#like i am proud of myself but i really cannot physically stop myself from tempering that pride

[neallo]

me vs my inability to celebrate an accomplishment without internally and / or externally downplaying my own role in the accomplishment by listing off all the reasons i was able to do that in the first place and acknowledging the role of luck and happenstance in the entire affair. girl can you just be proud of yourself

[youbloodymadgenius]

Nothing Left (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry to @geekandbooknerd 2k Writing Challenge. Congratulations again, Hayley, you deserve each and every one of us 🌻

The gif is a dead giveaway: this piece is an angsty one 😬 Sorry about that but I feel like I can’t write fluff all the time 😉

Prompt in bold

Thanks to @zuxiezendler for beta reading this for me (hope you don't mind Hayley, but since it was for your challenge... 😉)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Leaving Ivar is not an easy task.

Warnings: angst; Ivar's temper; physical assault (no harm done, though); Freydis is beautiful; no happy ending (you've been warned).

Words: 2089

Crutch – right foot – left foot – crutch – right foot – left foot

You can hear him coming. Of course, you can.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He's not yet in your shared bedroom and he's already shouting. Instead of turning around, you grab the little carved wooden wolf he gifted you many years ago and put it in your pouch.

As he stabs the wooden floor with his crutch, you can physically feel his anger. "You thought you could sneak out? Uh?" You know his jaw is clenched, and he's probably shaking with rage.

"This is what you intended to do, admit it!"

You just scoff. No, you didn't intend to sneak out, not in your wildest dreams. Not with White Hair's men everywhere, night and day.

A thump – his fist hitting the table, you'd say – and then a roar.

"ANSWER YOUR KING!!!!!"

Glancing over your shoulder, you give him a tired, defeated smile. You don't want to fight. You never wanted to. "What does it look like to you, Ivar? Do you really think I'm trying to sneak out? Of course, I'm not."

"Rumors are false, that's what you're saying?" He snorts and, taking two more steps into the room, he joins you. "What's that, then?" He gestures angrily toward a wooden trunk, filled to the brim with your belongings, mostly dresses and a few jewels.

"I'm leaving, if that's what rumors say, Ivar, I'm just not sneaking out." You speak softly while closing the trunk.

A wide-eyed look on his face, he can't hide his surprise at your easy admission but he quickly pulls himself together, straightening up and towering over you.

"You can't. I forbid you." Giving you an intimidating look, he grits his teeth.

You barely shake your head. There's so much sadness in your heart. "Of course, I can. I'm not asking for permission, you know? I'm leaving, whether you like it or not."

That's when he explodes, his bottom lip quivering. "I SAID, I FORBID YOU! FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, YOU WILL DO AS YOU'RE TOLD, Y/N! I. AM. YOUR. KING!"

His scream is so loud that you can't help but take a step back. But you don't lower your gaze. You won't. You can't. So, keeping your chin up, you inhale slowly. "And I'm still a free woman, Ivar. I'm leaving today."

You know the man you once loved is not going to make that so easy for you. So, you're not surprised when he grabs your wrist so firmly you can't shake him off. Tossing his crutch on the floor, he places his now free hand on your shoulder. Looking at him, you can tell you've rarely seen him this angry. Never releasing the pressure on your wrist, he throws you against the nearest wall so hard that the back of your skull makes a resounding "clunk".

He leans in close to you, his breath stinking faintly of honeyed mead, and presses the weight of his body against you. "You're not leaving, Y/N." He then moves his hand from your shoulder to your throat and the air is immediately stolen from you as you stare into his now darkened eyes. With your right hand still pinned to the wall, you only have your left to defend yourself. You're slapping him, clawing at him, but you may as well be tickling him with a feather – your scratches and punches have no effect on him whatsoever.

"I could kill you, Y/N. Maybe I should." The threat is clear, obvious, but Ivar loosens his grip just enough for you to breathe. He won't harm you. Not yet anyway.

Clearing your throat, you don't look away. "Maybe you should. It wouldn't be the worst thing for me, you know? One way or another, I wouldn't be here anymore."

Your words sting, you can see it on his face as he steps away, wobbling and dumbstruck.

Slowly leaning forward, you grab his discarded crutch before giving it back to him. "Here." You mutter before taking a seat on the bed. Ivar follows suit, flopping down next to you.

Blinking several times, Ivar is obviously trying to come to terms with what you just said. "So, you'd rather be dead than here? With me?" His voice is shaking and he fidgets with his fingers on his lap.

"Ivar, there's nothing left here for me… Nothing… We just don't understand each other anymore, you know that. I don't understand you anymore, Ivar. Since Wessex, you've changed so much…"

You've tried. You've tried very hard. But this man, this king, is no longer the man you fell in love with.

"It's about Sigurd, isn't it?" Ivar asks sadly, but you immediately shake your head.

"No Ivar, you know it's not. I told you, even though I wish you hadn't killed him, I understand why you did it. And I know you didn't want to."

"It's about my legs, then." His face suddenly hardens but you know him, he always hides his pain behind anger. "I knew it. I knew this day would come. You're tired of the cripple, admit it."

Without thinking, you grab his hand, entwining his fingers with yours. As much as you resent him for what he has become, you can't let him run himself down like this. " It has nothing to do with your legs. Your legs have never bothered me, and they never will. You're stronger than all other men, not in spite of your legs, but because of them. Actually, you're the strongest man I know, and I've always felt proud to walk beside you, or to be your woman. I forbid you to doubt it."

"Why, then?" Ivar is so soft now, seems to be so… broken, you have to remind yourself why you're leaving. You have to remind yourself of the horror.

Closing your eyes, you conjure up frightful images behind your eyelids.

"You killed Margrethe, Ivar. You didn't have to do that."

He tenses beside you, releasing his hand from your grip. "She was talking rubbish all the time, she was spreading rumors about me, you know that!!"

"She was insane, Ivar! She was no danger, neither to you nor to anyone. And as for the rumors, I'm loud enough for people to know that you can pleasure a woman. She was harmless, and you killed her, and that, Ivar, I can't understand. And then, you did worse. You killed Thora." You can't help but wince, the stench of burning flesh still so vivid in your mind, you'd swear it's real.

Fuming, Ivar points an accusing finger at you. "She defaced my image. She was plotting behind my back. She was conspiring, criticizing me. She saw me as a tyrant while I was just trying to rule well. She was a FUCKING DANGER!"

Startled by his shout, you stand up hastily. "You burned her alive, Ivar!! You burned her entire family. Asbjorn, her brother, had not yet seen his tenth spring. And you killed him!" You know he can see the disgust on your face, and the truth is, you don't care. He deserves your disgust. He deserves your contempt. He deserves you falling out of love with him. "Thora was your brother's lover and she was my friend and you burned her alive!!! How could you?" Your hands tangled in your hair, you shake your head, still barely able to process the horror of what he did.

"And what was I supposed to do, huh?" Ivar seems unshaken, and it strengthens your resolve. He doesn't know between good and evil, not anymore. You want to reply that he could have exiled her, or had her thrown in jail, but to what end? What's done is done, and your former lover is a monster now.

"It doesn't matter, Ivar… What matters is that you're like a stranger. I don't know who you are anymore. Since this girl, you've changed." You shrug, blinking back tears.

Ivar rolls his eyes. "So that's what it was all about? I can't believe you're jealous, Y/N. This girl… It's just a... thrall"

Oh gods! There's none so deaf as those that will not hear, right?

"I'm not jealous, Ivar. She was naked on your lap, but I'm not jealous. Or maybe I was, but it doesn't matter anymore. And I don't give a damn about what or who she is. But she was whispering nonsense in your ear, and since then you've changed. I don't recognize you anymore. You're no longer the man I loved, Ivar..." Your words are genuine, your heart full of sorrow.

Still sitting on the bed, Ivar tilts his head. "You... You can't leave me, Y/N. What... What will I do without you?" His quivering voice sends shivers down your spine. But you won't change your mind. This man in front of you, unsure and insecure, is nothing but a ghost of who he once was. The boy you loved is gone. Dead. Killed by his inner demons.

Swallowing, Ivar slowly stands up, and frowns when you step back. "Y/N," he speaks again, reaching out but to no avail as you stubbornly put your hands on your back, "you're the person I don't need to explain myself to – not when it matters. You see everything I am and you don't run away from it. I... I can't do without you."

Your eyes filling with tears, you shake your head. "I can't be this person anymore, Ivar. I've tried, but I can't. I don't know you at all anymore. You've become the monster that people thought you were. You're paranoid, and narcissistic, and self-centered. You're cruel, and mean, and fearsome. I won't lie, sometimes I still see a shadow of the man – the boy – you used to be. But most of the time, what I see in your eyes is something scary and unfamiliar. I have said it before and I will say it again. I don't recognize you anymore, Ivar. I don't know who you are. You've done terrible things, which I cannot and will not forget and forgive. That's why I'm leaving." Pointing to the trunk, you bite the inside of cheek until it bleeds. "I'll send someone to get it later."

Heading out, you don't wait for his answer. There's nothing he can say that is going to change your mind.

Yet, you stop in your tracks when he calls your name, "Y/N!" his voice sounding like a wounded animal. Slowly turning around, you can see a single tear running down his face. "Please..." He begs and it kills you, because Ivar the Boneless doesn’t beg; never begs. For a fleeting moment, your resolve falters. Maybe you can still save your love. Maybe you can bring back the man he was. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe...

And then, a shadow slips between the heavy doors of the great hall and you recognize the thrall. She's undoubtedly beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Flawless.

Without even according you a glance, she walks with a confident stride and as soon as Ivar sees her, you can tell you cease to exist for him. Enthralled, he watches her every step, a sparkle dancing in his eyes.

Tears flow on your cheeks, but it doesn't matter. You were right.

This is the end.

It's like torture but you can't bring yourself to walk away. So, you watch. You see Ivar closing the gap between them, inviting her to sit down, pouring mead into a cup and handing it to her. "How are you? I've been thinking about you." You feel like you're going to throw up as you see the smile on his lips; as you realize how easily he forgot about you.

His next question nearly kills you. "Are you married?"

You can't believe your ears. You can't stay here anymore. You can't breathe.

You don't want to hear her answer. You know what she will say. And at this moment, deep down inside, you know he will marry her. Of course, he will. He will marry her because she will always be willing to whisper in his ear what he wants to hear.

A blond woman, attractive and seemingly submissive – you know better, but Ivar doesn't –swaying her hips... That's all it takes for Ivar to forget you.

You. Can't. Breathe.

You won't die here from a shattered heart, though. Your pride won't allow it. So, stumbling, your head spinning, you walk away, your fist in your mouth to keep you from screaming.

You were right. There's nothing left.

Nothing.

🛡⚔️🛡

@geekandbooknerd @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

***IMPORTANT Note*** Got an ask on tumblr last week asking why I (and other writers) ask for comments if we love writing.  My response can be found here on my tumblrs page.

But it’s my friends repost that I wanted to highlight:

“Case and point, if you want continuous and quality continent from your favorite writer’s, then you the readers need to give continuous and positive quality feedback and/or polite constructive criticism.

And if you don’t feel comfortable expressing your appreciation in a comment, then go and send in an anonymous message to tell said author how much you love their writing, but don’t abuse that feature to complain or throw shade at someone’s hard work.”

I have one regular commenter on this fic and a few occasionally commenters.  Given the amount of hits I get every update, the response is barely more than 1%.  If you think that’s disappointing and hurts, you’re right.  I’m not a machine and would GREATLY APPRECIATE some regular feedback.  Thank you.

Chapter 86

“Light cannot survive without Darkness.  Without Darkness how would we know what Light was?”

Yami groaned.  Even in this cursed, tormented, communicative dream world that was forced upon him he hurt.  “You’re really starting to bug me.”  Yami growled at the unseen voice.

“You are the End of the End.  The Lord of Destruction.  The--”

“I told you to stop calling me that!”  Yami yelled.  His temper was bad enough without being reminded and called the name that dead bastard had called him.

The disembodied voice’s tone changed.  “You should not to be here. This is not for you.”

Though Yami agreed, the change in timber and unaccustomed words set him on edge.  “What do you--”

“What is this place?”  A different voice asked.

Yami spun around.

What the hell was Alowishus Spade doing here?

Yami’s right hand went to his left hip.  Instead of gripping the hilt of his katana, Yami’s hand closed around nothing.  His katana wasn’t there.  Nor did he have his grimoire.

Yami muttered a curse and demanded to know.  “Is this you Crazy Killer Voice?  Or is the Lord of Lunatics really here?”

“Death should not be here.”  The voice said, sounding offended and confused.

Alowishus looked about the black void that was somehow both substance and space.  Eyes fixing on Yami, Alowishus said in awe.  “This is you. Or a representation of the force within you.”

Yami readied his stance for anything.  “Why were you so interested in what happened here if you could just bust in?”

Still trying to figure out how he got here, Alowishus said.  “I hardly broke in, my boy.”

Yami sneered.  “I’m not your boy.”

Realization dawning, Alowishus said.  “The portion of your mana I took into myself.”

“The what!  When?”  Yami’s head swirled.  The last thing he remembered was him, Teris, Nozel, Fuegoleon, and Greywright being held by some mad magical scientist from the Spade Kingdom.

“Calm down and let me think.”  Alowishus snapped.

“You are not meant to be here.  This is not meant for you.”  The disembodied voice said.

“I agree.”  Yami said, staring at Alowishus.  “How do we get rid of him?”

“Now wait one moment.”  Alowishus said.

“You are the Darkness.  None can exist in you unless you allow it.”  The voice said.

Yami wasn’t sure he understood, but he wanted Spade gone.  As much as he hated his time here, the voice was right, it was his space.  Even if Alowishus could do nothing to him in this realm, which Yami wasn’t so sure of, he didn’t want Spade around.  A cold burning rage ignited and overfill him.

Alowishus stood rooted to the ground, memorized.  Yami’s eyes flicked black, a great dense cloud of darkness came off him.

Alowishus watched as the void that was the Darkness within Yami became one with the young man.  “You are truly magnificent, my child.”  The force within him speaking of the force within Yami.  Alowishus pushed the rising force of Death down and said.  “It is right that you will be the one to finally deliver what I have sought for all these years.”

Though disappointed, Alowishus didn’t struggle as he was swallowed by the darkness.  It would’ve been futile to fight against it.  This place was made specifically for Yami.  The Darkness that they were surrounded by either a part of the actual force that resided in Yami or some sort of representation of it.

Alowishus gave Yami a parting smile.  “Till we meet again, Yami Sukehiro.”

Alowishus woke-up with a sense of disorientation.  He rubbed his head trying to remember the forgotten dream.  Something important had happened in his sleep; he could sense it.  But try as he might, he couldn’t remember what.

He sat up and went to his private office, stopping to stand at the shelves behind his desk.  Seeing his father's silent skull he frowned remembering another time, long ago, when he had been regularly haunted by somewhat forgotten dreams.  Back then he had been so confused, weak and frightened…

He was Fin Spade.  Son of Princess Mira and Erin Spade.  No! He was Garo Belin, son of a middling merchant family.  No.  He was… He was…  He shook his head, stumbling through a fielded landscape known as Dais.  He couldn’t even say where in the Clover Kingdom he was, his obsession with finding out who he was consuming all thought. All he knew were the stories that came with this place.

That long ago human mages had fought back Chaos and brought Order.  That Elves were said to watch the place, making sure Chaos wasn’t unleashed.  He didn’t know anything about Chaos; but there were certainly no Elves around here.  At least none that he had seen.

His death magic allowed him to sense the dead; and he followed that sense to…

Garo frowned.  The ground looked like any other patch of earth surrounding it.

He laughed maniacally.  He didn’t know why he had expected different. Why he had expect the ground to show some sign of the coveted answers that laid beneath.

Garo stretched out his hand, his magic pulling the long dead body of Fin’s father from the earth.  He sensed an endless labyrinth of tunnels somewhat out of phase beneath him but ignored it.  What he needed were answers, not more questions.  And if he did this spell right, his father—Fin’s father would hopefully be able to give them to him.

Garo ripped the skull from the corpses body.  The sun was beginning to set, the dark night of a new moon ready to descend.  He had learned a few years back that his magic was more powerful on the night of the new moon.  And him finding Fin’s father’s body a few hours before such a night felt like fate was on his side.

The spell took everything he had and more.  Garo died forcing Fin’s father’s soul into the skull.

It would take Death’s third incarnation to finally get answers.

Alowishus shook away the memory of his second life.  Garo had been pathetic. Fin, broken from story’s of his mother's death and father's abandonment, wasting most of his life in despair.

It had been his third life where he had finally taken the things Fin and Garo had learned and begun to understand what and who he was.  It had been during his third life that he found the skull of Erin Spade; that thanks to Garo housed Erin’s soul.  It had been his third life where he had found his purpose.

Still, as successful as his third life had been, the early years of it had been wasted as well. Firstly, it had taken him ten years to fully remember his previous two lives.  And even with the knowledge the skull had given, he still didn’t know everything. Nor had knowledge given him direction.

What was he suppose to do?  Live out his days alone until he died and was reborn?  Would the cycle ever end?

Not one to sit and wait for answers, he had set out to make his own.  In doing so he had gained followers and begun to build what was now known as the Agents of Chaos.  It was the iteration of his third life who was known as Master of Master's.

Alowishus stared at Fin’s father's skull.  His father’s skull. Cause no matter what life he lived and who had sired him, he was still Erin Spade’s son.  For it was Erin Spade who had wrought this endless cycle of life and death upon him.

His heavy hand landed on the bleached bones head.  “Will it ever end, Father?”

With the three days that surrounded the new moon gone a week ago, the skull remained silent; the soul within it fettered and unable to speak in his mind.

Alowishus’ grip tightened wishing he could cause Erin Spade physical pain.  “I am Death.  The true end. I will end it.”

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day; so as a 'tip' for reading this free work please leave a comment if you enjoyed reading it.

Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

***IMPORTANT Note***

Got an ask on tumblr last week asking why I (and other writers) ask for comments if we love writing.  My response can be found here on my tumblrs page.

But it’s my friends repost that I wanted to highlight:

“Case and point, if you want continuous and quality continent from your favorite writer’s, then you the readers need to give continuous and positive quality feedback and/or polite constructive criticism.

And if you don’t feel comfortable expressing your appreciation in a comment, then go and send in an anonymous message to tell said author how much you love their writing, but don’t abuse that feature to complain or throw shade at someone’s hard work.”

I have one regular commenter on this fic and a few occasionally commenters.  Given the amount of hits I get every update, the response is barely more than 1%.  If you think that’s disappointing and hurts, you’re right.  I’m not a machine and would GREATLY APPRECIATE some regular feedback.  Thank you.

Next chapter snippet:

Yami smiled down at her.  One day he’d tell her what the word meant. Maybe.  He almost made her a different promise; but it would sound too sappy so he said instead.  “We’re going to be late.  Think Julius will have a problem with just the two of us going somewhere if it’s to meet someone?”

Teris was about to answer that she didn’t care what her brother had a problem with when Julius’ voice sounded.

“No. But I do have a problem with you having secret meetings with my Vice Captain.”  Julius said.

[chocobonugget]

Fragile Tender Heart

Title: Fragile Tender Heart Rating: T Word Count: 8,061 Summary: Once upon a time, there was a prince with a teddy bear.  And then, there was neither a prince nor a bear.  The story of how a newborn chocobo nugget transforms into a beautiful gentlethem.

-1- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

The first time Yuffie holds her baby, she's exhausted, bathed in sweat, but she's still the most beautiful thing Cloud has ever seen.  She's glowing, eyes bright and mirthful as ever despite their baby's painful, intensely arduous journey into the world.  He smiles at her as the midwife counts the correct number of digits on hands and feet that are so unbelievably tiny and fragile.  Cloud leans over and kisses her forehead, running his fingers through dark hair wet with perspiration, and he mutters something about how proud he is of her, how amazing she is, how much he loves her.

Yuffie just grins as the midwife takes the infant once again, to tend to him and making sure the rest of him is as healthy as his lungs and vocal cords seem to be, and she's clearly delirious with exhaustion when she laughs breathlessly and says, "Cloud, we did it.  We made a chocobo nugget."

-2- "Mama's yukata is pwetty," Yuki says, squirming around in his lap.

"It is," he whispers, tapping at his son's mouth with an index finger, "but we have to be quiet until she finishes her speech.  It's very important, and we don't want her to mess up."

It's not exactly fair to ask a three year old to sit completely still as his mother announces the newly-made agreement between her country and the reformed, rebuilt Shinra Company.  It likely won't go over well, but she is the Empress, Her Imperial Majesty, the Daughter of Leviathan, and her people trust her not to let their home be ravaged by senseless war ever again.  She says as much to them, reminding them that she has been actively in the fray since she was sixteen years old and has aimed to restore her country to its former glory since the war with Shinra ended.  She loves and respects her father, she tells them, but she would rather die than allow her people's culture to be reduced and trivialized, to once again let an oppressor overtake them and turn their precious traditions into a show for tourists.  

She makes a hell of an argument, and Cloud is quite proud of her for acknowledging Wutai's righteous anger at Shinra.  She doesn’t dismiss their obvious concerns about this partnership, and makes a point of assuring them, not only that she feels exactly the same, but also that she knows Rufus Shinra personally and can tell when he’s lying.  She tells them all the ways how she knows that he is serious about making peace between their two groups.  

(In another life, she once told him, she might have married him to establish this same bond with her people, and can you even imagine that, Cloud, how gross would that be, he's like, a million years old, eww.)

Near the end of her speech, she very casually says, "If Rufus violates our agreement, I reserve the right, in addition to enacting the fines and sanctions and other political punishments that I’ve already talked about, to cut his dick off—like, the whole entire thing!—and shove it down his throat."  And how can anyone can doubt her sincerity when she adds, "And then, I dunno, murder him or whatever"?

Yuki lets out a giggle, because he's never heard his mother threaten to kill anyone outside of a joke before and has no idea that, right now, she is completely serious.  Cloud cannot help but hope that his son does not inherit his mother's sense of humor.  "Daddy," Yuki says in the loud half-whisper so common to children his age, "I wanna be a empwess like Mama someday and wear pwetty yukatas."

Cloud hushes him again.  "You'll be the Emperor when you're all grown up, Yuki, don't worry."

-1.1- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

She's smiling at them as she gingerly lays the infant in Yuffie's arms, obviously proud of both herself and of her patients, and she adds, "He will make a fine Emperor, Lady Yuffie, I can already tell."

"You say that about every baby you deliver, Midori," Yuffie mutters, and Cloud is the tiniest bit impressed that she still has the energy to be sarcastic after the ordeal she's just been through.  "'He will make a fine priest, I can already tell.'  'She will make a fine wife, I can already tell.'  When I was born, you probably told my mother the exact same thing; 'She will make a fine Empress, Lady Kasumi, I can already tell.'"

The midwife grins, a sharp sparkle in her eye, and replies, "I told your honored mother, I said, 'She will be a right terror, this one, I can already tell.'  And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Hey, I didn't turn out so bad!  Helped save the world a few times, made a bunch of good friends, got a crap ton of gil and cool materia.  I even bagged myself a man without anyone's help, thank you very much."

"Well," the midwife murmurs, running her fingers over the few soft, black strands of hair that are already on the baby's head, "let's just hope this son of yours turns out to be more like his father, hmm?"

-3- It's somewhat common, he's been told, for little boys to go through a phase where they want to dress up in their mother's clothes.  So he's not worried when he finds Yuki in their closet, digging past Cloud's pants and shirts to get to his mother's things.

What does worry him is the make-up smeared inexpertly on Yuki's face and hands and how the boy is transferring it to anything close to him at an alarming rate.  Cloud snatches him up and pulls him away from Yuffie's more formal clothing before Yuki can christen it with the dark eyeshadow that makes his wife's eyes shine or the bright red lipstick she wears only when she's angry at or annoyed with her advisers.  The boy protests, letting out a shriek as Cloud methodically cleans him up before he can do anymore damage.  

Yuki squirms in his lap the whole time, small hands pulling at his father's arm and begging him to stop.  "You're ruining our clothes, Yuki; I have to get this stuff off of you."

"No!" he screeches, digging his tiny, sharp nails into the back of Cloud’s hands.  "No, I wanna be pwetty like mama!  Stop it!"

"Boys don't wear make-up, Yuki!" he scolds, and his voice is much louder than he intends it to be. 

And it's so strange because the wriggling mess of a child in his arms immediately goes still.  Yuki looks up at him, and while Cloud takes the lack of movement as an opportunity to finish cleaning the boy up, Yuki murmurs, "But I'm not a boy."

Cloud's immediate response is a distracted, "Of course you are," which causes a round of silence in addition to the stillness.  He manages to wipe off the last vestiges of make-up from the boy’s hands and face, working quickly before his son can start the wiggling and the protesting again.  But Yuki is still quiet when the work is done, and for a long moment, Cloud is haunted by a feeling of dread, knowing it was a mistake to negate his son's feelings right away like that.  He remembers people dismissing how he felt as a child.  He knows exactly how many scars he still carries from being told that how he felt was unimportant or wrong.

It’s important to him that he apologizes for yelling.  He never got that as a child, and he wants things to be different for his son.  He’s not perfect, but he doesn’t have to be.  He just has to be able to admit when he makes mistakes and do better next time.  

Yuki only shrugs, jumping up from his lap and bouncing toward the door.  "You're right, I am a boy."

Okay, wow, big sigh of relief for that.  It doesn't seem like his son is permanently harmed or anything.  He would have to be more careful about controlling his temper in the future, though.  Cloud never wants Yuki to feel like he couldn't talk to him about anything at all whenever he needed to.

"But," his son trills, elongating the vowel in the exact same way his mother does right before she attempts something mischievous, "maybe I'll be a girl tomorrow!"

Cloud shakes his head.  That's all it is, then.  A game.

Nothing to worry about, right? 

-4- The summer after Yuki turns 5, Cloud wins a teddy bear for him at a festival booth.  He calls it Nanko, despite his parents telling him that isn't a real name, and it immediately becomes his favorite toy.  He goes nowhere without it, and he's seen by the public with it so much that the bear soon becomes an unofficial member of the royal family.  That brand and style of teddy bear gains an immense popularity, and Yuffie cracks a joke one evening about her son being a fabulous trendsetter at such a young age.  "Just like his mother," she sighs, dropping a kiss onto Yuki's forehead.

The boy is sleepy, soft and pliable in her arms, and not really paying attention to anything.  He's fighting sleep like it's a master tonberry walking toward him with the intent to kill shining bright in its eyes, and Cloud can't help but smile.  "We should probably put him to bed."

A muffled protest issues from the vague area near Yuffie's lap that his son occupies, but they both dismiss it.  When he's tucked in, Nanko held tight in his arms, the boy is so adorable that Cloud has to take a picture.  He can't not do it.  He's physically incapable of not memorializing this moment in time, of not getting hard proof of how his child is quite possibly the cutest thing to ever exist.

As they are leaving the room, Yuki mumbles, "You didn't say night to Nanko."

"Good night, Nanko," Yuffie murmurs.  

"Daddy too...."

Cloud smiles.  "Good night, Nanko."

More content, his son curls on his side and snuggles into his bed, letting out a soft sigh.  "He says night too."

-1.2- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

Well, she's not technically wrong.

-5- A few days later at breakfast, Yuki says, "Nanko wants to eat chocolate chip pancakes!"

"Well, tell him we're out of pancake mix," Yuffie replies.

"Her."

"Hmm?"

"Nanko wants you to call her 'her'."

"Why?  I thought Nanko was a boy?"

"Nah," Yuki replies, holding the bear out in front of him and considering it very seriously.  "Nanko is a girl today."

-6- "Daddy!  You keep calling Nanko a girl!  Nanko is a boy, and he wants you to talk to him that way!  Why are you being so stupid about this?  When Nanko is a boy, you call him a boy, and when Nanko is a girl, you call her a girl!  Got it?!"

-1.3- "It's a boy," the midwife says triumphantly, the pride of helping to birth her country's next emperor clear on her smiling face.

(If only it were that simple.)

-7- "Don't ever let this thing out of your sight again," he tells Yuffie, presenting the newly-washed teddy bear to his wife.  Yuki lost it two weeks ago, and the level of agitation and worry that the boy has exhibited over the disappearance of his favorite toy is very unsettling.  He's been restless and inattentive, unable to sleep at night, and his emotions have been incredibly volatile.  At times, he's seemed withdrawn, given to very sudden bouts of anger or weeping, but nothing either of them does can console him.  Cloud had nearly been at his wit's end when he happened to catch a glimpse of the distinctive brown and tan plaid ribbon that was tied around the stuffed animal's neck sticking out from beneath a piece of furniture.  

"Absolutely not," she sighs, taking the bear from him.  "Come on, I think we'd better get these two back together as soon as possible.  Not sure I can take another night of having a wiggly chocobo nugget in my bed waking me up with another nightmare."

"I know," Cloud agrees, taking her hand.  "I feel bad that he's so upset, but it's getting exhausting to deal with him."

There's a long period of silence as they walk toward Yuki's suite, and just before they enter the hall that leads to his front room, Yuffie chuckles.  "You wanna take a bet on whether Nanko's a boy or girl today?"

-1.4- "It's a boy," the midwife says with a smile.

-8- When Yuki sees the bear, a grin splits his face wide open.  "Nanko, I missed you so much!  Mommy, where did you find her?"

-9- Years go by, and Cloud nearly forgets that his son's bear is still around.  It sits high on a shelf now, dusty and untouched for nearly a decade.  He tries to convince Yuki to get rid of it, but the boy refuses.  It's odd, isn't it, for a teenager to want to hang onto a childhood toy?

But if a little teddy bear is really that important to him, Cloud's not going to force him to get rid of it.

-10- The smell of smoke wakes him in the early hours of the morning.  Not immediately seeing the source as his eyes quickly scan the room for flames, he turns to wake his wife, only to find that she is already climbing out of bed and stumbling toward the Conformer.  It's the third time in as many months that they've been confronted with this scenario before, and each and every time, the culprits have attempted to torch a new section of the palace.  No one is exactly sure who is to blame or why they're doing it, as the preferred method thus far has been Molotov cocktails thrown through windows that have opened to let in the cool summer breeze at night.  They've since ordered all windows shut and locked at all times.

It forces the criminals' hands a bit, and this time, they actually have to break in to set the fire.  Fortunately, he and Yuffie catch them before they can make their retreat, two men and a woman dressed in all black like some kind of ridiculous play on the stereotypical ninja's garb.   Yuffie hands them over to the guards, bloodied from the beating they'd given them, and though she doesn't exactly cut an intimidating image in her silky pajama shorts and pink crop top, her shuriken and fists speak for her.  The fire is put out before it can seriously damage anything else, and everyone in the room save for the three people in custody breathe a collective sigh of relief.

But even still, the would-be arsonists don't seem entirely disappointed to have failed their self-appointed mission yet again or, for that matter, to have been caught.  The woman stares at him as he walks by, and he can't help but notice the smug grin on her face.  He pauses, considers her for a long moment, but before he can demand an explanation for her oddly good mood, he detects the faintest hint of smoke in the air once again.

A scream shatters the silence of the room.  One of the guards shouts, "The prince!"

By the time Cloud turns toward the long hallway leading to his son's suite of rooms, Yuffie is already halfway down it.  He catches up to her as she's reaching for the door handle, but even as her fingers are closing over the knob, he can tell the knob is burning hot.  She lets out a curse and yanks her hand away.  He tries to break the door down, but the wood has expanded with the heat of the flames he can hear raging behind it, and there's no use of trying to get in this way.  The only other option is to try and break through the window in his bedroom.

The idea occurs to them simultaneously, and while they run outside and around the enormous building to find the correct window, Cloud prays that they're not too late.  The smile on the woman's face is the only thing he can see clearly in his mind, and it does nothing to dampen the worry clouding his thoughts.  They arrive to see their son standing in front of the window, pounding at it to no avail.

"Move!" Yuffie screams, holding up her shuriken so he can see it.  "Yuki, get out of the way!"

The drapes beside him are suddenly ablaze, and although he hasn't moved at all--is probably too frightened to think clearly and without a safe place to get away from the fire--Yuffie launches her weapon at the panes of glass.

The next few minutes are all a blur.  Cloud grabs his son out of the broken window and runs with him thrown over his shoulder.  Someone hauls out an Ice materia and extinguishes the fire.  Yuki is crying, and when Cloud sits him back down, the boy screams in pain and falls to the ground.  It's only then that Cloud notices the burn on his foot and ankle.  Someone is there almost immediately with a Restore, and in the blink of an eye, most of the burn is gone.  A potion will take care of the rest of the wound, but later.

The guards have followed them outside, their prisoners in tow, and the woman starts cackling when she catches sight of the chaos before her.  "It's too bad," she yells.  "Even if nothing else, I had hoped we could exterminate the vermin from Leviathan's sacred household.  His own daughter has betrayed him!  She's contaminated herself by fucking a man who belongs to Shinra--" She pauses long enough to spit in Cloud's direction, "--and she had the audacity to taint the holy blood of her family by producing that half-breed spawn with him.  Lord Godo should have forced the vile thing from her belly before it drew its first breath!"

Cloud has seen Yuffie kill before.  He's seen her ruthlessly take down a horde of attacking monsters.  He's seen her defeat Shinra troops and members of DeepGround in battle like it's nothing.  The only context in which he's ever seen her take a life, however, is self-defense.  This is most assuredly not self-defense.  This is angry and rough and uncontrolled.  This is Yuffie screaming and grunting with the effort as her shuriken lands home again and again, ripping open flesh and tearing through viscera in an instant.  This is Yuffie not caring that her skin and clothing are covered in a sickening amount of blood and gore.

This is Yuffie taking pleasure in murder for the sake of revenge, and it's the most frightening thing he's ever seen in his life.  The only thing he can do is pull Yuki into his chest so he doesn't have to see it himself, cover his ears to block out the sound of metal ripping through clothing into warm flesh and flinging hot, red blood everywhere.  A few droplets land on Cloud's face and the back of Yuki's shirt.

Yuffie sinks to her knees with a grunt next to the woman's remains, and even at a distance, Cloud can see how much she’s shaking.  She throws the weapon away from her and barks out an execution order for the two men.  The guards only look at each other and shrug before complying, snapping the mens' necks in the practiced, efficient manner he remembers seeing so many officers in Public Security at Shinra trying to perfect.

They quickly survey the extent of the physical damage to the palace, and they find the body of a fourth accomplice in the corner of Yuki's bedroom.  The corpse is pinned to the wall by Yuki's sword, skin black and blistered from the fire. 

"He tried to suffocate me," the boy explains.  "I got away from him, but then he threw a bottle at the other wall and it caught on fire.  And I didn't know what else to do, so I just..."

"It's okay, Yuki," he says, running his hand over his hair and hugging him close.  "You had to protect yourself."

"I could have incapacitated him, though.  I didn't have to kill him.  I'm a ninja.  Ninja are trained to--"

"Sometimes, Yuki," he interrupts, "just sometimes, just once in a great while, it's kill or be killed.  They took that choice away from you when they trapped you like that.  Don't blame yourself."

First kills always weigh on the heart like a heavy stone, and Cloud could only hope that his son will recover well from this horrific event.  He is a strong kid, and Cloud is confident that he will eventually be alright.

Until, that is, Yuki discovers the charred remains of Nanko in a pile of debris that is taken from the room.

-11- "My Lady, I'm sorry," says Yuki's exasperated tutor, "but the Prince is acting very strangely during his lessons as of late.  He has become very argumentative, and the obvious effort he used to put into his work is gone now."

Yuffie sighs and glances over at Cloud.  "This is all your fault, you know.  He inherited your wild adolescent chocobo genes.  We'll have to chain him to a wall to make sure he doesn't try to join SOLDIER."

Cloud rolls his eyes.  "...she says, as if she didn't run away from home around this age and join an eco-terrorist group."

Yuffie shrugs.  "Whatever.  We'll talk to him."

And talk they do, several times when the issues never seem to be resolved, but they can't get down to the heart of the matter.  When they ask what has changed recently to cause him not to enjoy school anymore, he only shrugs.  "Dunno.  Just boring, I guess."

Over the course of the next three months, the apathy worsens, and eventually, Yuki becomes combative about going to school, insisting that he has been taught everything he could possibly need to know, refusing to go sit in a room and be talked at for hours on end, as he describes it.  One day, he even goes so far as to push his tutor out of the way when the man stands in front of the doorway, blocking the only exit that Yuki has.  He had run outside and up the mountain, the tutor tells them frantically, and if that's the case, then there's only one place he can possibly be.

Ever since he was a tiny child, Yuki has been fascinated with the cave at the top of Da-Chao.  He and Yuffie have told him the story of how a fire raged inside for hundreds of years, until they found the scales of Leviathan and extinguished the flames.  He has always been enthralled by the scorch marks on the stone walls, and he would often ask to be told the story over and over again.  Now, he hid in the very back of the cave and let his thoughts wander.  It helped calm him down, he would say, to give him a quiet place to think about his life and everything that happened to him.

So Cloud and Yuffie climb the mountain, and they do indeed find their son inside the cave.  He stands as soon as he sees them, asking, "Am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be in trouble?" Yuffie asks sarcastically, crossing her arms.  "You just assaulted someone.  No big deal, right?"

Cloud holds out his hand.  “You'll be in less trouble if you willingly come back down and finish your lessons today.”

He does, but his obvious restlessness about his education doesn't lessen at all.  His grades continue to hover barely above a passing mark, but nothing they do, no punishment, no encouragement or reward, no amount of time spent talking about why school has suddenly become so abhorrent to him or about what they could do to make it less so, makes the situation any less bleak.  One of them suggests moving him to a public school, where the presence of other children his age might help him out of his funk, and although Yuffie's advisers flip their collective shits about the decision, within a week he is enrolled and attending a school that's less than a ten minute walk from the palace.

The improvement in his grades is neither dramatic nor immediate, but when their son comes home with a smile most days and doesn't fight them every morning on whether or not he needs to get out of bed, it's well worth the adjustment.

-1.5- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

-12- Cloud suffers from the occasional sleepless night, and it's never really bothered him.  Most people take spells of insomnia, whether due to stress or illness or anything else, so it's not exactly abnormal.  Usually, he self-medicates with a glass or two of wine and a cake pop binge, but it's not helping at all tonight.  He's scared to pour a third glass, as he and Yuffie have an extremely important meeting in the morning and being hungover isn't the best idea when they're meeting with the leader of a rebel faction who could easily instigate his followers into a death-match against the Empress's army and win.  

What he decides to do in the end is watch television.  Wutai has some of the craziest programs he's ever seen, and at night, he can't say they get any less weird.  But if he's very lucky, which he is tonight, sometimes the wild and crazy bright-flashing-lights sort of game shows are foregone in favor of an eastern movie.  It's dubbed over, of course, but his wutai is more than strong enough by now that he doesn't have any trouble understanding the fast-paced sentences.  He does ponder over a few of the translation choices, but it's all a part of the late-night TV experience.

He's so deeply entrenched in his second movie that he doesn't really hear the door open.  Or rather, he does hear it but doesn't think anything of it.  It's not quite 4 in the morning, and that's around the time when the guards change shifts, so he's not worried.  If one of them forgot something in the house or simply wants to take a shortcut through the kitchen to get back home, he's not going to say anything.

The odd thing about it is...why aren't any of the other guards coming through the house?  There's never just one poking around during a shift change.  Usually it's all of them coming in at once, a dozen people exchanging information and gossip and news and anything and everything else.   Right now, Cloud can only hear one set of footsteps making their way very slowly and deliberately up the hallway, and that cannot be good.  Because from the way the sound reverberates, whoever this is is trying to sneak into...

Cloud jumps up as fast as he can and races back to his son's bedroom, the memory of the fire and of Yuki's injuries and his wife's bloodthirsty, determined face springing to mind.  He can't let anyone else hurt Yuki, he just can't, he can't lose anyone else ever again, not like last time, please Aerith please, please, please, just let Yuki be okay, let his son be okay--!

Yuki is fine.  He's covered in a mixture of body paint, sweat, and glitter, but he's okay.  He jumps when Cloud barges into the room, which is more than understandable considering he's in the middle of undressing and has exposed the hot pink lipstick smear someone has pressed to his stomach.  “Dad, stop it!” he hisses, yanking his shirt back over his chest and turning away very quickly.  “Just get out!”

He does, but there will be no letting anything he saw go without comment and explanation.  He waits for a bit and knocks at the door again.  “Yuki, I'm not leaving.”

After almost ten minutes, the door is finally opened for him.  Yuki is clean once again and has changed into his pajamas, but there's a distinct scent in the air that lingers on him.  Cloud can't quite figure out what it is.  He sits down beside the boy, intent on talking about why he found him sneaking back into his rooms at this time of night and where on Gaia he had been to get so filthy, but the stench knocks him over, takes his breath away.  All of a sudden, he's back in Nibelheim, 16 years old and watching helplessly from inside a body he can no longer control as he's dumped into a tank filled with mako and left to die.  He shakes the memory from his head, but the scent is still there and it's coming from Yuki.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Cloud notes.

Those dark eyes, exactly like his mother's, look away from him and roll.  “So?”

“So,” Cloud replies, worried and disgusted at the same time with a hint of anger roiling underneath his skin, “there's only one reason for that.”

“You're so clever, aren't you?”

“This is serious, Yuki!  How long have you been using mako?”

Recreational mako use was nothing new, but for obvious reasons, it was thought to be a thing of the past.  Apparently not.  Cloud couldn’t say he’d never done it himself as a teenager in Midgar, where tiny vials of the stuff could be purchased on nearly every street corner both above and below the Plate so long as there was no one from Public Security on patrol.  It gave the regular folks of the world a small taste of what it felt like to be a SOLDIER, a high that included temporarily enhanced senses and a ton of synthetic confidence.  It wore off fairly quickly, and first-time users were often left with nausea and a killer headache after they crashed.

Yuki didn’t seem to be exhibiting those symptoms, so Cloud could only assume it wasn’t the first time he’d done this.

Not much was known about the side effects of what was effectively a self-administered mako injection not dissimilar to the ones SOLDIERs received at Shinra.  They were much weaker, of course, but most off-label uses before this involved mixing other illegal substances with mako to enhance the high.  This stuff was diluted, sure, but it was still mako, straight from the Planet. Who the hell knew what this could do to a person’s body with prolonged exposure?

And his own son is shooting it into his veins, slowly destroying himself from the inside out.  Cloud is determined to put a stop to this even if that means locking Yuki away from the world until the storm has passed.  He will not let his son waste his life like this.  He will not take the chance that Yuki has inherited his susceptibility toward mako poisoning and could be only one high away from slipping into a coma, or worse.

Yuki shrugs, still looking away from him.  “Why do you even care?” 

“Maybe because I'm your father,” he replies, “and I don't want to see anything bad happen to you.”

His son scoffs.  “It was just a party, Dad.  Not a big deal.”

“No, it is a big deal,” he counters, taking hold of his son's shoulders and forcing Yuki to face him.  “Do you have any idea how dangerous mako is?  What it could do to you one day?  You're fourteen years old, Yuki; this stuff could kill you.”

Yuki still isn't meeting his eyes.  “Fuck you, okay?” he grunts, shaking himself out of Cloud's arms.  He stands up and takes a few steps away.  “I just wanted to feel like a normal kid for once in my life.”

Cloud ignores the swearing.  He can tell they are getting close to the root of the problem, and that's more important.  He'd said “normal kid”; is this about rebelling from the expectations and pressure put on him as the prince?  Yuffie's counselors and advisers are sometimes quite harsh with Yuki under the pretense of preparing him for inheriting the throne.  In reality, Cloud knows that at least some of it is due to the fact that he is half-eastern.  Yuki will be the first mixed-race emperor Wutai has ever seen, and none of the officials can really agree if the country is ready for him or not.  They themselves aren't ready for him, because most of them still cling so tightly to the traditional aristocrat's idea that non-Wutai are somehow beneath them, and that mixed blood is tainted.  

He remembers the speech one of the extremists gave the night Yuki was attacked, and although he hasn't heard anything of the sort with his own ears, he has heard rumors from some of the residential workers that certain of Yuffie's advisers had been disappointed that his son survived.  It's no secret that they all hate Cloud, but being unable to take it out on him directly, they poke, prod, question, and attempt to forcibly mold Yuki into the kind of ruler they want him to be, to make sure that his undesirable eastern heritage doesn't interfere with his ability to competently govern his people.

Cloud can't say he doesn't empathize.  “Normal kids don't do drugs, Yuki.”

The boy lets out a loud grunt, slamming his fists down on his desk.  His back is still turned to Cloud as he screams, “But normal kids know if they're a boy or girl!”

The silence that follows that statement is embarrassingly long, and it takes Cloud much longer than it should to understand what his son is saying, to parse the words and formulate an intelligent response.  A boy or a girl?  What in the world does gender have to do with anything?  His mouth is hanging open slightly, and he's peripherally aware of Yuki turning towards him and glaring at him, the sharp gaze falling heavy and intrusive on his skin as his son awaits some kind of response.  When he can form words, all Cloud can manage is, “So...you’re trans?”

Yuki's eyes drop, and his entire form goes slack as he sits down on top of his desk.  “Yeah?  No.  I don't know!”  A sigh escapes him, and when the boy looks back up at him, his dark eyes are shining with tears. “I don't know, okay?”

This is serious, but Cloud has absolutely no idea what he's supposed to do.  Comfort his son, of course, but beyond that?  No idea.  So he does the only thing he can think to do and hugs Yuki.  “Hey, nugget, it's okay,” he whispers into the boy's hair. “Don't cry, alright?  You don't have to have yourself figured out just yet.  Nobody's gonna pressure you to be anything you're not.  Just take some time and—”

“Everybody pressures me,” Yuki interrupts.  “Maybe you don't notice it, but I do!  Everybody calls me a guy, calls me the prince, or calls me your son, and sometimes it feels so wrong that I just want to punch them!  But then it's like...other times, I don't care, you know?  It feels okay to be called a boy.   But it makes me so frustrated, because where do I get off being angry at people when I don't even know what I am?”  

Cloud is completely out of his depth here, but he can't let it show.  He can't let his discomfort show, lest Yuki take it as a sign that his struggle is unfounded.  He can't let Yuki think that he's being rejected, that this moment of uncertainty is grounds for any amount of distrust or hatred from his parents.  Because it's just the opposite.  Right now more than ever, Yuki needs him, needs strength from his father to make it through this without breaking down, and he's not going to let his child suffer alone just because he's unsure of himself, unsure if he even can help, unsure if he'll only make things worse.  The pressure to be a perfect father was immense, but Yuki didn't need him to be perfect.  Yuki just needed him to be there, to hold him when he thinks the world's coming to an end, and to make sure he knows he's strong enough to come through it.

What he decides to do, when Yuki has mostly stopped crying, is to take to the worldwide network.  Cloud turns on the boy's laptop and opens up a browser page to the Moogle search engine.  He coaxes Yuki onto his lap and tells him to type and search, that they'd try to find an answer together.  And he does, and they spend hours there reading articles and watching videos and, most importantly, talking about what Yuki thinks about everything he's reading. 

Eventually they come across a page that lists a variety of different gender identities.  It begins with cisgender, which Yuki is vehemently sure he is not, and transgender, which they've already marked off the list as well.  Then there's non-binary, a term they'd encountered earlier that Yuki had taken a liking to.  As they read on, though, they discover the word genderqueer, and a few minutes later, genderfluid.

Yuki's eyes light up.  Cloud can almost feel how excited he is with every word he reads.  He gets through to the end of the paragraph and says, “That's it, Dad.  That's me.  It's—that's exactly what I feel like.”

“Okay,” Cloud replies, feeling incredibly relieved himself.  He can't even begin to imagine what his son feels like right now.  He's grinning ear to ear, and it's the most beautiful thing Cloud has ever seen.  “Genderfluid.  Alright.  Have you been thinking anymore about pronouns yet?  Not that you have to decide right now, but—”

“No, yeah, I think...I think I like 'they.'  Yeah.  'They' and 'them.'  That feels pretty good.”

Cloud nods, but before he can say anything else, before he can assure Yuki that changing his mind later is always an option if he needs to, Yuki's stomach growls audibly.  He can't help but laugh.  He's getting a little hungry himself.  Glancing at the clock, he notices that it's nearly 7am already.  “Hey, you know what we should do?  We should take my bike and go down to that 24-hour diner for breakfast.  Just you and me.”

Yuki's eyes glisten with mischievous pleasure.  He looks exactly like his mother.  “Mom will kill you when she finds out we went without her.”

He gives his child a wink.  “I won't tell if you won't.”

-1.6- "It's a boy."

-13- Although he does his best, it's hard at first to overwrite the part of his brain that thinks of his child as "he."  He's honestly pretty bad at remembering to use Yuki's pronouns in the beginning, but eventually he starts catching himself before the "he" can escape his mouth and replaces it with "they."  It's awkward at first, because every time he messes up, he can't help but think how hurt Yuki must be, can't help but cringe and hope that this mistake won't be the last straw for his child, the moment when they give up on ever being accepted by their own family.

A few months after the initial introduction of his child's preferred pronouns, he sits Yuki down after a particularly tense and silent dinner and apologizes.  "I know it's important, and I really am trying, I promise.  It's just hard sometimes."

Yuki nods, but he--no, they--won't look at him.  "Yeah."

"Are we still okay?" Cloud asks, putting an arm around his child's shoulders.

"...yeah."

"You don't sound too sure."

The silence hangs between them for a long time, which tells Cloud that, no, they're not still okay.  There's something else Yuki wants to get off their chest, and even though Cloud wants them both to clear the air about everything, the choice to speak up has to be Yuki's.  If not tonight, then maybe another day, but now that Cloud knows something is bothering them, he can't let it fester for very long.

Just as he's about to press a kiss to their forehead and tell them they don't have to talk right now, they whisper, "I miss Nanko, that's all."

Cloud pauses, uncertain of how to proceed.  The subject of Nanko is a touchy one, hard to maneuver without making Yuki intensely upset or viciously angry.  He tests the waters with, "Nanko was very important to you.  Makes sense you would miss them."

"I guess."

"But..." and he can only hope as he runs his fingers over his child's hair that this doesn't end badly, "...you don't need Nanko anymore, right?"

Yuki shrugs.  "Guess not."

"And if you hadn't lost them--"

"You used to make fun of Nanko."

There it is.  This is the source of Yuki's discomfort, and Cloud has been trying to work out what he would say about this subject for months now.  "I did," he answers, meeting their eyes even though it’s the last thing he wants to do.  He wants to say more, to explain everything and apologize again all at once, but he pauses to let Yuki finish expressing himself.  Themself.

"You and Mom used to make fun of them right in front of me.  And then you laughed when I got angry."

"Yes."

"You thought Nanko's gender stuff was a joke."

"I did."

"So...do you think I'm a joke too?"

Cloud's heart starts pounding.  He can't just say, "Oh no, of course not, Yuki!" and move on, because that won't help anything.  And pointing out that Cloud had been the one to help him find the terminology and the language with which he could express his gender identity, although strictly speaking the truth, is bound to only make things worse.  Cloud has done severely wrong by his child, and it's not something he can ever fix.  Unintentionally, he's left scars on Yuki's heart that will maybe fade over the years, but they will never go away.  He can only take ownership of his mistakes, admit them instead of dismissing Yuki's very valid fears and concerns, and focus on changing his behavior in the future.

So he hugs Yuki close, lays a kiss on their forehead, and says, "I'm sorry for the things I did and the way I acted when you were little.  There was no excuse for it.  If I could go back and change it, I would, Yuki, in a heartbeat.  But I can't.  Instead, all I can do is make sure I respect your identity from now on.  And I do.  I know that sexuality can be fluid; it only makes sense that gender can be too, and I wish I had realized that before.  You're not a joke, nugget.  Don't let anyone ever treat you like you are, especially not your mom or me.  All I ask is that you continue to be patient with us while we relearn how to think about you, and that you never, ever let us get away with misgendering you.  Because if we're allowed to, then your friends will think they are, too, and so will your teachers, and Mom's advisers, and the entire country.  You'll be in charge one day, and I don't want you to have to fight to be respected then.  So start fighting right now, and begin at home."

He can't quite see Yuki's face, but five minutes goes by very slowly as neither speak, and when they raise their head from his shoulder, there is a small damp spot in his shirt.  "Thanks, Dad," Yuki says.

"I love you, nugget," he responds, and although Yuki just nods on his--their--way out of the room, Cloud feels like a weight has been lifted off of him.  

He hopes Yuki feels it too.

-14- "So, I've been thinking, right?  About what my legal titles will be when I inherit the throne.  I need you and mom to go to bat for me with the advisers, because I'm not just a son of Leviathan, you know?  But it's too wordy to say 'sometimes a son, sometimes a daughter of Leviathan,' that's a crap title.  So this is what I came up with instead: 'Their Imperial Majesty, Kisaragi Yuki, Child of Leviathan, Sacred Ninja of Da-Chao, and Rightful Emprex of Wutai.'  Will they go for Emprex, you think?  I mean, I could use 'Ruler' instead, but I kind of like the sound of Emprex.  It was a pain in the ass to get them to call me Heir, and I guess I'm willing to compromise about Emprex, but at the same time, I should get the final say, right?  It'll be my country, and it's my title.  Why can't they just use gender-neutral language all the time, anyway?  Wouldn't it make things so much simpler in the long run?"

-1.7- "It's a boy."

No.

Yuki is a healthy newborn, perfect and tiny and the most beautiful thing on the Planet, and that's all that Cloud has ever asked for.  Son or daughter, neither or both--it doesn't matter.  They are his child, and he will love them with everything in his entire being until the day he dies.

-15- For their 17th birthday, Cloud buys Yuki a teddy bear.  Well, he can't actually go out and make the purchase himself, because his health doesn't allow it, but he commissions Yuki's bodyguard Jun to do it, gives her explicit instructions on what he wants, and tells her not to bother with anything that isn't perfect.  In the end, she can't find anything to suit his specifications, and so he calls Tifa, still living in Edge, to see if she can help him.  He can hear her smile when he tells her what he wants, and she lets him know that a specialty shop recently opened in town that lets people custom-build a stuffed animal.  As long as she can find the right kind of ribbon, it should be relatively simple.

The finished product arrives two days before the party.  Cloud opens the box to inspect its contents, and he hasn't been this happy in months.  He undoes the ribbon around the bear's neck, attaching the small charm he bought weeks ago, and ties it back.

It's perfect.

Later on that night, after the main part of the party is over, after the food has been eaten, after the advisers and counselors and public officials and other Important People of Wutai have offered up (as Yuki calls it) their “politically-correct, ass-kissing gifts”, the Imperial family has their own celebration.  Cloud has managed, with some help from Yuffie, to get up from his wheelchair and have a seat next to his child.  The nurse assigned to him for the day protests, but he waves her concerns off.  Yuki looks happy to see him up and about, but there's a certain sadness behind it.  Everyone in this room knows it's only a matter of time before he dies, but none of them are willing to admit it.  

His doctors tell him that he shouldn't give up fighting, but he knows he won't make it to Yuki's next birthday, so he has to make this one count.

He saves his gift for last, and the emotion that crosses Yuki's face as they unwrap it gives him chills.  Tears well up in their eyes as they grip the teddy bear in their hands.  Cloud puts an arm around his child, and they melt into his side, unable to control their emotions.

The bear is as identical to Nanko as possible, with one change.  The ribbon around the bear's neck is now a color gradient, rather than the neutral-palette plaid of the original.  The colors might not seem significant—pink fading into purple merging into blue—but Yuki immediately understands.  And the charm Cloud has attached to the ribbon is unique as well: an emblem that blended the stereotypical male and female symbols with an infinity sign.  

When Yuki is nearly composed again, Cloud asks, “Any thoughts about a name?”

Yuki hums thoughtfully, holding the bear out in front of them and considering it very seriously.  “I think...Jiikyu.”

Cloud smiles, immediately recognizing the source of the name.  Jiikyu, as in GQ.  Genderqueer.  “That's an awesome name,” he says, laying a kiss on their forehead.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You're welcome, Yuki.” 

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 23 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: So we’re finally right before the Gala. I’m high-key proud of myself and frankly can’t believe I made it here, and yet, here I am, doing it, doing the work, every day, and feeling so fulfilled by it I can’t really describe its effect on me in words. This project has changed me fundamentally and made me confident in my ability to do what I’ve always wanted to do: write fiction. I know I’ll continue to write fiction when this story is done. I’ll continue to do it for the rest of my life. And that is profoundly moving for a person who spent the first decade of her adulthood doubting herself to an insane degree, avoiding her destiny, trying to write literally anything else because fiction scared her so much. So here’s my moment to be proud of myself! Okay, moving on. If you’re interested in more about the history of Cartier LOVE bracelets, there’s a lot about them on Wikipedia, but they indeed cannot be removed without the screwdriver. Here’s Duncan’s duffel they bring to Madeline’s. Here’s Norah Jones’ COME AWAY WITH ME, which I’ve always found to be achingly romantic. I didn’t realize Klimt had painted Athena until I was looking up some of his work for this part, and of course I had to include it in Madeline’s house, mirrored with Duncan’s own Athena--here. I grew up with the Muppets, so I gave Kenzie a Kermit. Billie really did call her grandmother, Debbie Reynolds, Abadaba. Here is the chicken and mushrooms recipe Madeline makes. Here are the Carpenters songs they listen to on the deck: WE’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN, TOP OF THE WORLD, CLOSE TO YOU (I love the Carpenters). I had so much fun writing Madeline’s dialogue. As a weed smoker,  I can vouch for the fact that it really does help dampen hangovers. I based Duncan being bullied on the fact that Cody was likewise bullied when he was in school--he talked about it a bit at his SXSW interview. Here is Kenzie’s mustard dress. Claire’s dress. I posted Kenzie’s Gala dress long ago when I first found it (right after I started writing B&S and realized there was a novels-worth of stuff Duckenzie wanted to tell me), and here I finally got a chance to describe it, which was wonderful, cuz I been waitin’. The real version is by Hamda Al Fahim, an incredible Emirati designer who makes exquisitely beautiful fairy-tale-esque gowns. This blazer was my main inspiration for Duncan’s--it’s not quite as nice as his is, but you get the idea (it’s also something like this Saint Laurent velvet blazer, but without those light lapels). His collar tips are something like this, but much fancier and more intricate, and made of real gold. I am so fucking proud of this chapter. As ever, if you’re reading and enjoying the fic, your comments, reblogs, likes and asks and edits mean everything to me.

“Just out of curiosity, what’s your first memory? Your first memory of her.”

Duncan had known in that moment, in fact. He clutched Kenzie’s hand in the backseat of the BMW as Samuel drove them towards Arlington and Madeline, obsessing over the conversation with Claire Underwood for the hundredth time that day, his tears dried now but his mind in no less chaos. I knew even then. As soon as she asked me. As I’ve always known, somewhere in the back of my mind, hidden deep in my psyche. I’ve always known that there was something about me that didn’t fit against Annette Shepherd. That there were parts of me far more hidden than I ever dreamed. And I’m not a fucking Shepherd. I don’t know who the fuck I am.

Kenzie was running her soft little fingers through his, the pad of her thumb crooked into the dip of his hand, and he could feel her face turning to him, glancing at him with worried, bright eyes. He ached at her worry; ached at the sadness that waved out from her onto him, a sadness prompted by his own, a sadness he couldn’t entirely will away. The locking Cartier bracelet glinted now on her wrist pressed against him--its gold and diamonds caught the falling neon lights outside, the street lamps. The other bracelet, of solely solid gold, was around his, and they brushed against each other, cool and smooth, their fingers twined tightly.

Kenzie had called her mother. “Momby, something’s happened--can we come see you? We’ll tell you everything when we get there. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, Duncan’s okay. Well, physically, he’s okay. It’s about Annette. No, she’s not hurt. It’s something else. Can we talk about it when we get there? Duncan’s just--he needs us. Yes, Momby. No. We can order pizza or something. Okay. We’ll be there in like half an hour. Momby can--can we sleep there? In my old room? Yeah. I love you to the moon and back. See you soon.” Then Kenzie had gently pressed him toward the walk-in closet, and said “Dunny, get some things to sleep at Momby’s, okay?” And he’d obeyed, feeling dazed and on the verge of tears again, pulling down one of his leather duffels, absently throwing things inside it. Nothing seemed to matter in this moment--nothing but being near Kenzie, and he felt vague panic now that she wasn’t touching him. Annette is not my mother. Who is my mother? Who the fuck am I? Oh god, baby. Oh god. But Kenzie had returned in a moment, their toothbrushes and some toiletries in her hands, and she piled them in the duffel, then added a few other things-little white lacy underwear, a mustard-colored sleeveless lace dress, her flat lacing sandals, the Tiffany moon necklace, his big black cardigan he now considered to be hers--she seemed to know Duncan wanted her things in his bag, with his, seemed to know it would comfort him, the scent of her on his clothes. She can hear me. You can hear me, baby. You know. Thank you. I love you. I’m afraid, baby. I’m scared.

As Kenzie had finished packing her things in among his, Duncan had gone out to the kitchen, remembering what he’d gotten for her, and retrieved the red Cartier boxes from the island. He’d come back to see Kenzie emerging from the closet with his duffel clutched in her hand, and she’d set it back on the floor as he handed one of the boxes to her in the quiet, fading sunlight of the bedroom, not saying anything. Kenzie had opened the box as he opened his, and her little hand had come up to clutch against her throat, her eyes clouding with tears; Duncan could already tell she’d been crying earlier (crying alone, like I was), her face puffy from the residue of them and her sleep, but it seems today is full of tears--at least these are the happy kind, I think.

“They call them love bracelets,” he’d said to her quietly. “They can only be taken off with these.” He carefully picked the little screwdriver out from the side of the inner lining of the red box that held his, and lifted it out to her, flat in his palm. Duncan’s heart ached, desperately, in this moment--I am offering only myself, aren’t I, Kenzie. All of me, but only me, my faults, my sorrows, my anger, my sense of loss, my loneliness and my confusion, my temper, my flaws. These things I offer alongside my hopes and my dreams, my love for you. But no longer the Shepherd name. That name isn’t really mine. I don’t know what my name is. I offer you the indistinct self that remains. He watched her face in the fading light; the little bob of her throat, her hands trembling. He thought, wildly--I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve your love. You’re an angel, and I’m no one.

“They’re so beautiful, Dunny. Let’s put them on each other. May I?”

He’d nodded, eyes filling with tears again, biting his lip to stop them, feeling an ache in his mind, the ache of the terribleness of this day, the ache of her acceptance, lost in his relief towards her. Kenzie had leaned up to kiss him, her eyes closed, her eyelashes casting tiny shadows on her cheeks--her mouth was terribly soft and made him moan into her with succor. Saint Mackenzie, who consoles. Her touch alone heals me--reaches down into my secret heart, and presses it to her holy mouth, her kisses sweet beyond measure.

“I love you so very much,” she had whispered, and Kenzie had set her box down on the island; lifted the gold bracelet from the box he held with one hand, the little gold screwdriver with the other, and stared at him for a moment with an expression of devotion and trust in her eyes that shook him to the core of his being. Then, she used the screwdriver to unlock the bracelet, glittering in her hands--had ever so gently linked it around his wrist, bending her head over him to lock it into place. Duncan had lifted his other hand as she did this, pressing it down the dip of her hair, feeling another wave of tears cascade from his eyes, falling freely down his cheeks, and he’d shivered, shivered with the feeling of the hand of Fate on them again. You are my Soulmate, Mackenzie Stone. You are exalted above all others in my eyes. And next to you, all others have no hold over me. Not even Annette. No one. Kenzie looked up into his eyes as the bracelet clicked closed--his face fell against hers and he kissed her again, and she had whispered “Dunny, I love you, I love you, baby, I will always love you, I’m here, oh baby, it’s okay, I love you, more than anything, I’m yours--” and he could feel himself nodding, hands coming around into her hair, lost in her comforting voice. They stood pressed together, quietly, Kenzie’s voice drifting into silence, his mouth pressing up against her forehead, her fingers running along the gold bracelet around his wrist, now tethered against him (I’ll never take it off, never) and Duncan could feel her pressing her golden comfort into his body, and the wrenching sorrow he had felt was melting away into a duller, smaller pain, a distant sting.

“Now, do me.” Kenzie’s fingers trailed over the gold around Duncan’s wrist for a moment, then she handed him the box that held her bracelet--the diamonds glittered in the low light of the drop chandelier over their heads as he opened it, and Duncan noticed, almost removed from himself, that his fingers were trembling too. He tried to grip the screwdriver and fumbled with it, almost dropped it--Kenzie had gripped his hand and steadied it, and he’d breathed out, ragged, lost in the feeling of her hand. Then he’d felt her pressing into his mind again, felt her golden comfort, and his heart was relieved, the burden lifted away from it so he could see her clearly, see how trusting she was to him in this moment, see how luminously beautiful she was in the halo of this promise, the glow of the love that drifted between them. He grasped her little wrist, sliding the unlocked bracelet onto it, and his head dipped down to press his lips against her hand. My Kenzie, more beautiful than a starry sky. My moonlight, healing every corner of me, every dark place.

His hands quieted--almost removed from them, he watched himself lock the bracelet deftly against her, hearing the tininess of the mechanism clicking into place. Then he raised his eyes to hers. He could see her lip trembling, the fall of her golden hair shimmering in the fading light. You are mine. I am yours. You are never alone as long as I am breathing in this world. And even when I’m not, my spirit cannot be parted from yours for long. You know it as I do. Beloved. Forever. Beyond time.

“Let’s go see Momby, baby.”

Now they were quiet in the backseat, Samuel having closed the partition, giving them solitude with each other. Duncan glanced down at his watch--it was just after 8, and they’d been driving for awhile, maybe 20 minutes, out of downtown and toward Madeline’s house. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he ignored it, fingers clenching around Kenzie’s, trying to concentrate on the song that played low and soft: come away with me in the night, come away with me and I will write you a song...come away with me on a bus, where they can’t tempt us with their lies...he wished he could roll down the window and throw his phone away, let it fall over the bypass Samuel was crossing, let it disappear into thin air. I don’t care about anything and I can’t talk to anyone and I don’t want to see anybody but you and Madeline, he thought, and knew she could hear, knew she was listening as she dipped her head against his chest, warm and soft and smelling of rose and vetiver. Her thumb trailed across his palm, and where they touched she seemed to be weaving sigils of gold into his skin. I can’t help it--my heart fucking aches. I want to bury my face in your hair baby my sweet baby and cry until I can’t breathe. Cry until the tears dry up and I don’t have any left, I love you just you and you only and you are my constant comfort, my only One, what would I do without you, what would I do…

You don’t have to wonder, my Prince. I’m here. You found me. You’re safe in my arms.

Duncan couldn’t look at her--he was too close to tears again. He looked down at the bracelet on her wrist instead, fingers trailing over the gold and the glimmering diamonds, then at his, its gold steady, shining. I’ll lose the key on purpose, he thought to her. I’ll never take it off. Never. Kenzie sighed against him, and he felt the golden mixture of contentment and sadness in her--the sadness was for him, empathetic and overwhelming to him. What I feel from her is so extraordinary and so staggering in its loveliness. To feel her love for me this way is beyond all my dreams. To know its truth this way is indescribable.

And I want to walk with you on a cloudy day, in fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high, so won’t you try to come, come away with me

“I won’t let anyone take mine off me but you,” she whispered up to him, and finally he felt like smiling. “Only you, baby.” His ear had dipped down to listen to her, and her little mouth pressed against his stubbled cheek. Duncan closed his eyes, pushing the image of Claire Underwood’s expression when she told him to ask his mother where he came from out of his mind--pushing away the image of his mother walking away from him as he stood near the elevator in his uncle’s huge house (but he’s not really my uncle, is he), leaving him to the coldness of his realization, forgotten. Just be here with Kenzie right now. Forget everything else. Duncan lost himself in the drift of her scent, her softness, the golden touch of her mind--he didn’t realize the BMW had stopped, pulled up in front of a lovely brick Cape Cod-style house, warm with light from within spilling onto hydrangea bushes under the windows.

“Here we are, baby, come on,” and Kenzie was pulling him softly out of the backseat. He stood on the sidewalk, feeling dizzy; Kenzie was gripping the duffel in her hands, and he shook his head, taking it from her. She smiled at him; a smile tinged with worry. She leaned down to speak to Samuel, but Duncan felt like he was underwater, like he couldn’t hear--he gazed at Madeline’s house, still feeling dazed, as Samuel drove away and Kenzie gripped his hand again.

“Come on, baby, come on,” and she was pulling him to Madeline’s wooden front door, rapping on it insistently before digging in her satchel for her keys. Duncan turned to look out at the fading light--the sun still hadn’t quite set, and the world seemed to be bathed in a deceptively lovely glow, the quietness of the surrounding houses serene. He felt untethered from reality for a moment;  he freed a hand from the duffel’s strap to twist his fingers around Kenzie’s hair, against her back. Touching her brought immediate relief; brought him back to solid ground. Kenzie was still fumbling for her keys when the door came open--Madeline stood there, her clean linen and dark wine scent wafting out toward where he and her daughter stood on her stoop. Her glasses had dark purple frames today, and she wore a black camisole top with a black cardigan pushed up around her elbows, a long silvery necklace with a jade stone dangling down her torso, her feet bare below baggy, worn denim jeans folded up at her ankles. She pursed her lips at them, not unkindly--then she shifted her gaze intently onto him, lifted her hands to him from her scant height (she seems even smaller than Kenzie somehow, though I think they’re about the same height--like mother, like daughter, ridiculously tiny) and gestured to him, dipping her fingers out and then back towards her body.

“Come here, Duncan. Come here.”

Duncan’s eyes went misty again--Kenzie was taking the duffel back from him and he was stepping into Madeline Stone’s deeply, instantly comforting embrace, stepping into the cool cocoon of her house, out of the balmy summer evening. He had to hunch to reach her--Madeline lifted up to him, and the feeling of her was instantly soothing. Like mother, like daughter.

“Now, now.” Her voice was against his hair. “My future son-in-law. What in the world. You look like you saw your own ghost.”

Duncan fought the urge to shudder against her. How wonderful, Kenzie, to have Madeline hugs all your life. He could smell warm kitchen smells wafting towards where they stood--spices and the savoriness of chicken, pepper, garlic--Kenzie food, he realized, and his stomach rumbled, and he realized he was starving.

Madeline pulled away from him when he didn’t speak, looking up into his face again, pursing her lips, concern flitting behind her glasses. Kenzie stood on the stoop behind him, and he saw Madeline glance into her daughter’s eyes, knew she saw the worry there.

“I’m going to make you a very strong long island iced tea,” Madeline said, matter-of-factly. “And then we’re all going to sit on the deck and eat dinner. And you’re going to tell me everything. Kenzie, take that into the bedroom, okay? Show Duncan.”

Madeline stepped away from them, past a staircase near the entrance, through a living room with an oak-framed fireplace (Duncan could see the glint of Madeline’s Pulitzer on the wall), into another room he assumed must be the kitchen, where the wonderful smells were coming from. Kenzie moved past him, setting the bag down again to unbuckle her sandals and leave them on a mat by the door. Duncan leaned down to slide off his Wyatt boots, mimicking her. He stood there in Madeline’s front doorway, still feeling dazed. “Come on, baby, this way,” Kenzie said, pushing him toward the stairs, closing the door. She gripped his hand and he felt the gold bracelets on their wrists clink against each other, comfortingly--Duncan grabbed the duffel as she led him up the steps, past the first doorway (a bathroom), to one in the middle of a hall, this door shut.

Kenzie pushed it open--the interior was a sensibly furnished guest room. On the walls were several prints of Klimt paintings; Duncan was struck by them instantly, amazed that they were all from Klimt’s well-known “golden” period, including Pallas Athene (women in gold, high on Olympus, he thought again, these Stone women), reminding him of his own Athena in the penthouse living room, her head bent, her expression all-knowing. He noticed one was The Kiss; it was right over the headboard of the bed. The duvet was velvety burgundy, and a plush Kermit the Frog toy was nestled between the pillows.

“This room used to be mine after we moved here when I was in middle school, but Momby made it into a spare room when I left for Georgetown. This Kermie is mine,” Kenzie said, throwing the duffel onto the bed and grabbing onto the toy with both hands . “My Abadaba got him for me when I was a baby. My grandma, I mean. She passed away two years ago.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Duncan watched her in the dim light--there was a part of him that knew that though the memory of her grandmother was sad for her, Kenzie was talking mostly to distract him, and he felt a wave of aching affection for her.

“She was wonderful. She was a lot more structured than Momby in some ways. She was a singer--she used to sing this funny song in nightclubs called Abadaba Honeymoon, it was about monkeys singing in trees. So I called her Abadaba. I always did. She would have loved you.”

Kenzie came up to him with the Kermit still clutched in her arms, and Duncan had a vision of her as a little girl, dragging one of the toy’s arms through the mud, having tea parties with it, falling asleep with it clutched against her at night. He could see one of Kermit’s eyes was beginning to unravel from its socket, and its legs and arms were fraying. Kenzie went up on her tip-toes and kissed him--Duncan brought his hands around her cheeks, holding her against him for a moment, loving the feeling of her little dress pressed to him, drifting on the edge of laughter, the pleasant energy in her mother’s house, and more tears, still feeling lost inside his emotions.

Kenzie leaned the Kermit doll’s face up to Duncan for a moment and pressed it on his cheek, pursing her lips and making a kissing sound. “There. All better. Momby used to do that when I was sad. There. All better. Worry to the wind, she would say. My Abadaba used to say that, too.” She turned to a wicker chair in the corner, a woven checkered blanket draped over it, and put the Kermit doll there carefully. Duncan felt unable to speak, unable to think, unable to do anything but stand and watch her. I wish I could forget myself entirely and just get lost in her. Just dissolve into her and become a part of her. I love everything about her. Her hands and her lips and her cheeks, her hair, her wonderful eyes with her beautiful soul whirling inside them, the little laughs she lets out and her little teeth, her bare feet, her curvy hips under my hands. How thoughtful she is, how kind, how sensitive, her memories, her dreams. She’s an angel and I don’t deserve her.

Kenzie was looking at him, her eyes clouded again. He dipped his head away from her.

“You do, though, baby,” and her voice shivered. She’d heard him. “You are the person I love most in the world. In all of the Milky Way. In all of the universe. You do deserve me. You’re my beloved. You are exalted in my eyes.”

The last part came out of her with strange conviction; where have we heard that before? He wondered again. When was the first time I heard you say that to me? It’s so odd. I don’t remember, and yet I feel like I’ve never not heard it from you. As though you’ve said it to me a thousand times.

Kenzie broke the spell, reaching for him, pulling him out the door, back down the stairs. She led him through the living room he’d glimpsed by the front door, and his eyes fell on a photo on the wall--Kenzie smiling and walking down a ramp in her graduation gown and cap, her hands lifting up in triumph. I want more pictures of her at home, he thought. One in every room. I need one on my desk. He remembered the photograph of him and Annette that had sparked the realization in him after Claire Underwood’s question, and felt bitterness seep into the back of his throat, his psyche threatening to delve down into melancholy again, but then Kenzie was pulling him into Madeline’s bright, warm kitchen, and he could see Madeline’s back retreating through a screen door in the far corner, onto a deck with a view of the hills behind the house. There were a few bowls on the small table in the corner, and Kenzie let go of his hand to grip one--it had mashed sweet potatoes in it. There was a tray of the promised long island iced teas--three of them, in fact, in huge tumblers, shivering with round ice cubes.  Duncan gripped it and followed Kenzie out onto the deck. The sun had finally faded past the horizon and Madeline had put The Carpenters on low, Karen emanating from a little stereo on the edge of the wooden railing that surrounded the deck. And when the evening comes, we smile, so much of life ahead, we’ll find a place where there’s room to grow, and yes, we’ve just begun…

Madeline had made them baked chicken with mushrooms--a dinner Kenzie was obviously trying to contain her excitement over--and she’d already begun delving it out onto thick paper plates at a glass deck table. Duncan pulled one of the metal-framed deck chairs out for Kenzie as she set the sweet potatoes down. “Thanks, baby,” she murmured, dipping up to kiss him. He noticed Madeline’s eyes skirt over them, glancing at her shyly, self-consciously, as Kenzie broke away from him and sat as he pushed her chair in.

“I’m not much for the internet, but even I’ve heard about how crazy everyone is online about you two lately,” Madeline said, passing one of the plates to Duncan, who nodded at her gratefully. She dished out their tall drinks next, holding hers aloft so they could toast each other. “I think I’m gonna start selling Kenzie’s autographs for extra cash.”

“Momby,” Kenzie whined, taking a sip of her drink. She coughed a little. “Dammit, Momby, how much vodka is in this?”

“It’s mostly vodka,” Madeline replied, spooning sweet potatoes onto her plates and pushing the bowl towards her daughter. Duncan took a long drink from his tumbler. “Cheers to that,” he murmured. Fine by me. Thanks Madeline.

“So,” and Madeline collapsed into her chair. There were fireflies out in the yard, Duncan could see them winking in the dim fairy lights that lined Madeline’s wooden deck. Kenzie was already digging into her chicken enthusiastically with a fork, staring between the food and Duncan’s face, as if sheepish to be so into her dinner when his day had been so difficult. He glanced at her, smiling, baby, I’m okay, then picked up his fork as well, but not before taking another long gulp of the mostly-vodka-with-a-little-iced-tea drink Madeline had made for him. The chicken was delicious--savory and spicy, and it warmed him to the center of his being, calming his nerves again, dispersing the dizziness in his mind.

“Madeline, this is excellent,” he said, looking up at her.

“Of course it fucking is, baby,” she replied, popping the straw in her drink into her mouth. He laughed a little at that, nodding. Madeline fucking Stone. One of a kind.

“One of you is gonna tell me what happened today, after you’ve had something to eat.” Madeline forked sweet potatoes into her mouth after this statement, with finality. “At least you don’t look white as a fucking sheet anymore, Duncan, sweetpea.”

“What are you going to wear to the Gala tomorrow, Momby?” Kenzie asked, her tawny hair falling over her shoulder, popping mushrooms into her mouth.

“Nobody is gonna give a shit what I’m wearing, dearest daughter of mine,” Madeline replied, her eyes still on Duncan. He could feel the discerning, minute intelligence in her gaze. What did Annette do this time, she seemed to be wondering. “I have some old Calvin Klein stuff, maybe one of those.”

“Momby, there’s a theme, you have to dress according to the theme.”

“I can just slap a gold scarf on or something, honey, everyone’s going to be looking at you two anyway.”

Kenzie blushed and fell silent. She knows Madeline’s right. Karen was singing a different song now, her clear voice ringing out into the warm night. And the only explanation I can find, is the love that I’ve found, ever since you’ve been around...your love’s put me at the top of the world…

Duncan had devoured most of his chicken now, sitting back in the metal chair. He realized he was utterly exhausted--the anguish of this day had pressed on him like an anvil at his back, and the mere idea of the Gala tomorrow sent sharp spikes of anxiety into his mind. I don’t fucking want to see Annette. Not at all. I don’t think I can talk to her right now. I don’t think I can talk to her for awhile. I don’t...I need time. He caught Madeline’s eye again, took another long gulp of the vodka, and then he spoke.

“I went to see Claire Underwood today. I had a meeting with the President--an unsanctioned one. She had agreed to speak with me, and I thought...I thought I could build some kind of bridge between her and Shepherd Unlimited. Madeline--you know. You know I want to change the company. But I didn’t have a chance to be clear with Claire about that before she told me something. Something that she knew would hurt me...something to get at Annette.”

“She told you that you were adopted.”

Duncan gazed at Madeline in shock. “You knew that?”

“No, honey. No, I didn’t know. I suspected it, though. One day Annette’s wandering around in the world, not looking remotely pregnant, and the next day there you are, as if you sprang fully-formed from her head, like Athena popping out of Zeus. I had my suspicions for awhile, yes, but it’s not like Annette and I were on speaking terms, dear. It was just a hunch.”

Duncan was quiet at that--his mind ached again. Fuck, Duncan. Don’t jump down people’s throats. The only person who is at fault for not telling you is Annette. She’s your mother--at least,  that’s what she always told you. It was her responsibility alone.

“I’m sorry, Madeline.”

Kenzie reached for his hand, and Duncan grasped it, gratefully, his breath coming out in a ragged gasp again. He drank at the vodka, drank it down to the bottom. Madeline stood up, holding a finger up. Hang on. She gripped his empty glass and disappeared into the kitchen. Kenzie leaned her head down to him, speaking softly.

“Baby, are you okay? Do you not wanna talk about it anymore?”

“No, Kenzie. It’s okay. I do want to talk about it. It’s--I think it’s the only thing that’s going to make me actually feel better.”

Kenzie nodded to him, eyes falling back onto her plate. Kenzie, I love you. I love how you’re always thinking about how I feel. I love you. If I didn’t have you right now, I don’t know what the fuck I would do. Thank you for this. This is helping so much. I feel so much better already. I really do. Her eyes came back up into his as she heard him, and she smiled, biting her lip a little, kindling his desire, despite his melancholy. My little moonbeam. He squeezed her hand as Madeline came back onto the deck with a fresh drink for him.

“This one is vodka with a dash of seltzer. And I put a lemon in there for you.” She held another in her other hand, even though her first was only half-drunk. Duncan grinned at her as she fell back into her seat. The vodka was starting to settle into him and the events of today were starting to seem far away, dull, the bitterness melting.

“Duncan, I don’t know if this is going to actually comfort you, but Annette does love you.”

“If she loves me so much why didn’t she fucking tell me? I’m 30 years old. She had time.”

“If you want me to explain Annette Shepherd’s psyche, sweetpea, I’m afraid there’s no chance I can help you with that. No one the world over has ever been able to crack that rock-hard outward shell of hers. She’s horribly stubborn. She’s cold as a witch’s tit in Dante’s ninth circle of Hell. She can be a real cunt. But she loves you. Maybe in her eyes, keeping it from you was akin to love. Maybe she thought you’d be happier not knowing.”

“I might have been.” The vodka crashed against him. He moved in his seat, leaning closer to Kenzie, and she reached her little hand out under the table, settling it onto his thigh. He sighed at the feeling of her; gold waves. I love you, Dunny, she was thinking. I can’t wait to hold you close, whisper sweetness into your ear, feel you against me in the dark. I’ll soothe you, my beloved. I’ll soothe you so entirely. You know how I can soothe you.

“So, then, if you can’t necessarily empathize with her reasoning, you can at least understand it.”

“I…” Duncan dipped his hand under his chin, ran his fingers along his bottom lip, trying to dampen Kenzie’s thrall on his mind, enough to concentrate on what Madeline was saying. It wasn’t easy--Kenzie’s wave was like a heady drug he longed to get lost inside of. “I suppose so.”

Madeline seemed to notice the energy that was building between the two of them, even if there was no possibility of her knowing the true intensity of it. Her eyes were skirting over her glasses between Kenzie’s bright eyes focused on him and his nervous expression between the two of them. Yes, it’s true, Madeline, your daughter and I can read each other’s thoughts and anticipate each other’s needs, he imagined saying to her. Get a fucking load of that. A lot has happened in the past two weeks, a lot more than I could ever find words for. I guess I should be considering the big picture, honestly. Finding out I’m adopted is on the lower end of unbelievable things that have happened to me lately.

But no. I’m fucking devastated.

“I’m not a Shepherd, Madeline.”

“You should thank your lucky stars for that, sweetpea. The genes there are all fucked up. Generations of inbreeding in aristocratic families.” Madeline said all of this so drily Duncan couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“Momby.” Kenzie rolled her eyes at her mother, clenched her teeth.

“I’m serious, though. You don’t want to be a Shepherd, Duncan. Not really. You want the best of what being a Shepherd could potentially be. The resources of the Shepherd name. And they are as good as guaranteed to be yours already. Imagine what you can do with that company, sweetpea. Imagine. Imagine how many people you can help. Imagine the joy you can spread. You don’t need to be a Shepherd by blood. You just need to be a Shepherd on paper. And you are.”

“That reminds me. I need to ask you for something. A very large favor.”

“Sweetie,” Madeline downed the rest of her first drink and pulled her second toward her. “With that face I’d probably sign my house over to you if you asked me really nicely.”

“I’d like to officially ask you to be on the Shepherd Unlimited board of directors. I asked Kenzie already--” he glanced at her, and Kenzie smiled at him, then looked at her mother.

“I said yes, Momby. I think I’m going to need to resign from the Post eventually to do it. But I want to do it. And I want you to do it with us. And so does Duncan.”

“Resign?”

“I think so, Momby. I think--I think it’s time for me to write my book. And I feel like this is the right thing to do. We need your help.”

Madeline sighed deeply. It was not an angry sigh; it wasn’t even annoyed. It was as though she was closing one door, and when the sigh ended, opening another one. It was as though she was letting go of her need to worry over Kenzie--letting go of her apprehension, and falling into the realization that Duncan would indeed be person who would love her daughter with complete devotion. And I fucking will, Madeline. I swear I fucking will. Every fucking day. And on the days I mess up, I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it the next day. There will never come a day when I won’t try to give Kenzie everything she has ever wanted. There is no joy for me now that doesn’t anticipate and stem from her joy.

“You got it, kids.”

“Momby! Yes! Fuck yes!” Kenzie lept out of her chair, running around to her mother, throwing her arms round Madeline’s neck, burying her face in the crook of her mother’s hair. Madeline closed her eyes, but Duncan could see her smile. She opened them as Kenzie continued to clutch her, and they looked at each other--she nodded to him a little, and Duncan felt like he understood. Hey you. You over there. I love you too. I’m doing this for you, too. He felt the drift of tears float into his cheeks again. Not right now. Later, when Kenzie’s holding you in the dark, you know that’s when you will. And she won’t mind. Your sweet Kenzie with the golden touch will hold you and let you cry. She always will.

“Let’s smoke a bowl.”

Madeline disentangled herself from Kenzie’s tight embrace and her daughter (Kenz, angel baby) helped her out of the deck chair. She disappeared into the house again and Kenzie slid around to Duncan, leaning down to his cheek, her lips trailing along the line of his stubble. The revelations of the day felt very far away now, and Duncan felt hazy with tiredness, drunk on Madeline’s strong cocktails, and full of aching desire for Kenzie--Kenzie, from whom all goodness flows.

“Oh god, baby. That feels so good. Come here.” He pulled her down into his lap, anxious to be closer to her. He thought of that first night on the balcony--that sensation that they were touching before they had even truly touched, that vibrating energy between them, heavy and intensely charged. To touch you, my love, to really touch you, to be able to touch you always, I can’t describe how beautiful that is. I am more than blessed. To be chosen by you is beyond all beauty I’ve ever experienced.

“Do you feel better, baby,” Kenzie whispered against his lips, and he dipped them up to her mouth, insistent, nodding, the scent of roses and geraniums and her sweet skin in his nose.

“Uh huh. Much better. Kiss me, angel, please baby, please.” Kenzie sat with both her legs dipped over his thigh, stretching her arms out around his neck (Duncan felt the cool edge of the gold bracelet on his skin there, glanced down at his own now against her waist, his heart twinging), her eyes teasing him (dark green, shining gold), then she was tasting him deeply, her hair falling down against his cheeks, and Duncan suddenly wanted her alone, wanted the comfort of her body pressed against his, naked and so soft and so light under his fingers, arching into his touch. Fuck. I missed you so much today, angel. When I realized--when I knew Annette wasn’t my real mother--all I wanted was to feel you in my arms. Because you are my true family. My only beloved. And nothing else matters as long as you’re beside me.

I always will be, Duncan. You and me, baby.

Madeline was coming back and Kenzie broke away from him, her cheeks flushed, both of them breathing harshly. Madeline gazed over at them lazily, a pink and purple blown-glass smoking bowl gripped between two fingers, a BIC lighter in the other.

“Don’t let me break up the mood, Kenzie Lou,” she murmured facetiously. Kenzie blushed up at her mother, taking the bowl as Madeline handed it down to her. She leaned the mouthpiece toward Duncan’s lips and he pressed them into it, breathing in as she lit the bowl. She pulled it away as he breathed out, breathing in herself from the still-lit embers, then leaned down to kiss him again, blowing out into his mouth as she did. There. Fuck the world, baby. Just me and you. Then, Kenzie handed the bowl back to her mother, who’d already sat back down. Madeline lit it again and breathed deeply.

“Thank you for dinner, Madeline,” Duncan said, his mind an ocean shoreline now, the tide drifting in and out. He pulled on Kenzie’s waist, clutching her closer to him, and she dipped her face down into his neck, her arms still around his shoulders. On the day that you were born the angels got together, Karen sang, and decided to create a dream come true...Kenzie was singing along softly into his ear, and Duncan shivered, pressing down against her lips. “So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold,” that’s you he thought, hand drifting at her spine, “and starlight in your eyes of blue--”

And that’s you, baby, he felt her push into him, against his thought to her. That’s your eyes.

“You just owe me another night out on the town, sweetpea.” Madeline puffed at the bowl again, gazing up at where the moon had risen--it was gigantic and glowing, corn-yellow in the balmy night. “You can make it my first official work expense as your employee.”

“The first of many,” Duncan replied, “yes, ma’am.”

They all lingered there for awhile, not speaking, listening to the peepers and watching the fireflies drift out on the grass. Duncan closed his eyes, vodka and weed crashing between his temples, Kenzie’s softness in the little dress with golden flowers in his arms, her fingers twining through his hair at the back of his head. Eventually, Madeline set the bowl down and drained the rest of her cocktail, standing, wobbling a little. Kenzie went to move off his lap to help her, but Madeline shook her head.

“Nope. I’m good, sweetpea. I’m going to bed. You two are gonna do the dishes for me. But you can take your time.” Madeline came over to them and leaned down to Kenzie’s face, kissing her cheek--Kenzie kissed her in return. “Love to you the moon and back, Momby.”

“Love you to the moon and back, my Kenzie Lou.”

Then, Madeline stepped away from her and leaned down to Duncan, pressing her lips to the stubble on his face. Duncan felt his eyes flutter closed. His heart clenched, his breath catching. In that moment, he thought, Madeline loves me as a mother loves a child. And I love her as a son loves a mother. And I’m not alone. I have them, don’t I. I have my darling Kenzie, an angel on earth, and her bold, bright mother, who sees me as a son already, and I am very fortunate indeed. I am blessed among all men.

Madeline’s warm hand drifted down to his cheek for a moment, then dipped under his chin, thumb and forefinger pressing there, angling him toward her gently, and his eyes lifted up to hers. He could feel Kenzie looking between them from where her face rested in the dip of his collarbone.

“Duncan, sweetpea. Never forget how much you are loved. We love you. Okay?”

Duncan felt the tears gather immediately at the corner of his vision. For a moment he couldn’t speak--his breath shook. Kenzie’s fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay.”

Then Madeline gave him a little nod. “Good night, my moon babies,” she called over her shoulder, turning away from them, and disappeared inside, sliding the deck door shut behind her.

Kenzie lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “Dunny.”

“Yes, Kenzie Lou?”

“I love you.”

“As I love you.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll be together all day. We’ll have breakfast together and we’ll go see Morgan and Claire together, we’ll get dressed for the Gala together. Nobody can bother us, because we’ll be together. I won’t let them bother you. Anyone you don’t want to talk to, we’ll ignore them. Annette or your uncle. Anybody. Everyone. I’ll tell them to fuck off. I’ll throw a fuckinggg drink on them.” Kenzie slurred her words just a little--the weed was beginning to settle down into her, and the gold of her that fell against him in a tide felt more erratic, drawn-out, high. Duncan smiled against her. That’s right baby. You and me. Fuck them.

“I won’t fucking let anyone bother you either, baby. I can’t wait to see your dress, I’m fucking dying to see it. I’ll be thinking of you the whole time, I’ll just be thinking of later, thinking of you touching me, finally releasing me--” and at this he dipped his mouth down to the space under her ear and she was pressing her little breasts into his shirt, her hands flitting against his neck, her breath gasping as her mouth lifted up toward the moon, and he thought when you’ll finally slide that ring off my cock, hovering on the edge of hardness for hours and hours for you, when I’ll slide that plug out of your tight little ass and fuck you there, fuck you where you’ve been aching for me, I’ll be thinking of you the whole time, Kenzie, thinking of us alone together, the only thing I ever really want now, you you you your body and your mouth and your eyes and you and me alone alone alone just us no one else nobody but us my dearest love your gold like honey like nectar like sweet wine better than any weed greater than any drug the headiest of all pleasure and second to no one and nothing only you angel princess baby goddess, my moonlight, my moon flower--

Kenzie was giggling into his touch now, his mouth blowing cool tickling air onto her skin teasingly and his fingers dipping into her sides and pressing into her. You’re ticklish too, huh baby, and she wailed “yes, yes, stop, I surrender!” and he gripped her as she writhed, her screeches of laughter echoing out across the back lawn, tears in his eyes even as he grinned into her hair, happiness and sadness and some other emotion he couldn’t name crashing against each other in his mind, crashing into hers, maybe it’s more than happiness, more than sorrow, maybe it’s just the feeling of us together, the rightness of it, more than anything I feel, it’s the knowledge of our destiny, the knowledge of the perfection of this moment, when I thought perfect moments couldn’t exist, and now I know I was wrong, that they can, that they do, that this is one--nestled in a day so strange, so full of anguish--one moment, fit against us, molded to us. Perfect. There are perfect things in this universe. This moment, and the knowledge of us together. These things are perfect.

Duncan let Kenzie wriggle out of his lap, knowing full well that if he wanted to trap her there he could, keeping the strength in his arms coiled, not letting the neediness in his stoned, drunk mind take over his senses. She hopped away, breathless, gathering up their empty plates and the bowl of leftover sweet potatoes, cocking her head toward the screen door to the deck, which Madeline had disappeared into awhile ago. “Help me, baby,” and Duncan stood, stacking the empty glasses on the tray, gripping the serving platter with the remainder of the chicken. He followed Kenzie inside and she set the items on the counter, going back out onto the deck, turning off the little stereo, and the only sound now was the peepers and the cat clock in the corner towards the living room, and the sound of Kenzie shutting the deck’s sliding door, the sound of her bare feet on the kitchen’s linoleum. She went to the sink and pulled down a few tupperware containers in a cupboard beside it, scooping the sweet potatoes into one while Duncan slid the remaining chicken into the other.

I love this, he thought. Doing this with you. Doing anything with you. I wish we could do things like this more. When we have the garden house, we will. We’ll get away from the city, the company, my mother, the paps. We’ll make breakfast with eggs laid by our own chickens. We’ll eat fresh tomatos and cucumbers and lettuce from our own garden. We’ll take the horses out into the field, the woods, lay in the grass and eat apples under our orchard trees. We’ll fuck in the shade and lay there together naked and no one will see us, no one will bother us, no one.

That’s lovely, baby, she drifted against him, her little head brushing against his shoulder, filling the sink with hot soapy water, handing him a dry towel. Keep thinking those beautiful things and dry the dishes as I hand them to you, okay?

Uh huh, Kenzie. Anything you want me to do. And I mean every day. Always. The Cartier bracelet glittered on her wrist as she dipped the bowls and silverware into the sink, scrubbing at them with a scouring brush Madeline had crooked around the faucet, her eyes glancing up at him as she handed them off to him, dark green like the forest of you, the woods of you, the infinite of you. Princess Kenzie, fairest in all the land, fairest of them all. I’ll build you a castle where only beautiful things are, a castle of green growing things, a castle for your heart to find refuge in the certainty of my love, where we can hold each other, hidden by the boughs of the trees and surrounded by flowers, flowers to cover the wall over our bed in the city, and flowers for every sill in our home, flowers for you hair, flowers we’ll fall into as I kiss you--

“Oh baby, yes, I love that, god, that’s lovely--” she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper, and she dropped the brush and the bowl she held back into the soapy water and her wet, soapy little hands came up to his cheeks and pulled him down to crush his mouth into hers, and he dropped the towel onto the counter and lifted her into his arms, lifted her onto the counter too, the better to reach her, touch her, hold her, press against her, her smell like roses, her taste spicy and sweet and her, her taste, like flowers dipped in honey. Duncan felt the memory of today’s sorrow once more, knew there were things he now knew about himself that he couldn’t forget again, things he didn’t know about himself that he knew he needed to know, not just about his mother--whoever she was--but about him, about Kenzie, about how he knew they knew each other and knew they were meant to always be together, and why that was, how that had come to be, how they had found each other again. But all of that, his confusion, his despondency, his desire to know, was dissolving against her, and he felt the perfection he’d felt on the deck extending, stretching on into her mouth, perfect, baby, you’re perfect to me, you’re like a secret place I discover again and again, the secret safe place where my heart will always be able to rest and kindle its greatest emotions and that is beyond all words, all language, all description.

“Duncan, let’s wait until tomorrow,” Kenzie whispered, hands falling down to the sides of his neck, coaxing a moan from his throat, his hands gripping her knees, sliding up her bare thighs under the little dress, her warm, trembling skin sending an electric current through him, almost painful. “Let’s wait to fuck until tomorrow night, and we’ll be so fucking crazy for each other by then, we’ll be so needy for each other by then, baby, Dunny, god, I’m dying just thinking about waiting already, dying to feel your big cock fucking me--”

“Fuck, Kenzie, I don’t know if I can wait that long, baby, I want you now--”

“You have to. You have to wait. You have to do as I say, Duncan. You have to obey me.” She was giving him a hellishly lovely smile, one that set him absolutely on fire in this moment, her eyes whirling jade with flecks of gold, her hair in a cascade of silk over her shoulder--Fuck, Mackenzie Stone, you’ll be the death of me. Fucking marry me. Fuck me and choke me and tell me I belong to you. Because I do, I really do, I fucking do baby, I’m yours utterly, entirely. He leaned into her mouth longingly again as she kissed him, her arms drifting up his dark sleeves, her fingers brushing against his chin, holding him on her lips. Then she pushed him back--gently, but Dunan knew he needed to obey, needed to follow her, and he stepped backwards, eyes fluttering closed. He realized how tired he was in that moment, how the day’s revelations and the vodka and the weed and his desire for her were now combining to insist he hold her tightly and fall asleep now, sleep until today became nothing more than a memory. Kenzie slid back down to the floor, off the counter, and crooked a finger at him.

“Help me finish, baby. Then we’re gonna go to bed.”

“Uh huh, Kenzie.” He rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and yawned. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. The Gala is tomorrow. The full moon is tomorrow. I’ll long for you tomorrow, all day long, tomorrow.

Kenzie led him up the stairs after they finished the last few dishes, and they brushed their teeth quietly side by side in the little bathroom that used to be Kenzie’s when she was in high school, Duncan in a black tee shirt and gym shorts, Kenzie in his big Led Zeppelin tee that was now an integral part of her sleepwear. Duncan noticed a photo of her and Claire still there, in a bubblegum-pink frame over the toilet. Kenzie smiled at it, glancing up at him as she rinsed her toothbrush. In the photo they both wore Baskin-Robbins hats and aprons, Kenzie kissing Claire’s cheek, Claire with an expression of mock surprise, hand on Kenzie’s jaw. “Yes, I was an ice cream girl for two years,” Kenzie said to him, and Duncan let his hand drift into her hair, grinning as he scrutinized the photo.

“The prettiest ice cream girl in the world.”

“Ugh, shut up, Prince Duncan. I’d like to see you in that uniform. Give me twelve scoops and chocolate sauce and sprinkles, ice cream boy. I bet you never had a work a shitty job, huh.”

Duncan shook his head. “No, you’re right. I didn’t. But I did have to go to a shitty private school where I got my head smashed into a locker every other day for four years. I was bullied...a lot. Relentlessly. For awhile it was like it was my job to get the shit beat out of me. Two big guys in particular whose favorite insult for me was fag. Original, I know. Broke my wrist throwing me into a brick wall. One of them kicked me in the face so hard he knocked four of my teeth out, another time they punctured one of my ear drums with a pencil. God, that was the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

“Baby. Fuck.” Kenzie’s face fell and suddenly she was pressing against him, her little nose in his shirt, her hands clutching around him. “I’m so sorry, baby. That’s so horrible. Ugh, no, no, no. I wish I had been there. I would have kicked their asses.” She turned her face up to him and he could see the tears glittering in her eyes. Duncan dipped his head so his lips brushed against her hair.

“My fearless Kenzie. I know you would have. I wish I could tell him--me, back then--how you were on your way. I wish he had known.”

“I’m here now, baby. I’ll always protect you now.”

I know you will, Kenzie. As I’ll always protect you. Nobody can hurt us now--now we have each other. Now we’re invincible. Our hearts are safe from them, shrouded in each other. Kenzie led him to the bed--Duncan switched the bathroom light off behind them, pulled the switch on the lamp beside the bed, glancing at The Kiss over it before he did (me and you)--and she pulled him down to her in the holy darkness. Duncan pressed his face into the sweet space above her breasts, kissing the shirt over her skin, his arms clutching her flush to him, and whispered “Kenzie, I love you,” and her cheek was pressing to the top of his head, her little thigh crooked up between his legs, and she was murmuring “I love you too baby, I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore...” and he knew she meant it, knew she would, knew that her golden waves of sunlight and moonbeam were his shield against all the harm of the wide world outside. And then, sleep, in her arms, in her embrace, in the warmth of her love...

And he forgot to cry--forgot that he had wanted to.

--------

The next morning Duncan woke to the sound of Madeline’s sharp tapping on the bedroom door. His head felt heavy; a small hangover from the vodka, softened by the weed. Kenzie was leaning from her position against him, same as the one they’d fallen asleep in, turning her head to the door, and he drifted up out of sleep, eyes opening to the crook of her neck, the sweet, musky smell of her. We were dreaming. But what was the dream about? We were together. The Mirror. The Mirror was in the dream. We were...but it was sliding away from him. Her dress was long and black, falling velvet...I don’t know. I can’t remember.

“Wake up, kiddos, I made pancakes. Chocolate chip and blueberry. And I spiked the coffee. Hair of the dog for a big day.”

Duncan heard Madeline’s laugh echo through the door and Kenzie shouted “Thank you Momby! We’ll be there in a minute!” and a sharp spike went through Duncan’s skull. He groaned against her, arms tightening to pull her mouth down to him.

“Did you dream, baby?” He tasted at her, the slight saltiness that had gathered on her in her sleep. I have to wait to fuck you until tonight, late, late tonight, fuck baby, how can I wait so long--Kenzie was wriggling out of his arms, her expression devious. You’re gonna really make me suffer today, aren’t you, angel baby. I can tell by the look in your eyes.

Yes. Show me how you worship me. Be good, baby. Be patient.

“I think so, but I can’t really remember.” Kenzie sat up, her golden hair in a frenzied, sleep-tangled halo around her head. I fucking love you so much, he thought, reaching for her, but she slipped away in that infuriating quickness, her little ass in its tiny pair of white lace panties kindling his morning erection (just the usual), the gold-and-diamond bracelet winking on her little wrist as her hand trailed off the bed. He lifted his hand up to his pounding head, his own gold bracelet brushing against his temple as he did; the tethers of the gold thread between us, mine extending to hers, tied together, for all of time. Thank you gods. Thank you Fates.

He had followed her downstairs to find that Madeline had indeed made them pancakes--a mountain of them, with organic butter and syrup and strawberries on the side, and strong black coffee spiked with what tasted like peppermint schnapps, which did its bit to clear his head and whisk away the hangover pressing into him. It was after 9--we slept for a long time, Duncan marveled. I could have slept for longer, honestly, something about this house is wildly comforting. I wish Kenzie and I could sleep through the Gala entirely, just forget it even exists. He couldn’t imagine speaking to Annette today; he knew as soon as she approached him he’d do his best to escape from her, despite the fact that the Gala was taking place at the Shepherd mansion as it always did. At least the house is so fucking huge it’s easy to lose people if you’re trying to. He looked up at Kenzie to see she was staring at him, her eyes knowing, glittering as she sipped at her coffee. I know you can hear me. I just can’t fucking do it, baby. I can’t talk to her right now.

It’s okay, Duncan. You won’t have to. We’ll avoid her. She’ll be busy anyway. She’ll be around other guests. We can hide from her. Kenzie pushed a forkful of chocolate chip pancake into her mouth, nodding to him. She’d left her phone downstairs last night and it was now resting on the table beside her--Duncan’s eyes glanced down at it, noticing it light up once, then again from two separate texts, one from Clairebear, the other from a number that wasn’t saved in her phone. His own phone was still in the pocket of the pants he’d left in a pile upstairs on the floor. Fuck my phone. I might as well throw it in the fucking garbage. If I’m with Kenzie there’s no one else in the world I want to fucking talk to anyway.

Madeline was in a fluffy dark navy bathrobe, wearing her purple-rimmed glasses, clutching her coffee cup in her hands, her eyes skirting back and forth between the two of them.

“It’s like you two are talking without actually saying anything, and it’s weirding me the fuck out.”

Duncan bit into his lip. We are, Madeline. He used the edge of his fork to cut off a piece of pancake, pushing it into his mouth. “These are great, Madeline. I can see where Kenzie gets her cooking skills.”

“Duncan is an incredible cook, don’t let him fool you, Momby. And he taught himself.”

“Well aren’t you two just so far up each other’s asses,” Madeline replied, smiling into her coffee cup. Kenzie rolled her eyes at her mother, making an exasperated sound in the back of her throat, going back to her plate, biting into a strawberry. Duncan snorted, trying to hold back his laughter. You have us down to a tee, Madeline. I am, indeed, so far up her ass. He snorted again as he saw Kenzie give him a look, sucking her bottom lip in. Oh my fucking god, Duncan. Then they couldn’t stop--Duncan pressed a hand over his mouth and Kenzie giggled, and then they were both laughing uncontrollably, and Madeline said “oh boy, I said it, didn’t I, I did that to myself,” and was laughing too. Tears were popping out of Kenzie’s eyes, her head falling back as she laughed into her hands, and Duncan thought fuck, I get to laugh with you every day now, fuck me, thank heaven.

Eventually they all quieted down and Kenzie looked down at her phone. “Claire says we should meet up around noon to make sure everything fits right. I guess you can finally see my dress then, baby. Oh my god, Momby, wait till you see, do you wanna see the photos Claire sent me? Duncan hasn’t seen it yet, we’ve been waiting to make it a surprise.”

“Fuck yes I want to see it,” Madeline said, leaning over to her daughter conspiratorially. Duncan heard her gasp and he felt twinge of jealousy. “Ugh, I wanna fucking see--” he said, trying to dip his head around to Kenzie’s phone, which she jerked back beyond his line of vision.

“Not yet baby, the first time for you has to be when I’m wearing it, please please please,” and Duncan whined. 

“Fine. But stop rubbing it in, Madeline.”

“I sure will not stop rubbing it in, sweetpea. We don’t know each other that well yet so let me tell you something. I am the queen of rubbing it the fuck in. With salt. Duncan, it’s fucking exquisite, and you are going to shit yourself.”

Duncan gave Madeline a faux dark look, jabbing towards her with his fork, Psycho-style. She laughed at him.

“Baby, you’re so cute. We’re gonna change your name to Stone. I’m keeping you.”

“That would be my fucking honor, and we both know it.”

Kenzie was smiling between them, and the earnest happiness in her expression made Duncan want to press her against him, kiss her tenderly. But then she looked back down at her phone, and her face immediately creased with a frown.

“Kenz, what is it?”

“Um, it’s Annette.”

Duncan’s blood went cold, his good mood immediately crashing down to earth. “Oh. What the fuck does she want.”

“She’s asking if she can come by the penthouse. She says she wants to give me something.”

Duncan’s mind flashed with a spike of red-hot anger. “Spent all this time being horrible to you and now she’s trying to guilt-trip me by giving you gifts. Fuck her.”

“Duncan.”

“Kenzie, she didn’t tell me I was adopted for thirty fucking years.”

“I know, baby. I fucking understand why you’re angry, why you’re so hurt. But if she’s finally trying to be civil with me, it feels like an opportunity. Baby. We can help her understand what we want to do with the company. I mean--eventually. After some time. After you have some time.”

Duncan pressed two fingers into the bridge of his nose. Calm the fuck down, Duncan. Do not take your anger out on Kenzie, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. She hasn’t done anything but be loving and sympathetic and cried her eyes out for you last night. She’s the one who is ALWAYS on your side.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He could feel Madeline’s eyes between them, intent, observant. She’s watching you too, Duncan. She’s watching how you treat her daughter, and you need to pass this fucking test, today and every day from here on out. So pass the fucking test and don’t be a fuck up. “I--I can’t see her right now. But she can drop it off for you with Anchaly. Or you can, I dunno--I can go somewhere while you talk with her.”

“I’ll go downstairs and see her for a minute. After we go see Morgan and Claire, before the Gala. I’ll just go talk to her downstairs for a minute. Is that okay?”

“Yes, Kenzie. It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, Kenzie’s phone poised in her hand. Duncan. I love you. We both know she wants to use me right now to get you back on her side. But that doesn’t matter. We can go away after the Gala, baby. Let’s do it. After the Gala, let’s just leave. Let’s go to the cabin and stay there for a few days. As long as we need to. Until you feel better. Until you feel like you can talk to her. How does that sound? Let’s just go. Everyone can fuck off after today. Just you and me, baby. Just us and the stars and the trees and the lake.

Duncan was nodding at her, and he could feel Madeline’s puzzlement again at their silence, their intent stares at each other, his nodding.

“Seriously, you two are spooking me. What the fuck.”

“It’s just how we comfort each other, Momby. It’s just--it’s like meditation.”

“Not like any meditation I’ve ever fucking seen. It’s like you’re talking to each other but your mouths aren’t moving. Like fucking telepathy. You two are...it’s just...it’s very strange.”

Duncan didn’t say anything, finishing off his pancakes, bringing his coffee cup (it had a full-frontal faun with a comically large erection playing panpipes on it--nice, Madeline) to his lips. Madeline sighed at them, then seemed resigned to them not elaborating further. “What time are you picking me up with that fucking fantastic man?”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to Samuel Adebayo, my irreplaceable chauffeur.”

“That’s what I said. That fucking fantastic man.”

“The Gala starts at 8. We should be fashionably late. So we’ll pick you up at 8 sharp, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, sweetpea. Plenty of time for me to get high as a kite beforehand.”

Kenzie was rolling her eyes again, but Duncan couldn’t help but agree with Madeline internally. I don’t think I can make it through tonight sober. Between avoiding my mother and edging in a crowd of famous politicians and celebrities, it’s going to be an interesting fucking night. He felt Kenzie’s eyes on him again.

Wait until you see my dress, baby. Wait till you see your angel. He felt gold swirling around her thoughts--the gold of the gods, she thought to him. My sweet black-clad god of riches, you will behold your Persephone. Your fucking queen. And I’ll be wearing my plug for you all night too, just fucking aching for you...

Kenzie. Fuck. You’re killing me.

Thankfully Madeline had turned away from them this time to make more coffee. Kenzie stood, having finished her breakfast too, and crooked a finger at him, grinning with her little teeth. Come on. Let’s take a shower together in my shitty adolescent bathroom, baby. I’m going to make you needy for me today. You don’t get to fuck me till later, but you can look and touch, baby.

“Momby, we’re gonna go get dressed. Thank you for the pancakes.” Kenzie stepped over to her mother, kissing her cheek, then hopped over to Duncan and pulled him toward the stairs, her eyes that dark jade green, making his stomach swirl with low heat. He watched her ass bounce up the stairs ahead of him and he closed his eyes as he went after her. Fuuuuck. How the fuck am I going to make it until tonight.

Kenzie was pulling him through the guest room (The Kiss, Pallas Athene, gold waves, hey Kermit) and into the little bathroom, closing the door with a snap behind them, turning the little lock, her hair falling. The shower curtain was celestial suns and moons--Duncan assumed it must have been the same one since before Kenzie went to college--and Kenzie pushed it back, turning her back to him, clutching the hem of her tee shirt and pulling it off, yanking her panties off with one hand, letting them fall as Duncan’s eyes roved over her bare ass. Ugh, I love it. I love your body, baby, love your shoulders and your hair, the dip of your waist, your hips and the round peach of your ass, the backs of your thighs and your short little legs--he reached out before she could wriggle away and his hands fell down to the jut of her hipbones, burying his nose in the back of her hair.

“Princess,” he whispered against her. “My beautiful fucking baby.”

Kenzie leaned back into him--Duncan felt the jerk of his cock growing hard as she rubbed her ass up against his crotch through the soft fabric of the gym shorts he still wore. How how how can I wait until tonight, baby, how can I. His hand was coming down her abdomen to hover above her sex, but Kenzie grabbed his fingers and yanked them away, insistently.

“No, baby. Be good. Get in the shower with me.” You smell like flowers, baby. You’re my little fucking flower. Let me suck on your exquisite petals, Persephone. Let me take you into my mouth.

She stepped into the tub and turned the knob, yelping a little as cold water came out against her breasts and stomach. “Ugh, I forget now that not every shower is hot immediately like yours, baby,” she murmured, and Duncan was hurriedly throwing his clothes off, stepping in beside her. Not every shower’s as big as mine either, huh, Kenz, he thought to her, his body immediately pressing against hers as he gripped her at the hips and turned her into him in the small basin, the shower head now falling against the back of her hair. His hardening erection was pressing to her stomach now. Duncan hesitated for a moment, looking down into her face turned up to him. Then, he kneeled in front of her, the bottoms of his feet pressed against the edge of the small tub, hands still holding her hips in a careful but insistent clutch.

“Can I please make you come, Princess Kenzie?”

Her eyes were backlit with that ethereal green in the artificial light of the little bathroom--the sun was facing away from the house this time of day, and only the yellow light of the bulbs over the bathroom mirror permeated the shade of their nook. The water was finally hot now, and steam began to rise around her, like some cascading spell coiling up from her, the water soaking through her blonde-dark hair, sliding in rivulets down her thighs, his mouth hovering just over the lips of her sex now. Duncan kept his eyes on her face, fingers tightening down onto the backs of her thighs, under the dip of her ass cheeks. Please say yes, I beg of you, angel. Please let me. I want the sweet scent of your clit to hover around my lips and mouth and nose all day. I want it to linger in my senses the whole time at the Gala. I want my thoughts to be intoxicated with the memory of your cunt, the desperate hope that I can worship it with my sex as I did with my mouth. I beg you to let me worship you.

Kenzie’s silence stretched, and he felt as though she had closed her mind off to him for a moment, closed herself and delved down into a secret Pandora’s box, and he ached to feel her again, a tiny whimper escaping him, his desperation rising up. Then, Kenzie’s gold surged back into him and he felt his cock jump between his legs with the force of it, felt the groan that erupted from his lips as the stare between them extended, the hot water falling against his cheeks from where he knelt before her, beholden. 

Kenzie’s slender hands clutched into the back of his head, down into the wetness of his curls, and still not speaking, only staring into him, her expression obtuse and unreadable, Kenzie brought her leg up over his shoulder, crooking her knee there, lifting her thigh open, and she forcefully, harshly, demandingly brought his face, the open supplication of his mouth, flush between the wet lips of her sex. Duncan immediately clutched her against him with all his strength, easily holding her steady, the gold bracelet on his wrist pressing against her ass, and he kept his eyes open, lifted up to her face, her chin falling back and her mouth falling open as the water rushed through her hair. I will never forget the way she looks in this moment, either, in this tiny little shower. Her face is like the face of god to me. Yes, angel, yes. This is all for you. She was sighing deeply, her sighs like long, drawn cries, and he could feel the minute shuddering in the muscles of her legs and the core of her body, and he longed to be devoured by her desires in that moment, longed to be consumed by her needs. I’m your baby, Kenzie, I belong to you, the only thing I want is to make you feel so fucking good, the only thing I want is to be yours, and to make you come, come, come--

Duncan moved his head down, flicked his tongue out, pressing it along the quivering sensitivity of the dip of skin between Kenzie’s ass and the opening of her cunt, along the cavity there and the lips of her labia, then back up into her clit, and Kenzie was crying out softly, quietly, “fuck, baby, don’t fucking do that, I can’t be quiet if you do that, I don’t want Momby to hear us--” and Duncan smiled into her clit, swirling his tongue around the bud, loving the feeling of her thighs knocking against his hair, her involuntary convulsing, her hands gripping his hair with an intensifying low pain, pulling. He pressed his open mouth in a wanton kiss to the very head of where the lips of her began, then began to suck lightly, suck downwards over the mound of nerves, dipping his tongue back and forth, and each time it pressed into her Kenzie’s hips bucked into his face, her thighs beginning to tremble in a steady cascade now, and he dug his hands so tightly into her that he could feel his short nails now dipping half-moons into her soft skin. 

Fucking come, moonlight. This is just the first time today. I’m gonna make you come later, even harder than I make you come right now. Fucking come against my mouth. I dream all day about your sweet little cunt, Kenzie. My daydreams are the feeling and the scent of you here, my daydreams are buried in your hair, the softness of your skin, the radiant glow of your eyes. He raised his head for a moment, away from his ardent sucking, and stared at her. He knew what she was thinking now, knew how she wanted to force him against her, felt the coiling desire to control him swirling in the center of her, an image rather than a thought, and he waited for another beat, waited for her to do what he longed for, what he knew she wanted to do. Kenzie brought her fingers away from their harsh grip at his hair; one of her little graceful hands clutched him under his stubbled chin as he gripped her thigh and the back of her ass, holding his face steady as he held her body in place, and then her other hand came up, hovered, then came against his cheek with a hard slap, the diamonds on her wrist winking, his mouth hanging open with the force of it, breath falling out in a harsh gasp, eyes fluttering closed, involuntary.

Kenzie hesitated for a moment, then brought the backside of the same hand down over the other cheek, not quite as hard as the first, but the sound of it still loud and sharp. The low pain of her attentions sent a dagger of hot need through his body and into his groin, crackling energy sliding through his mind. I bow to you, goddess. Kenzie. My beloved. Queen. I am beholden to your desires. Fucking yes. I want you to command me to suck on you. I fucking love you.

“Put your mouth back where it belongs, baby,” she said, and she lifted her chin, the hot water sliding down the curve of her breasts, between her collarbones down the flatness of her stomach, and he saw the glimmering wonder of her divinity again, and felt staggered inside it, knowing there was nothing else in the world he wanted inside this moment as much as he wanted what to do she told him to do.

Duncan pressed his open mouth against her again in a complete supplication that sent warm waves of her golden tide down his throat, the heady scent and taste of her making his cock jump into his belly again, and her hand was coming down to the nape of his neck, achingly gently now, pressing him into her, moving her hips so she was almost hovering over him now, almost as if she were floating, her body heavy against him but also impossibly light, and his eyes fluttered closed--he couldn’t help it, overwhelmed as he felt by her in this moment, extending forwards and backwards until he felt as though he no longer knew where he was, and didn’t care to know, only that she was here, impossibly close, and she was going to fucking come for him very soon, and with his mouth utterly pressed to her he felt the shudder build in her body and heard her needling cry, opened his eyes, holding his mouth carefully still and working his tongue into her as she shook, watching her head dip down, cock to the side in an achingly lovely moment of complete abandon, her eyes half-lidded and lit by a haloed glow, her mouth wide, her little teeth peeking from her lips, her breasts shuddering with tiny shivering adulations, her arms shaking, one hand falling across his stubbled cheek almost absently, needy to feel him there (I love it love the feeling of it love you fucking love you I fucking love you your mouth is all I ever want now your mouth and your adoration and you bowing to me, bow to me bow to me my fucking gorgeous impossibly beautiful prince oh fucking fuck fucking fuck me fuckkkk), her thoughts the most glorious poem inside her orgasm. His mouth stayed against her, loathe to leave the sweetness of her, as her shudders dissipated, floated down, dissolved slowly. Kenzie tried to uncrook her knee from where her thigh still laid over his shoulder, and Duncan gripped her hard, whining between the lips of her, trying to keep her there.

“Baby, be good, let me down,” she was laughing at him, hands soft on his cheeks, her diamond Cartier bracelet glinting in the corner of his eyes as she pushed his face back, and he pouted at her, pouted up into her radiant face, goggled by its loveliness, awash in the sweet afterglow of her orgasm. “Later, I’m gonna let you fuck me so hard. Be good today, okay? Be my sweet baby.” He sighed into her stomach at that, nodding, squinting his eyes against the heat of the water spitting down, then leaned back, licking his lips (god I love the taste of her, I don’t know any words for it, it’s like the sweetest cake with the headiest wine, the absolute tip of an orgasm, the absolute depth of the deep ocean, it’s like staring into the abyss with white stars whirling, it’s her, it’s fucking her, it’s the taste of heaven), and hoisted himself up, aware that his erection was achingly hard now between his legs, aware that she wasn’t going to touch him, and he wanted to moan with terrible frustration. Kenzie was leaning away from him, squeezing conditioner into her palm, fingering it swiftly through her tawny hair, and he could see her mouth still hovering open as she stared at him, could see the flow of her thoughts even though she wasn’t touching him. I love your big fucking cock baby, later I’m going to fucking gag on it for you, but only if you’re good, only if you’re patient, and he groaned, dipping his face down to press against her cheek, the heat of the water making his cock shiver as she leaned away from him so only their faces were touching. His fingers came up to press into her breasts, around her nipples, and then he was moving his hands away because the feeling of her was simply too intense for him now, too much to bear, and he moved back and he said “Fuck, Kenzie baby…”

Kenzie closed her eyes, rinsing her hair under the shower head, hands flitting through its dark gold, then she was pressing a finger up into the dip of his throat, right below his adam’s apple, curling her hand up to grasp his throat, gently but insistently.

“Don’t you dare come, Duncan Shepherd. You have to wait.”

Duncan’s mouth snapped closed at her commanding tone, the gold flecks that suddenly twirled in her gaze, and his hands fell away from where they had been hovering near his cock, his aching need to touch himself laid bare to her through their minds’ touch.

“Ung, Kenzie--”

“No whining. Finish up and get ready with me. It’s time for you to see my dress.”

Kenzie stepped out of the shower at that, and Duncan tried to dial back the wave he felt falling down his body, into his groin. You can’t. Kenzie said you have to wait. He forced himself to think of an open wound festering, the smell of rotting garbage, anything to ease him down from the edge of release. Slowly he began to feel the pressure in his cock easing, and he gasped into the water, sucking some into his mouth, swirling it under his tongue, desperate to ease the whirling need the taste of her sex kindled up in him. The taste of her in my mouth like this is fucking overwhelming, it’s like fucking torture. I could come over and over and never want it to end in a thousand years, tasting her on my lips this way. Duncan resigned himself to patience (you must, you have to, it’s what she fucking wants so it must be done) and finished his shower alone, despite the terrible ache of his desire for her, her gold still lingering like a patina around his body.

-------

Kenzie was wearing the button-down mustard-colored yellow lace dress she’d packed hurriedly in his duffel the night before, the little black heeled sandals on her feet, the Tiffany moon at her throat, her long hair still drying in soft waves around her shoulders, Duncan in one of his typical black Givenchy Oxfords, the fabric of it thankfully a cool cotton (somehow I packed something sensible, despite the erratic nature of my mental state last night, he thought)  to combat the heat of the June day, already overwhelming, his round black-framed Yves sunglasses over his eyes, her little gold-framed round sunglasses over hers as she pulled him eagerly from the BMW’s backseat at Morgan’s studio, an wildly excited grin spread across her little face. I want to fucking kiss you, angel, your sweetness is like a food I want to savor.

Duncan had made the mistake of looking at his phone on the way and low dismay kindled in the back of his mind now; Annette had attempted to call him 15 times since last night and left him a slew of texts, which ranged in tone from the outright defensive to jarringly apologetic that bordered on a kind of begging. He’d never once been privy to a message from his mother that approached this level of penitence, and it unnerved him. But he was determined to stay away from her for a few days. I can’t fucking talk to you right now, and you have to fucking accept it, Mom. He’d avoid her as well as he could tonight, and they wouldn’t talk about what Claire Underwood had told him until he and Kenzie returned from the cabin. He knew this with certainty. His mind ached with acute agony when he tried to contemplate the truth; I’m not a Shepherd, I don’t fucking know who I am; it was simply too close still, and his psyche stepped away from it as he clutched Kenzie’s hand like a lifeline.

Kenzie was dragging him up the stairs, little sounds of excitement floating down to him from her mouth, her movements elated. My dress my fucking dress my gorgeous dress wait till you see baby wait till you see, he could hear her, waves of gold crashing. Kenzie slammed her palm onto the buzzer, hopping up and down, squeezing his hand, pinching his fingers. How can I be in a bad mood when you look like this, he thought, dipping his face down to kiss her cheek. My fucking angel. Today will be beautiful because you are here and you alone are my sunlight.

Claire greeted them, cheeks flushed pink, in a long-sleeved navy midi dress with rose-colored blossoms--her face was radiantly happy too, and Duncan was struck by the glow of her cheeks, the winking shine of her gaze. Harris, he thought, surprised at the immensity of it all over her face, surprised by the obviousness of it. Harris. Kenzie fell into her arms, squealing with delight, “We’re here, we’re here!” and Claire was laughing, her grin infectious--Duncan could feel his own smile falling over his face, so overwhelming was the loveliness of these two women before him in this moment. How can I possibly be sad, in a world where my Kenzie and her dear ones exist.

“God, wait till you see them, darlings, my Kenzie Lou, Duncan--wait until you see. The paparazzi are going to actually die. You should both wear those sunglasses this evening, cuz you’re gonna be blinded by camera flashes all night.” Claire was gripping Kenzie’s little hand so she was extended between her best friend and Duncan, like they were about to play ring-around-the-rosie. Duncan let Kenzie pull him into Morgan’s studio behind them, sliding his sunglasses off his nose. It had taken awhile for his erection to go down in the shower, and he still felt the vaguely uncomfortable edge of blue balls between his legs, the memory of a release anticipated and never carried to its end, the come still trapped in his groin that demanded attention. He shifted, resigned to it, trapped inside it, knowing it would be hours and hours until he got what he wanted. My Kenzie, moaning against me, lost inside my touch, my sex, my desire for her. That’s what I fucking want. Kenzie had let go of him, rushing over to greet Morgan, looking as obtuse and polished as ever in a long black poncho that fell to the floor, lacy black gloves on her hands. He raked a hand through the wave of hair over his ear, breathing out slowly, carefully. You’re going to need to pace yourself, he scolded himself. You’ll never make it through tonight if your nerves are like this all day. If your desire is this strong. Push it down and control yourself. We have a long way to go.

“Darlings, delightful to see you looking so fresh and anticipant,” Morgan cooed. “I think I’ve truly created two of my masterpieces for you in these pieces, a triumphant, delicate mixture of verdant power and seductive celestial ecstasy. Truly I have found my muses.” Duncan was stepping towards her, Morgan extending her hand to him, which he grasped in greeting, dipping his head down to her. Kenzie hopped in place, clutching Claire still, her hair bouncing.

“Please let me see it, please please please,” she was begging, and Claire was laughing at her. Duncan smiled, his body was beginning to hum with the premonition of the moment; he knew, somehow, knew how shaken he’d be to conceive her in it, knew how it was going to shatter into his soul, and he suddenly felt like he needed to sit. He grasped the edge of a nearby counter, covered in scraps of fabric, cloth scissors, pins and measuring tapes. He could see the bits of silken gold that were scattered there, and his heart lept into his throat.

“Dearest, come with me,” Morgan cooed to him, taking his long hand in her elegant lace fingers. “Claire will accompany Mackenzie to her gown while I escort you to your guise for this splendid evening. I trust you won’t need my help to dress, so I will then leave you and ensure that your beloved is fitted like a glove.”

“No, indeed, Morgan, I think I can manage.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Kenzie, who was looking at him with wildly bright eyes, biting into her lip, fingers gripping Claire so hard they looked white. See you soon, baby. He smiled at her, his heart pounding wildly. I love you, Kenzie, I love you, then Morgan was pulling him away with a surprisingly tight grip, to a side-room in the opposite direction of where Claire was forcefully guiding Kenzie, whispering animatedly into her ear. Duncan looked ahead, turning away from them with reluctance, and felt his heart rebound again, his breath catching--the blazer Morgan had created for him was on a rolling black dress form in the center of the room, immediately drawing his eye with its cascading metallic gold on crushed black velvet, a silk Oxford underneath it with strikingly intricate gold tips. He moved towards it immediately, reaching out a hand almost involuntarily to touch it--the gold was like dripping stardust, smooth and soft, like trails of falling stars smeared across the heavens, dripping down into the emptiness of space. This is how I feel when she touches me, he thought again. I feel like she’s spreading gold all over me, all down my body, into the secret, sensitive spaces of my heart, like I can taste her in my throat and the taste is beyond any taste I’ve ever experienced, beyond exquisite, beyond all other delights. He could see that the gold tips of the collar were each an intricate cage of lace, reminding him of the bracelet Kenzie had worn that night they first met--a cage that wove around me, and brought me in forever.

“Morgan,” he breathed. “This is extraordinary.”

Morgan was grinning at him, her eyes closing behind her huge cat-eye glasses.

“My darling, I know well that it is, but thank you. You have truly inspired me--the glory of such luminous love, good heavens. As an artist, to behold such emotion is to be moved to create. I can see that at heart, you are a romantic, and that perhaps, in the past, you have been moved to conceal it for fear of exposure to the cruelty of the world. We who wear black feel the heavy idyll of life, the drama of every moment, and we feel it most acutely. In our grief, in our ennui, and yes, in love. And this love is extraordinary--for you, it has healed your soul. Therefore, you must look the part. Gold leaf was my tool, and 18 karats for the tips, a perfect compliment, I see, for the Cartier.” She glanced down at his wrist, and Duncan nodded to her.

“I leave you to it.”

With that, Morgan turned and left, shutting the door behind her. Duncan breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them again--yes, it was still here, this miraculous coat made from gold, made of stardust. He breathed deeply. Get ready for Kenzie. He lifted his shaking fingers to his collar, his skin flushed, his mind aching.

--------

Duncan emerged twenty minutes later, gazing down at his sleeves, their gold mesmerizing. Morgan had laid the tailored black chinos that completed his look on a table next to the dress form, but he wore his signature Yves Wyatt boots on his feet still, and knew he’d wear them to the Gala as well; they complimented the look shockingly well. He moved over to Morgan’s oblong white table and pulled one of the white chairs closer to the center of the room, looping his long legs on either side of it, sitting carefully. The room was quiet, but he could hear the soft strains of Kenzie and Claire’s voices in the room beyond, the lilt of Kenzie’s excitement, and it was making his body vibrate with the desire to see her, his heart slamming painfully into his ribcage. He slid one hand along his jaw, index and middle fingers trailing along his bottom lip. Oh my fucking god, Kenz, I’m on fire waiting for you. He could feel the twinge of his cock straining under the tight chinos, wondered how he’d ever be able to stand the cock ring teasing him all night. I’m going to want to eat her alive by the end. He thought of the Bacchanalian revelry of The Youth of Bacchus, the dancing figures, stoked by a frenzy of wine and energy of a wanton god of ecstasy. It was as if he could feel that same energy beginning to stir around the corners of the day--could feel it being stoked up, being kindled, like the first strains of a tornado drifting down from a dark, stormy sky. The wild wine god comes tonight. He will stoke the lust of the people to debauchery, as now he pushes my senses toward my need for her. My Ariadne, draped in stars. Tonight, the party. Tonight, the wine god comes. He shivered.

The door Claire and Kenzie had disappeared into opened; Claire came out, Morgan behind her in her silent, cool way--Claire looked at Duncan approvingly, her eyes rapt.

“Wow, fuck, Duncan. You look fucking gorgeous. Not that you don’t always,” and she blushed deeply, a hand coming up to her cheek. “Everyone’s going to lose their shit. Okay, listen. Are you ready for this goddess?”

“Is it possible for me to be ready for this?” Duncan’s hand shook as he brought it down from his jaw, his question an earnest one to Kenzie’s best friend.

“Probably not. Take a deep breath.”

He shuddered one into his lungs. Make sure you breathe. He gave her a shaky nod.

“Kenzie,” Claire called through the doorway, stepping aside. Morgan moved to stand beside Duncan, for a longer view. “Your Prince is ready for you.”

For a moment no one stirred, then Duncan saw Kenzie’s little hand push at the door, pressing it open wider; an uncalculated moan fell from Duncan’s lips as he saw her, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment, had to catch his breath again, dizziness wiping over him, the ache in his cock returning full force. He forced his eyes open--she was staring at him, her mouth having fallen open, her eyes sparkling with sudden moisture, obvious even from the distance between them.

“Duncan,” she breathed.

“No, baby, no--you. You.”

Kenzie’s dress was gold.

Pure gold, a cascade of lamé that draped and pleated all around her, its opulent folds falling in drifts that hugged at her tiny waist and curving hips, gathering down to trail at the floor, her left leg visible above the thigh from a long slit that ran down the gown’s length. Its rivels, shimmering and weaving like the waves on the ocean’s surface, reminded him of how he’d always imagined the robes of the gods on Mount Olympus to appear; of a fabric not known to man, drifting as if in some phantom wind, too exquisite a fabric to be called silk, softer than the light of moonbeams on quiet forest floors in deepest night. One of the sleeves draped down her left arm, dipping almost to the crook of her elbow; the other lifted over her shoulder from a draping fold that began at the sharp tailoring at her waist and lifted over half the tailored bodice of the front of the gown, her breasts emphasized by two sewn cups and careful boning, outlining the form of her bust. Her throat and collarbones were bare, her skin exquisite in its whiteness above so much gold. The thin line of sleeve that went over her shoulder from the pleats continued to extend down her back--Kenzie turned, her eyes inside his, to show him the breathtaking drift of a long train that fell to the floor from her right shoulder blade, another rusch of fabric across her back below to her left shoulder. The train continued along the ground for several feet, its gold like spilled liquid, impossible in its lovely softness; the train of a princess, of a queen, of a goddess in a painting, a fairy tale come to life, and here she stands before me, somehow real, impossibly real. I should be struck dumb to behold her.

Kenzie turned back to him, and he could see the delicate bones of her clavicle quivering, the shiver of her golden hair over her shoulder, its waves like silk to him, the depth of the hazel of her eyes (ambrosia, the golden honey of holy bees, the green of emeralds, the russet of topaz and tiger’s eye). Her little hands were fumbling in front of her stomach, and the nervous curve of her mind was creeping up against him, like an electrical current. You look so fucking beautiful, baby, she was thinking, and the lump that rose in his throat threatened to shatter his composure.

Kenzie, it’s not me. It’s you. You’re a goddess. You’re truly a goddess. You’re too beautiful to describe. I don’t know if you can feel how I feel to look at you in this moment, but if you can even a little, you know I can’t...there are no words I know of. I can’t find words for how beautiful you are. You pierce my heart. I should build you a temple and leave you a garden of roses there every day. Duncan stood, his legs shaking. Claire and Morgan were quiet--they seemed to sense the intensity of the emotion that drifted in the room; Duncan heard Claire sniffing quietly, in tears.

Suddenly, quickly, Duncan and Kenzie had rushed together--his feet had carried him so quickly his mind seemed to follow after him, trying to catch up, and his hands were grasping hers with a tenderness that made his body ache, made his breath catch, they were falling, devotedly, down the easeful curve of the dress, the warmth of her body beneath it sending a shiver down his spine, the gold bracelet at his wrist disappearing into her gold, devoured by it.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he whispered. “Holy fuck.”

Persephone, my flower dipped in gold. Kenzie didn’t speak, but he knew she accepted the drift of his thought.

Hades, my shadowed prince draped in falling stars. She tilted her head to him, her little fingers coming up to drift over the caged golden tips of his collar as the diamonds at her wrist winked against the gold leaf of his velvet jacket, and she kissed him, her mouth a holy tremor on his lips, his prayer to her accepted, as it ever was.

[jseindenmark]

The Radio Race in Denmark

There are three full Danish days I have yet to account for, but I have a really good reason for being away for so long. The KCRW radio race! As most of you know, I’m an aspiring podcaster, and I have this group of people I met a year ago through the Transom Traveling Workshop. Six of us out of the nine began to talk about this contest a few months ago and decided to participate. It basically worked like this: the folks at KCRW sent out a theme to all the contestants Saturday at 10 am PDT (7 pm in Denmark) and we had 24 hours to produce a radio story under four minutes long. That means interview a subject, write and record narration, and edit something that resembles a narrative. We have Sunday off at Askov, so I didn’t have to skip.

On Saturday, the bus left for Ribe at 9:30 am (twelve-and-a-half hours before the contest started), and Henning described the scenery as it passed by the windows. I’ve gotten to a point where I can understand a full sentence in Danish, maybe two, but when it’s much more than that, I cannot keep track of the thread. I sometimes feel like a toddler who’s hit her capacity for comprehension—I know the majority of the words being spoken—but they’re moving too fast for me to grasp onto any image.

When we got off the bus, Henning took us on the same tour he took us last year through the old city—Ribe is his hometown—and even though I understood what was going on far better than I did the first time, I could feel that frustrated toddler gain more and more control over my body. Bridget assured me that it was all part of the process—actually a sign that I was making progress. I felt the temper-tantrum faded away and I was a fully grown adult woman once again. Thanks Bridget.

Bridget, Maria and I made our way to a second-hand shop. Bridget bought a beautiful old book on Vejen, the closest town to Askov, and I bought a simply written Danish book that I might try reading and a colorful gauzy scarf. It was the first time I did a whole transaction in Danish. I mean sure, I’ve not spoken at all for some transactions and just handed the cashier a credit card, but this time the cashier told me how much I owed her. I understood, although I did struggle finding the right coins to give her. She asked me if I wanted a bag in Danish and I told her that I’d just put it in my backpack. I was so proud of myself. As Maria would say, “Big mood!”

She and I checked out some arts-and-crafty types of stores, as Bridget wandered down the road to another second-hand-shop. Maria fell in love with a bright pink little alien-looking toy, and for only twenty-five kroner, we had to get it, naming her “Bella.” We got caught in the rain a few times, ducking under eaves here and there. Here’s the thing about Denmark: If you don’t like the weather, just wait ten minutes. It’ll change. It always does. 

The whole group reunited at the bus. We ate our packed lunches, followed by some tea and biscuits. We always get the choice between coffee and tea—and much to everyone’s surprise—there’s been a few times I’ve opted for tea. I blame it on the influence of my new British friends.

We got back to the school around 3 pm (four hours before the contest started), and yes, I could have written a quick blog entry then. I thought about it, but I also knew that I wouldn’t get much sleep that night. I’d be interviewing, writing narration, and maybe even cutting tape, so I decided to nap. I hardly even said “farvel” to anyone. I just walked upstairs to my room, took off my shoes, and timbered my body onto my bed. I slept for two delicious hours.

Like we do everyday, we had dinner that evening at 6:15 pm (45 minutes before the contest), but at 7 pm, my phone started buzzing. My attention shifted from my international friends to my radio ones. 

“Well that’s a crappy theme,” Robert, one of my Transom buddies sent in the group text. “That IS HORRIBLE,” Natalie buzzed back. The theme was “Where the Sun Don’t Shine,” but I knew almost immediately what I wanted to do my story on. I remembered Bridget didn’t drink and her reasons were very similar to mine. You’ll have to listen to it to find out what that reason is! 

After a video-chat-meeting with my radio siblings, I went looking for my charismatic subject. Within an hour, I was in my room with my headphones on and my microphone pointed at Bridget, and the chaos began. The next 24-hours I only left my room for 30 minutes at breakfast. There were times I didn’t know what I should do. There were times I just wanted to throw in the towel and give up. But my Transom buddies kept me on track and I did it. I’m going to leave the link here and if you feel like listening, listen.

https://soundcloud.com/jodi-scott-elliott/invasive-species-final-entry

After I submitted my piece, I was physically and emotionally exhausted with this massive headache, so I didn’t write a blog entry last night either. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to squeeze out another sentence. My reserves had been spent. 

I did dance a little with Bridget and Maria in the grass, and then the three of us broke into Total Eclipse of the Heart. Clutching our chests with one hand and reaching towards each other with the other, we embodied the drama of that classic 80’s ballad. I can’t say we haven’t repeated similar behavior in the day since. We broke into Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now over breakfast and both The Lion King’s I Just Can’t Wait to be King and Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody over dinner. We also broke into severe laughing—I mean tears were in my eyes and I was struggling to breathe—and Maria’s gasps for air just sent me further into my own laughter. We could not stop. It’s the best laugh I’ve had in quite some time.

Hopefully you find yourself in your own laughing fit in the next day or so. It’s good for the heart, we all decided. Until then, Vi ses. 

[non-est-sanctus]

|| Hiatus || Story ||

|| My autism and my physical conditions are taking its toll on me at great heights now. I just got in an argument with my mom to the point it actually made me break down, and I once again lose another relative in my family. I don’t normally post stuff like this, because I tend to keep all of my problems to myself. I am... not a calm person, despite how much I try to be. I wish I was. Everyday I would ask myself, “What went wrong with me? Why am I like this? Why am I always so angry at everyone? What is wrong with me?”. And then, I thought back to my childhood...

I was bullied so, so much as a kid. And it’s not even from people at school. It was from my own family -- my cousins, and my aunt, to be exact. They just fought so much to where I didn’t understand why. I was only a little girl at the same, so of course I didn’t get why. They all came after me like I was target, and I’m not even exaggerating when I say this. They came after me because I was ‘easy’. They literally fought and beat me, and it will always end in tears on my end of the things. I tried to fight back, but I couldn’t -- I didn’t want to fight with the people I loved. I didn’t want to be like them, but they pushed me. They kept messing with me so much to the point I actually thought they hated me for some reasons. And my aunt was literally my enemy while I was young; whenever my cousins hit me, she’d never do anything about it, just sit back and watch, and tell me to fight back. She never once intervened. But it would only get worse when my aunt would do the rest of the bullying at my house. I got in more fights with her than anyone else on this planet, and my mom allowed her to treat me however she wanted by not stopping her, and she always got away with it. But god forbid if I did anything wrong, she’s already swinging a belt at me. As if I didn’t get enough beatings from my cousins when we fought. I always tell my mom to make her stop, just like I tell my aunt to tell my cousins to leave me alone, but it’s never enough; they don’t put their foot down as they should have. All I asked was why do they do this. And my mom says, “That’s what family do”. I absolutely hated her that day, because I knew that was wrong. Just because they do it doesn’t make it right. From the point on, I hated all of them, every single one of them. My anger was created from THEM. I disclosed myself off from them and didn’t speak to them much. And all I ever asked for was for them to make the bullying stop....

My dad only made it worse once I got in my teens. He is a manipulative control freak with serious anger issues who thinks he can take advantage of anyone and get his way however he wants, and if he doesn’t, he solves it with violence (verbally & physically), especially towards me, but I will not get into that. He’s ALWAYS yelling whenever he’s angry and he always did it to instill fear in me to submit. He repressed my entire being to the point of near trying to ‘roboticize’ me just to get get me to obey his every command, since he’s my dad. He’s THAT much of a control freak: one time, I glared at him for something HE CLEARLY did wrong, and he actually threw me on the bed and punched me in my face, all because I wasn’t allowed to do that to him. My autism developed from him, because he was honestly no better than my own cousins, except as my dad, he could do WHATEVER he wanted. All because of him trying to control my actions and my emotions, I cannot express myself correctly, I get confused and scared very easily (just earlier, my mom said I was ‘being stupid on purpose’ because I STILL didn’t understand the explanation she was giving me...over a fucking blender), my temper increased, and....let’s just say that whenever he hit me with an extension chord, it completely damaged my mental state. I still remember all the black welt marks that were on my body, to the point I can just close my eyes and visualize them all on me in their exact shape and spot on my skin with precision. Just YELLING at me violently would trigger my instincts. I had so many suicidal thoughts, but I was trying so hard to pull through.HE is the reason I am the way I am now. He is the reason why I just don’t like anything now, and guess what? My mom didn’t do a damn thing. I remember whenever he would yell at me, I would go in my room and sit in the closet in the dark, and cut myself on my fingers just to calm myself down. I even slit my wrist one time, hoping I would get a vein bleed out and just die in the closet....because it was either that, or I actually lose control and go KILL HIM for how he treats me. But then, with how much he would hit me with the chord whenever I did something wrong, I couldn’t even cut myself anymore because my body could no longer stand the pain he was already giving me physically. If anything, my own mentality was telling me to go kill him so he can experience the pain he gives me....and I actually almost did it. Three times.

The third time, while my mom was gone, I walked in his room while he was sleeping with a large knife and had the perfect opportunity to slit his throat, but my 3 year old brother at the time walked in on me and saw what I was about to do, and I stopped. That’s when I realized, my little brother was the one that kept me going all these years. I haven’t killed myself because of him. Every action has a reaction: I realized that if I DID kill myself, who would protect my brother from that bastard and a mom who doesn’t even do anything until it’s too late? And if I killed that asshole and I went to jail, then I wouldn’t be with my brother anymore. I already had to leave my brother once and I don’t want to do it again. I’m trying to raise him on the side in the best way I can because I don’t want him to turn out like I did.

I would say that talking about this made me feel better, but it honestly didn’t. I despise being judged. I am not proud of my past actions, but it is what it is. However, I can say that saying this on Tumblr is easier for me because I can actually ‘be myself’. Yes, even as I RP as Crendessa, I am being myself...the part of me that everyone thought was pretty much dead all these years, that is. Crendessa is what I used to be when I was a little girl -- happy, calm, all-loving, and forgiving, in stark contrast to what I am now. But when she’s pissed, that’s when I literally slip in by accident sometimes. My time speaking to friends online makes me feel happy, and I can discard all of my troubles while I am here. But now, real life shit has came in. Even as I type this, due to the argument with my mom, I am mildly unstable now. My medical conditions are getting worse and I can barely move the way I want. I’ve been getting headache after headache,The lump on my neck (which I seriously pray is a just cyst) is getting bigger and painful. The bones in my chest is still moving out of place when I lay down a certain way and I’m getting so damn paranoid that I keep thinking that it’ll pierce a lung while I’m asleep. And now, I’ve been feeling sharp pains in my abdomen. I can’t even get insurance and go to the doctor because I was denied TWICE, and because of this I think something serious is gonna happen to me....And here I am now, mourning the loss of another relative and trying to recover from my mental state, while Cren lost another boyfriend and sunk into depression again. I guess we really are linked somehow.

Anyways, to anyone who actually cared to read all of this, then I guess you cared more than I thought you did, and I honestly love you for it. I don’t ever tell things about myself much on the internet -- I only ever told a few friends my actual name, and that is personal by itself.

.....I’ll be back whenever....

[godtier-fics]

sammya kei’s 2016 fanfiction review

it’s time for something no one asked for but yet since when do i care about people other than me

it’s time for a new tradition! i’m going to take a trip down memory lane and talk about my top 10 fanfics from last year and go into depth about my top five! 

top ten (in no particular order): 

Stumbling Boy, The History of the World in Your Arms, the heart of an artist, Working Man, Dissolution, The Catch Up Game, Finding You Wherever You Are, taking the last train home, To the Moon and Back, onward

i picked these ten as my faves cuz when i look back at myself in 2016 these are what i’m most proud of. they each show off what i think is my ever evolving writing skills. 

now let’s look in depth at my top five! look at those below the cut! 

5) onward

lemme state for the record that i...i love aqua with all my heart and soul. i fell in love with her character in 2010 and i haven’t stopped loving and wishing her the best since. when kingdom hearts 0.2 was announced i almost cried. when the video for the opening came out i literally cried. however...onward is not a happy fic. i’m not someone who can sit down and write mushy gushy stuff. 

take this passage for example

Her name is Aqua. She repeats that to herself daily. Not that there is a daily, so maybe she repeats it more often than she realizes.

“My name is Aqua. I saved Terra. I have to go home. I have to wake up Ven.”

These words become her mantra. They get her through it, even has hoarse as it leaves her voice.

onward was just written cuz i was realizing that the first ever kh fic i had ever written was facade which was literally about the main villain of the series having sex and turning evil. anyway, aqua deserves more and maybe in 2017 i’ll find time to write her a nice long fic. we’ll see. 

i’m just nervous about writing her cuz i love her so much....

4) Stumbling Boy

this is part of the dysfunctional family funtimes series and is one of my faves that i wrote in 2016! it’s the mid-brother fic to nadia’s fic from 2015 aka Separation Anxiety that she needs to finish...which i hope she finishes...but we’ll see lol. it’s all about ginshi dealing with his brother’s disappearance and i just am crying because why is ginshi canonly dead and i cannot deal...MOVING ON 

my fave passage from this would be...

People thought that Ginshi tumbled through life, stumbling upon things, but he didn’t, not really. He did do some things deliberately and with care. When he was working on a car, he was able to lose himself. He threw himself into studying, and watched his understanding grow. He’d always liked fussing around with cars, but having a job that he was getting paid to do it at was different. He was different.

And to show that, to really show that he was different, that he was changed, he decided he needed to find something to change about himself physically.

So that when Urie did return, he could point at it and say, “Look, I made my own choice too!”

Stumbling Boy was something that i think i wrote in 2015 and then posted in 2016 but even still...it was nice to rework it and post it. i can’t wait to finish the dff series...

3) taking the last train home 

originally posted under one of my many, many pen names....this was supposed to be a hardcore BDSM fanfic. it...it’s not going to be that. i’m sorry. i’m a disappointment. i am too sex repulsed to do that to myself. so i moved it over to this account. 

anyway...this isn’t just a fic about sex which is why i got really, really annoyed with some comments i was getting. like...the first sexual scene doesn’t even happen till chapter 8 aka over 11K words later....so okay fandom...whatever. anyway that fic is locked to anyone who doesn’t have an ao3 account but enjoy this snippet! 

“If you need me to stop just tell me so, all right?”

“Because I’m going to get so overwhelmed by a kiss on my cheek.”

Yao pushes up on his chin and grins down at him, “You’ll get overwhelmed all right.” Those are bold words, Alfred thinks, but doesn’t get a chance to say so before Yao kisses him.

taking the last train home still has a quite a few more chapters to be posted and i hope everyone enjoys the ride. it’s probably going to end up being the longest amechu fanfic on ao3 that’s completely about amechu with them as the endgame? so...yay for that. #actuallymarried indeed

2) The History of the World in Your Arms

this used to hold the title of my longest amechu fic posted...but then taking the last train home came along and stole that title...ahah. anyway. i wrote this in order to figure out WHY i shipped amechu and maybe talk others into shipping it too? 

rereading it makes me wanna die...and i wanna rewrite it but i’ll resist for now. 

anyway here’s TWO snippets from the fic that i love! 

here’s from yao’s pov 

Yao looks at him, lying in Yao’s bed as if he belongs there, as if he’s always belonged right there against the pillows, and says simply, “Then that’s a fair exchange.”

“What is?”

“My ruin for your ruin.”

“Are you saying I’ve ruined you?” Alfred demands, looking confused. Which is a look that suits him.

“Yes,” Yao says, “you’ve ruined me.”

and the second one from alfred’s pov 

“It would be so much easier if I just hated you and wanted you gone. But I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Alfred tries not to sound so surprised by that, and fails. Yao looks hurt, and sighs.

“I don’t hate you,” he says quietly, “I told you years ago that I loved you, didn’t I?”

i can’t help but see a canonverse relationship as them being very, very rocky and uneasy but then they settle into something that goes beyond them and we eventually get to a point where they get married....and yeah i’m not over that picture. i could cry....

1) Finding You Wherever You Are 

speaking of art--and specifically of art that izzy has done--i’m still not over the leash in this picture after i told her i was JOKING. this fic holds a special place in my heart due to several inside jokes i have with izzy being in it. for those who are still reading at this point i’ll let you in on two of them! 

1) yao telling alfred “i know” when they’re doing something sexual or about to 

2) please mock izzy for dogfred this isn’t an inside joke this is just something i need others to make fun of her for at this point smh 

um yeah moving on 

this entire fic is basically aesthetic actually? bad boy rolls into town and finds his true love? CHECK! reincarnation? CHECK! royalty? CHECK! blood drinking? vampires? monsters? oh my??? CHECK!!! 

fave comment i got on this fic was someone stunned at the world building i did in 13K+ i’m honestly surprised too? i wrote this fic in like...a day. and by a day i mean 10-11 hours. with a sprained arm. go me? 

anyway fave snippets in no particular order!!!! 

1) 

“May I?” Yao asked, and he sounded so polite as if he were asking for something normal and not permission to lick blood off of Alfred’s hand.

“Um,” Alfred looked down at his boss, and then at the stove which was on the opposite side of the kitchen (how had he moved that fast, the fuck ) and shrugged, “Yeah, sure.”

Yao’s touch was tender as he pressed his lips to the back of Alfred’s hand and licked at the blood that was coating it. Alfred had never realized how sensitive his hands were until he got unlucky enough to have Yao devote his full attention to licking and sucking against the skin. Yao sucked one, and then two of his fingers into his mouth and gave them a wet suck, and Alfred realized that he was standing in his boss’s kitchen, with his fingers in his boss’s mouth, and he was hard. His breath was coming out loud and heavy to his own ears as Yao continued, seemingly oblivious to the effect that he was having on Alfred. But then Yao looked up at him, with three of Alfred’s fingers in his mouth and smirked.

He smirked, slid Alfred’s fingers out of his mouth, and then licked finally at the bleeding wounds. As Alfred watched him, and as Yao watched his hand the wounds sluggishly stopped bleeding.

“You should still wrap that up,” Yao said as he dropped a kiss to Alfred’s knuckles. “Learn how to control your temper, Alfred.”

2) 

“Where to next, your majesty?”

“Says the noble.” Wang got on the bike behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist once more. “Do you know the way back home?”

“I’m like a lord yeah but I’m pretty sure you were a king in your past life.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong ,” Wang said.

Alfred grinned, “How old are you anyway?”

“Far, far too old for this. Take me home, pup.”

3) 

“You are a wonder, Alfred,” Yao said. He sounded sad and fond as he said that. Alfred’s heart ached .

“So are you, thousands of years old and you still wanna change the world.”

“The world can be changed, Alfred, never doubt that.”

Alfred laughed, and then in disbelief at himself said, “I have full faith in your abilities.”

4) 

Alfred helped him put the bracelet on, and then kissed him. He growled low in his throat.

“Yeah,” Yao said. “I know. Look at you, all nice and collared and mine .” He looped his fingers in the golden buckle and made Alfred follow him back to the sofa.

“Look at you,” Alfred said, torn between the leather of the bracelet around Yao’s wrist and Yao’s face for which he wanted to look at more.

okay....

as you can see even tho i make fun of izzy constantly for dogfred i do really like this fic? it’s a bit rushed in places??? but tbh it gets the job done and gets it done nicely! good job me. 

so that’s my trip down memory lane! yeah. i just love writing and i like writing fanfics? but i will be moving on to original writing on my site starting this month and you can support me on patreon. i’ll keep writing fanfics but those will be low on my ranking of priorities. 

here’s to an amazing 2017! 

also if we breakdown my fics for 2016....55% of what i wrote was amechu. i’m in too deep. i blame izzy. 

later! 

sk

[theartofblissfullydrowning]

Day One: Part 2

I ended this year ready to start the fuck over and have a new start to everything. I wanted to be what he would have wanted me to be. He was tired of seeing me suffer and I was as well. I was tired of constantly struggling emotionally, socially, financially, and mentally. I wanted things to be better for myself and so far, almost 20 days in, they’re shaping up that way. I have a lot of new beginnings opening up for me right now. My medications help with my moods and motivations. I’ve started exercising and trying to take better care of myself. This is part of that. I cut off social media because it was doing nothing but causing me harm and serving as an unhealthy distraction. I wanted nothing more than to just feel free. I’m getting there. 

The one hang-up is Bryan. I fucking hate him so much sometimes. I wonder where I would be now if he wasn’t around. So many people have told me to “get out”. Friends have been concerned and I know every time the cops get called they sit there and wonder why they’re here again and why I still am. I do, too. I need to stop letting myself have too much sympathy. I need to put better boundaries in place. I need to stop taking care of people who take advantage of me. He emotionally and financially abuses me and uses me and that’s been going on for quite some time and yet he accuses me of doing these things to him. He refuses to get help for his issues. I deserve so much better than this. I don’t deserve this at all. It’s hard not to give in to the things he screams at me sometimes and not give into his temper tantrums and acting out but I feel like I’m at a place where I can separate that from myself. He can call me a liar and say I’m using him all he wants. It’s not true. I just hate when he tries to sit there and threaten suicide because he knew how much it affected me when Kyle did it. He knows that’s my one huge weak spot and he exploits that when nothing else seems to work. I’m tired of it. I don’t deserve that either. It’s the ultimate form of disrespect. I can’t believe anyone would do that to another person. And he knows how scared I get when he starts punching walls and breaking things. And yet he still does it because he can’t handle his emotions and has no other coping skills other than smoking weed and being passive aggressive towards me. I cannot express how much I want to leave or what him to leave. More than anything else I want him to go. I still care about him as a person but I can’t keep letting myself and my life suffer the consequences of me ‘caring’. It’s a bit selfish because I don’t want to be alone but it’s the opposite of being selfish because I do so much more for him than he does for me. And then he turns around and complains when he has to do dishes or other things around the house. He turns it around and makes me feel like shit. He has been helping me in small ways like going to get me things from the store but honestly if I had to I could do that, myself. I think he enjoys the codependency. I really don’t anymore. I just renewed the lease with him and I felt stupid as shit for doing it but there really wasn’t another choice. I just need to step up my boundaries and not let him step on them anymore. I’ve already gotten to a point where I can not take anything he says personally as cruel as it can be sometimes. Part of me wishes someone can just come and rescue me from this situation, but it’s mine and mine alone and I need to be the one to do it. 

And that brings me to something else. The budding new relationship I have with Joel. He’s such an impressive person. I feel a little intimidated by it but he doesn’t seem to think any less of me. We talked about our ways of coping with feeling inadequate. He pushed himself to achieve things, I pushed myself to help other people because of my martyr complex. Sadly, I don’t have as much to show for it as he does. Part of me is like “go for this and stop hesitating so much on someone who seems to be what you’re looking for” but the other part of me is anxious and wringing my hands, not because I don’t want to be hurt, necessarily, but more because I’m just terrified and nervous about things not working out in person. Both of us have said we need a friend more than a lover right now but I can’t help but be attracted to him for who he is as a person. It really saddens me that he feels so incomplete and unhappy and empty sometimes and the nurturing person in me wants to rush in and cling to that and make him feel better but that’s what’s gotten me into a lot of shitty situations before, especially the one I’m in now. My goal needs to not be to support or help or fix him, even though I never want to fix people, but to be there by his side so he doesn’t feel alone. He says he doesn’t have empathy but I think he does. He’s shown that to me. I’ve felt it. And he enjoys the company of empaths. I don’t think because he abuses it, but because he enjoys experiencing the warmth. When I told him what I wanted to do with my life he told me I wanted to do what his mom does. Do I remind him of his mom? He doesn’t really compliment me much on my personality or tell me what he admires about me. I get that he does, though. He just doesn’t speak it much and it’s something I like to hear because I need the validation. I hate that I even need validation but I do sometimes. But when I told him I needed someone in a “daddy” role he immediately took that on but not in a sexual way like people use it these days. He knew exactly what I needed. Someone to help guide me and scold me for not doing the right thing, encourage me to do better, and tell me that they’re proud of me. It meant a lot for him to tell me he was proud of me for working out and putting forth the effort. That’s all I want sometimes. Validation and someone to tell me that they’re proud of me. I don’t know why I need it because I’m proud of myself, but it sure is nice to hear sometimes. The fact that he could do that in such an effortless way and really seemed to understand what I need without me saying much really says a lot. I’m sure I could tell him that I need validation sometimes just in who I am and what I’m good at and what he likes about me and he’d be there to do it without much effort. He seems like the type to want to please others. He wants to be a husband and a dad so it seems like he’s looking to build something valuable. I think at this point I am, too, even if I’m conflicted about having kids. I think both of us are on that “not right now but eventually” mentality. 

I’m just so worried though. What if he sees me and it’s not what he imagined? What if he sees my teeth and is immediately turned off and thinks it’s a deal breaker? I’m so insecure about it and don’t know how to explain it so I just don’t but I want to. Sometimes I’ll bring up that insecurity to people but I also don’t because I don’t want them to really pay more attention to it and I can hide it pretty okay for a while. And what about him? I’m not sure. I always sit there thinking “Well I don’t really like his beard at all” and I’ve told him about it without trying to be too rude. He looks so good without it though. But is that enough for me to just sit there and disregard everything else? Would that be some strange thing that I would be too superficial about and lose attraction to him for? And his hair is thinning a but I think? But is that really an issue? I sit there and think about it and stop myself and think about how ridiculous I’m being when I do that. He’s still attractive. I’m still attracted to him as a person. I can’t let stupid little nitpicky details get in the way of someone I’m confident might be a good match for me. I’m just so nervous. What if there’s no chemistry. What if he’s compulsively neat and finds my lack of organization repulsive? Or my teeth? There’s just so much riding on this right now. He seems to be the type I want and I know we haven’t talked for long, a little over two weeks, but non-stops. He loves metal and that’s not my thing at all. His sense of humor is cheesy and kinda lame at times. But what about the physical chemistry? I’m just so afraid this isn’t going to work out. I feel like I’m already at a point where I’d be a little heartbroken if it didn’t but also I know we said both of us need a friend way more than we need a lover. But I know if we sit there and figure it’s not going to work that we’re already at a point where both of us will always have that little seed planted in the back of our heads about each other. We’ve both sat there and talked about our experiences with that tonight. We’ve already made so much of a mental and emotional connection. I don’t feel like if we somehow end up as just friends that that bond will be broken. I feel like he’s someone I’ll have around for along time regardless of how it goes, but I know if we take a step back now or step further in and back out too soon that there will always be that thing in the back of our heads. It’s in our personalities. I don’t want another situation like i had with Kyle where both of us are just dancing around it forever, just like he said he was doing with his ex. 

I already have this stupid wild fantasy that we’ll end up getting married and having kids and I know that he probably has that too by the way we’ve talked. When I said I had a dream that I was pregnant and had a daughter he said “what did we name her?” even though I said nothing about him being involved in it. We’ll have a pretty house and make dinner for each other every night and lie with each other and fall asleep every night. We’ll go out on adventures and do nerdy stuff. Have a Viking themed wedding. He’d absolutely be the doting father when I’d be pregnant and run out to get my cravings in the middle of the night and hold my hair back as I puked. He’d be so excited. He’d constantly have a hand on or be talking to my belly. He’d absolutely spoil our child(ren) (if I can even have them, I don’t know.) 

That’s another thing that worries me. Maybe I won’t ever be able to have kids. With all the risky shit I’ve done I haven’t gotten pregnant since that first time at 18 that I terminated. Who knows what the fuck else has happened since then and I’m getting older so it’s becoming less and less of a chance as I get older. I know having kids is one of his biggest dreams. It’s been something always on the backburner for me, maybe even as a defense mechanism, but I do want them at some point maybe. I think I’m just so overwhelmed with life as it is right now and my own mental health (and he is, too) that I just tried to convince myself I didn’t want it. Maybe I do. Maybe when I find the right person I will.

I really want this to work out. I want to be done with this whole “getting to know people” bullshit. I want to be done with failed relationships. I’m getting too tired and old for this. I want something to stick for one. In a way, it’s like trying to get pregnant and failing over and over and over again and you start to wonder what’s wrong with you. What IS wrong with me? Why does everyone I’m with end up having some mental breakdown at some point? I feel like I suck the life out of people. As much as I try to be the one to give them strength and help them heal. 

But Joel and I are meeting up on Sunday for the first time and there’s so fucking much riding on that i feel. I’m so fucking nervous. I really want for everything to fall into place and for it to feel as comfortable as it is when we talk through text. I know my wish that we meet in person and suddenly it feels like home is unrealistic and obnoxious. I want to get over my stupid superficial bullshit. He has a beard, yeah, but what is that in the long term? What is it to me other than something that’s not my preference? It’s something he has pride in and that’s something that I should respect and appreciate about him even though it’s not necessarily my taste. Is his hair thinning? Maybe. Is that something I should judge him for? Absolutely not. His hair is gorgeous and I absolutely love long hair. It’s just an imperfection just like I can’t help my hip dips. (I could have helped my teeth though, and that just makes me insecure as well.) I shouldn’t write someone off for such stupid shit. He IS attractive even though he might not cross of everything on my ideal physical quality list. It’s not a reason to consciously or subconsciously write him off. Kyle was absolutely handsome but something with us just didn’t really click that way. Maybe Joel isn’t the most photogenic person or takes bad selfies but I can tell he’s still very attractive and I think who he is as a person is incredibly attractive and the type of person I’ve always wanted. That’s why my gut says “go for it regardless of how you feel about those stupid things”. I mean, I loved to death a guy with bad acne, a guy with bad psoriasis. It didn’t stop me and that’s nothing like this. I just need to stop being so stupid and superficial. He seems like an amazing partner from what I can tell so far.

And god, the fact that we both have herpes and got to avoid that whole awkwardness. It was such a relief. Neither of us has to feel insecure or embarrassed about it.  

I feel like I’m thinking way too much about this. But that’s just how I am. I over-analyze everything. 

What we have right now is so delicate. He’s someone I can talk to all day every day about anything, really. We make each other laugh, we open up to each other, we encourage each other, we both have our roles which seem so effortless. He seems like a caring protector and I am the soft and delicate creature who needs protecting and he loves that and so do I. But then I’m the nurturing one when he needs a soft place to lay his head. Both of us have been very open from the beginning. He did tell me he felt like I was understanding and wouldn’t judge him. I am and I don’t. That;s what I need to remember. He said I am not judgmental and I shouldn’t be. 

I wonder how the “first date” is going to go. I kept saying “don’t forget the flowers” and “pixies love flowers” hoping he’d pick up on it and maybe bring me flowers. I don’t know why I want that from him. I never asked for that before or planted the idea in anyone’s head before. But part of me is wishing he would bring me flowers when he comes even though I know it would probably be lost on him. On second thought, I do have flower tattoos and he did mention that the other day. It would mean a lot to me but it’s not something I’m going to put a lot of thought into. It would be great if he put forth the effort and listened but if he didn’t then that’s okay, too. I let him decide where he’s going to take me and what we’re going to do and he’s okay with that. That’s a really nice thing.

But so much of me just wishes we’d feel comfortable with each other and he’d take me back to his place where we could be alone and that he’d just hold me. I need that so much, especially after everything I’ve been through in the last year. Just someone who cares and feels safe to hold me. I don’t have to question his intentions at all which is a blessing. And fuck, how he’s always telling me he wants to make sure I feel comfortable with things, whether it’s where we go and what we do or when it comes to being sexual in person. He just wants to make sure I’m comfortable. That’s more than I can say for anyone else. I want to wait with him for a while and do things right this time. I don’t want to create that false intimacy. I don’t want to skip steps. I want it to be sweet and innocent and a build up for once. Even though we’ve seen each other naked in pictures both of us have said we don’t want to jump into things. 

Speaking of which, I hope things go well and he asks me to be his girlfriend. I would totally say yes. I don’t want to be the one to ask though because that hasn’t gone well for me in the past. And he seems to have a bad track record as well. Both of us just want things to work for once. I have a good feeling about this. But then again I’ve had a good feeling about a lot of things that ended up terribly awful. I just want this to be it. I’m so done with everything and he has so many qualities I look for in someone but I haven’t seen him at his worst. I haven’t seen him when he’s angry. I haven’t seen him when he’s upset. He hasn’t seen me when I’m drunk and crying and making myself puke from it. 

I feel like I need to cry for some reason and I don’t know why. I’ve felt like that a lot lately. For several different reason in several different moods. Why do I want to cry over this situation? I don’t know. Probably a mixture a feelings. How am I feeling? Hopeful, charmed, blessed, intrigued, appreciated, but also nervous, anxious, and like all of those feelings of disappointment from the past are coming out to tell me “it’s not going to work. I don’t know why you think it will. You’re going to hurt yourself again. Good luck!” But then I also want to cry out of relief and happiness that I got a job I wanted so much and I feel like I have some sort of direction.

With my new job I’ll have some sort of respect for myself again in a financial sense because I’ll be able to have health insurance again. I’ll be able to afford things like nice food and treat myself to things. I can buy gifts for people. I’ll feel comfortable paying bills and won’t have to stress about it all the time. An the company seems amazing to work for. 

Maybe I want to cry because things are so different from where they were a few months ago when I was hopeless and at rock bottom. 

I just really hope things work out. 

I want to come out of this with a good and stable job I enjoy, a boyfriend, a fiance, a husband, and a father to my children. I want stability. Happiness? I might not ever find that, but contentment surely seems like a possibility if things continue on this same track. 

[alittlepieceofmytiredmind]

voices and minds

I am losing my ability to write. I can’t think concisely, clearly, with any consistent direction. I’m losing myself. For someone who is surrounded by the greatest people I could ever ask for and need, I feel awfully lonely sometimes. I feel so alone in this world sometimes, and all I ever wanted was to be close to people. To feel closeness in its rawness and its simplicity. Regardless, enough of the self pity, If I survive, I’ll dive back in.

Came to see you, out of last resorts, out of fear, out of hope, out of proof of strength, out of the better thing to do, out of all I have ever known to do. Displayed myself in all my vulnerability, as I always do. I walk out of the train station, I’m holding my breath and then I’m suddenly in your arms again. I close my eyes and I wish the moment never ended. I’ve never felt so vulnerable and naked in front of anyone. I grip you tightly and look upwards, you look into my eyes, I hope you can feel me, feel my thoughts, feel my love. I always thought coming back to you was enough, all we needed, because it was all we knew, and it always worked. I told you I loved you, and I knew I did, and the the day brought me new hope, new beliefs, refreshed old feelings. Things felt right and so effortless. I made my choice a long time ago, and I still would make the same one that day. I thought it was the same for you too. That’s why I stopped everything to just be there. I don’t know, it always made the difference for me. I thought pushing everything aside and just being together was proof of us standing the test of time, bringing everything away, stripping it all bare, and leaving just simple chemistry- between two people, two humans, just enjoying each other as they are. I'm sorry for ever saying moments like these aren't real. I really am. 

There are so many things that the two of us do not understand; but I always thought that was what our future was- we have eternity to work it all out. I always thought regardless of differences, regardless of anything, that none of it really matters in the grand scheme of things. I’d still choose to be at your side. That’s always what I thought. I thought that’s what we were built on- two people that just want to be with each other, and that love was all we needed. I always describe our relationship to my friends as troubled but serious, and real. Troubled but hopeful, and permanent. Troubled but enough. 

I’m back home, I don’t hear anything of you. My mind begins to slip, and I begin to worry. I call with no response. I check your friends’ social media, with no luck. I have a small window facing directly across my bed, it started raining around 5am this morning. I suddenly receive a text which I can’t understand. He forgot about me. I try to be loving, I try to accept. I try to see why you did this. I feel like a child, I can’t even sit still and be mature. I re-read the message several times. My dry sleepless eyes begin to well up again. I feel so alone again.  I am feeling too much. Feeling too much to the extent that I cannot write, I cannot process, I cannot share. Anything I do write, I quickly erase away. I don’t feel like anything I write is valid anymore. I don’t feel like anyone listens. I don’t feel like people understand me. I feel contradicted and taken down before I even try and write how I feel. We were all born with voices and minds that we should all be proud of having and using. I just don’t want to have mine anymore. Using my voice has only led to judgement and distance. Using my voice has only led to people walking away. Using my voice has never done me any good. People can’t take me. People can’t accept the words I say. People can’t see past the words. People can’t understand. 

Instead, I can only stay silent, I keep my mouth shut. I can’t reply to the message. I turn my phone off. I can’t speak anymore. I stare at the window, watch the patterns form, watch the trees in my neighborhood sway around. I listen to the same songs over and over again. I do nothing but synchronize my eyes to the trees. My muscles are tense and I clench my fists. I no longer eat and I no longer sleep. My face slowly but surely becomes damp. I look away from the window and face the wall. I curl myself into a ball and close my eyes so tightly until it hurts. I force my hands around my body and claw around my body. I try and stop myself from inflicting anymore harm on myself. I try not to drink. I am ashamed, I am tired, I still have strength but I feel so defeated. I sit and wait, a feeling I’ll never become used to, because I got so used to you being around to help me through times like these. I try and numb my mind. I must be strong on my own now. He’s not here. My breathing becomes heavy, and I close my eyes and try and control my breath. This will happen several times, whilst I wait for a sign, I wait for something. I wait for you.

A lot of things hurt me, and I think I get carried away in the heat of my feelings. Sometimes I don’t see the way my reactions affect other people. Maybe my past experiences and the world I see today just makes me angry. I am a bitter person. I know I have a problem with being empathetic towards people, to draw compassion and patience out of a feeling of misunderstanding is something I find so testing. To know when to draw the line, and stop, is something I’m still learning to do. It’s not about being honest and straightforward, it’s about knowing the right times to say it, and I know I’ve never quite struck the correct balance of that. I try, and I know it means that I need people that can see beyond that, see into my nature, see that I never mean harm. I’m not asking for pity, I’m just trying to understand myself. I truly don’t see if I’m pushing someone away. I was raised around the concept that constant honesty maintains closeness and integrity. And apparently, that doesn’t seem to be true. People haven’t really stuck around to tell me that, so I don’t know how to help myself; they just go. It’s starting to feel repetitive these days. Things will be going so great with someone, leading to dropping my walls down, to be told the same thing over and over. People learn to resent me for my mind. My friends tell me I simply haven’t met someone who is strong enough, mature enough, compassionate enough. I tell Tom out of weakness what happened. He tells me to wait, be patient, be loving, see past what you feel. He tells me some people need space from my mind, from people like me, and I must accept that I am too intense for some. But why couldn’t he tell me that? How can people space themselves away from someone they love? How can people go out all night with someone else and not think of their other half?, I say to him. I say to him in such shame, in such self hatred, and embarrassment, for ever feeling in the first place. He tells me he doesn’t know. Maybe, but all I feel is so awfully lonely, and sad, because I believe in ideas, believe in concepts, believe in people, to be better, to be enough. What if what they say is true? Am I cursed to be indifferent to everyone else? To be alone by default? Surely not. Why can’t people accept my thoughts? Maybe I only know how to love in one way, and I can’t understand other methods of loving. Either way, it’s all I know how to do, and it’s suffocating me. I love you, always, as I’ve always said, but it’s not enough anymore, is it? At the end of the day. I feel like I’m losing you and all I can do is watch, just watch it happen, watch it crumble away right in front of me. And nothing I can say or do will make it go away. Using spare money my parents trusted me with, to come and see you on impulse, wasn’t enough. I question if you even wanted me there. The last thing you told me was to contact you if I ever felt lonely, or if I ever needed you. Within less than an hour, you had already forgotten about me for the rest of the night, whilst I sat on a lone train carriage, feeling vulnerable, with new hope, just giving all I had in me, for you. Tom tells me I must be understanding, that you are showing all the signs of just needing a break from me. He tells me some people need to be with their friends and do other things because they can’t handle me. Why must it be this way? When I’m away from you, all I can think about is you. I’m not myself. I always thought humans surround themselves with people they love when they’re in distress. And I’m not one of them. You’ve always gone to your friends. Why couldn’t he just tell me? And how did he just do it, like it meant nothing, like my physical presence all day could just be forgotten? He spoke of temper in the past, spoke of doing things to hurt others, to distance himself away from them, when they hurt him. I never thought that included hurt I never intended to do. I’d like to have thought he never saw me as a hurtful person. I’m far from that. I’m just sensitive. I keep quiet when he asks, because all I feel is like I’m a blunt knife, sawing away. It’s like all I say is hurtful, all I say is vindictive. It’s like he can’t feel my love anymore, or doesn’t want to anymore. I’m told it’s all my doings, and he doesn’t feel the same about me anymore. He tells me a lot of things, and expects me to accept them, I guess. 

I don’t know. Today was hard. I’ve barely spoken anything to anyone; no one asked. I feel like I’m disappearing. 

[qanoor]

@epochryphal said: 

mm, the analyzing of feelings and body as symptom of evil and danger. i don’t think chasing away and monitoring do any good, though i know that doesn’t make them any easier to stop. i don’t think they’re at all linked to goodness. and just… yeah, compassion. and there not being objective truth, and no reparation in flagellation, and. hah. i mean, this is why i eroticize abjection, to deal with this

how do you get beyond the fear of what it could mean to eroticize abjection, though? how do you convince yourself that it’s okay to do so, that it doesn’t make you more likely to be violent? i mean, intellectually i know these things, and god, i know that you are safe, but, me? it’s another story. i just never know.

and oh god this got so long and rambling & obsessive-compulsive but:

yes, i don’t think the monitoring does any good either, and yet i keep doing it, i can’t stop, it’s this endless compulsion.... because the alternative to self-flagellation and self-monitoring feels so horrifyingly abject. it’s kind of -- oh, i was just watching the third season finale of broadchurch, and it’s a show that really exposes the horror that human beings can do to each other, and it’s a pretty brilliant show albeit too sympathetic to police -- well, and it has these semi-typical murderer/rapist-exposés in the end, you know, when the mystery’s figured out -- a bit more intense than usual, and so just now there was this serial rapist talking about how he feels proud of the rapes he’s committed, he feels like there’s something beautiful about the power of it or something. && this shit tends to really trigger me, because -- well, i’m always terrified of somehow having any capability of being like that. i’m so terrified that i could contain that, and when i’ve had some really psychotic episodes, when i felt more multiple and more entrenched in red / my headmate ‘deep red’ -- it felt like that, like i wouldn’t care about doing anything more, like i just wanted pure violence and pure control, and this -- well, i was so very glad that it never went beyond being huddled on the bed talking alternatively freaking out and coldly collected to sophie -- i could never go beyond that -- but there’s always the fear, like what if, what if, if i stop monitoring, if i let go for even a second of the anxiety, that that’s the base of it, this total ability to do horrible, horrible things. & my therapist and i, we talk about this, about how i am so afraid of letting go because letting go for me signifies losing control in such a way that is utterly horrifying, abject in a purely harmful and violent way, and how to -- ha, let go of this idea so i can properly let go of myself sometimes without thinking it’s going to turn out so horribly? and i can trace this to so many things in my life -- i am too afraid to let myself go in the context of sex, for many reasons, but this is one -- as if orgasm, or pleasure in any sense really, could mean being closer to pure violence. i am too afraid to breathe -- my breathing is always tense and i have a lot of shortness of breath -- in a way i cannot really dream if it’s not a nightmare, because i have to always be afraid in that regard, i have to constantly expose myself to my fears in my dreams. i can’t -- i mean, my body just feels like this terrible errant thing, full of all these synapses and feelings. when there’s rape in tv shows and movies i’m always terrified of feeling any kind of -- like, i mentally check my body for signs of arousal (i remember i’ve read about other people with ocd like, checking their genitals with their hands for signs of arousal, but this feels too direct, too close, for me, so i have to -- i get scared of physical contact -- i don’t know if this makes any sense at all) -- and it’s so twisted because i think i’ve developed this thing where i will have some kind of sensation because i am searching for it and trying to monitor it so much, like my therapist says, sometimes you think of something sexual related, even if it’s not quite, even if it’s violent, and you might feel aroused, but this doesn’t actually mean you get off on hurting people! && i don’t know, but then there’s the -- what if i did, and then the intersections of kink and -- i just, it’s so hard for me to even really begin to explore kink because i’m so afraid -- i kind of want to eroticize the abject and i guess i do in some ways but i’m so afraid of it being like, i mean, like one thing i really hated about this season of broadchurch, actually, was the way they directly linked pornography and kink to rape, as if that’s what has to happen, and i hated that, and it’s everywhere in the media -- and, oh, i’m just, i’m used to this bizarre conundrum where the media at once exposes our fantasies and twisted desires and also condemns them -- but i just. i don’t know. i’m constantly failing to express -- i don’t know i wish i could write about this truly -- i wish it -- like, there’s the intellectual pondering -- would it really be so terrible to eroticize things that one shouldn’t actually do? as fantasy? people roleplay so many fantasies in kink that they’d never do nonconsensually, even if it’s imagined nonconsensually. & intellectually, i don’t think that fantasy = behaviour, à la foucault etc. i do understand the body as polymorphously perverse (oh god, reading the history of sexuality vol. 1 just really made so much sense to me -- yes! the categorization and the codification of desires and the body and -- everything has to be a threat, a case for punishment, the endless proliferation of terminologies to condemn the body) -- so intellectually i may understand certain things but when it comes to me i still -- i can’t let go because i’m terrified -- of being this essential inherent danger to others, to children, to animals, to other vulnerable people, to anyone really -- and sometimes i can laugh at the psychotic ideas that i’ve gotten into when ‘deep red’ fronts more, like how bizarre, but then there’s a part where it seems to make sense or even could be desired to just -- commit mass violence, and i don’t know if this is my ocd hyperfixation or if it’s something else or both and this is why i would purposely institutionalize myself over and over

and i keep coming back to: if i hadn’t been treated like such a threat when i was fifteen and spiralling out of control with my intrusive thoughts and ideations, if i hadn’t been institutionalized and abused then, maybe i wouldn’t have to feel like there’s this part of me that’s evil, that needs to be tempered and controlled and medicated, and this makes me so fucking sad and i just can’t get over it, i can’t get over how i spent years going back to the psych ward again and again, literally submitting myself, knowingly, to abuse, i just, i don’t know how to deal with that, and being a psych survivor advocate and movement person doesn’t actually fix it at all, because i don’t meet a lot of people that have this very particular story, or maybe any, i don’t know, and i don’t know how to talk about this girl i was then, when i was younger, and how it felt to be marked as abject then, how it felt to be assessed as a threat and i just. i don’t know how to ever heal from that, and so now i can’t do anything in my life without being afraid, without having to monitor, and it varies in intensity, but i just. i don’t people when they tell me i’m okay -- because how could i? i know what it’s like to be told i’m okay and then have that ripped away from me. i know that, and i know what it’s like to have people literally want me dead (whether because of all kinds of righteous social justice abusive bullshit or because of the psychiatric medical industrial complex, which are very very similar actually), and it’s just. i just hate it. but every time i have a thought of compassion i have to have a critical or paranoid thought. i have to constantly check myself, and i just don’t really see a way out of this. medication dulls it a bit sometimes, therapy helps, but what about when i have to get a new therapist, or when this medication stops working at all, or, you know? i want to be able to hold myself at my most abject and know that i’m not going to commit terrible crimes. i just want to know that, i want it to be true. and i know it can’t really be true for anyone, and this is what broke me when i realized this from raine, this is why i fell apart then, because i had been clinging so much to this idea that, well, i’m basically a good person, but once that’s taken away and all that’s left is this, well, this psychosis that can’t be explained away anymore, then there’s nothing to really do except completely not be able to function anymore. and so, you know, i’m glad raine helped me realize that people aren’t essentially good or bad, that we all have the ability to do terrible and great things, but i also just don’t think she knew what that would mean for me, it sounds simple enough, but it isn’t, not when whatever precarious sense of self i had was predicated on the idea that i was basically good, and since then, i’ve just... well i floundered for years, and now... i don’t know. i don’t know. i wish i could just allow my body to exist without thinking of all these sensations as threats, without sexualizing sensation, without -- it’s so dirty and filthy, really, it all feels like wanting to be holy and pure, and never being able to be. it’s funny because so many of the fleeting desires i’ve had / have around gender transition stuff have been about wanting to have all sexual characteristics / feeling / reproductive body parts removed precisely because i want -- and it’s impossible, really, to remove all nerve feeling -- i’ve wanted to just not feel any of it anymore, to not have to worry about sensations, to have a body that is purely, essentially, totally desexualized. and i don’t actually -- want this? i wish i could turn sensations on and off, i wish i could dislocate my limbs and leave them in places to return to later, i wish i could be more of a cyborg, i wish i could change my anatomy and genitalia and all kinds of things. but the wanting to turn sensations off is so wrapped up in this trauma of abjection, of fear that my desires are actually rotten, cruel, evil desires, that i could desire the wrong things.