for the Post, that it’ll really be hers to control, and that it’s time for me to write something of my own. But right now I want you alone again. I loved that golden bed at the cabin, but I miss our sweet black bed; I miss our Mirror, the chain where you’ve tied me to your attentions, the bathtub where you gathered roses for me, the cherrywood table where we fucked as rain crashed outside, like today, the window where you pressed yourself into me with such immediacy as we gazed out on the view. Fuck, I missed this car, even--this smooth leather backseat where I’ve held you so often, my dearest love.

Kenzie, angel, fuck, yes. Do you want to choose your engagement ring with me? I want to get it for you tomorrow. Duncan pressed the thought, deep blue, shy, into her.

No, I trust you. I want you to choose it. It’s from you, a symbol of your love for me. When I look at it, I want to see me how you see me there, the love and sweetness in your thoughts of me. I want it to always remind me of you there. I feel like I can already see it--like it’s already in my mind. You think of its shape so often, how you want it to look. And I love it with all my heart, because it’s the ring you dream about for me.

Duncan’s arms came around her, bringing her closer, and Kenzie’s knee came over his thigh, his hand drifting over to come across her bare leg. The BMW was almost back to the penthouse, another car with the additional security following behind. Kenzie could see an absolute sea of people waiting for them despite the rain, but was shocked to find the calmness in her heart couldn’t be stirred into worry in this moment. I know everything’s going to be okay now. I know it like the gold I can see in my own spirit.

Can I tell you a secret, he thought into her, and Kenzie’s whole body was tingling instantly; the feeling of the word in the hidden crevices of her, as if his fingers were there.

Always. Tell me every secret.

I had your ring made weeks ago. I wanted it to be perfect. I had it commissioned specially. I’m not going to find your ring tomorrow; I’m going to go pick it up. It’s a moonstone, Kenzie. It had to be. For you, it was the only ring I could imagine. I wanted to ask, to make sure--to make sure that was okay. Because if you don’t like it, if it’s not perfect--

“Dunny,” she whispered, bringing her lips up to his chiseled jaw, her eyes into his (the storm on the sea on a night lit by the moon). “It will be perfect, because it’s from you. From your heart and your soul, for mine. I trust you.”

She looked out the window at the rain-sodden press and paps and the sea of umbrellas (hundreds of people, she marveled, hundreds of people just standing around in the rain, waiting for us), feeling his eyes still on her in his adoration. The security detail coming around to the door from the other car, each of the men very tall in dark suits; I have to get those flowers for Samuel and Harris and Anchaly, they need them. Those flowers aren’t ordinary, they’re for healing the people we love, bringing them into the new world with us. She could see them in her mind now, where they’d be placed all along the counter up in the penthouse.

“Baby...I’ll be right back,” she murmured, and pushed herself there--and for a flash of golden space, time seemed to stop for her. She was in the penthouse; bathed in the storm’s shadows, standing by the counter; the flowers were lined there as she had seen them. Kenzie grasped three of the bunches and moved herself back to the backseat of the BMW, envisioning its leather interior. And then she was there, Duncan gaping at her, flowers cascading in her hands. Kenzie grinned at him, mischievously.

“I’m getting really good at that.”  

“Holy fuck, Kenzie,” he whispered.

Samuel and Harris were at a loss when she handed them the bunches of flowers as they stepped outside, Harris holding an umbrella over Kenzie’s head.

“Where did these come from? You didn’t have them before,” Samuel puzzled through the driver’s side window.

“I used a little magic,” and Kenzie laughed. Samuel and Harris had looked at each other, lost. But the flowers were so beautiful, so sweet, still so fresh despite the journey back from the lake; they seemed to forget the impossibility of them, and instead were enraptured by their beauty, both gazing down into their hands, drinking in their heady scent. Like so many things in life, Kenzie thought, we’re just lucky to have them at all. Or maybe it isn’t luck. I don’t think anything is up to chance. Not anymore. Not with Her guiding everything.

They’d spoken a little to the press before going upstairs, Harris and the entourage hovering around them in a fortress of black suits; answered questions about where they had been (“on a short vacation”), about Bill Shepherd (“we’re grieving but we feel very positive about the future”), and the company. “I spoke to Ben Wilder at the Post,” Duncan had said, cameras flashing on him, “and discussed with him our plans for the longevity of Shepherd Unlimited. My objectives are not my uncle’s. I’ll be dissolving the show, Gardner Analytics, and its App forthwith. Our other plans are still formulating, but from today forward, Shepherd Unlimited will be altered drastically into a vehicle for progressive philanthropy. We are no longer functioning under a capitalist mindset.”

“The official title of the Foundation is changing as well,” Kenzie had added, surrounded by what seemed like fifty microphones, Anchaly’s bouquet in her fingers. Strangely, she didn’t feel nervous. No one seemed to notice the rain, their attention rapt on her. Some of the reporters’ mouths gaped open. Just little ol’ me, Mackenzie Stone, in hiking boots with flowers in my hair, flowers in my hands, but she could hear Duncan clearly in her mind, her fingers threading through the Tiffany moon. Angel, angel baby, High Princess, my beloved, your radiance is staggering, they’ll follow you anywhere, they’ll build temples in your name, you astound me, you make my life a constant blessing, a waking dream, and her smile, she knew, was being captured by a dozen cameras crowded close to her face. “Now it will be called the Shepherd Foundation for the Arts and Sciences, and with it we’ll be creating programs to help disenfranchised people access educational tools and medical care, primarily. With a focus on the arts in general. They’re very important to us. We’re also going to focus heavily on solar energy. This building here--” Kenzie pointed to the high rise, “is going to be the prototype for the others we plan to build. We’re going to make it 100% solar-powered and build a bio-diverse greenhouse on the rooftop as a model for other, similar greenhouses we plan to build on every structure owned by Shepherd Unlimited.”

“And we’re anxious to speak with the President,” Duncan enunciated clearly. “Mackenzie and I have some ideas for serious legislation that could help the District of Columbia and other major American cities convert to solar energy and bio-safe production standards akin to the ones we’re implementing for Shepherd Unlimited. A serious conversation with her for the green future of the United States is a priority for us.”

“Does this mean you’re officially a Democrat?” It was Gary Spencer.

“The company--that is, Shepherd Unlimited as an organization--is no longer affiliated with any political party. Our focus will be on helping the working class. Thanks, that’s all for right now. We’ll see all of you again soon.”

“Mackenzie, you looked so beautiful at the Gala,” a young reporter they didn’t recognize said suddenly, as Duncan and Kenzie went to move away from the crowd. She was short, with dark hair that fell around her round, pretty face to her shoulders, and was wearing a smart, tan-colored skirted suit and heeled boots, holding an umbrella with a pattern of white leaves on turquoise green among the sea of black umbrellas surrounding her. She was gazing at Kenzie with a glassy-eyed expression; reverent, knowing. “Angelic. It was--it was moving. Both of you. It’s obvious how much you really love each other. I--I wanted to say. I wish you every happiness. Thank you for--for showing your love to all of us...I just wanted to say thank you.”

Kenzie reached out to her--the girl accepted her hand, and Kenzie could see she was near tears. May Her hand guide you in all things, beloved. She nodded to the girl, pressing the thought against her. May you always feel loved, for you can see Her work in the universe. Duncan watched them for a minute, his blue eyes sliding knowingly between them. She could hear camera shutters going off wildly around them. Then Kenzie stepped away from the girl and took his hand, and they rushed through the soft rain into the foyer.

“Anchaly! Anchaly!” Kenzie ran to him, her boots stomping on the spotless marble. “We brought you flowers. From the lake. These flowers are--they’re special.” Anchaly was giving her a shocked expression, eyes wide, The New Adam and Eve poised in his hand. Kenzie ran around his desk, pushing the bouquet into his lap. Anchaly stared down at them for a moment, then his face broke into radiant happiness.

“These are the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen,” he said, and Duncan was grinning at them, melting Kenzie’s heart like ice-cream under a summer sun. “They look like you just plucked them from a garden in heaven.”

“They’ll bring you great fortunate,” Kenzie said, batting her eyelashes at him, giggling, and then became serious. “Anchaly, thank you for everything. For being so lovely. For making me feel so at home here. I’m so grateful to you.”

“It’s been one of the great pleasures of my life, Miss Stone. I can’t overemphasize that. Your presence here has been a gift to us, not the other way around. You are a bright star. Thank you for the flowers--my goodness.”

Kenzie nodded, and skipped back around the desk to pull Duncan to the elevator. He fell after her, his eyes dark and lovely on her; just try to get away from me now, Princess Kenzie. I’m gonna trap you in that elevator. Kenzie laughed; her hair tossed over the side of the face as she pulled him in, waving after Harris and their entourage. “See you tomorrow, Harris--” and then the door slid shut, and Duncan’s hands (oh fuck, baby, your hands) were lifting up to her throat, pressing her insistently back into the mirrored surface behind them.

“Are you gonna fuck your baby now?” She whispered, laughing up at him. He smelled like the rain, like the musk of his own sweat and skin, indecipherable and utterly his own--his face hung over hers, the fine chiseled straightness of his nose, the outline of his achingly beautiful lips, his thoughts rushing against her, his blue eyes ravenous and fingers tight, kindling her thoughts towards her choker, its grasping hold on her. The reminder that I belong to you. And what a blessed reminder it is. Duncan was thinking of the sweet smell of her cunt, she could feel it, thinking of the softness of the lips of her sex on the flat of his tongue, thinking of the intense tightness of her ass when he was buried inside it, thinking of the sore redness he’d left on her asscheeks, thinking of her in the black lingerie, thinking of tying her to the bed with his belt, to the chain with the velvet rope--thinking of shivering sound of her moans when he spanked her, when he slapped her clit with the flat of his palm--he was thinking about how he was going to drag her against the counter and fuck her standing, and Kenzie couldn’t keep her nervous laughter at bay; so do it baby, be rough with me, go on do it, do it you fucking god, you exquisite prince, clutch me to you as I am yours in all things, a part of your body, the wholeness of your soul, and she wiggled under his hand, pretending she was trying to get free, to make him tighten his grip on her. His eyes darken with the knowledge of me.

Duncan pressed his mouth, crimson-tinged with heat,.against her cheek, forcing her head to the side, the tightness of his hand making her gasp now. His other hand was pressed flush between her legs, over her panties, fingers spread along the stretch of her sex, held still, almost unbearable in their pressure. This is mine, he was thinking. This part of you here. This sweetness beyond all other sweetness. I want it again--in my lips, around my aching hardness, dripping down my tongue. I’m already so fucking hard for you. I’m always so fucking hard now. Heaven is the space between your thighs, Kenzie, angel baby.

“Uh huh,” his whisper became a moan, became a plea despite the roughness of his fingers. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock, Princess Kenzie. Tonight I want you to obey your Evening Star. Will you do that for me, High Princess? Will you let me tell you what to do?”

Kenzie sighed against him, a whine of delight. “Yes, sweet Prince. Tell me what to do for you. You’re so fucking beautiful, the most beautiful of all men on earth, and I love you more than the stars, more than heaven--” and he was pulling her hair with demanding fingers into his fists, forcing her mouth open, up onto his, his tongue on hers, the scent of him, his height over her, making her slide her hips flush into him, making him clutch her under her ass, along the back of her thighs with tingling, drifting pressure. There is a perfect order to the universe, she thought as he lifted her off the ground, burying his mouth on her neck now, the sweet scratching weight of his stubble staining against her lips. It’s us, fucking together, fucking, fuck--

Duncan dropped her to earth with a groan as the elevator opened, fumbling out his keycard, and her heart was in her mouth as his much larger hand fell down her arm, enveloping her wrist with an insistent, unbreakable grasp, his fingers burning. They fell inside the penthouse door, and Duncan suddenly stepped back from her, achingly setting her free. Kenzie’s nerves were afire now, her body humming with the wild demand in him, the way he was throwing her body this way with blunt force, the way he was staring at her. You’re Dionysus, I’m the sweet wine of your bower, your Ariadne, the height of your potent desire, and without me you will go mad. Without me, you are not yourself.

“Kenzie, take off your panties. Right now.”

Kenzie sucked her breath in, sucked back her moan. She reached under the short hem of the little white dress and eased the white lace panties she wore underneath to the floor, kicking them away with her hiking boots.

“Turn around and lean down. Hold your ankles.”

Oh my goddess, baby.

She giggled nervously, turning, leaning down, gripping onto either ankle--she felt the cool air of the penthouse drift along her exposed sex now as the hem lifted up along her back, her bare cunt and ass facing him, her hair and the tiny flowers he’d twined in it falling along her cheeks. She heard the sharpness of his breath, felt the darkening drift of his energy (his power, kindled), felt him moving up behind her--then she felt him kneel, his hands on the deeply sensitive softness at the back of her thighs, his knees coming down on either side of her feet, so close his musky scent pressed close on her with the flushed warmth of his skin. She shivered, almost losing her balance, at the sweetness of him--Duncan gripped her tightly, holding her steady, and then his mouth was trailing along the bruised flesh of her ass. He nibbled there slightly, sucked, and she felt the curving tickle of his eyelashes as his eyes closed, his breath hitching; then he was pushing her ass cheeks apart, his breath blowing, tiny and shiveringly cool, along the pucker of her asshole, and then his tongue was lolling down over the opening of her cunt--Kenzie shook violently, moaning, almost losing her balance again as his mouth dipped further, onto her clit--and then he was sliding back, standing away from her, going to her suitcase and bringing it in front of her.

“Don’t move, Kenzie baby,” he whispered. “Stay just like that. Keep yourself like that for me. Just a little bit longer.”

“Mmmh, Dunny, baby, it’s hard,” and Kenzie could feel her knees trembling.

Duncan found the rose choker and the plug, and Kenzie watched him bite his lip in anticipation, her breath coming out in another little gasp. He came up to her on his knees and deftly buckled the smooth leather around her neck, pulling it tight--Kenzie’s vision blurred, then settled back as Duncan kissed her, his mouth trembling and open, his tongue needy, hands pulling her chin against him.

“Okay, up now, Princess,” he whispered, and Kenzie straightened, standing over him. He gazed up at her (fucking goddess, he thought) and Kenzie smiled down at him, lost in his loveliness. He crooked his finger at her--those beautiful long fingers.

“Turn around, sweet baby,” and she did, heart resounding.

“I’d do anything for you, Duncan,” she whispered to him, over her shoulder, and knew, with painful, sharp clarity, how true it was. “For you, all my weakness is laid bare. In your arms I am vulnerable to anything you’d do...or say...or give, or take away from me. Oh, goddess. It’s so much.”

“I know, Kenzie, my love. And you know...I pray you know...how entirely I would do anything for you. Anything of heaven, earth, or hell. Anything. I will worship you endlessly in this world until my death, and then I will be reborn to worship you in the next. Now lean down again, beloved angel. Let me. Do as I say.”

Kenzie was close to the edge of the island now--she leaned down on it, her cheek to its coldness, the air drifting against the wetness along her sex again, and gripped the smooth corners of obsidian stone. She felt the tickling contact of his fingers once more, starting at her ankles this time, sliding upwards, his lips pressing on the bruises he left again; so slowly, almost unbearably slow. Kenzie could smell the potency of the rest of the wildflowers a few feet away, resting on the island--she tried to focus on their scent for a moment to keep her legs from shaking, but then Duncan was pressing her ass apart again, and she couldn’t stop her voice from rising in a convulsive cry as she felt a long line of his warm spit drip down between them, into the hole there--and his long, elegant thumb immediately force itself into her, sliding the wetness into her, preparing her for a moment, his other fingers drifting up her thigh, cupping the cheek above it.

“My angel baby,” he whispered, and the softness of his voice made her want to scream. “I’m gonna fuck you so fucking hard now.” And then, with an immediacy that stole every bit of breath from her lungs, Duncan pressed the plug into her ass, harshly, utterly, with the flat of his hand flush against her, forcing it in as far as it would go, causing her nerves to sing and her voice to hitch into wordless entreaties, and then he was standing behind her, hands insistently pushing her dress up, pulling it over her head so she was laid bare to him; then she heard the rustling of him disrobing himself, scattering his clothing to the floor in a rippling heap, the hovering heat of him kindling her senses, and he slid his arms under her slender breasts at her torso, flushing her back against his chest and his abdomen, the feeling of him so slick-soft and the scent of him rich with deep musk and his voice in her ear--

“Angel--”

Delight of my eyes, fire in my heart, center of the universe, let me lay worship between your thighs--

“Angel--”

Honey-voiced, silk-skinned, rose-scented, sun-haloed, princess of gold--

They gasped into each other as he entered her, his cock achingly hard and immediately slick with her arousal and the spit he’d left inside her; her ass twinged, sucking at the plug, pushing spit to the front of her mouth, threatening to spill it forward from her lips. He held her against him utterly this way as he moved against her, lips buried in her hair--Kenzie felt absolutely lost to him, her body and her mind tangled against him in such a way that she thought she would die if ever she came undone. I worship you, he bled against her. I worship you until heaven falls utterly.

“Fu-uuck,” she heard herself whining, far away. “Dunny, touch my poor little clit, please--”

“You do as I say tonight, my little flower goddess--” he murmured into her ear. “You won’t come until I fuck you for as long as I want to, Mrs. Shepherd. Don’t touch your clit or you’ll be spanked. Hard.”

“Ungh--Dunny--baby--”

“Go ahead, baby, cry out for me. I wanna hear. Sing out to me, High Princess, my most luxuriant beauty of the stars.”

He pushed her thighs out with his knees so they were spread utterly, pounding into her so roughly Kenzie keened against the counter, her body rocking back and forth, her breasts coldly pressed on the obsidian, the choker cutting against her throat; the counter was tethered utterly and could not be moved, so Kenzie’s shudders against it made her feel like a wave of deep water on a still shoreline; the bliss is to be locked to you this way, and also in movement. The dance between us is one that can’t be described in words. It’s our souls coming together every time. When we fuck, we’re touching each other in the deepest, most shadowed place. Oh, fuck--

Kenzie’s hand drifted down to her clit, unthinkingly--Duncan’s hand snapped out and yanked her fingers away, then he stretched his long fingers and slapped them sharply, three times in quick succession, against the lips of her cunt, against the sensitive bundle of nerves between them; Kenzie gasped sharply, her vision going dark again for a moment at the intensity of it, the sharp spikes of light that lit her mind and the growing heat in her belly.

“Only I get to touch you there this time, angel,” he moaned into her ear, and then he pressed his index and middle finger into her clit, not moving them for a long while as he fucked her--letting the force of them make her keen her hips against him, grinding onto the thickness of his cock; making her fuck herself. “That’s it, angel baby, my golden goddess. Fuck my cock, Kenzie, baby--”

Duncan was toying with the plug as he worked at her, teasing it roughly against the pressure of her ass, and she let out a wailing groan, snapping her teeth together to try to keep her cries at bay. He was pressing into her neck with a strong hand again, pushing her cheek into the cold stone, then pulling her back up to bring his fingers into her throat, around the choker (oh goddess fuck the way you know I love it so much, so tightly, my breath aching to be free but my heart longing for you to never let go), bringing his nose against the back of her neck as he fucked her, breath hot; his mouth hung open on her skin, his voice bleeding out against her, his ecstasy untethering him.

“Ken-n-zie, fuck, can you see that--”

At first Kenzie didn’t understand--could see nothing from her heavy-lidded eyes but the flowers gathered in front of her, the doorway of the dining room beyond, the silver fridge, and darkness at the corners of her vision, Duncan’s fingers tangled in her hair and tight on her skin, the pressure of his fingers on her clit making her want to scream---but then her vision shifted, as it had in the forest at the lake, as it had in their dreams.

She thought she saw the sky; full of stars, so many stars, as it had been there in the clearing, millions of stars, the universe like a cosmic ocean of a depth I could not imagine, and saw the moon, a waning third now that was becoming crescent-like. And then, the vision seemed to double; seemed to triple, and extend further, and fall in itself, becoming some impossible geometry of dimension, and every moon was a pattern of the next, a copy but also not a copy, also its own moon, distinct, singular--and in their faces, Kenzie knew; could see. Could see Her, the Goddess, her faces, not only three, but many, infinite, extending forever, beyond all description, beyond all measure of space or time. Knew that this; the melding of their bodies, the demand of their sex, was divinely right, even holy, even of heaven.

Then the vision seemed to fall back into itself, to collapse. She realized inside of the vision that they hadn’t ceased the ardency of their movements against each other--if anything she gasped with the need to have him closer, turned her neck under his hand to reach his mouth; Duncan kissed her with a neediness that made her body hum, as if he were sucking not only the breath from her, but the golden outline of her spirit--she thought of what she’d imagined the night of the Gala, staring up at the fullness of the moon over the penthouse. Those moons live beside our moon, and together, they echo through time. Just as every version of us, and our story, echoes in time beside us. And in every story, we find each other. In every story, I will always find you, Duncan. She’s showing us. She’s telling us that story. The story beyond time.

And as Kenzie drifted into the rising storm that was her release--his own so achingly close to her, I know baby, I can feel you, the glow of your skin, the furious idolatry for me in your thoughts--she thought of the song they’d heard; the one that had whisked them, with supernatural speed, into the arms of his distraught mother, into the halo of healing forgiveness that still lingered in them--

Don’t you see what you’re finding? This is heaven in hiding, this is heaven in hiding

And as they came together, locked together utterly, the echoes of it resounded in her mind and again, and she felt him there, tied to every part of her, the aspects that could not be seen, only sensed, her true soul against his, saw the moons extending into eternity--

This is heaven in hiding, this is heaven in hiding, we’re heaven in hiding, heaven in hiding, heaven in hiding...