#her celebrity status has elevated her far too high

[yamayuandadu]

Circe by Madeline Miller: a review

As you might have noticed, a few of my most recent posts were more or less a liveblog of Madeline Miller’s novel Circe. However, as they hardly exhausted the subject, a proper review is also in order. You can find it under the “read more” button. All sorts of content warnings apply because this book takes a number of turns one in theory can expect from Greek mythology but which I’d hardly expect to come up in relation to Circe. I should note that this is my first contact with this author’s work. I am not familiar with Miller’s more famous, earlier novel Song of Achilles - I am not much of an Iliad aficionado, truth to be told. I read the poem itself when my literature class required it, but it left no strong impact on me, unlike, say, the Epic of Gilgamesh or, to stay within the theme of Greek mythology, Homeric Hymn to Demeter, works which I read at a similar point in my life on my own accord.

What motivated me to pick up this novel was the slim possibility that for once I’ll see my two favorite Greek gods in fiction, these being Hecate and Helios (in case you’re curious: #3 is Cybele but I suspect that unless some brave soul will attempt to adapt Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, she’ll forever be stuck with no popcultural presence outside Shin Megami Tensei). After all, it seemed reasonable to expect that Circe’s father will be involved considering their relationship, while rarely discussed in classical sources, seems remarkably close. Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and Apollonius’ Argonautica describe Circe arriving on her island in her father’s solar chariot, while Ptolemy Hephaestion (as quoted by Photius) notes that Helios protected her home during the Gigantomachy. Helios, for all intents and purposes, seems like a decent dad (and, in Medea’s case, grandpa) in the source material even though his most notable children (and granddaughter) are pretty much all cackling sorcerers, not celebrated heroes. How does Miller’s Helios fare, compared to his mythical self? Not great, to put it lightly, as you’ll see later. As for Hecate… she’s not even in the book. Let me preface the core of the review by saying I don’t think reinterpreting myths, changing relations between figures, etc. is necessarily bad - ancient authors did it all the time, and modern adaptations will inevitably do so too, both to maintain internal coherence and perhaps to adjust the stories to a modern audience, much like ancient authors already did. I simply don’t think this book is successful at that. The purpose of the novel is ostensibly to elevate Circe above the status of a one-dimensional minor antagonist - but to accomplish this, the author mostly demonizes her family and a variety of other figures, so the net result is that there are more one dimensional female villains, not less. I expected the opposite, frankly. The initial section of the novel focuses on Circe’s relationship with her family, chiefly with her father. That’s largely uncharted territory in the source material - to my knowledge no ancient author seemed particularly interested in covering this period in her life. Blank pages of this sort are definitely worth filling. To begin with, Helios is characterized as abusive, neglectful and power-hungry. And also, for some reason, as Zeus’ main titan ally in the Titanomachy - a role which Hesiod attributes to Hecate… To be fair I do not think it’s Hesiod who serves as the primary inspiration here, as it’s hard to see any traces of his account - in which Zeus wins in no small part because he promises the lesser titans higher positions that they had under Cronus - in Miller’s version of events. Only Helios and Oceanus keep their share, and are presented as Zeus’ only titan allies (there’s a small plot hole as Selene appears in the novel and evidently still is the moon…) - contrary to just about any portrayal of the conflict, in which many titans actually side with Zeus and his siblings. Also, worth noting that in Hesiod’s version it’s not Oceanus himself who cements the pact with Zeus, it’s his daughter Styx - yes, -that- Styx. Missed opportunity to put more focus on female mythical figures - first of many in this work, despite many reviews praising it as “feminist.” Of course, it’s not all about Helios. We are quickly introduced to a variety of female characters as well (though, as I noted above, none of these traditionally connected to the Titanomachy despite it being a prominent aspect of the book’s background). They are all somewhat repetitive - to the point of being basically interchangeable. Circe’s mother is vain and cruel; so is Scylla. And Pasiphae. There’s no real indication of any hostility between Circe and any of her siblings in classical sources, as far as I am aware, but here it’s a central theme. The subplots pertaining to it bear an uncanny resemblance to these young adult novels in which the heroine, who is Not Like Other Girls, confronts the Chads and Stacies of the world, and I can’t shake off the feelings that it’s exactly what it is, though with superficial mythical flourish on top. I should note that Pasiphae gets a focus arc of sorts - which to my surprise somehow manages to be more sexist than the primary sources. A pretty famous tidbit repeated by many ancient authors is that Pasiphae cursed her husband Minos, regarded as unfaithful, to kill anyone else he’d have sex with with his… well, bodily fluids. Here she does it entirely  because she’s a debased sadist and not because unfaithfulness is something one can be justifiably mad about. You’d think it would be easy to put a sympathetic spin on this. But the book manages to top that in the very same chapter - can’t have Pasiphae without the Minotaur (sadly - I think virtually everything else about Pasiphae and Minos is more fun than that myth but alas) so in a brand new twist on this myth we learn that actually the infamous affair wasn’t a curse placed on Pasiphae by Poseidon or Aphrodite because of some transgression committed by Minos. She’s just wretched like that by nature. I’m frankly speechless, especially taking into account the book often goes out of its way to present deities in the worst light possible otherwise, and which as I noted reviews praise for its feminist approach - I’m not exactly sure if treating Pasiphae worse than Greek and Roman authors did counts as that.  I should note this is not the only instance of… weirdly enthusiastic references to carnal relations between gods and cattle in this book, as there’s also a weird offhand mention of Helios being the father of his own cows. This, as far as I can tell, is not present in any classical sources and truth to be told I am not a huge fan of this invention. I won’t try to think about the reason behind this addition to maintain my sanity. Pasiphae aside - the author expands on the vague backstory Circe has in classical texts which I’ve mentioned earlier. You’d expect that her island would be a gift from her father - after all many ancient sources state that he provided his children and grandchildren with extravagant gifts. However, since Helios bears little resemblance to his mythical self, Aeaea is instead a place of exile here, since Helios hates Circe and Zeus is afraid of witchcraft and demands such a solution (the same Zeus who, according to Hesiod, holds Hecate in high esteem and who appeared with her on coins reasonably commonly… but hey, licentia poetica, this idea isn’t necessarily bad in itself). Witchcraft is presented as an art exclusive to Helios’ children here - Hecate is nowhere to be found, it’s basically as if her every role in Greek mythology was surgically removed. A bit of a downer, especially since at least one text - I think Ovid’s Metarphoses? - Circe directly invokes Hecate during her confrontation with king Picus (Surprisingly absent here despite being a much more fitting antagonist for Circe than many of the characters presented as her adversaries in this novel…) Of course, we also learn about the origin of Circe’s signature spell according to ancient sources, changing people into animals. It actually takes the novel a longer while to get there, and the invented backstory boils down to Circe getting raped. Despite ancient Greek authors being rather keen on rape as plot device, to my knowledge this was never a part of any myth about Circe. Rather odd decision to put it lightly but I suppose at least there was no cattle involved this time, perhaps two times was enough for the author. Still, I can’t help but feel like much like many other ideas present in this book it seems a bit like the author’s intent is less elevating the Circe above the role of a one note witch antagonist, but rather punishing her for being that. The fact she keeps self loathing about her origin and about not being human doesn’t exactly help to shake off this feeling. This impression that the author isn’t really fond of Circe being a wacky witch only grows stronger when Odysseus enters the scene. There was already a bit of a problem before with Circe’s life revolving around love interests before - somewhat random ones at that (Dedalus during the Pasiphae arc and Hermes on and off - not sure what the inspiration for either of these was) - but it was less noticeable since it was ultimately in the background and the focus was the conflict between Circe and Helios, Pasiphae, etc. In the case of Odysseus it’s much more notable because these subplots cease to appear for a while. As a result of meeting him, Circe decides she wants to experience the joys of motherhood, which long story short eventually leads to the birth of Telegonus, who does exactly what he was famous for. The final arcs have a variety of truly baffling plot twists which didn’t really appeal to me, but which I suppose at least show a degree of creativity - better than just turning Helios’ attitude towards his children upside down for sure. Circe ends up consulting an oc character who I can only describe as “stingray Cthulhu.” His presence doesn’t really add much, and frankly it feels like yet another wasted opportunity to use Hecate, but I digress. Oh, also in another twist Athena is recast as the villain of the Odyssey. Eventually Circe gets to meet Odysseus’ family, for once interacts with another female character on positive terms (with Penelope, to be specific) and… gets together with Telemachus, which to be fair is something present in many ancient works but which feels weird here since there was a pretty long passage about Odysseus describing him as a child to Circe. I think I could live without it. Honestly having her get together with Penelope would feel considerably less weird, but there are no lesbians in the world of this novel. It would appear that the praise for Song of Achilles is connected to the portrayal of gay relationships in it. Can’t say that this applies to Circe - on this front we have an offhand mention of Hyacinth's death. which seems to serve no real purpose other than establishing otherwise irrelevant wind god is evil, and what feels like an advert for Song of Achilles courtesy of Odysseus, which takes less than one page. Eventually Circe opts to become mortal to live with Telemachus and denounces her father and… that’s it. This concludes the story of Circe. I don’t exactly think the original is the deepest or greatest character in classical literature, but I must admit I’d rather read about her wacky witch adventures than about Miller’s Circe. A few small notes I couldn’t fit elsewhere: something very minor that bothered me a lot but that to be honest I don’t think most readers will notice is the extremely chaotic approach to occasional references to the world outside Greece - Sumer is randomly mentioned… chronologically after Babylon and Assyria, and in relation to Persians (or rather - to Perses living among them). At the time we can speak of “Persians” Sumerian was a dead language at best understood by a few literati in the former great cities of Mesopotamia so this is about the same as if a novel about Mesopotamia mentioned Macedonians and then completely randomly Minoans at a chronologically later point. Miller additionally either confused or conflated Perses, son of Perseus, who was viewed positively and associated with Persia (so positively that Xerxes purportedly tried to use it for propaganda purposes!) with Perses the obscure brother of Circe et. al, who is a villain in an equally obscure myth casting Medea as the heroine, in which he rules over “Tauric Chersonese,” the Greek name of a part of Crimea. I am honestly uncertain why was he even there as he amounts to nothing in the book, and there are more prominent minor children of Helios who get no mention (like Aix or Phaeton) so it’s hard to argue it was for the sake of completion. Medea evidently doesn’t triumph over him offscreen which is his sole mythical purpose. Is there something I liked? Well, I’m pretty happy Selene only spoke twice, considering it’s in all due likeness all that spared her from the fate of receiving similarly “amazing” new characterization as her brother. As is, she was… okay. Overall I am definitely not a fan of the book. As for its purported ideological value? It certainly has a female main character. Said character sure does have many experiences which are associated with women. However, I can’t help but think that the novel isn’t exactly feminist - it certainly focuses on Circe, but does it really try to “rehabilitate” her? And is it really “rehabilitation” and feminist reinterpretation when almost every single female character in the book is the same, and arguably depicted with even less compassion than in the source material?  It instead felt like the author’s goal is take away any joy and grandeur present in myths, and to deprive Circe of most of what actually makes her Circe. We don’t need to make myths joyless to make them fit for a new era. It’s okay for female characters to be wacky one off villains and there’s no need to punish them for it. A book which celebrates Circe for who she actually is in the Odyssey and in other Greek sources - an unapologetic and honestly pretty funny character -  would feel much more feminist to me that a book where she is a wacky witch not because she feels like it but because she got raped, if you ask me. 

Circe evidently having the time of her life, by Edmund Dulac (public domain)

[johobi]

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, it’s my first ‘SFW’ fic, though there is some extremely bad language in here. And there might be an erection because I can’t help myself.

A/N: This is the fourth and final ‘drabble’ for the drabble game I ran ages ago. Prompt: “The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you.”

Music inspo: Don’t Be So Serious, Baby Don’t Stop, Waste It On Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477485

Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection.

So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

Banana and peanut butter become pulp in your mouth as you glare out the kitchen window. It's so grey out there. Greyer than it has any right to be. As if your dour mood has polluted the very atmosphere. Rain lashes the exterior in leaden pellets, each one compounding your headache like a rap on the head. Don't be so serious, your bluetooth speaker croons as you chew and chew, unblinking. The bridge of your glasses slip further down your nose but you don’t correct them. Don't be so serious.

Oh, but it's all so serious. 

Your final portfolio lacks in ways your mentor is incapable of articulating, and you only have so much time to fix it. Your college life is coming to a close. There are frighteningly few opportunities out there and they’re sure to spurn a sham like you. What do you do now? Where do you go from here—

"God, you listen to such depressing music," a husky voice sounds. It’s thick with sleep and horribly attractive. You hear his feet next; big and bare as they slap the tile floor and disrupt the ambience. 

Yes, dismal is an ambience. 

Before you glimpse the interloper himself, his fingers pilfer your next mouthful of toast. His other hand has your phone and is skipping through your carefully curated playlist of moody tunes. With all the scant energy you can muster, you glower at him. 

“Taehyung.” 

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

Unlikely friend and unlikelier crush. But life is strange, and he is both these things. Indeed, he proclaims himself your best friend to all who will listen. As for the matter of your tender feelings, however, he is oblivious. And will remain so.

Taehyung is long-legged and limber-bodied, but round of face and feature. A kitten in a tiger’s pelt. Will mew for affection and roar when angry. Has quite literally nudged your hand for pets and raged at referees in the same afternoon. There is usually no in-between. 

Your scowl goes unseen. He sidles past like the oblivious buffoon he is and continues to tamper with Spotify.  Smears his peanut-buttered thumb around your phone display. Ugh. You brush back your hood and fix him again with extra scorn.

"Actually, douchebag, it’s good music for thinking. And I have a headache. I hardly wanna listen to something like—no, don't you dare put fucking Party Rock on right now. Tae!"

It’s too late. The lanky idiot is already gesticulating to the beginning beats. Your phone is an unreachable hostage in his flapping hands. You’re about to lunge for it but he preempts the attack by smothering you with your own hood. “Tae.” Your whining sounds all the more pitiful muffled. “Everyfing hurfs. ‘m hungover. Pleathe.” 

Taehyung relents after further, strangled pleas. Unwraps you with a grin that grows like the sunrise. For a moment, you’re dazzled. “Sorry. No more torture,” he chuckles all low, hair in his eyes. His locks are long and always untamed. An aureate crown befitting of his celebrity status. 

One swipe and he’s muted the racket and returned your phone. You turn the sticky thing over in your hands, rueing the day you met the overgrown imp. “How did you get it this dirty…?”

You go ignored and Taehyung gets closer. He scrutinises your hunched and hoodied appearance with a thoughtful hum. “Headache?” A rounded nose and two brown eyes come into focus. "Hungover? How? I didn't see you go out last night."

Averse to such study, you shy away. "Well, I did." You did not. You stayed home and guzzled $4 Prosecco while lamenting your trash portfolio. But you aren’t about to regale him with that pitiful tale. The sheerness of shame prevents you. Taehyung would be so sweet about it, too! So buoying, with his sunny smiles and fervent encouragement: "Why were you crying over that?!" He'd ask. "Your work is amazing. Seriously amazing. I love everything you do!" He'd gush. "People will be stumbling over themselves to hire you!" He'd continue, naively. And that hurts the most, because he just doesn't get it. Taehyung is a sponsored, collegiate athlete that's graduating into a guaranteed draft. He is—and always has been—praised widely as up-and-coming. The kid has had scouts scrapping for him mid-way through high school!

You, however, are small fry, swimming in a shoal of other unknowns, leaping for the hook of internship. Your dreams of animating for Disney died long back. They dwelled with Walt now.

But you don’t resent Taehyung for any of it. Ever. He’s a paragon. Born for the limelight. Has sweat and bled oceans for it. And for some reason he insists that you, too, are deserving of that same renown. Why? He’s ridiculous. Far too kind. And—Christ, he has a big dick.

"Taehyung, can you please not shove your tiny fucking penis in my face while I'm trying to eat? I'm nauseous enough as it is."

The soccer captain rests a foot on the seat next to you, giving you ungainly insight into his crotch. Taehyung, as he often, inexplicably is, is clad only in his boxer-briefs. This would be alarming were it not so goddamn commonplace. He is allergic to clothes.

According to him, he’s a naturist. 

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

Taehyung points to his elevated foot, but it's a little difficult to ignore the bulge he's brandishing. "Do you understand the concept of inappropriate proximity and your current state of undress?" You rattle on, words slurred half by OJ, half by fluster. He simply points again, and with more insistence. Relenting, you follow the line of his finger to his pretty, if gigantic, foot. Then notice the ink around his ankle, black and fresh. "Oh, wow, you got a tattoo? Cool!"

"Yep! I didn't ever really think about getting one 'til I saw yours. They were so cool I became kinda obsessed with getting one. So I finally did it last night."

‘Til he saw yours? Your stomach flutters. It's not the nausea. You smother it with more orange juice. "Well, that's awesome, Tae. You'll probably want more eventually. I would've gone with you if I'd known you were gonna go alone."

Finally, he lowers his leg. It’s a small mercy. But then, for no discernible, earthly reason, Taehyung begins flexing his many defined muscles. His calves in particular catch your attention. They’re so goddamned thick. They ripple. Fucking soccer players. "Hm? Oh, I wasn't alone. I went with some guys from the team." He ogles his reflection in the microwave door.

How can you avert your eyes when his pecs dance so compellingly? It all becomes a bit too much. "Okay, what are you doing? Seriously, what? I know you're into yourself, but this is ridiculous.” He stops. Snorts. Thank God. “If you were with the guys, why did you come back here last night? I thought you’d go back to your dorm."

Finally Taehyung sits, but he’s spread-legged and that’s perhaps worse than what he was doing just now. He’s 6ft of pure, hewn sex and just so fucking casual about it. He reclines. "Some of them took girls home last night so I needed somewhere to go and you're always an open door." Finger guns follow a cheesy wink.

You scoff, but he's right. You’d do anything for the big-hearted clown. Open door? You'd be the doormat under his soccer cleats, licking them free of dirt— "You're lucky Areum isn’t here right now. Don't think she’d take kindly to having some almost-naked oaf clambering into her bed."

"You say that, but she’s tried to hit this several times.” Taehyung is smug, brows high on his forehead. Yours lower harshly. “Tell her I slept in her bed last night. She’ll cream herself thinking about it later, I guarantee you."

“You’re gross. And can you stop—why do you keep flexing? There’s just me here.” You peer about for emphasis. Taehyung is again admiring his form in some burnished surface. “No-one is looking. Or cares.” Contrarily, you’re doing both those things. But he needn’t be privy to that. 

"This is serious. I need to work on my angles.” He contorts himself into something of a pretzel to peek at his back muscles. “We're holding a hook-up auction at our dorm to raise money for a graduation blow-out. And I'm on sale. Do you think I need to work on my back?"

You ease into a squint. "When you said serious, I thought serious words were about to follow."

"I am being serious!" Again Taehyung flexes, biceps bulging by his ears like an overfed turkey’s thighs. "How much do you think I'm worth?"

The world.

"I dunno. I'd take you for free, I guess, if you were the last one left."

Taehyung is unperturbed by your acerbic wit. It ricochets off him like rubber bullets would a muscle-bound ox. He is your greatest adversary. The bastard lacquers his lips until they’re plump and glossy and boasting a smirk. 

He’s always doing this. 

Always moistening himself. 

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you'll be disappointed." A boxy smile emerges. "I got girls and guys already approaching me about it. Some of the guys literally just wanna buy me for mentoring. I mean, that’s more effort than kissing, but—" He shrugs. The thought goes unfinished.

"That makes sense. You are a God among these mere mortals, Taetae." It's not sarcasm this time. Taehyung senses it. The grin he returns is life-affirming. You're so close to reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. Telling him you're proud. Telling him you most likely, maybe, love him. But you notice you've dragged your sleeve through peanut butter—”Ah, shit,”—and you can tell him how you feel some other day.

Some other day.

"Some of them just wanna make out too, of course, and, like, I'm happy to comply. It's all for charity." His altruism knows no limits.

"Charity, huh?" You snort. Taehyung's mouth grows more square at your incredulity. "Who else is up for bidding, then?"

"Mostly guys from the team and dorm. There are some mutuals who just wanna get in on the action, too. Uh, you know Kim Namjoon?" He measures your reaction. When you give none: "Jeon Jungkook?"

Disinterest mellows your features. "Oh, right. Cool."

"So you don't like Jeon Jungkook?" Taehyung's eyes are eager, his body poised. Anticipating.

"What? No. What gave you that idea? I've talked to him, like, twice." Your face crumples as you towel your soiled sleeve. The peanut butter smears into a tragic, shit-brown stain. "Damn, that's never coming out."

"He's gonna be so disappointed. He might even cry." Taehyung heaves a hammy sigh and clutches at his breast. There’s nothing the captain enjoys more than clowning his subordinates.  "Kook likes you so much. He's really into your whole androgynous fuckboi thing you got going on. He literally said, 'She's like a mystery, man. I'm not sure if she's a girl or a guy and—like, I'm not like that, but that's hot.'"

If your eyes could roll past the bounds of their sockets, they would. "Wow, what a poet. He sounds like a douchebag and I'm even less interested now. Fuckboi? Is that really the vibe I give off?" You don't fuck full stop. Nor were you aware you could dress like you do. 

"I dunno. You just seem kinda like a gremlin to me. Or like that weird guy from Death Note," Taehyung is quick to reassure you. Cool. You’re fucking overjoyed that he perceives you that way. Not as a goddess, or his beautiful, sexy soulmate, or the princess that wanders the spires of his captive heart. No. A gremlin. Or L.

"Well, you got me there, son."

"What about Kim Namjoon?" Taehyung presses, urgent again. He picks at your bread crusts with one hand, head cradled delicately in the other. The boy could be a world-class model, too. His loose, dark curls hang like a Van Gogh nightscape, framing the planes of his unmarred face. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to be looked at.

A self-conscious shuffle. "What about him? I don't know who that is." You flick away his foraging fingers but he draws you into an impromptu game of thumb-war in retaliation. It's the only thing to extract a smile from you today.

Taehyung looks sceptical. "He's the physio student with our team! You literally talked to him all day during this season's semi-final." His lengthy digits best yours easily. But though the match is won, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he encroaches further. Thumbs your wrist. Encompasses your knuckles in a soft, warm palm. He’s clasping you like an enamoured suitor might their bashful sweetheart, and it’s very strange. What is he doing? His mind looks to be elsewhere, now.

"Uh...—oh. Oh." Yours ambles back to you. "Yeah, he was really nice, but you know my rule. No—"

"—dating in final year. Yeah, I know. I'll tell him that if he asks about you again." Taehyung has returned, too. His hand is gone. Your gooseflesh ebbs with it.

With a cough, you sober. "I think the auction's a bit stupid, really, Tae. You sure you wanna do it?"

"Stupid? Why?" He shimmies in close, smug on his face and intolerably naked the rest of the way down. His skin is hot and golden and just far too close. "You're only saying that because you're jealous, right?" He tickles your chin to keep you honest and your eyes on him. You seize and squeeze the offending hand because he might be right and now you’re embarrassed. "The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you," he goes on to say, brazen as the smirk defiling his cherubic cheeks.

"Some rather large conclusion-jumping going on there," you smile, sweet as sugared cyanide. Your vice-grip tightens until he’s pouting in repentance. "I meant it's stupid to put yourself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if you don't want to kiss that person." 

"I'm just joking!" he whimpers like the overlarge puppy he is and you free him of his snare. Because you would die for this big, soppy boy and his big, soppy eyes. “You’re so grouchy today.”

‘The joke won’t land if it collides with the truth, Taehyung,’ you muse. You expect him to know this despite never having apprised him of your situation. You’re jealous and cowardly and completely unreasonable. You want him for yourself but you never want him to know that. 

If he wants your candour he should be a telepath. Simple.

Irritated by your own nonsense, you lash out at the unsuspecting boy. "You know what? I was joking, too. I remember Namjoon, he was hot. And smart. I think I'll cheat on my dating ban this once and bid on him. He has super nice lips, so." 

Taehyung simply smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool! Glad you’re gonna come along." 

Your threat proves ineffective because he doesn’t like you like that. Wouldn’t give a shit if Namjoon rawed you on stage while you stared him down. You stall on that thought because it’s kinda hot. “It’ll be great. Can’t wait to get my tongue down his throat.”

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

Yep, Taehyung is oblivious to your pining. As he should be. Because outwardly, your pining consists of nothing more than the odd, lingering look here and there. The balled-up sketches of him he will never see. A secret smile if you’re feeling particularly sentimental. Other than that, you're steely. Poker-faced. Rarely blind-sided by his allure, especially now that you've acclimated to his penchant for exhibitionism. 

 "Thank you in advance for your patronage." Rising from his seat, Taehyung comes to a stand behind you and leans. Encircles your shoulders with his terribly athletic arms and puts his lips to your ear. You're like a feral cat in the arms of a senseless child. You're bristling. "If he turns out to be a jerk and tries something he shouldn't, I'll protect you." For a moment, you're touched enough to unclench a little. "With these guns." And then you choke between his straining biceps and vie to repay him in kind.

----

The common room of Taehyung's dorm has been crudely transformed. Some questionable construction has taken place in order to build the catwalk centrepiece. Sofas and tables line the walls, thrust from the limelight. You've occupied the drinks table for the last 45 minutes, from the second you entered this place. You harbour an intense dislike for the chaotic energy of Taehyung's dorm. Machismo rages noisily between these walls and you much prefer less testosterone-drenched environments. Nevertheless, despite it all you're here on an endeavour this evening. One your idiot, rampant mouth has obligated you to. To buy time with a guy that's perfectly nice and all, but isn’t Taehyung.

Kim Namjoon makes eyes at you from the head of the runway, awaiting his musical cue. The beer you just slurped down bubbles up. You have to look away. Unfortunately, when you do, Taehyung is immediately there, his face in yours, his thumb and fingers pulling at your cheeks. "Hey you, don't get too drunk, okay? I don't trust a single man here. Especially not nice-as-pie Namjoon." 

Nice-as-pie Namjoon has chosen some Bruno Mars track by the sounds of it. The auction-goers' excitement ramps up considerably.

Unable to move your captured face, your eyes sweep the room. "Not even your own teammates?" you scoff cynically, swatting at his hands until he’s baited into a game of slapsies. "Now who sounds jealous?" 

Taehyung stops for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, you're right. I'm extremely jealous. I want Namjoon all to myself. He gives the best massages. And a happy ending when I ask nicely." And then he's back to rough-housing you, slapping your upper arms to alternating beats. "You look cute tonight. Your outfit, I mean," he offers up out of nowhere, so quiet you almost lose it to the bass. "He's lucky."

But you look exactly the same as you did earlier that day. Exactly the same as that afternoon in the cafeteria when he ribbed you for raiding Billie Eilish's Good Will donations. "Um, thanks. I guess." You're genuine, but don’t sound it. You can't look at him for fear of revealing the dopey grin that has hijacked your face.

"You're welcome, buddy." A large palm flattens your hair. His fingers get all in there, ruffling it until it probably looks more akin a bird's nest. Is Taehyung trying to sabotage you? Also, buddy? "Look, Namjoon's walking." 

You turn and see that he is. Strutting, moreover, albeit awkwardly. It's obvious that the lanky boy is unaccustomed to the same attention the team he services is. Nevertheless, there are whoops and hollers aplenty for the handsome blonde dork, and you, too, catch yourself smiling. How can you not, when he pokes at his dimples so? The others seem captivated, too, though less by the  finger-hearts and more by his form-fitting tracksuit. 

“I’d wrap my car around a tree if he was the tree,” one auction-goer confides to her friend. “And then I’d wrap my legs around—”

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets. 

Namjoon’s endless legs sidle to a stop at the catwalk's end, directly opposite you. His bespectacled eyes meet your bespectacled eyes. For one, long second, the interest is palpable.  But then he breaks, and casts his gaze down to his FILAs. 

"Okay, he's, like, in love with you, I think," Taehyung whisper-yells, hands aflurry in applause. "Are you gonna bid?"

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

The evening’s auctioneer - Taehyung's partner-in-slime Park Jimin - echoes each cry that rings out, giggling into a tinny karaoke mic. "$20 for our team physio?! Is that all you got ladies and gents? Do I have to remind you this guy can grope away pain with his magic hands?"

Namjoon spins toward Jimin's makeshift podium of an upturned bookcase and menaces him with his eyes. Well, it would be menacing were the man not as threatening as a ribbon-wrapped basket of newborn sloths.

The striker backpedals. "Okay, the massage might not be included, but don't let that deter you! He kisses like a pro!"

Screams of how do you know that, Jimin?! erupt and the throng grows ever more wild. Namjoon is redder than the cup you're strangling.

"Are you gonna bid?! You're gonna miss your chance!" For some reason Taehyung is still here, harassment game still strong. He should be preparing to walk next, but sees fit to pester you instead. And because of that, he's caught you in your lie, bare-faced and blushing.

No, you are not going to bid on Kim Namjoon.

"Uh, oh no, I forgot my purse," you grumble around the rim of your next drink, gulping it down like the bottom is your way out of this God-awful situation.

Then what are you doing here?

"It's right there." Taehyung pokes the cross-body bag hanging traitorously by your side.

"Oh, is it?" You reach for another cup even while burdened with one. Anything to sidetrack this conversation.

Taehyung intervenes with a firm hand. Swaddles your knuckles ‘til the shaking stops. You’re shaking? Beer slops over the sides, unnoticed. “___?”

Stupid, warm hand. And why are his fingers so fucking delicate for a footballer? He should model jewellery. Wedding rings.

Yours.

His ringless fingers close around your wrist when you persist in avoiding his gaze. The ruse is almost up. Fuck. There’s nothing left to do but to look at him. 

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

"What are you doing?" Puzzlement becomes him well. Why is he so goddamn handsome? "If you aren't gonna bid on Namjoon, why did you come?"

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

‘You. I came for you. You were the plan all along. Not him,’ your mind screams.

You, however, just stare.

"Going—going—gone! Sold for $70! Come claim your kiss!" Jimin can hardly stop himself from squealing. For a guy that beds girls on the daily, his sincere excitement over simple lip-locking is amusing.

Taehyung's teammates hail him from the drapery behind the catwalk but he won't yet go. No, he insists on searing holes into the side of your face while you watch Namjoon get sloppy on-stage with some girl you don't know. They're really getting into it. Damn, he forgot about you quick. In  their fervour they edge towards the bounds of the catwalk, too absorbed in one another to notice. Thankfully, voyeuristic bystanders are on-hand to catch them before they fall.

"Kim Taehyung! How many times do I have to call you?! Get over here before I kick your fucking ass," Jungkook roars across the hubbub, halfway through the room. He  enacts the violent gesture for emphasis and knees some unsuspecting girl in the ass. Immediately the macho facade drops and he's all doe-eyed and buck-toothed, prostrating himself before the girl who actually seems grateful to have been assaulted by one Jeon Jungkook. Between his hushed apologies, Jungkook shoots Taehyung a look something murderous. And then he sees you and throws a shy wave, the kind a little kid might when cajoled by his parents.

"Ew." The word comes up involuntarily, like bile.

A deep cackle emanates from beside you. "Okay, guess I'm up." Taehyung squares his shoulders. His mouth, too. He's a very angular boy. "Better get my kit on. Cheer for me!" With a pat to your shoulder, he makes for Jungkook. Leaves you with an insidious dread. His soccer kit is your weakness. 

No, he is your weakness.

"Next up - and I'm sure most of you here tonight are anticipating this guy - our very own Team Captain and soon-to-be Major League Soccer player, Kim Taehyung!" Banshee-shrieking reverberates at Jimin's announcement. "Stick around, he'll be out in a few minutes!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You turn from the catwalk and fully embrace the drinks table, supporting yourself with two hands and God's grace.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

This wasn’t an actual plan. Just a fantasy.

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

All you have to do is just say you turned out to support him. You rarely get to go out with him anyway, what with his ever-growing entourage. Taehyung would appreciate that, and he'd never have to know that you came here for cornier purposes.

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

Distantly, you wished Areum were here. She'd have slapped some sense into you, maybe even literally.

No. Wait.

The devious cow would've talked you into doing it. For sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.

"Sorry, can I just—thanks." Someone with offensively bony elbows bulldozes you aside and passes a drink to her companion. An apology is on the tip of your tongue but evaporates into the ether upon seeing the twosome in question. Both were complicit in the casual bullying you endured during your high school years. They don't appear to recognise you now. Not that they even spare your pitiful person a glance.

"Who's up next?" the worst one queries, cup snug to her bosom.

"Taehyung," the lackey answers, glee upending her petulant features. "Kim Taehyung."

An elbow jabs you again as the girl struggles with the clasp on her clutch. Her overlong claws impede her. "Oh shit, already? I thought we had more time. Shit."

"Nope. It's go time. Hurry up, girl, competition's gonna be fierce." The other one watches her digital acrobatics to get into her purse.

Oh God. She has so much money. There's no doubt in your mind she'll trump everyone present.

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

Your mind flits through premonitions of the future. They’re all  rather grim. The last one is that of a wedding. A marriage between this dreadful bitch and your most cherished of friends, Taehyung. It's garish and tacky - she's denied him input, of course - and the ceremony is filled with faces that once mocked you mercilessly. None of Taehyung's friends are there; indeed, he is no longer even part of his team. Her possessiveness and his undying loyalty have put an end to his blossoming career. He looks sad beneath a mask of happy. Eyes that once blazed with the embers of ambition are doused by despondency. He is a husk.

And their first meeting is this auction, this cute anecdotal encounter of oh, I just had to have him, and when I kissed him I knew.

Just a glimpse at this dystopian future disturbs you silly. Conviction, while tentative, burgeons in your heart.

You can't let her have him. Anyone but this noxious cunt.

And suddenly you've money in hand, too. Bills you withdrew specifically for this purpose, and yet would sooner have left them crisp and cold in your purse than followed through. But public humiliation is endlessly preferable to damning Taehyung to a kiss with this serpent. Because it won't stop there. It won't just be a kiss but an appeal for more. She’ll say it’s no strings attached, but she doesn't attach strings. She weaves webs. You recall her high school boyfriend. He was a well-performing, jovial guy that always waved hi. And she consumed him, heart-first, ‘til he was naught but a sunken-eyed zombie. He took a leave of absence that never ended.

Sexy, dangerous synth sounds from the speakers either side the catwalk. Ah, shit. Not that song. Any song but that one. NCT U’s Baby Don’t Stop. Of course Taehyung picked that. It fills the air with a fatal drum beat and in he comes through the curtains, strutting like he is the rhythm. The room, rather than become uproarious, falls eerily quiet. Everyone breathes as one entranced being, and no one moves but him. Halfway down the catwalk he body-rolls with the fluidity of wind-rippled satin, burgeoning from his chest and snapping at the hips. Prospective bidders gasp, as do you. And then his thumb is in the hem of his shirt, luring it upwards, exposing his olive expanses inch by mouthwatering inch. You see his abs near every day, but in this context, backed by that song, you find yourself as winded as everyone else. His stomach tautens for show, feeding into loose-waisted shorts that sit far too low. Even you haven’t been privy to this much. And especially not the alluring trail of hair that thickens at his waistband.

Someone shatters the stupor and screams, “$80!”

“Geez, you’re a horny bunch.” Jimin’s laughter peals. “We already have $80. Any advance on—“

“$100!” Some breathless sap cries next. “Oh my God, look at his thighs!”

And look you do. Taehyung grooves at the catwalk’s end, shirt back in place but hiking up the hems of his shorts instead.  You almost glimpse groin. He’s absolutely shameless, straining the muscles of his thighs until they’re lewdly pronounced. They’re veritable tree trunks. His calves, too, defy belief. Rock-hard and rounded and begging to be bitten. The party-goers crowding round his feet must think similarly. 

What distracts you most, however, are Taehyung’s straying fingers. They skirt his crotch in a salacious manner, stretching the material where it shouldn’t. Accentuating things they shouldn’t. You may pass out.

All the while his eyes are down, maybe closed. You want to see his face more than anything. The playful smirk on his plump, wet lips and the focus in his brows. 

“$120!!” You almost lose your head to a cash-strangling fist beside you.

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

But you aren't thrusting your student loan up just yet. You're in the middle of an almost holy, revelatory experience. Taehyung is still undulating and provoking the crowd, who are no longer hushed but whooping like chimps in heat. His shirt is off and helicoptering overhead. He allows one overcome girl at the sidelines to verify the thew of his biceps and bags himself another bid. You, however, do nothing but gawp, bills clutched to your chest and your eyes affixed to the glorious grin that breaks across his face. His eyes open onto you and then it's you you see at his wedding, standing afore him, bouquet instead of a wad of cash. You want to be the one. Now is the moment, while he's watching you envision this.

"$200,” you splutter. Volume is difficult when your voice is a quivering inconstant.

"What was that? Did we just get another bid?" Jimin wavers too, out of disbelief. "Did someone say $200?!"

The room is a clamour of confusion but Taehyung watched you mouth the very syllables. The shock is such that it softens his salacious movements to a dance more modest. His eyes are wider than you've ever seen them; mouth too. It hangs agape and downturned, as yours does. Because you're not quite sure whether you said something else altogether. Maybe you hurled a cuss word out of frustration? Did you momentarily black out and proclaim Hitler did nothing wrong? Nothing else can account for the scrutiny with which he punishes you with now.

Or.

You actually did bid, and that's why he's walking over, to the very drop-off of the catwalk, no longer any swagger to his step. "What are you doing?" he calls down, the music still strong and now strangely inappropriate. You simply watch the mole beneath his bottom lip move, dumb.

Louder, now, you call again. "$200!"

"Oh! It was a bid! ____?!" The flame-haired MC shares his puzzlement with the rest of the reacting room. All heads turn toward you.

But yours turns nowhere but Taehyung, your expression an open book of long-hidden liking. You watch, suspended by dissociation, as he lays a palm flat against his chest. "Me?"

It could all still be explained away. A joke. You drank too much. You just wanted to see the look on his face. Instead, you grant him the minutest of nods. A simple tip of the chin. "You," you whisper, whether it's heard or not.

Taehyung sees it in the shape your lips make. And then his gaze sweeps back upward, his chest heaving far too much for a man standing stationary.

"What's going on?" The disgruntled echo each other.

Jimin is quick to make sense of things and keep it rolling. "Okay, so, a bid of $200! Anyone else?"

A new song comes on; it's gone on too long. Something with a cantering beat that's adequately sentimental.

So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time—

Clambering atop the platform, you counter someone's desperate bid of $220 with a measured breath. "$250." You hold Taehyung at fingerpoint. "You."

Waste it on me.

For a pants-shitting second, nothing happens. Your outstretched arm gains a tremor that could crumble it. Taehyung sifts your soul with his big, dewy eyes and then he's walking. Stalking toward you. Knocks the money from your hands and seizes your shying face with both of his. The last thing you see is his nose mole before his mouth joins with yours. His grip is like a vice and his lips are no gentler. They pry you open with little effort and then you're flooded with wet heat. Taehyung is insatiable in pursuit of your tongue. His hands drop to draw in your waist, your chest, every inch of your overclothed form. He's underclothed but burning hot, planes of honed skin beneath your fingertips. It's all so right. Feels so good. Taehyung moans that much into you when he chances a breath of air. Applause starts up as the music swells. It's so cliche but you've never had a cliche of your own before and your gloom-ridden ass needs this.

"Going—"

"I didn't know. I wish I had. This would've happened sooner," Taehyung gasps between desperate, too-short smooches. It proves too difficult to resist the pull of your mouth and he captures it again, sloppier. Slower.

"Going—"

"It doesn't matter." You pull the oxygen in, impatient. "Doesn't matter." Your fingers are a tangle at the nape of his neck, tugging on his lustrous locks. "Make up for it."

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

The two of you won't be parted for a moment. Not even when dismounting the platform. There's ruckus around you but it's so distant when his lips are on you. You sink into him like you would a scalding bath. "You don't have to pay that," Taehyung tells your cheek, smearing his saliva-slick mouth back to yours. His greed for you manifests against your stomach, and you ache in return. "This is a freebie."

Your passionate clinch takes you to the sidelines, away from prying eyes. Most of them, anyway. "What about this?" Your hands are suddenly in unseemly places.

"Th-That's also free. Everything's free. Oh, God."

[kemifatoba]

C/O Berlin Magazine | It’s a space for everyone, and everyone can come in — Thoughts for the future

“I cringe when I hear words like ‘diversity’ and ‘inclusion.” To quote the civil rights activist, philosopher, and writer Angela Davis, “diversity” and “inclusion” are terms that you, dear reader, might have also stumbled across in recent months, whether you wanted to or not. Inspired by global Black Lives Matter protests, mainstream media, corporations, and other institutions finally realized – in some cases as it seems overnight – that racism is also an intractable problem in Germany. Unfortunately, we need more than just hollow words and empty promises to solve this problem. You might be thinking to yourself: “But didn’t people take to the streets or write opinion pieces in newspapers to protest structural racism? And didn’t major institutions promise to offer diversity and inclusion workshops in discussion after discussion on television?” Perhaps, but don’t be fooled. Instead of critically questioning the role that white decision-makers play in perpetuating systemic racism, “society” was blamed. Over and over again, Black* people were asked to answer if they had really experienced racism through scrutiny of their real-life stories, while predominantly white “experts” were invited onto talk shows to discuss the so-called “racism debate”. Profound, structural changes are still lacking, at least as of the time this text goes to print. 

Presence equals power. This brings us to the current moment where you are reading these words about British photographer Nadine Ijewere’s solo show at C/O Berlin. Nadine Ijewere is the first Black woman to be given a space that has previously been occupied almost exclusively by white men. As such, this exhibition is significant not only for Black photographers, but for everyone more used to being treated as the object than the artist or curator in spaces like this where many people don’t feel welcome or simply don’t exist. As trivial as it may sound, visibility comes from being able to hang pictures on a wall—or write these lines.

Joy as an act of resistance. Nadine Ijewere belongs to a generation of artists and creatives who have realized that there are more options than simply following the traditional path. Knowing that society has long since changed—even if many gatekeepers in fashion, art, and the media still cling to the status quo—this DIY generation is creating its own platforms to elevate their own role models with an army of loyal followers. In their work, representatives of this generation create worlds that rarely center Eurocentric beauty norms. The same goes for this young British artist, whose work shows people in all their beauty and uniqueness. Her photographs regularly appear on the pages of British, American and Italian Vogue, i-D, or Garage, and she has collaborated with brands such as Nina Ricci and Stella McCartney. Ijewere proves that beauty is multifaceted and that fashion is fun and for everyone. 

More than a seat at the table. When artists like Ijewere make it to the top, it’s not because of nepotism, tokenism, or diversity as a trend, but despite all the obstacles that have been put in their way. And instead of assimilating after being accepted by the old guard, they continue to write their own rules. In Ijewere’s case, this means not only working with diverse models and teams, but also passing her knowledge on as a mentor to keep the proverbial door open. She’s less driven by the desire to stand out from the mainstream than she is to give back by inspiring younger generations, who are able to see themselves in magazines. “Within the time I have, I’ll use every opportunity I get and every space I can get into to expand the horizon of others.”

Representation matters. Celebrating Black people and people of color in a traditionally white space was also the goal of “Visibility is key – #RepresentationMatters,” a watershed moment for the German lifestyle magazine industry when it launched on vogue.de in spring 2019. The goal was to take first steps toward a forward-thinking future where inclusion and diversity would no longer be mere buzzwords, but lived practices. Part of that effort meant ensuring representation in front of as well as behind the camera. The results weren’t perfect and they might not have led to social change, but we proved that there isn’t a lack of creative talent among Black and Brown people in Germany. If anything, we proved that these talents are often denied the space to develop their full potential. 

Ideas for the future. As you see, dear reader, it takes teamwork to bring about long-term change, and for the first time the doors are open a bit. Nadine Ijewere's exhibition shows this, as does being able to write these very words in the C/O Berlin Newspaper. In the statements below, we asked German and international artists and creatives to envision a future where representation and inclusion are lived practices instead of rare exceptions. The results are ideas for a future that is reachable—as long as we all keep working towards it every day. Together.

Nadine Ijewere, artist Art is about art. It’s not about you personally. That’s why artists need to be seen as artists. We all get stereotyped and put into the same box—but we have our own identity. We are put into the same space just because we are Black, but we are all very different people.

Edward Enninful, OBE, Editor-in-Chief of British Vogue Nadine is one of the leading fashion photographers of her generation. She’s not only inherently British in her work, she’s also Black British. She really understands the complex mix of culture, fashion, beauty, and the inner working of a woman, so when you see her images, it’s never just a photograph. There’s also a story and a narrative behind it.

Benjamin Alexander Huseby & Serhat Işık, designers for the label GmbH Our work has always been about wanting to show our community and culture to tell our stories as authentically as we can. It was never about “diversity”, but about being seen. We want to create a world where not only exceptional Black and Brown talents no longer have to be truly exceptional to get recognition for their work, a world where we no longer are the only non-white person in the room because we built the motherfucking house ourselves.

Mohamed Amjahid, freelance journalist and author, whose book Der weiße Fleck will be published by Piper Verlag on March 1, 2021. It's time that Black women become bosses. Gay Arabs should get to call the shots. Refugees belong on the executive boards of big corporations. Children of so-called “guest workers” should move into management positions too. People with disabilities should not just have a say, they should make the decisions. Vulnerable groups deserve to put their talents and ideas to work in the service of the whole society. Not every person of color is automatically a good leader by virtue of their background, but all-white, cis-male executive boards are certainly incapable of making decisions that are right for everyone. That’s why we need more representation at the very top, where the decisions are made.

Melisa Karakuş, founder of renk., the first German-Turkish magazine For a better future, I demand that we educate our children to be anti-racist and to resist when others or when they themselves are subjected to racism. I demand that discrimination is understood through the lens of intersectionality and solidarity! I demand that even those who are not affected by racism stand up against it! This fight is not one that we as Black people and people of color fight alone—for a better future, we all have to work together. 

Tarik Tesfu, host of shows including the NDR talk show deep und deutlich When I look in the mirror, I see someone who grew up in the Ruhr region and loves currywurst with French fries as much as Whitney Houston. I see a person who has his pros and cons and who is so much more than his skin color. I see a subject. But the German media and cultural system seem to see it differently because far too often, Black people are degraded and made into objects for the reproduction of racist bullshit. I'm tired of explaining racism to Annette and Thomas because I really have better things to do (for example, my job). So get out of my light and let me shine.

Ronan Mckenzie, photographer The future of our industry needs to be one with more consideration for those that are within it. One that isn’t shrouded in burnout and the stresses of late payments, and one that doesn’t make anyone question whether they have been booked for the quality of their work or to be tokenized for the color of their skin. The future of our industry needs to go beyond the performative Instagram posts and mean-nothing awards, to truly sharing resources and lifting up one another. Our industry needs to put its money where its mouth is when words like “support”, “community” or “diversity” slip out, instead of using buzzwords that create an illusion of championing us. How there can be so much money in this industry yet so many struggle to keep up with their rent, feed themselves, or just rest without worrying about money is truly a travesty. If this industry is to survive then we who make it what it is need to be able to thrive.

Ferda Ataman, journalist and chair of Neue deutsche Medienmacher*innen A recent survey of the country's most important editors-in-chief revealed that many of them think diversity is good, but they don't want to do anything about it. This is based on the assumption that everyone good will succeed. Unfortunately, that’s not true. It’s not just a person’s qualifications that are decisive, but other criteria as well, such as similarity and habit (“XY fits in with us”). It's high time that all of us—everywhere—demand a serious commitment to openness and diversity. Something is seriously wrong in pure white spaces that can’t be explained by people’s professional qualifications alone. Or to put it differently: a good diversity strategy always has an anti-racist effect.

Nana Addison, founder of CURL CON and CURL Agency Being sustainable and inclusive means thinking about all skin tones, all hair textures, and all body shapes—in the beauty industry, in marketing communications, as well as in the media landscape. These three industries work hand in hand in shaping people’s perceptions of themselves and others. It’s important to take responsibility and be proactive and progressive to ensure inclusivity.

Dogukan Nesanir, stylist  The current system is not designed to help minorities. By giving advantages to certain people and groups, it automatically deprives others of the chance to attain certain positions in the first place. That's why I don't even ask myself the question "What if?" anymore. My work is not about advancing a fake worldview, but about highlighting all the real in the good and the bad. I strongly believe that if some powerful gatekeepers gave in, if representation and diversity happened behind the scenes and we had the chance to show what the world REALLY looks like, we wouldn't be having these discussions at all. I don't just want an invitation to the table, I want to own the table and change things.

Arpana Aischa Berndt & Raquel Dukpa, editors of the catalog I See You – Thoughts on the Film “Futur drei” In the German film and television industry, production teams and casting directors are increasingly looking for a “diverse” cast. Casting calls are almost exclusively formulated by white people who profit from telling stories of people of color and Black people by using them, but without changing their own structures in the process. Application requirements and selection processes in film schools even shut out marginalized people by denying them the opportunities that come with being in these institutions. People of color and migrants as well as Black, indigenous, Jewish, queer, and disabled people can all tell stories, too. Production companies need to understand that expertise doesn’t necessarily come with a film degree.

Vanessa Vu & Minh Thu Tran, hosts of the podcast Rice and Shine  It may be convenient to ignore entire groups, but we are and have been so much more for a very long time. We contribute to culture by making films or plays and bring new perspectives to science, politics, and journalism. We’re Olympic athletes, curators, artists, singers, dancers, and inventors. We dazzle and shine despite not always being seen. Because we have each other and we’ve created opportunities to do the things we love. We’ve created platforms for each other and built communities. Slowly but surely we are finally getting applause and recognition for the fact that we exist. That's nice. But what we really need is not just the opportunity to exist, but the opportunity to continue to grow and to stop basing our work primarily on self-exploitation. We need security, reliability, and money. That's the hard currency of recognition. That would mean being truly seen.

*Black is a political self-designation and is capitalized to indicate that being Black is about connectedness due to shared experiences of racism.

Written by: Alexandra Bondi de Antoni & Kemi Fatoba C/O Berlin Magazine April 2021

[pamphletstoinspire]

Our Lady of Fatima and the Miracle of the Doves - Feast Day - 5/13/2021

First Miracle of the Doves

1946 was the year of Portugal’s third centennial of national consecration to the Immaculate Conception and it was the first centennial of an identical national consecration in the United States. Just one hundred years before...in 1846...the bishops of America in a conclave in Baltimore dedicated our nation to Mary Immaculate.

On that very day...the first centennial of America’s dedication to the Immaculate Conception...the day on which we had no fitting celebration of our Marian heritage in this nation discovered by a ship which bore her name and solemnly dedicated to her by the first Episcopal conclave...something else was happening in another part of the world.

It was the Miracle of the Doves.

Father Oliveira wrote: "The coming of the statue of Our Lady of Fatima from the Cova da Iria (where Our Lady appeared in 1917) to Lisbon, for the celebration of the third centenary of the consecration of Portugal to the Immaculate Conception, was too extraordinary to be adequately described.

"The statue was carried to Lisbon and back to Fatima on men’s shoulders, the entire way, and in each village or town where it was kept during the night, great crowds spent the entire night in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, culminating in early Mass and general Holy Communion.

"Before I narrate the story of the doves in detail, I would like to describe the general events that centered around the statue upon its arrival in our capital city, Lisbon.

"It is to be remembered that not many years ago the Catholic Church in Portugal was persecuted. That is why this centenary...this commemoration of the third time that Portugal celebrates a hundred year mark in her state of national consecration to Mary Immaculate... was to be so important. During this past century, not only had Our Lady saved Portugal...but it was in Portugal that She made Her predictions of World War II with Her ultimate promise of World Peace!

"After its long journey (which for the people along the way seemed too short) the statue arrived in Lisbon on the evening of December fifth. Straightway it was carried to the beautiful new Church of Our Lady of Fatima of Lisbon, where it was kept until the vigil of December eighth. Crowds filled the beautiful church to the doors, constantly, day and night. All night long, adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was conducted by several priests. Celebration of Masses began at midnight and in the morning there was High Mass and general Holy Communion. On December 7th, at 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon, thousands of children were consecrated to Our Lady by Cardinal Cerejeira, Primate of Portugal. Finally, at 9:30 in the evening, in a brilliant candlelight procession consisting solely of men that reached almost from one end of central Lisbon to the other, the statue was carried to the cathedral. The passage took three and a half hours, so vast were the crowds.

"After the Te Deum, all the bishops with their mitres and crosiers, regular and secular clergy and great crowds of many thousands of persons, conducted the statue processionally to the square, Terreiro do Paco, where the flag of Blessed Nuno Alvarez Pereiral is annually saluted; there it was placed on a beautifully decorated frigate waiting at anchor in the River Tagus. Atop the main mast on the frigate flamed an illuminated cross, visible for miles.

"On the opposite shore, another crowd was waiting. Soon the statue was again being carried processionally, on men’s shoulders, back to Fatima.

"The scene of the departure from Lisbon was touching. I am sorry that I cannot adequately describe it. The great square, which is capable of holding many thousands of people, was actually illuminated by the number of candles. But in addition, flaming rockets constantly broke overhead and great searchlights wove back and forth across the sky. The crowd, many with tears in their eyes, waved their handkerchiefs and sang the adieu hymn which pilgrims always sing when leaving Fatima. Deep, throaty roars and whistle blasts from hundreds of boats echoed their cries.

"Truly the reception of the statue in the city, and all the ceremonies held in honor of the Lady, Queen-Mother, which the statue represents, are beyond description.

"Now, into this background of the greatness of the occasion, let me tell the incident of the doves, about which the newspapers here in Portugal have spoken so much and which is on the lips of every person in the nation.

"It began in a town called Bombazral, a short time after the statue had left Fatima.

"As part of the ceremony in that particular town, with the streets filled, people were singing hymns to Our Lady and pressing to be near the statue, someone freed four white doves. The greater part of the crowd hardly noticed it.

"After flying off into the air, three of the doves...instead of flying from the great crowd to some roof-top...made several evolutions over the statue and then suddenly, to the amazement of all who saw them, plummeted downwards, and alighted at Our Lady’s feet!

"This was the beginning.

"During the days that followed, midst ever-changing crowds, moving from one town to another night and day for almost two whole weeks, the doves did not leave the statue. They remained there at the very base of the statue, as though vying one with the other actually to stand on Our Lady’s feet. Yet bands played, people shouted, the bier on which the statue was mounted moved and swayed, rockets exploded at night and cascaded fire, while giant searchlights burned at them. They were constantly buffeted by flowers tossed to the statue from the surging crowds.

"But they did not fly. They blinked, shook off flowers that hit them, occasionally stretched their wings to keep balance. But they remained there at her feet during the entire two-week journey. They refused food or drink.

"When the statue was carried into Lisbon, I had the honor of walking at its side as Carmelite Tertiaries bore it triumphantly into the city. I was so close to it, and to the doves, that I could reach out and touch either. Cordons of militia and police were holding back the crowds of many thousands of people who had gone far out of the city to meet this most famous representation of the Virgin, coming for their greatest Marian centennial.

"All during the night of December 5th, in the Church of Our Lady of Fatima of Lisbon, the doves remained standing at the feet of the statue. By now they were more the object of comment than the beautiful statue or the glory in which it was enthroned. The newspapers had been filled with the story of their perseverance, their utter fearlessness, the strangeness of their position. Many must have wondered what would happen...now that they had actually accompanied the statue into the church that had been prepared for its reception, refusing to be brushed off or frightened away.

"The next morning, at Mass, they had their answer.

"The next morning, the doves flew.

"From midnight, Masses were constantly recited at the altar near the statue. As I mentioned in the beginning, the church was crowded to the doors with Lisbonites keeping vigil.

"In the morning, after the many Masses of the night, came the solemn High Mass, which was to be followed by a general Communion.

"During the Solemn Mass, most of the people in the great undoubtedly stopped watching the doves, to which they were not accustomed, to concentrate on the Mass. This was especially true in the solemn moment when the bell sounded, and a great hush fell over the crowd just before the elevation.

"In that moment of hush, there was a sudden fluttering of wings.

"To the utter amazement of all, two of the doves suddenly flew...after two weeks of refusing food or drink and of remaining at the feet of the statue...one sped straight to the gospel side of the altar, and the other to the epistle side! There, as the bishop straightened to raise the Consecrated Host, they alighted and folded their wings...one on each side...as though in adoration!

"As the Mass progressed, the two doves remained there to the bewilderment of the celebrants and servers and the stupefied congregation.

"But this was still not the climax.

"The third dove had not left the statue.

"Suddenly, at the moment of communion, the third dove flew up and perched on top of the statue’s golden crown...placed there by the cardinal Legate who personally represented the Holy Father the previous May 13 at Fatima...and as the celebrant turned and held up Our Lord, saying "Ecce Agnus Dei" ("Behold the Lamb of God") it spread its white wings and held them open!

"By the time this letter reaches America, the statue of Our Lady...which I saw leave Lisbon with genuine sorrow, because all of us here felt almost that it was Our Lady Herself who had visited us rather than just a poor image of Her...will be back in the Chapel of the Apparitions in Fatima."

"On arriving in Fatima, first it will have been carried directly into the great Basilica (which, I am told, is much grander than the people of America generally know) and there the Office of the Nativity will be sung by the seminarians of the Diocese of Leiria (in which Fatima is located), and their bishop...Don Jose Alves Correia da Silva, who last August 13th greatly honored Americans by having them kneel beside him during the official pilgrimage of the Leiria diocese...and who will close these centennial celebrations of Portugal by giving the Papal Benediction to a crowd which probably will number at least half a million.

"Here in Portugal, where we have witnessed this extraordinary event and where we have so come to appreciate the blessings of peace which we attribute solely to our newly awakened national devotion to Mary, this miracle of the doves has not only strengthened our confidence, but has renewed our purpose.

"I hope that it may strengthen the confidence of the people of America, to whom so much of battered Europe now looks for leadership, and renew the desire and purpose of all American Catholics to strive for the world-wide fulfillment of Our Lady of Fatima’s simple conditions of peace.

"May these doves, which have flown in Lisbon, fly into American hearts, and from there be sent forth as carriers to bear the peace message of Our Lady of Fatima to the world under the protection of the American Eagle."

[fpinterviews]

Jaclyn Santos

FP: We've spoken about the subject of the male gaze, and even part of the mission statement of FP is to question what it means when women artists control the power of their own objectification. There have been other artists who have paved the way, ie. Vanessa Beecroft, why do you think it is still considered controversial and shocking for a female artist to portray her sexuality as outwardly powerful and/or vulnerable?

JS: While many women artists have displayed their own sexuality in their artwork, every girl and woman still has to confront this topic individually and form her own convictions. It's something we continuously re-examine as we age and deal with new personal  struggles. There are so many conflicting messages in society regarding a woman’s stance on her own sexuality and most women are still trying to figure it out for themselves. On one hand, society definitely rewards physical beauty yet, in many other ways, it can be an impediment. Increasingly, I think people turn to media figures as a barometer for their own morality. For the "Shock Challenge" I wanted to generate discussion about the way women are often criticized because of images they present of themselves – particularly the way certain female celebrities objectify themselves by posting sexy personal photos on social networking platforms such as Twitter. Often these photos are low-resolution and snapped from cell phones. I decided to photograph myself in this manner as a sort of contemporary “self-portraiture” and elevate the photos to fine art status by re-contextualizing them. I then displayed the images in the gallery and allowed the audience to physically alter the work in any way with sharpies, which draws attention to the way women are criticized online. I titled the piece, “Triple Self-Portrait in Bathroom,” which references Andy Warhol, an artist known for working with the idea of celebrity persona.

Another reason it may still be considered controversial is because of female competition, which occurs in part due to socially imposed myths of female worth. The scrutiny with which women can judge each other is incredible. Growing up, I wasn’t horrendously unattractive but I did go through an “awkward phase,” and for five years of my life other girls ridiculed me nearly every day. Now that I am older and have grown into my looks, I am condemned by some women because I keep up my appearance, when if I didn’t I would be put down for it. The world sets up a standard for beauty, then criticizes those who admit they struggle with it. I’m willing to honestly examine this contradiction through my artwork.

FP: You've also mentioned isolationism in your statement...a theme that seems to be prevalent in American culture today, particularly because of the internet, and our ability to be alone yet still remain virtually connected. Can you speak about how that relates to your work?

JS: I think the piece I did for the "Art That Moves You" challenge on WOA, "11x17", touches on the issue of isolationism in contemporary urban culture. It also examines voyeurism, a somewhat natural response to isolation.  While most people do not spy on their neighbors' with binoculars, voyeurism has transcended to the internet in a more diluted version, where many of us use social networking platforms and blogs to comment on the lives of those we see on Television and other forms of Media. The pseudo-anonimity of the Internet offers protection while potentially causing further isolation. I think this has affected women in a very specific way. Oftentimes women display sexy images of themselves in an attempt to garner attention or praise, yet this often backfires into “unwarranted” criticism. Too often photos or explicit videos are released without consent.

FP: In regards to the nudity on the show...it really was a missed opportunity as you said for the production to discuss the current state of feminism as it pertains to the art world. Such a HUGE topic and yet (for the sake of time constraints? titillation of tv?) Bravo chose to edit down your provocative "shock value" piece to a hot girl defaulting to her own voyeuristic sexuality more than anything else. How did you feel about that? What could they have done to further the dialogue? What do you think would have happened if say one of the male artists had asked to photograph you naked or had photographed themselves naked...do you think more or less would have been made of that episode?

JS: So far my character has appeared very one-dimensional. The fact is, I am not a "bimbo" in any capacity.  Instead of portraying my true personality, they jumped on every opportunity to dumb-down my character. I was very disturbed by the way my piece, “Triple Self-Portrait in Bathroom,” was depicted on Work of Art as well as the way my character and art making process were completely distorted. I don’t think this was done because of time constraints; rather, it was done to create a very simple story arch that any casual viewer could follow. This was problematic because it made me look like I default to nudity without any thought behind the concept of the work, which undermines my art process. I am not shy about my appearance as they suggest, but I did feel incredibly vulnerable being taped in the nude. There's a huge difference between presenting a photograph that I have carefully selected and composed, verses handing over raw footage that can be manipulated in any way whatsoever. I was very hesitant about doing this but I believed in the piece and the producers said they needed the footage only to display my process. Yet in the episode, the rest of my process was barely discussed, then it was falsely made to look as though I was not responsible for conceptualizing the final product.

The treatment of sensitive issues on set was different for the boys. A male contestant was not required to film himself ejaculating on a piece of art, which caused some tension on set.

FP: In The Art of Reflection: Women Artists' Self-Portraiture in the Twentieth Century, Marsha Meskimmon states: "If the task was to find oneself, then the crisis for the postmodern subject is that nowhere is home, everything shifts and changes. What is the reflection in the mirror that 'vanity' holds? She refuses now to be the 'site' of another's desire and reflects back to you the insubstantiality of your projections."1

Do you think it's possible for the physicality of an attractive female artist to ever be a separate entity from her work, particularly if she is the subject matter of her own work? Is vanity and the mirror important to an artist?

JS:  To answer the question, if the womans' chosen subject matter deals with nudity or sexuality in the form of self-portraiture - i.e. Marina Abramovic, Cindy Sherman - no, I don't feel the artist's appearance could be a seperate entity. If the subject matter involves sexy images of other women or the imagery is more illustrative - i.e. Lisa Yuskavage, Hillary Harkness - I think it will be much less of an issue. I think it can only be a non-issue if the artist completely plays down her appearance or doesn't acknowledge it in her work. Yet this doesn't necessarily mean it won't be an issue. At a college critique, a guest artist was invited to our studios and the minute he saw me, before he ever saw my work, he blurted out, “you are the artist”?  “You don’t look anything like an artist... YOU are as interesting as your work." This sort of thing happened so often that I made a decision to incorporate my appearance into my work.

FP: Another great quote from this same book: "One of the key issues in feminist theory has been that of women's voice in male language. To what extent is it possible to enunciate a truly different position when you are already within the structures which mark your difference?"2 Do you think the art world is still a predominantly masculine one or is it now equal...what has your experience been thus far?

JS:  While certainly more doors are now open to female artists, there’s no denying the highest paid artists are all still men. There’s also no denying that the vast majority of Art collectors are men.  I worked for Jeff Koons for two years and there were very few women who came in to purchase work. Granted, this may simply be because men still make more money than women and if women had more spending power, more of us would invest in contemporary art. I think it is a challenge to make work about women that can appeal to both a male and female audience on the same level. We respond to images of the female form rather differently, and it's hard to subvert the provocative aspect of a sexualized image.

FP: The high-low art status is interesting in your pieces --do you think anything can be elevated to art status by redepicting it?

JS:  Yes, it can, if done in a particular way.  Intent is important -- low art must be appropriated in an intelligent way. For instance, a high school student copying his incredible hulk comic book is entirely different than Jeff Koons appropriating the hulk into his personal iconography.

FP: You worked as a studio assistant to pop art icon Jeff Koons. Has he influenced your work? And who are your biggest influences?

JS:  Before I ever worked for Jeff Koons, I loved his Made in Heaven series as well as his Luxury/Degradation series. Speaking of Made in Heaven, that’s a prime example of low-art being successfully elevated to high -art. Jeff Koons is brilliant and there are very few people who love art as much as he does. Working at his studio was an incredible learning experience. It was so interesting to see how he spoke with visitors about his work and I learned an incredible amount of technical skill while at his studio. Jeff talked "acceptance" quite often. We must accept who we are -- our individual and collective pasts -- our shortcomings, failures, weaknesses, and strengths. As artists, we must be honest with ourselves in order to make work that is personal yet transcends to a wider audience. So many artists have influenced my work, but to name a few: Damien Hirst, Marilyn Minter, Laurel Nakadate, Liz Cohen, Vanessa Beecroft

FP: Where do you see your work evolving now that you've participated in Bravo's Work of Art? Has the show inspired you in a new direction? What's on the horizon? Where can we see your work next?

JS:  Participating in the reality show was an experience like no other. It really made me more aware of the internet as a portal for criticism and dialogue in fine art. It also opened my eyes to how incredibly critical and voyeuristic our culture is, and I think I would like to comment even further on these qualities in my new projects. The show also allowed me to branch out into other mediums when appropriate, something I think I may have been afraid to do before.  Since the show wrapped up, I’ve been continuing my series of figurative paintings as well as a new series of explosions that respond to the war and oil spill.

Check my website, www.jaclynsantos.com for frequent updates of my new work.

[eternal-love-song]

Colorful Cavalcade ep 1

Two childhood friends, a former Gym Leader, a Pokemon Breeder, and a psychic Pokemon trainer begin their journey across the region of Talon.

[Pokemon Journey, Original Trainers, Original Pokemon Region, Pokemon Training, Developing Friendships, Adventure, Childhood Friends, Psychic Abilities]

Wordcount: 11k

Episode 1, Treble in Cantor

It was a clear night. The stars were bright overhead, the moon was a sliver in the sky, and the sea spray misted over her face. The song of the ocean mixed with the roar of the fire, creating a peaceful lullaby for the night. Behind her, Cormac was stoking the fire, adding a little more warmth to the air. It was a beautiful night, the kind of beauty that she had spent her whole life enjoying. She wouldn't say that it ever got old, but lately an idea had been floating in her mind more and more.

"Hey Cor?" She looked over her shoulder where Cormac was still poking at the fire. His Corsola was sitting on his shoulder and the Pokemon looked at her before he did. She smiled. Her own Corsola was wading in the water not too far off.

She waited for his pink eyes, so very similar to her own, to glance her way. His white hair danced in the breeze and a few of the hibiscus blooms she'd placed in his hair were being blown away. She'd have to be more careful next time; it was uncommonly sloppy work for her. "What's up Orchid?"

She looked up at the sky again, stretching her arms out over her head as she weighed her words one last time. "What do you think about leaving here?"

"Leaving?" He sounded more confused than upset, so she chanced a glance at him. He was studying her, as if he'd be able to read her intentions out of the air. They had been friends for nearly all their lives, but he still had no idea what she was thinking when she didn't want him to. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." she hesitated as she walked closer to him, holding out her arm so that Corsola could jump from his shoulder to hers. "Going on a journey. Across the whole region like other trainers do."

"You... want to?" 

The surprise made it hard for her to properly gauge his reaction. She plopped down on the log beside him, facing the opposite way and leaning her head against his shoulder. "Yeah, I think I do. I don't want to go without you, though. It wouldn't be as much fun."

"You just want someone around to cook for you," he grumbled.

She giggled and nuzzled her head against him. She was probably ruffling the flower in her own hair, but she didn't much care about that. "That's not so bad, right? What would Dora do without you? Do you want her to starve?"

He leaned his head on top of hers. "She's not the only one that would be lost without me so I guess I have no choice."

Her smile widened and she couldn't help the burst of excited laughter she let out. "You mean it?"

"Yeah. Kora would be sad if I let you go alone anyway," he told her.

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as tight as she could. "You're the best, Cor."

"I kinda am the best, aren't I?" he shot back.

She shoved him and stuck out her tongue at him. "You'd cry if I left you behind anyway. This is for your own good."

"Yeah, alright. Whatever you say, Orchid."

She looked out at the sea where her Corsola, Dora, was making her way out of the water. She scooped the Pokemon up into her arms and spun on her heel in the sand, wisps of her pink hair falling into her face. "We're going on an adventure, Dora! Aren't you excited?"

The Pokemon made excited noises, along with Cormac's Corsola on her shoulder. Cormac watched as the three of them celebrated and she could tell that he was just as excited as she was, even if he was more subdued in showing it.

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

Cantor City was  only a few hours journey from their sleepy beach town. Cormac barely saw any of it when they first arrived, following Orchid to a hotel where they could stay for the night. They spent a long time chatting excitedly from their opposite beds until she fell asleep, leaving him to watch the city from their window.

Honestly, there wasn’t much of a view. It was too late for the city to be too active and their room wasn’t high enough to see above the cityscape, but it was enough. His whole life he’d been able to look out his window to sand and sea, and now for the first time he was seeing something different. 

Cormac thought he should feel something… bigger. He didn’t feel out of place or homesick at all, though. He just felt at peace. He was pretty sure that he could go anywhere as long as he had Orchid and his Corsola by his side. He could have stayed forever in his small town and never wonder what he was missing, and now he could explore forever with them and never think about going back.

With that thought drifting through his mind, he decided to go to bed.  

Cormac was woken abruptly by something shaking his bed. He was startled upright, only to be immediately captured in Orchid's arms. That solved the mystery of what had woken him up before he'd had time to question it. 

"Let's go watch the gym battles!" She squealed, bouncing slightly in her excitement.

"What?" He blinked a few times, trying to wake himself up while Orchid gently shook him. 

"We've never seen one in person! Let's go!" She repeated excitedly. Her expression was bright, pink eyes shining with excitement and her hair already pinned up with a flower. Sometimes it amazed him how quick and early Orchid was able to wake up. Cormac could wake up early when he needed to, but it seemed like Orchid simply never slept.

"This couldn't have waited?" he asked.

"Who would want to?" she asked. "Aren't you excited?"

He wasn't sure if he was more excited than he was tired, but he nodded at her anyway. "Yeah, alright, I'll get up."

"Yay!" she cheered as she tossed the covers off of him and sprung off the bed. She scooped up Kora and Dora where they were sleeping on the table. He let himself fall back onto the bed with a yawn. 

"Time to get up," he said sleepily to himself. 

An hour later, after they were both dressed and fed, Orchid was leading him around the town. Both Kora and Dora were sitting on her shoulders, chatting happily as she led him by the hand and commented on everything. Cormac was torn between watching their excitement and the town around them.

There was a band of people playing music with their Pokemon in the town square and a few onlookers dancing. There were stall shops shouting for attention to their wares, selling souvenirs, food, and merchandise advertising the gym. There were people lounging about near the town well, a sea of calm amid the excited energy everywhere else. He could see a few buildings in the distance; a daycare, a Pokemon center, a pokemart, and their destination; the Pokemon gym.

"Something catch your eye?" Orchid was watching him over her shoulder. Kora and Dora tapping on her shoulder to tell her if she needed to move to one side or the other to avoid something in her path. The sight of three of them so close always made him feel warm inside. He squeezed her hand, reminding himself that he was just as much a part of this bubble of intimacy.

"Only everything," he answered. "How are you able to be so single minded?"

"I was watching everything out the window early, so I took in a lot of the splendor already." Her eyes wandered over her surroundings briefly before returning to him. "Plus, we have plenty of time to look through everything later. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

The gym was wider than it was tall, with statues of electric Pokemon standing on top of each other framing the double doors. There was one person standing at the door that stopped them when they approached. "Challenger or spectator?"

"Spectator," Orchid answered.

He pointed to the side of the building. "Enter where you see the Jolteon statue."

"Thanks." They walked to the side of the building and she dropped his hand to push open the large double doors. "Wow."

The inside looked a bit more like a concert hall than a Pokemon gym. There were rows of elevated seating all around the room and a large stage in the center. The room was reasonably crowded and it took them a bit to find two empty seats in the highest rows. There were Magnemites floating around the room using Light Screen and Barrier to wall off the audience from stray attacks and the other trainers on the side of the stage were fiddling with instruments.

"Do you think the gym leader has their own theme song?" Orchid asked. "How cool would that be?"

"Pretty cool," he answered. Now that he was here, his eyes were glued to the stage. The challenger was already there, dressed in dark clothing and floating his pokeballs in the air. "Really cool."

Then the music hit. Two mohawked girls on drum and guitar started a heavy beat while a guy with spiked hair growled into the mic. The vocals were purposefully low, blending well into the music as the gym leader marched out and onto the stage. She was dressed in bright electric blue, with short dark blue hair cut sharply over her shoulders, and oval shaped sunglasses covering her eyes. There were gloves on her hands and black and blue stocking completely covering her legs. She flipped her hair and sparks shot up from the stage.

"Let's get this battle started already!" she said, tossing a pokeball into the air.

The challenger plucked one of his own balls out of the air. "Let's."

The announcer's voice erupted around them. "This will be a 3 on 3 battle. Whoever knocks out all three of their opponent’s Pokemon wins. Challenger Graham versus Leader Ahu! Begin!"

They threw out their Pokemon at the same time. The gym leader started with a Jolteon, the spiky Pokemon crouching low and letting out a hiss. The challenger sent his Pokeball spinning, sending his Girafarig into battle, the giraffe Pokemon scraping his hoof against the ground.

Beside him, Orchid was flipping open her Pokedex. "I've never seen that tall thing before, have you?"

Cormac shook his head. "I don't think it's very common around here."

Orchid giggled as she turned to him. "Can you imagine seeing that thing on the beach? It's got two heads!" 

He laughed with her, but his eyes were quickly drawn back toward the stage.

“Show him what we’re made of, Jolteon!” The Gym Leader said, striking a pose and pointing at their opponent. 

The Jolteon immediately launched into a Quick Attack, slamming into Girafarig's side and shoving it back. Girafarif’s hooves dragged along the ground, but it stayed on its feet.. Jolteon retreated just as Girafarig used Stomp, its spiky fur standing on end as it hissed at its opponent. Electricity danced along its fur for a moment and then a wave of thunder washed over the battlefield. Girafarig stumbled, a flash of static arced along its skin and brought it down to one knee. 

The Gym Leader laughed, placing both hands on her hips as she smiled at her opponent. “There’s no shame in throwing in the towel, you know.”

“This battle has only begun,” Graham replied.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t try,” Ahu shrugged.

Girafarig glared ahead, but as soon as it tried to move a wave of static flickered through its body. Jolteon rushed at the paralyzed Pokemon, hitting it with Double Kick and knocking Girafarig on its side, back to Jolteon. The Pokemon made a small noise of pain, static still dancing along its spine. 

“Hugo!” Graham called out, fist clenching at his side as he watched his pokemon.

Jolteon rushed forward at the fallen pokemon, only for Girafarig’s tail to jump up and snap at Jolteon, startling the pokemon with Astonish and causing it to flinch. Girafarig took the opportunity to get to its feet, eyes glowing as a rainbow of psychic energy blasted Jolteon. The Psybeam caused Jolteon to stumble, the pokemon trying and failing to shake off its sudden confusion. 

Girafarig took advantage of Jolteon’s confusion to charge across the stage, slamming intoJolteon with a Zen Headbutt. The Pokemon was tossed across the stage, making pained sounds as it struggled to get to its feet. It shook its head desperately, trying to break itself out of confusion and failing. Girafarig galloped toward Jolteon, rearing up and stomping down on it with both hooves. Jolteon gasped, tried once more to get to its feet, and failed.

"Jolteon is unable to continue!" The announcer called.

The person on Cormac's right jumped up from his seat as he cheered. Orchid wrapped her arm around his, leaning closer to be heard over the crowd.

"Aren't you so glad we came?" Orchid asked. "This is so much cooler than on tv."

"Yeah, I can't believe it's this intense already," he answered. Kora jumped from Orchid's shoulder into his lap and he wrapped the Pokemon in his arms.

"Heh, don't think this is over yet," Ahu said coolly. "That was just beginners luck." 

"I'm no beginner," Graham responded.

"Yeah, we'll see about that." She tossed out her next Pokemon. "Show him what we're about, Pachirisu!" The small squirrel let out a cry, its tail flicking behind him.

Girafarig lowered its head for another Zen Headbutt, but the squirrel Pokemon stared up at it cutely. Girafarig slowed down severely, apparently caught up in Pachirisu’s Charm attack, only lightly running into the smaller Pokemon. Pachirisu then rocketed back and forth across the field with Quick Attack as its tail began to glow. 

“Hugo, watch out!” Graham called out, but it was too late. Pachirisu leapt into the air, swinging its tail and firing an Electro Ball, which scored a direct hit to the Girafarig. 

Ahu flicked her hair over her shoulder as Graham recalled his Pokemon.

"Girafarig is unable to fight. The contestants are now tied one to one."

"Get him, Ahu!"

"Show that newby who's boss!"

The crowd was very excited and the music was only serving to hype them all up. Even on stage, the gym leader was tapping her foot to the song being played by the band. Cormac felt a little bad for the challenger. It couldn't be easy to have an entire stage against you.

"Do your best, Graham!" Orchid yelled out from beside him. It seemed they were on the same page again, but as always she was much more up front about it. A few people echoed her calls and she looked over at him with a smile. "I'd hate to see him get discouraged," she said.

"Every crowd should have someone like you in it, Or."

She smiled, sticking out her tongue at him. "Don't tease me, Cor."

Graham sent out an Alolan Raichu. "You can do it, Raichu," he said as he glared at Ahu. 

Raichu charged at the Pachirisu. The squirrel Pokemon dodged and began to roll along the ground cutely, intending to charm it into letting down its guard. Instead, Raichu used Double Team, surrounding Pachirisu with clones of itself. Pachirisu looked around in surprise as Raichu approached, trying to dodge as one of the images surged forward only for the real Raichu to slam its tail into Pachirisu from behind.

Pachirisu glared as it picked itself up from the ground. It jumped to its feet and ran at Raichu for a quick attack, only for Raichu to dodge out of the way. Raichu’s eyes began to glow and Pachirisu was lifted into the air, flailing as it went. Raichu lifted its opponent high into the air before whipping its tail at Pachirisu, slamming it down to the ground.

“Don’t let them win so easily, Pachirisu!” The gym leader yelled.

Pachirisu gingerly picked itself off the ground. It ran in a tight circle before whipping its tail, causing stars to explode from the appendage and rush at Raichu. 

“It used Swift!” Cormac exclaimed. He looked over at Orchid, who turned to smile at his excitement. 

“That’s gonna be bad for Raichu then,” she said. “Think Pachirisu will make a comeback with this?”

“I don’t know. It’s taken a lot of damage,” he told her. The battle seemed really close though. He had to admit, he was rather glad that she’d dragged him out of bed for this. 

Raichu ran quickly around the stage, trying to avoid the white stars tailing it. It dodged one, then two, but the stars simply changed course so that they could all converge on it at once. There was a bright light as the attack made impact and Raichu was knocked off its feet. Raichu rolled over to face Pachirisu, but didn’t get to its feet. Electricity began to dance across its fur before it released a powerful thunderbolt which hit Pachirisu hard. The Pokemon swayed a few times before falling to the side. It didn’t get back up.  

"Pachirisu is unable to fight! Ahu is on her last Pokemon."

"Yeah!" Orchid yelled, clapping her hands at Graham's victory. The crowd seemed to be split now, a few worried murmurs mixed in with the supporting cheers. A lot of people were on their feet, the excitement building the longer the match went on.

The music changed, the vocals and guitar fading out as the drum beat picked up. Ahu grinned widely as she chose her last Pokemon and tossed the ball into the air. "Alright, you've earned the right to see my best Pokemon. Let's kick it up, shall we?"

The vocals became louder as the singer joined in again, followed by a long guitar riff. The music became more intense and faster paced. The crowd began cheering along with the song and it was clear that many of them knew the song well. 

Orchid was watching the stage with the same excited intensity as the rest of the crowd, her head nodding to the new beat as she got used to it. Cormac found himself leaning forward in his seat, too, eagerly awaiting the rest of the battle.

Ahu sent out Luxray, the Pokemon locking eyes with Raichu and strutting back and forth across the stage. Raichu's eyes were glued to the Pokemon until it suddenly became dizzy and started swaying in place.

"Ah!" Orchid gasped softly beside him. "He's confused!"

"It used Swagger," Cormac said softly. The move definitely suited the trainer, so it was no surprise to see her stronger Pokemon start with it.

"No need to play with it, Luxray," Ahu said. "Put him out of his misery."

Luxray pounced forward and used Crunch, taking the Raichu between its fangs and chomping down on it. 

"Raichu is unable to fight. Opponents are two for two."

"Flawless, Luxray," Ahu praised.

Her Pokemon stretched and preened, waiting patiently for its next opponent.

"They really put on a good show," Orchid said. "If I lived here, I'd be out to watch battles all the time."

"Yeah, they really go all out," Cormac agreed. "No wonder this place seemed so lively."

On stage, Graham recalled Raichu and floated another ball into his hand. "It's not over till it's over."

"Trust me, it's over," Ahu told him. 

Graham sent out Reuniclus, the Pokemon floating before him happily. 

"Give him a strut, Luxray," Ahu says, gesturing him forward. Luxray attempted to use Swagger once more, as Reuniclus raised its hands, generating a white orb of light and firing it at Luxray. The orb engulfed Luxray as it mechanically repeated the same motions. 

"Great strategy," Ahu says. "That's really working out for you, I see."

Graham glared at her before turning to his Pokemon. "Come on, Blake! Snap out of it! Use Shadow Ball!"

Finally, Reuniclus shook itself and fired a shadow ball.  Luxray narrowly dodged the blast, but its eyes were glowing and it was forced back into its former strut. 

"Psychic!" Graham orders. 

Reuniclus raised its hands and Luxray was lifted off of its feet and slammed into the ground repeatedly. Luxray struggled to its feet, growling as it glowers at its opponent, small sparks jumping along its fur.

Ahu points at Reuniclus as she yells out, "Discharge, Luxray!"

Luxray howls and lets out a powerful electric charge, hitting Reuniclus full force. It dropped closer to the ground, visibly damaged but still  fit to fight. Then Luxray charges forward and lands a crunch, causing Reuniclus to fall all the way to the ground.

"Done and done," Ahu says. "Good job, Luxray." The Pokemon begins walking back to its trainer side.

"Not yet!" Graham said. "We're almost there, Blake! I know you can do it!"

Slowly, the Reuniclus is able to force itself off the ground enough to aim a focus blast.

"Luxray!" The Pokemon barely has enough time to turn before the force slams into it and tosses it across the stage. It slides to a halt at Ahu's feet. Her mouth opens in shock before she looks down at her Pokemon. Luxray doesn't get to its feet.

"Luxray is unable to continue! The winner of this battle and the Zap Badge goes to the Challenger, Graham!"

The crowd explodes in noise. Cormac is jostled into reality as Orchid throws her arm around him. "He did it! Did you see that? I thought the Gym Leader would win for sure!"

The music had come to a slow end and Ahu reclaimed her Pokemon. He couldn't hear what was said as the Gym Leader crossed the stage to give the challenger his badge. They must have turned their mics off, now that the battle was done.

Cormac slumped in Orchid's embrace. "That was crazy. I felt as tense as if I was the one battling."

"Wasn't it great?" she asked. "We have to watch more gym battles in person!"

"I don't know how Gym Leaders do it," he said. "I'd be exhausted if I had to do that all the time."

"Some people are just made for the stage," Orchid replied.

"Yeah." Cormac was still watching the stage though. The Gym Leader still had her eyes covered, so it was hard to tell what she was feeling, but she didn't leave the stage with the same energy that she had entered it. 

Ahu hated the noise. The crowd became a near endless cacophony as she crossed the stage. She couldn’t tell if they were cheering for her or complaining about her loss, but she held her head up high as she left the room. She felt chased by the noise and tried not to show it.  The heavy door slammed behind her. She ripped the glasses off of her face and tossed them to the ground as she let out a frustrated growl.

"That is unbecoming." Ahu jerked at the voice, turning to see one of the older gym trainers watching her. He had worked under her father and was hard set on upholding the traditions that were in place during his time. She tensed as he approached her, already annoyed at the lecture she knew was coming. He crossed his arms, looking down his nose at her as he began. "You need to learn how to take your losses more gracefully or be strong enough to win more often."

"I don't need this from you," she said as she walked past him. She only got a few steps away before he grabbed her arm. 

"Wherever you think you're going, the gym's Pokemon aren't going with you.”

She shook him off, stomping over to the table and slamming the pokeballs onto it. She reached down to pick up her sunglasses on her way out. "Simsek, you coming with?" 

There was an excited cry as a shinx came running toward her and she caught it in her arms with a smile. It was the only Pokemon in this gym that she could call her own and she never went anywhere without it, if she could help it.

"What about the other battles?" He asked.

"Do them yourself," she said before she hurried off. She looked over her shoulder at him before she walked out the door. "Jerk."

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

The Pokemon center was as lively as the rest of town. There was a Chansey trying to sing to a group of trainers, though it seemed not to be working, and Nurse Joy was bustling busily around the room. Chingling landed on his head and brought his focus back to the screen in front of him as he huddled further into the corner and held up the Zap Badge. 

"I got the badge," Graham said with a small smile, equal parts excited and nervous. "Thanks for lending me Raichu."

The Alolan Raichu waved at him from his sister's shoulder. "Wow! Good job!" She cheered, offering him a few claps. "Are you really sure you want to send him back though?"

Graham scratched the back of head nervously. "He should be home with you guys more."

"That can't be the only reason," His sister frowned. 

"I also..." He looked away from her. "I want to do this on my own."

"What? But you are!"

Graham folded his arms and flipped his dyed purple bangs out of his face. "I didn't raise Raichu, you guys did that. It wouldn't be fair for me to keep going this way." 

She pouted and glared at him.

"Soon, Chingling will be ready for battle and then we'll go all the way to the top. Right?" He looked to where his young Pokemon was floating and it answered him enthusiastically.

She smiled at him then. "Alright. You two take care of each other, you hear? I'll tell mom and dad that you called."

"Alright. Talk to you later, sis."

The screen shut off and he let out a deep sigh. This was going to be a long journey.

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

"Oh! Oh! Cormac, look!" Orchid said excitedly, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around. 

"Alright, what am I looking at?" he asked with a smile. His eyes quickly scanned the area around them, but everything was so busy that he couldn’t possibly tell what Orchid was looking at. She had been energetic since the gym battle and it was easy to get swept up in her energy.

"It's the challenger!" She answered, bouncing in her excitement, hands still on his shoulders. "We should congratulate him!"

She began to push him forward and he didn't bother trying to resist. "Oh? Sure you don't just want his autograph?"

"Well if you insist, I can get one for you," she said in a sing song. "But you should really get used to asking for what you want directly."

Cormac couldn't help but laugh.

The man didn't seem to notice their approach, so Cormac was able to get a better look at him. It was hard to make out the finer details when he had been so far away. His hair was black with purple dyed bangs hiding the right side of his face. His clothes, a mix of black and purple with the occasional gold accent, seemed much more formal than Cormac was used to. He'd lived his entire life on a beach though, so he wasn't an expert in fashion. Still, the outfit looked loose and unrestrictive and there were enough details to get lost in.

The man turned toward them just as they got close, his purple eyes widening a bit in surprise.

"Hey!" Orchid greeted over his shoulder. "We saw your gym battle. Congratulations on pulling off the win."

The man stared at them until the Chingling hovering beside him landed on his head, seeming to pull him out of his stupor. "Uh, thank you."

"It was a really good match," Cormac added. "You and Pokemon really did your best out there."

"Uh, yeah..." He looked away and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, they did all the work..." he replied quietly.

Orchid rushed forward, bouncing in place as she looked at the Pokemon on his head. "Aww, you have a Chingling too! It's so cute!"

"Chingling!" The Pokemon floated down to Orchid's height and she immediately pulled the Pokemon into a hug. 

"You have a lot of psychic types. Are they your favorite type?" Cormac asked.

"I, um... feel a kinship with them..." Graham answered.

"Oh, I know what you mean," Orchid said brightly. "I've been around water types my whole life, so I feel really connected to them. I'm Orchid by the way. And this," she nodded to the Corsola on her shoulder, "Is Dora."

"Oh, I'm Graham. It's nice to meet you. And that's Poe."

She turned and gestured to Cormac. "And over here we have Cormac and Kora!"

He waved as Kora gave her own greeting. "I hope we're not interrupting anything."

"No, I wasn't doing anything," Graham told them.

"Oh, did you want to?" Orchid asked. "It's our first day in the city and we haven't done anything but watch the gym battle so far. What about you?"

"I haven't really..."

Orchid held the Chingling up to her face. "What do you say? Would you like to come with us, Poe?"

"Chingling!"

"One vote yes!" She smiled at Graham as she moved closer to him. "Would you like to come with us? You don't have to, but it's more fun to explore together." She looked over her shoulder at Cormac as she asked, "Right?"

"Right," he nodded. "I wouldn't mind getting something to eat."

"There was a Pokemon band," Orchid said, turning to him. "Do you think they're still playing?"

"They might be."

She looped her arm with Graham's and smiled at him. "Do you like music? I think I remember there being Spinda. I would love to dance with a Spinda!"

Cormac couldn't help but laugh as he watched Orchid pulling Graham along. It was always fun to watch others being swept up in his friend's current. "What do you say, Kora? Should we save him or let him be?"

The Corsola joined his laughter, so Cormac stayed a few steps behind them as Orchid guided them toward the band, chatting away excitedly.

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

Elaria was in her kitchen when she heard her door burst open. She jumped, nearly dropping the jar she was holding, fumbling to catch it before turning her gaze to Ralts. The Pokemon smiled at her and she sighed, letting her worry evaporate. If Ralts wasn't worried, there was no reason for her to be.

It was only a moment later, following the slam of her front door again, that she heard her best friend's frustrated voice. "I hate my gym!" Ahu yelled in place of an actual greeting as she stomped through Elaria's home looking for her.

Elaria put down the jar and pushed her work to the side, bottles and jars of gels and herbs moved safely to the back of her counter, replacing them with a teapot as she began to make a pot for her guest. "I'm in the kitchen, Ahu!" She called out, rather than allowing her friend to continue her search.

She could hear her friend practically sprint through the hall to reach the kitchen, slamming her hand against the wall as soon as she entered. "I hate my gym!" she repeated loudly.

"I heard you the first time," Elaria said. She placed a plate of cookies on the table for her. "What happened?"

Ahu let out a frustrated breath as her Shinx jumped up on the table and helped itself to a cookie. She took off her glasses as she sank into the chair beside her Pokemon, letting Elaria see the tired look in her eyes. Ralts climbed into a chair, onto the table, to put her hand on Ahu's head. Ahu let out a sad huff of a laugh and smiled at Ralts. "Elaria, your Ralts is so sweet."

Elaria went about pouring the tea and adding sugar to the tray before taking it to the table. "You look tired."

"I am tired," Ahu answered. "Every single battle is so over the top, I hate it. I have to stand there listening to my audience cheer for my loss while pretending to like the loud music and the stage lights, and then backstage my own coworkers tell me that I should be better and to stop losing. As if I lose every battle I've ever been in!"

Elaria pushed a tea cup toward her and Ahu pulled it close to her before dropping in a bit of honey. "I'm sorry to hear that, Ahu. I can't imagine how exhausting that must be."

"It's so frustrating! I wish I could punch every single one of them in the face!"

"I'm not sure that would help."

"I won't know until I try." She took a long sip from her tea cup, draining half the cup with one sip. "I'm gonna steal one of the guitar's and hit my father's assistant with it."

Elaria hummed and nodded as she sipped her own tea. Ahu always felt better after she got her aggressive energy out. It was usually better to wait her out.

"I'm gonna fist fight the next trainer that tries to challenge me. Pokemon and all."

Elaria reached out to pet Shinx, who practically purred under her attention. Ahu took really good care of her Shinx and it was always so happy whenever she saw it.

Ahu jumped up out of her seat, nearly knocking the chair over. "I'm gonna scream!"

"You already are, Ahu."

There was a pause before Ahu dropped back into her chair and pulled her teacup close. She was blushing as she held the cup up with both hands, hiding her face. "Sorry, I got carried away."

Elaria smiled at her. "I think you need to blow off some steam. Without fighting," she added before her friend could comment. Ahu looked away and lifted her teacup again to hide her face. "After tea, you can come with me to the daycare and play with the baby Pokemon. Sound good?"

Ahu nodded, the teacup still pressed against her lips despite not drinking it.

"Good. I'm going to clean up real quick and you can finish the tea."

"What? All of it?" Ahu asked with wide eyes.

"It's supposed to have a calming effect," Elaria told her as she rose from her seat. "So don't rush."

Ahu dropped her head to the table. Elaria giggled as she returned to the counter.

----

"So what do you like to eat?" Orchid asked. Cormac had watched the space between her and Graham grow quickly but subtly, startling with him hunching his shoulders the longer they walked and ending with Orchid unhooking their arms and walking backwards in front of him. Dora had made herself comfortable on Orchid's head and was chatting with Chingling floating in front of them. Graham had relaxed a little when Orchid let go of him, but Cormac suspected that the only reason he hadn't tried to leave was Chingling's chatting and Cormac walking somewhat behind him.

"I like sweet things," Graham answered quietly.

"You hear that, Cormac? He's one of us!" Orchid said excitedly.

The town was as lively as the first time they walked through and Orchid was a whirlwind. She gestured happily at stalls selling pretty trinkets or hummed along when they passed Pokemon singing. She and Chingling harmonized together a few times, which culminated in her scooping the Pokemon in her arms again and spinning around.

"Is she always this energetic?" Graham asked as they watched her.

"Yeah, pretty much," he answered. "You get used to it though."

"I can't imagine getting used to that," he admitted. 

Cormac laughed. "I felt that way when we first met. There's something nice about having that much positivity around though."

Orchid paused in the midst of her spinning and waved at them, Corsola and Chingling waving along with her. Cormac waved back.

"Don't you ever get tired?" Graham asked.

"Yeah, of course I do." He turned to catch Graham's eye. "She can turn it off, you know."

Graham didn't look like he believed Cormac at all. He wasn't surprised though. When Orchid was in high energy mode, she could be a lot to deal with.

They caught up with her in a few more steps and she released Chingling, which went to rest on its trainer's head. "What are you guys in the mood for?" she asked, turning to point at a few specific stalls. "That stall sells Pecha Pie, those tarts are made from watmel berries, and I think those..." she drew out the sound as she squinted. "Oh! They have fruit kabobs!"

"I wouldn't mind one of those," he said.

"What would you like, Graham?"

"Um... I like the watmel berries," he answered.

"Great!" She reached out for his hand, but pulled back at the last moment. She blushed when she saw Graham watching, ducking her head and sticking out her tongue. "Sorry, I'll go get them myself," she said hurriedly and rushed off.

"What was that about?" Graham asked. The look of confusion on his face was so cute Cormac had to stifle a laugh. 

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. He started walking in the direction that Orchid headed, slowly so that Graham was encouraged to follow him. "She was gonna take your hand."

"Why?"

"Because she's excited and wanted to spend time with you," Cormac answered. "Haven't you ever held hands before?"

Graham didn't answer that, but the puzzled look remained on his face until Orchid came back to them. She had three fruit kabobs in one hand, one with just Watmel berries, and a Pecha pie in the other hand. She shifted the ones in her hand so that Graham's was in front as she held it out to him. "Here you go."

Graham actually smiled as he accepted it. "Thank you."

"And I got this so that we could share it later," she gestured to the pie.

Cormac took the pie in his hand as he leaned forward to steal a fruit from one of the kabobs. 

"Hey! That could have been mine," she objected.

"If it was, then yours was tasty," he answered.

"Rude!" She blew a raspberry at him then laughed as she held the kabob out further. "I guess if you're going to hold the pie, then I can hold this."

Graham seemed perplexed as he watched them, but he ate his berries with a contented expression on his face.

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

Ahu was only slightly calmer by the time Elaria left her house. The exercise seemed to keep her calm and Ralts held her hand while they walked to keep her from taking off in a sprint. Ahu did that sometimes when she was especially restless, running ahead only to circle back for Elaria. Shinx was walking by her side and Elaria smiled down at the Pokemon for keeping her company.

"Hey, was there something going on at the daycare?" Ahu asked suddenly.

Elaria looked up at her. "No, why?"

Ahu pointed ahead of them and Elaria gasped as she saw a swarm of Beedrill around the building. "What on earth!"

Ahu dropped Ralts's hand and took off in a sprint. "I'll see what's going on there!" She said, Shinx rushing forward to run at his trainer's side.

"Wait! Ahu!" Elaria called. She bent down to scoop Ralts into her arms before running off after her friend, knowing she'd be nowhere near fast enough to catch up to her. "I wish she wouldn't rush ahead without thinking,” Elaria said softly to herself. “She only has Shinx with her right now."

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

"Hey! What's going on here!" Ahu yelled as she approached the daycare. Several Beedrill turned to look at her as Shinx leapt forward in front of her, growling as its fur sparked. She hated bugs and this was a nightmare situation for her, but she’d rarely been afraid of things that she wasn’t willing to fight.

The door to the daycare was ajar and after a moment a girl poked her head out. She had fluffy black hair beneath a bright yellow cap, a hair pin shaped like a button with two flowers attached, and bright red eyes. "Oh? Do you work here?" She took a step outside the doorway, revealing a matching yellow jacket over a white shirt, black shorts, ripped black stocking, and black yellow platforms. 

"Wow, that outfit is cute," Ahu said without thinking.

The girl perked up instantly, standing on one foot and spreading her arms to show off the outfit. "Isn't it, just? I think it's super cute."

"Yeah, it looks really good on you."

"Aww, thanks! That really makes my day." The girl blushed slightly with the compliment.

Ahu's distraction didn't last long though. It was hard to ignore the swarm of Beedrill that was slowly closing in around her. "So hey, what are you doing here?"

"O-oh just..." The girl looked around for a moment, as if an explanation would fall out of the sky before she turned and ran back into the daycare, shutting the door.

"What the hell!" Ahu yelled, rushing to the door and banging on it. She turned the knob a few times, unsurprised to find it locked, before banging on the door again. "Get back out here!"

"Sorry, I can't hear you!" The yell was muffled by the door, but Ahu could still hear it loud and clear.

She began banging twice as hard on the door. "Am I a joke to you!" She screamed.

"Hey!" A male voice called from her left. She turned her head to see a guy dressed similarly to the girl. He was pale and blonde, with yellow eyes and his arms crossed over a black and yellow top. He had a similar hat and button pin to the girl, but his hat was brown and his flowers red. His pants were black with scant yellow accents and similar boots. Though all in all, Ahu thought the girl's outfit was much cuter. "Fury Attack."

At once, all the Beedrill turned toward her. "Oh fuck."

Graham wasn't sure what to do with himself. It was only midday and yet the hours had already been filled to bursting. He'd gotten his third gym badge and been dragged halfway around the town of Cantor by two strangers. Instead of feeling utterly exhausted though, he felt... kinda happy. It was fun and confusing and exciting, and he wasn't really sure why it had happened.

He'd watched Orchid dancing with his Pokemon and she hadn't gotten upset when he refused to dance with her. He'd talked to Cormac and wasn't called out for being too quiet or called boring. They'd bought him food and asked his opinions and it was... not something he was used to.

"Here, Graham." Orchid smiled at him as she held out a napkin with a slice of the pecha pie she'd bought earlier. After she had dragged Cormac into dancing with her and they'd both tired themselves, she'd pointed to a quiet spot near the town well. They'd settled there to rest, the two Corsola and his Chingling laying beside them as they passed out pie.

“Thanks," he said quietly. Neither of them seemed to mind how quiet he was, smiling just as brightly at him as they did at each other. It was nice. It was strange.

He didn't feel left out when they talked to each other instead of him and they always left him opening to join in, or else asked him something to pull him into the conversation. Not that it always worked. He wasn't used to having such energetic people around him and all the attention was still a little draining.

Leaning against the well with a slice of pie was nice though. It was good. He could close his eyes for a few moments and just... breathe. The stress of the battle, which he had anticipated for days prior, finally started to drain out of him. And the pie, when he tasted it, was delicious and sweet.

Halfway through his pie there was a bright flash of light in the sky. 

"Whoa! What was that?" Cormac asked.

"It looked like lightning," Orchid said. "Probably a Pokemon battle."

Graham frowned. "That was a pretty big bolt."

Cormac got to his feet and his Corsola was quick to jump up his arm and to his shoulder. "Do you think someone's in trouble?"

"Hard to say from here," Orchid said. She turned to Graham. "Do you mind if we go check?"

"I don't mind," he said quickly. "If someone's in trouble, we should help."

Orchid smiled at him. She quickly wrapped up the remains of their pie, carrying both it and her Corsola. Cormac took off at a run and she waited to make sure he was following before sprinting off herself. Graham found himself keeping pace with her as he ran, feeling something warm settling over him despite the urgency.

They slowed down as they reached the Pokemon Center, where there was a rush of Chansey pushing stretchers through the door.

There was a girl with cyan hair running along one of the stretchers, tears in her blue eyes as she babbled to the Nurse Joy beside her. Graham stopped in his tracks as he recognized Cantor's gym leader Ahu on the stretcher, bruised and breathing heavily. 

Graham didn't even think about it as he followed the group into the Pokemon Center. After exchanging a few more words, Nurse Joy followed the stretcher with the injured Gym Leader to the back, leaving the distressed girl behind.

"Hey, are you okay?" Cormac asked, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. Graham hadn't even noticed his new companions entering beside him and found himself glancing around until he saw Orchid, too.

The girl looked beautiful and delicate, her hair pinned up with a lacy veil hanging down past her shoulders and delicate blue flower ornaments. She was wearing a white dress, the skirt of which unfolded like a flower, a light blue sash around her waist and darker blue shoes on her feet. There were tears in her blue eyes and Graham felt stunned as he looked at her.

"It's terrible, someone attacked the daycare. My friend she... she was trying to help but..."

"That was the Gym Leader, right?" Graham asked.

The girl nodded. "Yes, my friend Ahu. She'd left the gym Pokemon behind though, so it was just her and her Shinx. They were outnumbered."

"Why would someone attack the daycare?" Orchid asked.

"They stole the Pokemon eggs. They could be doing anything." A Ralts placed it's hand on the girl's leg and she gave it a small smile as she reached out to take the Pokemon's hand. "I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Elaria. I work as a breeder at that daycare. I was on my way there when all this was happening."

"I'm Orchid. This is Cormac and Graham. "

"Did you see where the thieves went?" Cormac asked. His expression was hard and serious.

Elaria nodded. Graham was distracted from her following words by Orchid stepping close to him. "Hey, Cormac and I are gonna try to find these missing Pokemon. It was really fun to hang out with you today."

"What?"

"Did you see the look on Cormac's face?" she asked, nodding at her friend. "He's really determined right now. I couldn't possibly let him do that alone. I'm really sorry we didn't get to hang out anymore."

Graham felt like reality was crashing down around him. It was absurd to him that in such a short time he had gotten so used to these two that the thought of them leaving brought him up short. Cormac and Elaria were already at the door as she pointed to something in the distance and Graham felt something not unlike panic well up in him as Orchid turned away.

"Wait!" For a moment, he was surprised that the words came from him. 

"What's wrong?" She looked at him so unassuming, completely opposite to when they'd first met, and he found him hesitating. It struck him that, unlike the first time, she wasn't trying to pull him anywhere and he could just... say nothing, let her leave, and go back to his own journey. He didn't have to get caught up in the whirlwind of these pink strangers.

Maybe that was why he found himself stepping forward and saying, "Let me come. I can help."

Orchid looked surprised but the expression melted quickly into a smile. "You want to help us?"

"Yeah, I do."

"We'd be happy for the help," she told him. "Thank you."

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

 "It's empty," Cormac said as he came out of the daycare. As soon as they had arrived he had decided to go in and look for clues. Elaria had arrived after most of the commotion had gone down, so she could only tell them so much. There had been a retreating swarm of Beedrill, but Orchid couldn't see any sign of them. She and Graham had remained outside, the latter taking a quick walk around the daycare to see if anything would jump out at them.

Cormac was upset. He hated the idea of people and Pokemon being treated poorly. It wasn't surprising to her that he was rushing in this way. She was keeping herself calm in contrast, holding Dora in her arms as something to focus on. As a rule, they weren't allowed to both be upset at the same time.

"There aren't many ways they could have gone to avoid detection," She said. She pointed in the distance at the forested road that led to the next town. "Worth a look, yeah?"

Cormac nodded, taking point as they marched toward the forest. Graham was quiet, which seemed the norm for him, but he had this worried furrow in his brow since they left the Pokemon Center. There wasn't much she could do to cheer him up in a situation like this. 

"Do you hear something?" Graham asked, stopping in his tracks.

She stopped, straining her ears to hear what he was hearing. "Buzzing?"

"Beedrill," Cormac nodded. "We must be close."

"Maybe we can sneak up on them," she suggested. They walked more quietly, adjusting their path to follow the buzzing until they began to see Beedrill through the trees.

"We're running out of silver paint," a female voice said. The three of them ducked further into cover and Orchid snuck her way around a bush until she was able to see a girl in a black and yellow uniform. She was holding a paint brush over a bunch of Pokemon eggs.

"Yeah, I'm starting to run out of blue, too," a male voice added. The male, when she peeked out far enough to see him, was holding an Alolan Meowth. At least, that was what she thought before she noticed the smudge of blue on its coin and realized that it had been painted. "Do you think we took too many?"

"Maybe we can get more paint before the eggs hatch," the girl said. "Pokemon eggs are like, really hard to hatch right? Right?"

"Well, we can paint the eggs anytime," the guy continued. "We should paint the rest of these Eevee, though. They need to look shiny if we're going to make a decent profit, Belle."

"I know, Gil." The girl reached out to pet a half pained Eevee. "They're so cute, though. I wish I could keep one for myself."

He chopped her on her head and she immediately reached up to cover the area, scrunching her face up in pain. A soft chorus of "Ow! Ow! Ow!" being mumbled under her breath.

"No digging into profits, idiot."

"I know that!" she whined. "You didn't have to scold me, stupid Gil."

"I did, too. You get carried away way too easily."

Cormac must have gotten tired of waiting, because a water gun blasted right into the girl's side, knocking her over.

"Who's there?" the guy asked, turning sharply and holding out his paint brush like a weapon.

Orchid crawled over to the girl. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, helping the girl up while she watched the guy search the opposite direction for an attacker.

"Yeah, that really smarted, though," the girl answered.

"Your name is Belle, right?" Orchid asked. "Are you almost finished here?"

"Yeah and that's Gil," the girl sighed. "Wait a minute..." Belle squinted at her. "I haven't seen you at the Team Midas base before, are you new?"

"Hey, let me trade you, real quick." Orchid reached out for the Eevee as Corsola jumped into the girl's arms

"Why do you have a--" she started as Corsola unleashed a water gun right in the girl's face, causing her to sputter and drop the aquatic Pokemon, but the assault didn't stop.

Orchid looked over at the guy in time to see him knocked over by Corsola's tackle. "Beedrill!" he yelled out, gaining the attention of the swarm hovering not far away.

"You can handle that, right Dora?" she asked.

"Cor!" Corsola nodded, before shooting water at the approaching Beedrill. 

The girl was still sputtering and spitting out water from Corsola's earlier attack, so Orchid ignored her as she leaned down to check on the Pokemon. They all seemed pretty young, but aside from some being painted to look like shinies, they didn't seem harmed, just confused. She ran her hand over them in a comforting manner.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Gil flailing wildly as he was held in the air, Graham staring at him with intense concentration. That was pretty handy.

"Cormac, you were really impatient," Orchid yelled at him.

Cormac scratched at the back of his head nervously. "Heh, sorry, I got carried away."

"You should apologize to Graham for making him cover for you," Orchid said. "And now we have a bunch of Beedrill to deal with."

"I know, it was a bad move on my part," Cormac said apologetically. He reached for his belt for a pokeball, calling out his Popplio. "Icy wind, Popplio."

The Pokemon happily complied, taking a deep breath before exhaling an icy chill at the swarm of Beedrill. A slight frost began to coat their wings and a few notably slowed. The rest moved in swiftly.

"Blake, use psychic!" Graham called out. Orchid hadn't noticed him calling out any Pokemon, but she did see when the Reuniclus hovered above him, taking hold of one of the Beedrill and knocking it into several others.

"Oh, I'm so inconsiderate," she said, when she realized he was still holding the Team Midas member. "Let me help with that." She called out her own Pokemon, Dratini uncoiling elegantly between them. "Luna, can you be a dear and keep those two still for me?"

Dratini wrapped elegantly around the two, holding them in place. Graham let out a strained breath as he released his hold. 

"Hey, let us go!" "No fair!" The two yelled.

"Not a chance," Orchid replied. "Officer Jenny would probably like to have a word with you two."

"No way, no way, no way!" Belle said loudly. "Gil, do something!"

"Sweet kiss, Eiry!" Gil yelled out. A Comfey poked its head out from under his hat, kissing Dratini and confusing her. She swayed, her hold loosening and letting the two fall to the ground. Gil grabbed his partner's hand quickly. "We gotta book it, Bells!"

"Stop!" Orchid's breath suddenly caught as she felt a sharp pain in her side. She looked away from Team Midas's retreating form to the Beedrill who’s stinger was being pulled out of her. Her vision swam. 

"Orchid!"

She remembered the Eevee that was still cradled in her arms and turned so that her back would hit the ground when she fell and the Eevee would be protected. 

She stopped being able to focus on the shouting around her. She'd forgotten how much it sucked to be poisoned and the thought made her laugh weakly. "Sorry, I... did it again..."

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

Graham was panicking. He'd failed to catch Orchid when she'd fainted and now he was looking at her like he thought she was there. Cormac might have panicked too, if it was anyone but Orchid that had fallen. Rules were rules though, so he forcefully put a lid on his temper and panic and everything else so that he could be calm. Orchid was better at acting calm when she wasn't than he was, maybe because it was so hard for him to get worked up in the first place.

He went to her side, lifting her head and feeling the back of it to see if there was a bump. "Can you take care of the rest of these Beedrill?" he asked Graham.

The man still looked too wide eyed and like he didn't know what to do with his hands, halfway reaching out but not committed. Cormac was a little annoyed that he was so nearby and let her fall. He pushed the feeling aside as Graham nodded, giving more orders to his Pokemon.

Both his Corsola and Popplio were still attacking, though Dora had come over to stand worriedly by her head. The Eevee in Orchid's arms also seemed to be watching her with worry.

"You always do this to me, Orchid," he mumbled as he reached for her bag. "I swear I'm going to stop letting you rescue Pokemon if you can't stop getting poisoned." He reached for the left over pecha pie, hoping that he could get enough of it in her to counteract the poison.

He propped her up further, sitting behind her to make sure she would fall over and crushing a bit in hand. "Dora, do you mind helping me wake her up?"

A quick splash of water hit Orchid in her face and her eyes fluttered. Cormac shoved the crushed pie into her mouth.

"Eat this or you're grounded," he told her. 

She made a small noise of protest, though he was sure if it was at his words or having pie shoved into her face. He made sure to push her forward every so often so that she didn't get too comfortable and close her eyes. She gasped after swallowing the piece he'd given her and immediately crushed up more. There was another noise of protest, but her eyes opened, if only barely.

The Eevee was making worried sounds to match Orchid's, paws on her stomach as it watched her closely.

"She'll be fine," Cormac said. Then he repeated that in his head a few times for good measure. Orchid would be fine. She was always fine. She survived all the other rescues, so she would survive this one, too.

"They're retreating," Graham said. 

Cormac looked up to see a few Beedrill retreating and a whole lot more on the ground. Dratini seemed to have come to her senses, too, slithering over to their side.

Graham looked awkward standing beside them, not sure what to do. After a few moments of looking around he finally asked, "Is she, um, is she okay?"

"...okay..." Orchid said softly.

Cormac let out a relieved breath and wrapped an arm around her chest as he hugged her, avoiding her injured side. "You have to stop doing that."

She leaned her head back on his shoulder, smiling at him and then Graham. "Sorry." She let one hand rest on Eevee while the other brushed against Corsola and Dratini.

"I can... um..." Graham blushed as they both faced him. He quickly reached for a pokeball and brought out his Girafarig. "H-hugo, can carry her."

"Thanks," she said softly. She pressed her hand against Dratini and the Pokemon moved closer until she pressed a kiss to it's head. "Thanks Luna." It made a cheerful sound as she pressed the Pokemon into its side and it went back into its ball.

Graham held a hand out toward her. Orchid didn't hesitate to take it, breathing out another thank you as Cormac helped push her to her feet. She didn't let go of the Eevee the entire time, nor did it stop watching her with large worried eyes. Graham helped her onto Girafarig's back and she leaned against his long neck in what looked almost like a hug.

"How will... we get these..." She paused to catch her breath, taking a number of deep inhales and exhales before she was able to speak normally, if more quietly than usual. "How will we get so many back?"

"Me and Blake can handle it," Graham told them.

"You're handy to have around," Orchid told him. She reached out for her Corsola and the Pokemon jumped into her arms, resting beside the Eevee.

"Popplio and I can herd the baby Pokemon if you can carry the eggs," he said.

"That sounds fine," Graham agreed.

Cormac pressed the remaining pie into Orchid's hand. "Eat more if you can."

She broke off a piece for herself and then gave a piece to the Eevee. 

"And don't give it all to the Pokemon!" 

She stuck her tongue out as she ducked her head. "Whoops."

Graham and Reuniclus floated the eggs while they led Girafarig forward. Cormac ended up with the other Eevee and Meowth falling all over him, clinging to his head and shoulders when they couldn't fit into his arms. Some of the Pokemon seemed fine walking on their own and he assumed it was the younger ones that were clinging to him.

Orchid spent an equal amount of time eating the pecha pie as she did sharing it, to the point that some of the Pokemon he was carrying squirmed out of his arms to walk alongside her in hopes of getting treats. Which they got. Cormac didn't bother to scold her as long as she kept eating herself and she looked like the poison was, if not out of her system, at least mostly gone.

Orchid and the Pokemon were all looked over at the Pokemon Center and he wasn't surprised to see Elaria still in the waiting room.

"Thank you both so much!" She said. "I don't know what we would have done without you."

"Don't worry about it, I'm just glad that we could do something," Cormac answers.

"How's the Gym Leader?" Graham asked.

Elaria smiled. "She's alright, just really mad that she wasn't able to do more. The couple that run the daycare are alright, too. They weren't poisoned at all, just lost their energy to leech seed, apparently."

"Good," Graham sighed. "That they weren't poisoned, I mean."

Nurse Joy came over to place a hand on Cormac's shoulder. "Your friend seems alright too, but we want to keep her here overnight."

He frowned. "Is she still poisoned?"

She shook her head. "Your idea to give her the pie was a good one. The poison is completely out of her system, but she's still really weak. Also..." she looked over her shoulder. Cormac followed her gaze to see Orchid in the back surrounded by Pokemon. "I think the Pokemon have taken a liking to her. Since they can't go back yet, I think it would be better if we let them stay together, don't you?"

Cormac felt himself finally relax, knowing that she was okay. "Yeah... yeah, you're right."

"Um, would you both mind helping me take the eggs back to the daycare?" Elaria asked. "I want to get the paint off as soon as possible."

"Of course," Graham answered.

"We can probably help with the paint," Cormac said, nodding to his Corsola. It would be nice to have something helpful to do.

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

The next morning Orchid was surprised to see Graham waiting for her in the Pokemon center.

"Hey, are you feeling alright?" he asked.

"Yep, I'm good as new!" She said with a little twirl for emphasis. "Just about to help take the Pokemon back to the daycare. Without me to wake him up, Cormac will probably sleep in so I figured I'd do something useful. "

"Oh, do you need a hand?"

"I wouldn't mind it."

Getting the Pokemon from the Pokemon Center to the daycare was a little chaotic. They were all very energetic, wanting to play more than follow along, and the Eevee she'd personally rescued had taken a liking to her. By the time they got them all to where they needed to be, Elaria had shown up at the Daycare to feed them and they ended up helping with that, too.

Cormac showed up with Ahu when they were done, having a friendly enough chat as they came through the door.

"It's you!" Ahu yelled, pointing at Graham as soon as she saw him.

"Um, hi?" he responded.

"You think you can walk back in here just like that?" Ahu questioned, putting her hands on her hips.

"This is the daycare, not your gym, Ahu," Elaria told her calmly. 

"I heard about what you did," Ahu went on. "You think you can just show me up like that? Twice? I don't think so! I challenge you!"

Elaria placed her hand on Ahu's head. "You just got out of the Pokemon center and you only have one Pokemon."

Ahu blushed. "E-eventually," she added hastily. "I challenge you eventually. I'll get my win back, you'll see."

"Ah, okay?" Graham said slowly.

Orchid stepped around her to hug Cormac. "I hope you weren't worried when I wasn't at the Pokemon Center."

"Nurse Joy told me where you were, and Ahu was interesting company to keep," he answered.

Ahu smiled, tossing her hair over her shoulder and folding her arms. "You bet I am."

"Oh! Graham! I had a question for you." Orchid skipped back over to him, stopping herself before reaching for his hand. "You're traveling to get gym badges, right? Do you wanna come with us to the next town?"

"What?"

"Cormac and I don't really have much of  a direction right now," she admitted. "We're just sort of traveling around, but you seem like good company, so we wondered if you'd want to travel together?"

"It's okay if you don't want to," Cormac added. "We just thought it would be fun."

Graham looked down as he considered it. "It... might be fun."

Orchid bounced on her heels excitedly. "So you'll come?"

"Yeah."

"Yay!" She jumped forward, tossing herself on him in an enthusiastic hug.

Graham looked at her with wide arms, his arms hovering in the air as if he was unsure whether to push her away or hug her back.

"Orchid," Cormac said.

She jumped off of him at the warning. "Ah, sorry! I got excited." She hit herself on the head lightly and stuck out her tongue. "Silly me."

Graham sighed. "What have I gotten myself into?" he asked him.

They parted from the daycare a few minutes later in relatively high spirits.

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

"Oh, did those nice trainers leave?" The daycare lady asked, looking around the room. Only she and Ahu were left, the gym leader pouting over her missed opportunity to battle.

"Yeah, a few minutes ago," Elaria told her.

"We wanted to give you all a reward. This Eevee in particular seemed so attached to that flower girl."

"I could catch up with them," Elaria said. "Ahu, would you help me carry the eggs?"

"Oh, uh, sure?" Ahu answered.

"Make sure the two of you pick one out for yourself, too," The daycare lady insisted.

"What? Are you sure?" Ahu asked.

"Of course. I'm grateful for all of your help and I'm sure Elaria will help you all take good care of them." The old lady came over to give Elaria a hug. "You've been thinking about a journey of your own,. haven't you? I'd hate to see you miss your chance. They seemed like nice people."

"Thank you."

Ahu ended up juggling three eevee eggs while Elaria carried two Eevees. It didn't take too long to catch up with the group and Elaria smiled at them all.

"Hey. We wanted to give you a reward. For all your help," Elaria said. One of the Eevee’s immediately squirmed out of her arms and jumped toward Orchid, who stepped forward to catch it.

"Aw, did you miss me?" Orchid asked. "So cute! I missed you, too."

"So holds the tradition of Orchid getting poisoned to rescue Pokemon and them falling in love with her," Cormac said with a shake of his head.

Orchid didn't seem to be listening as she twirled around with her new Pokemon.

"You're doing gym battles, right?" Elaria asked Graham. At his nod, she held out one of the eggs. "I hope this becomes a strong member of your team."

He hesitated as he stepped forward to accept the Eevee, which seemed happy enough to snuggle into his arms. "Thanks."

Elaria then took another Eevee egg from Ahu's arms and held it out to Cormac. "For you. Thank you so much for deciding to help me. It really meant a lot to me."

Cormac smiled. "I'm glad that I was able to help," he answered as he accepted the egg.

"You guys don't mind having a bit more company, do you?" Elaria asked.

"The more the merrier," Orchid said. Cormac nodded in agreement.

"I hope this doesn't put you out, Graham?" Elaria said. 

"I'm a tag along myself, so I don't have room to complain," He said.

"Companion, not a tag along," Orchid corrected.

Elaria smiled. She took the last egg from Ahu's arms, swapping with the Eevee she was holding. Ahu looked at the ball of fluff that was pressed into her arms and smiled.

"You know what, yeah. Yeah! Me too!" Ahu declared. "I'll come along, too."

"What about your gym?" Graham questioned.

"They can figure that out themselves," she fumed. "It'll teach them to appreciate me more if I ever go back. Besides, I left all the gym's Pokemon behind, so it's just me and Simsek." She nodded to her Shinx. "Plus, I owe you a rematch."

"You don't owe me anything," Graham said.

"I owe you a loss," she said with a foot stomp. "Just you wait. When I have a team of my own, I'll put you in your place. And then I'll find everyone that earned a badge from me and I'll beat them too! And I'll get revenge on those Beedrill while I'm at it!"

Elaria put Ahu's head as her friend got louder and louder. "Forgive her, she's very energetic." 

"Well, at least this journey won't be boring," Cormac said.

"Yeah, no chance of that," Graham sighed.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 32 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Apologies for the lateness; this has been one of the longest stretches of days of my life. I’ll elaborate more at the end, I think, but suffice it to say this fic has quite literally changed my life; changed ME, forever. It reopened parts of me I thought had been consigned to the abyss and opened new doors entirely in my soul. It truly has fucking changed me body and soul, as cheesy as that fucking is. So when you read it, know that it comes from the depths of me. Marguerite Foley is based on Mary Beard. Kenzie’s starburst necklace looks like this. Kenzie suggesting FRANKENSTEIN to Anchaly is for a couple reasons; firstly, that I love it as much as she does, and secondly, a gothic horror is my next project, and it’s my nod to myself (haha). Kenzie being astounded at her own writing is how I feel sometimes when I read over any of this fic; “I wrote this???” is usually what I’m thinking. When the muse hits you, she’s no joke. This is Kenzie’s Marchesa dress, this is Duncan’s Alexander McQueen shirt. Crocus looks like this; I’ve been crazy about palominos since I was a child (and horses in general, let’s get real) and knew one of the horses Duncan got for Kenzie was always going to be a palomino. This is the dress Kenzie is wearing on his back, her earpieces are like this. This is the jacket Duncan is wearing in that shot. Kenzie’s birthday dress. Her lingerie. Duncan’s jacket and his shirt. Here are the pomegranate cufflinks (I had to, y’all). Here’s Hannah’s dress. Claire’s dress. Someone put on Hozier’s self-titled album while they’re getting ready because I’ve been listening to it a lot over the past week or so; the songs mentioned are FROM EDEN and IN A WEEK. A reminder that ARIADNE looks like this. There are only two more chapters left after this one; one of which I’ve written; I’ll write the epilogue after I upload Part 33. To those of you who have come so far with me on this incredible journey; thank you.

THREE WEEKS LATER

Kenzie ran out the penthouse door to the elevator, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich clutched in her left hand, the moonstone glimmering on her finger as she shoved a pair of ballet flats on her feet. It was late afternoon--fuck, already--Anchaly had just rang on the intercom to tell her a special package had arrived. She’d been just about to go back to the study with her sandwich when he’d called; she’d been in the middle of writing a passage she’d been puzzling over. The strange thing about language, she thought, is it’s always trying to explain the inexplicable. And when you’re writing about love, you’re always trying to grasp the intangible.

She wore washed denim overall shorts and a white embroidered crop top--Kenzie noticed one of the strap sleeves had slipped off her shoulder as she skidded into the elevator, hurriedly pressing the foyer button; then she pushed it back up. At her neck was a long golden chain with a gold-and-diamond starburst hanging from it past her breasts--another gift from Duncan a few nights ago. I couldn’t help it, he’d said, his lips against the bottom of her ear as he clasped it around her neck, his breath sweet and heavy, his smell like cedarwood. I saw it and knew it was for you, and everything’s been going so well, the solar is going up without a hitch, the rooftop garden is almost done, the garden house is getting started, Annette’s like a different person, and after our meeting with Claire Underwood last week; and how much she loved you, loved our ideas...it’s my joy to give you things, it’s celebrating all of this, everything, us. Please let me continue to bestow gifts on you, sweet Princess. Kenzie peered at it in the elevator’s mirror, running it through her fingers; squinted at herself, her honey-colored hair falling around her face. Then she took another massive bite of her sandwich.

In addition to everything else, the new board was coming together nicely, too, she knew; Duncan had bought back shares owned by previous members of the board, and they had started from scratch, choosing only women as he’d promised; Momby and Annette were now something akin to friends, which Duncan and Kenzie constantly marveled over, watching them laugh and touch each other’s shoulders affectionately, going on brunch dates and to happy hours; the rest of the team Kenzie and Momby had carefully considered, eventually lighting on several women in prominent scientific fields, especially those with a focus on climate change action, Marguerite Foley, who had won a National Book Award for her new history of Ancient Rome, and two renowned socialist activists, both women of color, one of whom had gained nationwide attention for personally lassoing a confederate statue down from a public square in South Carolina and organizing major white-supremacist opposition protests. When Kenzie had first sat among this group of women in the newly-painted board room (a pleasing cerulean blue with gold borders that reminded her of a deep ocean with a golden shoreline), she had felt her heart swell beyond all words; I felt the Goddess there, she knew. As clearly as if She sat with us. And I knew it was good in Her eyes.

Kenzie had been doing her best to split time between the new board of directors and her book, which seemed to be flowing out of her like it was a river with a strong current. I think staring at the Youth of Bacchus all day doesn’t hurt when it comes to inspiration. Neither does wanting to share what’s in my heart so very, very much. The study had been transformed from Duncan’s work desk to Kenzie’s writing desk; they’d recently had two high-quality photos framed to put on it. One was the Vanity Fair shot of them together, the other, the two of them looking at each other at the Gala; glancing at them throughout the day, Kenzie felt constantly awash in a haze of golden affection, gratitude and deep emotion, and every time she read back on what she’d written, she felt lost in its loveliness, stunned at her own words. I wrote this, she knew, astounded. This came from my own heart, and now everyone will know. They’ll know what this feels like. They’ll feel the love I’ve felt; not just now, but in all the ages past, and the ones to come.

The elevator reached the ground floor and she stepped out, swallowing the rest of her sandwich, licking peanut butter off her finger. She turned to see Anchaly’s feet propped against the counter, his nose buried deep in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey. There was a thick package in brown shipping paper on the countertop beside where his pristine Balmains were crossed over each other; Kenzie smiled.

“Nice shoes, Anchaly, those look really smart on you. And I love that one. Everyone always talks about Jane Austen writing good romance, but they always leave out how fucking funny and observant she was.”

“Hey, Princess.” A few weeks ago, Anchaly had started to call her this; Kenzie knew somehow, innately, that his doing so lacked all pretense. It felt right; natural. Even if he didn’t know, he knew. It was in the air. “Bought them with my first new paycheck. I think they really suit me.” Duncan had promptly raised the salaries of every person employed by Shepherd Unlimited a few days after assuming his role as CEO, as well as extending vacation time and enacting full benefits for every position. Anchaly continued. “And I agree about Ms. Austen. Delightful. Though I will say, this one’s making me want to read a serious gothic novel next, rather than a facetious one.”

“Frankenstein,” Kenzie breathed, eagerly. “It has to be Frankenstein. One of the best books ever written. I love it so much. It’s so heartbreakingly melancholy and so beautiful. Did you know Mary Shelley wrote it when she was only 18?”

“Goodness, no. That’s extraordinary. I’ll make it a point to get a copy, Miss Mackenzie.”

Kenzie nodded at him, grinning approvingly. Anchaly hitched his feet down, handing her the long brown package. She gripped it tightly, fingers white, knowing full well what it was. She couldn’t wait any longer. With the nails of her right hand she ripped along the seam, exposing the object within; it was the new issue of W magazine, and on its cover, she saw, her heart bursting into her mouth with bittersweet savor: us.

On the cover was a stunning photograph of her and Duncan. In it, she wore a beautifully embroidered Marchesa dress; the top had a high collar and embellished black etchings and flowers with cut-out mesh; in the photo the full skirt’s waist was just visible, it’s blooming golden roses peeking towards the bottom of the shot. She was flush to Duncan’s arms; her face dipping up towards the camera, strands of golden hair across her cheek, her lips parted just so, dark plum. Her eyes seemed impossibly deep gold, framed by her lashes, seeming impossibly long; like the photo on the study desk, but even brighter--even greater.  She wondered again vaguely if it was a trick of the camera; knew innately that it wasn’t. You can truly see us here. Who we really are. The cascade of her honey-colored hair dipped back, a waterfall of smooth, waving silk, and a crown of yellow begonias rested on the top of her head. Duncan’s face was also turned to the camera; her forehead rested against the dip of his chin, his full lips open too, just enough to evoke a deep longing in the onlooker, and his russety curls were across his forehead, falling down in artfully tossed, dark waves--akin to the deep gold of her own eyes, his seemed to glow with ethereal blue flame. Sword of the Evening Star, Kenzie thought, pressing her fingers against her mouth. Duncan wore a form-fitting Alexander McQueen black Oxford with a cascading embroidery of white roses along either side of his torso; one of his hands was visible at the top of her arm, his beautiful long fingers, holding her with aching tenderness. The light was sweet and low in the shot; the photocall had been on the White House’s back green with Claire Underwood’s permission, the sunlight falling in the late afternoon to dapple behind them; somehow the photographers had been able to preserve the sense of natural light, and Kenzie was reminded of their two sweet summer evenings at the cabin several weeks ago, could almost smell the drifting, low verdence of the grass that day.

She bit into her lip, breath stolen; the photo evoked a deep sense of romance, a dramatic and stirring sense of tenderness, bordering on gothicism. AT THE ALTAR OF DUCKENZIE, the headline read, printed in swirling script below them, and then, smaller: the breathtaking young gods and their plan to change the world. Kenzie heart thumped against the roof of her mouth now, her senses flooding with the blood the pumped from it fiercely. Fuck. It’s so much more beautiful than I could have imagined. She opened to the editorial inside; there was a five-page-long spread, the inner article with another subtitle; WHEN THE GOD OF WEALTH MET THE GODDESS OF SPRING, THE WORLD SHIFTED…: The new Hades and Persephone sit together in the fading light of the White House lawn, the editorial began, and Duncan Shepherd leans down to kiss her rosy cheek, her, Mackenzie Stone, who took the internet by storm when she abruptly stole his heart only a few short months ago…, the article went on, and Kenzie stopped. Oh god, I can’t possibly read this right now, she thought, feeling the heat rising in her face immediately. Kenz, you’re in the middle of writing. You have to wait.

In one of the photos of the inner spread, the photographers had enlisted the help of a breathtaking creamy palomino stallion; Kenzie sat astride him in a flowing white McQueen dress in delicate lace suns, moons and tiny flower-bursts, tiny white jewels threaded through her hair, huge crescent moon pendants earpieces on either side of her head. Duncan, in a striking long black blazer with cascades of glittering gold embroidery, also McQueen, held firmly to a gold-and-black-leather bridle the horse wore; there was a circlet with dark obsidian stones across his forehead. The horse’s mane was twisted into elegant braids that fell over his large, liquid-dark eyes, and a wreath of dark roses around his neck. Kenzie had loved this horse utterly; immediately, with a fierce adoration that threatened to shatter her into pieces.

“What’s his name,” she’d asked, tearing, touching the sides of his long face later, back on the ground--the horse had stared down at her, lashes blinking languidly. He dipped his head up, fluid, curious, and let out a quiet, curious neigh. His huge eyes fluttered again in some secret language.

“Crocus,” the trainer said, smiling at her, a big, burly man with coppery skin and a dark black beard. “He’s as sweet as honey butter. I’ve never met a stallion so mild. Like he came down from heaven, the holy mount of some lofty angel. Though it seems he’ll soon belong to another angel, from what I’ve been told.”

Kenzie had turned to Duncan, her mouth open. Crocus. Like the yellow flowers in my hair.

“Dunny.”

Duncan had grinned at her, his eyes sparkling, hand coming against his lips. Yes, my angel.

“Dunny.”

“I know your birthday is still a few weeks away, but--Kenzie. He’s yours. And we’ll find him companions, I promise. But I knew he had to be yours. He’s your jewel. I could see it right away. Meant to be, clear as crystal. Like the Mirror, or the flowers, or--oh, Kenz--don’t--”

For Kenzie, of course, had begun to cry, and as her tears poured forth like rain, she’d thrown herself into his arms.

-----

“Everything’s ready for the celebration tonight, Miss Mackenzie. If you are missing anything once the party gets underway, you know you need only call me for assistance. I hope it is truly a wonderful night.”

“Anchaly, honestly, lately--everything is wonderful. I’ve been infinitely blessed.”

“Miss Mackenzie, I beg to say--it is you who are the blessing. Since you came into our lives, it’s like the world was set aflame with the kindest, softest gold. Like…” Anchaly trailed off here, lost in thought, and his fingers came around his chin.

“Miss Stone...it’s like...like coming home.”

Kenzie had come around the desk and hugged the small man; she couldn’t help it, and Anchaly didn’t mind; she could feel his ease, his sense of comfort at her embrace. Thank you, Anchaly, she thought, pushing blushing waves down on him from the top of her head. She felt the man’s shoulders shake against her, and knew that he had been deeply moved, had felt what she had done acutely. Truly a wonderful night, she thought, his words echoing in her mind. Truly a wonderful night, and she knew he was right, knew it was on its way.

As she went back up to the penthouse, the magazine tucked safely under her arm, she thought of the articles they’d done in the Post two weeks before. Ben had been very satisfied to finally publish his piece with Duncan; as Duncan had promised, he had made an immediate donation to GLAAD in the name of the newly organized Shepherd Foundation of Arts and Sciences--in the amount of 2 million dollars, which had caused a ripple amongst the press that was now gaining a serious momentum. The W interview was the first they’d agreed to since Bill’s passing, but several more were lined up in the weeks to come, and they’d had so many press requests, Kenzie had requested that River (now Kenzie’s personal assistant) simply stop answering the phone for a few days. The Post article had been the most extensive regarding Duncan’s initial goals; and in Kenzie’s full-page piece, she’d elucidated on the company’s long-term goals, their hopes for a green future with the implementation of their solar energy and rooftop greenhouse blueprints, and their plans for legislation with Claire Underwood to pass laws enacting green policies in all areas of government. The plans were being met with resounding positivity by the public; Shepherd Unlimited’s stock had closed out at the top of the market for weeks now, and though Kenzie knew it would take time, she also knew eventually their goals would come to pass. And, then, hopefully, no more stock market anyway, she thought. If our goals prevail, Goddess willing, the new world will truly arrive. Not only will I have saved Duncan in this life, we will have saved this world from its own destruction. In the eyes of the Goddess, under Her bright kindness and the strong threads of Fate, all things are possible. I can’t disbelieve; not in light of everything that’s happened. Not in the face of this transcendent reality. When I’m with him, I know--every good thing is possible.

She thought of their garden house, far in the future still, but now taking shape; my garden house, I know, for he’s designing it for me--he’s worked tirelessly with the architect and the builders to make the design perfect, he’s already been going out there every day he can. They’d been told the house, greenhouse and horse barn would take two years from start to finish, all-told, at this juncture; but something electric surrounded the property. When she’d visited it for the first time a week ago, it had felt to Kenzie like the quiet serenity of the black oak circle, but compounded and expanded and made greater, a Thin Place stretched to an extraordinary distance. Like its own little world. Duncan had texted her that day from Westminster, about an hour and a half drive from DC, where the land was, with several accompanying pictures.

Duncan: Kenzie, baby, just look at it. The builders are ahead of schedule already. This won’t take two years. I can feel it. It’s this place. She’s EVERYWHERE here, Kenzie. I love you so much. I can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ll kiss you a thousand times, my sweet Princess of Heaven. 

The accompanying pictures showed the structure of the house already well in place, the plotting of the greenhouse and the barn distinct. Crocus was being kept in a private stable several miles away until the barn was erected; that can’t come soon enough, Kenzie thought, for Duncan had promised they’d find him two companions when the garden house came closer to completion. And I miss him terribly, Kenzie thought. She’d only been able to visit the palomino once since Duncan had purchased him, and she’d burst into tears again, burying her face against his soft haunches. Crocus had made tiny horsey sounds; dipping his long face back and forth, but Kenzie could have sworn he was trying to comfort her. Do you remember me too, beauty? She thought. Did we know each other long ago? But she didn’t need to ask. She knew they had, with a golden certainty. Like Duncan, you’ve always been mine, honey-sweet, nectar wine, my Crocus, mild as the sunflower-colored dawn.

The moonstone ring caught the light in her reflection before she exited the elevator, back on the penthouse floor; Kenzie had relished her day alone, writing through the morning, but now she longed for Duncan; as I always do this time of day, she thought. The ring was like a kiss from his mouth against her finger; this thought pressed against her again and again, a mantra on her heart. A kiss. A kiss forever. A devotion. A promise to me. A symbol of love, as constant as the moon, changing and yet the same, turning against the earth until it too dissolves into something else, and yet even then, somewhere, never gone, just in some other place, some other time. When I look at it, I see the poetry of his mind; the fall of his thoughts, the way they hold me, the way they inspired me, kindled my heart to do the thing I was meant to do, write something truly beautiful, something that would give a piece of this love--as infinite as it is, as ever-growing, ever-expanding--to everyone who touches it. When he conceived this ring from the artistry of his own mind, he was thinking of the love between us, and he was thinking of me; the aspect of my soul. I know it. Every time I see it, I feel it.

The moonstone seemed to swirl, creamy-dark, and the diamonds glittered as she shifted her wrist up to tuck her hair back, slipping her keycard back into the door. She was frustrated to realize how close to the party her writing had skirted; she only had about an hour more to finish the part she was working on, and she’d be cutting it close. Soon the caterers would be arriving, soon Hannah and Georgio would be here for their styling, photographers, Morgan to fit her into her dress, and soon Duncan would be home. Back to work, Kenzie Lou. You know you won’t be able to even think about it once he gets home.

Kenzie went back to the study that had once been Duncan’s--and was now unmistakably hers. The Youth of Bacchus stretched along the entire wall, colossal, endless, staggeringly moving; she moved up to it, as she often did, comparing herself to the life-size figures. Kenzie toed for a moment, the magazine still tucked against her, in the fourth position. Old ballet habits die hard. She pretended to dance with them for a moment; turning her head up like the revelers depicted therein. In life, there is such joy. To be alive at all, and then to find him endlessly. I know now that her benevolence extends over everything. I see Her in every flower, in the shape of his face, in the facets of the moon, one of thousands, one of millions in the structure of her Time. I am Ariadne, thrown into the stars; Mother, I feel you everywhere. I know I’m your beloved.

Kenzie ceased her silent dance, giggling at herself, her own abandon; she switched on the Tiffany lamp beside Duncan’s smooth turntable and returned to the desk, gently setting the magazine down on it beside her Macbook, her Google doc open on the screen. Above where she’d placed the magazine were the two framed photos; the one from Vanity Fair (that day my heart was so heavy, but he held me with so much love and tenderness, his love a healing balm) and the one from the Gala, their faces full of such splendid happiness she often caught herself staring at it, lost in its emotion, its pure joy. There was another photo framed there now, smaller than the other two; the photo of Momby in bell sleeves, grinning in her youth out onto her unseen future. There was a slender velvet box on the other side of her laptop, one Kenzie had tied a satin, burgundy-colored ribbon around. She’d left it there as a reminder to herself to give it to him as soon as he got home; the first part of Duncan’s birthday present was something for him to wear that night. The second part, well--those are for me to wear, she thought. And I’ll make him fucking weak.

She glanced at the magazine cover one more time. I can’t wait to show this to him, she thought. At the altar of Duckenzie...Kenzie thought of that first night, the christening of their true altar; our bed, she thought, over which a dozen bouquets now hang, each of his adornments for me, yellow crocus after he found my beautiful Crocus, begonias after I loved the ones on my crown for the photoshoot so much, but mostly roses, roses in every shade, and these I’ve been gathering as though I would weave the colors of his love with them. Our bedroom, where stands our Mirror, unstuck from time, where we’ve fucked in passionate abandon almost every night since we met, and yet never tire of each other’s delights, never tire of the closeness or the need or the ecstatic connection of us, and never will. She’d worn the black and white lace lingeries on several nights over the past few weeks, let him tie her up half a dozen times, pulled him insistently into the shower for the last three mornings, demanding; they’d fucked on every surface of the penthouse at least twice more since returning from the cabin a few weeks ago, but her favorite place remained their bed; in the dark, in the shadows, with the moon on us, and your eyes made of blue flames, and the greatness of you, Evening Star, my sweet Hades.

Kenzie went back to writing.

-------

Erik was at the door promptly at five-thirty, in a blouse with voluminous iridescent magenta sleeves; Hannah and Georgio were behind him, carrying their styling chairs, bags slung over their shoulders. Morgan arrived right after, in a swirling black cape, long, dark green gloves on her hands.

“Darling,” she cooed, “you will truly look the part of a cosmic Princess tonight, my sweet. One of my favorite works I’ve done to date, bar none. One of my masterpieces.”

“Morgan, everything you make is a masterpiece,” Kenzie said, hopping excitedly at the long clothing rack that was being wheeled in behind the eccentric designer, leaning to kiss Morgan’s cheek.

“As I said, my love. One of.” Morgan kissed her in turn, and floated past her.

Kenzie wondered for a moment where Claire was, then knew; with Harris, of course. She’ll probably show up when he does. Oh my sweet Clairebear. Several caterers slipped in behind Morgan, heading towards the kitchen island with a wheel cart that carried, rather than a cake, Duncan and Kenzie’s alternative choice: two hundred organic, vegan, edible-gold crescent moon cinnamon cupcakes. On the lower shelves of the cart Kenzie could see case after case of delicate hors d'oeuvres, chilly tins of caviar, and ramekins of creme brulee and chocolate mousse. Kenzie peered anxiously into the hallway, which was empty now. Where’s Duncan, she frowned, turning back inside.

“Kenzie, get over here, let’s get started,” Hannah beckoned to her, grinning. Her lipstick was pale lavender today, her hair still the same striking purplish-gray. Her dress was a dusty periwinkle chiffon midi with floral embroidery, long silvery chains with flowers and bird charms hanging from her neck. She looked beautiful; like a fairy lady-in-waiting, come to adorn Kenzie’s hair with flowers again. But not flowers tonight, Kenzie thought. Tonight, I will be the radiance of the night sky.

“Where’s Duncan?” Kenzie said, more to herself than to her hairdresser. Hannah shrugged, patting her on the shoulders, turning her towards the mirrors Erik was setting up in front of them. 

“Did he say he’d be back yet?”

“Well, no, not necessarily--” Kenzie fell into the chair which Hannah had placed on the wide living room carpet, the same spot it had been in for the Gala. “But he knew what time you’d be arriving and he texted me hours ago from the garden house, so he’s probably back in the city by now. One of his birthday presents is something for him to wear, so I wanted to give it to him soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be along soon, Princess,” Hannah murmured, already working a thin comb through Kenzie’s golden hair, parting it carefully. Kenzie wrinkled her nose at Hannah in the mirror; you too huh. Hannah stopped, squealing; “Oh my god, the ring, Kenzie, holy shit!”

Kenzie had made an Instagram post the day after Duncan had given it to her on Momby’s deck, her hand elegantly poised up to the sunlight over their bed, moonstone and diamonds glittering, the flowers she’d pinned along the headboard visible in the backdrop. Three weeks later, the picture had garnered over 10 million likes, which simply seemed impossible to Kenzie. The paps had started calling them Prince Duncan and Princess Mackenzie in articles; as if we really are royalty. Well--as if they know.

“Duncan designed it himself,” Kenzie smiled, her mind once again drifting to Duncan’s other presents she had for tonight. Oh baby. Gonna make you howl for me. Hannah continued to fawn over the ring, tsking as she clutched Kenzie’s fingers, staring down at it. “Lovely, fuck, wow, the most beautiful ring I have ever seen, like a full moon surrounded by stars.”

“I think that’s what he was thinking of, honestly,” and Kenzie’s smile widened, her teeth peeking free from her lips, turning her head up. “He calls me moonbeam sometimes.”

“Oh, Princess.” Hannah straightened her head back to stare into the mirror, shaking her own lavender tresses. “I can’t wait to style your pretty head for that wedding. God, I might just faint from the loveliness of all of it. I might just fucking scream.” Morgan was fussing to their left over the cloth bag that held Kenzie’s dress; she glanced up at the Bouguereau prints along the wall, forgetting the dress for a moment to coo softly at them.

“Oh, how divine, Bouguereau. The academic painters are highly underrated if you ask me. Our Duncan is quite the romantic at heart, isn’t he?”

“He really is, Morgan. Deep in his soul.” Kenzie’s heart clenched as she spoke. My Hades, serious, sensitive, sweet as evening.

“I doubt you would have given him another glance if he wasn’t,” Hannah added, using a curling iron to twist Kenzie’s hair into even waves. “You can see into people’s hearts, I knew it the moment I saw you.” On the fold-out drawer beside her Kenzie could see beautiful golden headband with starburst embellishments from end to end, a particularly large one in the middle made of blue sapphires with gold trim. Me and Duncan. My gold surrounding his blue.

“Oh Hannah, I love that,” Kenzie murmured, gesturing to it without moving her head this time, trying not to annoy her hairdresser too much.

“It made me think of you and Duncan immediately,” Hannah said in a quiet voice, and Kenzie could feel her emotion--feel the quavering adoration there. She sent golden energy out from her body over Hannah. Sweet lavender-tinted soul.

Someone had put music on; a soothing guitar line and lilting chorus drifted through the room, and Kenzie felt her own energy, her own desire for the evening, fill the cracks in the space, between the sound;

Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror, long ago

Kenzie heard the front door open a little later amid the bustle now shaking the penthouse; she turned and saw the beloved, familiar crown of Duncan’s autumnal curls, the striking outline of his profile, and yelped, slipping deftly out of Hannah’s grip, running in several quick bounds into his arms--his blueness fell over her, sucking her breath away. Duncan laughed into her hair and Kenzie’s heart soared up to the ceiling with the sound, her body suddenly afire with him; home, home, home, you’re home and so I’m home now, too, the respite of him flowing, instantly, utterly, into her veins. Through the halo of her arms at his neck and the sweet, musky smell of him, Kenzie noticed two men behind him carrying a very large, rectangular object covered in packing paper; Duncan turned to them with her still clutched against him, and nodded to them.

“In the bedroom, please, thanks guys--” and then he buried his face against her again as they moved past, and Kenzie sighed, everything else, everyone melting away into nothing with the feel of him.

“Fuck, baby, I missed you today--”

“I fucking missed you--”

He kissed her with a fierce hunger that stopped all entreaty--she felt his fingers (loveliest of all to me, beloved) drift against the back of her head, holding her achingly against his mouth, his arm tucking her tightly to him, her face hovering over his. His thoughts were an endless plea: kiss me, kiss me Kenzie, please just kiss me--

“Baby,” she broke away, hovering so her whisper fell on the wetness she’d left on his mouth, “what was in that package?”

Duncan grinned; the smile of the gods. Like the sun. More beautiful to me than any star.

“Come on. Open it now. I want you to see. I want us to look at it alone--just me and you. Angel baby.” He lowered her to earth (would that I’d never have to come down from the height of your arms, Prince), and his fingers came again, the desperation to touch her seeping from him into her, to press to each side of her face, his forehead leaning down to her in an adoring embrace that left her breathless. Kenzie stared up into his sapphiric eyes; she could feel her mouth hovering open at his beauty, felt lost in the delicate cock of his chin; they marveled at one another in silence for a quiet, extended moment. Your delight to me is endless, Duncan, your beauty to me above all other beauties.

I’ll never tire of your face, Kenzie, which I would know, even in death, even in the void, as the face of the other half of my Soul.

He gently let go of her, and Kenzie finally noticed everyone in the room gaping at them openly; both she and Duncan looked away from the collective stares, shyly. Many people openly gazed at them this way these days; it seemed it simply couldn’t be helped. Duncan had started to call it their sheen; it was as if with their union they had opened a kind of doorway, one through which the tiniest sliver of their divine light poured forth. Like Claire had said: the light a moth flies into. Kenzie often felt frozen under the power of it over the past few weeks; the fell swoop of stunned amazement they caused together was endlessly strange, and it charged her body again and again with a frantic glow that often threatened to overwhelm her, as if a battery within her was being recharged with immense power. At these times, after the moments where their sheen was witnessed, their powers were super-charged for awhile; she could hear every tiny nuance of Duncan’s thoughts, which both thrilled her and stole her breath away. It was beyond words; it was more like the tiny cadence of a melody, too fragile to explain even to herself. She found, in this charged state, that she could transmutate across further and further distances, conjure fires with an ease that astounded her. The sway she could hold now over the paps constantly outside the high-rise now was extraordinary; Harris and her entourage were scarcely needed, as the paps would remain calm and Kenzie unaccosted as she held them under her powers. Duncan could do the same--the sheen both astounded the world to them, and protected them.

In that state, I see everything; the shades of him, the brightness and the darkness too. The throng of every thread She wove into him, when she created him, the perfect other half of me. Without him, I would cease. Without me, he would disappear. She wove it that way--I see that I’ve been blessed beyond all others in this way. We were the first; the very first time she melded two souls, and her work was majesty. It was us. We were the first of all true love.

Duncan led her past the people in the penthouse--out of the noisy quiet of their stares, the bleeding music (we lay here for years or for hours, your hand in my hand...), and into the soothing cocoon of their bedroom, closing the door behind her, still holding her hand. The men had set the long object wrapped in paper against the far wall--the empty wall, Kenzie realized. The blank wall where we vowed to put something beautiful.

“Kenzie.”

He turned to her, reaching for her other hand, blue eyes burning like low coals.

“Baby--I’m so happy. It’s yours forever now. It’s so beautiful, it’s--please, Kenzie--know that to me, it’s always you. I will always see your face in it. Whenever I look at it, I’ll only see you.”

“Dunny, what is it?”

He only smiled again, leading her to the papered object. She watched his deep breath, her fingers coming up to press to her lips.

“Open it, Duncan. Open it for me.”

Duncan’s eyes flashed at her; summer lightning in a storm. Then he gave her a little nod, a heart-stopping, teasing smile, then he turned, a long, black-clad shadow (as ever) leaning to the corner of the paper where it lifted free of its glue, and with his long fingers grasped and tore it--as he did, Kenzie glimpsed a swath of wine-red and lilac, the shape of a pair of bent knees on a raised dais. Duncan threw the swath of paper aside and grasped her under her arms; led her close to the painting (for that’s what it is--it’s a painting) and brought her hands down to the dip of the paper that remained. Rip it away, baby, look at it, look at how perfect it is. More perfect than I could have imagined. Use your power to reveal it.

Kenzie did as he said; gestured softly, her fingers curving; the paper ripped up in a swift movement that exposed, suddenly, the sweet, upturned face of a maiden in repose, one of her breasts free, her body clad in wine-red silk painted on canvas. Kenzie’s body tingled, her senses flush with emotion, suddenly--she tore the rest of the paper away from the painting, widening her fingers, shifting the space--and then, overcome with its reveal, kneeled in front of it, holding her breath, eyes wide.

“Baby.”

“It’s called Ariadne. She was the wife of Dionysus; Bacchus, like--you know--”

“Like The Youth of Bacchus.”

She lifted her face up to where he stood, hands in her lap, her body hunched towards the loveliness of it; Duncan came down to her, kneeling beside her, reaching for her hands.

“He loved her. She was his wife--he gave her a crown made of stars. When she died, he threw it into the sky, so she would always be remembered.”

“Like Star of Heaven.”  Kenzie felt the tears on her cheeks.

“Yes, Kenzie. You. My star of heaven.”

“Duncan. It’s--” And she lifted her fingers to his cheeks, cupping his face, running her thumbs along the stubble with a deep, abiding relief. He turned his mouth into her palm; closed his eyes, kissed her long and longingly.

“I knew as soon as I saw that it was going up for auction. I knew. Kenz, you’ll see soon, the garden house, it’s--it’s coming to life. She’s speeding it along. I can feel her there. She’s in every shadow and every corner. The Veil there, it’s so thin, sometimes I think I can see colors from that other place, that heavenly place--all the builders feel it too, I can tell, they work tirelessly, and never seem to get weary, and they sing as they work, as if they know it’s a holy place, and to me it sounds like hymns to you, it all reminds me of you--it’s going to be our safe haven, baby, our secret place away from all of this. It’s going to be what you’ve dreamed about. I can see the dream being pulled out of our minds and into the world.”

I could see your dream, and I’ve made it real. Just as you are the dream I’d hoped for, on the other side of time.

Kenzie turned back to Ariadne, a trembling finger reaching out to it to trace, hovering, along the cascade of her red robe, the printed fur of the leopard that lounged at her feet, the dusky sky behind her. A crown made of stars. Like the one I’ll wear tonight, in your honor, my Prince. In our honor.

She buried herself in his arms, sighing, his shape immediately overwhelming her. Even when Hannah knocked impatiently a few minutes later, the clock marching on to when the party was set to begin, they still hovered against each other, gazing at each other in a repose they ached not to break, Kenzie’s eyes roving over Ariadne, which she knew she would study carefully in time. The long day was over--even in the center of this party, she knew, they’d only see and feel each other, thank blessed Fate.

For it’s us, together--the greatest of all Her majesties.

----------

Duncan was in the chair across from her, pouring over the W magazine spread, his hand on his chin, a dancing light behind his eyes. Hannah was working product through his hair, but Duncan didn’t seem to register her administration at all; he was staring intently at the photo of Kenzie atop Crocus with a concentration that bordered on obsession, and Kenzie could feel his thoughts, ardently reaching towards her. Only a few months until our wedding, beloved, but I want to marry you right now, I want everyone to know you are my greatest joy. His hand reached across to her from the chair, eyes glancing to her. He had changed from the clothing he’d worn out to the garden house and to retrieve the painting from Stapleton Antiques, a black short-sleeved button down and comfortable chinos; now he wore an elegant, long-cut Givenchy blazer that reached his knees, an embroidered Oxford underneath. Something glimmered at the wrists of his sleeves; the first of Kenzie’s gifts.

“To Hades, from your Persephone,” she’d whispered as she’d passed him the velvet box a little while ago in the study. Inside were a pair of cufflinks shaped like two halves of a ripe pomegranate, with dark red garnets representing the inner seeds, sterling silver for the skins. “I’ve eaten the seeds and I’ve chosen to stay with you forever, my sweet Duncan. Happy birthday.”

“Oh, Kenz,” and his smile was melting her heart again, dripping down her ribs. “Put them on me, please? Fuck, they’re lovely.” Kenzie had gently lifted them one at the time from the box, attaching them to the cuffs of his Givenchy coat as he drifted his fingers through her hair. “I have something else for you,” Kenzie whispered up to him in their last moment of solitude. “But it’s something I’m wearing for you. For later. When we’re alone.”

“Kenzie.” His mouth crushed against hers as she finished attaching the second cufflink; his tongue fell against her and she gasped against him, his longing palpable, a heady taste from him. His long fingers came to her throat, thumb pressing up towards her chin. “I’m ready to call this whole thing off. I want you right now.”

Kenzie had pulled away from him; she felt the reluctance in his fingers as he let go of her. You want me right there, I know, right up against your hand, your mouth. Just wait a little longer, you know the wait makes it sweeter, you know it does…

“Nothing could make you sweeter, Mackenzie Shepherd,” he’d whispered, the burning in his eyes threatening to set her aflame. “I want you alone.”

“Behave, Mr. Shepherd, or you won’t get your other presents.” Kenzie drifted a hand down from her neck, between her breasts and against the mound between her legs. She watched Duncan throw his head back, his adam’s apple bobbing; saw the wetness in his gaze for her, felt in his thoughts his desire to press his mouth to where her hand rested.

“I have to get dressed now,” she’d whispered, and Duncan had bitten into his lip, his fingers now toying with the cufflinks. “Time for your Ariadne to wear her stars.”

The dress Morgan had created for her was delicately intricate. It had a bodice of embroidered gold that dipped low over her breasts, and open sleeves made of black, sheer tulle with golden starbursts woven across their surface, concentrations of them at the crooks of her elbows and along the edges. A full, sheer black tulle skirt fell beyond the bodice; embroidered into it were dozens of golden constellations from the night sky, and her legs were visible through the transparent fabric behind them, a black bodysuit built into lower part of the gold bodice to cover her groin. Kenzie loved how marvelously comfortable it was in its beauty; she stood from the styling chair now as Duncan watched her, finished with her preparations, and twirled in a wide circle under his gaze, grinning to him as people rushed around them. Kenzie knew a hundred more would be arriving soon; she leaned down to his ear, whispering as his hand came against her waist. “Next year, we’re doing our birthday party alone, baby. Just the two of us.” Duncan moaned a little against her cheek; his curls brushed her lips as he nodded. Yes, Kenzie. Yes. Just me and you. I grow so tired of these parties. When the garden house is built and we’ve set everything in motion, then we’ll rest alone, in each other’s arms.

Momby and Annette arrived soon after, both wearing striking black; Annette in custom-tailored Diane von Furstenberg that fell to the floor, Momby in a black pantsuit with the medusa earrings Annette had gifted her; she’d been really warming to her role on the Shepherd Unlimited board, and it made Kenzie smile to see the deepening bond that seemed to be growing between their mothers after all the strife of years gone by. Claire and Harris came just as a slew of other guests were beginning to stream into the penthouse; Harris in a striking velvet blazer that Kenzie knew immediately must have been Claire’s doing. Claire wore a beautiful, flowing mauve v-neck gown, with a banded waist and a heavenly cascading skirt to her feet. Kenzie crushed her friend in her arms, breathing in her soft smell, sensing her happiness.

Kenzie and Duncan were keeping the bedroom door locked for this party, having agreed it was too sacred a space to them to let the prying eyes of the guests and photographers into it. Every tidbit of information about their lives was now being unearthed to the public, it seemed--or at least mine, Kenzie thought. Duncan’s used to all the scrutiny, but I’m not used to my old high school photos spreading like wildfire on Instagram, which had happened several times recently. A mountain of gold-wrapped gifts had begun to accumulate on the cherrywood dining table in the far room; Kenzie watched Duncan move elegantly among their guests, politician and celebrity alike, with an ease that made her feel weak. He was always meant to be this person; wonderfully gentle, staggering in his beauty now because it shines out from within. I watched Claire Underwood’s face this time, when we met with her together; she saw the sheen of us too, and her heart was changed towards him. Now he can will things into this world, can sway the hearts of people like I can, can calm them, can heal them. He’s doing it now, I can see it.

She clutched him with nervous elation as the guests had gathered around them to toast to their mutual birthdays--Duncan had dipped a hand down around the bottom of her waist, holding her close as he raised his champagne flute into the air; the raised voices of a hundred people around them singing out happy birthday were drowned in the rushing of her ears, the fervor of her thoughts for him, and as he had longed for her in the study, anxious for the time to pass, now she was longing for him, for their own private celebration. Throughout the rest of the night, Kenzie found her thoughts constantly drifting onto Ariadne, wishing she could steal away to the bedroom to study it, memorize its strokes. Goddess, I can’t believe it’s mine. I’ll always see your face in it, he said. I’ll only see you. She knew it would look down on them through many passionate nights to come; knew it would bless them, her soft face turned to the sky, full of contentment, in the nimbus of evening. She’ll watch over us tonight, won’t she, when I finally have him in my arms.

Kenzie realized, as the night wore slowly on, that her power, her sheen, was slowly working on the guests; they drifted, as if in a dream, back out into the night. The penthouse had begun to empty in a quiet, unassuming way, the chatter of small-talk dissipating, the music quieting supernaturally. The moon was back to a waxing gibbous as the weeks had worn on; back to almost being full, reminding her of the Gala and its strangeness, the full moon staring down on them. The ring of protection she’d felt from it that night also seemed present on this evening, kindling her powers up. In the dress she felt closer to her true self than ever; as close as she had ever been to this High Princess she now knew resided in her, even more than the gold dress she’d worn for the Gala. She could see Duncan recognizing it in her too, could see him registering the way she had begun to silently, soothingly end the party. He stared at her from where Nike rested by the picture window, a glass of red wine dangling from between the crook of his fingers, a small smile playing around his mouth. Just watching you work, my love. I love to watch you use your powers. How easy it all comes to you. Your destiny so clearly in motion. His position reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, gazing out with longing and boredom into the night, another long-gone wine glass held in his hand on the balcony, another long-gone smile having played on the corners of his mouth.

But not gone, not really, Kenzie knew. Alive forever in my heart and my memory, and alive in the part of time that never ends. Alive forever because there is no time, not really, not for us. She made us that way; so we’d live beyond time, and in every time we would endure.

She watched Claire lean up to kiss Harris’ mouth as they slipped out the door--Claire glanced at her and blew a kiss then, seeming to either not know or not care at the impulse to leave so fast, and Kenzie smiled at her. Deep in her heart, Claire has always known who I was. That’s what drew her to me so long ago, she was the moth, I was the flame that would always warm her. And in return she’s given me such light from her soul. I don’t know why I deserved her, but to see her infinite joy lately has been a joy to me. She deserves every good thing. Madeline and Annette slid away next, talking with each other animatedly, Annette bursting into laughter over something Madeline said (they are always laughing together now--Annette, who didn’t laugh for so long, and my sweet and silly Momby, my Momby who is so strong and so beautiful); Kenzie didn’t mind that they didn’t even look up to her and Duncan. She could feel the strength of her own spell, like a strong wave, a tide that was inexplicable in its mighty demand. She could feel the intensity of Duncan’s gaze mounting, the wonderment in it.

This is the strongest thing like it I’ve ever felt from you, Kenzie, he thought. This is magnificent.

I want you. I want everyone to leave.

Erik was the last to leave; he had champagne flutes in either hand, and he raised them together, throwing his head back.

“To the new world, my exalted darlings!” he crowed, then drank both off in succession; and then in a whirl of magenta sleeve, the big black penthouse door snapped shut behind him, and they were finally alone.

Duncan paused, setting his glass beside Nike carefully. You give me honey, give me honey, honey, honey, honey...Kenzie heard the entreaty of his prayer, the lilt of it, drifting like autumn leaves in the swathe of his thoughts. I will toil for her throughout every age, give myself to her in agonizing piousness, if she would but touch me again, I would suffer any pain, for her touch soothes any ill away like healing rain...my Princess of Stars. My Queen of Roses.

“Come to me,” she whispered. Duncan did--he closed the space between them with a weary swiftness that broke over her like a gust of jasmine-scented wind. His hands came down her neck, immediate, needy; he towered over her, but she knew, as I knew that first night at the first touch from him, the touch he begged to give me, and I consented, that he was hers utterly, hers to command, and he would obey anything she asked, obey her with complete devotion, kiss the bottoms of her feet if she asked him to, kiss every inch of her until the sun rose after the long night.

“Kiss me, beloved,” and she felt his fingers pulling the starry headband gently from her scented hair, the better to bury himself against her--he dropped it to the floor, its sapphires winking up, forgotten by them both; the press of his darkness was so luxuriant to Kenzie in this moment she wanted to wail. His mouth stopped any sound, though; stopped the furious pounding of her heart, the nerves she suddenly felt, knowing she could command him despite all his marvelous beauty, her perception of his power. You are more powerful than I, he told her. I worship you above myself, above all others, above everything, even above the Goddess Herself, and She has forgiven me, She has accepted my perfect love for you as a tribute to Her, and in Her eyes, it is good. She is not a jealous being; from her heart is benevolence, the recognition of all that is well and lovely. She’s deemed us the best of these things, Princess Exultant. So fuck me; tell me to fuck you. I’m yours to command in all worship.

“Undress me,” she breathed into him, and Duncan’s hands found the crevices of her dress, the delicate zipper at her back; he yanked it down with hands that seemed to burn, and as it fell away his eyes rolled back to behold what she wore beneath it; it was another exquisite lingerie, this one rose-gold and so fragile it seemed to be made of the gossamer strands of a spider’s silk--there were tiny white bows on either strap and in the center of the bra between Kenzie’s breasts, and more on the panties. The top of the suspender at her waist were dipped into unique panels, the panties entirely sheer but for a small swath of fabric over the lips of her sex. The white straps of the suspender dipped over her thighs to sheer stockings. The starry dress fell to the floor (falling stars, us falling to earth so long ago) and Duncan’s hand pressed up, roughly, to the space between her legs, lifted her into his mouth again as he did.

“I have one more thing for you,” she hummed against him, and he moaned into her; she could feel the hardness between his legs through his dark ensemble as she brought her fingers against him, could see the flushing in his beautiful cheeks. “Let’s go in our bedroom, Dunny. Let’s look in our Mirror and fuck. I’m gonna tie you up again. But in the bed this time.”

“Baby,” he cried against her, and she stepped back, making him come to her, stepping out of the dress in the same golden strapped heels she’d worn the night they met, knowing he would notice them again. She turned, her hair falling down her back to the top of her ass, and knew he’d see the back of the panties, too; totally sheer. For him.

“Come on, Prince Duncan, I’m gonna rip your fucking clothes off,” she said, and then Kenzie laughed; she thought of her Ariadne in repose as it came into view, thought of Bacchus in the next room, its figures in rapture. Come to me, come to me, she weaved her spell, and he was pressing against her, the warmth at his crotch making her eyes flutter closed as his lips fell on her ear, and he sucked.

She turned into him, her body folding so small against him, and she insistently began to undress him; the Givenchy coat fluttered to the floor, the snap of his belt rang out, and he was gasping against her, astounded at her need, fixated by it. Soon he was utterly naked, and Kenzie pushed him roughly onto the bed, staring openly at the strain of his thick erection.

“Don’t you dare fucking move, baby. You’re not allowed.”

“Uh huh, Kenzie. I won’t.”

She went to the closet where she’s carefully hid his last present; grasped it in her fingers, the hardness and largeness of it making warmth pool in her belly. She grasped the velvet rope, too; and when she brought them out she eagerly watched Duncan’s cock jump with anticipation.

“Happy birthday, baby,” she whispered. “I’m gonna tie you up now. And then I’m gonna use my new plug on myself. It’s a lot bigger than the other one...look at how big it is. I’m gonna push this big plug into my tiny little ass and then you’re gonna eat my little cunt--and then I’m gonna ride you hard, and fuck you senseless.”

She held it up to him and a tiny, strangled sound escaped from Duncan’s throat; oh fuck me, he thought. Kenzie, angel, fucking fuck me.

She came to the edge of the bed, setting both objects down on it gently; Duncan’s fingers curled at her toes as she lifted one of her feet to undo the straps at her ankle, then the other. Then she climbed on top of him, straddling him, gripping him under his chin harshly for a moment, hissing as he tried to put his arms up around her; Duncan stopped and lowered them, swallowing; she could feel that he knew what she wanted. His submission. I want you to be mine only in this moment. Watch me tie you up in the Mirror, baby. Watch.

As Kenzie lifted his well-formed arms up to the slats of the headboard, the blooming flowers stretched above them, throwing down clouds of deep scent. Duncan’s aching blue eyes drifted to their reflection; she heard him groan again at the shape of her in the rosy-sheened lingerie, and felt his wonder at their loveliness together as she began to twist the ribbon around his wrists, anchoring him to the bed.

As she finished, reaching for the coconut oil they always kept on the nightstand now, Duncan strained against the ropes, dipping his thighs up to try to keep the pressure of her against him, desperate to touch her.

“Shhh, baby, be calm. Don’t get too excited yet,” Kenzie whispered, letting her face fall close to him and her breath drift over him. Duncan leaned up, trying to kiss her; she leaned away, eliciting another sound of terrible frustration from him. She dipped her hand into the oil, and first she leaned behind where she was sitting on his belly, to the aching length of his cock--she slathered the oil over it, tightening her grip, and Duncan let out a cry that stirred wild warmth through her body. Then she let go of him, lifting off him, pulling the sheer panties away, and turned on him so her back was facing him from her newly-straddled position, her sex pressing gently against the length of his cock. She watched his face over her shoulder as his eyes went hazy on her; as they gazed at her sliding the wetness of the oil over the pucker of her ass, then gripping the larger plug in two fingers, wetting it too.

“You want me to fuck myself with this, huh, baby?”

Duncan groaned, his head falling back on the pillow, his eyes fluttering wildly, neck bobbing as if in terrible thirst. “Fucking god, Kenzie, yes, holy fuck, I can’t--”

“Duncan, breathe.”

Duncan sucked in a shuddering breath; let it out. His cock strained; Kenzie didn’t touch it, only let her hand hover near.

“Dunny, ask me. You have to ask me.” Kenzie tossed her hair and grinned at him.

“Kenzie, please, will you fuck yourself with that plug? Fucking please, oh fuck, please, angel--”

Kenzie moaned in anticipation as she pressed the tip of the head against her ass; then, in a harsh determination, forced the large plug inside the wetness she’d made there; she cried up into the ceiling, her head falling back immediately with the immensity of its pressure, and then she slid up to him, her ass still facing him, until she knew she’d reached his chin.

“Tell me to sit on your face, baby,” she whispered now, staring at him through their reflection in the mirror.

“Kenzie, holy--sit on my fucking face, baby--” His eyes were wild with need, his mouth shivering; Kenzie lifted her hips and fell on him, and his tongue immediately pressed to her sweetest, most sensitive spot.

“Love for all time,” Kenzie murmured, “look into my eyes, most beloved,” and Duncan’s eyes (every storm, every sky, every piece of heaven, every notion of god) were in hers as her body hovered against his mouth, through the iridescent surface of the Mirror, which Kenzie knew glowed with the hints of that golden Sphere which once was hers, a Sphere she couldn’t imagine the shape of, but knew as innately as she knew her own heart, her own skin. The plug was so heavy and so harsh against her she couldn’t stop herself from crying out again and again; she leaned down, gripping the base of Duncan’s cock, keeping him terribly hard as he sucked on her; then she lifted away from him and he gasped. “No, Kenzie, come back to me--”

“Shhh. It’s time for us to fuck, baby. When we fuck, it’s fucking holy.”

Kenzie slid down, letting the wetness between her legs leave a trail on Duncan’s torso, down his belly--then, staring at him, his achingly beautiful mouth damp with her cunt, she ground down onto his cock, as hard as she had ever felt, and bucked her hips, her ass still facing him so he could see the plug, this one with a jewel of dark blue, deep inside her.

“As you are mine,” she cried softly, “I am yours, and heaven sees it, and knows it, and we are holy to her, beloved, fuck--” Kenzie felt her hair falling against her back, shivering-soft, felt the heat of his skin as she gripped his thighs, bearing down on him--their eyes met again in the Mirror, his mouth stretched open in silent adoration of her, and Kenzie knew, with a fervent and absolute knowledge, that they were bright in the eyes of heaven; that their divinity was absolute, and all their work would be good unto this world from here on.

“Kenzie, how I love you, have loved you, how I worship you--”

But the truth of him was in his mind, the fall of his thoughts inside his worship of her, and she knew that, had always known, had always felt that the truth of his beauty was there, within, wordless, a language that could never be spoken aloud, and oh Goddess, what a blessing that I can see it--his fairness in the sight of heaven is the beauty of his soul, as quiet, as profound, as infinite as an evening star. And so you called him that; and as I saw him in that aspect, he was mine.

[moonbeambucky]

The Price of Gold (Part 1)

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2211 Warnings: sports talk, brief mention of real life gymnastics sex abuse scandal

Summary: As a sports journalist you’ve traveled the world interviewing famous athletes. You’ve loved your job up until you find out your next article is on the last person in the world you ever wanted to talk to, Lance Tucker.

A/N: This is my submission for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction Dragon’s 3k Follower Creative Content Challenge. Congrats!! My prompt was “I can’t be in love with you!” gif source (x)

THE PRICE OF GOLD MASTERLIST

Your eyes blinked a few times to disrupt the strain of staring at a computer screen for far too long. You had almost rubbed them with your fingers but thankfully remembered you were wearing makeup and looking like a raccoon is not something you wanted to do, especially not at work.

You were in the homestretch of making edits to your article In Depth, a monthly feature you were proud to be writing for over the last year. You had come a long way, writing for your high school’s newspaper to today working for ESPN in New York. Your determination to work in sports journalism led you to leave your home of sunny Florida for the bitter cold of Illinois for college. At Northwestern you honed your skills, covering the various athletic games of your school for their website which ultimately led to an internship at the Northwest Herald. After being hired you spent years working up the ranks until you were offered your position with ESPN. Life was good.

Stretching your arms out you yawned deeply, reaching for your nearly empty mug of coffee, but you were relieved to know that you finished ahead of schedule and sent it for review. The publishing date for your Cristiano Ronaldo article had moved up significantly since he became the first player to score 100 goals in the UEFA Champions League.

After a long needed stretch you walked to the office kitchen, pouring a fresh cup of coffee before returning to your desk. Sipping on the warm brew you checked emails, a smile stretching across your face as you replied to Neymar’s agent who was securing dates for your interview with the popular footballer; a trip to Paris on the company’s dime to do so is an added bonus.

This is what made the difference in your writing, the reason why your articles were so popular. You didn’t just interview the athlete, you spent time with them, observing the person they truly were outside of the court, field or wherever they had to be “on”, yet you had a natural way of relaxing them, allowing the person behind the athlete to shine through.

The ringing phone is a welcomed interruption from the computer screen. Alyssa, your editor’s assistant, is calling to ask you to come upstairs. Normally being called into your boss’s office would be panic inducing but you quickly learned that was just how Susan Treston was; she wanted to bring the best out in everyone and would often call people in to brainstorm ideas or give them praise.

The elevator doors opened and you made small talk with Alyssa before she ushered you inside the large office with floor to ceiling windows and a beautiful views of Central Park that always knocked you off your feet. Taking a seat in front of the desk you rubbed the chill off of your arms from the cool air conditioning. Glancing around you looked at Sue’s photos with different athletes, chuckling at the height difference of her and Shaquille O'Neal.

Susan walked in briskly, harshly clearing her throat from a gulp of coffee as she greeted you and sat down.

“Ahh Y/N. I just skimmed over the Ronaldo piece. Great stuff!”

“Thanks Sue,” you replied, beaming a smile of pride at her comment. “You’ll get the Brady article by tomorrow,” you said with confidence, knowing you were almost through with it, along with a few more that were close to finishing. Sue smiled back, appreciating all of the dedication you had to your work. “Oh and I think I’ll be packing my bags soon!” you nearly sang, excited at the prospect of going to France.

“Yes that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’re from Spring Hill, right?” she asked.

Your head tilted in slight confusion, wondering what your small Floridian hometown had to do with Neymar. “Um yeah,” you hesitantly replied, trying to hide the concern in your voice.

“Do you know Lance Tucker?”

Her question halts time, like a car that stopped short by slamming on the brakes, feeling as if your body bounced back against the seat in slow motion. Your heart began to beat a rapid rhythm as queasiness washed over you. Suddenly Sue’s office feels hot, unbearably humid much like the weather you grew up with. Beads of sweat begin to pool around your hairline and your jaw is so tense you feel as if your teeth will shatter. Your heels dig into the carpet as you mull over her question.

Who doesn’t know Lance Tucker? The gold and silver gymnastics medalist whose cocky face was plastered all over Wheaties boxes and magazines alike after his wins, and again in recent times after the controversies surrounding him. But you know what she’s asking, do you know him.

Lance grew up in Spring Hill too and despite wishing otherwise you knew him. At four years old your family moved across the street from him and you became fast friends. You hadn’t seen him since you were in high school and he was focused on training for the Olympics. You hadn’t spoken since though a small part of you wished the reason was because of the intense training or his newfound celebrity status after winning but no, your friendship ended before that.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you finally replied, “Yeah, of course I know him, he’s famous ‘specially for a small town but, uh, I don’t know him,” you lied.

“You went to Springstead High School, like him?” she questioned though it felt more like an interrogation.

Forcing a relaxed expression to help mask your lies you smiled before answering, “Yeah but I don’t think we were in the same grade. I might have seen him in the halls but I don’t really remember, it was so long ago, you know?”

Sue shrugged, seemingly accepting your answer. “Either way, I want you on this one.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your next In Depth, with Lance Tucker.”

No. This can’t be happening. You repeat that over and over again as you find yourself stuck in a nightmare. Your trip to Paris has been rerouted to Hell, and truth be told you would rather interview the devil because at least you know his character unlike… You shudder at the thought of that man.

You began to explain and pathetically beg to her about how much work you’ve put in to making arrangements for the Neymar interview, even telling her about your latest inside tip on how he might be traded. “I can bang out a great story. We’ll be breaking major news Sue!” you tried desperately to sell your idea to her but she shook her head.

“I’ll have Josh break Neymar, I need you on this one.”

“Why?” you attempted to hide the anguish in your question. “Why me?” you practically whined.

“Tucker is opening a gymnastics facility in Spring Hill.”

Your head tilted in confusion. Lance had quickly abandoned his hometown after winning, moving to Los Angeles to continue his career and his “brand.” He endorsed everything from sneakers to chapstick, living it up in a cliffside mansion with a rotation of beautiful women before he eventually became a coach for USA Gymnastics Women’s Team until the scandals hit.

There was a sexual harassment claim and a former student accused him of fathering her child. He was cleared of all accusations and the paternity test backed that up but in light of the allegations against USAG’s team doctor Larry Nassar, Lance was dropped by the Olympics Committee, stating they wanted to bring in fresh talent when in reality they wanted to distance themselves from anyone with negative press attached to them.

Lance had stepped away from the spotlight over the last year, something that surprised you greatly considering that once Lance had the taste of fame he soaked it up like a sponge. He resurfaced briefly a few months ago when it was reported he was making an appeal against the committee's decision, requesting to be reinstated.

“Sue, I think I’m the wrong person for this. Heather has covered more gymnastics and I think she could…”

“You’re wrong Y/N,” she stopped you mid-sentence. “With the scandals behind him Tucker could still make it in L.A., I want to know the real reason he chose Spring Hill and you’re the best person to get that from him.”

You nod, pressing your lips together, feeling the uncomfortable tension that hung in the air. Your hometown connection is her ticket to getting the story and there was nothing you could do about it. You left her office with a forced smile, resting your forehead against the cool walls of the elevator as you rode it down to your floor.

Alyssa would be sending you Lance’s contact information. You have two months until print, knowing if any major news in his case broke sooner so too would your story. As the doors opened you wondered if you should press the button for Sue’s floor again, confess the truth about your connection with Lance and why you couldn’t do this article. Then again, maybe it would work against you. You prided yourself on your objective journalism, something rare in the media field today.

Your last words to Lance echoed in your head, “I never want to see you again!” You remember the conviction you felt, the fire in your veins, the anger that boiled your blood all masking the sorrow that burned beneath the surface.

“Hey, d’you wanna go to the Knicks game tonight? Chris bailed on me,” the cheery voice of your coworker Heather asked.

Exhaling a sigh you replied, “Wish I could but I have to get started on my next In Depth”. Your response prompted her to ask who the article would be on and swallowing harshly you said his name for the first time in years, “L-Lance Tucker.”

Heather’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open in surprise growing into the largest smile you’ve ever seen on a human being. “Holy fuck Y/N! Are you shitting me?” she nearly shouted over the quiet office causing a few people to glare in your direction. “I’m so jealous of you right now!”

“You really shouldn’t be,” you grumbled.

“Are you kidding? He’s hot as fuck and you’ll be spending so much time with him. Remember when Twitter thought you were hooking up with Steph Curry?”

You laughed uncomfortably, “Um yeah that was not cool,” remembering how many times you apologized to his wife Ayesha on behalf of the internet and thankfully she understood. “I don’t want anything to do with Lance Tucker!”

“Why not?” Heather nearly scoffed, the typical reaction one might have considering they didn’t know him like you did.

Your emotions where starting to get the best of you, all this talk of Lance making it feel like the walls were closing in. “I… I just don’t like him... or gymnastics okay?!”

“Pffft, well that’s a lie,” she laughed. “We covered Rio together, we went crazy over Simone Biles’ wins!”

“Everyone knows women’s gymnastics are different,” you chuckled. “The truth is,” the truth in part at least you thought, “I’m giving up a huge article with Neymar for this. I even asked Sue if you could have this but no, she wants me ‘cause of the ‘hometown connection’”, you quoted with your fingers.

She gasped, turning a few more heads as she shouted, “You’re from his hometown?!”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t know him,” you firmly lied again.

As Heather rambled on about her crush on Lance Tucker your thoughts drifted you away like a cloud, one that was dark and heavy, ready to burst and rain down on the world below. Your history with Lance was in the past and if it wasn’t for this stupid assignment that’s where it would have stayed.

Heather left you to continue working and you stared at Alyssa’s email with Lance’s contact information for a solid five minutes before composing your own email.

It was past five and you had rewritten what you wanted to say at least fifty times, reviewing it now for the tenth time. You cringed while reading it; the email laced with lies and buffed up language to play to his ego.

Dear Mr. Tucker,

My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I’m a journalist at ESPN. I would be very interested in featuring you and your incredible athletic accomplishments for my feature “In Depth”. I would love to discuss your Olympic wins, the opening of your upcoming training center and of course get a firsthand account of the unjust actions taken against you by the US Olympics Committee. I would be honored to hear from you so we can arrange to meet in person.

Best,

Y/N

The mouse hovered over the send button and with a quick click it was gone. You felt queasy, knowing he was going to get that email. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize your name, you couldn’t be the only Y/N Y/L/N in the world. Yet a link to your biography on ESPN’s website was part of your email signature. If he didn’t recognize your name he would definitely recognize your photo. Even a pompous, cocky asshole like Lance Tucker could never forget his first love.

PART 2

[mezzopurrloin]

Mezzo Plays Final Fantasy X: Part 4

It's a nice day as the boat sets sail from Besaid.

But Tidus doesn't even know where they're going...

Thankfully, Wakka is here to fill us in. There's not really that much to do here, so Tidus checks out what's going on below deck.

This fellow is an aspiring merchant, but he doesn't have anything to sell yet and can only ask for donations. I decided to give him 100 gil.

Speaking of items, here's what we've got so far. Potions restore 200 HP, Hi-Potions 1000. Ethers restore 80 MP, Phoenix Down revives fallen allies, and Remedies can be used to cure negative conditions. We also have our spheres for the Sphere Grid, a leftover grenade from when Rikku was a party member, and a map of Spira.

It's very pretty, but not all that useful since you can't read anything.

Further below deck, Tidus finds the ship runs on chocobo power. These large birds are common to many Final Fantasy games, and are often used as mounts.

Tidus heads above deck and finds a huge crowd gathering around Yuna. Many of the people there mention that she's the daughter of Lord Braska.

Tidus can relate, since he knows it's tough when your father's a celebrity.

The crowd disperses, and Tidus and Yuna get to share a moment together. Yuna asks about Zanarkand, which surprises Tidus. It turns out she believes him because she's met one other person who claimed to be from Zanarkand: one of her father's guardians, a man named Jecht. Tidus can't believe it's the same Jecht, but the dates line up. Yuna first met Jecht about 10 years ago, the same time as his disappearance from Zanarkand. How'd he get here? Same way Tidus did, presumably.

This conversation is interrupted by something rocking the boat.

Yep, it's Sin.

The crew fires a pair of harpoons into Sin's fin, and it drags the ship along.

Remember these guys? Yep, they're back. Like before, they're just a distraction. What you really need to do is target Sin itself. It's too far away to hit with melee, so you need to use Wakka's ball and Lulu's magic. Also notice that we now have Kimahri available as a party member.

Look at how small the magic blast is compared to Sin. Really gives you a sense of this thing's scale.

After dealing 2000 damage to it, it tears the harpoon gun off the boat. Tidus is thrown overboard, and Wakka dives into the sea after him.

Cue another boss fight. This Sinspawn is accompanied by more Sinscales, and can use its tentacles to drain HP from you.

It can also spin its tentacles like a blender, dealing damage with a vortex.

I used Wakka's Dark Attack skill to blind it, reducing its accuracy. After that, the fight became much easier.

A few more hits and it was done for.

"When Sin attacked Zanarkand that day, I woke up in Spira. I kept hoping it would work in reverse, too. I was just fooling myself. Maybe it was that day...on the sea, under the burning sun. I started to give up hope. I was in a foreign world, I wasn't going home. This was my new reality, and I was stuck in it for good."

Welcome to Kilika Port... or what's left of it, anyway.

The people are relieved to know that a summoner is nearby. Yuna prepares for the ceremony, but Tidus is of course more confused.

Lulu provides some exposition. If the souls of the dead are allowed to linger in this world, their envy and hatred of the living eventually corrupts them into fiends. Remember all the fiends we've been fighting? Yeah, that's why they're around.

Tidus doesn't quite understand, but he watches the ceremony anyway.

Yeah, Yuna can walk on water for this. It's never really explained or brought up again.

These little things are called pyreflies, and they seem to be pieces of souls. They also appear whenever a fiend dies.

"I wished there would never be a next time. No more people being killed by Sin. No more sendings for Yuna. Everyone stood there watching her. It was strange, and somehow... horrifying. I never wanted to see it again."

Yuna gives Lulu a hug after she finishes.

The group decides to spend the night at the local inn, which was spared the devastation.

Follow your dreams, kid.

Anyway, after waking up, Tidus meets up with Wakka again.

Tidus asks if this is really the right time.

Wakka: "Something wrong with enjoying blitzball?"

Tidus: "Is this really the time?"

Wakka: "This is the only time! The players fight with all their strength; the fans cheer for their favorite team. They forget pain, suffering... Only the game matters! That's why blitz has been around for so long. Least that's what I think."

We also gained some S.Lvls from that fight with Sin. Everyone who participates in the fight gains AP, even if it's only for one turn. Kimahri's Sphere Grid position is unique; rather than having a path of his own, he starts in the center and can go down many different paths. I plan to send him down Lulu's since we could always use another magic user, but that's not happening quite yet.

Anyway, to get to the temple, the group needs to cross a deep forest first. Tidus finds Yuna and the others waiting for him.

The other party members are surprised at this proposal, but go along with it for now since they're heading to the same place.

By using Lancet on specific fiends, Kimahri can learn abilities from them.

These are used as his Ronso Rage Overdrive.

Not too impressive right now, but we'll get some better ones later.

This plant monster is known as Ochu, Lord of the Wood, and the Crusaders recommend staying away from it. I decided to follow their suggestion and find another way around.

Overkill bonuses are a thing. By dealing an excessive amount of damage on the final blow, you earn extra AP. This is pretty handy, especially when you know fiends' weaknesses.

Everyone got some more S.Lvls from the trip through the Kilika Woods, and a few learned some new abilities. Wakka got Silence Attack, which prevents the enemy from spellcasting. Yuna learned the NulBlaze, NulFrost, NulShock, and NulTide spells. Each provides the party with a shield that will nullify one attack from the respective element.

There's a long staircase on the way to the temple. High Summoner Ohalland was once a great blitzball player, and he used to train here. The Aurochs decide to have a race up the steps in his honor.

Well, so much for that. Yeah, it turns out there's another Sinspawn here. It hides within its shell and sticks its tentacles out through the ground.

After defeating the tentacles, it comes forth to fight in earnest.

I decided to bring in some heavy artillery. It's time to try out Yvonne's second Overdrive, Energy Blast.

Lasers! This finished off the boss no problem, and even got an overkill bonus.

Wakka: "You handled yourself pretty well. You got talent."

"That moment when Wakka told me I had talent in battle... I think that was when I started seriously considering becoming a guardian."

They pause a bit later on the steps, and Wakka asks if they have any fiends in Zanarkand. Tidus says that they do, but it's generally a big deal when one appears. Then he asks why Wakka is suddenly believing him about that. Wakka thinks that maybe people taken by Sin don't die, but instead get sent back in time, maybe even a thousand years back.

Lulu has some objections to this theory, and takes the time to remind everyone that no, Chappu really is dead. No one can replace him, or Jecht, or Braska for that matter.

"Wakka, Lulu, and Wakka's brother Chappu. Something had happened between them a long time ago. I was sure of it. Well, whatever it was, it was none of my business, that's for sure. Best not to go there."

Eventually, they reach Kilika Temple.

Looks like a rival team has been praying here too, even though they claim not to need to. Tidus is put off by their harsh mannerisms, since they remind him of Jecht.

Wakka prays at the statue of Lord Ohalland, and Tidus decides to join him. Then, the group is met by another summoner.

Dona here looks down on Yuna for needing four guardians, when she only has one. Yuna responds by saying that she trusts all of her guardians with her life, and she is honored by them.

The group moves toward the Cloister of Trials, but then Kimahri pushes Tidus off the elevator, since he's technically not a guardian yet. Then Dona's guardian Barthello pushes him back on anyway, and Tidus decides the only thing to do is head inside.

The theme of this temple is fire. Kilika Spheres are used to ignite obstacles in your path, but you can't walk through the fire either so you need to remove the sphere before proceeding.

This wall of flames is powered by multiple spheres, and you need to disconnect all of its sources in order to cross. Once you do, you can find a hidden treasure in the pit by using a Destruction Sphere.

This armlet is for Kimahri, and improves fire, ice, and lightning resistance.

Tidus meets with the other guardians outside the chamber of the fayth, but none are too pleased to see him. Only Yuna can enter the chamber, so Tidus takes the time to ask what a fayth is.

Lulu: "Now they live forever, trapped in statues. But when a summoner beckons, the souls of the fayth emerge once again. That's what we call an aeon."

Yuna returns from the chamber, having been granted a new aeon.

His canon name is Ifrit, but I went with Amon on a suggestion from Caliburn. I am taking suggestions for future aeons' names as well, so if you have any, please let me know!

"There was something I didn't tell anyone else that day. That song we heard there, in the temple... I knew it from my childhood. It was proof that Spira and Zanarkand were connected somehow. At least to me it was. Maybe that's why, suddenly, I felt like...I just wanted to go home. I tried to say something, to tell them. But the words wouldn't come."

Remember how I said the Hymn of the Fayth had plot importance?

After obtaining the aeon, the team has to head back through the Kilika Woods.

I decided to meet up with this forest's so-called 'Lord' and show him who's boss. Besides, we have a new aeon to test out now.

Amon is our fire-type aeon, perfect for dealing with highly flammable plant fiends.

He can only cast fire magic, and his special is Meteor Strike, which chucks a blazing meteor to deal damage.

And of course, I can't get away without showing his Overdrive.

He opens with tossing two fireballs to create a blazing pillar.

Then a big fireball comes from his mouth, trapping the foe in a sphere of flames.

He finishes off by tearing out a chunk of the ground and throwing it into the fireball, causing a massive explosion.

This did some pretty respectable damage, but it wasn't quite enough, and the Ochu defeated Amon.

No worries, though. Fallen aeons can be revived at save points or after a set amount of battles, and the team was able to finish off the fiend.

It's back off to Kilika Port, setting out for our next destination.

[syrahnbloodfeather]

The Lord of the Glade

This was the first meeting since the attack on the Glade, and the first one Ijiro’s attended as a Lord, and not Syrahn’s esteemed retainer; if he had it his way, this would be the last one for a long time. He couldn't believe how much he missed facing the horrors of Northrend… at least then the enemy was right in front of you, not hiding behind fake smiles and practiced manners like cowards.

Ijiro sat in the high chair that was molded and shaped to perfectly fit his wife; the seat was large enough, admittedly to his amusement, but the discomfort from the elevated armrests rubbing at his ribs slowly chipped away at his smirk. He was apparently scowling far too much and for too long, as Syrahn reached up and gently squeezed his hand to try and calm him down. Ijiro met her gaze and her soft smile, but he couldn't bring himself to return the favor; someone in this room wants her dead, and he was determined to drag that coward - or cowards - out of hiding. As the Lord of the Amber Glade, it was well within his newly appointed authority to turn the Glade inside out to find them.

“Lord Bloodfeather,” Viridias called, “You seem to have something on your mind. Would you like to say something to the great houses, given recent events?” She couldn't hide her emotions like Miriam; he knew exactly what she wanted, and he had no qualms about doing just that.

Ijiro gave Syrahn’s soft knuckles a quick smooch before releasing his grip to pull himself out of that uncomfortable chair. “I've been informed that being Lord of the ruling house of the Amber Glade has its perks, yeah? The one that makes my word law has held my attention the most.”

“This is true…” Lady Tidebloom assured. “But… we have meetings such as these to offer our grievances for review. While your word is final, it never hurts to hear a second opinion.” She cleared her throat before adding, “With all due respect, my Lord.”

Ijiro glanced back at Syrahn for feedback, but all his wife did was anxiously stare at him in silence. “A High Justicar died on our soil. Not just any human, either… the only Blood Elf within their order, and the only one that kept their order neutral.” Ijiro turned back to face the other families. “... I heard we charged his family for damages to the Glade. How much was that, exactly?”

Lord Hearthdust fumbled with a few scrolls and his reading monocle before answering. “It was… six million, two hundred thousand, and seventy seven gold coins, my Lord.” He then glanced around at the others before saying, “Erm… for the destruction of a priceless statue honoring the late Lord Sunlust… my Lord.”

Ijiro’s scowl returned. “Is this the hill we want to die on? We rob a wife of her husband and a daughter of her father, yeah? Then charge a grieving widow and a weakened house a small fortune for the trouble? Do you not remember what happened to our kingdom when we pushed our allies away the first time?” He didn't bother waiting for an answer. “House Sun’rael could've stopped the recent assault on our home, but they were too busy bleeding from the gold we stole from them to assist us. This farce needs to be corrected. Now.”

Not a single person made a sound. The lords and ladies of these seven great houses stared at Ijiro with varying expressions on their faces, while he simply looked them over. Syrahn stared at the back of her husband’s head before looking around the room; she never dared to be so assertive to the other houses in fear of repercussions. Even now she still feared them. “Every house present will write a letter of apology to House Sun’rael for the irreparable damage we committed on them. The Amber Glade will also pay back the gold we stole, plus interest.”

“My Lord,” Lord Sunpath started, catching Ijiro’s attention. “This hardly seems appropriate… Alucieus laid waste to our home… it is only fitting th-”

“This isn’t up for debate. Or review.” Lord Bloodfeather turned to face the old elf. “We're giving back their six mil, plus two more mil for the trouble.”

Low voices whispered to each other in light of the news. Lady Starsurge piped up for the first time in recent memory. “How will we pay these reparations? This month’s tribute has already been collected.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Ijiro slowly scratched his chin and neck while he pondered the problem for a bit. “Lady Viridias, you’ve been doing a good job watching the Glade’s goldflow, yeah? Where could we get the funds for this dilemma?”

“We have a great feast planned for the end of the month during the Pilgrim’s Bounty, Lord Bloodfeather.” She proudly announced, glancing over at Lord Sunpath across the room. “Not to mention our Winter's Veil festival, and our New Year's celebration.”

“Cancel them all.” Lord Bloodfeather commanded. “Allocate the gold for House Sun’rael, and whatever we have left will go into rebuilding the businesses that were burned down or destroyed from the recent attack.”

Syrahn never once thought Ijiro would be so well suited for this position. Ever since she gained an interest in him, the thought of him blundering around the minefield infamously known as Sin’dorei politics kept her resistant to his charm for nearly a year. Yet here he was, once again succeeding her expectations. Her heart fluttered when he glanced over his shoulder to look her over; she felt a great sense of pride when he gazed at her with his single emerald eye, but neither her feelings nor her smile lasted much longer.

“Speaking of the attack, the Glade is currently under martial law, as you all know.” Ijiro almost immediately sounded out of breath - a surefire sign of his rising anger. He paused only to walk around his family’s table to stand in the center of the room. “Void Elves slipped into the Glade and ravaged plenty of homes, and businesses… and families. Lots of good folks died, yeah…? But something isn’t adding up. Lor’themar Theron himself sent the local Silvermoon Guard to comb Eversong clean of any Void Elves, but these monsters had to come from somewhere, right?” Ijiro began pacing back and forth, looking almost ready to start swinging. “I have reasonable suspicion at least one of you plotted to take my wife’s life!”

Lord Greyshade looked incredibly uncomfortable, but said nothing; the other lords and ladies present weren’t so respectful. They whispered in low voices to each other with most of them openly questioning Ijiro’s mental state to be making accusations like this.

“Now, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Lots of things, in fact.” Lord Bloodfeather took in a deep breath before pointing an accusing finger at them. “I’m a wrathful man. Always have been… but my father also taught me about patience. Understanding… and above all… mercy.” He turned to glare at Lord Greyshade as he said, “If you admit to these crimes, I’ll banish you and your house on the morrow. But… no one will be harmed, yeah?” He then turned to face Lord Sunpath to get a good look at his hardened frown, then to Lady Starsurge, then to Lord Bladewhisper. “If I have to catch your scent and run you down… I promise you. There. Will. Be. Blood. So what’s it gonna be?”

There was only silence.

“So be it.” Ijiro’s posture finally relaxed. “My family and my two guard captains will stay here. The rest of you are dismissed.” Syrahn stared at her husband in shock while the others slowly shuffled out of the room; suddenly she felt very lightheaded, and only managed to regain herself once he began his return to her side.

“A fine mess you just made.” Miriam hissed. “Secrecy was our greatest asset, and you just tossed it out with the bathwater. Was threatening the entire Amber Glade a gut reaction, or did you plan this madness from the beginning of this meeting?!”

Ijiro eyed his new sister-in-law before answering. “Planned.” He then turned his attention back to Syrahn. “Two things are gonna happen now. Either they’ll be so pissed some lowborn trash made them a fool, and make more mistakes… or they’ll try to lay low so I don’t catch on. Either way, you’re safer. That’s all that matters.” Miriam opened her mouth to protest, but instead took another deep swig of her glass of wine.

“I quite enjoyed seeing the shock on their faces.” Viridias leaned back in her chair with a gentle shrug. “Do you have a plan, Lord Bloodfeather?”

“I want a list of every elf we can trust. From the heads of the great houses to the lowly stable boys. I need to know who our allies are before I can start my search, yeah?” He whipped around to face Lord Zaetan and Lord Victus, who both stiffened in attention. “Also I don’t need two guard captains. One of you needs to go.” Before Syrahn could open her mouth to speak, he pointed to Lord Victus. “I want your boots on the ground outside. Make sure the guards are on high alert until I say otherwise, and start rebuilding the Market Square. Every minute those people suffer without our aid, or money and morale drains, yeah?”

“At once, my Lord.” Lord Victus shot Lord Zaetan a smug grin before leaving to attend to his duties.

Zaetan let out a soft sigh before relaxing his shoulders. “I… don’t believe I’ve ever been fired before, my Lord.”

“Think of it more as a promotion. You can swing that sword, right? Or is it just to discourage petty criminals?” Ijiro asked, crossing his arms.

His eyes flickered for a moment while he studied Lord Bloodfeather before answering. “I’ve swung it well so far, my Lord.”

“Good. I want you to be Syrahn’s personal retainer. She needs someone who can defend her when I’m not around, and I need that snake in the grass Victus away from the Amber Castle as often as possible. And by Amber Castle, I of course mean my wife.”

Lord Zaetan straightened up with a satisfied grin. “I'll begin daily patrols in her tower. Thank you, my Lord.”

Ijiro shot a  glance over at Syrahn-and his two sister-in-laws. “Get the gold ready for the journey to the Sun’rael Estate. Syrahn, I think you should send a letter ahead, yeah? Your handwriting will forever be better than mine.”

“O-okay…” Syrahn managed to squeak out, stirring her husband to gently grasp her hands. When he went to release her, she only tightened her grip on his coarse fingers. “I… we need to tell you something important.” Both Viridias and Miriam took the cue to give them some space, and headed back to their duties without another word. “I haven't had a stomach ache all this time you've been home… Jiro…” Syrahn took in a deep breath before letting it out. “I'm pregnant with a son.”

Lord Bloodfeather suddenly looked like he was punched in the gut. He stumbled back a few steps while his eye snapped to Syrahn’s stomach, with shock and disbelief radiating from his face. “What…” Ijiro started, running a trembling hand through his hair. “Why did you wait to tell me this?”

“I didn't want you blurting it out in front of the other houses.” She answered calmly, but her brow instinctively furrowed before continuing with, “... are you angry with me?”

“Angry? Never.” Ijiro couldn’t help but let out a weakened laugh. “I must be a fool for not noticing, yeah? Didn’t think this would… happen so soon… despite our um… ‘meetings’ every time I was back for resupply, heheh…”

“Promise me you won’t tell the other houses.” A shiver ran up Syrahn’s spine when she said those words; as long as her attempted murderer was still hiding in the shadows, none of her family would be safe. Not even the youngest addition to House Bloodfeather. “At least until we can sort this nightmare out.”

Ijiro glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone before gently pressing his hand against her slightly extended stomach. “You have my word.” He glanced up into her eyes again. “Have you settled for any names yet?”

“I’ve mulled over a few good ones.” Syrahn answered. “But I think… I think I’ll name him Alu.”

Slowly Ijiro nodded before a faint smile spread across his lips. “Alu it is, then.”

Mentions: @alucieussunrael @k-sunrael @house-sunrael

[moonrvsworld]

INCUREABLE

(CHAPTER 3)

Its not the first time for Seoho to travel around. He spent his entire life move to one dangerous place to another. Even Alaska, Berlin, South Callifornia and the last but not least, he did the mission in the border city of Kenya. He started everything with drugs, at the very young age. Signed, sealed, delivered to some hidden gem beyond the hidden mission. Right after ten years become a part of the red notice syndicate, he level up his status. Become assassin. Killing someone was not a big deal since he has a weird obsessed to feel the blood of dead man on his hand. He learned so fast to finish everything clearly, accurately about how to determine the calculation between started it in the right time and zero mistake for the final result.

He remembered his first victim was an 40 years old woman. New York city, 2017. Its almost 2 am when he sneaked out into her luxury house and shoot her while she was sleeping. The fact that this assginment came from her own husband was such a funny story. Right after the news of her death spread in the next morning, people instead talked about that as a good news.  A serial adulterer, high-end enterpreneur and an ex-model for man magazine finally found her karma because she always cheating behind his husband which is a priest for the biggest cruch in that city.

What a plot twist, huh?

POLICE ASSUMED THIS INCIDENT AS SUICIDE.

Another headline news made Seoho finally addicted to hold the gun. He considered it as the appreciation and somehow put him on fire for the next order. Freaking people out always fun. He enjoyed every frightened in their eyes. Those targets cannot resist his existence as a grim reaper.

“Here’s the thing. Make it fast because someone will take you to his place tomorrow morning.”

Another stranger followed him since he arrived in his apartment five minutes ago. He handed a yellow file and looked around that place carefully.

“Make sure you never let anybody know about this place,” he said while looking outside the window.

“There will be SWAT or something?” Seoho grunt.

“I dont like to hear about uninvited guess infiltrate and messed things up.”

“Look, didn’t Ray tell you that I like to work alone, here? Now get lost if you dont mind. My patient is wearing thin.”

That man stared at Seoho with displeasant but yet he still take away his ass out. Seoho released his heavy breath. He looked around his new place to live. This is more than enough. He couldn’t call it as an ordinary flat. More like fancy apartment but less of things. All he has only a large place, without any usefull furniture such a couch, dinner table, nighstand, or bookshelf.

He put down his suitcase. He actually dont need anything to bought, but Lily will be suspicious. When he opened that thing, he pulled something between his clothes. Seoho smiled in relief. His glock meyer looking good. Took the train could be longer, but its the safer place to not detect. With  slight move, his finger reload the bullets. Fifteen rounds slots. All full.

Seoho hide his gun into the drawer. He doesnt need it yet. The moment his eyes swipe around the Seoul city in front of his window, he felt something else. Seoul is the only one city he never stepped his feet out. Something hold him, from the strange intention. Is it his past? Or his anxiety? He would never now. Only Lily who can make him finally make him self arrived in this place.

 ***

 Someone picked him up at eight o’clock by tomorrow morning. A little bit surprise jolt his heart when he followed that  guy into the penthouse in the center of city. Usually celebrity will buy a house which is located a little far from the crowd, but this apartment was exceptional for some reason. Seoho took his time to look around. He must observe the situation at the same time. Cctv, blind spot. Front door only, maybe there’s one back door somewhere. Private elevator. Security area, pass id card. Not too much people around. Seems like for one celebrity, they can used two or three floor as their living area.

The elevator opened without any sound and bring him directly to the next room. A large foyer welcomed him. Half of the floor was covered by the Turki’s carpet. Seoho still keep his vigilance, no matter how comfy that room is. Two staffs welcoming them in the living room with friendly face and well-trained attitude.

“I’ll leave you here, Mr. Lee,” said the security while move away from his sight.

Seoho nodded his head.

“This way, Sir.”

One of the staff show the next hallway beside that spacious area. Seoho glanced at the second floor. The staff didn’t take him there. They move straight ahead, through three locked-door rooms on the left side. The yellow light from the lamp spread evenly along the hall. Seoho found some artifical painting with different size in the tip of corner.

“Mr. Kim has been waiting for you inside, would you like to have some tea?”

“Coffee, please?”

The staff smiled. “Sure.”

He opened that big heavy door for Seoho. Another hesitate sneaking quetly inside him self. Seoho already learned everything about his next target. Its a man, for a God shake! Something unusual made Seoho more aware for every possibilty. Besides, he left his gun in the flat.

Seoho take a look around. A bed room? Why they allowed him to stay in the private area like this?

He made himself relax by walking through the glass table in the centre. There is a big flower expensive vast full of red rose. He never knew that rose can be so beautiful like that. Showering by the white light from the ceiling. This thing seems like an artist on  the stage. While the other side of the room looks more gloomy, the rose sparkle in the middle of nowhere.

“Rose in the greek’s mythlogy is a symbol, the lost of virginity.”

Seoho’s heart took a belly dive into the shallow end of shock. Thanks God his hand didn’t touch anything. He probably will give him self a trouble. When he turned around, that man appeared. His wide smile and intense gaze suddenly put Seoho into something that he could never break. Like the prison he ever get in last two years in Argentina, but this time the jail looks more quite interesting.

“Wow, I see no difference,” he continued his words. His feet which is only use slippers move without any sound, getting closer to Seoho’s spot. “You look so much better in person. What a lousy profiler.”

“Im sorry for being impolite to come into your private room.”

Seoho tried to calm his own self.

“No worries, you better stay here. I have no one watching, since its a safest place ever,” he whispered for the last sentence.

Seoho smiled back while make sure about any suspicious camera in every corner. He’s right, there’s no such camera or something he could catch yet. Too many blank spot. So weird. Even now he can easily shoot that man’s head like a real grim reaper without anyone notice.

“So, you are...”

Seoho finally back to reality after that man’s voice knocked the daydream.

“Seoho, Lee.”

“Sounds familiar. You sure we’ve never met before?”

Seoho shrugged. “I dont think so.”

“You already know about me.” That charismatic guy lower his voice.

Seoho looked away his stare. “Not really. I just comeback from South Carolina last month.”

“They didn’t tell you?” He surprised but still maintain his smile.

“That you’re a celebrity who need private teacher?” Seoho’s even not sure about this.

He succesfully made the guy laugh. The fact that their hands still held each other gave an uneasy feeling.

“Geez, you’re so funny. Im Ravn. Of course I have Korean name, but Im little bit addicted to this stage name, so do you mind if we put it aside?.”

“Ah, okay.” He finally can pulled his arm.

“If I was  a girl, I will choose Rose as my celebrity name. Its take from the name of Greek God, EROS, the son of Aprodhite and Ares.”

How to not look bored? This geek really something. He fucking love himself or what?

Seoho take his breath quitely and keep his smile.

“Interesting, Rav.”

“Wait, are you older than me?”

“No, but I dont accept honorifics while Im working. That’s a problem?”

Ravn seems amazed for a while but then shake his head.

“I like it. Sounds intimate. You know, I have a feeling that we’ll make some moment later. Just in case you doubt about all of this, I just want to make friends.”

Seoho clenched his teeth inside his mouth. The unpleasant feeling suddenly become long term agony that he had to deal with for the next thirty days. Ravn’s attention towards him finally distracted by the staff’s presence. She brought two coffees and put it on the other table near a big wide LED tv.

“Lets have a seat. I’ll talk to you while Im dressing up.”

Ravn pointed to the couch then he walked towards the other side of that room. That guy was still fully naked, only covering his body with thick bathrob.

“So you’re from Harvard, Mr. Lee?”

“We agreed  about honorifics.” Seoho reminded him.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. You’re even younger than me, right?”

Now Seoho only can hear his voice beyond the wall which separated the small living room and the bed area.

“They told me about something like cumlaude graduate. Law school?”

Ravn appeared with long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans after some time.

“Cumlaude was coincidence, I dont even know why I could pass it in a short years.”

He looked at Ravn. That man was full of confidence. He stroke his hair with pomade and manage every side of it.

“I had interview today, but take your time. Twenty minutes more, I guess.” He shake his head with confuse. “My manager never tells me the excat schedule, so sometimes Im not really sure whether I should leave or not.”

Seoho still manage him self to hear and observe everything about this guy.

“You know, Seoho ssi? With all of those achievments, you should work in law department, I guess. Not sitting on my couch and sip the coffee like it’s a glass of wine.” He commented without consider Seoho’s feeling.

“Bored.” Seoho answered. He know he dont need to take it personaly.

“Excuse, me?”

“Working in that kind noisy place was so boring.”

“Oh, you have your own idealism?”

“I dont like working with bunch of bastards. They think that they’re the most understanding asshole about the law in this country. I need to know about their reaction when they had to suck the prosecutor’s dick as the requirement so your case will get its schedule.”

Ravn opened his mouth without saying anything. He looks more surprised because Seoho’s face was too flat while telling that thing.

“That was ...”

“Don’t worry, only happened in the other side of this world.”

Ravn sighed. “So relief,” he said, giving attitude. “I bet you already spent your entire life to experience that kind of shit.”

Seoho chuckled. He took a sip of his coffee again. What a bittersweet taste.

“And I didn’t see any reason for you to have a private teacher who experience dirty shit like me.”

Ravn walked away towards his wardrobe. He opened the sliding door and take a look to the tie collection.

“I like to try something new. You know Im a person with lots of issues. People always try to throw me into the jail. They wont accept my juvenile delinquency.”

“Well, the fact that you’re not teenager anymore.”

Ravn laughed again. “Dont you ever think to teach me some theory of laws, Seoho ssi, or I will fired you as soon as possible.”

“So what its all about?”

“Justification?”

Ravn back with three ties on his arms. He consider each other and looks so done with that.

“Of what?”

“My attitude of course. You’ll be my legal back up.”

“What?”

“As a lawyer, I need you to teach me what kind of rules I shoul obey and whats the one is okay to break.”

Seoho stand with flustered stare, until Ravn get closer to him. The grunt heard from his lips.

“I need a private personal advisor, for every little thing I do. Tell me which one is true or false and give some logic reason. Can you do that?”

This puzzle is messed up. Seoho suddenly didnt even know where to start to put the first piece. And Ravn of course, was something else to deal. Now that guy handed the ties in front of Seoho’s face.

“You can start with this,” he said. “Choose the best one for my outfit.”

Seoho stood up and staring at every tie on Ravn’s hand.

“The grey one.”

“Why?”

“Looks more casual and match with your denim. At least you wouldn’t be able to see like an intimidate person. Journalist will always investigate with their first step, observing the dress. They will know whether you ready to tell them the lies or the truth. Im not really following those issues but seems like you have so many secrets but thats legal enough considering you’re a part of Korean celebrity who created for stimulate attention through the curiosity.”

Ravn stunned for a while, before he gave the grey tie to Seoho.

“Can you put it on me?”

Seoho received that tie after sent himself in relax mode. He did it smoothly and fast enough to save their time. The smell of aftershave mixed with masculine perfume makes Ravn looks like the real artist. Even his handsome face was the biggest distraction. No wonder if he has thousand female fans out there.

“Are you nervous, Seoho ssi?” asked Ravn with his croaked voice.

“Me? Does it obvious? Its the first time to meet up my boss, anyway.”

Now Ravn confused with every calm reaction that Seoho showed. Right in front of him, that guy put the tie but he doesnt seem intimidated. Ravn stared at him closely, observing and learning. This stranger have something inside him self. Something dangerous yet interesting to find out.

“Done. You’re good now.”

Seoho pulled the tip of that tie and smile with satisfaction like he’s the one whose wearing it.

“Oh, thanks.”

Ravn turn around, faced the standing mirror and watch him self for another ten minutes. Seoho just stay at the back and keep his smile. He know what to do now. Time to change the situation.

“If its our first orientation, can I start to work then?” asked Seoho.

Ravn looked at him from the mirror. He smirked.

“Sure. You already in, so there’s no way out.”

“Seems like I wont have any time for dillydaily now.”

“You better take all your stuff here tomorrow.”

Seoho stare in wonder. “And ...?”

“And stay with me.”

He blinked his eyes for couple times. “Wait, they didn’t tell about it.”

“Of course they dont, I told you just now. I always work with my people in such a close area. They have to be here, near and easy to get. Your job will start as a company. Yeah, I have my manager but right now, this personal advisor can be something important too. Besides_”

Ravn move closer towards Seoho and grabbed his collar. His hands slid down all over Seoho’s chest and squeeze his shoulder in the end.

“I need to know everything about you, Mr. Lee. Dont you think it’ll be easier if  we start to get along under the same roof?”

Seoho get rid those hands with the rest of his pride.

“Sure, I’ll be the one who you find first everytime you wake up in the morning.”

Ravn smiled. So gorgeous yet pretty at the same time. He was born to be a celebrity. No wonder. But alas, he can be something dangerous. Seoho admited it. That guy have so many secrets, he’s pretty sure and he doesnt need any additional information to convience him self.

“Sounds interesting,” he replied. “Its been a long time since I dont have a partner to live with.”

Seoho stepped back a little. “You better hurry or you’ll be late for work.”

Ravn lifted his eyes from Seoho’s sensual lips and disenchant his mind. He grabbed his cell phone on the table and stepped out from that room with Seoho followed him behind.

“Oh!”

They almost clashed each other because Ravn suddenly turn around.

“Your first assignment, tomorrow night. We’ll be attending a party.”

Seoho tilted his head. “And what the use of me joining this?”

Ravn put his sunglasses and smiled. “To save me from every possibility.”

[frontporchwomanism]

The Daughters Of Jane Elkins

I'm a Dallasite, born and bred. Dallas is a self-consciously conservative city with its own international airport and glass-cut skyline. Home of both Erykah Badu and the Texas State Fair. Gentrified and country-fried.

Dallas is wholeheartedly a part of the New South, a project in which former white anti-Union rebels sought to erase their history of brutality by becoming aggressively capitalistic with a side of fake color-blind. My partner once said that Dallas is like a plantation master that hires a Black overseer - just to prove he's not like those rednecks down in Georgia.

Once upon a time, back when this city was still the Old South, a slave master named Wisdom died bloody. Jane Elkins killed him. 

Jane Elkins was a slave. She was loaned out to Wisdom by her owner, another local Dallasite, to watch his two children and keep his house straight. I often wonder if she had children of her own back "home" - but the truth is she was never allowed a "home". She was already a ghost made to wander from location to location at the command of pale monsters. This was just a new stop on a hell train she'd been riding since before she was born.

One night Wisdom woke up with his head split open by an axe. He bled until morning, when he slipped from unconsciousness into death - still too gently.

She initially told pale authorities that the deed was done by a white person she figured they held in high regard; after it became obvious that they did not believe her, she remained silent and even asleep throughout most of the trial. Of course the white slave state convicted Jane, and of course they killed her. She knew. So do we.

The United States' local government authorities killed Jane Elkins right in downtown Dallas, outside the Old Red courthouse.

                                           ____________________________

I pass by the area where Jane was killed very often. I wonder if she has any descendants walking the earth and if they've elevated her, honored her. Where is her influence?

So far I've grown wise enough not to expect our settlers' and occupiers' governments to commission a statue of a body they priced at $700 in that times' currency. I don't expect Dallas city commissioners or mayors to establish a city-wide day of rememberance, or to invoke her name during the month she was killed - the same month as annual Juneteenth celebrations, which are also not quite "official". Even if they did these things, it wouldn’t mean that much coming from an enemy state. It wouldn’t matter to me, because ultimately this is not my city.

This is not my city. These red bricks and glass buildings are not my city; they are the parasite that grows on its wide, indigenous Black back. I'm concerned with the underground and underfoot Nation. The Nation of Black people who roam the streets and pack themselves into corners, who scrape and sing and stroll in the heat. The ones who hold on tight to the Bottoms near the Levy, Oak Cliff, South Dallas, and the crumbs of Deep Ellum that the Gentrifying Task Forces didn't snatch from us. This thing isn’t ours yet, but it could be.

Meantime, I wonder where Jane Elkins' daughters are. Is she welcome at someone's altar? Is she teaching someone's children how to fight - how to do what needs to be done in the safe Blackness of the dark and to face the harsh light with indifference should it burst in?

Jane Elkins should be honored. She should be invoked with wisdom, talked to in low whispers and consulted as one of our Mother Warriors. I'm thinking of a small table in a dark, quiet place...perhaps in the closet of a little ramshackle building that no one would suspect housed such fierce spirits. But she'd know, and so would we. - C

[ms-m-astrologer]

Transiting Venus enters Pisces

February 10 - March 6, 2018

The traditional Pisces flower is the daffodil:

This ingress is just in time for Valentine’s Day! Yes, there are still tons of anti-romantic Aquarius placements, but Venus is now in the sign of her exaltation, putting everything right - or at least summoning an effective guilt trip for those who won’t play along.

Wrote astrologer Isabel Hickey:

Why is Venus in its highest position in Pisces? Because only through compassion does one sacrifice cheerfully and joyfully and not count the cost. The highest type of love is often misunderstood and crucified by the children of earth. So many of the great who came in Love to help the children of earth have been martyred: Jesus, Gandhi, Joan of Arc, Dag Hammarskjold and so many more. Venus in Pisces has a very difficult time on the planet. Their ideals of love are not geared to the earth.

Venus is still speeding through the signs; she’s also still in “Venus Hesperus” phase (rising after the Sun, every morning), so we’re sticking with traditional, habitual methods of expression. In relationships, this means the usual offerings of floral arrangements and expensive chocolate. There may be tendencies to want the partner to read our minds and “know” what it is we want from them. That is only going to lead to disaster and tears. Our  romantic ideals are sky-high, perhaps to an extent that we can’t find anyone here on terra firma who matches up. (And we should probably investigate if that isn’t deliberate.)

As far as money and possessions go, we may feel it incumbent to declare a hippie-like aversion to and independence from material things. We think it makes us extra-special when other people believe this, but we’re fooling only ourselves. There can be a certain studied carelessness about money and investments. Any real selfishness is going to be more apparent than we think, though, no matter how we try to cast a fog around it. (Dickens fans are referred to Harold Skimpole.)

Venus in Pisces is always up for an appeal to the senses, though, so we might try feeding her with the sights, sounds, whiffs, tastes, and feels with an aim to elevate the spirit and not the social status. Artistic expression is always going to be boosted with Venus traveling through Pisces, and there are some very potent, fertile opportunities in the weeks ahead to enhance and grow our artistry.

Celebrities with Venus in Pisces: George Washington, Thomas Edison, Jules Verne, Diana Ross, Dave Grohl, Giacomo Casanova, Ursula Andress, Vladimir Lenin, Iggy Pop, David Letterman, Conan O’Brien, Bill Maher, Robin Wright, Norah Jones, Keith Haring, Maya Angelou, Claire Danes, Richard Nixon, Shirley MacLaine, Ravi Shankar, John Frusciante, Galileo Galilei, David Tennant, Rod Stewart, Marvin Gaye, Charles Dickens

Thursday, February 15, Saturn/Capricorn sextile Venus/Pisces, 6:15

As if to emphasize the traditional approach of “Venus Hesperus,” here comes Saturn. With both planets well-placed by sign, we’ve got learning opportunities which can stretch both entities to their higher levels of expression - like mastering a Bach partita, perhaps. The Moon joins in just a few hours after this matures, with the effects felt into Friday.

Planets/Points affected lie between 5:15 and 7:15 of the yin signs Taurus, Cancer, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn, and Pisces; placements between 5:15 and 7:15 of Leo get a transiting yod, signifying adjustments; placements between 5:15 and 7:15 of Aquarius get a transiting double semi-sextile, indicating good timing.

Monday, February 19, Pallas/Taurus sextile Venus/Pisces, 11:09; Wednesday, February 21, Neptune/Pisces conjunct Venus/Pisces, 13:31

Again, it’s difficult for me not to respond to this as a musician! This sextile ups our craftsmanship and can combine technique with expression. We may also find kindred spirits to do our art with. Although the conjunction of Venus and Neptune can be impractical and timid, the sextile to grounded-and-centered Pallas/Taurus will steady the more vague and drifty impulses. And, the Moon in Taurus highlights this set-up on Wednesday.

Planets/Points affected lie between 10:09 and 14:41 of the yin signs Taurus, Cancer, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn, and Pisces; placements between 10:09 and 14:41 of Libra get a transiting yod, signifying adjustments; placements between 10:09 and 14:41 of Aries get a transiting double semi-sextile, indicating good timing.

Sunday, February 25, Mars/Sagittarius square Venus/Pisces, 18:10; Vesta/Sagittarius square Venus/Pisces, 18:14

This is the only “challenging” pattern during Venus in Pisces, on what is shaping up to be a very active Sunday. The overall issue is gender confusion, and from the strictly Venus point of view there could be some reluctance to stand up for what she believes - or a notion that martyrdom is the way to go - or something else that is really an ego trip masquerading as moral sanctity. What is really called for, here, is strength of character. We can be prepared to fight back, without actually throwing the first punch.

Planets/Points affected lie between 17:10 and 19:13 of the mutable signs Gemini*, Virgo*, Sagittarius*, and Pisces*; and between 2:10 and 4:13 of the fixed signs Taurus*, Leo*, Scorpio*, and Aquarius*.

Tuesday, February 27, Pluto/Capricorn sextile Venus/Pisces, 20:34

More of a “money” feeling, as these two planets rule the Taurus/Scorpio and 2nd/8th House polarities. In keeping with Venus Hesperus “tradition” and Pluto being in Capricorn, it most likely isn’t some outlandish investment opportunity - more of a reward, disguised as an opportunity to move on with some project or other. Established couples will smile upon one another; artists will add an emotional depth to their projects.

Planets/Points affected lie between 19:34 and 21:34 of the yin signs Taurus, Cancer, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn, and Pisces; placements between 19:34 and 21:34 of Leo get a transiting yod, signifying adjustments; placements between 19:34 and 21:34 of Aquarius get a transiting double semi-sextile, indicating good timing.

Thursday, March 1, Jupiter/Scorpio trine Venus/Pisces, 23:07

“Too much of a good thing” - Jupiter amplifies what it touches, and if we use this flow poorly we’re going to end up amplifying the suffering and disillusionment Venus/Pisces can bring. This also could end up with one colossal hangover, if we aren’t careful. Our faith and optimism are so high - we need to find a good place to direct them, so that others can share.

Planets/Points affected lie between 22:07 and 24:07 of the yin signs Taurus, Cancer, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn, and Pisces.

Sunday, March 4, Mercury/Pisces conjunct Venus/Pisces, 27:12; Chiron/Pisces conjunct Venus/Pisces, 27:28

This on its own is really amazing - that it’s just one component of another busy Sunday just boggles the mind. Mercury conjunct Venus is about as lightweight as astrology gets, but Chiron takes that pair’s superficial friendliness and charm, and grants it both depth and healing power. Even if the only person we end up healing, is ourselves - do it.

Planets/Points affected lie between 26:12  and 28:28 of the signs Taurus, Gemini*, Cancer, Virgo*, Scorpio, Sagittarius*, Capricorn, and Pisces.

[dippedanddripped]

NOBODY KNOWS WHAT LUXURY IS ANYMOREBy

Marc Bain

June 16, 2018

Luxury ain’t what it used to be. Blame the internet, the rise of on-demand services, and the shift in consumer values as younger generations become more important buyers of high-end goods—all are challenging traditional notions of what luxury is.

The classic symbols—the Hermès Birkin bag, a couture dress by Dior, a watch by Rolex—aren’t in any danger of losing status. But around its edges, the concept of luxury is getting blurry, making it less clear where it begins and ends.

What, for example, should you make of a Louis Vuitton hoodie created in collaboration with a skate brand? Is a $2,500 dress still a luxury item when you’re renting it for a fraction of that price? Does the shine of luxury fade if you get a bargain on used coat and then resell it a few months later? Does a New Yorker tote bag rival pricey handbags by signaling an exalted sensibility?

These questions aren’t just hypotheticals. Luxury labels are turning to sweatpants and sneakers for sales growth. The designer clothing rental company Rent the Runway is spreading across the US. Online resale sites such as The RealReal and Vestiaire Collective keep growing. And social and environmental awareness has become a potent marker of affluence and status.

The changes are forcing the traditional luxury makers to adapt, particularly as a new normal of slower global growth takes hold. They’re also offering opportunities for success to the designers and businesses ready to capitalize on the transformations taking place.

Here’s what we know about the new luxury, gleaned in part from insights shared by luxury insiders at a June 7 conference organized by the French-American Chamber of Commerce (FACC) in New York.

LUXURY IS A GRAPHIC T-SHIRT

“The idea of what is luxurious is changing; I think it’s about brand rather than luxury,” said Lazaro Hernandez, cofounder of American fashion brand Proenza Schouler, at the conference.

One of the clearest themes to emerge from the event, which brought together executives from several French and American businesses to talk about the shifts taking place in the industry, was that even for them it’s becoming harder to define what counts as luxury.

Hernandez and Jack McCollough, Proenza Schouler’s other cofounder, argued that an exquisitely crafted product—one of the pillars of traditional, aspirational luxury—matters less to young shoppers than it did to previous generations. More often today it’s the brand—the image, and the storytelling—that attract, which means luxury brands can often sell non-luxurious products without any damage to their prestige.

“I think a true luxury brand today can work in so many different price points,” Hernandez continued. “You can sell a t-shirt for $300, $200 and still be considered a luxury brand these days. Those parameters of what is considered luxury and what is not, I think, are sort of disappearing.”

While fashion and luxury aren’t one in the same, as menswear critic Charlie Porter has astutely noted, many leading luxury brands have followed consumers toward less formal dress, which these days means a lot of athletic wear, especially sneakers, and casual, logo-heavy streetwear. Louis Vuitton hired fashion designer Virgil Abloh, known for his streetwear leanings, to design its menswear. Balenciaga’s creative director, Demna Gvasalia, has found success with items such as sneakers and hoodies.

No matter how expensive and well-crafted they are, a Balenciaga t-shirt or a pair of its sneakers would not have generally been called luxurious a few decades ago—especially as they can be deliberately ugly, reflecting the desire of designers and shoppers alike to break from old standards of taste and stand out on Instagram (paywall). But as Gvasalia told the Financial Times (paywall) earlier this year, young shoppers are now prioritizing uniqueness over the traditional markers of high-end craftsmanship.

Not everyone agrees that what we define as luxury is fundamentally any different today. Another speaker at the conference, Alain Bernard, president and CEO of Van Cleef & Arpels Americas, said his definition is unchanged from 20 years ago; quality and elevated design are still necessities.

But these diverging viewpoints underscore that there is no settled criteria for what defines luxury at this point. Steve Shiffman, CEO of Calvin Klein Inc., talked about how a $25,000 dress designed by artistic director Raf Simons and a $5 pair of Calvin Klein underwear work as part of the same brand. Luxury can be both inclusive and exclusive, aspirational and attainable, he said. What matters most is that the products are objects of desire.

LUXURY IS FOR RENT

“Millennials have been reluctant to buy items such as cars, music and luxury goods,” states investment firm Goldman Sachs. “Instead, they’re turning to a new set of services that provide access to products without the burdens of ownership, giving rise to what’s being called a ‘sharing economy.'”

Millennials and Gen Z already account for 30% of global luxury sales, and they’re on pace to hit 45% by 2025, according to consulting firm Bain & Company. For a lot of these consumers, ownership is overrated. Why purchase movies when you can stream them on Netflix? Who needs a car when there’s Uber?

Similar services are popping up in luxury too. Now, you can rent a Narciso Rodriguez dress for an evening, or a Marni jacket for a month, with Rent the Runway. If you want to show off your discerning taste with a Rolex or a Patek Philippe watch, but don’t have several thousand dollars to spend, there’s Eleven James.

But rental dilutes luxury’s emotional power, Gary Wassner, CEO of Hilldun Corporation and chairman of Interluxe Holdings, which invests in emerging luxury and fashion brands, argued at the conference. Ownership is an essential part of the experience.

“There are words that we’ve always associated with luxury, and they’re not necessarily good ones, but ‘covet,’ ‘possess—'” he said.

Olivier Reza, CEO of Eleven James, interjected, calling those words marketing terms used by brands.

“I’m not even thinking marketing,” Wassner countered. “I’m thinking historically, the emotional aspect of owning a luxurious product that used to give the consumer a sense of accomplishment, of success.”

Exclusivity has been an integral part of luxury’s draw for the few who can afford it. But these services are making the category accessible to a much broader range of customers.

LUXURY IS A NEW YORKER TOTE BAG

The power of luxury has always resided in its ability to convey status. That’s the basis of Thorstein Veblen’s well-known 1899 polemic, The Theory of the Leisure Class, which held that the rich use their wealth to flaunt their class status with consumer goods: “Conspicuous consumption,” he called it. Impractical fashions such as high heels and top hats demonstrated that the person wearing them didn’t actually have to work, and marked them as part of the leisure class.

But conspicuous consumption is on the decline, argues sociologist Elizabeth Currid-Halkett in her book, The Sum of Small Things: A Theory of the Aspirational Class. That’s because many consumer products have become much more widely available to all classes, thanks to globalization and advances in technology.

The result is that conspicuous consumption has been supplanted by a less conspicuous variety that makes “social, environmental, and cultural awareness” the new social capital. Quartz’s Dan Kopf explained:

So instead of spending money on consumer products, Currid-Halkett finds that the rich increasingly focus their spending on “nonvisible, highly expensive goods and services” that allow them to have time to gain that social capital and foster it in their children. Such goods and services include child care, gardeners, and, most importantly, education.

Far from ignoring this shift, the luxury industry is adjusting where it can. Luxury brands are becoming more vocal about their commitments to sustainability, and making a point of showing off that consciousness by dressing celebrities in sustainably produced gowns. Luxury executives are mingling with A-listers at events that promote environmental and social awareness. Luxury retailers such as Net-a-Porter, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Neiman Marcus are now selling wellness products along with their high-end handbags.

None of this is to say that a Louis Vuitton Petite Malle or the mythically unobtainable Hermès Birkin no longer conveys status. But it does mean that carrying an NPR tote, munching an organic avocado toast, with a yoga mat dangling from your shoulder conveys a palpable status—especially on Instagram. The course isn’t likely to reverse either, as education and the other goods and services that nurture this form of signaling continue to get more expensive.

LUXURY LIVES ON INSTAGRAM

If you needed any indication of the power that social-media influencers wield in fashion today, consider that the Council of Fashion Designers of America—the governing body of the US fashion industry—just gave out its first-ever influencer award. Its inevitable recipient: Kim Kardashian West.

The explosion of social media flips the old paradigm, where brands mostly created their own public image from the top down, through advertisements and by building relationships with fashion magazines and editors such as Vogue’s Anna Wintour.

But now anyone with a smartphone can become an “influencer,” crafting their own share of a brand’s image through the pictures they post and what they say. It has shifted the balance of power, and while brands still retain much of it, influencers are increasing in clout.

Brands now ignore influencers at their peril. Tribe Dynamics, a company that identifies influencers and estimates the “earned media value” of their activity around brands, has been hired by luxury giant LVMH (paywall) and others as they move more of their ad spending online. At the FACC conference, Conor Begley, the cofounder and president, recounted an example of the way influencers are shaping the images of luxury brands. Begley said he was invited to speak to a room of executives at one of the five largest luxury brands in the world (he declined to name which):

I’m showing them a bunch of data on Chanel. The number one influencer for Chanel is a guy named Jeffree Star. For those of you that don’t know Jeffree Star, he has pink hair, he’s tattooed from like head to toe—and his neck too—he will routinely smoke weed in his videos […] We show them this data, and somebody from this luxury brand says, ‘Hey, we know this is really important, but we wouldn’t want Jeffree to be our number-one influencer.’ I talk about inclusivity versus exclusivity and not really controlling the conversation, etc. We go home, we look at the data; he was the number-one influencer for that brand as well, they just didn’t know it.

Star is a makeup artist and social-media personality with a large following. Shortly after that meeting, Begley said, Star caused a stir by posting a YouTube video in which he cut up a $5,000 Chanel bag with a glowing-hot knife. Chanel doesn’t need to make Star the face of its brand, Begley pointed out, but it would probably be good for the label to create a relationship with him, since he’s having an impact on how his many fans perceive Chanel. Gucci, in fact, has done just that, and made custom products just for him.

One consequence of influencers’ growing clout is that magazines are losing their grip as the exclusive gatekeepers in fashion. They used to be a brands’ best way to broadcast its message to an audience of potential customers. Now the internet and social media have changed that, and brands have to target small communities online in ways that speak to them.

(Interestingly enough, though, magazine editors are now often influencers themselves (paywall), with their own personal followings separate from the companies they work for.)

LUXURY ISN’T EXCLUSIVE

One theme that runs through many of these changes is that they’re breaking down barriers which once made luxury a walled garden, or at least lowering them several feet. Rental and resale make luxury items more affordable and accessible. T-shirts and slide sandals that proclaim a high-end brand put those brands within reach of more shoppers, both culturally and economically, than expensive evening gowns. Luxury labels now have to consider all their customers because of social media.

The industry is also paying more attention to the non-white and non-wealthy. It has no choice: Younger luxury consumers are more diverse, and the financial and cultural power of hip-hop and streetwear keeps growing. Luxury businesses are also responding to the demands of consumers today who want the brands they buy to reflect their own values. “For them the term [“luxury”] has connotations of elitism and exclusivity,” Alexander Gilkes, cofounder of auction house Paddle8, told the New York Times (paywall). “Instead, they want a luxury that is inclusive, honest and democratic.”

The word “inclusive” came up repeatedly at the FACC talk. As a mindset, it’s a tricky one for luxury labels to maintain, when part of what makes a product desirable, whether it’s a Chanel bag or a rare pair of Jordans, is that not everyone can get it. But the world is changing, and luxury will have to change with it. It’s a challenge, but also a great opportunity for the companies that meet it.

[starchasertonight]

Hey! Can you fic Kat planning a something really thoughtful for like a special occasion and adena's reaction? like birthday, anniversary, muslim holiday etc. I feel like we see a lot of Adena being smooth and confident and too much of awkward uncertain Kat

as i’ve mentioned before, i agree with this. and i think kat’s more confident side will emerge once they’ve been dating for a little while, which is what i’ve focused on here~

—

So here’s the thing about being a director at acompany like Scarlet, in a position that involves lots of corporate small talk—

She’s made all kindsof connections throughout the city, has a mental list of all the people whotechnically owe her favors, many of which she’ll never cash in on. Most of thetime her connections are pretty useless to her personal life. But occasionally?Occasionally they come in really handy.

Like when she’s trying to plan an amazing birthday for Adenaand she remembers Cory, who works at the Met. And who definitely owes her afavor.

She gives him a call in late February. And she knows heridea is a stretch, because yeah he’s pretty high up there administratively buthe’s still only on the marketing side of things. He tells her no at first. Soshe gets a little more persuasive and maybe just a tad flirtatious and he sayshe’ll see what he can do.

She gets a yes from him three days later.  

March 12th, Adena’s birthday, is on a Friday thisyear. Which works out perfectly.

They’re walking down 5th Avenue, stomachs fullfrom an early dinner a couple blocks over, when Adena realizes where they are.

She tugs at Kat’s arm, gives her a glowing smile and bitesat her lip.

“Are we going to the Met?”

And it’s obvious, because they’re approaching the steps tothe art museum at this point. So she smiles back, leans in to kiss her briefly.

“Mhm. Happy birthday, baby.”

Adena looks up at the large entrance sign, excitement writtenall over her face, and Kat’s heart swells.

“I haven’t been here in over a year. You know, life getsbusy and then, of course, you know with my visa…” she trails off, not needingto explain any further.

Because Kat knows all too well how Adena spent the finalmonths of last year forcibly separated from New York, from her, due to visaissues. That she didn’t finally make it back to New York until late December.

“Well, this Met trip is gonna be a liiittle different,” she hints as they enter the warmth of thelarge building, and Adena quirks her eyebrow at her, curious.

“Oh?”

She reaches into her purse, brandishes a folded up set ofpapers.

“Yeah, we’ve got work to do. Or, ya know, mostly you. ‘Cause Iknow hardly anything about art, and almost everything I do know is from you,”she says, handing over the papers.

Adena scans them for a few seconds, confused, before a smilebreaks out on her face and her girlfriend looks back up at her.

“Are we doing a scavenger hunt?”

They’re doing a scavenger hunt.

 It’s just one that she foundonline, but it’s pretty clever and leads them all over the museum.

And they make a great team. Because Adena understands mostof the art clues, as Kat figured she would, but Adena has a terrible sense ofdirection. A fact that she hides well considering she’s travelled all over theworld by herself.

They’re standing together in front of a Rodin statue, next task completed, and Kat’s arms are wrapped loosely around Adena’swaist from behind, chin tucked into her shoulder as they look at the maptogether.

“Giverny is referencing Monet,” Adena says, pointing back atthe clue. “That’s the village where he lived and painted. We need to go to theImpressionism section.”

Adena is so earnest, holding her hand, when she starts tolead them in the wrong direction and Kat has to tug her back.

“This way, babe.”

“No…” Then, “Is it really?”

She bites her lip to contain her laugh, nods.

“When are you going to give up and let me navigate?”

“Fine. Though is not my fault all of these large atriumslook similar.”

“Uh huh.”

“Take me to Monet.”

“The Met will beclosing in fifteen minutes. We ask that you please make your way to the exit atthis time,” a voice announces again, the second warning that they’ve heard.

They’re near the elevator that they need to be at, becauseKat custom-designed the end of the scavenger hunt this way. But it’s also farfrom the exit, and she knows that Adena has surmised as much, becauseeveryone is walking opposite of them.

“Kat, as much as I’d love to keep looking around, I think we really doneed to leave,” Adena says, stopping them. 

She pauses for a moment, considers coming up with some sortof lie. But instead she takes her girlfriend’shand, looks into her eyes and urges, “Will you trust me, for the next fewminutes?”

Adena looks confused but her face softens and she nods, searchingher eyes when she answers, “Sure. Of course.”

Cory is waiting for them at the elevator, as promised, andKat ignores all of the questions in Adena’s eyes when she thanks him and hewinks back at her.

“Kat, what are we doing?” Adena asks while the elevatorrises to the top level.

Then the doors are sliding open, revealing an empty terrace,and Kat pulls them outside together, finally looks into her eyes again.

“Celebrating your birthday.”

There is a stunning view of the treetops of CentralPark and the Manhattan skyline glowing in the night, and a table set up forthem, just as she’d asked.

A table set with sparkling cider, dessert for two, andcandles. Plus one of the restaurant’s outdoor heaters left on to keep themwarm.

“This level is normally a restaurant and bar,” she explains,and Adena turns to take in the setting and the gorgeous views. “They’re keepingit open privately for us for a little while.”

“Kat…”

Adena is standing right in front of her now, reaching forwardto cup her face, and Kat smiles,leans in until their noses are brushing.

“Happy birthday, Adena.”

Adena’s breath is warm, fanning across her face when shemurmurs, “This is too much.”

She shakes her head, holds Adena tighter.

“You’re amazing. You deserve an amazing birthday. Especiallysince you’re ringing in a new decade and all,” she says, voice soft, and thenAdena pulls her in, captures her lips in a kiss.

Kat kisses her back, feels all of the passion and promise in their embrace, in each glide of their lips, andshe thinks that she’d gladly stay in this moment forever if she could.

Adena eventually pulls back a fraction and their foreheadsare touching when Kat looks at her, eyes glinting with humor when she says—

“I can’t believe I’m dating an older woman.”

Adena rolls her eyes, starts pulling them over toward theirdessert table.

“Kat, our age difference is the same.”

“Yeah, but you’re in your thirties now.”

“Thir-ty. Stop exaggerating.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating a hot older woman,” she continues,ignoring her. “This is gonna be great for my memoir.”

Adena is shaking her head, resigned and laughing quietly,and Kat grins, winks at her.

Then Adena is reaching for her again, kissing her softly andmeeting her eyes with so much love and affection.

“Thank you, Kat. For all of this. This is the bestbirthday I’ve ever had.”

“You’re welcome, “she says, meeting her gaze. Then she tipsher head down, voice low when she speaks against her ear—

“And you haven’t even seen what I’m wearing underthis dress yet.”

She hears Adena’s breath catch and then she takes a fullstep back, before she can respond.

“But first, dessert.”

[kindabigbear]

Eastern European Pilgrimage – Czestochowa & Krakow, Poland

Continuing from the last part, we left Czechia and entered Poland.  Our first stop was the town of Czestochowa.  We were visiting a place called Jasna Gora.   It’s a monastery that has a famous painting called the Image of Our Lady of Jasna Gora or the Icon of Our Lady of Czestochowa.  They also call it the Black Madonna.  It is of Mary holding baby Jesus.  When we went in to see it, there were a lot of people having a mass or prayer before it so it was kind of awkward walking around.  They had lots of rosaries, medals and other things hanging on the walls.  Very shiny. Ok……I got a bit ahead of myself. We arrived at Jasna Gora and were able to use the restrooms first thing before we went into the monastery.  Had to pay again.  We went into the monastery main area where we met up with one of the priests.  He took us around the courtyard area and over to a small museum.  There were a lot of painting of Pope John Paul II that people had painted.  Some of them were interesting looking.  They had a couple of his robes too.  At the other end, they had religious painting and a whole section that had musical instruments.  Our priest guide then took us to see the Black Madonna painting and then to a side chamber where there was a painting of Jesus with Joseph.  There were a couple nice looking sculptures there as well. We went back outside and up some stairs to a nice viewing area.  A large stage with seating below for when the Pope came to give speeches was off to the left. We went by that and into another small museum area where you were no allowed to take pictures.  I think it was kind of a treasury like place.  Once we left there, we said good bye and thanks to our guide.  We had a bit of free time before we were going to have a mass.  We went to this gift shop that had lots of nice things. I walked down the road to this little food place and got a water.  Actually, thinking it over, I’m not sure when we went to mass.  I think it was before the gift shop time.  I think it was back when we were still touring the monastery. Everyone went upstairs to look at some statues or paintings or something and I went back out to use the bathroom. When I got back, mom met me and took me over to the side chapel where we had mass.  I remember they had already started when we got there.  And I definitely remember leaving because mom missed a step or something and went flying to the floor. It was startling (and hilarious after the fact) and it took me and Dan to get her up because the floor was so slippery.  She braced her feet against ours to get up.  No one really saw either which was nice.  Then I think we went to the upper area and gift shop.  So, after all that, we walked through the parking lot and down the road a bit to our hotel for the night.  It was called Arche Hotel and Sebastian had the bus already parked there and unloaded.  We just had to get our things from our seats.  The room was nice enough.  Ma went downstairs to eat with everyone while I stayed in the room.  Wasn’t feeling too hot again.  

The next morning, we left for Krakow with a stop along the way at Wadowice.  Wadowice is the home of Pope John Paul II.  Sebastian dropped us off and we walked up this path to……. bathrooms. I mean yeah but also Pope John Paul II’s home and the Basilica of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. There was a statue of Pope…...ok I’m going to call him PJP from now on.  Easier to write.  Anyway, there was a statue of PJP out front and I got a nice picture of mom with him. We had mass first in the Basilica in a side area.  It was pretty and I sat under this awning thing.  Like the kind you see in movies that the rich people are under at events or when they are carried down the streets.  After mass, we all went off on our own to look for something for lunch. One of the few times we were able to get lunch.  Mom and I found a nice little pizza place called Pizzeria Piazza Italia.  It was right off the main plaza area in front of the Basilica and PJP’s museum/home.  Pretty good pizza.  After eating, we went back to PJP’s home and went on the tour.  The lower area had newspaper articles and things about his early life.  There was also a little store like building that I think was more to do with Jewish people. We took an elevator upstairs and walked along a hallway lined with more pictures of PJP.  At the far end we entered the living room of PJP’s house.  The furniture was pretty.  The next room was the bedroom and kind of study area. After that was the kitchen.  It was very pretty.  I like the stove/oven.  The hutch was cute and so was the little table.  Leaving the home area, you went into this hallway that had PJP’s rise through church schooling……. I have no idea what it’s called.  I want to say seminary but I don’t think that’s it. Basically, his rise to becoming Pope. And all the different types of robes he wore.  More newspaper stories and even the gun and bullet from when he was shot.  There were these two door like things that were pretty impressive looking.  As we started to leave that area, the floor had clear glass that showed dirt that looked like it was from different countries.  Lots of different things celebrating PJP.  At the very end, there was a three-tier wooden display of PJP’s life from when he was an infant to when he died.  There was also another statue of him that mom and I had our picture taken with.  We used the bathrooms again and picked up our bags and then went outside.  We had some free time before the bus returned. Mom and I looked at a couple more gift stores and bought a few things.  

Back on the bus, we went down the road a bit to the Sanktuarium Pasyjno-Maryjne which is a pilgrimage site that was popular with PJP.  It was a nice-looking church with a nice park area. It was up on a hill and I stayed in the bus to rest while mom went up with most of the rest of the group. Mom said it was quite a hike up to the church itself.  They have another statue of PJP.  I feel like every town/city you went to had a statue of him.  Everyone came back and we drove on to Krakow.  We drove by multiple churches.  Our hotel for the next couple days was called PURO Krakow Kazimierz. It was kind of fancy and we were on the second floor.  We had to walk almost in a circle to get to our room from the elevators.  In fact, you could go two ways to get there.  Nice little room but I was a bit worried about the bathroom.  It had a window in it that looked out on the room itself.  So, while you shower, someone in the room can see you.  I wasn’t looking forward to that but then we noticed a switch that had a curtain move out to cover the window.  Thank goodness.  In fact, we told another person in our group about it because they were wondering about it too.  We met up in the lobby and walked over to where we were going to have dinner and a show. We were early so Dan and I sat outside while Tomas took the rest of the group around the square pointing out old Jewish areas and other places of interest.  The restaurant was called Restauracja Ester.  It served Jewish cuisine and had live music.  We had two tables in the back and all I really remember was a lot of people drink wine and the music was very good.  I ended up buying a cd when the meal was over.  

It was Sunday now and according to our schedule we were supposed to have the morning free and then go somewhere as a group after lunch.  Well that didn’t happen.  LaVern had changed it so that there was a small tour with shopping which according to Tomas wouldn’t be much since most shops were closed on Sundays.  Poland is a very religious country.  And Tomas was from Krakow so you’d think he knows what he’s talking about.  I wasn’t thrilled because I had made plans to go to the Krakow Zoo.  I try to go to zoos everywhere I go. So, with a bold move for me, I stayed at the hotel until the group left and then took a taxi to the zoo. Mom knew of course.   The zoo was small and located on top of a hill but the zoo itself was on a level area.  I wandered around looking at all the animals.  I found the feline area and looked at a jaguar, lion, leopard, snow leopard, tiger and some smaller ones like jungle cat and European wild cat and Pallas cat.  The red panda was very cute and the ostriches actually had some eggs.  In the entrance area there were some stone sculptures of animals.  Or more like rocks that they added legs and heads to. Still pretty neat though.  I bought a couple things in the gift shop and asked the man where you get a taxi from.  Yeah, apparently you call for them.  So……… I was stuck.  I wandered over to the bus area but wasn’t sure which one to take so I walked down the hill to this larger bus area.  I eventually got on one but the driver didn’t understand what I was trying to ask so I just sat down.  I pulled out my cellphone to look at the map to see where the bus was going to in relation to where the hotel was.  Luckily, I made it all the way into town before I had to get off when the bus went a different way.  I feel bad but I didn’t pay for the ride either.  I couldn’t figure out where you paid.  I walked across the road to another bus stop and tried to figure out the map.  Not an easy thing.  It was too high up and all in Polish.  I stood there for a bit before I walked over to this man with a little girl waiting for a bus.  I asked him which bus I needed to take to get to my hotel while showing him my phone.  He was incredibly helpful and nice and pointed me to this other train thing and told me which number I needed and how many stops before I should get off.  Polish people are very helpful and nice.  I thanked him and went over to the train area.  It’s kind of like a lite rail kind of thing……a tram.  I had just missed one leaving but it wasn’t that long before another with the number I needed showed up.  I got on and watching the other people, figured out where to pay. It was interesting as they charged you by how long you rode it.  The ride was very nice.  It went around the Wawel Royal Castle and I got off maybe a block from the hotel.  As I was walking toward it, I thought I saw our bus going by and sure enough, I wasn’t in the room for maybe five minutes and mom came in.  We went out to get some lunch.  We walked down the way a bit and went to Kebabar which was a kebab place. We bought drinks at a little convenience store on the corner and went back to the hotel to eat.  

After lunch, we met up with everyone downstairs to get on the bus and go to the Wieliczka Salt Mine. To get down into the mines, you have to ride an elevator.  A tiny steel elevator that they pack you into like a bunch of sardines.  It was not fun. The mines are 327 meters deep.  We didn’t go down that far.  The farthest we went down was 135 meters where all the statues, chapels and the underground lake was.  At the 64-meter level, we had to take some wooden stairs down.  Along the way were statues of the dwarves from Snow White.  The miners carved all of it out of the salt.  The main cathedral area was very pretty.  It had chandeliers made of salt crystals.  They hold mass there.  There was another area that had statues of Princess Kinga and our guide told us a story about her.  The ride back up was even worse as I was one of the last ones in and I was so squished. Some of the others behind me were afraid I was going to lose a finger because I was trying to hold on to the gate part.  I closed my eyes because I was feeling a bit claustrophobic.  At the top they had a nice gift shop where mom and I bought some things for the kids and ourselves.  When everyone was done shopping, we walked across the street to Karczma Halit for dinner.  First place so far where I actually had something good…… that I liked…….to eat. Plus, there was a lovely folk show of sorts.  Singing, instrument playing and dancing.  They would pick people from the group to dance with.  It was great fun.  They had CDs you could buy so I bought one.  Then it was back on the bus for the ride back to the hotel.  

This morning was another little tour with shopping and then mass at St. Mary’s Basilica at around noon. I had no desire to go shopping so I told mom I would meet her at the church at noon.  So, I laid around the room and then went down and got a taxi to the church.  It took a little bit before I found mom but I did find her.  It seemed we had some free time before mass started so we went to look for souvenirs. I found quite a few with dragons on them.  According to stories, there was a dragon living under the castle until someone was able to get it to leave.  So, dragons are kind of a thing.  They had a Hard Rock Café and we bought dad a hat and shirt since he has some from all over the world.  We met up with the group and went into St. Mary’s.  We had mass in a little side area behind a gate.  It was a bit weird because while it was going on, people would come up and look at us.  After mass, we went around the corner where Tomas had ordered some pizza for everyone. We did have to walk a bit to this park area where we ate and used the bathroom.  We then went across the street to wait for Sebastian and the bus.  We were going to visit Auschwitz.  

Auschwitz has two sites that you can visit.  Our first stop was at the first one that has the memorial and museum located there. We lined up for the tour.  You were given earphones so you could hear the guide.  The groups were small…… I think we had maybe twenty at the most in our group.  We had half of our group with us and the others went with another guide.  You start off walking along the outside of the fence until you get to the gate.  It was the main camp gate and said ‘Work will set you free’ over the top of it in German.  I guess working to death would be setting yourself free.  Stupid Nazis.  Anyway……we went into the main camp area.  There were about thirty buildings that the prisoners were housed in. The few we went into had pictures from after the Allies liberated the camp and what condition the people were in, piles of shoes, brushes, prosthetic limbs, cups, plates, eyeglasses, anything you could think of.  It was incredibly sad.  They had what amounted to mugshots of the prisoners along the walls and who they were and usually when they arrived and when they died next to the picture.  We went through a couple of the buildings like this and eventually ended up near the gas chamber/crematorium.  You could walk inside and see where millions of people were murdered.  I hate Nazis so much.  I just have nothing more to say about Auschwitz.  It was such a tragedy.  Every person should visit it.  We then went over to Auschwitz II which was bigger but did not have as many of its buildings.  It did have the gate where the train tracks went through.  I ended up staying in the bus with a couple other people while mom went with the rest of the group to look at what was left.  We went back to the hotel and had dinner downstairs in their restaurant.  I have to say probably the worst food so far.  The next day we would be leaving for Budapest.