#especially the copper stuff and crown

[sand-stinger]

some of my favorite parts of my piece for the @empiropediazine :]

zine comes out august 23!!! free to download!! has loads of cool art!! check it out!

[mononijikayu]

so historically there are comparable thoughts about the velaryon boys being legitimate.

so, richard duke of york has black hair and his wife cecily neville has light hair, so blonde. they produced a couple of children but one of the most important was edward iv of england who had brown hair.

a lot of times, this fact actually got twisted. that he didnt look like his father enough or that his father was away and he couldn't have fathered edward. those were all made up to make edward look lesser in the eyes of his contemporaries. edward had to fight the rumours of illegitimacy based off the greed and politically motivated moves of others. especially by both of his brothers, george of clarence and richard of gloucester. they too wanted the crown but as eldest son, edward was the one who managed to maintain his claim. and later on, he is betrayed by richard, who claims falsehoods on his brother and his own nephews.

now his own wife, elizabeth woodville had red copper hair and probably inherited it from her mother, jacquetta of luxembourg. her own father lord rivers, was probably of dark hair as her own brother lord anthony has gotten black hair in medieval contemporary depictions.

the power of elizabeth's hair is actually the stuff of legend in the plantaganet line because it was her hair that would later be the staple of the later tudor dynasty and even as far as the stuarts who became the main line.

she and edward had a big brood of children but their eldest son named was named edward v and he was born of blond hair. which he probably got from his father's line, which he also could have gotten from his mother's line. various ancestors can provide something interesting all the time.

so, up above we can see that with richard and cecily's union, the dark colored hair hair and blonde hair equates to black or brown hair - which edward does get. his own brothers as far as we know have also the same predicament in hair. however we also know that his sister mary of york, duchess of burgundy inherited fair/blonde hair as well. YET it would also have been very likely for him and his siblings to have inherited copper red/red gold or blond hair because its in the genes already.

as mentioned before, edward and elizabeth have many children besides edward v and his brown hair to her red hair equated to blond and copper blond in the family. edward v inherited lady cecily's blond hair and his sister elizabeth of york had her mother's copper red.

this later on with many brood of other children later on would pass on to the rest of the plantaganet children and into the tudor dynasty and become such a famous trademark for them.

BUT had edward v not been blond or for elizabeth of york to not have copper red, it would also be possible for him or her to have gotten red copper or even black/brown hair/ blonde.

because as we mentioned before, it is in the family already. their grandmother lady cecily had blond hair and their own maternal uncle anthony rivers also has dark hair.

as long as there has been a family member close enough, it doesnt matter which generation it decides to come or skips - that character trait will continue to pass on. just as character traits, just like traumatic experiences, just like language and heritage and culture - the genes and the features like hair come with it.

it would have been very possible for any of the velaryon boys to earn any trait from genes already there, waiting to be rebirthed in one of them.

like we have to understand that there was 100 years of intermarrying by the time of rhaenyra. like we dont know how many kids orys and argella completely had. we dont know how many kids davos baratheon had. we dont know how many kids ronnell arryn had or if he had sisters or who they all married and had kids with.

but the one thing that is sure is that there would be a lot of new blood that could be in rhaenys and aemma and even from corlys himself who had first men blood from the masseys. the genetics that they bore and brought to a very intrinsic incesteous bloodline is gonna be an interesting, fresh, lottery.

they could pass that on to their descendants. a lot of the bastardry claims about the velaryon boys is highly politically motivated, especially when we consider the fact that their claim rests on the matriarchal line. which is important because westerosi law is salic, male to male. and then viserys made it semi - salic by naming a female heir and her male sons his heirs.

a great way to undermine the claim of the heir's heir is to declare them bastards, illegitimate and a stain on the dynasty. especially the heir being a woman, it would be easy to call them out for 'improper' behaviour because of the double standards settled between man and woman in a heavily patriarchal society like westeros. many people were really desiring a male line for the male line. and it didnt matter if the male claimant was not a good ruler. what mattered was them being a man in a mam's world for the sake of preserving the status quo. and rhaenyra challenges that by being heir and having her own line exist.

like here we see that no matter the dominant features - some genes would overpower that and produce children with different features than what we are used to. genetics is a mystery box that people dont understand. even with magic, the targaryens are not exempt from intermingling their blood outside house targaryen and forging new flow in the veins. like, the fact that the valyrians had ties of marriage with first men is already interesting enough. that brings A LOT OF POSSIBILITIES.

that is why its important to look at asoiaf as also having traps especially in terms of features. being a targaryen isnt only the silver hair or lilac eyes. if it was, then we wouldnt have the pleasure of enjoying characters like baelor breakspear or daeron, son of maekar i who inherited more diverse genetics than their other targaryen counter parts. like i expect GRRM loves to play around things in the story and make us have a lot of stuff to ponder about. and its insane.

[ingek73]

Out with the Sussexes, in with the Parker Bowleses. Revenge is sweet for Charles and Camilla

Catherine Bennett

The royal wrath has seen Harry and Meghan evicted from their Windsor cottage, but never mind, there are plenty of spares

Sun 5 Mar 2023 07.00 GMT

The much hoped-for new edition of Spare must be writing itself. “‘Darling boy,’ Pa said. “This is a section 21 notice. You’re being evicted. Your attack on my darling wife was unconscionable. The new tenant, Prince Andrew, wishes to keep the copper bath.’”

Given the wealth of new material and the potentially liberating impact of Charles’s revenge, an entirely new book, Spare 2: Exiled, would probably be a better commercial decision for Random House once Harry has finished promoting volume one. The same week his family’s eviction from Windsor was revealed, he was preparing for an online session with physician Gabor Maté on “personal healing” and telling a US interviewer that he’d like to be reincarnated as an elephant.

Prior to that transformation, there’s not only the royal reaction to Spare to unpack, along with his humiliations at the late queen’s funeral, but, promisingly, all the stuff omitted from the memoir, thanks to what seems to have been some hope of reconciliation. “There are some things that have happened, especially between me and my brother, and to some extent between me and my father, that I just don’t want the world to know,” he told the Telegraph. “Because I don’t think they would ever forgive me.”

But to judge by various retaliatory acts, there is not much forgiveness to forfeit. The eviction from a cottage he was allocated by the queen and its offer to a generally reviled uncle being only one indication that Harry’s exclusion is expected to be permanent and as mortifying to him as the stars of this dynastic drama can make it. Subtle, his avenging enemies are not. Harry doesn’t mind about missing the coronation? How does he feel, then, about being replaced in the public’s affections by Tom Parker Bowles? Yes, Camilla’s son, the author of Fortnum & Mason’s. An author in his own right. The Gods are just! Maybe Harry should have thought about that before he insulted the house of Parker Bowles?

It’s only a line or two in Spare but Camilla was unlikely to forget this bit: “She began,” Harry writes, “to play the long game, a campaign aimed at marriage and eventually the crown.” Favourable Camilla stories began to appear that could only, he says, have come from her: “And the leaking had obviously been abetted by the new spin doctor Camilla had talked Pa into hiring.”

The favourable press continues to this day with a vastly enjoyable Times article exploring a question on many of our minds: “Tom Parker Bowles: the Firm’s new secret weapon?” No less an authority than the Times columnist Giles Coren was happy to confirm, last week, that his friend, the suddenly priceless Fortnum asset, is a credit to his mother: “She must be a great mum because of who he is.”

But our royal bogof – acquire one Parker Bowles, get another one free – does not stop there. The queen, as more dutiful publications are already calling Camilla, might be above actually slaying anyone, but she’s evidently keen to promote her blood descendants while Harry’s babies, rightfully inheriting his doom, live to rue the day he disrespected her. In comparison, the vengeance inflicted by a ruthless queen mother on the unfortunate nanny-memoirist, Crawfie, was mild in not featuring eviction and a substitute favourite.

The plan is reportedly for Camilla’s five grandchildren to join Prince George in the coronation entertainment, fulfilling roles previously performed by duchesses, their solemn task being to hold a canopy over Camilla while she is anointed with holy oil. The Sunday Times said the refreshed ritual would send a message to subjects that Camilla and Charles “reflect the reality of modern life”. “Blended”. Not unlike Agrippina, Nero and Claudius in AD49.

Where an average unhappy family might struggle to communicate, they ensure difficult relations are publicly snubbed

Assuming modern is how the public also views the descendants of the former Silver Stick in Waiting, their multitudinous appearance could yet be problematic for King Charles in fattening up a royal family he has forever said he wants “slimmed down”. More pressing, of course, is the difficulty he has pointlessly created for himself in the approach to the coronation, in choosing the permanent proximity of his unspeakable brother in Windsor Great Park over that, rarely, of the troublesome Sussexes and their children.

Could he not wait three months to demonstrate that he considers criticism of Camilla, the queen consort, a worse offence than his brother hanging out with Jeffrey Epstein; that a whiny book is more embarrassing for his family than its connection with Andrew’s rumoured £12m settlement – despite his denials – of Virginia Giuffre’s sex abuse accusations? (To be fair, some prominent media supporters clearly share his assessment.)

Charles could hardly, anyway, object to the Sussexes’ Frogmore Cottage being largely vacant. Not after personally collecting property including Highgrove, the Castle of Mey, Birkhall, a Welsh farmhouse, a Romanian ditto, a Scilly Isles base and Dumfries House, on top of accommodation in Clarence House, Windsor Castle, Sandringham, Balmoral and Buckingham Palace. Any of which – although perhaps innocent Romanians should be spared – would be a less compromising place permanently to store Andrew.

Still, the king and Camilla deserve some credit for offering so early in his reign the Windsors’ traditional act of service: a sign to subjects that there’s always a palace-based family more fucked up than their own. A contented couple in their 70s can’t handle the not very astonishing fact that the bereaved Harry resented the rival Diana had called “the Rottweiler”.

They can’t resist fuelling this conflict, at the risk of overshadowing their own coronations and, in making it permanent, of losing two grandchildren. Where an average unhappy family might struggle to communicate, they ensure difficult relations are publicly snubbed, replacement dependants promoted. They can’t even recognise that their revenge could hardly be, from a commercial perspective, a more timely and generous gift. .

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 17 TYRION IV (pages 238-253)

Tyrion lays some bait for the members of the small council as he tries to plan for the future of King's Landing and his family. Meanwhile, Alisser Thorne finally arrives, but his warning about the up coming Zombie Apocalypse is unfortunately delayed.

-

"There are a hundred whorehouses in this city where a clipped copper will buy me all the cunt I want," Bronn answered, "but one day my life may hang on how close I've watched your louts." He stood.

"cunt" = 🥛

The sellsword grew more serious. "There's a moneylender from Braavos, holding fancy papers and the like, requests to see the ling about payment on some loan." "As if Joff could count past twenty. Send the man to Littlefinger, he'll find a way to put him off. Next?"

... Does Tyrion know how in debt the crown is? He should by this point shouldn't he? I can't decide if I should be reading this as "Tyrion knows how bad the debt is and that they can't pay it so they need to stall for time until they can" or "Tyrion doesn't know how bad the debt is but money and stuff is Not His Department and thus not his problem."

"Ser Alliser Thorne?" Of all the brothers he'd met on the Wall, Tyrion had liked Ser Alliser Thorne the least. A bitter, mean-spirited man with too great a sense of his own worth. "Come to think on it, I don't believe I care to see Ser Alliser just now. Find him a snug cell where no one has changed the rushes in a year, and let his hand rot a little more."

*slow clap* Excellent. And thus, because he did not like the messenger, he did not hear the message until there was no evidence left to prove it true.

That's part of the allegory though, isn't it. People don't want to hear the message, they want to hear it even less from people they don't like, as if the truth is depended on whether or not we like it.

Also, I keep going to type 'Allister' every time I have to spell Alliser's name.

"That's a handsome knife as well." "Is it?" There was mischief in Littlefinger's eyes. He drew the knife and glanced at it casually, as if he had never seen it before. "Valyrian steel and a dragonbone hilt. A trifle plain, though. It's yours, if you would like it." "Mine?" Tyrion gave him a long look. "No. I think not. Never mine." He knows, the insolent wretch. He knows and he knows that I know, and her thinks that I cannot touch him.

Valyrian steel + Dragonbone = 🥛🥛 (the weather's still atrociously hot, so it still counts for two. Stay hydrated all!)

Oh wow, Littlefinger really does own the entire economy from the top down. No wonder he's been getting away with embezzlement and tax fraud.

"- I've heard you grew close to the Tullys." "You might say so. The girls especially." "How close?" "I had their maidenheads. Is that close enough?"

-and then suddenly the floor and wall collapsed, dropping Petyr into the yard where the hares decided they'd had enough and staged an uprising, killing Joffrey and Petyr first with all the vengeance they could muster, calling on their ancestor: The Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog!

"She believes she has good reason. When I was her guest in the Eyrie, she insisted that I'd murdered her husband, and was not inclined to listen to denials." He leaned forward. "If I gave her Jon Arryn's true killer, she might think more kindly of me."

*looks directly at the camera like we're on The Office* just a sliiiight flaw in that plan, Tyrion. Very mall, true, but unfortunately, structural. Load bearing, even.

... You know, I do kind of like Varys in spite of myself. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, but he grows on me. Like a cute, giggly fungus.

[storybounded]

Tod had been roaming through the woods all day.

Mrs. Tweed had decided to let him out since he wasn’t in any immediate danger by being out of the house now- not with Chief and Copper gone on their hunting trip.

The cool fall air brushed through his red fur, and the fox kit smiled, looking up into the orange and yellow treetops.

Then he caught a strange scent.

Huh? Well, he’d never smelled it before. Tod knew it was another animal, but he didn’t know what kind it was.

Then he saw a long-legged, spotted creature in the distance.

Excited immediately at the prospect of making a new friend, Tod beamed and happily trotted up to the fawn without realizing how scared he’d probably make him.

“Hiya!” he greeted warmly, “I’ve never seen you ‘round here before. What’s your name?”

@thefcxandthehcund, for Bambi. :)

@thefcxandthehcund

Bambi had heard from his other woodland friends that the clovers in this very spot are the best. However, there was ONE problem that made the meal too good to be true. A few dogs LIVED in this neck of the woods with a hunter.

Although Bambi wanted to be braver, dogs were far more dangerous than he. Like a little bear but leaner. With maws filled with sharp fangs that bite. And don’t even mention the noises they make. It always rattled his ears drums. But nothing could beat the loud, scary bangs that were sure to follow if they were spotted in the woods.

But word spread quickly by the little birds and the chipper ducks.

That the area will be safe to roam - at least for a while.

And they were right. The food is plentiful.

Sweet and crisp. Doused with refreshing morning dew. Bambi was delighted to stuff a mouthful of clovers in his little mouth ( before the cool weather took them away!).

But although the dogs were gone, the little fawn knew he was in an unfamiliar area. Despite having friends nearby, his senses were on high alert, ready to make him dash away in a moment's notice to the safety of his group. For now, he stood his ground, savoring each bite. Bambi even briefly imagined himself with mighty antlers crowned upon his head, much like his father. That thought alone made him feel bigger.

At least... until a sound broke him out of his daydreams, and a flash of red made him briefly think he saw a dog in dog country. The ears, the snout, the tail, the teeth. A sharp GASP, and Bambi stumbled back and back, until he fell tail first into a concaved tree stump that had been weathered away by rain. Legs were in the air, and he peeked at the little creature from in-between.

"Wait! you are no dog..." Thank goodness. Bambi pinned his hears back and gave a slight chuckle in embarrassment at the situation he got himself into. Whoops.

At least foxes weren't so bad, especially such little ones.

"Um. Hi! I'm Bambi." The fawn flailed his legs until his upper body got the momentum to get himself unstuck. "Hehe, you didn't see anything, promise? You got me good. I thought you were one of those scary dogs." Nose scrunched at the thought.

He quickly threw that image out of his mind when he shook his body to rid himself of the wooden debris that tickled his fur. His head tilted curiously.

"I don't think I've seen you around either, you don't look like any of Miss Fox's cubs."

[floweroflaurelin]

Oh !! i absolutely love love love the way you draw jewelry/accessories specifically (not to say i dont love how you draw everything else this just stuck out to me). I feel like this is a detail that gets overlooked a ton and its so cool to see stuff like that. Especially the way you drew (painted? created?) pixlriffs crown. My jaw literally dropped. It is so incredible !

Wow, thank you!!! This is so sweet!! I love love love doing the details and accessories and the jewelry, that is so much fun and I’m so glad it stands out to you as something I do well :DDD

Pixlriffs’ crown is my favourite Empires design I’ve made, followed by long hair!Scott. It’s got the same shapes as the conduit lamps, the candle pillars that surround the Vigil, and the cascade shape of copper around the door to Pix’s storage building, since that was the first big Pixandria build!! Designing it with all those details was super fun and it’s stayed the same in all of the many Copper King paintings I’ve done. I’m so so glad you like it too!!

[marshmellowedhues]

The Couples' Discount

The thing is, Annabeth knows Percy.

Annabeth knows Percy from middle school, where he would shyly ask her for a spare pencil every day, his big green eyes flitting from the floor to her face and back to the floor, and his face as red as a tomato.

Annabeth knows Percy from high school junior year, where every lab session involved Percy running late into class from swim team practice, a ball of inexhaustible energy: his legs continuously bouncing under the table as he leaned over to ask her what the atomic mass of carbon was for the third time that day.

Annabeth also knows Percy from across the hall at a freshman party in college, where her friend Jason and his friend Piper first locked eyes with each other and subsequently became inseparable.

Suffice to say, Annabeth is familiar with who Percy is. She just doesn’t think this level of familiarity is enough for her to engage in a conversation with him for five minutes, let alone share waffles with him for one hour.

Yet Percy is standing right in front of her, hands gripping the straps of his backpack as he waits for her response.

“You want us to go to Sveltes’ for waffles?” Annabeth’s right hand comes up to massage her temples as her laptop rests on her left arm.

“Blue ice cream waffles, Annabeth,” Percy emphasises. “Please?”

Anyone who knows Percy knows how much he likes his food blue - blue shakes, blue cakes, blue toppings and blue ice cream… Annabeth once saw his eyes light up when their high school Chemistry teacher told them they were making blue copper sulfate crystals. If Annabeth hadn’t kept an eye on Percy, she was pretty sure Percy would have tried his luck and eaten the crystals.

Annabeth steels herself and avoids Percy’s wide baby seal eyes (no, they’re not adorable at all, shut up) before replying, “No.”

Annabeth turns on her heels and walks down the courtyard as Percy chases after her, whisper-yelling, “But if they think we’re a couple, we can get the couples’ discount!”

Annabeth stops short, and Percy almost bumps into her from the momentum.

“What?”

Percy laughs shakily, before biting his lips, the blush surging from the base of his neck to his cheeks. There goes the tomato, Annabeth thinks with an odd sense of satisfaction. Percy opens his mouth and blurts out his words at the speed of a freight train.

“Yesterday was Valentines’ Day, and Sveltes’ has this wicked two-for-one ice cream waffles deal for couples which ends today, so the only way I can get these waffles is if you agree to…” Percy trails off, his lips pursed.

“Agree to what?”

Percy lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug as his face lifts with a timid half-smile. “Be my girlfriend for one hour?”

“Absolutely not. Can’t you ask anyone else? Piper?”

“Piper works there. Besides, Jason will kill me.”

Annabeth huffs. “Reyna?”

“Reyna will kill me.”

Annabeth snaps her fingers. “Hazel.”

Percy glances back at her, horrified. “I am not going in there looking like a pedophile.”

“We’re seventeen, Percy,” Annabeth grits out.

“She’s fourteen!”

Annabeth throws her hands up. “It’s a three-year difference.”

“That’s still illegal!”

“For what? Getting waffles?”

Annabeth glares at Percy for a few seconds, before Percy sighs in defeat.

“I just really want those waffles, Annabeth.” Percy mutters, training his eyes on the floor.

It makes total sense if she just walks away right now. He asked for something she doesn’t really want to give, and her homework awaits in her dorm. Though that isn’t due till next week, and today is only Tuesday… but she has stuff to do. Kind of.

Annabeth doesn’t know what went through her mind - given her final decision, probably nothing sane - but she hears herself say, “Fine. I’m free after classes at four.”

Percy looks up at her, his green eyes unfairly bright and filled with such a child-like hopefulness she almost felt the urge to slap him and stomp off in both embarrassment and confusion. He grabs both her hands in excitement. “Thank you so much, Annabeth. You will not regret this. I’ll treat you to that strawberry milkshake you like.”

“How do you know I like strawberry milkshake?”

For a moment, Percy’s eyes widens before he rushes out, “You told me sophomore year, okay, see you later, Annabeth!”

He turns and runs down the courtyard, leaving Annabeth to over analyse her very perplexing thoughts alone.

*

Despite Percy’s reassurances, Annabeth finds herself regretting her decision as Percy pulls the door of the cafe open for her. Annabeth steps in cautiously, cursing herself as she finds the place filled with couples. Maybe if she covered her face by resting her hand against the crown of her head, she could get away this entire hour without making eye contact with anyone she knew.

Luckily for them, they find a seat fairly quickly, and Annabeth busies herself with looking at the menu. She thinks there is a possibility they can just eat their waffles and leave without anyone noticing them, when a bright, excited voice calls out, “Percy!”

Before she could hide her face, Piper, decked in her Sveltes’ waitress uniform, walks towards them, her braided brown locks framing her face as her kaleidoscopic eyes shine in elation.

“And Annabeth’s here too,” Piper grins, then turns to Percy. “I thought you’d never work up the nerve to ask her out!”

Percy’s eyes widen comically. If Annabeth hadn’t felt her heart jump, she would have laughed at how quickly his neck turned red, along with his ears.

“To get the discount.” He blurts out, nodding meaningfully at Annabeth. She tilts her head to the side and raises one of her eyebrows challengingly, settling into a smirk. Percy’s face turns a darker shade of red as both his hands reach out to cup the back of his neck.

“Right, to get the discount,” Piper scoffs. “If that were the case, why did you call me last night--”

“I want the two blue ice-cream waffles and a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and cinnamon in a large venti cup, please, now!” Percy almost yells.

Annabeth was about to shush him when she heard him recite her usual order. Piper nods and rolls her eyes, muttering something about “that ungrateful little idiot who asked me what he should wear today”.

“You know my order?” Annabeth asks as Percy breathes a sigh of relief. His head snaps up as he stutters, “I-I have a good memory.”

“Do you remember the atomic mass of carbon?”

He scoffs. “Of course, it’s 16.”

“That’s oxygen.”

Percy winces as Annabeth smirks. “So, you’ve been planning this for awhile, haven’t you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Chase,” Percy shoots back. “I really just couldn’t find anyone else.”

Percy launches into a commentary about how waffles are just the best thing the world has ever created, don’t you agree? That quickly turned into an explanation of why he liked blue food so much.

“I placed last for my first swimming competition and my terrible stepfather laughed at me and said I was useless and it would be impossible for me to ever get an Olympic medal,” He shares with an easy smile, hands fiddling the napkin on the table. “So my mother baked a blue cake and told me nothing was impossible as long as I tried my best. A few years later, she divorced my stepfather and we never looked back.”

“That’s very inspirational.”

“I know, I should become a motivational speaker.” Percy replies sardonically.

Annabeth snorts. Conversations with Percy have always been easy, even during high school. Lab sessions were always filled with bad Percy jokes, the kind that out of anyone else’s mouth would have made her cringe and roll her eyes, but she found hilarious when Percy said it.

The good thing about Percy is, he never took himself or anyone else too seriously. He was genuine and self-deprecating, and never really dwelled on one problem for too long. But when he was really passionate about something, he could go on and on about it, and Annabeth finds that he makes even the most confusing marine biology concepts sound understandable.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing on earth to hear him talk about marine biology everyday, Annabeth thinks.

Percy stops short in his ramblings, and a nervous hand comes up to palm his neck. A nervous tick, Annabeth thinks. Cute. Then she feels like plunging her head into the confectionary’s refrigerator because what in the world was that about?

She jolts back to reality when Percy chuckles. “I think I’m talking too much about my major. How about yours? How’s architecture going?”

“Marine biology’s interesting, especially when you explain it.” Annabeth reassures him. “Right now, we’re covering Greco-Roman architecture, and it’s the best thing in the world.”

Percy grins and nods at her to continue. So she launches into an explanation of Doric and Ionic columns and gushes a bit too enthusiastically about the wonders of the Roman aqueducts. Percy listens attentively and asks questions appropriately, and Annabeth thinks that it would be easy to go on more waffle dates with him in the future.

The waffles and milkshake arrive before she can entertain that terrifying thought. Percy oohs and ahhs at the blue ice cream waffles and she laughs at the number of photos he takes of his waffles.

Annabeth is digging into her waffles when a low, hearty voice asks, “Percy?”

Percy’s face brightens as a tall, burly boy stops at their table. “Beckendorf, what are you doing here?”

“Getting waffles with his girlfriend,” Another sweeter voice replies teasingly. “And who’s this, Percy?”

Annabeth glances up to see a petite girl in a pastel pink summer dress with her hands tucked around the arm of a muscular boy in a football jersey and shorts. The girl looks vaguely familiar, and judging by the way her eyes narrow at Annabeth in recognition, they definitely know each other.

“Aren’t you from my psych class? Annabeth, right?” The girl asks.

Annabeth panics slightly, racking her brain for a name. “Silena Beauregard?”

“Yep, and this is my boyfriend.” Silena smiles. “I didn’t know you guys were a thing.”

Annabeth starts, “We’re n--”

“Yeah, we, um, you know,” Percy fumbles with a smile. “We are a thing.”

Annabeth frowns at Percy, who glances at her with pleading eyes.

“How did you guys meet?” The boyfriend - Beckendorf, Annabeth recalls Percy saying - asks.

Before Annabeth could glare at Percy, he replies, “Oh, we actually grew up together, attended the same middle and high school. And as it turns out, the same college too.”

Percy grins as Annabeth forces out a short laugh. Silena cooes at them and turns to Beckendorf, “That is so sweet. When did you guys fall in love?”

Percy chokes on his cup of water, a sure blush forming at his neck. Annabeth maintains her smile as her mind runs a mile a minute while Percy stutters out, “Uh, um, you know, like normal people --”

“Two months ago,” Annabeth interjects. Percy looks back at her, confused. “We were having a double date with our friends,” Annabeth shrugs convincingly. “He was really easy to talk to, and I thought he was really sweet.”

Percy gazes at her, bewildered and with a little bit of wonderment in his eyes that she didn’t understand. What she said was true, Piper and Jason had forced them to a double date, simply because, in their words, they were “the two luckiest people with two of the loneliest friends”.

Annabeth and Percy had protested, but she had to admit that the night had been much more bearable with both of them commenting on the ostentatious fashion choices of some of the diners. Without him, Annabeth would have been stuck watching Jason and Piper hold hands from across the table and gaze into each others’ eyes every few seconds.

Silena grins. “And how about you, Percy?”

Percy blinks and bits his lip. “She makes me happy.” His eyes flit nervously from Annabeth’s face back to the couple.

Percy laughs subduedly as Annabeth clenches her jaw. This was getting too real too fast. Percy’s unexpectedly sweet confession threw her off guard and a strange silence descended upon them.

Silena breaks it, “Well, I’ve never seen you this way before, Percy. It’s a cute look on you.”

Beckendorf nudges her and signals to his watch. She sighs. “Sorry, we have to go now, but we’re actually having a small sorority party this week,” Silena turns to look at Annabeth. “We would love it if both of you could join us.”

“We’ll try our best,” Annabeth replies.

Silena and Beckendorf share a smile, before turning to leave the cafe.

When the couple were out of earshot, Annabeth hissed at Percy, “What was that all about? You could have just told them we weren’t a couple.”

“In case there were Sveltes’ waitresses nearby,” Percy says in a matter-of-fact manner. “If they catch us, this whole meal isn't going to be worth it.”

Before she could protest that very obvious excuse, he stuffs a large chunk of waffles into his mouth and points to his mouth. Annabeth narrows her eyes at him, and for some reason, Percy glances down at his food with a shy, lopsided grin.

*

After the meal, Percy respectfully insists on walking her back to her dorm on the account of her agreeing to get waffles with him.

And when that didn’t work out, he brought out the big guns. “Annabeth, please, what would my mother say if I let you walk home at this time of the night?”

She snorts. “You would be the type to be a mommy’s boy.”

Percy’s eyes crinkle. “I take pride in being a mommy’s boy.”

The easygoing banter starts again, and Annabeth occasionally catches Percy glancing at her for too long, each time his soft smile causing a lump in her throat and a distinct feeling of warmth on her cheeks.

It isn’t until they are nearing her dorm building when Percy starts talking less, his feet awkwardly shuffling.

“So,” he looks down as he lightly kicks the fallen leaves in front of him. “I had a great time today.”

She smirks. “Okay, I’m leaving.”

“Annabeth,” Percy blurts out, his hands coming up to stop her from leaving, before he thought better and pulled back, hands coming to rest near his body as he fiddled restlessly with his fingers.

She turns back around to face him. “I… I wanted to say that…” Percy closes his mouth, then opens it again, but no sound comes out.

He laughs nervously. Although she knows what he’s trying to do, this knowledge does nothing to quell the warm feeling in her stomach.

“I mean, since middle school, I kind of…” Percy raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “No, I…”

Annabeth almost wants to help him when his eyes catch hers.

“... So, I know this really nice pancakes place just down the street, I might need your help again because I think there’s a couples’ discount there too--”

“Percy, just ask me out.” Annabeth interrupts, exasperated.

“I want to do this properly.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles at him. “Great, we’ll be here all night then.”

[earthnashes]

Finally finished with the headcanon of the Twili and the Twilight Realm! Or at the very least the main stuff regarding them and their culture. O: Took me so long ‘cuz I had to draw everything up first but I’m really happy with how everything came out. Now before I get into the headcanon I’d like to thank ya’ll for allowing me to have some of your OCs cameo in the post, it saved me quite a bit of time instead of me having to design the characters from the ground up, and it was a lot of fun! <: The following is featured:

Panel 1: 

Akamu (owned by drawingshady) Rishai (owned by takitacomako) Eclipse (owned by Desphiria)

Panel 2:

Dream Walker (owned by elosoquelee) Cass (owned by furysscorn) Alix (owned by Crunchy-Cucumber)

Again thank you all so much! ^.^ Aight then, now onward to the headcanon!

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

-The Twili are a unique race that inhabit the Twilight Realm, a realm of which they didn’t originate from but have since made their home all those many centuries ago. They were once Hylian but when their ancestors, a group called “The Interlopers” were banished to the Twilight Realm for their crimes, they have since evolved to adapt to their environment and, in turn, have evolved into a race of their own.

-Twili are covered in a short but thick coat of fur, often coming in two different tones and distinct markings. The tones are usually a greenish gray or blue-grey with a much lighter color of the same tone, however it isn’t too uncommon to see Twili with a more reddish tint to their fur. Their hair color is often a unique gradient of red to yellow and their eyes are often a shade of red (with the sclera usually a light yellow). Despite having normal-like feet, the Twili are digitgrade and always stand on the tips of their toes. Twili all have slit pupils, claw-tipped fingers, and small-ish fangs adorning their mouths: they are most likened to being more “feral” in appearance in comparison to their Hylian relatives, which is true to some extent.

All Twili have natural tattoos that are etched into their skin (and is entirely visible through their fur), and these marks have the capacity to glow if the individual is using magic. These tattoos are almost always a bright green-blue or electric blue in color. While each individual’s tattoos are generally different, all Twili have tattoos that seem to share the same motifs and repeated patterns as shown in the “Common Markings” panel above.

-The three headshots show off rare color mutations seen within the Twili. All the information about these mutations can be seen and read in the info-boxes of each headshot above! <:

-The Twili, given their evolution to better inhabit their environment, all have a sensitivity to the sun. Exposure to the sun doesn’t necessarily harm them however sunlight upon their bodies can cause discomfort, especially if exposed for too long. Overexposure to extreme and direct sunlight or divine light can be harmful or even lethal to a Twili (ex: Midna being mortally wounded when exposed to a Light’s spirit’s unfiltered light directly). As a means to protect themselves, the Twili will often don hooded cloaks when visiting the Light Realm. 

-Culturally, the Twili are indifferent and unbothered by nudity. It isn’t uncommon to see a Twili waltzing around in near nothing as far as clothing goes, however all Twili wear loincloths out of politeness instead of any real embarrassment to their bodies. Pants and shirts are very rarely worn unless the Twili’s specific profession requires it, which will be talked about a little more in detail below.

-The Twili don’t quite follow the typical social ranking system often seen in other cultures. That’s to say, “Upper-class, Middle-class, Working-class, ect” doesn’t necessarily exist in the Twili’s culture. Instead they are categorized by the profession they choose to partake in, though that doesn’t necessarily separate them from each other, due to their belief that every Twili serves an important purpose to their society, no matter where they’re born or who they’re born to. The only exception to this belief are religious figures and royalty, but while Royalty are distinguished by blood, any Twili can become a religious figure should they choose to commit themselves to the profession.

At any rate, their society is categorized by profession:

Artisans: Twili who’s focus is on the artistry of their culture. Includes professions such as: Painters, writers, musicians, craftsmen, architects, chefs, so on.

Enforcers: Twili who’s roles are to provide law enforcement and the protection of their people. Includes professions as: warriors, law enforcers, knights to the crown, judges, so on.

Providers: Twili who’s roles focus on providing the necessities of living to their society. Includes professions as: hunters, farmers, fishermen, healers/doctors, so on.

Mentors: Twili who focus on the pursuit for knowledge as well as the desire to share that knowledge. Includes professions such as: philosophers, teachers, librarians, wizards/witches

Spirituals: Twili who’s focus is on the spiritual and religious aspect of their society, they act as the superficial bridge between their people and the gods they worship. Includes professions such as: Priests and Priestesses, shamans, monks

-Despite their non-nonchalance toward clothing, what a Twili wears can indicate their profession. For example: a monk or a shaman are often seen in etched pants or traditional robes, while a Twili with a profession in fashion may wear transparent silks and an abundance of jewelry. Twili with practical and labor-based professions, like farming or metalsmithing, are unlikely to wear anything more than the bare minimum of the cultural loincloth so it won’t get in the way of their work, while royalty and Twili involved with the government are often seen wearing moderate but relatively intricate jewelry, often in copper or bronze.

-Midna is no longer the Queen of the Twili, having since willingly stepped down to allow another leader to the throne. However, the events of Twilight Princess has since elevated her as a sort of demi-god to her people, much to her chagrin. As a living deity to her culture, Midna still retains much of the power she had as queen, if not moreso given her current status. If you’d like to learn more about Midna in my headcanon, you can check out the post dedicated to her HERE.

-The panel with the 2 BG speedpaintings are my vision of the track leading to the Twilight Realm and the Twilight Realm itself respectively. The destruction of the mirror may have made traveling between the realms more difficult but it didn’t make it impossible. Sometime in her long-standing rule as the Queen of the Twili, Midna eventually went hard at work to re-establish that direct connection to the realms and, once she did, set out to put into place an alliance between the Twilight Realm and the Light Realm. It took a couple of long centuries before it was fully in effect, and from that point on relation between the two realms have only grown stronger. It wasn’t long before transportation between the realms was established, which in turn only strengthened their comradery. Nowadays it’s very common to see Light Dwellers visiting or even living in the Twilight Realm, and vice versa for the Twili.

-The Twilight Realm is accessible through the use of a Spirit Train, a unique locomotive that has access to traveling into realms connected to its native one. The train that runs to the Twilight Realm is a one-way train that travels through nearly every possible realm that’s available to visit, with the Twilight Realm being it’s first stop.

-The last panel is a depiction of a Twili Wolf. The Twili Wolf is a sacred animal in Twili culture, a creature who was once of the light realm before adapting to the Twilight Realm way before the Twili even inhabited the land, they are a symbol of survival, freedom, and power. Their heads are covered in a strange skull-like chitin that is often mimicked by the Twili when making armor and artifacts. The Twili Wolf is typically huge, about as big as a horse, and they have orbs of raw magical energy rolling off their fur as if it were flickers of flame.

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

WHEW! A long-winded headcanon but I’m pretty happy with the result! I hope ya’ll like the headcanon here and if ya have any questions you’re more than free to ask. Otherwise, thank you so much for takin’ a look! <:

[gardening0]

Growing Larkspur Flower-How to Grow and Care for Larkspur, growing conditions & Popular Larkspur Types.

Larkspur Flower- Delphinium is a genus of about 300 species of perennial flowering plants in the family Ranunculaceae, native throughout the Northern Hemisphere and also on the high mountains of tropical Africa. The genus was erected by Carl Linnaeus.

If you’ve tried to grow delphiniums without success, you might want to try larkspur flowers instead. All members of the genus Delphinium are toxic to humans and livestock. The common name larkspur is shared between perennial Delphinium species and annual species of the genus Consolida

This plant is the member of the Delphinium family and is available in more than 60 varieties. Its varieties range in height from one to seven feet. The best part about these plants is that its flowers bloom in the early spring while various flowers are weeks away.

Growing larkspur flowers (Consolida sp.) provides tall, early season color in the spring landscape. Once you learn how to grow larkspur, you will likely include them in the garden year after year.

Larkspur is a classic cottage garden staple that produces great cut flowers. With airy stalks of blue blossoms, this plant adds a gracefulness to any garden and looks good in masses or mixed with other perennials and annuals.

Larkspur vs. Delphinium :

A very close relative of larkspur, delphinium looks almost identical in many aspects, but a few differences set these two plants apart. Delphinium tends to be a perennial species, whereas larkspur is an annual. Foliage of larkspur is finer textured than delphinium. When it comes to blooms, delphinium flowers are densely born on spikes while individual blossoms tend to be much larger than larkspur. With those few exceptions, general plant care and maintenance is basically the same.

How to grow Larkspur Flower : 

Most annual larkspur plants are grown from seeds, though planting larkspur seeds can be challenging. When planting larkspur seeds, they must have a cold period before germination. larkspur can thrive in a wide soil pH range, but anything between 5.7 and 7.0 is ideal. These plants aren’t fussy, but they prefer moderately rich, moderately loose, well-draining soil.

Unlike their delphinium cousins, larkspur are hardy plants that don’t need heavy staking from the beginning. They’re actually pretty easy to care for after they’ve sprouted and grown a few true leaves.

The seeds will not germinate in temperatures that go above 65 degrees Fahrenheit.  Darkness is required for germination. Seeds do not germinate well when soil temperatures are above 55°F (13°C). Does best where summers are cool.

They’re actually pretty easy to care for after they’ve sprouted and grown a few true leaves.If you do find that the stalks need support, drive a wooden stake down into the soil three inches behind the flower stalk and affix the stalk to the stake with a piece of stretch tie.

Optimal growing conditions for Larkspur Flower :

They can tolerate most soils, but if you want the best results, go for light, well-draining soil. If your area has heavy soils, you can amend them with compost or manure. Larkspur plants grow well in full sun, as long as the soil is slightly moist. They need less moisture than delphiniums, but they don’t bloom well in hot and dry conditions.

Water your plant in the summer if rainfall is under 1 inch per week.If you want to mix and match a few flowers in your garden, you can plant larkspur with other native and cottage flowers. Why not add a few coreopsis, daisies, lavender, black-eyed Susans, or coneflowers?

Top 10 Popular Larkspur Types-

·         Black Knight Larkspur (Delphinium 'Black Knight')

·         Galahad Larkspur (Delphinium 'Galahad')

·         Astolat Larkspur (Delphinium Astolat Group)

·         Guardian Lavender Larkspur (Delphinium elatum 'Guardian Lavender')

·         Dwarf Larkspur (Delphinium tricorne)

·         Blue Mirror Larkspur (Delphinium 'Blue Mirror')

·         Cassius Larkspur (Delphinium 'Cassius')

·         Summer Skies Larkspur (Delphinium 'Summer Skies')

·         Golden Larkspur (Delphinium luteum)

·         Red Lark Larkspur (Delphinium 'Red Lark')

Insects and Diseases that affect Delphinium Flowers :

Larkspurs are prone to fungal diseases most notably Sclerotium rot which yellows leaves and wilts plant. It is also affected by mildew. Diseased plants should be removed immediately in order to avoid the disease from spreading.

Insects hardly affect Larkspur. Organic or chemical insect repellents have proved to be highly effective against most pests.

Managing Pests And Disease : 

Unlike its cousin, delphinium, larkspur are reliably pest and disease resistant. As far as pests go, your biggest foes will be aphids and slugs.

If you see clusters of aphids sucking the life from your Consolida buds or stalks, spray them with a neem oil-based insecticide, like this one from Arbico Organics.

The next day, spray the carcasses off with a blast of water from the hose. Reapply the neem oil every few days, or anytime you see a sign of a living aphid.

Slugs and snails chew holes in the leaves but generally leave flowers alone.

To get rid of the squishy pests, spread Sluggo Maxx, available from Arbico Organics, around the plants. I love this stuff because it’s safe to use around pets.

Learn more about managing slugs and snails in this guide.

All parts of Consolida plants are toxic to humans and animals alike when ingested, so deer, rabbits, moose, and other critters avoid them.

If you live in the Pacific Northwest or a similarly rainy clime, watch out for various fungal diseases that can develop, like powdery mildew, root rot, and crown rot.

Powdery mildew leaves white moldy spots all over the leaves.

To treat an infection, spray the plant with a copper fungicide product, like this one from Arbico Organics.

Uses : 

The juice of the flowers, particularly D. consolida, mixed with alum, gives a blue ink. All plant parts are poisonous in large doses, especially the seeds, that contain up to 1.4% of alkaloids.

Toxicity of Larkspur Flower : 

All parts of these plants are considered toxic to humans, especially the younger parts, causing severe digestive discomfort if ingested, and skin irritation. Larkspur, especially tall larkspur, is a significant cause of cattle poisoning on rangelands in the western United States. Larkspur is more common in high-elevation areas, and many ranchers delay moving cattle onto such ranges until late summer when the toxicity of the plants is reduced. Death is through cardiotoxic and neuromuscular blocking effects, and can occur within a few hours of ingestion. All parts of the plant contain various diterpenoid alkaloids, typified by methyllycaconitine, and are very poisonous.

[ahtohallan-calling]

(Prompt) Litot-verse: The harvest festival the year after the main story. -🍂

THANK YOU for sending this ahhh it was so nice to revisit this verse, i miss these extra-sweet kiddos 💕

My Anna,

I hope Olaf remembered to deliver this to you on time. I wrote it before I left for the mountain; we don’t often get postmen up there.

I’m sure by now I’m missing you terribly. I’m probably sneaking glances at that photograph we took at the wedding every chance I get and annoying the rest of the harvesters by talking about how my wife is the most beautiful thing in the whole world.

I wanted to ask you something, though: would you go to the Harvest Festival with me? I still don’t like to dance with anyone but you. I promise to comb my hair and wear the vest you made me if you’ll wear your green dress. 

I love you more than anything. I’ll be home the evening before the festival. I hope you’ll wait up for me; as much as I hate leaving you, the reunions almost make up for it.

Your loving husband,

Kristoff

“What’s it say?” Olaf demanded, bouncing on his toes, and Anna laughed.

“It’s not for you, silly,” she teased as she took the kettle off the stove and carefully poured the steaming water into two mugs. He’d finally started actually drinking tea with her and not just milk, though like Kristoff he always wanted at least three sugars.

“I know, but I didn’t even peek this time,” he whined. 

“Did you used to peek?” 

“Yeah. You guys made me go back and forth so much I got bored of just walking.”

She let out a huff of surprised laughter. “You little imp!”

“Well– I don’t do it anymore.”

“We don’t send letters anymore!”

“Except this one. And I didn’t peek even once.”

Anna sighed as she passed him his tea, relenting. “He asked me to go to the Harvest Festival with him, that’s all.”

“Why would he do that? You’re married, it’s your job to go to stuff with him.”

“It’s romantic, Olaf.”

“Just seems like a waste of ink to me,” he muttered, taking a sip of his tea. “I’m not doing dumb stuff like that when I’m married.”

“We’ll see.”

—

Patience had never been one of her virtues, but she hoped God or whoever it was up there would understand why exactly it was especially difficult today. Kristoff had been going for two and a half weeks on his last ice harvesting trip of the year. Normally he went for only a week or less at a time, but when he’d hurt his shoulder and ankle repairing his grandfather’s roof this summer, he’d been out of commission for close to a month and was trying to make up for lost time and coin. “It’s alright,” Anna had reassured him, “I’ll just keep my salary this month, it’ll make up for it.”

It would be more than enough, the payment the Crown gave her for her work as a diplomat. But each month, after setting aside a small amount as savings, she donated the rest back to the kingdom and its people, to the orphanage or to the hospital or to the widows or to anyone else who needed it far more than she did. And so they lived on the money Kristoff made as an ice harvester in summer or as a repairman year-round or as his grandfather’s aide when someone came to the village seeking medical care.

Kristoff prided himself on that, on knowing that each drop of sweat that rolled down his back went towards keeping their house warm, to keeping them both fed and clothed, and she was proud of him, too, for pouring his heart into the work.

But he had insisted on going, and now she missed him terribly, and two and a half weeks was an awfully long time, especially around this time of year when it reminded her of last fall when they had both thought they’d never see each other again, and so she had been pacing for the last half-hour, having already finished every chore that needed to be done and those that were close and those that probably would never need to be done at all.

The sun was just beginning to slide behind the hill when at last a broad-shouldered figure came into view at the end of the road that led to their little cottage, and immediately a smile blossomed on her face. She flew out the door, running as fast as she could without risking harm, and he ran, too, until he caught her around the waist and swept her off her feet, spinning her around and around until she was dizzy and laughing and on the verge of tears of joy.

“I missed you so much,” she managed to gasp out as he lowered her back to the ground.

He kissed her then, his mouth tender and excited and heated and somehow relieved against hers. “I missed you, too,” he murmured, and she melted against him, her hands pressing down on his shoulders as she stood as tall as she could on the tips of her toes to keep her lips pressed to his.

Seeing her efforts, he chuckled and swept her up into his arms, kissing her forehead as he carried her back towards the cottage. “I can walk, you know,” she teased, looping her arms around his neck.

“Yes. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather hold you like this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s all I thought about doing the whole time I was gone. Well– almost all.”

He kicked the door shut behind him and didn’t set her down until he reached their bed, and then she found out what almost entailed.

—

They spent the next day together in each other’s arms even when it didn’t make sense; Kristoff kept his arms wrapped around Anna’s waist as she made their morning tea, and she held his hand tight as they wandered through the waving sunflowers to choose which ones they would cut and bring with them to decorate the tables that night, and both of them kept stopping to kiss each other at every opportunity that presented itself.

Finally, though, it was time to get ready for the festival, and Kristoff half-heartedly attempted to wave Anna off as he sat in front of the mirror and pulled out his razor.

“But you look nice with a beard,” she said, settling her hands on either side of his face. “I like it.”

“It’s not really a beard yet, just a bunch of mess.”

“It’s terribly handsome,” she said sweetly, leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw and prove her point. “Makes you look very rugged and mountain man-y.”

He chuckled at that and set the razor aside. “You’re very persuasive. I can see how you get all the visiting diplomats to eat right out of your hand.”

“And I don’t even have to kiss them to do it,” she said cheerfully. “You’re a much tougher nut to crack. Maybe you ought to be doing the meetings with me.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, and she kissed the tip of it. “Think I’ll stick to my ice, thanks.”

They dressed slowly, pausing between each button and lace to kiss each other, and by the time they were fully clothed they were both rosy-cheeked and wanting, each of them half-considering taking it all back off.

“We shouldn’t,” Anna said regretfully as she slid her hands down the front of Kristoff’s vest, pretending she was doing to so smooth out nonexistant wrinkles. It was the one he had worn at their wedding, the one she had labored over for weeks, embroidering each night for a few stolen moments at a time in order to surprise him. She’d learned from the older women in the village how to do it this way, how to imitate the style the others on the mountain wore, and he had wept when he saw her work– and wept again when she had walked down the aisle towards him wearing a veil that she had embroidered around the edges in exactly the same way.

It matched the dress she was wearing now– forest green because that was his favorite, and she had remembered even though he had only told her once. He loved it even more now that he could see how it brought out the copper fire in her hair as it cascaded over her shoulders, unbraided and free, the way he liked it best. The sight of her standing before him, flushed and pretty and smiling so brightly at him, took his breath away, the same way it had over a year ago the first time he had taken her to a festival like this. He wanted to keep her to himself, to celebrate the harvest in their own way; the only decorations they would want for were blooming in their garden, the only music they needed was the wordless melody she would hum in his ear as they waltzed through the living room, and the sweetest wine he would ever taste was the press of her lips against his, somehow always filling him up and still leaving him wanting for more.

But they would be missed if they didn’t go, and so with one final kiss he took her by the hand and led her outside.

—

She wasn’t embarrassed not to dance like the others anymore, not now that everyone in the village knew the truth. They had welcomed her with open arms from the start, but now their kindness overflowed as they clapped along with her on the outskirts of the party, or asked for her help in setting out food, or simply sat and kept her company while she waited for the slower music to begin and for Kristoff to set down his lute and come to join her.

To her surprise, though, when the band began to start playing a song she had only heard before in the city below, Kristoff turned to her and beckoned her over with a grin. She went over shyly, and he bowed his head to whisper, “Will you sing this one with me?”

“But I–”

“It’s a duet. It’ll sound funny if I try to do both parts.”

“But I’ve never sung in front of people before.”

“You sing for me all the time.”

“That’s different,” she insisted, flushing, but then he gave her that sweet smile he only ever spent on her and started singing, and how could she do anything but follow along?

When the song ended, her heart was racing as the crowd’s applause swept over her. Exhilarated, she caught Kristoff’s hand in her own. “Was that good?”

“Perfect,” he said, and when he kissed her the crowd only clapped louder.

They all paused then to eat together; she beamed when she saw how quickly the loaves of bread she had slaved over that morning and the bowls of the last of summer’s produce from their garden disappeared. Olaf insisted on sitting beside her, scarfing down food so fast she couldn’t help but laugh and say, “Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick!”

“Grandpapa says the more I’ll eat, the more I’ll grow,” he said around a mouthful of pie. “And that at this rate I’ll be taller than Kristoff.”

Kristoff snorted into his glass beside her, and she set his hand over his where it rested on the bench, squeezing softly. “I don’t know if you’d want that, Olaf. I mean, do you know how often he knocks his head on doorframes?”

This time he didn’t bother to hide his laughter. “Eat all you want, buddy,” he said affectionately to the little boy. “Then Anna will have someone else to bother when she needs help getting something from the top shelf.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said drily, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

Olaf wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Never mind. I think I lost my appetite.”

—

After dinner, when the songs were sweeter and the dances slower, she set her hands on Kristoff’s shoulders while he wrapped his around her waist, and they floated along to the melody together under the light of the moon, contentment settling over them both the way twilight was blanketing the crags of the mountain that rose above it all.

“Can you believe,” Anna asked him softly, “that we get to spend the rest of our lives doing things like this?”

His arms tightened around her, but he didn’t respond; she knew he was thinking of how close they had come to never having another moment like this, how they had gotten so lost from each other and only barely found their way back. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder as their movement slowed further, until they were only barely swaying back and forth. She slid one hand over to settle above his heart, relishing the steady, familiar thrum of it against her palm.

“It’s yours,” Kristoff murmured as she did so. “All of it, forever.”

They stayed that way for a long while, until a yawn escaped him despite his attempts at concealment. Anna tilted her head up to look at him, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. “You just got back last night. You must be exhausted.”

“We can stay a little longer if you want. I know you’ve been looking forward to this.”

She shook her head. “Not nearly as much as I was looking forward to just having you back at home with me.

They said their goodbyes and drifted homeward together, hand in hand, both of them still wearing besotted, dreamy smiles even as they opened the door and slipped inside. Their clothes came off far more quickly than they had been pulled on, but Kristoff’s yawns were growing more frequent now, and so they both slipped into their nightclothes and settled into bed, lying nose-to-nose beside each other.

Anna let her hand drift up to cup his cheek, letting her fingers trace slowly over the strong line of it before trailing over to his nose, stroking slow, even lines down the bridge of it as his eyelids fluttered shut.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” he murmured, though he yawned in spite of himself.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want the night to be over.”

She laughed softly and traced her fingertips over his lips before leaning forward to press a soft kiss there. “There’s always tomorrow.”

[charlythelee]

Okay so I have been put into absolute design hell - I just can't stop designing stuff u.u''

Sooooooooo here are MORE designs for my Haikyuu Royalty AU 

Currently there is a large bus strike in my area and I am frozen out of university about every other day so I have a LOT of spare time and yeah - expect more stuff, I think my brain is broken - I just can’t stop. Help -

-> Page 2: IwaOi design & Info on Seijoh -> Page 3: KageHina designs

More Info on the Designs and some overall head canons below the cut:

Bit of background & Info: - Karasuno's religion is centered around the figure of death or more specifically the Angel of Death: Azrael - Their dead are burned to allow their spirits to be free and return to the flow of energy within the earth - Traitors or criminals are typically executed and/or drowned, then thrown into a river in opposition to being burned, so that they will be trapped in this realm and never find elevation - this way it is believed the flow within the earth will be cleansed by keeping the bad elements from returning - Thus they do not have graves, all tough little memorials can be build for the deceased - typically by using their weapon as a marker (if they were a warrior or died in battle) - Kings are always remembered through "Blade and Crown" - both are taken to the temple, the most sacred place in the country  - the temple is a deeply spiritual place and only crowned members of the royal family are allowed into the central sanctum, where the crowns and blades of former kings rest - it is also considered the place where the Angel of Death resides  - this also means that there is no universal crown, every prince or princess receives a unique one upon coronation/confirmation - Princes/Princesses must be confirmed (usually around the age of 10/12, latest at their grand debut) and are crowned in a special ceremony, most times followed by public celebrations - before they are crowned, they are considered royalty but are not subject to royal privileges and do not hold royal authority

Crow Steel: - one of the rarest metals on the Miyagi continent - traces and low amounts have been found in both Dateko and Wakunan but most reserves lie within Karasuno borders - hence the name  - forging it is a rare skill, almost exclusive to the finest smiths of Karasuno - while otherwise an open country, the crows are very protective over this particular knowledge - Crow Steel needs to be sharpened less often than normal steel and is rumored to be unbreakable (in fact it can be damaged but only under immense force, that humans are usually not capable off) - when forged correctly and cooled, it usually takes a dark blue, blackish color and is famous for its copper reflections - since it is extremely rare in comparison to ordinary steel, it is reserved mostly for the royal family and important figures - while there are trinkets and accessories made from this material, it is mostly used to forge blades - once in a century and only on very special occasions, crow steel products are given to foreigners as a sign of trust - rumors have it, that it combines the arcane qualities of pure iron and silver, hence being able to inflict mortal injuries on beings without corporal form and every other creature that would normally not be harmed by an ordinary blade

Details on Suga's stuff: - his blade, like most royal blades, is forged from crow steel - the sheath is made out of hardened leather and adorned by a metal crow - the sword is engraved with the kanji for crow - with 105 cm (roughly 41.3 inches) it is of medium length - the handle however is longer than average, allowing it to be flexibly handled - this makes him a fast and flexible fighter, but also vulnerable since he can't carry a shield effectively - it also suitable for being thrown like a knife - the form of the blade is rather unusual for Miyagi and leans more into the style that is common in Tokyo and on the island nation of Johzenji - his crown is made from silver and complimented with amber trinkets, hanging from the right side - the second ring is made to resemble a halo, in reference to his nickname "The Indomitable" and "Angel of Death" (he earned this name through his deep connection with the sanctum and for being its official warden)

Details on Daichi's stuff: - his blade too, is made from crow steel and decorated with a crow - he wields a spear with a cross blade, allowing both attack and a solid defense - with its three blades the spear can be used to both cut and stab, so it can be used both as primary weapon and in combination with a shield - in total it measures 185cm (apron. 73.8 inches) and is rather large, especially considering the blade to shaft ratio - it requires strength to wield, due to its unusual focal point, but is still perfectly balanced and considering the size - very light - the wooden shaft has a steel core so it doesn't break - the top is usually protected by a simple, plain leather cover - the crown is made from bronze and simple in its design - it was chosen to visualize his solidity, stability and still respect his common heritage 

[undeerqueen]

leave me to dream

SM:FFH fic below! spoilers abound! full summary within! hurt!peter. title from imagine dragons song

this film was full of good peter whump but no irondad to make him feel better afterwards! so i wrote this...because even spider-man can’t get run over by a train and just be magically okay. especially when it’s also the perfect opportunity for tony to come out of his ‘faked-my-death-to-retire-ment’. enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

As he all but crawls down the aisle of the train car, Peter knows one thing.

It's bad. It is very, very, very, VERY bad.

The pain is staggering. Peter can barely get his legs to work under him—the pain racing down to his toes—but he knows he has to move, just move.

Keep moving, he urges himself, weaving around the holes in his vision that are opening up. Blearily, he recalls Strange's portals on the battlefield all those months—a lifetime—ago. He remembers their searing orange light, how they'd opened up reality itself and revealed the impossible war on the other side.

The holes in Peter's eyeline are like that, except waiting on the other side of them is nothing but black. If he was pressed to describe it, Peter would say it's not even black but nothingness, the kind of nothingness that comes when you close one eye and nothing takes up the space at the side of your head.

Something primal and urgent in the back of his mind warns Peter that if he falls into one of these holes, he won't come back out. Keep moving, he tells himself. If you stop, you won't get back up again.

His foot catches one of the seat frames and he goes down, barely able to spin himself around so his broken back thuds hollowly against the wall of the train car. His legs, splintered and bent, slide away from him like liquid. He slumps back, gasping.

Broken things are shifting inside of him, splintering and crunching. In a twisted way, Peter feels more at home in himself than he has for eight months, his body finally matching the shattered fragments of his soul. His head tips back against the wall of the train car. The vibrations of the moving carriage shudder through him but he doesn't hear anything. Another hole opens up above him. The blackness comes tumbling down, crushing, engulfing, but on the other side, it is blessedly—finally—nothing.

________________________________________________________________

"Yeah, it's bad. You need to get here, Tony. I'm calling it. Code Reichenbach." Someone's—a woman's voice—stirs the pool of Peter's mind. He swims up to it, his eyes slitting to drink in strawberry red hair and a blue metal suit.

"M's P-Potts," he murmurs, trying to get his eyes to open fully.

"Hi, honey," Pepper says carefully. He hasn't seen her for so long. She looks good, despite the stress lines creasing her face. Healthy and well. Her eyes are sparkling. He kind of gets lost in them. It used to make Mr Stark laugh, the way Peter could never keep his cool around his mentor's super pretty better half.

Her hand sifts through his sweaty hair. He moves slightly and groans, the pain a sharp shock that electrifies him all the way to his fingertips. Her hand tightens incrementally. "Don't move okay?" Pepper instructs. "You're really banged up."

"The trai..." He can't get the words out. His voice fizzles out like a spent battery.

"Shh, it's alright, kid," she says. "Try and follow my voice. I have a surprise for you. I think you're gonna kill us when you're back on your feet, but for the moment just focus on hanging on in there. There's someone coming to see you. He's missed you a lot."

Peter tries but he can't follow what Pepper's saying. But when the whine of repulsors splits the air—a sound he hasn't heard for so long—he realises he didn't have to.

At the far end of the cab, a laser shears off the wall. Peter startles, barely able to turn his head, hands trembling where they lay in his lap. Glowing eyes and an arc reactor meet his dim gaze, Iron Man stepping into the train car.

He shudders and gasps, shoulders heaving. "'M I...'m I dreaming?" he whispers, feeling tears run down his cheeks to match the blood dripping from his nose and mouth. "M’s P-Potts...p-please...i-is this a dream?"

Pepper's face is heartbroken. He knows what her anguish looks like, because he saw it after Mr Stark died. He really must be in bad shape. She grips his hands where Peter paws at her softly. "Not a dream, honey," she says softly. Then, she smiles ruefully. In a voice almost too quiet to hear, she announces, "Dad's here."

The mask retracts and...There he is.

It's him. Mr Stark.

He's missing an ear, that's the first thing Peter takes in. The whole right side of his face, in fact, is a mess of bubbly scar tissue that runs down his neck. And Peter suspects, from the way it moves and attaches to the rest of the suit that, the right arm is a permanent addition. But he's there. Alive.

Peter gasps, swallowing blood, head grinding on metal as he struggles to get his eyes to focus. His heart flutters and squirms.

Mr Stark lays eyes on him and his face falls apart. Peter must lose some time, the shock and blood loss taking their toll. One minute Mr Stark is across the cab, the next he is knelt in front of him, out of his suit save for one metal arm which is holding Peter up, the other running lightly over Peter's face and shoulder, trying to rouse him.

Peter can't focus. There's so much he wants to...If he could just breathe. He heaves a lungful of air, blood gushing out from between his parted lips, disappearing down his neck and chin and into the dark fabric of his stealth suit.

"You're he-here, you..'re...alive" he struggles, panting thinly. There are tears in Mr Stark's eyes. They match his own.

"Hey, kid." It's his voice. Softer than Peter's ever heard it before, barely audible over the roaring in Peter's ears. A hand brushes over Peter's forehead, smoothing the hair back, warm, heavy, and alive.

"I'm here," Mr Stark soothes. His eyes rake over Peter and whatever he sees makes his expression crack. His nose wrinkles, eyes brimming with regret. "I'm sorry, kid, I'm so sorry. Jesus, look at you." Mr Stark's hand swipes at the blood dripping off Peter's chin.

Peter shakes his head, train cab swirling around him, nearly delirious with the sickly sweet combination of sheer joy and raw agony tearing through him. His face splits in a grin he can't contain, even as his vision blurs with even more tears.

"'M so...hap..." His voice hitches and deserts him again and Mr Stark shudders, pointedly drawing a huge breath through his nose.

"Don't worry about all that now. God, what did they do to you, huh? FRIDAY, read vitals," he commands.

He needs to tell Mr Stark. The urgency lights within him. "B-Beck," he stammers, trying to hold on to his cloudy thoughts. Shame douses his exhilaration. "Needa tell...tell you..."

"Shh, kid, not right now." Mr Stark's eyes are roving all over him, hands hovering like he doesn't know what to touch.

Even through the blood pounding in his ears, Peter can pick up on FRIDAY's whispers in Mr Stark's ear. Broken bones, lacerated organs, bad internal bleeding, bruising...Beck is going to kill him, has all but murdered him already. He needs to tell Tony...

"My fault," he grits out, the words escaping with a whimper.

Mr Stark rears up, eyes like flint, like he's flipped a switch. "Stop it, kid, stop it. We're gonna lose you if you keep talking. Save your strength, alright? Help's coming. We'll debrief when you're not bleeding internally."

"N-No...you needa...need to...I did t-this...m not...next Iron Man...Not worthy." He can't gather his thoughts, the blackness that stole him earlier is inside him now, creeping through his mind like one of Beck's illusions.

"N-Not worthy," he repeats, copper on his lips.

It's like Mr Stark can't bear to listen. Heedless of Peter's damaged body, he draws him forward slightly, tucks Peter's head against his shoulder where he can nestle into the crook of Mr Stark's neck. Hazily, Peter feels Mr Stark drop a kiss to the crown of his head. 

Gently, Mr Stark arranges him against the wall again. "It's not your fault, kid, okay? You'll be okay, c'mon. Save the heart to heart stuff for later."

Grief swamps Peter like a wave, his failure oceans deep. "I just wanted to be like you," he croaks out, tears spilling.

Mr Stark sniffs, shakes his head. "You're better than me, kid. I'm so damn proud of you, it's ridiculous. C'mon, Spider-Man, where's your fighting talk, huh? Pep, how long?" 

Dimly, Peter is aware that Pepper is standing over them, watching with infinite concern. "Medics are two minutes out," she says bitingly.

Peter gasps, more blood trickling out of his lips he slumps back against the wall and sinks, unable to sit up any longer.

"Kid? Kid, hey, talk to me."

It's like the old Peter is back when he wants to playfully retort, "Weren't you just telling me to shut up?" Peter's missed him almost as much as Mr Stark. His chin goes to his chest, unable to hold his head up anymore. Mr Stark's fingers dig into the pulse point at the side of his neck.

Eyes dimming, he tries to embed in his mind the sight of his mentor's immaculate goatee, his shaven head to match the missing hair on the right side of his scalp. He relishes the glinting metal arm that means survival and the shining brown eyes, so open without his glasses, so full of a love that Peter once wasn't sure was imagined.

He knows now. But still, Mr Stark is here. It's a miracle he doesn't know how to process.

"'M I...'m I dreaming?" he whispers, black crushing him again.

A hand grips his scalp, trying to hold him there. In that moment, Peter isn't scared. If Mr Stark can beat impossible odds, then he can too. He just needs to rest a moment, just for a little while.

"Not a dream," Mr Stark says, and that's all the hope Peter needs. "I'm here. I got you..."

The promise follows Peter into the dark.

________________________________________________________________

i imagine pepper’s rescue as being like first aid for the avengers and only calling in tony when it’s absolutely 100% necessary, hence code reichenbach. had to get my holmes ref in there somewhere.

[ireadtoomuchhaikyuu]

Karasuno as ACNL players

Aka another set of headcanons no one asked but my hype for ACNH and Haikyuu needed

Daichi

Takes his role as a mayor very seriously

And gets frustrated when the villagers don’t pay for public works

His house has a lot of sports things scattered here and there

Don’t know why, but he seems the type to put the band aids on his character???

His house is modern style, but his bridges and the town hall are all japanese style

He feels very attached to the villagers in his town when he first played the game and gets really sad when someone leaves

Favourite characters are Copper and Booker and was almost offended when he learnt that he had to pay for them to come back to the game and that he could only have one

Sugawara

Loves to play the game to chill, but his main obsession is to make money

Knows the price of every beetle on the island by heart

Curses at Tom Nook at least twice a day

Buys all the fancy clothes from Gracie

His house is super cool, thought, very regal

His favourite set is the one which looks like a deck of cards

When he finishes paying his rent off, he buys the crown from the Able sisters just to flex on Tom Nook

“Who’s the rich btch now, Tom?”

Has a soft spot for hamster villagers

Asahi

Loves the game because its calming to him

Plays a bit everyday, no excuses, but he is a chill player

Fishing, watering the plants and talking to the villagers are his favourite things to do

Just relaxing and and doing quiet things

Buys medicine when the villagers are sick

Adores the soundtrack  of every game and always listens to it while studying

His favourite tracks are the rainy days ones

Loves Brewster’s cafe

The quickest to buy K.K. Slider’s albums, and sometimes opens the game just to listen to them

He has a chimney in every room because he loves that cozy vibe they give

Nishinoya

Takes the hide and seek game very serious

Invites Tanaka to his village so he can go into the river and out of the game’s limits

Loves the balloons, specially the bunny ones

Buys the fortune cookies everyday

Sometimes he forgets his 3ds is on and he always has to play while charging it

His house is full of fake art he bought from Redd and superhero stuff, he thinks it looks super cool

Has an impressive collection of hats and accessories

Never checks the mail

Huge fan of Bob and Eugene

Tanaka

When he’s bored, he goes to Timmy and Tommy and runs on the store so they can follow him

Its really entertaining to him somehow

When villagers ask him for a new catchphrase he likes to make them say the most ridiculous things and then laughs his ass off each time they say them

Collects the Super Mario Bros. items and the sloppy series, even though one of his rooms is japanese-styled

Favourite season is winter because of the snow balls

Once had a dream that Yachi and Yamaguchi were Isabelle and Digby and he can’t unsee

His favourite character is Whitney because she reminds him of Kiyoko uwu

Ennoshita

Seems calm, but actually LOVES hitting the villagers with a net to mess with them

And setting traps

Hates Kapp’n with all his heart

But likes his daughter, its just him and his songs that are annoying

Has a super cool house, where everything matches

He even has a little film studio with mannequinns

Wanted to have one of those dream towns, but he is too busy for that

but he loves to visit them, specially the horror themed ones with stories behind

Kinoshita

Plays casually

Always has messy hair

His house has a lot of bugs and fish in them because he likes to keep them as pets

He has names for every one of them

His house only has things that the villagers give him, and his only clothes are gifts as well

Narita

The fishing and bug contest enthusiast

His house looks like an aquarium

He time travels a lot

And has lots of weeds, but he doesn’t care

Loves Pascal

Kageyama

The type that takes his flowers REALLY serious

Once he invited Hinata over to his village and he ran over a couple blue roses

He barely made it alive out of practice that day

Sad that there is no flower contest like in Wild World

Weeds offend him on a personal level and can’t stand to look at Narita’s town

Apart from that, he likes going to the island and play games

His favorite is the one where you have to find things in a list

His house is very simple and the furniture doesn’t match, but its nice to him

Has a fish and one of those hamster cages

Hinata

Runs everywhere

Never catches bugs because of that, boy is just too impatient

Never has space in his pockets and his town is full of objects he left here and there

Likes to talk to the villagers a lot

So his picture collection is impressive and barely has room to hold anymore

Gets sad when the villagers go away

Likes changing the town hall tune a lot

Likes island games, like Kageyama, and they will sometimes compete with each other

His favorite is the one where you have to shoot the balloons

Yamaguchi

Cries everytime he hears the Able sister’s backstory 

writes letters to the villagers

he forgot they could show them to other players and Yachi read one when he visited his town once

it was really cute, but he has no idea

He writes letters to himself in the future

His house is super cozy

Hates the villager’s visits because he will be afraid of missing it all day

Likes to have a little forest of fruit trees near his house

Tsukishima

Super cliché, but he would totally be the one who is super focused on finishing all the collections in the museum

And he does

Because of that, he knows a lot of guides and tricks

His house looks like a museum and has kind of a victorian archeology proffesor vibe

Pushes the villagers to force them to buy his stuff in Re-tail

Doesn’t really care about the villagers

But has a soft spot for Gulliver

Kiyoko

Hands down the best house of the team

She actually has 4 players and all of their houses are aesthetic af

One looks like a castle on the outside and on the inside is full of rococo and regal furniture

Has paths

Loves customizing furniture

Changes her hair color a lot

Has the cutest villagers, no one knows why

It is not pure luck, thought, she has to make the ones she doesn’t like leave

She feels a little bad because of that

But everything for the perfect town

Yachi

Takes designing clothes very seriously

And all her villagers are very stylish

Collects clothes and shoes and bought the four rooms in the museum because her house was saturated

She has the cutest house ever, and a room dedicated to mermaid furniture

Loves the music boxes and has a room designated to display them

Gives them sometimes to the others as gifts, especially to Asahi

Draws fanart

Favourites characters would probably be Francine and Chrissy

[skepticalcatfrog]

Shattered Crown Chapter 6

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter Masterpost

Summary: After disaster strikes in Prince Roman's kingdom, he must go on a quest in order to take back the crown that is rightfully his. He will travel with three companions on an epic adventure, gaining many friends and enemies along the way. Those three companions are an intelligent inventor with a mysterious past, a cheerful wizard with a dark secret, and.. the assassin who was sent to kill him two years prior.

Pairings: (Eventual) Prinxiety and Logicality

Word count: 3,029

Author's Notes: I'm sorry for how long this took! I went through a huge writers block in the middle of writing it, but it's finally done! I've got some big stuff planned for the next chapter, so this one is just kind of a filler chapter.

After the incident in Shadowbrook, none of them were particularly in the mood to sleep, but they had to if they were going to keep traveling. They found a place to sleep for the night (except for Virgil, he didn't sleep) and packed their stuff back up in the morning so they'd be able to travel with the most sunlight.

There was a bandage on the cut across Roman's face. Patton had helped him patch it up after they'd found a place to camp. Logan's hand still wasn't in perfect working condition, but he just used his other hand and hoped no one asked him about it.

It was a pleasant trip, really, which distracted from the distance. They all knew that the walk alone would take at least two days, maybe more depending on any obstacles they might come across. Not to mention that they had another, even longer trip to go on after that, then a third one after that.

Suddenly Roman seemed to remember something. He pulled Virgil's mask off and held it out to him.

"I forgot to give this back to you."

"Oh… thanks." Virgil took the mask and pulled it over his head so it hung around his neck. He immediately noticed that it smelled like the prince, then wondered how he knew what his companion smelled like.

"No problem." Roman smiled. Virgil couldn't help but think about how nice his smile was, but quickly pushed down the thoughts. He was just being stupid. Both of them were, really.

"I think it might rain soon." Logan tried to point to the sky with his mechanical hand, but only made it halfway through the gesture before it made an awful sound, like metal scraping against metal. He winced, and Patton looked concerned.

"Are you okay, Logan?" He asked, stepping slightly closer to him.

"Yes, I'm fine." Logan said, slightly more aggressively than he'd intended. He saw Patton shrink away from him and he immediately felt bad. "I'm… sorry. For the outburst. But I assure you, I am fine."

Patton nodded to show he understood, but didn't say anything more.

Sure enough, as Logan predicted, a couple minutes later it started raining. It started out as just a drizzle, but soon elevated to a full-on storm. They could hear thunder crackling, and saw lightning lighting up the dark clouds in the sky. They decided that maybe it would be best to take a break from walking until the storm subsided.

They quickly set up a makeshift tent, so they'd have at least a little shelter, even if it was only a cloth held up by a couple of sticks. It was a bit of a tight fit, but at least it was something. Patton had managed to stay mostly dry, because he had his hat. But Roman and Virgil's cloaks were soaked and we're starting to get heavy, and the rain definitely wasn't good for Logan's arm. He tried to move his fingers, to no avail. He opened up a panel to reveal the wiring in his hand and tried to fix it, which only made sparks come from the machinery. He immediately pulled his real hand away. The sudden sparks definitely surprised the others too, especially Patton, who doubted that Logan was actually fine in the first place.

"So… are we just going to wait here until the rain dies down?" Virgil was the first to move on from the situation.

"I guess so, I mean what else are we supposed to do?" Roman responded. He took off his cloak and folded it up, placing it on his lap.

"Yeah, true." Patton nodded. "We're kind of stuck in here."

"Unfortunately." Logan grumbled, reluctantly closing the panel on his hand. Patton looked slightly disheartened at his comment.

Roman slicked back his hair so it wasn't in his face. Virgil cursed internally as he found himself thinking about how smooth and elegant the motion was. How was it that someone he found unbearably annoying could be so… so… he didn't even know how to describe it, that's how strange it was. His fluffy, wavy hair, how it was just the right color to match his eyes, and the way it always seemed to fall perfectly. His beautiful eyes, and how they seemed to change from amber to gold in the sunlight. His adorable freckles that were scattered across his nose like stars. Virgil noticed all of these things about him that he hadn't seen the last time, and he absolutely despised himself for it. He wasn't in love, not at all. It wasn't possible. And even if he was (which he assured himself he wasn't), it would never work out anyway. Roman was a prince, and Virgil was just… Virgil.

Meanwhile, similar to how Virgil was driving himself crazy over Roman, Patton was driving himself crazy over Logan. Maybe he did love him. He hadn't even given it a thought before that woman from the shop had pointed it out, but now it was all he could think about. But even if he was in love with Logan, he knew it would never work out. Logan was too good for him. And besides, he wouldn't want anything to do with him if he found out about… no. He was just putting himself down again, and he couldn't do that. Maybe he still had a chance? That was definitely a strong maybe, one way or another.

He took the pocket watch from his jacket, just to look at it. The pattern on the front was intricate, the material looking like bronze, maybe even gold.

"Where did you get that, Patton?" He was pulled out of his thoughts by Logan's voice. "The craftsmanship is amazing. Do you mind if I look at it a bit closer?"

Logan went to take the watch, and Patton was abruptly reminded of the note he'd put inside it.

"No!" Patton replied quickly, pulling the watch away. Logan looked slightly startled. "I mean… it's very important to me. I'd rather just keep it."

"Oh… okay." The inventor was clearly disappointed, which made Patton's heart break a little bit.

"It's not that I don't trust you with it…" He placed his hand on Logan's shoulder. Logan looked over at him and nodded in understanding. He didn't finish the sentence aloud, but looking into Logan's eyes, he knew exactly what he would've said. It's just that I'm afraid of what you'll say when I give it to you.

After at least a couple hours of waiting for the rain to stop, they could finally begin traveling once again. They'd all had time to dry off as well, so their clothes were no longer wet and uncomfortable. They folded up the cloth they'd been using as a tent and discarded the sticks they'd been using to hold it up.

At that point it was at least midday, possibly a bit past that, but it wasn't night yet. They still had daylight, which meant they could still keep going.

Virgil took one of the shadow blades out of its sheath as they walked. He realized that he'd never really gotten a chance to look at them since he stole them. They were beautiful, really. If you looked closely, you could see that the actual blade of it looked almost cracked, even though it wasn't. The silver pattern looked like vines crawling halfway up the dagger. The shadow blades were the nicest weapons he'd ever used, he had no doubt about that.

They walked for a couple more hours, waiting until the sun had set entirely before setting up camp again. This time they actually set up the tents, rather than doing the temporary shelter they'd used during the rain. Unfortunately, they only had two tents.

"So… how are we supposed to do this?" Roman asked, looking at the two tents in front of them.

"Anyone have a coin?" Virgil asked, glancing at the other three. "We could flip a coin."

"I think I might, hold on." Logan looked around in his satchel for a moment before taking out a small copper coin and handing it to Virgil.

"Okay, so this one's heads and that one's tails." Virgil gestured to the left and right tents respectively. "I'll go first."

He stepped forward slightly and flipped the coin. It landed on tails.

"Tails. I'm in the right tent." He told them. He went to his tent and began unpacking his stuff.

A few moments later, everyone had gotten their tents. Suddenly, Virgil heard someone knock on the door of the tent, and he knew exactly who it was immediately. There was only one idiot who would try to knock on the door of a tent.

"Looks like we're together." Roman stepped into the tent, smiling that annoyingly attractive smile that made Virgil want to punch him right in the face.

"Yup, guess we are." Virgil muttered.

These were the sleeping arrangements for the rest of the trip. That meant that he'd have to deal with the prince's stupid beautiful everything for at least a week.

He was totally screwed.

~~~

Meanwhile, in the other tent, Logan and Patton were getting along just fine. They'd unpacked all their stuff and organized it, making sleeping areas for both of them. Now they were just talking.

Of course, Patton had noticed the malfunctions in Logan's arm, and was curious.

"Do you have any idea why it's not working?" He asked.

"I do, but… I'd rather not share it right now. The past is a bit of a… sensitive topic for me." Logan responded. "Apologies."

"No, that's totally fine. You don't have to tell me. I get it, really." Patton admitted.

Logan just stared at him, dumbfounded. He was expecting the usual 'Come on, tell me' or 'It can't be that bad' that he got from people. He had never taken the time to consider that not everyone would insist on hearing his life story (which he never told anyone anyway). He had never realized how extremely considerate Patton was. While he was on the topic of noticing things about Patton, the wizard's eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown he'd ever seen. It contrasted perfectly with his light hair color. And he had a small scar above his eyebrow. Logan wondered what it was from, but knew better than to ask. Patton had freckles all over his face, and likely on the rest of his body as well because he had freckles on his hands. His round glasses magnified his eyes a good bit, but not too much. He looked like an adorable owl. Also, aside from physical attributes, he was kind, and sweet, and patient, and understanding, and considerate, and just pleasant to be around. And the way he looked at Logan made his heart flutter… wait, was he in love? Was this what love felt like? Well, it certainly was a theory.

"Hello? Earth to Logan?" Logan was snapped out of his thoughts by Patton waving a hand in front of his face. "You spaced out for a second there, is something wrong?"

"No, I'm alright. I was just thinking." Logan shook his head.

"About what?" Patton smiled brightly, clearly interested in what the inventor had to say. Logan could practically feel himself blushing.

"Nothing important really."

"Oh come on, everything you think about is important!" Patton nudged Logan's arm gently.

"Falsehood." He deadpanned.

"It's true though! You're so smart!" Patton told him sincerely.

Logan felt his blush intensify, so he felt the immediate urge to change the subject.

"We should probably get some rest." He said quickly.

"Oh…" Patton became aware again of how dark it was outside. "Yeah, you're right, it's getting kind of late." He nodded.

"Goodnight, Patton." Logan reached to turn off the little lantern they had for light.

"Goodnight, Lo." Patton closed his eyes and curled up under his blanket. Logan did the same, and soon they were both asleep.

The next morning, Logan woke up to someone hugging him. Patton had rolled over to Logan's side of the tent in his sleep. The wizard had his arms wrapped around Logan's ribs, and his head tucked under his chin. He was still fast asleep, and Logan could hear him snoring softly. Now, Logan being in love with Patton was just a theory.

But if that theory wasn't correct, he didn't know what it was.

~~~

Virgil hadn't slept that night again. He never did, it's not like it wasn't normal. He'd just been killing time all night. And in this time, he made an interesting discovery. He found out that Roman talked in his sleep. Nothing understandable, mostly just nonsense.

A couple hours later, Roman slowly woke up as well. His hair was an absolute mess, but somehow Virgil still thought he looked adorable. Somehow.

"Do you know what time it is?" The prince asked, rubbing his eyes.

"No, I don't." Virgil shook his head.

"Oh, right, no clocks." Roman laughed sleepily. Virgil felt butterflies in his stomach at the quiet laugh and silently told them to shut up. "Except for that one that Patton has that he won't let anyone touch. I wonder what the deal is with that thing."

"No idea. From what I know, Patton doesn't have any secrets." Virgil shrugged. "Hang on, your hair is bothering me. Come here."

"Why do you care about my hair?" Roman smirked, leaning back and resting on his elbows.

"Shut up, Princey." Virgil pulled up his mask to cover his blush. Roman just laughed and leaned over to Virgil, bending his head down.

"You can still fix my hair… if you want to, I mean." He told him. "I wouldn't be able to do it myself, with no mirrors."

"Oh- um- yeah, sure." Virgil uncovered his face and hesitantly brushed his fingers through Roman's hair.

It was exactly as soft as he'd expected it to be. He chose to ignore the fact that he'd thought about that. It wasn't necessarily tangled, just messy. He fixed Roman's hair quickly, wanting to get it over with as fast as possible to prevent any and all signs of affection. Which were most definitely non-existent. His heart totally wasn't overflowing with useless love and affection for this stupid idiot. What are you talking about.

"Thanks." Roman smiled at him. "As I said, couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, yeah, no problem." Virgil looked away from Roman, pulling the mask over his face again.

Roman noticed that Virgil did that whenever he was embarrassed. The only mystery was, why would he be embarrassed? It was just a favor from a friend. But then again, Virgil had been acting differently towards him lately. Almost like he was nervous about being around him. Oh no, did Virgil hate him again? He thought he'd made so much progress in their friendship, how was that even possible? On the other hand, why did Roman care so much about what Virgil thought of him? Why did he care so much about the guy who tried to kill him? Well… he'd changed since then. A lot. Was it possible that maybe… Roman had a little bit of a crush on Virgil? Oh god, did he have a crush on someone who hated him? Was he trying to set himself up for failure? Clearly that was the case, otherwise he wouldn't feel that way.

"You're stressing yourself out about something, I can tell." Virgil narrowed his eyes slightly. "What is it?"

"Nothing!" He replied, maybe a little bit too quickly. Virgil rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Fine, if you don't want to talk about it, whatever I guess."

"Don't get me wrong, It's not that I don't want to talk to you about it. I like you- I mean, not like, like you," He was lying when he said that. He for sure like, liked him. "But I think you're a nice guy. I'd like to talk to you more, just not… about… this." He knew he was totally making a fool of himself.

Virgil just laughed. He also knew that Roman was making a fool of himself.

"This isn't funny!" Roman crossed his arms, frowning slightly.

Virgil tried to calm down his laughter, catching his breath. "No, yeah, I know, it's just… I'm so used to seeing you so composed and elegant and stuff. It's kind of funny to see you so flustered about something."

"Yeah, okay, that's fair." Roman admitted. "So, should we see how Logan and Patton are doing?"

~~~

After the embarrassing moment when Patton woke up, and many flustered explanations, Logan and Patton managed to make it out of their tent. They made some food and ate breakfast, then just waiting for Roman and Virgil to get up. When they did finally wake up, Logan and Patton listened to their entire conversation, trying to hold back laughter the whole time. They could tell that their friends had something going on, even if they didn't realize it themselves.

The inventor and the wizard packed up their tent, and waited for Roman and Virgil to come out and do the same. Once they did decide to exit their tent, Patton gave them some food. Then they collapsed their tent as well, and the group got on the road again.

They traveled all day, slept at night, and traveled for a couple hours the next day after that, until they came to another kingdom.

This one, as opposed to the dark quietness of Shadowbrook, seemed loud and busy. They couldn't see the actual inside of the kingdom, because the gate at the front was a solid wall. It was golden, and the rest of the walls surrounding the kingdom were made of some sort of blue stone. They immediately knew it was Caeruleum.

"So… let's go in, I guess." Virgil looked at the towering gate in front of them.

"Yeah… let's." Roman agreed. Patton walked up to the gate and unlocked it just like he had in Shadowbrook, and they entered the kingdom. Each of them were ready to find what they were looking for, whatever that might be.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 26 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: So I was almost done editing this part in Tumblr earlier today and then my laptop, for some reason, decided to close the window, and of course I hadn’t saved it as a draft, so I lost everything I’d formatted! Including my many meticulous links for this chapter that has about 235453636 details! So, that was great!!! I had to start from scratch and find everything again (thank goddess for Google search history for once), and it took a really fucking long time--your encouraging comments for this part in particular would mean a lot because knowing anyone is actually reading will soften my deep frustration at spending literally my entire day on posting this chapter. I’ve said this before but this fic is primarily about two things: 1) big cosmic fucking love (emphasis on the FUCKING) and 2) CLOTHES, hence me elaborating on their outfits constantly ad nauseam, so if you’re ever wondering why I talk about their clothes so goddamn much, it’s because clothes are very erotic/important to me and they are a big part of the way I tell a story, especially this one. Kenzie manifests Telekinesis in this part. Oberon and Titania are the fabled King and Queen of the Fae, and the lines Duncan and Kenzie speak to each other are from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. Kenzie sings CRYSTAL to Duncan before they sleep--that song is very important to Duckenzie, and it will probably show up again before the end. Kenzie’s outfit in this part/part of the next: her wrap crop top, her cut-off shorts, her black bikini, her Vans. Other stuff she packs: the rust-colored mini dress, the pink rose mini-dress, the white mini-dress, the white crop top, the denim shortalls, her Timberland boots, her boot sandals, the black dress with the buckle, the gray cardigan, the gray long-sleeved top, the long linen dress with roses. I can’t find the original sunflower-colored maxi dress I based hers on now; it was sort of like this but with short sleeves. Duncan’s outfit in this part: his button-down, his jersey shorts, his Suede Pumas. Other stuff he packs: the navy flannel, the other button-down, the Nike club hoodie, the zip-up hoodie, chino shorts, tee shirts, relaxed chinos, Nike hiking boots, fitted chinos, the feather shirt Kenzie likes, his black swim trunks. My Duncan doesn’t wear jeans, and Kenzie rarely wears pants; that’s just their stylistic preferences. His suitcase, her suitcase, her moon and sun tote. The Yeti coolers look like this and apparently keep stuff cold, like, FOREVER. Here’s the stargazing book, which I have. Duncan’s gold weed pipe looks like this and was inspired by these pictures of Cody smoking a weird vape, and also was inspired by the fact that he’s apparently (sources tell me) a big stoner irl, which I love. Pullman’s The Golden Compass/Northern Lights is indeed about parallel universes, among other things. I had to make them listen to Kiiara’s Gloe, a song that definitely sounds like it’s about Duckenzie, as I mentioned before. The Blue Skies remix is this one by Maya Jane Coles. I’m the bitch who has loved WUTHERING HEIGHTS fiercely since middle school, hence me giving Kenzie that love/a good recollection of it. I love writing their little conversations so fucking much--just my moon babies, in love. The route to Deep Creek Lake really is via a road called Lakeside Trail. The luxury cabin was inspired by two different models, this one for the front, this one for the back. The gazebo looks like this, more or less. The front room looks sort of like this, but with darker wood, no TV, a bigger fireplace (something like this, with dark stone around instead of the white wood), and not as much taxidermy. The Swarovski chandelier is like this. The bed is like this, the headboard like this, the gold laurels, and Annie Swynnerton’s Cupid and Psyche, which, fuck it, I’m saying is the real thing that Annette bought at an auction at some point (now I want a print of that one too, I love it so much, especially the flower crown in Cupid’s hair). The copper bathtub will feature again soon. I looked at this photo of Billie and this one of Cody a lot while I wrote this chapter; that’s my Kenzie and my Duncan. I said this to Luna ( @misslunarayne ) yesterday--but sometimes I get so overwhelmed by how much I love what I’m creating that I legitimately feel like I’m going to pass the fuck out. ART AND LOVE ARE THE DRUG, LADIES/GENTS/NONBINARY FOLKS. As ever, your likes, reblogs, asks, comments and edits mean the world to me. Get ready for ~a lot~ of fucking in the next chapter.

And here at the end of the evening, watching the night lights of the District of Columbia scatter and disperse as Duncan drove them back to the penthouse, Kenzie was full of contentment.

It washed over her like water, like a tide; to be inside this moment with you, Duncan, is like the purest solitude. To be inside your mind as I know you’re in mine, and to feel so much peace inside that certainty. Despite the pressing chaos of the Gala, a chaos that had tried unsuccessfully to disturb them, Kenzie knew that in the future, she’d only retain the joy from this night in her memories: Lindy and Gabby in their floral dresses, tears in Lindy’s eyes, the purity of the happiness Kenzie had felt in Duncan’s arms as the photographers snapped their cameras wildly, the way Duncan had fucked her so passionately, so utterly, his voice dipping into her ear (you are the greatest pleasure I’ve ever felt, will ever feel, you’re mine and I’m infinitely blessed) his lips open on her neck, the press of the plug still inside her now, holding him inside her, the look of him leaning next to Day, his face serene, happy, and oh-so-deeply beautiful, the nostalgic joy in his gaze as he had flipped through the mythology book now safely resting on her lap. The dark beauty of him now, the dark shadow shrouding his blue gaze, glancing at her singing, the adoration in his eyes so strong it made her shiver.

“I love you so much,” he said, his tone resolute and aching, then with his mind, I love you so much, I love you, love you, love you forever angel, my angel, divine goddess his thoughts echoed against her, devolving down into blue warmth like a fading fire. “Baby, we finally get to be alone. Really alone. Oh god, I can’t wait. I might never want to come back. Would you come live in the woods with me, wild and free, Princess Kenzie?” Duncan’s gold Cartier bracelet glinted on his elegant wrist as he deftly jerked the steering wheel, his eyes glancing between her and the road, that angelic smile playing at his mouth, dizzying her. As it always will.

“I would, Fae Prince,” Kenzie drifted her fingers along the frayed edges of the mythology book, gazing up at him from the halo of her eyelashes. She felt the waves of his delight at that--the shy approval of his acceptance. The romance of this evening is ours. It exists because it exists between us. That’s all there is--this. Us. And you truly are my Prince.  “Oberon of the fairies.”

“Am I not thy lord, Titania?” Duncan grinned at her, and the blue depth of his eyes flashed darkly, and Kenzie’s breath caught. Oh sweet Goddess, you are. My body is yours and you know it is. My soul clings to yours as though it’s the lifeblood of me. Your soul is mine and the knowledge of you encircles my heart and I’m overcome in its beauty. You are my lord. You are my Hades in your shadowed majesty, my Dionysus in your wanton desire for me, if I am Titania, you are Oberon most assuredly, the moon to my sun, the sun to my moon, the sky that holds the stars of me, and my lord. Always.

“Then I must be thy lady,” Kenzie replied, reaching for his hand--Duncan grasped it with fingers hot and insistent, his thoughts bursting with warmth at her words, pulling them away a moment later as he turned the steering wheel again, onto the side-street where the high-rise was tucked off the main road, in its serene stretch of manicured lawn. The moon was silhouetted in almost the very center of the sky, not quite descending west yet. The G-Class shut off with almost no sound at all--its sleek, streamlined affect seemed almost intelligent, knowing. Kenzie looked up into the sky, gentle moonlight kissing her cheeks as she slid out of the passenger seat, brushing her hair from her shoulders--waves of it had freed themselves from Hannah’s ordered mess of roses and Kenzie watched several petals scatter on the sidewalk around her as her hand fell. She turned to Duncan, who had exited the car, coming up behind her, his hand drifting across the back of her head, down the cascade of her rosy hair. His eyes were on the petals that had fallen to the ground, then he looked at her as she turned to him, her hair still sliding through his fingers, and she could feel the ache of his mind, knew what he was thinking, saw his earnest vulnerability, felt the pounding of his heart, heard the rapid beating of her own.

I want to ask you to marry me, he was thinking. I want to ask you, Kenzie. I want to so much...

Kenzie shook her head a little, her mouth dipping open, her hand coming up to his stubbled cheek--in that hazy ring of moonlight, the stars shrouded by city lights but still almost visible above them, in that cocoon of night, and the rest of the world seemed to be utterly still but for the distant sounds of traffic far off in the distance, the slightness of the summer wind.

Not yet, Duncan. Not yet. Wait until we find out--find out whatever it is. The thing that’s coming. You feel it too. I know you do, as certainly as the dawn, as the moon in the sky right now. It’s almost here. The knowledge--the secret thing.

“Wait,” Kenzie whispered, and Duncan’s hands came down to her cheeks, and he held her there with such a delicate sweetness Kenzie felt herself immediately begin to cry. A tear drifted down from her eye to his thumb, and Duncan brushed it away, his mouth falling open in dismay. She smiled--it’s okay, baby, my sweet Prince, it’s okay. My tears are a relief to me inside your love. It moves me so much, I have to cry. “Just wait a little bit longer. Just a little longer, okay?”

Duncan was nodding, and Kenzie could see the threat of tears on him, too--he drifted his fingers against her for another moment, his face, shrouded in shadow and angelic as a painting on the roof of some holy chapel, leaning down to her, his height enveloping her, filling her with solace. The wind was drifting into his curls, and Kenzie felt utterly moved by what seemed to be on the horizon--she felt lost inside its rising call, the feeling of it suddenly swirling around them like a whirling sphere of gold, the sidewalk deserted, the night so quiet. It was as if they’d suddenly been transported to another universe, imperceptibly, in the hair’s-breadth span of a moment. Everything looked the same, but the air was different, charged with a potency that seemed alien. Because that other universe is always so close, Kenzie thought, her mind hazy with Duncan’s eyes. Isn’t it? That’s true, isn’t it, baby? That other universe, and all of them, hovering nearby.

Then the thought, imperceptible, obtuse--and the feeling--drifted away. Duncan still seemed to be lost inside her mind, in her gaze--she could feel him, rosy and desirous, falling down the curves of her body, the invisible touch of him along the golden gown she still wore, the fingers of his soul at her throat, imagining her in the throes of his passionate attentions. Kenzie shivered, then gently pulled his hand down from her cheek; Duncan dutifully gathered her train over his arm, and they walked down the pathway to the high-rise’s entrance with the moon shining on them, watchful, and its face seemed familiar again, no longer the hidden moon from a moment ago, Kenzie thought, but our moon again, though I know the other moon--those other moons--are always behind this one, aren’t they? Those other moons live beside our moon, and together they echo through time. Tonight there’s a thinness--and in that thinness, there are visible things that will vanish when daylight comes again.

It was well past midnight now, and neither Anchaly or Jerry were anywhere to be seen--a security guard sat in Anchaly’s usual seat at the front desk, and he glanced up at Duncan and Kenzie, then did a nervous double-take. Kenzie smiled at him, yep it’s us, those Instagram stars, then Duncan was pulling her with him into the elevator out of the guard’s eyesight, and she was falling against him, the book and her clutch in her arms pressing into his belly; she could see that Duncan had closed his eyes in the mirror in front of them, and his face was lined with tiredness now, the makeup there no longer able to conceal it. Lost in the feeling of you, my constant comfort, my Kenzie, and Kenzie closed her eyes too, turning her nose into his shirt and breathing deeply, her hands coming up to clutch at the lapels of his jacket, the golden tips of his collar.

“I can’t believe we can finally be alone together, baby,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it. Really alone. I’ve missed the woods so much--and we’ll be together--”

“Wait until you see it, baby,” Duncan said as they walked to the penthouse door. He was tiredly reaching for his wallet, but his hand slipped and he dropped it--Kenzie smiled, dipping down to pick it up, holding her clutch and the mythology book against her chest with her elbows, opening it, loving the feeling of the leather in her fingers (because it’s his, because it belongs to him) as she pulled his keycard out (there were at least ten other cards in it, and at least ten or twelve hundred dollar bills alongside two dozen crisp twenty dollars bills--Kenzie recognized his Black AmEx immediately amid several other American Express cards, scrunched her nose up at his license for a moment, SHEPHERD, DUNCAN MALCOLM, then the penthouse address, SEX M, HGT 5’11”, WGT 160, EYES BLU, DOB 07/06/1988, his solemn expression in it crushing her heart with affection), swiping it through the keypad beside the door. She tucked the keycard back inside the wallet and then, in a moment of abandon, lifted it to her mouth and kissed it. Duncan gave her a look of deep longing, lifting his chin back, eyes closing, biting his lip--then Kenzie reached behind her head, grasping the softness of one of the rose buds there, gently pulled at the petals--two in dark, aching red came out in her fingers, and she opened the side-nook of the wallet, slipping the petals inside.

“Just a memory of tonight,” she murmured, and slid the wallet back into his back pocket, her fingers lingering along the rise of his ass. Duncan dipped and caught her mouth inside his--he pulled the penthouse door open absently as they clung together, refusing to break apart as they stumbled inside, his hand coming down to press at the aching plug (still there, still pressing into me, aching with you now, aching with the length of my supplication to you, holding your release deep inside me). The tiredness in her seemed to dissipate now; she felt his lifting too, lifting in the cadence of his desire rising again. Kenzie noticed several shipping boxes piled by the kitchen island from the haze of his embrace, throwing the book and her clutch down on the obsidian surface, remembering the things she’d ordered for the trip a few days before, then returned to his touch, the feeling of his fingers.

“Bed. Come, baby.” Kenzie broke away from him, not even bothering to unwrap her shoes--you can do it in our bed, beloved. You will undress me. She ran to the bedroom, her train slipping from his fingers, away from him because she knew he’d follow, suddenly intoxicated with their bed’s serene black surface as it came into view--threw herself on it, watching with delight as the golden train of her dress floated out behind her, stretching off the bed in gathers that pilled along the dark wood. She turned from the position on her belly, crooking her knees as Duncan followed her into the room--he was suddenly on top of her, his much larger form enveloping her, pushing her gently down so her back was facing him, his legs on either side of her hips, his crotch pressing gently into her ass--his long fingers were instantly at the concealed zipper along her spine, pressing it down insistently. As he went lower he slid off the bed, hands coming up to begin to ease the sleeves from her arms, pulling her toward him with ease, and Kenzie turned to face him, laying on her back now as Duncan peeled the dress off her breasts. His mouth came down to one of her nipples as it came free, and Kenzie shuddered against him, against his lips, his hands working the dress down now, lips reluctantly pulling away so he could ease the dress from her hips, exposing the delicate panties he’d carefully helped her into again in that quiet powder room. Duncan had the exquisite dress Morgan had created for Kenzie in his hands now--Kenzie went to get up, but Duncan shook his head.

“Don’t, baby. Stay here.” Kenzie lay back, still wearing her golden heels and panties, her eyelids shivering, her breath gasping now in anticipation, rose petals scattered on the sheet behind her head. Duncan disappeared into the walk-in closet for a moment, then reappeared a moment later without her dress. Too beautiful a thing to discard on the floor this time, she knew, and nodded to him, loving his thoughtfulness, his mindfulness. Duncan came up to the edge of the bed, his dark and gold jacket shimmering down at her, his darkly-shadowed eyes roving from her hair scattered on the bed around her to her breasts, her nipples shivering with hardness, then he dipped his (beautiful) hands to the waistband of her panties, pulling them down as he kneeled before her, kneeled before their bed. Your altar, she heard him, and she trembled, her body feeling too hot and too cold at once inside his blue eyes. Duncan.worked at the ties at her ankles with his graceful long hands, kissing the inclines of her feet as he pulled the shoes off, carefully setting them aside. Kenzie glanced over his shoulder, watching the shape of his back, the velvety gold of his blazer, the soft fall of his hair, kneeling before her in the Mirror. My Prince kneels before me, oh, fuck, Goddess--

“Do you want me to undress?” He asked her; and his thoughts were intensely earnest, his mind interested only in her needs, making her think of evening clouds drifting in an indigo sunset. Oh Duncan, you are so beautiful inside. So fucking lovely. I feel selfish to behold this part of you, this hidden wondrous beauty of you, but I can’t help it, I want it all to myself. Beloved, exalted in my eyes. You’re so beautiful to look at, but oh, Goddess, your real beauty is the one the world cannot see, and I am moved by him, that hidden self, body and soul.

“No--” Kenzie gasped as the cool air of the room drifted against the sensitivity of the plug, the hardness of her nipples, and her arms broke out in goosebumps. She moved her thighs apart as his hands pressed insistently up the incline of her legs, felt the lips of her sex spread open for him, the stretch of her asshole around the plug, wet with the residue of his come. “I want you to suck on me, Prince, give your mouth to me with your come held inside my naked body, worship my body that belongs to you--”

“Kenzie, fuck,” he whispered, then Duncan brought his face down close to the open lips of her, laving out his tongue, wet with spit that dripped from his aching mouth, to press insistently to her clit, lingering there as she writhed inside his grasp for a moment, lifting her chin to the ceiling and moaning in a soft, prolonged stream that she knew would drive him insane with longing--then one of his hands was drifting from her thigh to her belly, from her belly to pinch insistently at her breast, twisting her nipple in a hard grip that made her gasp, then drifting up further to her neck, to where she still wore Adelaide’s braided golden ruby, and Duncan pressed his elegant, achingly lovely hand into her there, and gripped her tightly as he sucked, hard and unrelenting, at her clit. Kenzie’s hips bucked up in a keening roll that bled into a steady rhythm, the whining cries from her sent out like entreating prayers to him, and she was murmuring his name, her hands thrown back, palms open at either side of her head, knowing he wanted her to stay still, knowing he wanted to hold her under his mercy in this moment, murmuring to him to try to keep herself from coming already, fuck, not yet, I want you to give me everything, my Prince, I dream of your mouth on me always, your devotions. The pressure of the plug in her ass was sending shocks up her spine with every convulsion of her cunt under his lips and tongue, and his hand at her throat was sweet with constriction.

“Choke me, baby,” she heard herself, whimpering, “Ch-choke me and suck my clit, I’m your angel baby and I n-need you--need you--fuck me with your mouth--”

“Mmmhm,” Duncan’s mouth was buried flush against her, but Kenzie could feel the rolling vibrations of his lips humming against her, and his hand was pressing with measured strength, harder, into her neck, the feeling of his fingers so intense they seemed to burn against her. Kenzie let out a little gasp, and Duncan moved his hand up to the dip of where her jaw began at the top of her throat; with careful insistence he pressed her chin back so her eyes couldn’t see him, were forced to look towards the wall behind them, the empty wall that she’d said they should put something on--for a brief second, Kenzie contemplated this again, wildly--we really should put something on that wall, something beautiful--and then Duncan was raising his head to rest his chin for a moment on her abdomen, still forcing her head back, his other hand coming down to rub at her clit so she’d have no reprieve from his attentions.

“Kenzie, you taste like fucking heaven, baby, like the fucking nectar of heaven, like ambrosia, you taste like wine made from the apples of trees that grow in paradise, I dream about the sweet scent of your cunt now and I wake up in hunger for you, all I want is you, you bless me to let me worship you this way, princess of heaven, my flower of the universe--”

Kenzie was shivering under his hand, her hips trembling, and she tried to move back from his fingers, loathe to come yet, loathe to miss his fingers touching her with such terrible sweetness, and she was murmuring between her gasping, heard herself say “put your fingers in my mouth, baby, make me suck on you too,” and he was nodding, bringing his index and middle fingers up to her wet, shuddering bottom lip, pulling her head back down to look at him, dipping them inside her to press on her tongue for a moment before drifting up so she could close her mouth on him, his other fingers still holding her head back, still keeping her steady, prostrate, and Kenzie sucked desperately at his (those hands, for me alone, let me worship you too, baby) fingers, whimpered into the feeling of his skin, and Duncan was burying his mouth against her again, his tongue gentle now, but no less insistent, dipping against her until she keened once more, keened against his arm pressed along her body between her breasts, holding her down for him, you like keeping me here, don’t you, baby, she drifted against him, you like holding me down, making me writhe for you, my angelic love--

“Fuck, yes,” Duncan’s reply was spoken aloud, and Kenzie knew he wanted to speak his longing into her, not just press his love to her sex, but speak it into the room, fill every corner with it. “I do, baby, I fucking do, I love you all to myself this way,” and he was licking along the curve of the lips of her sex, down to the dip of skin before the plug pushed snugly inside her, “Unng, baby, fuck, you taste so good--wait till we’re in the woods, I’m gonna fuck you every hour, fuck you until we’re so exhausted we have to sleep all day, and then we’ll wake up and fuck again, I’ll worship you again and again, into the night, under the stars, all through the day until the sun is dipping low in the sky--” he was dipping his fingers in and out of the wetness of her mouth now, making her moan with the sensation of being filled so with his lips and his fingers and the plug, still sending its shockwaves through her back every time Duncan made her cunt twinge; the space between her convulsions was becoming smaller and smaller, and she was beginning to see golden bursts of need in the corners of her vision, bearing down on her--Duncan seemed to sense how close she was treading to her orgasm, and he continued to speak against her between his admonitions, dipping his tongue into the shuddering twinge of her vulva, then long and languid at her clit, then speaking the sweet, ardent poem into her, his breath so shivering-soft, brushing down onto the wetness gathering strongly between her legs, her arousal and his saliva mingling irrevocably--Duncan brought his hand away from her mouth to grasp her under both thighs, hitching her knees over his shoulders so she was lifted up utterly, into his face, his eyes closing in the throes of his ardency, shrouding them in the dark eyeshadow still on him, reminding her of some holy fresco painted dark, a pious congregant in ecstatic worship, an achingly lovely visage of a damned soul finally redeemed. I love your eyelashes, your sweet eyelids, the incline of your cheeks, your mouth, fu-fuck, your beautiful fucking mouth, Duncan, how--how are you mine--

“You’re my angel, you’re fucking heaven to me--you’re a fucking goddess, even now you’re dipped in gold, the gold is you, it’s you, only you, exalted, beloved, entire, my only--” Duncan brought his fingers down, pressing them into the plug, pulling gently at it so she cried out at the smooth pressure of the bulb against the opening of her there as he flushed his mouth onto the bud of her again, “--So fucking beautiful I never want to look away from you, Kenzie--so fucking beautiful you fill all of my senses and time means nothing against you--nothing, uhhh, fuck, Kenzie--my fucking beautiful angel, god, I fucking love your body, I want to hold it forever--my Princess, sweetest golden honey, my moonlight, come for me, come for me, come against my lips, come into me--” and he was lifting his mouth away, bringing the hand that had toyed with the plug up, raising a flat palm to give her a little testing slap along the spread lips of her sex--Kenzie whined and bucked up into the air, her knees over his shoulders, his mouth hovering near her, smiling that smile beyond the beauty of her imagining, and she was whimpering again, and now she was begging, “Fuck, baby, please, do it again, I’m so close,” and Duncan’s face went slack with adoration, a little moan escaping him too to see her beg, to hear the sweetness of it, she knew--

Then he brought his palm down more harshly, the sound of it snapping into the wetness between her legs as he slapped her clit with a concentrated, sharp pressure, and Kenzie cried out, her eyes closing with an involuntary, ragged intake of breath--the coil of her orgasm was making her thighs begin to shake uncontrollably now, and she knew Duncan could see it in her eyes, see that she was about to let go for him, and he yanked her across the black sheet to the edge of the bed, so she was intently against him, as close as he could possibly clutch her to his open mouth, bringing both hands down to her face, one grasping at her neck again, against the cool gold of the necklace, oh god, Adelaide, if you could see where your necklace is now, Kenzie thought wildly, under the hot fingers of your grandson fucking the life out of me with his tongue, his other hand dipping around the space under her ear, his thumb probing into her mouth again, dipping harshly into the crook of it, forcing her lips open to him, wanting my mouth open to him, she knew, could feel his desire like an intense bluish flood, felt his thumb move down to her bottom lip and press it open, could feel the satisfaction in him when her moan needled up.

He leaned back from her cunt just long enough to spit a rivulet of saliva down onto her clit, then he pressed his tongue there again and she was dazzled with bursts of glittering anticipation, down from her mind into her body to her thighs, and Kenzie whimpered into his fingers, a whimper that became a wailing convulsion--Duncan did not ease his mouth, rather rebounded onto her as the plug tormented at her, pressing into her as her thighs shook, the shiver moving down her legs and down through the center of her abdomen, coursing out in tendrils of white-hot pleasure from his mouth’s avid attention.

Kenzie’s chin lifted back as she came now, her voice pressing out an sobbing cry that rattled every corner of her mind--she felt Duncan’s hands press more harshly into her mouth, harder into her neck, bringing dips of darkness into her vision, could feel the shuddering of her cunt under his mouth, the reverberations of the plug, and tears were coursing down her cheeks in an instant--she was crying in earnest now, but unlike the tears from earlier tonight, prompted by the terrible hate in Bill Shepherd’s agonized eyes and her own rebounded sadness toward the people who had surrounded Duncan for so much of his life, these tears were ecstatic, astounded at the fullness she felt inside this moment with him, utterly shaken by the feeling drifting out of him in surges that felt like a kiss on every inch of her.

Duncan heard her sobs now, she knew, because he’d lifted his eyes up to her from his pressing diligence between her legs--he lifted his mouth away as she came down from the edge, and his arms were lifting her limp, spent body into him now, sliding up onto the bed as he held her so his knees were against the black sheet, sliding her naked body up to the pillow to set her head gently against it, scattering rose petals as he did from her hair now coming undone, his mouth, wet with her sex, coming to kiss along her cheek and jaw. His arms were caressing at her, up and down her waist, along the dips of her breasts and against her neck, but with aching gentleness now, and Kenzie felt like she was on fire with his touch, could barely catch her breath with her tears. She grasped at his velvet jacket, her hands trailing at the gold collar, lifting up to his hair, to his cheek with its sweet stubble, and her tears were terribly hot and their salt fell between her lips, a relief inside the depth of her love for him in that moment.

“Shhhh, baby, shhhhh--” and Duncan was hovering over her, hands coming up to her hair and her cheek, soothing over her there, his elbows crooked on either side of her body, his much larger one enveloping her with his dark velvets and silky shirt, the heavy heat of him, the overwhelming musky-sandalwood-woods scent of him, his desire and his love, the scent of her sex lingering near her cheek now from his mouth as he kissed along her skin, making her sigh and shake, drying her tears. “I love you, Kenzie, baby, I love you--” and she could feel his thoughts, knew that he could sense her relief, the depth of the calmness settling into her now, sense how good (so fucking good baby fucking fuck I love you too Duncan I love you) he had made her feel, and she could feel him smiling into her cheek, feel his joy at her joy and her peace, and she wished this moment could extend, on and on, its perfection shaking her heart.

“It is perfect, isn’t it,” he whispered against her, and she could feel the tininess of his eyelashes as his eyes closed against her, and she felt close to her tears again, had to scrunch her face so they wouldn’t begin anew, and Duncan was saying “oh, Kenzie, oh, baby, if you want to cry, it’s okay--” and she was pressing her arms around the back of his hair, pulling him down against her so she fell into the space of his arms with his head beside her on the pillow, pressed her wet cheek against his heart, tucking her arms down between them against her mouth, bringing her legs together, shivering at the sensitivity of her sex, the deep moisture there from her release and his mouth. His cheek pressed into the crown of her hair, his fingers tangling in the roses that were drifting apart in the chestnut waves scattered behind her. Kenzie sighed again--a deep, shuddering sigh, a sigh that she knew was pushing away everything from the past two days, pushing it away from him too, insisting that now, beginning now, starting now, under this moon, like the all-knowing eye of some resplendent white goddess, and away from the other, prying eyes of everyone and everything, they’d worship each other in earnest, get lost--it’s time to get lost in each other, my dearest love. The days to come belong to us and us alone.

“Wait till you see it,” he was whispering into her hair. “Fuck, baby, I’m never going to want to leave, I know it already--even imagining being with you there feels like--like a beautiful dream. We’ll light a bonfire, we’ll bring the big blanket out under the summer sky, there’s this patch a quarter of a mile from the cabin, the trees part and the sky is totally spread out, and you can see everything at night--” Kenzie felt herself calming, let herself float inside the sound of his voice--the penthouse was blessedly quiet, any sounds from the world outside hushed, 30 stories down, far away. This is the only thing I want in the world right now, she knew, just to be here with you, the memory of your mouth still lingering on me, your hands in my hair, the jasmine-cedar scent of you, the beating of your heart against me.

“There are so many goldenrods in the summer, too, and last time there were all these wild orchids--Annette and Bill had this weekend retreat with all these Congress members, god, it was awful--but--one evening I escaped from everyone and went off in the woods alone and the light was falling so sweetly on them, everything was bathed in soft gold and deep blue, and I think I hoped for you that night, Kenzie, I think I longed for you, even though I didn’t know it was you I was thinking of, I didn’t know it was you I was missing so terribly, but it was, wasn’t it? It was you all along...it’s always been you. I know that now.”

Kenzie lifted her chin up from where it had been pressed against him, and Duncan brought his mouth down onto her, and their kiss was dream-soft and so earnest from him it almost pained her, his mind aching against her--she could feel the slight weight of his cock on her leg through where the pants still constricted him, knowing he was hovering around his arousal again, but also feeling the depth of his tiredness, the sincerity of his emotion inside the memory of his loneliness. He leaned away, the blue of his eyes so bright they didn’t seem real, then he pushed himself up, hand drifting down to her hip, looking down at her, his elbow crooked so his face hovered over her.

“I’m starving, baby,” Kenzie murmured up to him, sleepiness tinging her voice, her hands drifting at his velvet arms. The pillow was so soft under her head, his fingers so soothing on her skin--her eyes closed for a moment as Kenzie surrendered to the wave of tiredness that washed over her. Your touch is home. It’s the highest of all pleasures, the most soothing thing I’ve ever felt. Your touch.

“Okay, baby, hang on--don’t fall asleep yet,” and she felt Duncan kiss her cheek, his lips drifting down to press more along her skin, two kisses, three, four--then he lifted away from her and she opened her eyes, turning to watch his velvet back retreat, his hand drifting through the back of his hair--he glanced back at her, eyes adoring, and she smiled, bringing her hands down to drift between her legs, I can still feel your mouth there, and he grinned shyly (still shy of me, I can’t believe it), disappearing through the doorway.

A moment later she heard him call to her from the kitchen, his voice amused and curious. “Baby, what’s in all these boxes?” She could hear the small sounds of him moving around there, but not their precision--she waited for a moment, still floating inside her post-orgasm, not answering. Duncan reappeared after a few more beats, having removed his shoes and blazer now, a black bowl in one hand and a Waterford glass in the other. He slid onto the bed again, holding the glass down to her. Kenzie propped herself up against the headboard, clutching it in two hands and drinking greedily. The water was wonderfully cold and clear, and it brushed some of the sleepiness from her mind. She sat up more, feeling the plug pressing into her as her ass brushed along the sheets; she shivered out a little moan, and could see the desire flit across Duncan’s gaze again. She smiled at him and leaned over to set the glass on his nightstand; he passed her the bowl now, hand dipping down to her thigh. It had another bunch of the crimson grapes they’d been eating earlier (The Youth of Bacchus, Kenzie thought, fighting the urge to run to the study to look at it right now, thrilled with knowledge that she could if she wanted to, for it hung there), a handful of raw almonds, and a long bar of very dark chocolate in six segments that looked almost black in the low bedroom light.

“Ooo, baby,” and she was squealing with delight at the chocolate, reaching for it with insistent fingers, crossing her legs under her against the sheet. She broke a piece off and lifted it up to his mouth--Duncan’s teeth snatched it out of her fingers and Kenzie couldn’t help but laugh--being with you. She leaned up to kiss him, the sweet, dark taste of the chocolate mingling in their mouths. Being with you is heaven.

“What’s in all those boxes?” Duncan asked again, reaching for some of the grapes, popping them in his mouth, then reaching up to his collar and beginning to unbutton it. He pulled the hem of the shirt out of his belt, easing it off his arms, then worked at the buckle as his eyes drifted over her nakedness--Kenzie felt shy under his gaze, wondering again if that feeling would ever fade. Caught in the eyes of this beautiful boy--truly beautiful, a face that a sculptor would die to render, Michael the Archangel, David trapped in stone, fairest Adonis. And he kneels to me. Kneels and worships ME.

“Stuff I ordered for our trip,” she replied, breaking off more chocolate, twining golden strands of hair around her finger, recalling. “Ghost stories--” she wiggled her fingers at him and he laughed, “--and some quilts and blankets for our bed--I want it to be extra cozy--and for stargazing, a fireside cooking kit--we can make tinfoil dinners, those are so fun--and, well, a bunch of clothes--” and she grinned at him, loving the way his face immediately went soft with the prospect, enthralled with the mere mention of such a thing. Baby, she thought, you get to watch me get dressed every day now, every fucking day, you care stare as much as you want.

“--including these tiny little cutoff shorts, and a little black bikini,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper as she spoke, letting her mouth hang open at the end, her eyes teasing him.

“Fuck,” Duncan leaned in to kiss her, and as he did he bit gently at her bottom lip, sucking for a moment and then releasing her--and then he was dropping his belt on the floor to the side of the bed, bringing his legs over it to ease the pants off, then his socks, then his briefs, discarding them all in a heap, freeing his partially-hard cock. He looked over at her, reached for the chocolate in her hand, fingers drifting down her skin, then breaking another piece off and dipping it into his mouth (your lips, baby). Then he rose with a teasing glance of his own to her, and went into the bathroom--Kenzie admired his ass as he did, blushing a little into her chocolate. Round and smooth. I wanna bite it. She heard the water running, and set the remainder of the chocolate in the bowl, sliding off the bed, wincing a little at the soreness of the plug still inside her.

Kenzie stepped into the bathroom; Duncan was washing his face, and she glanced down, watching the dark makeup swirl down the drain. The Gala really is finally over. I’m so relieved, honestly. Now it feels like I can breathe again. Like we can breathe. This revelation from Annette may have actually been a blessing in disguise. Time to run away with you for awhile, my love. Duncan was patting his face dry with a towel, then he turned to her as she came up beside him, leaning on the sink. She knew he could hear her. Can you take my plug out now, please, Prince?

“I’ll take it out now. Lean down a little, baby.”

Kenzie nodded, and leaned over the basin, moving her feet apart so her thighs were spread slightly. Duncan unscrewed the top of the coconut oil on the counter and dipped his fingers into it--then he stepped behind her and eased the fingers around the jewel at her backside. Kenzie breathed in, slowly.

“Press out, baby.” Kenzie did as he said, and winced a little again, but only a little--the oil had soothed the sting of the chafing there, and the plug popped out of her a moment later. Duncan brought it over the sink and turned the hot water on over it again--Kenzie watched him rinse it with soapy, gentle hands as she pulled the pack of wet wipes from one of the drawers under the sink, easing one of them along the dip between her ass. It came away with a little blood again, but just a little--it’s worth it, honestly, because fuck, you fucked me so fucking good, baby, fucked me hard and ate me out so fucking good, fuck. He glanced over at her as he turned the faucet off, having finished washing her plug--she saw the glint in his eyes, the indication that he’d heard her thoughts, the knowledge of her lust. Duncan set the plug on the counter, and then he pulled her achingly against him, pressing his nakedness into her, lifting her up into an open-mouthed kiss. The roses were still falling from her hair around their feet--Duncan set her back down to earth and turned her gently, and then his beautiful fingers began to work the roses out of her hair, setting them gently one by one on the bathroom counter. Kenzie glanced over to the mirror to watch him as she reached for her toothbrush; my Prince, your gentleness amazes me still. She knew she would remember this moment, crystallized, in the future. Your hands in my hair, the roses falling through your fingers, the blue of your eyes, the drift of your thoughts to me, so soft, so devoted.

Kenzie, he was thinking, I’ll put flowers in your hair in the forest, scatter flowers on our bed, flowers in your arms, we’ll lay in them and forget the world, they’ll weave flowers in your hair on our wedding day, I know it already as if I can see through a window, I can see the halo of your head and a crown of dark roses there, my Persephone, a dream of the future yet I know it’s real, how I long to ask you, to speak it into existence…

Duncan untwined the last of the rosebuds and Kenzie turned to him, lifting her chin to his face, but not kissing him, not quite--she hovered her lips achingly near to his, and heard the quiet, longing sound that drifted out of him against her, his face now free of the dark makeup he’d worn all night, and still so stunningly, completely beautiful, and yet you long for me, she thought, her skin wildly sensitive under his touch, you worship me, little old Mackenzie Stone.

“You aren’t little, Kenzie. I mean...you are little. I love how little you are, I love how close I can hold you--” and here his hands drifted down to Kenzie’s ass, cupping her there, pressing her sensitive sex up into him, his mouth hovering at her chin, “but baby, you aren’t little. You’re so bright--like the sun. Your vastness...it fucking staggers me. It’s like you have a universe inside you, and it’s beautiful beyond all description.You’re so divine--so strong, so brave, so kindhearted and so bright, like golden starlight--”

“Fuck, Duncan, the way you talk to me--”

“Just my entreating prayers to a goddess,” he whispered, lips finally falling under her ear. “Just my endless hope for her blessing.”

“Come to bed with me, hold me, sleep with me, fair Oberon, and in the morning, let’s fuck off into the forest and never come back,” and Kenzie was smiling against the overwhelmingly sweet sensation of his lips, and she felt him smile too and then laugh against her, a laugh that was so desperately joyful that she felt lost inside it for a moment, as though he were Eros and the sound of his laughter was the sound of desire itself. Purest joy. My love, that I can bring you this, that you have given yourself to me this way--it moves my soul utterly, it is the highest of all things, to be loved, to love you. She laughed too, a heartfelt laugh that threatened to dissolve into tears in her throat, and Duncan was kissing her mouth with soft, sweet pecking kisses, and she knew he felt the mingling fall of her emotion, the deluge in her. His hands came around her neck, unclasping Adelaide’s golden necklace, setting it on the sink beside her roses, and Kenzie was moved by the sight, by its shivering, quiet beauty--one is the city, the other the forest, and tomorrow we’ll retreat into nature and find its secrets, she thought. She shivered, and then Duncan was pulling her to the bed, shutting the lights off as he did, easing her down against into the sheets with his (clouded sky) eyes full of tenderness, setting the bowl with the chocolate and grapes aside (later my love, all things later, now, only you, only me, only sleep and our dreams of those other places, only the moon and us) and she was gathered inside his arms, her cheek at his heart again, his sex pressed into her belly, their legs irrevocably twined.

“Kenzie,” he murmured, and she was moved to be in the sudden darkness, in the feeling of him, “Will you sing to me? I love your voice so much.  Just a little, baby, please?”

Kenzie sighed against him. “Oh, baby. Of course I will.” She heard the thought he didn’t say aloud, the shyness in it: a lullaby. My sweet Duncan. My beloved. I will soothe you as you know only I can. She was quiet for a moment, in the stillness, in the shadows, in his arms. Then she knew what she wanted to sing to him; knew it as certainly as her love for him.

“Do you always trust your first initial feeling, special knowledge...holds true…bears believing…” And Kenzie felt him bury his face against the softness of her hair, his deep sigh of contentment, his love bursting into her, “I turned around, and the water...was closing...all around, like a glove, like the love, that had finally, finally found me...and I knew...in the crystalline knowledge of you…”

And then they were dreaming, untethered from earth, together; under the face of another moon, this one much larger than the one they’d left, and lit with a glow that was utterly not of their world.

--------

The light was sweet and low as Kenzie drifted up, back to reality. It’s very early, she knew. She let her eyes linger closed for a moment, trying to recall the dream she’d surfaced from this time; it certainly wasn’t a bad dream, not like our nightmares, she knew. In this one she’d been wearing a very long black velvet gown with a very tight bodice that had exposed her throat to the dip of her breasts--it had pilled around her in huge folds, had drifted behind her as she walked--she remembered with a rush that the Mirror was in the dream, its embellished gold frame distinct, its vastness obvious. I saw myself in it, and I looked beautiful, but I looked--I looked like myself but not like myself. I wore dark jewels on my throat, and...there was this power in my eyes, I could see it reflected in the Mirror. Duncan was with me, but he was wearing something...something from another time period. He wore...breeches, I think that’s what they’re called, and long boots. His hair was longer--it fell to his shoulders in beautiful waves, but it was the same color it is now, like russet autumn leaves, not like the terrible, dark man I dreamt with his face, and not like that other Duncan, the one who had nebulas for eyes, with wings I didn’t understand the shape of. He was kissing my neck--he was wearing a flowing white shirt and he was taking it off, we were in a room with a huge four-poster bed, an opulent room, like we were in Versailles or something, the fireplace was lit and the light was low and we were full of nervous excitement, full of desire…

Here her recollection of the dream ended and she opened her eyes, sighing a little. The Mirror. The Mirror was there. Our Mirror. My Mirror...the one I know belongs to me somehow. It had something to do with that...with me knowing that. Duncan stirred a little against her--his arms had moved in sleep and one of them, she realized, was clutched at the dip of her ass--the other was against her hand between their pillows, his pinky and ring finger hooked around hers, their Cartier bracelets hovering near each other--the diamonds of Kenzie’s caught the early light, glinting into her sleep-touched eyes. Duncan’s stubbled jaw turned up in his sleep, his mouth opening a little, then closing, the small movement of his throat sending a shiver up her bare spine. My beautiful baby. His hand at her ass moved up to the small of her back--drew her in closer in his sleep, her hip bone pressing against his, his hardness (always), sending a little gasp of sensation out from her as it lifted into the space between her legs.

Kenzie hesitated for a moment, longing for his eyes to open, longing for his mouth to fall on hers, longing for the feeling of him probing into her mind--I feel lonely without him there now, I can’t help it--longing for the feeling of his beautifully thick, hard cock to be inside her, but she knew they had a long drive today--the sooner they left the penthouse and got on the road, the sooner they could be in the wonderful solitude of the woods, be at the lake. Alone together. Not like our day at the beach--which was so wonderful, but so brief--really alone together, for days, and free to explore the secrets of each other and the joy of nature. Fuck, I can’t wait.

It had been almost a year since the last time Kenzie was in the woods--she and Claire had gone with some of her old Georgetown friends to a nearby campgrounds and stayed for two nights during the muggiest stretch of August. It had been terribly hot, but the evenings had been so tranquil and lovely and the sunsets so beautiful, and she’d been so happy to be with Claire, and the memory was a good one--they’d shared a tent and eaten burnt hot dogs and canned baked beans and s’mores, got eaten alive by mosquitoes, and laughed with each other a lot, over everything, as they always did. My Clairebear. I wonder how your date with Harris went, and Kenzie smiled, thoughts drifting from Claire back to Duncan, her gaze roving over the man (almost more than a man sometimes, to me, like an angel, his soul having opened to me this way) she loved more than she ever thought possible--more than she would have thought herself, or anyone, capable of. She pushed back the feeling of tears, which always seemed to be hovering near now, and eased herself out of his embrace. Duncan stirred again, dipping his head down, his hand coming under his cheek--and he sighed in his sleep, then descended back into silent, slow breaths. Just sleep a little longer, my loveliest love, she sent out to him, her thoughts lined in gold. Sleep until your tiredness melts away--then we’ll leave.

Kenzie eased off the bed, glancing at the roses she’d tied above it, her eyes sliding to the Mirror (you were in my dream, beautiful thing--maybe our dream, if he dreamed too), examining her nakedness, moving to the bathroom. She gazed affectionately at her Golden Pothos on the back of the toilet as she sat to pee, wincing as she wiped herself--my poor asshole, she thought with an inner laugh, sorry sweetie, you’re gonna need to suck it up and get used to a big cock inside you. She snorted, giggling at her own thoughts, reaching for her hairbrush, coaxing the tangles out of her hair as she looked at the necklace and roses scattered on the sink affectionately. Kenzie set the brush down, grasping the necklace and moving to the closet, eyes watching Duncan in his quiet repose, hair tossed over his forehead; Eros sleeps. It was barely past 7, but she felt wide awake now, the stresses of the Gala--the chaotic energy of the press and photographers towards them, Marissa Montague’s tantrum, Bill Shepherd hissing into her face, his skin gray, his breath sour with sickness, the overwhelming sadness that had driven her to run blindly through a back hallway until she had reached that room that she knew had once belonged to Duncan--seeming far away already. She neatly set the necklace along the stretch of dark wood shelf where she now kept her jewelry in the huge closet--she admired it for a moment, the sheen of its gold and diamonds, fingers drifting over it, the perfect roundness of the ruby--then Kenzie reached for the Tiffany moon and clasped it around her neck. The first thing he ever brought me as a gift--like he was bringing me an offering on an altar. And my offering to him was the meal that I made for us--and he was so happy to receive it. I knew he was. I know he’s happy, truly happy, to receive whatever I give him. Because he loves me. Fuck, he truly does.

Kenzie turned, noticing Duncan had hung her golden gown from last night on a long wood hanger in the corner, so it faced the doorway. Its train drifted in a gathered pile on the floor, and Kenzie was struck by its loveliness again--a dress for a goddess. I wonder how all those pictures turned out, she wondered. I felt so lost in that happiness with him in those moments, it’s like for a little while I lost track of everything that was going on around us. But no. I’m not going to look. In fact, I’d like to not look at my phone at all while we’re away. I’ll bring it with me, but I think I’m going to just turn it off. Kenzie went out through the living room, still naked but for the moon necklace and the Cartier bracelet (which I’ll never take off, only he can take it off me) now; the penthouse was cool and she liked the chilliness on her skin, knowing it would be another hot June day. She moved to the obsidian island--it was clean of all residue of the food that had been spread there the evening before by Erik, Hannah and Georgio, the hands of the still-unseen-to-her housekeepers having whisked it away. I need to meet them and thank them for all the work they do to clean this penthouse, Kenzie thought, feeling guilty. They clean this space so beautifully. They deserve my thanks at the very least. I know Duncan is used to living this way, but I’m not--I’m used to cleaning up after myself. This world is still so strange to me.

She slid her golden clutch from last night off the island, snapping it open, glancing for a moment at her phone--a text from Mom, confirming Samuel had dropped her off safely, wishing them a wonderful time at the cabin, and an alert for an email from Candice, who’d confirmed Kenzie’s requests for PTO while they were away. Kenzie felt strange again, drifting in the knowledge that she’d never really need to worry about money again--god, since when? She wondered. She remembered living on ramen and oranges while she was at Georgetown, loathe to ask Momby for money; thought affectionately, nostalgically, of her tiny apartment, now empty of her things, empty of her life, which was here now, with Duncan. And now I’m wearing diamonds, and ordering hundreds of dollars’ worth of clothes with my boyfriend’s card like it’s nothing. She tucked her left foot behind her right heel, absently toeing a fourth position, the old habit of her ballet classes hovering in her subconscious as she wallowed in the feeling. Then, she remembered the longing look of happiness in his eyes when she had mentioned it last night--he loves to buy me things, he loves my clothes. He gave me that card because he loves to give me things. He loves me. He loves me so much. How does he love me so much. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I’m going to just be happy--just be happy and enjoy this right now. 

Kenzie shut her phone off, then knelt down to where the boxes were piled, sifting through them until she found the ones with Free People shipping labels. Glee fell down through her as she opened them--every day since they met, the way Duncan would stare at her getting dressed sent wild, nervous, anticipatory energy through her body. She thought of him looking at her in these lovely things, these lovely pieces of clothing she’d so carefully chosen to make herself feel beautiful, to make herself feel like the best version of herself she could be, the happiest, the kindest, the most open--the self she knew she had in her, had sometimes been before she met him and was still, the self she would always be, but now even greater than before. If anything, he makes me more myself, she knew. He makes me braver, fills my heart with courage. With him I feel like I can do anything. I feel like I can be the person I’ve always known I could be, deep down. Now, I can be her, that best self, because he’s here, and I was waiting for him. I was waiting for my partner, the person I could share everything with--all of me. I was waiting for my love, for the love that would kindle my heart to the highest emotions, and bring me to life. When Duncan said he longed for me that evening in the woods when he was alone, I knew he meant it. And now I know I longed for him too--in the dark of my quiet bed alone at night, those nights after Tyler and I broke up and I was so fucking lonely sometimes I’d cry myself to sleep in the shadows, it was Duncan I ached for, and now I know that. It was him, and now I feel like sometimes I almost perceived the shape of him inside that loneliness, saw the outline of his face, his hair, his hands. Knew that he was out there somewhere, in the world, looking for me too. And I found him, oh, Goddess. I found him. Thank you, Fates. Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. You weaved us together, tied us with a golden string that cannot be broken. You brought us together again. The wheel turned for us. I’m grateful.

Kenzie pulled a pair of classic black Vans with white laces from one of the boxes, alongside the aforementioned tiny cut off shorts and little black bikini--she also pulled out a golden-yellow lacy cropped top with long blouse sleeves and a v-neck that plunged low, a tie at the front. Kenzie gathered her outfit choices and moved to the bathroom again, slipping into the shower and turning the knob--she used a tie she’d left on the toiletry rack at some point to hold her tawny hair back, and lathered Duncan’s jasmine soap over her body, over the sensitivity between her ass cheeks, along the lips of her cunt, thinking of his mouth there. The way you eat me out, fuck, baby, it’s like--fucking nirvana. I feel your worship in every bit of my body when you do that. Then Kenzie stepped out of the shower, letting her hair fall down again, slipping into the little bikini, which hugged her small breasts flatteringly, then wrapped the gold-sunflower crop top around her body, the cut-offs over her thighs. She glanced at herself in the bathroom’s oval mirror, the wide glow of her eyes, the fall of her hair, brushed to soft waves, the moon at her neck, the incline of her thighs below the little shorts and the dip of her bare waist between--go wake your baby up with your cute ass, girl.

Kenzie went to the bed softly, smiling against her fist--Duncan hadn’t moved from the same position, his head dipping down into his hand on the pillow, his expression achingly angelic. She slid down to him, lifting her leg around him so she was straddling him across his torso, pushing him gently so he was on his back--Duncan stirred, moaning a little, reaching for her, and then his hands fell on the softness of her blouse then to the smoothness of her stomach, the dip of her ass in the little shorts, and his eyes drifted open, their depth instantly intrigued.

“Good morning, Prince Duncan,” Kenzie whispered, shaking her hair around her shoulders, fingers coming up to brush along the Tiffany moon, so he would see she was wearing it. “Are you ready to fuck off into the woods with your baby?”

“Mmmh, Kenzie, angel--” Duncan was blinking the sleep away from his eyes now, gripping her tighter, sliding himself up so he was against the headboard, pulling her against his naked lap, his hard cock coming up between them, pressing inside her spread thighs, against the crotch of the denim cut offs, his lips falling to the space beside her mouth and drifting back to her ear. Kenzie couldn’t stop the tiny moan that fell out of her at the insistence of his mouth and his arms, suddenly--god, you smell so good, baby, you smell like desire.

“Unng, you look so fucking cute,” he was murmuring against her, lifting away from his hot kisses on her skin, his (finally open, oh fuck, goddess, open and full of so much need like a blue sky over an ocean of impossible depth) eyes roving over her, the shape of her in the crop top and the tiny shorts, the moon at her throat, the fall of her hair. “You’re my Princess, Kenzie, aren’t you? Fuck, kiss me, Princess--” Kenzie grinned at him and gripped his stubbled jaw, nipping hot kisses along his bottom lip, one of his hands burying itself inside her hair at the back of her skull, holding her steady to him, the other drifting into the back of her shorts against her ass, his Cartier bracelet cool on her skin--his hands felt the smooth fabric of her bikini bottoms and he let out another low moan into her mouth.

“I’m wearing my new little black bikini under this,” Kenzie smiled into him.

“Mmh, Kenzie, fuck, baby--babylove--” Kenzie could feel the straining in his mind, drifting against her, the thought he was hesitating to speak out loud. I need your mouth on my cock, baby, my poor cock is so fucking hard for you, hard like last night, it hurts, it needs you, I fucking need you--

“You want me to suck your big cock, huh, Prince Duncan?” Kenzie moved her hips as she spoke into his mouth, lifted herself so she ground against him, the denim shifting against his length. Duncan let out a pitiful moan, his eyes wincing closed in an achingly lovely supplication to her.

“Please,” he whispered into her “Please, Princess Kenzie. I’ll do anything. I--I’ll--”

“Shhhhh, shhhh, baby,” and Kenzie brought her hand up to her mouth between them, willing spit from the back of her throat for a moment, then licking down the inside of her fingers wetly, shushing his begging, pressing her lips against the bridge of his nose, leaning away, smiling, teasing. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just beside his hardness, not letting herself touch him, a line of spit falling down from her fingers onto the head of his erection, and he let out another piteous little moan, his fingers drifting at her thighs, staring into her. Then, Duncan rolled his hips into her, and his stiff, thick cock fell against her hand and she closed her fingers around it with terrible gentleness, and he was crying piteously against her, “uhh, Kenzie, Kenzie angel, fucking please--”

Kenzie gripped him tighter, eased her little fingers up to the head of his cock, her index finger drifting over the sensitive hole at the tip, and she felt the shiver fall through him, watched the ecstatic drift of his eyes. I’m never gonna get over how fucking gorgeous you are, Duncan Shepherd, and she jerked her hand along his length again, squeezing it a little at the base, palm brushing over his balls with a weighted insistence.

“This big cock belongs to me, doesn’t it, baby?” Kenzie pressed her mouth against the stubble on his jaw as she jerked harshly at his thick length, letting her whispers drift against him, letting her eyelashes flutter at his cheek, letting her hair fall against his nose where she knew it would fill his senses. The sounds he was making--keening, needy cries, sighing moans of abject craving for her--were kindling low heat in her belly, between her spread thighs, the lips of her cunt in the tiny bikini pressing harshly into the denim, rubbing into her clit, stoking her arousal. Gonna make you come, rich boy. Gonna make you come hard for me. You’re mine, aren’t you? You’re my beautiful baby, aren’t you, Dunny? Your come is for me, your beauty all for me, your moans for me, your big hard cock is for me--

“Yes, fuck, yes, fucking yes, Kenzie, I’m yours, my cock is yours, every part of me is yours, uhmm, please, fucking please, fuck--you’re so lovely, I can’t stand it, you smell so fucking lovely, uhh, unnnh--”

Kenzie spread her legs out further, easing herself backwards off Duncan’s lap as she continued to flit her hand up and down his hard cock--he let go of her reluctantly, his face raw with yearning, and she slid down onto her knees between his legs stretched out on the bed, bringing them together tightly so the denim rode up into the lips of her cunt, the pressure of the soft bikini fabric against her clit, her head dipped down in front of him. She willed more spit from the back of her throat and let it drip in a long slaver from her lips onto the head of his cock, her fingers dipping up to the head of him again to ease it insistently down. She could see his thighs shuddering, his hands reaching into her hair again, tangling there, pulling, burying themselves as if he never wanted to let go again. Then, finally, Kenzie dipped her mouth onto him, swirling her tongue around the hole at the tip of his cock, and her eyes came up to watch his head tilt back, watch his aching loveliness inside her ministrations. She dipped further down, remembering to open her throat to him, taking him entirely into her as she had when they went to the beach house--she didn’t gag this time, but her eyes immediately began to water, and she tried to breathe in but realized he blocked her airway entirely this way. Drool dripped down from her stretched lips, pooling into his balls, and Duncan’s hands were pressing her head down onto him, his cries lifting--his hips bucked so Kenzie’s lips fell to the shaft of him, and tears drifted down her cheeks. Kenzie thought of the way he’d fucked her ass last night, his thickness filling her to the point where her mind seemed to untether, and she imagined him inside her ass now, wishing he could fill both ends of her at once.

“Fuck, me too, baby, me too, fucking fuck Kenzie, baby, you feel so amazing, I love your little throat so much--” and his hand drifted down to grip her neck. “I love holding you in this spot, love choking you into white-gold thoughts--” and Kenzie knew he meant the way her mind looked to him when he pressed his fingers there, the color of her thoughts under the ecstasy of his hands. His eyes seemed to go darker as she glanced into them, and she pressed an insistent hand into his thigh, easing herself back--Duncan let go of her throat and she lifted up, gasping air through her nose as his length slid out of her throat, the head of him still resting against her tongue. She nodded into him now, sucking greedily at him, her fingers coming down to grip along the bottom of his balls. Come in my mouth, Prince. Give me your sweet come. I know how much you want me, I can feel every fiber of it. Your thick cock is mine, my little mouth is yours. Come for me, let me swallow all your desire into me.

Duncan bit down into his lip as Kenzie watched, and for a moment it seemed as though he was on the edge of tears, his face crumpling into a wince that shook her with its loveliness, and then she felt the warm thickness of his come flooding her mouth, felt the intensity of his shuddering into the cavity of her mouth, coating her tongue, splashing down her throat. It was sweet this time--fruits and chocolate, she thought. Beloved Dionysus. Dunny, baby, oh, baby. She let her mouth dip down one more time, let some of his come slide down the side of his shaft before lowering herself to suck it clean--and then Duncan was pulling her up, pulling her head away from his cock insistently, hungrily claiming her lips with his open mouth, sucking at them, tasting, nibbling at her. The sun was finally rising in earnest now--one of its beams scattered along the bed as they tasted at each other, and Kenzie’s heart was hammering rapidly, the sweet taste of his come still on her tongue, the woodsy-musk of his scent filling her head.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered into her, and they were both smiling--smiling with earnest contentment, Kenzie sending drifts of her golden affection against him, feeling the cool blue of him swirl back into her. Her heart felt suddenly too full, the tears not yet dried on her cheeks; Duncan was kissing her again, gathering her against him in his lap again, whispering “I love you, good morning, I love you angel--” until she couldn’t help but laugh, giggling against him as his breath tickled on her neck, dipping her arms around his neck. To be with you, just to be with you, my heart’s going to just burst, I never knew anything could be so perfect, so right.

“I wanna go swim in the lake and eat blackberries in the shade, baby,” she said into his ear. “Let’s go fuck under the trees, in the flowers. I’m gonna make some coffee.” She tried to lift away from him but Duncan grasped her at the dip under her shoulder blades, mouth clashing into her, still hungry. “Dunny, I mean it, you need to get ready, you’re being fucking naughty--” “Yes, yes I am--” and he was biting along her neck, moving his hand down to press into the dip of her ass, a reminder of yesterday, and Kenzie yelped against him, struggling, jabbing her fingers into his torso and making him twist in tickling surprise as she tumbled out of his lap, laughing again.

“You did it to yourself! You tempted the tickler!” she called back as she rolled off the bed, running away from him, and Kenzie could hear his frustrated laugh as she escaped on bare feet. She went to the cupboard and brought down two of the glass mugs, starting the Keurig under one, then going to the fridge and pulling out a mango and a grapefruit, using one of Duncan’s bamboo cutting boards and kanso knives to slice them open, getting down two plates and putting half on each, getting two of Adelaide’s little silver spoons for the grapefruit, cutting the mango halves into checkered squares, discarding the hard center. Kenzie blew on the coffee, setting the other mug under the Keurig for Duncan, taking a careful sip. Perfect. Today will be perfect because I will it. I’m going to push my love out of me and let it fall over everything. I’m going to manifest my love into the world and mold my surroundings into loveliness.

She set her mug down on the island, lifting the sweetness of the mango to her lips, relishing its succulent taste--then she went to the cupboard and brought down a Waterford glass, dipping it under the faucet and pouring a splash into each of her succulents along the window, making a mental note to ask Anchaly to have the housekeepers check on them in a few days. Kenzie looked out the kitchen’s sunny, wide window to the clusters of trees and streets and the outline of the historic Colonial houses of Georgetown stretching far away and far below, sunlight spilling into the long steel sink, the sky almost impossibly blue with only the tiniest hint of cloud wisps scattered in it. I think when we come back, I’ll be different somehow. I have this feeling like--like I’ll know something important about myself that I didn’t know before.

Kenzie looked down into her hands at the mango--then she turned with a strange feeling, setting the mango down on the counter, and glanced back at the grapefruit half she’d left on her plate on the island. She hesitated, dipping a hand over the wave of her hair and tucking it behind her ear--then she sent the gold tendrils of her--of my spirit, my will, she knew--out to it. Come here. Into my hand.

Kenzie blinked, once, twice; then she felt a surge, as though she’d sent out a hook into the air, and then there was a heavy feeling, of the hook burying itself into the soft flesh of the grapefruit skin--and then she was blinking down in her hands as the dimpled weight of the fruit’s cool surface pressed there. Somehow. Impossibly. I made it move into my hand. And I KNEW I could do that. I knew that somehow. It’s impossible--but no less impossible than anything else that’s been happening to us lately. Hearing each other’s thoughts. Duncan finding me just by feeling for me. Duncan moving himself across a room with his mind. Me pressing my gold into people, healing them, pushing Marissa away with my mind. No less impossible. And yet.

Kenzie looked up from the fruit clutched in her palms--Duncan was coming into the kitchen, moving around the island to press a soft kiss against her hair, reaching for his coffee. He was wearing a slim-fit, short sleeve button-down in very dark navy, the top button undone, giving him a much more relaxed look than his usual fully-buttoned seriousness, and slim-cut, tight-fitting jersey shorts that came only to his upper thigh with a tying waist in washed, neutral black. His hair was now damp and towel-mussed from the shower, but to an unaccustomed eye (my eye is becoming accustomed, Kenzie couldn’t help but note with vague satisfaction), it seemed deliberately styled. He looks, Kenzie thought, so fucking perfect. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d be so fucking annoyed with him for looking so fucking good so early in the morning.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured to her softly, taking a sip, then looked at her with some concern as he noticed her eyes, the dumbfounded expression on her face. “What? What is it?”

“I--Duncan. I just moved this grapefruit--” she held the half up to him, its pink interior dipping in her palm, “from the island, into my hand. From across the room.”

“Huh.” Duncan looked down at it, frowning, then moved to the island, brushing her arm a little with his fingers as he stepped away from her, the Cartier bracelet sliding down his wrist. He looked down at the plate she’d made for him, then back up at her, setting his coffee cup down.

“Try to move the other one, baby.”

Kenzie put the half of the grapefruit in her hand down on the counter beside her mango, then stared, concentrating, at the half on Duncan’s plate. Come to me. Into my hand. She dipped her palm down, fingers crooked--then sent the tendrils of gold out of her again, as she knew she could. There was a pause, then the hooking sensation again; and then Duncan was whispering “oh, fuck,” as Kenzie blinked down at her hand again in surprise. The dimpled weight of the grapefruit was now pressing there. She’d done it again.

“What the fuck,” she said, staring up at him. “How the fuck did I do that?”

“Fuck, Kenz, I don’t know, but for a second it sort of wobbled, then it zipped through the air into your hand like a shot. It was so quick. You blinked and you missed it. But it did.”

Kenzie felt dizzy for a moment, and she suddenly dropped the grapefruit half to the floor--Duncan hurried over to her, reaching out to grip her under her arms. “Kenzie, baby, are you okay? Do you feel dizzy again, like you did last night--after you sent Marissa went away?”

“A little,” she whispered, and Duncan was pressing her back against the counter, reaching behind her for a glass (this one had sunflowers on it, from the set the peony glass belonged to) and filling it from the filtered tap, holding it up to her. Kenzie clutched it with a hand she noticed was now shaking, taking a long drink as Duncan leaned down to pick up the grapefruit.

“You can do extraordinary things, Kenzie,” he murmured to her softly. His eyes were so blue--she felt dizzy again just looking up at him, dizzy with how lovely he was in the sunlight. “I have this feeling, baby. This feeling like--like when we come back--”

“Yes,” she was whispering against him, his hands coming around to her elbows, thumbs caressing the sleeves of her golden-yellow shirt. “We’ll be different. We’ll know things about each other--we’ll know.”

They both fell silent--it was all Kenzie could do to look into his face, so radiant with beauty, so full of love for her, tinged with hope and vague apprehension. The worries from the last few days were fading from his mind, she could feel it; pushed away by the more pressing knowledge that was the thing approaching them swiftly on the horizon, whatever it is. It has to do with me being able to move things. It has to do with us hearing each other’s thoughts, baby. It has to do with you finding me last night. Whatever we find out, it’s going to explain this. It’s going to show us what all of this means.

Duncan was nodding, his blue eyes burning like flame on her. “I’m not afraid, Kenzie. Not with you by my side.”

Kenzie felt her lip trembling. No, baby. I’m not afraid either. Just moved beyond words inside the vastness of everything I can feel is on its way. Thank the goddess--I have you. Inside your love, I fear nothing.

----------

An hour later, they were almost ready to leave for the cabin. Kenzie had begun to feel effervescently happy as they packed the picnic basket and two sleek white Yeti coolers with a vast array of fresh fruits (grapes, pears, honeycrisp apples, a huge pineapple, more mangos and grapefruits, little clementines, raspberries, blackberries and cherries) and vegetables (tomatoes, spring lettuce, avocados, celery sticks, mini sweet peppers, baby carrots, little cucumbers), sandwich fixings (turkey, cold chicken, tempeh, sliced swiss and provolone), a carton of organic eggs and a butcher’s wrap of turkey bacon, several hunks of artisan cheese (gouda, brie, havarti), jars of olives, tiny gherkin pickles, round rice and wheat crackers, sprouted bread, cream cheese, hummus, tortilla chips, pico de gallo, and an assortment of nuts and trail mix, granola bars, greek yogurt, almond milk, orange juice, lots of coffee k-cups and a bag of ground espresso beans; Duncan assured her there was a Keurig and an espresso machine at the cabin. Something tells me this cabin isn’t quite a cabin, Kenzie thought. The picnic basket had four bottles of red wine, the cooler had three each of rose and white, a bottle of Stoli, a bottle of bourbon, Pellegrinos, lime La Croix, organic ginger ale, and fresh limes and lemons. Duncan had also packed a half ounce of blue-strain weed and a gold-leaf weed pipe that Kenzie had demanded to admire for a moment before she’d give it back to him. Still discovering each other’s little secrets, she’d thought.

“There’s this little general store pretty close to the cabin, too, so we don’t need to pack enough for the entire time--we can go there during the day if we need anything,” he told her, setting the striped buckling blanket--the one they’d taken to the Cape Cod house--the lovely quilts, and the box that held the fireside cooking kit Kenzie had ordered beside the cooler and the picnic basket in front of the penthouse door. Kenzie had hauled her rolling red Kenneth Cole suitcase out of the side-closet in the walk-in where she’d placed it, after moving all her things to the penthouse--she’d had it since Georgetown, a gift from her Abadaba before she passed away, but it was holding up nicely. Inside it she carefully organized enough clothing for a week, almost all of it new (two cardigans: Duncan’s black Brooks Brothers’, and a new long gray one with large buttons and slits at the sides, a long button-down short-sleeved dress the color of sunflower petals, a short pink babydoll dress with long sleeves and roses prints along its hem, a tiny white cotton summer mini dress with a plunging neckline, a black flowing v-neck wrap dress with a buckle at the waist, a rust-colored, strapped mini dress with the sides cut-out, a pair of short-coveralls in light blue denim, a crop top with banded straps and white embroidery, a gray top with extra long sleeves, an ankle-length flowing linen dress with roses printed all over it), several pairs of sandals (her strappy beige, a new pair of black boot sandals) and her brown Timberland hiking boots (she’d only worn them once--on the trip with Claire last August). Kenzie tucked the velvet ribbon, her egg and plug, the rose choker, and Duncan’s cock ring into the suitcase as well, alongside both pairs of her Agent Provocateur lingerie, her little black kimono, her satin pyjamas, the oversized Led Zeppelin tee and lots of clean underwear. She only packed one bra--and I don’t plan on wearing it at all, she thought defiantly. Wild and free with my lover in the woods, and I can’t fucking wait. Fuck bras.

As she packed Duncan did the same alongside her--his suitcase was Prada (and decidedly more expensive than my banged-up one from Bed, Bath and Beyond, Kenzie thought), made of some kind of tech fabric with leather trim, and black, of course. She stole glances at him, eyes lovingly falling down his form, his eyes meeting hers every now and then when they caught each other staring--Kenzie watched the concentrated squint of his face, his hand drifting thoughtfully to his bottom lip, the fitted perfection of his clothing, the coiled strength in his arms, the fine hair on his legs to his large feet, now in black ankle socks, the soft dip of his hair on his forehead as he leaned into his drawers, pulling out several pairs of fitted and relaxed black chinos, black leather Nike hiking boots, the Armani sandals he’d worn to Yarmouth, black swim trunks, another short-sleeved button-down Oxford like the one he was wearing right now, a Nike club hoodie, another hoodie that zipped, more pairs of black jersey shorts, two jersey tee shirts--black, all black, and a single long-sleeved navy cotton flannel, along with at least ten pairs of the black briefs he always wore, and a dozen pairs of black moisture-wicking socks. He pushed through his hangers and Kenzie’s eyes fell on a black short-sleeved Oxford with earth-tone feathers printed all over it--”Bring that one, baby,” she said. “I like that one.”

He turned to her, smiling. “Whatever you want, Princess Kenzie.”

Kenzie was putting some of her jewelry (her rose quartz, the tiny rose-gold moon, her triple-moon pendant with the black obsidian) in a little travel pouch she usually used for it, and smiled with satisfaction at his answer. “Yep, that’s right.” She pulled the new black Vans onto her feet, skipping away from him to the bathroom, feeling his eyes following her all the way, the drift of his thoughts: Kenzie, my sweet Kenzie, my little shooting star, my firefly, I want to kiss your hair, your cheeks, your feet, the sweet space between your legs...she gripped toiletries in her fingers, calling out to him: “What do you need from in here, baby? I can bring it to you.” But she realized he was coming up behind her then, his long hands drifting around her under her breasts, his mouth coming to her neck.

“We need to get going, baby,” she laughed, twisting out of his arms, her toothbrush, mascara, eyeliner and tube of deodorant slipping out of her hands at his insistent touch; they scattered against the sink. She gave him a facetious look of annoyance and he grinned at her. “Later, okay? Stop being so naughty. We have a three hour drive ahead of us.”

Duncan groaned at the ceiling. “Don’t remind me, Kenz. I haven’t driven a car for that long in...probably at least two years.”

“We can take turns. I still drive Momby around in her old Jeep sometimes, so honestly I’m more used to a stickshift at this point. But I have a quick memory.”

“My little Kenzie driving a stickshift. That’s just sexy.”

Kenzie snorted. “Not if you saw it. There’s nothing sexy about that car. It’s like the old donkey of cars. That G-Class is sexy, though.” He bit his lip at that. You’re fucking sexy, baby. Nothing else is compared to you. He tried to grab her again and she skittered away, laughing nervously.

“Did Madeline get home okay last night?” Duncan was pulling several black Prada toiletry bags out of a bottom drawer under the sink, holding one open to Kenzie to put her things into--she smiled up at him and saw the melting expression in his eyes as he hovered over her. She took the bag from him and his hand immediately drifted into her hair.

“Yeah, she was fine. She told me to tell you she hopes we have a good time. I was thinking, baby--I think I’m going to turn my phone off during the trip. I’ll bring it, but I might not turn it back on until we get back. Unless there’s an emergency.”

“You know what, babe--that’s a great idea. I’m gonna do that too.” Duncan pulled his black iPhone out of his back pocket, holding down the side button, swiping the power off. He slid it back into his pocket, palm falling against her cheek.

“I can’t wait to be there alone with you. Kenzie. I can’t wait to show you everything.You’re going to love it so much.”

“I love you so much,” and she grinned up at him, hand coming against his on her face, cherishing the warmth of it. He leaned to kiss her but she slipped away, her mind humming with mischief towards him.

“No more kisses till we get to the cabin, baby. That’s the new rule.”

“Ugh, Kenzie, that’s hours from now--” and his expression was enough to drive her to the edge of immediately recanting, but Kenzie crossed her arms, turning her chin up in mock severity.

“Then you better hurry up, Mr. Shepherd.” Kenzie gave him a prim look and slipped away from him to the closet, retrieving a tote bag from her drawers--it was midnight blue and had a pattern of white celestial suns and moons, tiny stars glowing in the background. Kenzie went back to the kitchen and put the ghost story books and Duncan’s childhood mythology book in it, then she stepped into the study, moving to Duncan’s bookcases--she couldn’t resist looking back at The Youth of Bacchus for a long moment, lost in its ethereal beauty. I could kiss it, I love it so. She turned back to the bookcase, searching through his meticulously organized library--organized first by subject, then by author, alphabetically. Astronomy/astrology, she found near the top of the first shelf, and hummed with frustration--I’m too short to reach.

“Dunny! Come help me! And bring me the books on the nightstand, please?” She cupped a hand around her mouth and shouted through to the bedroom. Duncan appeared a moment later, Jane Eyre and The Golden Compass under his arm. “What’s this one about?” He asked, holding the second aloft.

“I haven’t started it yet, but I think it’s about parallel universes or something? I think that’s what the synopsis said.” He passed them to her, fingers clutching at her as she put them in the tote, trying to kiss her again. She deftly avoided him, loving the tiny frustrated sounds he made, the pained longing in his sky-colored eyes. “Baby, help me reach a stargazing book. That one up there, Backyard Guide to the Night Sky.” Duncan went to reach for it, then stopped, smiling at her vexingly. His hair looks so perfect. His skin is so beautiful. He is so fucking beautiful.

“Kiss me first.”

“Hey, I thought I said--”

“Please, baby. Please? Just one...little...kiss. Please, Miss Stone. I beg you.” Duncan was dipping his face (fuck he’s so beautiful, fuck, I can’t get past it, I can’t stop admiring him, he just doesn’t seem real sometimes, it’s like I made him up in my head, how can I resist him) down to her, his fingers drifting down the sides of her waist, and she tried for another long moment, tried to fight it, but then his hands were cupping along the bottom of her ass, dragging her against him, and her mouth was opening to him, and she thought fuck it, I love you so much--and his tongue was teasing into hers and she sighed and thought fuck we’re never gonna get to that cabin at this rate and he pushed her against the bookcase, fingers coming up to her hair and under her ear, pulling her insistently into him, and he tasted like the mango and bitter coffee and smelled like rain on cedar wood--

“Okay, baby--” she tried to pull away and he captured her lips again, moaning into her softly, “Dunny--you got your kiss, get that book for me--”

“I love you.”

“I know you do.”

“I love you, Kenzie.”

“I know, you dipshit, I fucking love you too.” She stuck her tongue out at him, but Duncan wasn’t deterred--he pressed his nose against hers, drifting it from side to side, then leaned back to stare at her. His eyes were like clouds reflecting a blue sea; he could see into her mind, she knew, feel the rosy adoration there for him. Just for you, Duncan Shepherd, and only for you, and you fucking know it. You know you’re the One, the only One, exalted in my eyes, beloved. He stared at her for another long moment (divine goddess, she heard, princess of heaven)--then, not without a marked disappointment, reached his long arm up to the shelf and brought the book down for her.

“It’s time to go, baby,” she whispered. “You can kiss me a million times when we get there.”

“Promise?”

“I fucking promise, Prince Duncan. In the long grass. Under the stars.”

-------

It was past 9 when they were finally on the road--Duncan wore his round Yves sunglasses, the smooth glide of the G-Class’ steering wheel drifting under his elegant hand; he was pressing one of his black Puma suede sneakers (Kenzie was amused to note it was the first time she’d ever seen him wear sneakers of any kind, but these were undoubtedly Duncan-style) on and off the gas pedal impatiently, starting and stopping in the Arlington traffic on the way to the Maryland highway.

They’d packed everything neatly in the trunk and along the backseat; Kenzie’s eyes gazed over her dark red roses affectionately, the gold vase carefully tucked into a basket that rested in the middle of the backseat, held steady between the two coolers and the picnic basket. A bellhop had appeared upstairs to help with a cart after Duncan had called downstairs on the intercom, so it hadn’t taken long. It was everything else that took awhile, Kenzie thought, thinking of Duncan’s hot, insistent kisses--she glanced over at him, saw him glancing between her and the road, looked away, smiling into her hand, her own round sunglasses shielding her eyes from him. She took another bite of a half-eaten chocolate-peanut butter Luna bar in her other hand, and flipped the Sirius XM on as Duncan merged onto I-270, heading north--Kenzie had waved as they’d driven past Madeline’s neighborhood a few minutes before, murmuring “hi Momby, bye Momby,” under her breath. Duncan had glanced at her, and she saw his endeared smile. Kenzie found the electronic station from last night, rolling the window down--the day wasn’t quite as hot as it would be later, yet, and there was a delicious summer wind. A sultry feminine voice drifted through the speakers as Duncan hit the highway, pressing his foot fully down on the gas now--Kenzie’s heart drifted up, and she sighed deeply, relief flowing through her. She reached for Duncan’s hand and he grasped her fingers, eye on the road. I can feel your heart lift too, baby. We’re escaping.

I’mma swallow all these diamonds, I’mma make you proud--you’re the greatest of all time, you’re the greatest of all time, you’re the greatest of all time, you’re the greatest...chain me up, trap me in gold, you’re my king, I gotta have you close--

God, this sounds like it’s about us, Kenzie thought shyly into him, and she could see him biting into his lip, his thumb drifting across to her knee. It does, doesn’t it. She twined her fingers into his there, loving the weight of him, the warm halo of his touch, the smooth drift of the car, the cool smell of new leather in its interior. The wind was whipping her hair against her neck, the sun hovering a quarter of the way into the sky, the temperature still in the merciful upper 70’s, and according to the GPS, traffic was minimal all the way to the lake. Kenzie laid her head back into the seat, sighing contentedly.

Pick me up and go, no I don’t wait don’t wait for no one, you gotta pick me up and go, no I don’t wait don’t wait don’t wait no, I’mma glow with or without you, two mil’ in my system I’mma swallow all these diamonds never spit ‘em out…

“I’m gonna jump head-first into the lake as soon as we get there,” Kenzie was murmuring to Duncan, her eyes drifting closed behind her sunglasses in the comfort of this moment. “Let’s go swimming, then eat lunch, then fuck all afternoon--”

“Holy fuck, Kenz--that sounds perfect. Wait till you see the water, today is exactly the kind of day I was talking about, where the sky reflects on it and everything is so clear and blue--”

“Like your eyes, baby,” Kenzie felt sleepy suddenly, sleepy with the depth of the peace she felt, the half-eaten granola bar falling down into her lap from her fingers, her other hand soothed by the slow caress of Duncan’s thumb over her skin. She heard his little scoff, but felt the glowing warmth of his affection, his quiet acknowledgement that she was right. Yeah. Yes, baby. Like my eyes when I stare at you, and you alone.

“What’s the bedroom like, baby?” She murmured to him, her eyes still closed. The wind felt so miraculously good; she smiled in the cocoon of all of it, the feeling of the sun on her cheek, the pressure of his hand, the electronic pulse of the music from the speakers, only a couple of hours and we’ll be in our own secret paradise.

“I’m assuming you mean the master bedroom, which is where we’ll be sleeping,” she heard Duncan say, his thumb still drifting against her, and Kenzie puzzled at that--what kind of cabin has a master bedroom? Her curiosity burned for a moment at Duncan’s quietness after his statement, then the soothing sensations of the drive were drifting against her again. Might as well just enjoy the ride and see it when we get there. You’re being coy on purpose, baby. Kenzie opened her eyes for a moment, glancing at him. Duncan’s face was placidly beautiful, his sharp jaw striking as he looked toward the road--a remix of Ella Fitzgerald’s Blue Skies now pumped from the speakers--blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see, nothing but blue--and Kenzie thought this is how it feels to be with you.  

Kenzie closed her eyes again, leaning her head back into the seat this time--when she opened them again, she realized she’d fallen asleep. The light had changed, was brighter and coming from directly overhead, the sun no longer streaming into the car from the side. Her neck was aching from the odd position she’d slipped into, her head crooked down onto her shoulder. Duncan looked at her sideways, grinning at her. The road was mostly deserted now but for a Prius driving a yard ahead of them and a slow-moving red Corolla that Duncan passed easily--they were surrounded by trees on either side of the asphalt, and it felt like they were climbing to a slightly higher altitude, the G-Class on the drift of an incline.

“Hi, baby. We’re about half an hour away now.”

“You’re kidding.” Kenzie lifted her arms out, stretching, the sound of her voice decidedly sleep-tinged in her ears. “I slept for two hours?” She glanced up at the dashboard; the digital clock read 11:37.

“It’s okay, baby. Yesterday was a long day--the last few days have been long. It’s all been--you know. Overwhelming. You were tired.”

“I said I was gonna help drive.”

“Kenzie, angel, it doesn’t matter. It went by so fast--it was peaceful. To watch over you. It was soothing, to have some time to think about everything. About...my mother. About Annette, I mean, but about my mother too. My real mother. Whoever she is. Wherever she is.”

“I’m sure Annette knows.” Kenzie reached for Duncan’s hand again and he drifted it out to her, grasping her. He looks so lovely in the memory of his solitude, she thought. I can see how his face must have looked at me as I slept. Oh, baby. How I love you.

“Yeah, I--I’m going to talk to her when we get back. I decided I will. There are things I know she knows that she needs to tell me. But for now I think it was enough to just contemplate it. Accept it. That there’s this whole part of me I haven’t known about until now. And it was calming to--to think about you...” Duncan’s head dipped here, his expression shy. To think about how much I love you, about how much I want to marry you, how much I want to know about the thing that’s coming, the hidden thing that’s right on the horizon, the secret thing, the thing that will tell us about each other, why it feels like we’ve always been together, always will be, about the dreams. “And the things that have been happening.”

“I wonder if there are other things we can do. You moved through a room just by thinking about it. I moved objects--I moved a person. I wonder if there are other things. We should try things, I mean--being in the woods alone is the perfect place for us to do weird shit without anyone bothering us,” and he snorted at her, laughing. Kenzie grinned at him, then she was serious again, straightening the smile. “Let’s see if we can figure it out.”

“Okay, baby. Let’s do weird shit.” Duncan was taking his sunglasses off, smiling at her with bemused mischief in his gaze--the oaks and pines gathering overhead and rising along the road were shielding them from the sunlight, and it was shady inside the car now, sunbeams dipping in and out, dancing over his cheeks. But within the playful expression in his face, the trust in his eyes shook her heart; I’d follow you anywhere, to the ends of the earth, to the edge of the universe, Mackenzie Stone. I’d follow you into the darkest abyss. Even that would be heaven, as long as you’re there. A line from Wuthering Heights, a book she’d loved fiercely since high school, drifted into her mind, clashing against his thoughts--if all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger…

“We’re getting really close now,” Duncan said, glancing away from her at the GPS. “Kenzie. I have a confession. I may have been misleading when I called it a cabin. It’s more of a--uhmm. A very large cabin.”

“Duncan.”

He bit into his lip. Turn left here, the GPS chirped, a feminine voice with a British accent. In .2 miles, turn left onto Lakeside Trail. Duncan spun the steering wheel under his long hands, and Kenzie’s eyes drifted to the Cartier bracelet locked to his left wrist, its gold flashing.  It’s me. That bracelet is me, my gold, the chain of us together, the golden thread of us.

“You’ll see. I think it’s..probably...bigger than you might be expecting.”

“Fuck. I forgot. You’re Duncan Shepherd. Playboy billionaire, soon to be CEO and majority shareholder of Shepherd Unlimited. Hot shit.”

“If I’m a playboy, you’re a playgirl. My little playgirl bunny. God, now I’m imagining your centerfold, fuuuuck--”

“Ugh, shut up, god, you’re being naughty today.” Kenzie reached out and pinched his side, hard, and he laughed in surprised pain, shying away from her. “Oww, baby, that fucking hurt.”

“Keep it up and I’m going to fucking spank you next,” Kenzie threatened.

“What if I like it?” He laughed as she jabbed her fingers out again, dancing them along his torso.

“We might just need to test that theory, then, huh baby?”

Duncan didn’t say anything, just continued to smile at her, amused and shy. He turned the SUV down a very long gravel path now, up to a long steel-bar gate with round golden lamps on either side of its entrance. Duncan pulled the car up to a keypad that dipped from an awning at the side, punching a code into it: 070688. His birthday, she thought. His mother’s doing, no doubt. Kenzie continued to drift inside his thoughts--the gates floated open and Duncan reached for her hand again as he put his foot on the gas. I was so used to being dominant with partners before you, baby, she heard him thinking. But I love it when you tell me what to do, and I love to tie you up and worship you, how you let me lead when my desire to is strong, and I loved it when you tied me up too, when you tell me I can’t touch my cock until you say I can, when you told me I couldn’t take my cock ring off, that only you could do it--with us, both are right, both feel right. Giving to you, taking from you, and around and around, like some holy circle we make together. I love it so much. I’d try anything with you. It’s always safe in the drift of your love. I love the way we give to each other endlessly. Nothing in the world could possibly feel more right to me.

Yes, baby, yes, Duncan. Then Kenzie lifted her eyes past the two rows of trimmed crabapple trees that lined the gravel drive--they were covered in red clusters, their very young fruit visible in the dappled sunlight of the late morning. She stifled the gasp that wanted to escape immediately; Duncan clearly heard her sharp intake, however, and glanced at her, his blue gaze hovering between apprehension at any hint of discontent, and an obvious hope for her approval.

This is not a fucking cabin, Duncan Shepherd. This is a fucking lakeside mansion. Kenzie pulled her sunglasses off, squinting at the huge structure that rose before them through the window of the SUV, aware her mouth was hanging open.

“Holy fuck, Duncan,” she whispered.

The cabin, as Duncan had called it, was a two-story sprawling structure, easily beyond 5,000 square feet, made of elegant stacked stone and dark walnut wood, with long, latticed dusky-red windows stretching along every wall of the lower level, giving it a regal romanticism that Kenzie immediately loved. The edges of the roof were slanted, made in dark black oak slatting. There were round string lights hung over every awning, but they were unlit at this hour of the day; Kenzie could only imagine how beautiful they looked at night. The structure’s lower level clearly encompassed more than half a dozen rooms, judging from its length--and a glass-enclosed structure with long wood tables, clearly for group events, was built off the side to Kenzie’s right, a spacious garage next to that. The entirety of the cabin-mansion’s length was enclosed by smooth, decorative white stones, and flowers were planted along the bottom of every window--Kenzie could make out geraniums, marigold, peonies and gardenia. There was a path to the left, surrounded by pines, and down it Kenzie could see a triangular-shaped, elegant white-wood gazebo built in the center of blooming hydrangeas. Inside the gazebo was a long wicker outdoor couch surrounded by flower pots with dozens of pillows, more of the round string lights hung about the eaves, and a long, low drink table with a decorative lantern. A long wooden swing hung nearby from a huge, sturdy oak that looked like it was at least a hundred years old. Beyond that, Kenzie could make out the long stretch of luscious water, indeed reflecting the blue of the summer sky with striking clarity--just as Duncan had promised. The lake. There was a long deck that extended from the shore, and a canoe tied to it with a length of rope, bobbing in the small tide. And I haven’t even seen the backyard yet.

Duncan had brought the SUV to a stop, pressing the smart key; the engine faded into silence. He reached a hand out to her, and she looked at him; is it okay, baby? His eyes searched her face, his mouth opening slightly towards her.

“Okay? Baby. This is like...oh my god. This is fucking paradise.” Kenzie felt tears begin to prick at her eyelids--she fought to keep them back, but it was all so wonderful, so much bigger than her, the vastness of the loveliness of him, of this, washing over her in a suffocating crash. Could this all be a dream, she thought once more. All of it, the last few weeks, my life utterly changed by you forever, my love, the magick inside us now, the magick that kisses every corner of my mind, every corner of our lives, tied together now, the beauty of everything, and you--you, so wildly beautiful, so tender to me in every instance, you, impossibly wonderful, impossibly perfect for me, and yet somewhere defiantly possible--please tell me, if it is a dream, that I’ll never wake up, that I’ll sleep for all of time inside this extraordinary, resplendent dream of you, my dearest love, Duncan--

“Kenzie. Angel. Don’t cry. You’re gonna make me--cry--” Duncan’s voice broke, and she saw the tiniest tremble in his lips, watched the clouded sky of his eyes flicker, resonate with the emotion she could feel from him like a swirling gust of wind; Kenzie, in an instant, threw her arms around him over the middle of the car seats, burying her face in his neck, the tears coming now, no way she could stop them, a little shuddering sob escaping from her. Duncan was pulling her easily into his lap, tucking her short legs over to his thighs so they fell down between the space between his bare knees, the smoothness of her skin brushing his prickly calves, her body pressing flush against his, the denim of her tiny shorts against the soft jersey of his crotch. The warmth and the scent of him--wood, jasmine--overwhelmed her more; you are no dream, my love, you never were and I know it, the time before you was a dream, the time without you when I’m away from you is a dream, and you are the only real thing in all the world. The love I feel in your arms is the only reality.

“I just--getting to be here with you, alone--fuck, baby, I’m just--”

“I know, Kenz, I know, baby. I can’t stand it either. God, I love you. I love you so much. I’m so fucking happy, Kenzie. I feel like my heart’s just going to fucking stop--”

“No fucking way. If it does, I’ll bring you back to life.” She was pulling her face away from his neck, the tears stinging her cheeks; she saw the glitter of the tears in his too before she opened her mouth against his; he cradled her low, dipping his head over her, his arm clutching at the band of her top under her breast, along the rise of her ribs, his Cartier bracelet burying into her hair, gold on tawny gold. She felt one of his tears fall down onto her cheek, sliding to pool at her throat, and Kenzie brought her fingers to his face, wiping them away as he tasted her lips with aching slowness.

Duncan, I love you. With...with every part of myself. With everything I have. He was nodding into her, his soft, entreating sounds making her feel as though she were vibrating, enveloped by him. They clutched each other for awhile; the peaceful sounds of the birds, the wind, the lake splashing far off, the rustling of the trees--that was their music. It held them, drifting into the car windows, surrounded them, made them a bed for a long moment, let them lay together inside it as they tasted each other, as their tears calmed, as Kenzie wandered away from the feeling of tears, into a heady desire for him, an abundant joy. She pulled back, her hand on his bristly jaw.

“I wanna go inside, baby. I wanna see everything and then I wanna go fucking swimming and eat lunch with you and fuck you in every fucking room and out in the grass, under the trees--”

“Kenzie, fuck, baby, we get to be here for days--fuck, I can’t believe it, I’m so fucking happy--”

Kenzie grinned and closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his mouth--Duncan’s words bled away as he kissed her there, lips open, his thoughts rosy with her, her mind brimming over with the gold she felt for him; for the gold is my love, and it always has been. It’s me giving the best of myself to him, because I love him. I love you, Duncan. I always will. The gold is the everlasting promise of my love.

“Baby, let’s go. Show me everything.” Kenzie leaned over and pulled the handle of the driver’s side door, pushing it open with one Vans-clad foot. Duncan helped her to the ground as she slid out of his lap, his grip steady, but very tender. He slid out after her, his chest pressing into the back of her hair for a moment, his mouth kissing down on the crown of her head. Kenzie went into the backseat, grasping the golden vase that held her roses with careful fingers--this will be the first thing to go inside, the token of his love for me. Duncan grasped one of the coolers and easily hoisted it in his arms, crooking his head towards the big front double-doors made of more sturdy dark walnut. He nodded to his thigh, eyes lifting to her.

“Kenz, get the keys out of my pocket, will you?”

Kenzie gently reached into the jersey shorts, staring into his face as she did, being sure to let her fingers brush against the length of his cock as she dipped her fingers into the pocket; he shivered, biting into his lip, sending a wanton promise into her. You’re gonna get fucked, baby. I’m gonna fuck you in the wild woods under the stars, in the big fuck off bed, in the bath, fuck, everywhere. I’m gonna rip those little shorts off you and make you fucking scream as loud as you can until you lose your voice and I’m fucking deaf, angel, babylove, Princess.

Kenzie giggled nervously, her face pressing down against her roses, watching his expression morph into one of romantic longing. My queen of roses. Persephone of spring. Kenzie stepped away from him to the doorway, her Vans crunching over the gravel, and unlocked the door with a rustically-styled key--as she stepped inside she groaned, overcome with the loveliness of everything again, Duncan coming up behind her, setting the cooler just inside the door. The interior of the front room was huge, a spacious expanse she could dance across if she wanted to--there were two long couches in the center of the glossy hardwood, a huge, probably priceless dark Persian rug under them. The roof was a wildly erotic charred black--a huge pair of moose antlers were attached to one wall, the Shepherd crest on another with distinct fleur de lis. A huge, life-sized statue of Hermes in a breastplate, smiling good-naturedly, his winged feet obvious, stood in one corner; a naked Aphrodite in another, her long hair fanning out in an invisible wind behind her, her face turned up ecstatically to some unseen delight, her breasts bare. A huge stone-lined fireplace was against the center wall that adjoined with a middle hallway, an opulent black grate across it. Along the wall that faced the backyard there was a huge glass window, looking out on a long deck with a sheltered deck table and a fence, beyond it, covered in more of the round lights, with a locking gate.

“We’re turning all the fairy lights on tonight,” Kenzie said, turning to Duncan. He nodded with a smile; such a beautiful, earnest smile it was. Anything you want, Princess Kenzie. Kenzie could see the fire pit beyond the deck, its huge, coppery circular indentation distinct on an inlay of deep-set brick in the daylight, low wicker lounge chairs in tawny colors surrounding it. Beyond that was woods--dense from the look of them, though there seemed to be a marked path from what she could see from her far position, the lake stretching to the far left, blue-reflecting and wildly inviting. Plenty of time to explore, Kenzie thought. She could feel Duncan’s eyes watching her again and looked up at him, smiling. She set the roses down on a table near the entrance, bringing her hands against the fabric of his button-down, feeling his body beneath it, the coiled strength in him, the desirous tightness that was lingering there. His hands came around to the small of her back, to the bare skin there above the tiny little denim shorts she wore.

“Dunny. I love it so much.”

“Come look at the bedroom. We’ll get the other stuff in a minute.” He clutched her hand, leading her to the hall, then up a huge staircase with a black banister, a chandelier of Swarovski crystals and gold embellishments hanging at the second-floor landing. He pulled her down the wide, darkwood-paneled hall, past several empty guest rooms, one with matte black decor, one with silver, to the end, where a set of double-doors painted with gold leaf around the edges seemed to promise her something exceptional--he pushed them open and Kenzie oooohhhh’d, immediately letting go of him to run to the bed and throw herself onto it--it was so wide she felt immediately lost in the center of it, sinking down into its luxe, gold-embellished feathery spread, laughing in delight, her hair tossing into her eyes, her heart fluttering against the Tiffany moon. There was an opulent, upholstered gold panel at the head of it, and what seemed like a dozen duck feather pillows piled high against it. Silky, sheer white curtains with gold edges hung across huge bay windows along the wall--through them she could glimpse the lake, its serene surface impossibly lovely in the early afternoon streaming in. 

This room was fitted with golden decor at every turn, gold-leaf along the wide dresser and the decorative tables, each with a breathtakingly lovely decorative gold leaf laurel wreath. On one wall hung a painting in an embellished gold frame: Cupid and Psyche, Kenzie knew immediately, her breath catching. In it, Cupid pressed his lips to Psyche’s cheek, her eyes closed in ecstatic repose, his wings, here portrayed as deep purple, the color of ripe grapes, dipping around her naked form, a crown of violets in his curls, curls like Duncan’s. It was wildly lovely, and looking at it made her long for him, as though it were them painted there, not the god of passionate attachment and his lover. She glimpsed a gold-embellished bathroom through a side-door, and what looked like the side of a polished coppery-gold bathtub. She glanced up to Duncan from her prostrate position.

“This is a bed fit for a queen,” Kenzie murmured.

Fuck. I didn’t realize we’d be sleeping in a bed like this. The mere feeling of the silky spread under her bare legs was kindling desirous heat between her legs.This bed is for fucking. This bed is for getting fucked hard by your Prince’s big cock. This golden, feather-soft bed is an altar for his beautiful mouth to worship the space between your legs. This bed is for you to kneel on while you suck him dry, for you to be tied to while he works you out into wordless cries of euphoria. This bed is for you to slave over each other’s bodies, sleep until noon, and then wake up wrapped to each other’s lips, impossibly entwined, sheets tangled in intricate longings, smelling of your need for one another. Duncan was staring, listening to these thoughts from her, his gaze becoming hot and flushed, the blush of his desire spreading over his statuesque beauty.

“Good thing it finally has one in it,” he replied. Duncan had leaned on the door in his familiar tick--his eyes had darkened deeply to storms, his thoughts dipping low into heady lust, the taste of her cunt, the softness of her skin, the nectar she knew he regarded as her mouth, and Kenzie bit her lip, propping herself on her elbows. Come the fuck here and get me, then, King. Come and get your Queen.

Then Duncan was advancing on her, his arms reaching down for her with a determined look in his divinely blue eyes that made her blood freeze, and she was writhing in his strong grip, with his sudden, immediate ardency, the aching softness of the down at her back stirring warmth through her body, in dazzling streaks of sensitivity. Duncan lowered his lips to the moon at her throat, making her gasp (my moon, my moonlight, moon flower, he was thinking) and then he was drifting down to kiss between her ribs at the deep V of her wrapped, sunlight-colored top, down further to kiss her belly button, open-mouthed, his tongue licking out.

“I think,” he whispered, his large, insistent hands at the waistband of her shorts, his mouth drifting to her hipbone over the denim, “That you need to get fucked hard before we do anything else today, Princess Kenzie. I think we need to christen this bed as ours. What do you think?” His hands were pressing into her now, holding her down, drifting up to her throat, holding her against the silky, aching softness of the bed, sensing how it was stirring her, thrilling her, kindling her desire up to a high agitation.

“Uhhhuh,” Kenzie felt absolutely weak to him, lost in his adamant stare, lost in the press of the tips of his fingers, sensing that they were barely containing their powerful grip on her. The bed, the huge house, the lake, the woods--we’re finally here, she thought. And it kindles a wild lust in me, the whisper of Dionysus, urging us to abandon our senses, and fuck each other until we can’t breathe in the middle of the day on this wildly easeful bed that feels like a cloud from heaven. We don’t have anywhere to be. We don’t have to meet with anyone, we don’t have to go to work, to interviews, to see our mothers, to find bodyguards, to go to stupid Galas, to fight off paps, nothing, nowhere. Our phones are off, we’ve disappeared from the world, we’re alone, we’re together, we have days. DAYS. Holy fuck, baby. Holy fucking fuck.

“Duncan,” Kenzie whispered, and she whimpered, long and low, and his mouth was pressing, hot, aching, at her throat, and his devotion was like a knife, and she wanted it plunged deep into her body.

“Oh my fucking goddess, baby--fucking fuck me.”

[windforge]

Now time for the skincent roundup! This one was a bit tough, since a lot of festival entries would be considered skins using normal rules. So these are just from entries actually labeled as a skin.

Frigid Gale | Ravenhearst, Crystalline 2019

I feel like the feeling of the Ice holiday swings back and forth between really cheery and exceptionally dark (see: Frigid Fugitive Shackles). This one really plays up the dark bits a lot, which is what I want to see more of. Now, I personally hate winter and cold weather in general, so a gloomy skin feels extra fitting in my book, but also remember that Icewarden is...kind of evil?? Like, there’s a bunch of...things frozen in his horrible ice castle. Probably things that didn’t all deserve to be frozen. Yikes.

Magie de Cirque | Houseteeth, Trickmurk 2017

I’m not entirely just featuring this one because, in case y’all can’t tell, I really love Des. It’s also just nice to get a clown/jester skin that doesn’t immediately trigger my fight-or-flight response. Maybe because he has rad bowling alley carpet on his wings. It really bridges the gap between a lot of the different Shadow aesthetics we keep getting, at least apparel-wise. Plus it matches nicely with the OG, the Tricktrouper Crown and its swanky butt tattoos.

Spring Breeze | Zubliter, Mistral 2016

Wind! Squiggles! Brightest colors! Flapsneks! This skincent has it all! I know in my last list I said I really enjoy the darker side of Wind lore, but dang it, Wind is also party flight and this lad is decked out. Literally the only flaw I can find is that it’s named after spring when, in my mind, it has extremely strong summertime energy.

Alligator Snapper Turtle | Endivinity, Wavecrest 2018

This is possibly my most biased pick in all the lists. I prayed so desperately for it to win, because I had to own a copy, whatever the costs. Snapping turtles (especially alligator ones) were some of my absolute favorite animals as a kid. I dunno why, I just thought they were neat and Big Boys. So that combined with my general love for reptile accents made this one a no-contest.

Season | Desnik, Greenskeeper 2018

Here’s some piping hot tea: Desnik deserves even more wins than they already have. Their entries are always really creative and fit well with each flight. They’re someone else I’ve enjoyed watching their style develop over the last few years. It’s no surprise I like body-mod skins, but body-mod skins that come with shading? Hoo boy, that’s the Good Shit right there.

Sunbeam Sentinel | Piney, Brightshine 2015

This was one of my all-time favorite skincents while I was still in Light, it was just about perfect for my aesthetic. Because of some personal stuff, guardians + Light stuff = hardcore weird nostalgia?? Really just, lots of feelings?? This is definitely another skin that can be credited with “why I fell in love with lady guardians”

Thundervolt | Houseteeth, Thundercrack 2015

Yeah, I’m putting two of Des’s skins here because they deserve it! I’ve always loved how they do metal and other shiny things, and the really painterly style on the lightning is super unique. It’s also a bonus to see a slightly different palette than most of the cyborg dragon skins out there. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good copper/light blue, but bright gold and cyan? Now we’re cooking with tastey.

Earthforge Whisper | Endivinity, Flameforger’s 2018

Earthforge is kinda like Windforge right? I guess really the mirror universe Windforge, since Earth and Wind are pretty opposite lel. Anyways this one just completely ticks all my aesthetic boxes. Big teeths? Check. Bogsnoop? Of course. Pretty scales and fins? You betcha. Beautiful swirly smoke plumes of the highest aesthetic quality? Damn skippy.

Guardian of Ether | AppleDad, Starfall 2018

Tundras! Need! More! Accents! That’s just a general mood in the chat right now. But specifically I like this one so much not just because it’s pretty and glowy, but it’s so different from most of the Arcane entries we get. I mean, it could easily pass for a Trickmurk skin. Don’t get me wrong, there are lots of really good skins made every year with the normal purble/pank/magenta Spacedad palette, but variety is good! 

Vulture Culture | Hanmonster, Riot of Rot 2017

Now THIS is a Plague skin! So often I see the staff keep insisting that instead of blood and gore we do survival-themed entries, then they pick a bunch of disease-related stuff anyway. Plague is about not letting anything go to waste, but in a “wear the bones of your enemies for extra armor” kinda way. Plus, real life vulture culture is rad (referring to both people who collect and clean bones and other wildlife remains, and the culture that encourages vultures being awesome and helpful cause they totally are).

Ancient Soulwarden | Endivinity, Rockbreaker’s 2016

I’ll stop picking Endivinity’s skins when they stop producing such delightful content!!! I love that the stonework has an almost...I wanna say Southeast Asian feel to it? It reminds me of a garuda statue I have that my grandma brought back from her travels back in the day. And of course, the best teeth aesthetic is the big curly lion statue teeths. I don’t make the rules.