#need more ariadne thoughts on the companions

[bewitchingbloom]

Um EXCUSE ME sir you have no right to make me feel this way right before bed 🥺

[machiavxlli]

Ariadne laughed. She could tell by the look in his eye, that he was worried that she had snuck out. The mage hadn't made it easy on him, not at all. She made a mental note to declare herself in the future.

"Relax. I merely sold some of my jewels." The Princess made sure her companion was dressed in just as much finery as she was, and the mage was ever grateful. In this time, it occurred to her that she needed to give them away for some sustenance. And she did so, without a second thought. She took a seat at the foot of his bed, tray of food placed upon a small table. "Please, eat." The mage beckoned, before rising once again. With her skirts in her hand, she moved to tend to the fire. "I hope your sleep was good. And you don't have to worry, I was careful."

"People are talking. Things have slowed down, it would seem." As she waited for her breakfast, she overheard a few peasants talking. The invaders had lost a battle, their numbers dwindled. They retreated. That ignited hope within the heart of the mage. She did not stick around to listen to more. "I do hope there is some truth in that." Ariadne sat back down, hand darting for her own loaf of bread.

Eska stirred from his slumber, woken by a hand on his shoulder, warm and familiar. His mind responded before he’d even opened his eyes, and he soon shot up, his senses snapping into focus. It’d been a long while since he’d slept so deeply.

“Ariadne, is everything alright?” He questioned, his voice still rough from sleep, but as his gaze met hers, a wave of relief washed over him. He blinked the remnants of sleep from his eyes, shaking off the drowsiness that still lingered in his limbs. His eyes fell on the food she’d managed to gather. Bread, eggs, water. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they’d had yesterday. He hadn’t heard her leave earlier, hadn’t sensed her sneaking away, and that made him uneasy to say the least. He should’ve been more vigilant, should’ve stayed awake. “How did you manage it?” He questioned, genuinely impressed despite everything.

[lifeofroos]

A/N: A story from Theseus’ perpective. Something entirely new. (I’d say, thanks to @yngwiemalmsteens for asking the question that started it all :) and thanks to @godsofhumanity for sharing a take I hadn’t even thought off, but that was very well thought out and inspired this short). 

AO3 - KoFi

Nightmares

With a start, Theseus woke up. In the distance, he could see the thirteen other tributes and the sailors. Beside him lay Ariadne, peacefully sleeping. 

Theseus couldn’t quite shake off the dream he had. It had been about Athena, that he was sure off. Which probably meant the goddess wanted something from him. 

Come on, what had she asked for? 

He looked at the sleeping princess beside him. He felt cold as he remembered what it was: The goddess had told him he should leave the island as fast as possible. Without Ariadne. 

Why again? He couldn’t remember. But if she really said that (Did she?) the goddess had to have a reason for it. 

He got up, careful not to wake his companion. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders while he padded over to the man on guard. 

‘Theseus?’ 

‘Sh!’ 

‘Sorry. What’s the matter?’ The man whispered. 

Theseus stared at the sleeping princess in the distance. ‘I had a nightmare.’

The guard nodded. ‘That’s to be expected, after what we went through…’

‘Listen for a moment, dimwit,’ he sissed, ‘I had a dream about the goddess Athena. It was vague, but I think she told me to leave, leave right now, and leave without… without Ariadne.

‘Without the princess?’

‘Sh!’

‘Sorry! Sorry! But… man, that’s…’

Theseus tore his eyes away from the girl. ‘Wake everyone and tell them to go aboard,’ he told the guard. ‘We leave immediately.’ His heart was racing in his chest. What am I doing? He thought, as he ran back to Ariadne.

Painfully slowly, he began to pack the stuff he had left next to her. A pair of sandals, a vial of wine, a simple bag... 

‘Theseus!’

One of the male tributes came over to him. ‘What is going on? The guard says we have to leave because Athena told you so.’

‘I… I think I had a dream,’ Theseus mumbeld, his head spinning with doubt. ‘Athena told me to go, leave the island, without…’ He looked at Ariadne. His heart sank. 

The man fiddled with the fabric of his chiton. ‘How awful. But… if Athena said it, we should go. We can’t take the chance.’ 

Theseus softly tucked the princess under the thin blanket he had brought. ‘I am not sure,’ he squeezed out. ‘I don’t know, perhaps it was just a dream…’

‘We can’t take that for granted. I’d rather leave than bring the anger of the goddess upon us. That… that wouldn’t be good for the princess, either.’

Theseus cursed himself. Why, why had he awoken everyone? Now there was no way back. 

He leaned down to kiss Ariadne on her forehead. ‘I think the princess would have woken up if the goddess didn’t want us to leave,’ the youth stammered. 

‘There are no signs against leaving either,’ Theseus agreed. He gave the princess a second kiss, and a third one, before slowly turning around. 

If it hadn’t been for the tributes all running aboard, he could have never made it back to the boat. He felt too much doubt. 

When they were asail, Theseus stared at Naxos, which was getting further and further away. ‘I don’t think I really… loved her,’ he muttered to the tribute next to him. ‘Not the way she loved me. But I did care. I cared about her!’ He yelled to the waves. ‘I cared! You hear me? Whoever told me to do this, or whispered the idea into my ear, just know that I cared about her!’ 

A gust of wind came and caressed his face. It smelled sweet, like grapes right before they were plucked. ‘...thank you.’

‘We’ve got the wind in our back,’ One of the sailors exclaimed. 

‘... Then we’ll reach Athens when morning comes,’ Theseus continued. He walked to the middle of the ship. ‘Or otherwise in the afternoon.’ There was no thinking of the princess now. He had to take care of his crew. If the goddess really told him to leave her there, she would have a plan. Then Ariadne would be safe. 

|

Theseus took a deep breath when he stepped into the throneroom. He felt exhausted. ‘I followed the gods orders,’ he whispered. ‘I did all they asked. And this is what I get.’

A sailor nodded along. ‘It’s a terrible loss. But you are the king of Athens, now…’

Theseus seized the man by the throat. ‘Listen up, bastard. I lost two people I cared about, loved, in a very short time. That doesn’t weigh up to becoming king. Perhaps you’re little family should die, see how you feel!’

He felt his shoulders grow heavy. Shock made his skin crawl. He let the man go, feeling odd. ‘I… so... sorry.’

The man whimpered and ran away. 

Theseus took a deep breath. No time to think about him. ‘I’ve got things to tend to,’ he announced. ‘The kingdom needs to be protected. Nothing will come in between that.’

An advisor held up his hand. ‘What about Crete?’

‘I wanted to start an alliance with Crete,’ Theseus answered his fathers’ - his advisor. ‘I think… that might be our priority now.’ Unless... No, no, no. No time for doubts.  

He had made a choice. Now he had to stick to it the best he could. 

A/N: I tried to keep it ambiguous whether Theseus really did get a sign from the gods, or whether it was just a dream. One thing is clear: He didn’t particularly want to leave Ariadne. 

It is interesting to write from Theseus’ perspective for a change. I am toying around with two more ideas concerning the idea that he was forced to leave Ariadne behind.

[ofathcns]

The Courting of Narcissus

Alternately titled “Dionysus, again?!” 

Rated PG-13 for mentions of wink wonk

Ft. Mentions of @dorianxagapetos, @mylesxdelian, @kairosxevander, @elenepetrakis, @penelcpes

There is more to do in Elysium, he realizes. He is not an anomaly for keeping up with his training, but he does take longer than the rest to actually enjoy his afterlife. Sometimes he goes to heroes, other soldiers touched by gods, and he requests a match simply because no one has come to him. He finds the people of Elysium lounging, drinking wine in various stages of undress. More than once he’d stumbled upon poor Achilles and Patroclus, sometimes even joined by who he believes to be the lover of Apollo himself. It’d been the hero who’d slayed Hector who had told him to find a lover or two of his own.

It is not as if courting in Elysium is quite a thing, but there are many of them there without their lovers, Theseus thinks Achilles got rather lucky in that department. His dear Pirithous is still lost to the Underworld and Ariadne…

He tries not to think of her.

Helen was granted Elysium, she is there somewhere and it does cross his mind to perhaps try wooing her now that they are older. In life he’d wanted to marry her simply for the status. She’d been too young when he and Pirithous had gathered her up the first time, she was meant to stay with his mother, have a happy life in Troezen until they were ready to marry. But even as a youth, he’d been more interested in doing whatever would get Pirithous’s attention. And his attention was kept with their adventures, with challenges.

If he were to ever step foot past the threshold of Helen’s door, it’d be to apologize profusely for the folly of a lovestruck boy.

So he set his sights on people he saw decently often. Wrestling with Odysseus got heated, combat felt more...There was a tension there that he couldn’t quite ignore and perhaps Achilles really was onto something.

Of course, being king of Athens, being a hero, he cannot have just anyone as a lover, he needs a challenge, he needs an equal.

And what bigger challenge than someone in love with themselves?

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does.

People forget that Narcissus is a hunter, or perhaps they simply see him and are so taken by his appearance, that they do not think to fear him. But the moment that Theseus first lays eyes on him, he is perhaps a little afraid of him. He’s truly beautiful basking beside a pond, a basket of fruit beside him. It is ridiculous, he has fought many man, he has fought many beast, and yet there’s this apprehension coiled tight in his gut and he finds himself speechless.

Aside from rattling off his titles.

Which don’t seem to impress Narcissus in the slightest.

And so Theseus, ears burning just a little, hurries back to his training grounds and tells Asterius all about it. The beast seems to give just a solemn nod as he recounts the exploit and if he weren’t so embarrassed, he’d have gone to Achilles.

“I am a king, Asterius! And yet I looked at him and I felt like a boy again!” His companion nods again, arms crossed over his chest as Theseus paces the field. It’d been like looking at Pirithous again for the first time, Ariadne even and perhaps Achilles really is onto something, he is absolutely lonely but he refuses to acknowledge such a thing out loud. So instead he sighs and stops in his tracks before the minotaur.

“You will try again.” The beast says in his somber, thoughtful way.

So he does. Not once, not twice, but several times he approaches the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes upon without feeling like he is making any progress. Until one day one day Narcissus asks him if he’d like to go hunting and of course, he jumps at the chance to perhaps finally show off a little. It doesn’t quite go well the first time, but it doesn’t go...Terribly. It’s a lot of traipsing through the wood. Some days they don’t see anything, other days it’s a deer, a pheasant, a rabbit in a snare.

They talk on days when it seems they won’t find anything, though often Theseus just finds himself listening. It takes time, he wants to meet all of Narcissus’s stories about his life with tales of his own accomplishments, but he finds the other will not listen to his boasts. If he does, he doesn’t seem all that impressed and at first it is frustrating and then one day, it isn’t. He is a king, he brought democracy to Athens, he doesn’t need to boast, and he finds that he actually likes listening. There’s something about his voice that he finds just as pleasing as his face.

The first time Theseus kisses him, it is to shut him up. They are among the many flowers that surround Narcissus’s home, the ones named after him, and he doesn’t know if he does it because he’s been watching the other man’s lips move or if he wishes to get him to just stop talking.

Achilles and Patroclus had a fair point, he did need someone. But the hunter was often visited by another, and not just any other person, but Dionysus himself. It spoils something for a few days, when he first glimpses the two. Dionysus had stolen Ariadne from him and now he was in the home of the man who he had affection for. He waxes about the matter only to Asterius and when Achilles asks him how the impossible is going, he simply smiles and tells him that not everyone could find their Patroclus.

It isn’t a deterrent for long though, he’s a hero, he’s a king, and there’s many more kisses to be had. They have them, he stops wondering if the other man is simply entertaining him, it does not matter. It does not matter until he is back at home alone or with Asterius gazing out at the water and then Theseus thinks about Phaedra, about Hippolytus, Aegeus even. And when he is done thinking of them, when he is done mourning them for the day, sometimes he thinks of Athens, the kingdom he’d let down.

It never lasts, those moods. He is good at picturing his worries upon the shores and mentally watching the Aegean wash them away. He likes to think it’s both of his father’s telling him not to worry.

He doesn’t worry the first time he has Narcissus. The hunter’s house is full of mirrors, there is not a single room that their reflections aren’t watching them. And watch them they do as muscles ripple and lips collide again and again and again. Time is a funny thing in paradise, he does not know how long they go about such a dance and Theseus does not care. For he has the most beautiful man under him, sometimes over him, and it is hard not to get wrapped up in such a thing in what could be a matter of weeks, months, years even. He has never cared much for aesthetics, it’s a trivial thing, but seeing the two of them together is so pleasing and he thinks Narcissus thinks so, too.

Things change, Patroclus and the Spartan prince Hyacinth that is often with him leave Elysium, leaving Achilles alone. Theseus watches the world with him; they keep an eye on Corinth together or he views it through one of Narcissus’s many mirrors as they lounge amongst the flowers. They banter about it, about the gods, about magic, about how funny mortals dress nowadays and how unfortunate this whole thing must be.

But when his father comes to call upon him, the god of the sea himself, the thought of himself and the hunter, the phantom feeling of him coming undone under his hands, it isn’t enough to get him to stay. Theseus jumps at the chance to do right by Poseidon, but he makes a point to say goodbye to those he’s met in paradise.

First is Odyseuss, the man who is always up for a story, a tale of the sea, or his clever wife. It’s one last sparring match, one last story, and he wonders what the other hero would do in his shoes. If he would seek out his Penelope, if he would continue his adventures. But he does not ask, instead he goes to see Bellerophon, his brother. They talk and they drink and muse about their father, their many siblings. He promises to tell him tales of them if he meets any of them again.

It pains him to leave Achilles when his house is already nearly empty. Theseus still half expects to see Patroclus flanked by Hyacinth, but there is just aristos achaion. Much like Odyseuss, they spare a final time and Theseus promises to return to him, ensuring him that he will do right by Patroclus, even the Spartan prince he’s so fond of. They embrace the way men do, hands clapping at shoulders and he is on his way.

He is half expecting to be met with the sight of the god of wine, and yet it’s just Narcissus and his many mirrors. Somehow, he thinks that makes it worse, makes it harder. He tells him he is leaving, that he is going to Corinth to put a stop to all of the madness there, he thinks. That Poseidon himself had asked him to go.

What feels like the most important part, is that Theseus tells Narcissus he will miss him. With his hand upon his face, he tells him that he will miss him, that he’ll return triumphant. He’s a king, after all, he’s a hero, and he will do what heroes do. It is a fleeting moment, but wasn’t all time in Elysium fleeting? The kiss he gives the other man isn’t. It is perhaps firm and desperate and leaves him wanting. He leaves quickly, not because he doesn’t want to hear what the other man has to say (and he imagines it is a lot), but because Narcissus is perhaps the one who could convince him to stay.

It is just a way to pass the time, their tryst. Narcissus will still have Dionysus, he will still have whoever else comes to call upon him, and he will be just fine ‘living’ amongst his hall of mirrors. But even as Theseus tells himself this, he finds himself already missing the other.

When he goes to say goodbye to Asterius, the beast regards him the same way he always does. “You will return, Theseus.” Is what he tells him in that steady baritone. Not ‘King of Athens’, not ‘Son of Poseidon’, but he calls him by name. For he is his friend, and Theseus responds by embracing him the way men do.

Except as they part, the minotaur presses something into his palm. It’s a narcissus, colored gold, petals soft and familiar. It’s from the hunter’s own garden and something in his chest seizes at the sight of it.

“Do not forget us.” Asterius states, voice perhaps a little far away.

“How could I ever?” He smiles up at the beast, closes his hand carefully around the flower, and then he turns towards the sea. He’d press it when he got to Corinth, he thinks. There it would sit on a mantle and wait for him in a way he wished Narcissus would.

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Eleven: I Get Threatened by the King of Athens

There was a tense and uncomfortable silence. Luz had a sinking feeling in her gut, like pieces of a puzzle were coming together in a game she hadn’t agreed to play.

“What do you mean Amity isn’t with him?” She said quietly, not moving her eyes away from Theseus. If she had thought he was cute before, now the sight of him made her blood run cold. She should have listened to Gus. “Achilles captured her in Boulder. Where is she?”

Theseus pursed his lips. “Achilles isn’t always the most tactful. He has his own agenda too. He was supposed to bring Amity to my boss in Colorado, but he went off the rails, literally, and took her to his new place in Kansas City. Fled from our boss because of some disagreement between them.” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “As if we could even refuse to begin with.”

Luz was stunned. “I have… so many follow up questions.”

“Kansas City? Like… our next stop?” Gus asked with a frown. “That’s one coincidence.”

Theseus hummed in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll soon figure out that few things in our world are a coincidence. The gods are pawning you even as we speak. You met the flower crown lady in Cincinnati, who gave you a job to prove to the love lady she made the right choice in favoring you.” He gestures to Luz with a roll of his eye. “Then, your daddy gives you a hand in the train station to make sure you’re on the exact right path they need you to be on, so you can’t mess this one up. So sure, coincidence.”

“My dad?” Luz asks, not sure what Theseus meant.

“The map,” Gus hissed in realization. “As the god of travelers, some kids of Hermes must have special abilities with map reading.”

“Then there was the way she could haggle the price down without even trying,” Willow added with wide eyes. “He’s also the god of merchants.”

“See, what did I tell you?” Theseus said with a smile. “You kids are quick.”

Luz didn’t like feeling like an idiot. But that’s what was happening right now. All the time she and her friends thought they were doing something good, all that time Luz felt guilty thinking this was her fault and the gods had been manipulating their quest from the beginning.

Her anger must have shown on her face because Theseus shot her a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t feel too bad, Luz. It happens to literally every great demigod.” His face hardened. “In Athens, my quest in the Labyrinth was half a test of skill and half a test of wit. My father promised me glory and honor by coming home a hero, and when I got back on my boat I didn’t even have to touch my ship the whole way home. It was like the sea guided my boat home on its own, and I knew my father had blessed me. Do you know what happened after that?”

There was silence between the three of them. Luz remembered the story, but with the look on Theseus’ face, she knew she couldn’t say it.

“Poseidon didn’t raise the white sails when I arrived,” Theseus said bitterly. “My beloved stepfather had asked me to when I arrived so he knew I was home safe. When I arrived, I was the new King of Athens, because he had thrown himself off the roof thinking I was dead. Poseidon killed him.”

Theseus sat back in his chair, a look of complete misery on his face. “I blamed myself too, you know. Then, when I died, the gods couldn’t even spare me then. The judges wanted to send me to Tartarus. But Minos argued that because I slew the Minotaur, I deserved Elysium. In the end, I was punished to roam the Fields of Asphodel forever.”

Willow and Gus were looking at one another, but Luz was so enamored by the story she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She had always been a sucker for a dramatic tale.

“I forgot everything. Who I was, what I stood for. And then my boss came to me and pulled me from my torment. I was alive again, and a new man. I would never serve the gods as long as I served him.”

“The man in the mountain,” Luz whispered, looking at Theseus unable to disguise her fear. “Who is he?”

“The reason I’m here is so you never find out,” Theseus said slowly, and the three of them flinched. Theseus chuckled under his breath.

“Sorry, not like that. I’ve come as his messenger to offer you a deal.”

“A deal?” Willow said with a frown. Luz shared the sentiment. Why would the man who had been tormenting Luz’s dreams for weeks want to spare them?

“Look, you kids have a good heart.” Theseus continued, eyeing each of them carefully. “My boss knows that. I’ve now seen it myself. We’re all pawns in the game, we always have been. You didn’t ask for this quest, so my boss is giving you a chance you won’t get if you continue forward to Colorado. Go to Kansas City, take Amity from Achilles, and go straight home. Leave this whole thing alone and spare yourselves the pain and heartache.”

“But all of Olympus will fall without Hestia,” Gus protested, “we have to save her!”

“But why?” Theseus asked, and Gus fell silent. “Why can’t an old age of pain and suffering just end? My boss will allow a new era to rise, and demigods can live peacefully with the other mortals. I can see my father again. You can all go home without needing to fear a monster will hunt you down. Luz, you can have a normal life with your mom where she doesn’t have to worry.”

Luz flinched, and Theseus smiled slightly. She didn’t know how he knew about her Mami, but she didn’t like the way it rolled off his tongue.

“Stop that!” Gus demanded to Theseus, and he looked over at him innocently. Willow reached over and put a hand over Luz’s.

“I am just being truthful,” Theseus said, and Gus’s eyes hardened.

“No, you’re not. You’re deceiving her. You went to Tartarus because of how you treated Ariadne. You abandoned her on an island and she would have died there if Dionysus didn’t save her and make her his wife.”

Theseus froze, and for a moment his expression changed, going from sympathetic to cold.

Willow nodded along to Gus, pointing an accusing finger at Theseus.

“You were a war criminal too. You kidnapped the Amazons and the Spartans and caused a war for the Athenians between them. You were exiled because you treated others so terribly. The gods didn’t force you to be awful.”

Theseus’ eyes flashed furiously. “I am offering you demigods a way out! A chance to escape the prophecy.”

“Why would we want to do that?” Luz butts in, narrowing her eyes. “The prophecy told us we would bring Olympus peace.”

“The prophecy says nothing of the sort,” Theseus growled. “Don’t trust the words that can be so easily twisted. It also says you will dawn a new age. That is exactly what my boss is trying to do. And unlike you, I’ve heard it in its entirety. One of you is doomed to die, and that is why Amity would not tell the camp what she heard. She assumed it was her, and that is why she told her companions to run. But I know better. It will be one of you three.”

There was silence again, and Luz felt her mouth open and close fearfully. She didn’t know what she was going to say. Theseus got up from his chair, adjusting his notebook and pen to tuck it under his arms. Luz realized he was leaving.

“You don’t need to decide now,” Theseus said carefully, though he was clearly still angry. “My boss just asked me to pitch the offer to you. You’re still heroes, and now that you know where Amity is I imagine you’re going to go find her. Last we heard, Achilles was planning on hiding in the musician's manor in Sunset Hill on the west end. Look for the gold lyre outside.”

He pushed his way into the aisle, turning his head one more time.

“If you chose to continue, my boss will not hold back. We will do everything we can to finish our mission, and that includes stopping you if you get in our way. And I can promise you this, you are no match for my boss.”

Luz’s chest flared with anger as the entire conversation hit her at once. She hated Theseus. He was a huge bully, who was so mad at the world he blamed everybody else for it but himself. Luz knew better, and if his boss was anything like Theseus, then she hated him even more than she already did. Standing up, she balled her fists at him and stared him right in the eye.

“You’re no hero. We’re going to finish this quest and free Hestia, and we’re going to do it right. You can tell your boss we’re on our way.”

Theseus paused, but he didn’t say a single thing. He just looked at Luz sadly, like he was trying to decide what color coffin would go best with her skin tone. He walked to the front of the bus and whispered something to the driver. The bus screeched to a stop, and Luz had to grip Willow’s hand to keep herself steady. Theseus got off, and the bus started moving again. Luz collapsed into the seat, and Willow leaned into her shoulder comfortingly.

“That was really brave, Luz,” she said, and Luz shook her head.“No, it wasn’t. It was stupid. My Mami was right, I have a terrible habit of making enemies.”

“Theseus is an enemy,” Gus assured her, “but now we at least have some information.”

“Yeah, like how Amity is in Kansas City,” Willow said. “We can go get her tomorrow morning.”

“That, and that the man in the mountain is more scared of Luz than we originally thought.”

“What?” Luz sat up and looked at Gus like he had three heads. Gus shrugged his shoulders. “Theseus was trying really hard to cover it up, but their plan is dangerous. He is trying to keep us away from the plan, not protect us from it.”

“That’s a bold assumption, Gus,” Willow said with a smile. “But it’s also optimistic! I like it.”

“What about the little detail that one of us is going to die?” Luz said with a frown. “I don’t like those odds at all.”

“We won’t know what’s happening with the prophecy until we find Amity,” Willow reassured her. “For all we know, he could have been lying to us to try and scare us into submission. We can’t think like that. Trying to change a prophecy never works.”

Luz groaned, covering her head with her hands. “This is so confusing. I’m sorry I dragged you guys into this mess.”

“We want to be here, Luz,” Gus said with a smile. “Besides, I always knew Theseus was not the greatest, but today my theory was actually proven!”

“Yeah, what a jerk.” Willow agreed. “Sorry we didn’t believe you, Gus.”

Gus rolled his eyes and nudged Luz playfully. “Don’t. I saw the way you guys looked at him. We can’t trust every attractive demigod we run into anymore.”

Willow blushed, but Luz laughed, nudging Gus back affectively. “He has a point.” Luz reached down to her lap and picked up the Tupperware Theseus had given her. “Do we think this is safe to eat? Because I’m starving and I don’t want to go find Amity on an empty stomach.”

Gus snatched it out of her hands. “Don't eat that! For all we know it could be poisoned. It's enemy food.”

Willow had completely ignored both Luz and Gus and was busy eating half of the sandwich. “I had some when he gave it to us. It’s safe.”

“Great!” Luz snatched the container out of Gus’s hands and popped it open, her mouth watering at the sight. It was a fresh PB&J on white bread and an assortment of crackers grapes and cheese. She dug in, finishing the contents in what must have been a record time.

Gus grumbled something about how we were risky and totally stupid, but he ate along with them. By the time they had finished, the three of them were sitting together comfortably, and Luz’s eyes were getting heavy. Willow nudged her with her shoulder.

“If you and Gus want to sleep, you can go ahead. I’ll take first watch.”

“Are you sure?” Luz definitely wanted to sleep, but she didn’t want to leave Willow watching by herself.

Willow chuckled, putting her backpack between her and Luz, so she could rest her head on it. Gus settled in next to Luz, resting his head on his own pack against Luz’s side.

“I’m sure. Try and catch some sleep. We don’t know when we’ll get another chance.”

On that happy note, Luz wasn’t sure how she would be able to get to bed with her mind whirling. But as soon as she rested the pack against her head, she found that she was so exhausted from the day’s events she fell right asleep.

The dreams came again, and Luz found herself standing in the mountain, hiding behind a huge metal shipping container. She poked her head out and saw the man in the mountain, his back turned to her, staring straight forward at a huge metal cage. Inside was a girl, no older than fifteen, dressed in white rags and sitting with her hands bunched up to her knees. Luz thought she might have been very pretty if she wasn’t looking so haggled, her copper-haired pulled back messily and her eyes sunken and tired. Despite her half hazard appearance, she was staring at the mountain man with disdain, like he wasn’t worth her time at all. Luz liked her instantly.

“Why won’t you just give in?” The man said angrily, slamming the base of his bronze staff into the ground. Luz had never seen him with the staff before, he usually had a sword. He was cloaked in dark robes, and Luz could see parts of a dark mask sticking out from the front of his head. “You’ve been here for weeks now. Your fire should have died long ago.”

“The fires of Olympus are not so easily extinguished,” the girl said softly, frowning at him. “As long as there is hope, I will remain here.”

“I will crush your hope beneath my feet!” the man roared, and Luz flinched at the volume. The girl in the cage did not seem so easily frightened, and instead, her eyes flickered beyond the man and towards Luz. The two of them made eye contact, and Luz was shocked to her core by the warmth that flooded through her. Her eyes were the color of dying embers, and Luz couldn’t help but smile.

“Hope remains,” the girl said, but not to the man. She was looking directly at Luz. “And so I remain.”

Luz didn’t realize the dream had shifted until she was somewhere else. She was standing in a huge room reminiscent of an old ballroom. The tiles were white and smooth, and the walls had a golden wallpaper draping them. Everything inside was expensive, but the furniture was pushed against the wall like it wasn’t needed. Outside the polished white windows, Luz saw a massive garden and a long driveway, and then towards the street, she saw a stone plaque that read “1200 West, 55th Street”.

As Luz turned her attention back to the center of the room, she did a double-take. There was Amity, chained to the middle post with her eyes closed, looking worse for wear. She was still in the clothes she had worn when she left camp two weeks before, and she was grubby, with cuts and bruises all over her body. Luz lunged forward to help her, but the sound of laughing from another room startled her so badly she diverted and slide behind one of the expensive sofas hiding from view.

Two men emerged, talking amicably with each other.

“I don’t know how you managed to get away, you’re bound by eternal oath.” The first said, and Luz peaked over to get a closer look. He was a tall and skinny man dressed in simple white cotton pants and a blue shirt, with long black curly hair that sat messily on his head.

“I haven’t technically broken any oath yet,” the second said, grinning deviously. He was much larger than the first man, with muscles on muscles. He wore a sleeveless white shirt that was so tight Luz could see the outline of his stomach, jeans, and white sneakers. His dark hair was close-cropped to his head, and he had two swords hanging loosely on his belt. “Belos can wait a little longer. Besides, this is in his best interest. The prophecy says so.”

He reached down towards Amity, cupping her chin with his index finger and thumb, and Luz felt a snarl pulling itself angrily from her lips. She tried to rush forward but her limbs felt like lead, and she was frozen in place.

“She doesn’t look good. Keep her alive until the other kids get here. I put a bottle of nectar in the fridge.”

“Belos better come through with his promise.” The first said lowly, crossing his arms. “Taking out three demigods on my own is not how I planned to enjoy my new life.”

“You will be compensated for your work,” the second said with a shrug. “If there is one thing he is, it’s practical. He appreciates your time and effort on our joined mission.”

The first sniffed disdainfully, “very well.” He looked over at Amity, and his eyebrows pinched in concern. “Are we sure she’s breathing? You know I don’t do well with pets…”

Luz was interrupted by something shaking her violently, and she woke up with a yelp, her head smacking into something. She groaned in pain, rubbing her forehead.

“Ow!” Both she and Gus said at the same time.

Luz looked around and realized she was back on the bus, and that it was now almost dawn. The hard thing she’d collided with was Gus’ own head, and the boy was now standing up and leaning against the seat for support.

“That’s the last time I wake you up,” Gus moaned, shaking his head like it would get rid of the pain.

“We’re here,” Willow said, doing her best to stifle the laugh. “We just arrived at the Kansas City bus terminal. We have to get off and look for Amity.”

“No need,” Luz said certainly, standing up and throwing her backpack over her shoulder. “I know exactly where she is.”

[artminion]

My bottle returned! So here is an extremely short bit of writing about Ariadne and Nero, which is the basis for the test comic I was making. It’s filled with the probably the worst grammar you’ve ever seen, but it was just to get a few ideas down.   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Nero is thoroughly fed up with stairs.

He'd lost count of how many flights he'd descended since he and his masked guide had started working their way to the bottom of this infernal library, but it was in the region of 'too damn many'.  

He didn’t know how many hours had passed since his arrival in the library, chasing a rumour of a place that still connected both the demon and human realms, desperate for even the slimmest chance that he could drag his newly found family from their self imposed exile in the Underworld. That he had even gotten this far was a miracle in itself.

And now he finds himself being guided into the cavernous depths, apparently towards the demonic portal at the libraries deepest floor, by one of the bizarrely masked attendants of this place; assigned to him by the library's equally bizarre Curator.  

She'd said very little so far, answering questions when prompted and little else. It was making Nero long for Nico, and the seemingly constant buzz of noise that followed her. Like tinnitus given human form, and it was still better that than this heavy silence.  

As they descend deeper soft music, almost like a choir, begins to drift up from somewhere below them. The voices are distant and singing in a language Nero has never heard before, an almost discordant melody that has dread settling uncomfortable and heavy in his stomach.

"Hey do you hear that?" he murmurs to Ariadne, a few steps ahead of him. she stops, turning her head to him. She says nothing as she tilts her head to listen, the gleam of the fire lit sconces flickering across her mask as she considers the eerie melody floating up from below.

"We must be nearing another door," she says after a moment, taking a few more steps down as she glances around the tower. "Ah, over there. See the light?" she points down and Nero sees a crack of bright light several flights below them, spilling out on to flat flagstone.

"What the hell's with the singing?" Nero asks, following as she continues down the stairs.  

"It's so we know they're near, it is a requirement of their stay within the library. I believe there were a few accidents before the rule was placed, but that was before my time here."  

"Accidents?" Nero pauses as they reach the landing, "What kind of accidents? What the hell's through that door?"

Ariadne turns to him before reaching the door, the singing is louder now and the dread in the pit of Nero's stomach deepens.

"The deadly kind," she says gravely. "The creatures behind this door emit this light and it does more than simply blind you, therefore you will need to do exactly as I say"

"Damn and here I was looking forward to a break from stairs," Nero shrugs. "What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing difficult, I will guide you through the room but you must keep your head bowed and your eyes shut and covered. The longer we are in their presence the more their song will affect you so we will need to move quickly."

"Right, simple enough. What about you though, how will you see where to go? Nero asks, glancing towards the beam of light pouring from the crack, so bright it seems to cut through the stone it lands on.

"I'll be fine," she says, turning to the door. "The masks protect us from their influence, to a degree. Now cover your eyes please."

"How comforting," Nero drawls, covering his eyes with his hand and bowing his head. "You sure they wont attack us though?" he asks, starting as he feels Ariadne take his hand. Her fingers are like ice.

"No, they have never been directly aggressive. At worst they might complain at me for something," Nero almost thinks he hears a smile in her voice as she starts to lead him to the door.

He opens his mouth to question her when Ariadne pulls the door to the rotunda open and all thought flies from his head. Now in the full glare of the light he understands his guide's warnings, even with his eyes covered all he can see is white and he instinctively knows that were they open he would have been instantly blinded. The singing is now a cacophony, too many voices piling together, weighing down on him from every direction, heavy and overbearing on his whole body.  

As Ariadne pulls him through the chamber a thick, dizzying feeling begins to spread from the base of his skull outwards to the tips of his toes. The heavy dread he had felt in the stairwell has his stomach roiling with nausea. The air is dense and clammy and he feels as if a pressure is creeping in at him from all sides, seeping into his skull.

Suddenly the pressure shifts and he feels Ariadne slow to a stop. Reflexively he grasps her hand tighter in a silent plea to keep moving, but she remains still and through the dense haze of his mind he can sense something approaching. The singing shifts slightly, like ripples through oil and one tone sings higher with intonation almost like a question, but he can't make sense of anything he hears. Nero is sure his ears are bleeding. He feels like he’s about to choke on his own tongue.

Somewhere in the dense fog of sound and pressure he thinks he hears Ariadne but all he can focus on is the pressure in his skull, which is quickly become more than he can bear. His legs feel like jelly beneath him, ready to crumble under his own weight at any moment and he has the brief clarity to curse himself for coming here when the singing pitches shrill for one nauseating second, then he loses his grip on his guide and crumbles to the floor. Blinded and lost he fights the urge to retch when the pressure finally lessens and the figure seems to recede. He feels a tight grip on his arm as Ariadne clutches him and brings him too his feet, hauling him as fast as he is able to door he knows is on the opposite side of the chamber.

Only when Ariadne releases him and closes the door with a definite thud does he allow himself to collapse to the stone landing, eyes still shut tight as he vomits onto the flagstones. The song continues, now mercifully distant and as he sits back he feels the guide push what can only be a water bottle into his hand. As he washes out his mouth and takes several gulps he slowly opens his eyes , still squinting from the light that's been burned into the back of his retinas. Ariadne is squatting in front of him, head tilted to one side, and he blearily notices blood dripping in a long trail from where her nose hides and past her lips, hitched into the most minute of smirks. Not totally unaffected then.

"What the hell was that?" Nero croaks, throat hoarse. He takes another sip. “What were those things?"

Ariadne swipes at the trickle of blood and gets to her feet, glancing around to get her bearings. "That's a good question. The Curator tells us they're a class of demon that have lived here for centuries, but many of the attendants have got this notion that they are angels."

"Angels, huh? What do you think?" he asks, squinting at her from the floor.

Ariadne turns to him; eyes, as always, unreadable beneath her mask, mouth back to its regular neutrality. "I don't believe in angels." she scoffs.

"Yeah," Nero murmurs, glancing away, "neither do I."

Nero can feel her eyes on him, but she says nothing. After a moment her footsteps tap towards where he's still sat and Nero looks up to find her arm outstretched to him. He takes the proffered hand and Ariadne hauls him to his feet, still peering at him from the inscrutable depths of her mask "Let's press on, it's still some distance to the portal."

Nero dusts himself of, taking one last swig of water. "Right, no time to waste." Tucking the bottle in his coat, he looks to his companion. "Hey, one of things came up to you in there right? What did it want?"

"Oh, nothing really. It had a complaint"

[erintoknow]

be scared with me

retro-actively calling this for ockiss week even though this has been sitting as a WIP for months now @ratkingkisses​‘s Zia Basri x Ariadne Becker, Fallen Hero: Rebirth OCs ~4.2k words [AO3]

–

“Come on darling, no more dawdling!” Zia Basri pulls at your arm, her elbow locked with yours. You let her pull you along, past the doorman whose thoughts are none the wiser over your faked tickets. “Now this is a party.” Zia’s smile is broad and unguarded as her eyes sweep over the ostentatious gold and silver decorations of the wide ballroom floor.

Your own eyes fixate on the large chandelier hanging in the center of the room. In its shadow is a buffet table. Or more accurately, a series of buffet tables arranged into a rectangle. Hrm. Anyone gets any funny ideas about the lights, only the help managing the food will be crushed.

Disappointing.

No pressure pushes down on your awareness, no sensation of static drowns out the buzz of minds around the two of you. The Dampeners aren’t on then. Good. That bribe hadn’t been for nothing. That’ll make tonight much, much easier.

You glance back over to Zia, slightly above eye-height for once thanks to her high-heeled shoes. “S–stay focused.”

Zia doesn’t look at you, only the slightest quirk of her lips. “Of course.”

“I’m serious.” You hiss. “We only have the one shot at this.”

“Ari. Dear.” Zia laughs, shaking her head. “I’m a professional. Please.”

“Yeah. N–not – not helping.”

Robbing from, Henry Yasuda, one of the richest men in Los Diablos is not exactly the smartest thing you’ve ever done, but if it puts a dent in his prestige and political power it’ll be worth it. That was Zia’s pitch to you anyway. You’re pretty sure she doesn’t care about the political angle. Just getting a piece of the pie.

And, well, that money would help along several other projects you’ve had sitting on the back burner.

And it’s a very large pie.

You put your free hand to the frame of your sunglasses. Is it gouache to wear them indoors at a high society event? Probably, but fuck these guys. No one seems to be paying either of you much mind. Lost in their only little worlds, no doubt helped along by Zia’s telepathic talents. You can feel the edge of her awareness brush past yours, getting a feel for the room at large.

“Relax.”

You snap your head back to Zia, and she laughs at you.

“It’s a good plan.” She disentangles your arm from hers. “I’ll finish taking stock here. You take care of setting up plan B.” With a soft push to your back, Zia sends you stumbling out away from her.

Right.

The plan.

Stick to the plan.

You made the plan. So. Better stick to it. The plan, that is.

Yes.

Adjusting the strap of your purse you glance around, pick up the location of the restroom from a nearby mind and head off in that direction. In a fashion, the plan is the same as the original Plan. From the Gala debut. Only this time, the explosions are plan B. If the two of you can get out of this without any fighting, that would be ideal. No fighting, no hint that anything’s wrong.

And if you get caught… well, that’s where plan ‘B for bomb’ comes in. No time for thieves if super villains are attacking right? Slip out in the chaos. Ideally with the prize still.

In a locked bathroom stall, you remove the explosive charges from the false bottom of your purse and prime them for the radio signal. Back in at the top of your purse they go and you take a minute at the bathroom sink before for cover and to psych yourself up.

You’ve been over the schematics a million times. You know exactly where to place the charges to maximize noise and debris while minimizing the risk of casualties. And if something does get hurt… well, these people are all rich out of their minds anyway. A little psychological scarring builds character.

Exiting the bathroom again, you spare a thought towards Zia as you make your rounds around the ballroom. She seems to be doing okay. Thoughts calm except for – well, she’s always eager for excuse to really stretch her abilities. Show off. Showing off for you, you’re not sure. You’re the only one that knows Zia Basri as anything but a reclusive and retired industrialist. The Nemesis to your Adrestia.

You linger by a wide, double-paned window, one hand surreptitiously palming the last charge onto the rim of a potted plant. You’ve got a clear view of Zia across the bustle of the floor. Wrapped in a gown of black with pink accents, the metallic silver glint from her jewelry catching the lights. She’s chatting up another woman in a sharp black suit. Typical.

The two of you should have gone your separate ways after the escape. Your continued partnership like this is a risk. A weak point. One of you screws up, and you’ll both be damned. This is it. This is the last time you’re working with her. This time for real.

Getting close to people is a liability for… people, like yourselves. Depending on others is a liability. And Zia is arrogant about the extent of her telepathy and full of herself besides. Sure, she’s saved you a couple times at this point but it was a matter of practicality. You going down would only risk exposing her as well.

Look out for number one, that’s all that –

The woman Zia’s been talking to laughs, stepping into Zia’s personal space. Wrapping an arm around her back and – oh. They’re kissing. You grit your teeth. Zia enjoys flirting, of course she’s going to flirt here. Hardly a surprise for this to happen.

God they’re going at it. This is risky as hell. Even Zia has to know that. Look at her body language. Stiff, and – is that her hand shaking? You’re too far away to be sure. You shake your head. Try not to clench your fists as you walk over. Walk. Not storm. Relaxed, not tense. Why would you be tense? Absurd. Crazy.

“Basri. There you are.” You flash a terse smile at Zia and her new ‘friend.’

They break apart. Zia quickly stepping away and smoothing out her dress. Her companion raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“B–becker.” Zia nods at you, flashes a smile back, “Back so soon?”

“Mmhm.” You step towards her, a hand on her arm. “Can I talk with you?” You glance at the other woman. “Alone?”

“I – yes. Yes, of course.” She gives an awkward wave as you pull her away. “Loved chatting with you dear!”

You pull her along, into one of the side hallways stretching down into the wings of the building. You let go of her arm, glancing back towards the ballroom. “Are you okay?”

Zia frowns, rubbing where you touched her. “I was doing just fine until you so rudely pulled me away.”

“I–I–I can’t – Okay. Fine. We need to – to talk. Now.” You glance around, “Privately.”

“So eager to keep me for yourself, sweetheart?”

You ignore her jab, an open door to a study off the hallway catches your attention. That’ll work. Don’t pick up anyone else inside. You push Zia into the room, pulling the door shut behind you both. “What – what the fuck were you thinking!?”

The other woman smiles quietly to herself, easing out the crinkles in her dress. “I don’t understand what you mean, my dear.” She props herself up against a wardrobe, crossing her arms. “We’re here for a job. Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun along the way.”

“Fun!?” You grit your teeth, strain to keep your voice down. “That–that–that woman was halfway down your throat!”

Zia’s smile broadens into a smirk. “Jealous?”

You step back, “N–no! Ugh! You always do this!” Throw your hands into the air as you storm over to the room’s one window. “Suppose Little Miss Handsy got too frisky? Huh? What’re you going to do then?”

Zia yawns, waving the thought away with a hand. “Oh, I suppose I’d have to wipe the poor dear’s mind. Make her think she got a little too drunk.” She shrugs. “Nothing would happen.”

“And the security cameras? Everyone else in the fucking ballroom?”

“Please, sweetheart, You of all people should know just how powerful I am these days.”

You turn away from the window to stare her down again. “That’s not – that’s not your risk to take, Zia! W–we’re in this together!”

She doesn’t look back at you, studying her fingernails. “For as long as it’s convenient at any rate, my dear handmaiden.”

“Oh fuck off.” You storm towards her, “You can’t keep treating everything like it’s some big game!”

“Isn’t it?” Her smile collapses into a frown as she finally looks over at you. “I’m sick of hiding all the time, and I’m sick of these…” She tugs at the collar of her dress, a look of disgust on her face. “turtlenecks. All the time! One day I want to wear something flashy and not fear for my life!”

Ah. “So y–you were scared back there.”

Zia snaps back to you, letting go of her dress. “I didn’t say that!”

You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. “You were tenser then a coiled spring. I saw your hand shaking.”

“They were not.” Zia snorts. “The only scared woman here is you, dearie. Scared, and jealous.”

“I wasn’t–” you swallow the words back, heart in your throat. “Okay. You know what. Fine. Fine! I–I–I am. Jealous. I admit it.” You put a hand to your chest, as if you could hold your heart in from exploding.

Zia blinks, taken aback. You’ve called her bluff.

“At least – at least I can. Admit it. You – you cocoon yourself in your little act and you think if no one sees the real you, nothing can hurt you!” You laugh, can’t believe you’re actually saying this out loud finally. “When we first met, I thought you were so – so ‘cool’ so ‘imposing.’ That you had it all together, but you know what?” You jab a finger at her. “I–I–I see right through you now. You’re just as scared as I am. No,” You shake your head. “More scared! You’re too scared to even let yourself be scared.”

Silence stretches out between the two of you. Ah fuck. You went too far this time. You’ve blown it.

“Are you done?” Zia stares at you, her expression unreadable. Shaken? Uncertain? Or are you just projecting?

Take a deep breath. Hold. Exhale. “N–no. There’s, um. There’s one more thing.”

“Wha–” Zia doesn’t get to finish speaking as you pull her into an embrace. Her body is rigid in your arms.

“It’s… it’s okay to be scared.”

There’s silence, and then, a weak laugh. “We should… finish the mission.”

You let go of her, heat flashing across your face. God. You idiot, what were you thinking? Zia steps away, and quickly averts her head. But not before you catch a flush across her face. You try not to stare. Thoughts like smoke, melting away before you can read anything coming off her.

You cough and take a step back yourself. “R–right. The… the mission.” You run a hand under your purse strap. “Plan B is ready.”

Zia looks back to you, her usual cool demeanor coming back. “Then let’s get started on Plan A.” She sweeps a hand back through her hair. Pulling back her hand, she twirls a pair of bobby pins between her fingers before they vanish up a sleeve. “Lead the way, my dear handmaiden.”

You roll your eyes and don’t say anything. You’ve given up on the whole name thing. You could just change yours, but it’s the principle of the issue. It’d be like admitting defeat. Putting a hand on the door handle, you pause a moment to get a sense if anyone’s looking out in the hallway. Satisfied you open the door, Zia following you back outside. “Alright, first stop the security station. You ready to fish?”

Zia nods in the affirmative as you glance back to her, a smirk playing across her face. “Cakewalk.”

“Just – just try to restrain yourself. And – wait for my signal. No more diversions. Stay focused.”

“Getting bossy aren’t we?” Zia laughs as you glare at her. “Worried?”

“You wanted me to plan this. So I – I did.”

“Relax. I have total confidence in you.”

You frown at that. “We meet up at the vault.” Turning away you hesitate, glance backwards. “Be careful. I – I’m fucking serious.”

–

Sneaking into security offices is starting to become old hat. Can’t deny that you and Zia make a good team. One takes care of the CCTV and other security, the other gets the target to practically hand over the goods. If anyone’s caught on yet, there hasn’t been any sign of it.

It only takes a few carefully planted suggestions to pull the sap stuck watching the security cams into a deep sleep. Stepping around him, you plug the USB stick with the virus ready to deploy. The monitor screens flicker for a moment and then nothing. You bite back a smile as you pull the stick back out. By the time they notice anything wrong, if they notice anything wrong, it’ll be too late.

From there, it’s a matter of a few careful keypresses to turn off the laser detectors and alarm system. You’ve got maybe half an hour before someone checks on the office and resets the alarms.

Plenty of time.

Hopefully.

Closing your eyes you stretch out your awareness, find the hazy void of thought that masks Zia’s presence and give it a sharp prod. A moment passes and you feel a hard shove in return.

Okay. Great. So far, so good.

Closing the door behind you you set off down the hallway. You’ll take the long way around. Hopefully Zia doesn’t need any help. She’s a better telepath than you are. Better at manipulating people even without that advantage. She’ll be fine. She has to be fine. It’ll work out you just have to –

You pull hard against the wall as a guard walks past. Nudge his attention away from spotting you alongside the hallway. He walks past without stopping, eyes straight ahead, whistling a bored tune.

You should spend less energy worrying about Zia and more on paying attention to yourself. Cursing under your breath, you wait a second to confirm and then head off again. You and Zia both have your skinsuits on under everything, if it comes down to it. It’d be such a waste of a dress though.

The vault is further back into the mansion, away from the bustle of the ballroom and the party showing off Yasuda’s influence. As you get closer, there’s no sign of Zia. Already inside? No – you can pick her coming up the other end of the hallway. Behind schedule, but still within allowance.

Zia catches your eye and the two of you exchange nods. Trailing on Zia’s arm is Henry Yasuda himself, babbling some braggart story that Zia clearly hasn’t been paying attention to. He looks at you, eyes sliding off you face, a dazed, glossy look to them. Dreaming? Well, as long as Zia can get him to open the door.

You hang back, taking flank. “Any trouble?”

“Of course not.” Zia pulls her arm away from Yasuda, giving him a soft push towards the door. “Now, what did you want to show me, sweetheart?”

The man mumbles something, an unintelligible mix of English, Spanish, and Japanese. Presses his hand against the door, frowns, then tries again. Twice more before he finds the keypad. 

Zia snickers, “Find the right strings and they fall over themselves to help you ruin them.”

“F–focus.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She waves you away, pouting. “Look at him, thinking he’s getting something out of this. Adorable.”

You hold your breath. On the third try, the keypad turns green under Yasuda’s fingers and the doors click open. The two of you let him enter first, following quickly behind before the doors can shut.

Zia claps her hands together, looking around the shelves lining the walls of the modest-sized office. “Very nice.” Instead of books, a collection of jewels, fossils, and historical artifacts fill the shelves. A collection of paintings are haphazardly arranged on easels in one corner. Temporary relocation during the party? Huh. They’re either worth a lot, or not enough.

Glancing over at Zia, you grab her arm, pulling her hand back from a display box of gems. “Don’t touch anything.” You hiss. “No fingerprints.”

“You’ve got space in that purse.”

“Limited space. Com’on.” You gesture to Yasuda. “Put him out and keep an eye open while I look.”

Grumbling, Zia waves at Yusada dismissively and the man crumbles into a heap in the corner, lights out. “What’s the point of breaking in if we don’t steal anything?”

“Priorities.” There’s a desk and computer at the far end. Dipping a hand into your purse you pull out a pair of plastic gloves, snapping them on. “This is worth more, and harder to track.”

“But where’s the romance?” Zia’s eyes dip down to your hands. “I don’t suppose you…?”

“No.”

“Ugh.”

“Could have packed your own.”

Zia doesn’t have anything to say to that.

You don’t risk sitting down on the chair, pulling it back and out of the way as you jam another USB stick into an open port. A few nerve-wracking seconds later the login screen on the monitor disappears, replaced by the desktop. Fist pump in the air, just the tiniest, most restrained motion, but it catches Zia’s attention.

“Going well?”

Nod as you sort through the files, pulling passwords, account numbers, anything that looks like it might be valuable. “Fucker thought he’d be safe keeping his computer off the network.” You snicker, shaking your head. “We should be able to do some real damage before they catch on.”

“Mmm.”

“Look at some of this stuff, this folder is literally labeled ‘Blackmail’ it’s beyond parody. It doesn’t even look to be encrypted. These people really think they can just do whatever they want–”

“Look, dear, I’ve been… thinking about what you said.”

The tentative tone in Zia’s voice gives you pause and you spare a glance over to her. Your fellow super villain is pacing the walls of the room, facing away from you.

“You’re just… well, so weak–”

You frown and shift your focus back to the computer. For a moment you thought this was going to be something heartfelt. But no. It’s just Zia being Zia. What did you really expect? She keeps talking but you’re only half paying attention, waiting for the jab or the fake-out you’ve come to expect from her.”

“–but your weakness hasn’t made you any less strong; And I… well…”

A sharp piercing ringing cuts through the area. You jump, cursing as you bang your knee on the edge of the desk.

“That wasn’t me!” Zia is tense, on alert as you look over to her, quickly backing away from a shelf.

“W–what did you – I told you not to–”

“Was hardly my doing, darling, I promise you.” Zia frowns, a challenge in her stare. “You ready to go?”

You tsk, wincing at the computer screen. “C–can you buy me a minute?”

Zia glances towards the far corner of the room, then up towards the ceiling. You can feel the edge of her telepathic presence skirting around you. “I just redirected to guards who were on their way here. As beautiful and talented as I am, my dear, I can’t keep that up forever before it becomes obvious.”

��Right.” You take a breath, chewing on the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. “Right. Okay. Okay.” Check the contents of the USB. Not everything you wanted, but can you really afford to waste any more time? But – but – but…

“Ariadne!” Zia’s voice is sharp and loud, cutting through the noise both in the air and in your head. You snap your head up, find her eyes.

You nod. Take a breath. You dip down to pull the USB out of it’s port and slip it back into your purse, then log off the computer. “Okay. Let’s go.” Power-walking back to Zia, already waiting by the doors. Peeling off the plastic gloves and tucking them away as you go. One hand in your purse, finds the remote detonator, thumbing the trigger.

Zia eyes your arm and cocks her head to the side, a smirk on her face. “Time for plan B?”

“Time for plan B.”

Her grin only widens.

You press the trigger as the two of you step into the hallway. Half a second later, a soft ‘boom’ rattles the paintings hanging from the walls followed by series of screams.

Your partner in crime cackles, clapping her hands together. “Well! I suppose we should be good girls and evacuate with the rest of the sheep now.”

You bite back a smile. “I sincerely doubt anyone has called you a ‘good girl.’”

In the chaos of people fleeing the smoke, Zia and yourself are able to slip back into the crowd. Just another pair of wannabe socialites having a terrible time of it. Nothing to see here. Once outside, you’re able to slip onto the street before the police arrive. Walk a few blocks before calling a taxi cab.

The come down from after an operation is always a little surreal. That slowly sinking realization that once again, you haven’t been caught. Zia directs the cab driver back to her penthouse suite, because of course you always have to debrief there. She has standards after all. Ones much higher than a dingy corner of a refurbished workshop.

As soon as the two of you are safely inside, you drop your purse on a table and collapse onto an open couch. You can change clothes later, when the shock finally wears off.

Zia snickers from the kitchen table, something alcoholic and fruity smelling in her hand. “Tired already, my dear handmaiden?”

“Aren’t you?”

“This is the part I hate. Where all the, the uh, the doubts come filtering in.” You groan into the couch mattress. “Why did the alarm go off early? Will Yasuda remember us at all? What if there was some sort of recording device or secondary CCTV we missed? What if someone places us there and realizes we weren’t on the guest list? What if all the files are dummy data or one of them is some kind of trap? What if–”

“Ariadne.” Zia laughs, cutting you off. “Relax darling. Everything went fine. Between my talents and your planning, everything went off without a hitch. It was flawless much like these…”

You hear a a solid ‘clunk, clunk, clunk’ of something heavy being laid out on the kitchen table. Eyes wide you shot up from the couch and stare over at Zia who sits back, watching you, a sly smirk on her face. A series of brilliant blue sapphires glitter under the kitchen light.

“Oh my god.” Your voice cracks. “I – I told you not to touch anything.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “If we didn’t steal something they’d know you’d broken into that computer for sure.” She picks up one of the gems, turning it over in her fingers. “A common jewel thief is much less concerning than a hacker wouldn’t you say?”

You blink.

Frown.

“I…” Chewing at your cheek again you get up from the couch and walk over to the table. “You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Zia blinks, taken aback, a hand to her chest. Her surprise is gone just as quickly, cool confidence radiating back out. “Of course I am.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You try to scowl, but can’t keep it up under the shear pleased expression on Zia’s face.

Zia preens, brushing her hair back with a smile. “No, no, do keep going. Tell me how I’m right again?”

“I take it back.”

“Too late.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Miss Jealousy?”

“I–” You shut your mouth and purse your lips, glaring down at Zia in her seat. “What was that you were trying to say back there, anyway? Right before you set the alarm off?”

“I–? I did not set off the alarm!” Zia scoffs, hand to her chest again. “And anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hrm.” Something in the back of your head screams at you as you step in closer. This is a mistake. You can’t trust giving someone like Zia this much power over you. And yet –

“Ariadne?” Zia stares back at you, challenging.

You dip in, a kiss on the cheek and pull back before she can make a decision either way. Zia blinks, caught in a moment of unguarded shock as she puts a hand to where your lips touched her. The full weight of her telepathic presence presses against yours. Probing, questioning. “S–still… still scared, I see.”

“Me? Scared?” Zia scoffs, pulling her hand back down, willing her expression back to something more neutral. “You’re mistaken.”

You bite your lip. Fuck. There’s too many ways this ends badly. What are you thinking? Have you completely lost your mind?

“Well then…” You offer a hand out to your partner-in-crime. “Be scared with me?”

[bewitchingbloom]

OC Kiss Week Day 2 - Larksharius and Rimerock

Day two goes to @arrow90-art's lovely OCs Lark and Ri. I love seeing these two on my dash, and since they're both OCs I took advantage of that :3 I do think Ariadne would meet their match with Lark in particular, and once this idea popped into my head I couldn't let it go!

“All right, drink up.”

Ariadne glared at her companion. Larksharius, the newest advisor to grace her command room, gave her an enigmatic smile in return. When she had invited them to the tavern for a little “get to know you” dinner, she had expected she’d get the supposed lich a little tipsy and get them to reveal their secrets. Namely…if they really were a lich. They certainly didn’t look like one, but Ariadne felt that outright asking might cross the bounds of what was socially acceptable. So she’d taken a page right out of her lover’s book, proposed a little game of “never have I ever”, and now here she was, sloshed six ways to Sunday while they didn’t seem any worse for wear.

Keeping her gaze locked on them, Ariadne fumbled for the glass of whiskey at her elbow. She was quite proud of herself for managing to down the entire thing without spilling a drop of herself. As she set down the glass again, Lark’s eyes were bright. Whether it was with delight or mischief or something else, she couldn’t tell. Normally she’d be more than happy to be party to whatever thought was dancing around in their mind, but the way the world around her swam told her she needed to change the course of her game, lest she make an absolute fool of herself.

“I think we need to play a new game,” she announced as imperiously as she could while her words were slurring.

“Oh? I believe that’s a sign that you’re losing our current one, is it not?”

The glare settled back over her face. “No! Well…only because you’ve apparently had very few lived experiences. Really, my friend, I know you’re a lich, but you mean to tell me you’ve never been skinny-dipping?”

She’d hoped the statement would rile them up, but there was only a slight shake of the head, the small smile still in place. “Or maybe you’re just underestimating the effectiveness of wording your statements carefully. There have been half a dozen times I could have drunk, were it not for your phrasing. And of course, I made sure to keep mine as elusive as possible.”

‘Oh, so that’s how it is!’ Ariadne’s brows knotted, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She had a soft spot for cheaters…well, the kind who cheated at games. Really, it was her fault…how did she not know they would be the type to look for any and all loopholes she afforded them?

Just as she opened her mouth with a retort, Lark’s eyes flickered over her shoulder, lighting up in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but the naked fascination it was. Ariadne tried to leave her face impassive as she turned, intent on finding her companion’s object of interest. It wasn’t hard, as the man who’d caught their attention wasn’t easy to miss.

Perhaps it was the clanking set of silver armor, polished to a gentle sheen, that made the man look so big, but even Ariadne found her usual dauntless nerve falter at the sight of him. Though intimidating, his face was soft, the white curls framing his face and falling over his shoulders painting a picture of a perfect knight in shining armor.

Ariadne looked back to Lark. A small, bewitched smile was pulling on the lich’s lips, not even bothering to hide the fact this man had them enraptured. At that, a plan formed in the haze of her intoxicated mind.

“So, new game,” she said, mustering up all the authority she could. Lark glanced back to her, their features barely shifting to show their attention. Smiling in a way that she hoped was conspiratorial but felt decidedly dopey, she leaned forward and said, “Truth or dare. And since you won the last game, that means you get to start! I dare you to go talk to him.”

“Him?” Lark’s voice was soft, but there was a familiar hint to it that if she had been in a more sober piece of mind, Ariadne might have been able to place.

“Yeah, Mr. Silver Knight at the bar there.” Just in case her very apt description wasn’t obvious, she pointed to him. She couldn’t have been very quiet - in fact, her voice sounded incredibly loud to her - but if the man heard her, he gave no indication.

Lark glanced back at her for a moment, then was on their feet. Ariadne leaned back in her seat, tail swishing excitedly under the table as she settled in to watch. The lich reached the knight in a matter of moments, resting a hand against the stranger’s shoulder and leaning in close. Ariadne frowned at the familiarity of the gesture - that was awfully bold, wasn’t it?

The knight turned to look at Lark, a slightly bewildered look on his face. She assumed Lark said something, likely telling him about the dare as the knight glanced over to where she was watching. She lifted a hand, cheekily wiggling her fingers. ‘Well, if Lark wasn’t going to keep it a secret what we’re doing, then there was no point in pretending, is there?’

A smile played on the knight’s face for a moment. Then he looked back to Lark, said something, and…pulled them forward, enveloping the lich in a kiss so passionate even Ariadne blushed at the sight.

They parted after a few very long moments, still holding hands as they made their way back over to the table. Ariadne knew she was gaping, but it didn’t seem to bother them, nor did she particularly care. Larksharius had just shown her up in unadulterated boldness, and she was having a hard time wrapping her head around it.

“Knight-Commander Ariadne, I’d like to introduce you to Rimerock,” Lark said, mirth dancing in their voice as they added, “Knight, silver dragon, and most of all, my husband.”

Two of those three statements shook her out of her stupor. Ariadne glanced back and forth between the two of them, their plain amusement at her reaction infectious. She found herself smiling as she picked up Lark’s abandoned glass, raising it slightly in their direction. “Well played, Larksharius. Well played.”

[porchwood]

Cupid & Psyche!Gadge Drabble

Because someone will inevitably assume (since I managed to write something): no, things are not better. Lucky’s heart issues have stabilized, more or less, for which I’m immensely grateful, but now we’re looking at $$ tests to see if she might have Cushing’s disease (which I don’t even want to think about) and we’ve been adding acupuncture (yes, again) to try to ease her stubborn separation anxiety - at $65 a pop. To top it off, she hurt one of her front legs somehow on Thursday (and has a slight but persistent limp, which seems to respond fairly well to her CBD drops), so we’re monitoring to see if an x-ray/professional assessment is needed. :(

And let’s not even get into all the non-dog worries. 

Okay, now that that’s out of the way, here’s what happened on the writing front yesterday. I’ve been getting back into Greek mythology lately and was kicking around the idea of writing a few (VERY BRIEF) drabbles with various pairings in fave myths. (Seriously, Janek/Raisa/Jack as Theseus/Ariadne/Dionysus - with Raisa’s twin Luka as the Minotaur - is the best idea I have yet to write!) Because I love Cupid and Psyche wildly, I was contemplating various pairings that might fit the bill (not in lieu of Honey-God, mind - in addition to!) and of course, Gadge was top of the list. As it was my day off, I made myself a latte and crawled back in bed with Lucks, but before I let myself crack open the next book in my pile, I wanted to quickly type up a paragraph or so of ideas I had for Cupid and Psyche!Gadge.

Somehow, three hours later I had about 4600 words. I haven’t written like that in longer than I can remember. It’s still extremely unpolished and may never get finished, but that seems to be forgivable in rapidly written drabbles, and I thought I’d share it here just in case anyone’s interested. (Tagging @kat-of-a-different-color and @feelingjane in particular as I thought you might like to see this. ❤) And lest ye worry: there is no Galeniss here, just Gale thinking he has everything figured out. ;)

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. - Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

Contrary to other accounts, his mother was not vain or jealous; indeed, she was an ordinary domestic goddess – if powerful and remarkably beautiful to look upon – who thought nothing of pausing on her way to wash the soiled underthings of an ailing beggar.

He had never enjoyed his vocation in any part. After all, the birds and beasts managed these things every season without his interference. The female chose whoever won – often, whoever survived – the fight. Whoever made the most magnificent display. Whoever offered the finest gift, or prepared the loveliest home.

But humans, tiresome creatures, wanted love – affection, tender feelings, right at the outset. Oh, some accepted that these things came later, with offspring and a secure living, and would take the match that parents and practicality presented. A girl impatient to leave her father’s house could do no better than a virile widower, and a plump plain woman made a finer wife than any beauty, who would turn no fewer heads as a mother than she did as a maiden. When humans remained stubbornly blind he would intercede as needed, but more often than not, he was unconcerned with the outward appeal of the match to the individuals involved. Their progeny was of primary significance, though they knew it not, and while Galen could not read the future, he had witnessed centuries of the outcomes of wild pairings and knew that reproductive compatibility was integral to the success of a match.

Naturally, he approached his own match with a similar pragmatism. He had observed her for several years, for she came often to the woods, and as an immortal, he might grow impatient but never hasty, for he had all the time in the world. She was of exceptional stock – a wise, beautiful herbalist mother and a strong, clever hunter father – and, since her father’s untimely death a few years before, had proven herself an entirely capable survivor, as adept at hunting and foraging as any wild thing.

Perhaps she was, he considered with a frown, not fully ripened. Oh, she was of an age to wed and bed and bear, but she was still so very small and slight, with next to none of the curves that implied fecundity. Her grandsire had been similarly ill-favored, he recalled, and her stubborn granddam soon saw where that lead. Galen had regretted this half-century that he had not claimed Ashpet the huntress for his mate, for she had been a veritable mountain lioness, lithe and fierce and so very beautiful, but his mother had put her foot down – and her distaff, across his knuckles – and sternly commanded that this lady be allowed to make her own match, and he not consider her for another moment.

His mother had thus far made no similar protest against Katniss, and Galen was anxious to act, for as he had witnessed in that cosmic mis-match some fifty years past, he could be subverted by men who courted like birds. Asa the weakling – Ashpet had saved him from a mountain lioness, by all that was holy! – had wooed almost entirely as a bird, presenting his beloved with bright bits of ribbon and shiny objects, and though outwardly unyielding, she spent the duration of that courtship secretly laying up stores of lavish provisions and – to Galen’s utter shock – veritably threw herself into the weakling’s reedy arms when he finally caught her at it.

His urge to act upon Katniss, the little huntress, was motivated by a similar scenario. A baker’s son – the youngest of three; a solid match, if not a fine one – had been watching her since childhood and had slowly, carefully commenced a courtship both bird-like and appealing to a bird, like a hermit in the woods with a loaf of bread, patiently drawing a curious sparrow to eat from his hand. Katniss was much wilder than any sparrow, but there had been none to provide for her since her father’s death, and the baker’s youngest son – a stout, strong youth – was almost desperate to take on the office, with his surreptitious gifts of bread and apples and coal.

The blackbird’s heart was not yet affected, Galen was certain, but she was pragmatic like himself, and winter was drawing nigh. The baker’s youngest son would be warmer than any bricks in her bed, and his family was a fit and fruitful line. Mating was mating, he told himself with a scowl, and whatever gestures came before – kisses, caresses, and the like – only prepared the bodies for a successful copulation, but still he bristled at the thought of that broad blond boy covering the little huntress like a stag, of the gasps and pleasant cries she would utter beneath him, and the babes that would fill her womb as a result.

Pregnancy would ripen her hills and valleys, Galen decided, and he could truly wait no longer. He reached into his pack for a coil of sharp golden wire, then paused – at a scent, not a sound: lilacs, heady and purple and entirely out of season – and huffed with displeasure, for once again, his quarry was not hunting alone.

For reasons that he could not comprehend, a friendship had risen up between his huntress and the only daughter of the village mayor, a friendship that saw his huntress now and again donning pretty frocks and spending time indoors at idle nicities like book-reading and playing that enormous piece of furniture called a piano – which, he supposed, he could allow, for her father had been both musician and storyteller – but what was more, and far worse: his huntress often brought the mayor’s daughter into the woods with her. She had taught that girl – a girl whose table would never be empty, even if she married a beggar – to wield a bow with deadly force, though the huntress did all the butchering herself, sparing her companion’s eyes and fine pale hands.

The mayor’s daughter, though wealthy by human standards, was of far inferior stock to his huntress. Her father was slight and balding – though he was not yet old – and had willing sired only one child upon his delicate, perpetually ailing wife, who had once been a twin and never recovered from the untimely loss of her other half. Twins were a fine legacy to marry into, Galen allowed – two strong offspring where others produced only one – but the baker’s wife had also been a twin, and therefore Katniss’s suitor offered such a possibility in his bloodline.

He would have to act swiftly indeed.

The mayor’s daughter – perpetually scented with lilacs as she was – lagged a little behind today, collecting the last of the acorns not claimed by bolls or squirrels, while the huntress moved noiselessly on with her bow. They would meet up soon, however, so there was no time to waste. 

Invisible against the trunk where he watched and waited, Galen shaped the snare-loop with the practiced ease of centuries. They would wed today and bed tonight. Everything was prepared. His lodge swept clean by his mother’s hearth-maidens, fires laid, a feast to be prepared as soon as he gave the word. His den blanketed with the plushest furs – for he had never done this either, though the process seemed simple enough, and he had observed through the centuries that a few creature comforts served both parties well, most especially in the first union. He would feed her and groom her and mount her – carefully, of course, for she was such a small thing – and when he had planted his seed he would lay her in the furs and nuzzle her bare throat, for she would be his then, sated and submissive to such a vulnerable gesture.

Unless, he thought with a frown, she was a great cat like her granddam, and should pull away with a snarl when their mating was complete. Galen’s heart was not set upon the little tendernesses that seemed to follow so naturally on the heels of a successful copulation, but the spilling of seed seemed to drain both gods and men, and remaining upon and inside his naked mate as his vitality returned seemed a surpassing pleasant prospect.

Attraction was an irksome thing to Galen, for it sprang up untimely – where he had neither time nor interest – and while he wanted the little huntress for several reasons, simple carnal hunger was least among them. He turned sharply away from the sight of her slender shape melting among the trees and gasped at a sudden pain lancing the tip of his right trigger finger.

Some fool snake had bitten him – its last act, he thought with bitter relish, for immortal blood was more deadly to beasts than any venom – and he glanced down to see not a serpent but the razor golden wire of his snare slicing a thin, shallow line across the fingertip.

He cursed soft and viciously and looked about him, frantic for the retreating back of the huntress. He could pursue her, of course, but anyone he saw in the process would capture his devotion, and while there were few folk in the woods at any given moment, there was currently at least one other –

“Katniss?” called the mayor’s daughter quietly – a hush entirely suitable for one in the woods – and Galen cursed again, bitterly, because that one word in her voice yanked at his heart like a lead rope. If he looked at her, all would be lost, yet every fiber of his being was already straining to do so.

For reasons he had never understood, heart-snares were especially powerful on immortals.

“Katniss, I believe I have found the roots you wanted,” she called in a slightly louder voice, and there was a smile in it now.

Galen ground his back against the rough bark, hoping the discomfort might cut through the longing, and gritted his teeth, even as his loins stirred, delighted by the prospect of mating after centuries of being impatiently suppressed and ignored. The idiot girl – the lovely, darling, supple, stunning idiot – was drawing nearer, and he realized she had not seen the direction in which the huntress departed. He had invariably made some small sound to draw her attention – for he was invisible only, not silent – or perhaps she had heard his quiet curses and thought it was her friend behind the tree, struggling with roots of her own.

“For the pigment,” she added, her voice – sweet and silky as cream – so near she was surely upon him, and Galen squeezed his eyelids as tightly as he could, against every urge in him screaming to the contrary. If he did not look, perhaps it was not too late.

Her skin smelled of goat’s milk soap and dried lavender, and the heady pulse of lilacs from the hollow of her throat, beneath her ears and between her breasts was almost overwhelming. Heavy purple buds bursting into clusters of fragrant blooms after a winter’s gestation, and her belly would be ripe when they blossomed if he planted himself in her now, tonight, in that den of lush furs…

“For your sweetheart,” said the mayor’s daughter with an impatient little laugh and rounded the tree, and Galen’s eyes snapped open in consternation, for his huntress – for one last stubborn moment he clung to her in his mind – surely had no sweetheart.

The mayor’s daughter looked into his eyes and gave a little start, not because she saw him but because she saw no one, where surely her friend must be. “Katniss,” she called again, puzzled, and walked away, and it took every ounce of Galen’s immortal might not to follow her.

He was livid, in love, and raging with longing. She was beautiful – even pragmatically he could admit as much – still slender in a maiden’s fashion, but soft swells peaked the front of her dress, and her skin was all silk and cream, like her voice. Wavy fair hair – not black like his own, like the huntress’s – tied back with a pink ribbon, deft pale hands smudged with earth, and her breath was fragrant with the wild strawberries she loved; for which she had first braved the woods, and which might still be found in hidden places.

Hidden places – how he craved to bare her belly and buttocks, to uncover those soft swells upon her chest! Breasts might be no mystery, not to the son of a domestic goddess, and every mother presents a nipple for her young to suckle from, but he had never seen this girl’s, and their capacity for suckling infants suddenly became secondary to how they might feel beneath his fingers.

He tore off in search of his mother and found her in the humble pavilion at the heart of her sacred hazel grove, mending the trousers of some supplicant, and she clucked at his wound, shaking her head even as she set aside her work for a little roll of clean linen. “You are too impatient with your knives,” she chided.

“This came not from a knife,” he retorted. “I cut myself with the golden wire.”

His mother’s countenance brightened at this, though she endeavored to restrain a smile. “Had you shaped the snare already?” she wondered, though it was clear from her manner that she knew the answer well enough.

“I was distracted for but a moment,” he snapped, drawing his hand away as she made to wrap the finger. “Don’t bind it – heal it. Take it away.”

She laughed at last, both delightedly and uproariously. “Oh my son, you know better than anyone that such is beyond the power of any god! Come, she cannot be so very loathsome, and you love her already.”

“It was the wrong maiden,” he groaned, but in resignation now, more than rage. “Two there were, and the huntress moved out of sight.”

“So it is Myron-the-Mayor’s daughter,” his mother realized, and to his horror, nodded approval. “Katniss would not have suited, darling one. She was too like you to begin with, and already she loves the baker’s youngest son. Did not you know this?”

He thought of the mayor’s daughter’s words, of the pigment for Katniss’s sweetheart, and his brow darkened. “But I laid no snare for her, and most assuredly not toward him,” he insisted.

“And like her granddam, she was tamed like a bird,” his mother soothed. “The baker’s son loved her without your help as well; it happens often enough, as you know, and he will make her the happiest of women. They will bear strong, lovely children.”

“She was to bear strong, lovely children with me,” Galen groused, but petulantly, as a child who covets another’s toy even as he holds his favorite in his hands.

“And had you snared her, she would have swiftly come to resent you,” his mother explained, “for you do not perpetually smell of bread, nor have you the patient tenderness of that gentle baker’s boy.”

“I do not smell of lavender and goat’s milk neither,” he said dryly. “I am not some perfumed popinjay, as the mayor’s child will surely wish.”

“Her name is Madeline, and the sooner your tongue embraces it, the better,” his mother urged, but merrily. “To resist the draw will only exhaust you while delaying the inevitable, and besides, consider the company she chose: a slim dark huntress who smells of loam and pine, and as like you as a sister.”

“Hardly,” Galen snorted, for he had a sister who, while small and dark and lovely, was decidedly more delicate in her ways than the huntress would ever be. But the struggle with his newborn love and longing was painful now; it had spread all the way to his toes and fingertips and the very roots of his hair, and his mind – repeating No, not her! over and over again in a cannon-like roar – was like a castle under siege, powerless and defeated, with only shouts of fury and protest left to volley.

His mother pressed the linen firmly against his cut fingertip and murmured, “Love her, Galen, for you do already. I know the lodge was prepared this day; I will bring her there tonight, and a holy man to perform the rite. Your body knows what will happen next, and there will be such joy in it. Mate with your wife and seed her with the babes you long for.”

“I will not,” he whispered, but weakly, for now he could think of little else.

“I will bring her at dusk, and the holy man,” his mother answered patiently, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You may arrive whenever you like, but she will lie in your den tonight.”

Galen stormed off into the woods, rebellious to the last, but his deft hands found wild strawberries wherever he passed and he stuffed his pockets with the small bright fruits. I shall make a breakfast of them, he told himself crossly, but he knew it would pain him to consume even one when his beloved – curses, for now so she was! – loved them so. He would guide each tiny crimson bead between her soft lips; perhaps bring her to bed in such a fashion – or after, when they were spent with mating, would keep her there thus.

Would she be receptive, he wondered suddenly, to the marriage or even, simply, to him? Galen knew himself to be uncommonly handsome, but this did not always ensure pleasure in a match, nor indeed, in the mating. And only he had been affected by the snare; she might look on him with revulsion, as sometimes brides did when they were given no choice in their union.

Madeline… His mind flinched even as it shivered with bliss at the name. He would not call her that, nor think of her thus.

Madge, he determined. A quick, rough, grunt of a diminutive with none of those exquisite undulations of the additional syllables. She wanted to be a woodswoman; Madge suited such a one just fine.

He plucked autumn roses from climbing briars and hummed vigorously to drive the exquisite melody of Mad-e-line, Mad-e-line! from the delighted shadows of his mind, and without quite realizing how, he found himself – rendered invisible once more – standing in the village square, just outside the mayor’s house.

He drew up to the parlor window and looked within, where his mother, wasting no time, addressed the mayor, his wife, and Madel – Madge! – on a sofa. His beloved had exchanged her woodswoman’s weeds for a pretty white dress, almost as though she had anticipated this meeting, or what must follow it, and she was frowning thoughtfully at whatever his mother was saying.

Hazelle, of course, had not presented her true self to them but was neatly outfitted as dowager of means, and Galen pressed his ear to the glass, curious what she was saying to obtain this maiden for him by day’s end. But in so doing, he saw that there was another occupant in the room: a youth – the butcher’s youngest son, cousin to the baker’s; every bit as gentle and twice as merry. It had amused Galen now and again to think of setting this boy’s heart upon the unattainable village beauty, a seamstress’s daughter, but he had never bothered to set the snare, and suddenly he realized that this boy, like his cousin, might have courted of his own volition and even been accepted.

Was he already Madeline – MADGE’S! – intended?

The pane shattered with the force of Galen’s jealousy and he leapt with supernatural swiftness to avoid the shards, neatly vaulting into the parlor.

“What on earth?” the girl exclaimed, eyes wide, though she did not seem afraid, and she stepped forward to investigate the broken window.

Galen, still invisible, drew back soundlessly and as near the sill as he could, but still she stood face-to-face with him, though once more she knew it not. Her eyes were a soft shade of blue, like little glimpses of sky on a cloudy day, and her lips parted slightly – exquisitely – at a thought.

It was all he could do not to take her in his arms and discover why lovers so enjoyed pressing their mouths together.

“Again,” she mused, frowning at the place where he stood then, curiously, over her shoulder at his mother. “Twice today no one was where someone should be,” she remarked, returning to her parents. “In the woods this morning and now again, at the window, and I smell the woods as though I stood in their midst.”

“He that would wed you lives in the very heart of the woods,” Hazelle volunteered with a small, shrewd smile, for she knew full well why the glass had shattered and why the mayor’s daughter suddenly smelled the woods in her parlor. “Perhaps you anticipate him already, or the home you would share.”

“With respect to the lady,” interjected the butcher’s son, stepping between Hazelle and the mayor’s daughter, “this is an impossible proposition. Wedded tonight in some stranger’s home, with no family present or welcome.”

“Your village priest will officiate,” Hazelle reminded them – perhaps a little hastily, sensing her son’s jealousy ascending once more. “I will ensure his transport both ways, and he will assure you that all is well.”

“I have no right to protest,” the butcher’s son declared, and looked very much as though he wished to take the girl’s hands in his own as he gazed at her. “For all my esteem and affection, there is no understanding between us, but I present myself as an alternative just the same.”

“You know I adore you, Judah,” said Galen’s beloved, and she leaned forward to kiss the butcher’s son on one cheek.

Something snapped in Galen’s mind at this gesture, and he would have shattered every lamp in the house had his mother not silently stayed him with her steady gaze.

“But we are not for each other,” the girl went on gently. “There is another you mean most earnestly to court, and for my part, I would meet this strange bridegroom.”

“But you cannot change your mind if you like him not,” her father cautioned. “We have only this – estimable,” he added with a deferential bow of the head, “lady’s assurances; the man himself would not come to meet you, let alone to offer his hand!”

“He could not,” Hazelle remarked wryly. “For he is overcome by the force of his feelings, so swiftly kindled at the sight of your daughter, and feared he should lose all grace and eloquence in her presence. His love for you is presently like a thunderstorm,” she told the girl. “Loud and furious, but by eventide it will have blown itself out into a gentle rainfall.”

Madeline – Madge, sweet Madge – considered these words as Galen held his breath. She did not want the butcher’s boy – blessed day! – but his mother had spoken truly. He was furious with love for her, and furious for loving her, and perhaps eventide was too optimistic an interval.

But the mayor’s daughter extended one fine white hand to Hazelle, and it was all Galen could do not to stride across the room and kiss each finger in turn. “I look forward to meeting the storm that is your son,” she said graciously, and Galen’s heart leapt halfway out of his chest. “Allow me to dress for the journey, and I shall meet you outside the home of the priest.”

Once departed from the parlor, Madeline’s composure crumbled to dust. She adored Judah just as she had said; they had been friends since childhood, and he would have made the very finest of husbands, just as Peeta was shortly to become for Katniss. Whatever had possessed her to shake hands with this mysterious lady from many villages hence, who offered a bridegroom she was not allowed to meet or even see till their nuptials – to take place this very eve?

Because you love the woods, came the answer from somewhere deep inside her. The dowager’s son was a huntsman, with a lodge in the heart of a private woods; this alone would have drawn her powerfully, but again and again the dowager spoke of love and longing – and matter-of-factly, as though these were simple things to observe and quantify.

Madeline had never been loved by a man, let alone wildly, let alone a huntsman of great means with a lodge in a private woods, and the prospect made her tremble with anticipation.

The dowager had caught her wrist ere she could depart and murmured, so gently, He will want children, and soon. Can you consent to that as well?

He will be my husband, she had answered, in a voice steadier than she had thought she could muster in response to such a statement. I cannot promise success or speed in conception, but I would naturally consent to his attempts.

She thought now of these attempts as she filled a satchel with her precious bottle of lilac water, the little cake of lavender soap made by Katniss’s sister, clean underthings, hair ribbons, and her pretty white dress, as she exchanged it for the woolen one she had worn in the woods this morning. The huntsman might prefer her thus arrayed, and it would be easier to demonstrate her small prowess in the woods in such garb, did he seek for it.

The dowager, a striking woman, declared that her son was surpassing handsome to look on, and as she was surely of an age with the mayor and his wife, the huntsman could scarcely be older than Madeline herself. No gouty graybeard, then, and a huntsman could hardly be corpulent.

Madeline had never even drawn close to a man before, save for the moment in the parlor when she kissed Judah’s cheek, and she shivered at the thought of a huntsman’s dexterous hands on her body.

At that selfsame moment, Galen also trembled at the very same thought, for, unable to tear himself from his beloved’s presence, he had followed, unseen, to her bedroom and watched almost desperately as she undressed to her shift, then donned the rough woolen dress she had been wearing when first he loved her. The linen undergarment was not so very thin, but there were perceptible peaks beneath the bodice, and the material lay close against the soft contours of her hips, and he ached and raged at the sight, and what it evoked in him.

He would mate with her tonight, he conceded, but he would not linger when the act was done, nor offer any caresses beyond those necessary to bring their bodies together. He would not hurt her, of course, for angry as he was, he loved her like his own flesh, but he would leave it to his mother’s hearth-maidens to tend her before and after. She would not even need to see him…

She would not even need to see him!

Somehow, this epiphany soothed him like no thoughts of love had yet managed to do. Between the natural darkness of nightfall and the invisibility he could assume at will, this girl he most ardently did not want to love would never look on him. He would be hidden from her entirely – even within her arms, if so he chose!

He wanted her with all his might, and loved her with every fiber of his being, and he desperately wanted none of it.

He knew that the huntress was no longer a possibility, though the grief of that realization had quickly dulled to simple disappointment, for he had not truly loved her, merely sought her for how well she would suit him. No, in this moment Galen most assuredly did not want to love anyone at all, ever, but alas, his heart was caught and held between the fine white hands that were presently closing and shouldering the satchel.

[treeofsalvation-blog]

Safety | Nadiel/Mercy | Etrian Odyssey Nexus Oneshot

Note: I actually did it. I wrote something. These two are becoming one of my new favourite pairings. I hadn’t originally planned them to be a pair but after seeing how well they work together, it now makes total sense. I’ll try a fic from Mercy’s POV next. Maybe. If inspiration strikes. We’ll see. Let me know what you think of this pair in any case.

Characters: Nadiel (young male shogun ♂) and Mercy (alt younger medic *male portrait* ♀). 

--

"We're going to need to camp overnight. Everyone cool with that?"

As the others of the party agree, either enthusiastically or with grumbling annoyance, Nadiel turns to look over toward Mercy. And finds the practical medic nodding her head also. Though she wears her calming smile and her flawless express that of peacefulness, Nadiel can see a hint of hesitation in her eyes. He wants to ask her if she is really ok with their impromptu overnight camping, but he knows what the answer will be. She will claim that she is and that there's no need to fuss over her. And certainly not to fuss over her in front of the others.

Mercy has a great aversion to causing worry or troubles for others.

Nadiel knows full well why Mercy is hesitant to camp. The last time she had spent an entire night in the labyrinth was when she and Nadiel had been separated from their prince and chased by a band of assassins ready to finish off the remaining stragglers of their prince's party. But then there was just the two of them and they had spent more than one night roughing it with primitive camping.

Nadiel himself doesn't remember much of that time to be honest. He had been too busy on high alert for any danger or menace. In the Lush Woodlands at the time, there were plenty of nasties within the thick foliage around them. That in itself had been their saving grace as well as their menace. The assassins that followed them also had to content with the raging bears that inhabit that forest. And those bears were not fond of aggressive intruders.

This time is different, though. And Mercy herself is likely to understand that and that is why she agrees to the idea.

Waterfall Woods are vastly different to Lush Woodlands. But the sentiment stays the same; they were in the labyrinth, overnight, surrounded by monsters. And possibly anything else that wishes to trek the labyrinth at night, too. And the thought of those assassins returning is always at the back of their minds. Their surroundings however is a small reminder of home, too.

A place they may or may not return to...

It doesn't matter now. Nadiel is with his sister and the sister of his prince. He is by Mercy's side, too. Mercy is safe now, with him and with their new, very large, and incredibly protective guild.

Seeing that there is no other choice, Nadiel sets about helping his party members ready themselves for a overnight stay. Find a secluded spot that does have an escape point. Space to lay down a quick campsite. Wood for a fire. Food to cook over said fire. They all move quickly so they have everything they need before night is fully upon them.

As night finally falls around them, Nadiel's gaze wanders over to Mercy once more. She is the one who takes on the role of cook for the night, her medical coat cast aside as she rolls up her sleeves. Everyone else idly paces the boundaries of their campsite. Keeping one eye on their surroundings, and the other on each other.

And as they move about, Mercy is jumping ever so slightly at each noise from the wilderness around them. Each time she tenses, she purposely relaxes her posture and seem to mutter a few words of frustration toward herself.

With her dark pink shirt, and blue trousers that sit snugly on her hips and fits perfectly against her legs, Mercy has always valued practicality over style. Her hair long enough to be placed in a small ponytail and out of her eyes. She carries only the essentials in her blue medical bag. She is calm, practical, and resourceful. And keeps many of her concerns to herself.

Her greatest fear is to be a burden. Someone who is in the way and causes trouble for others. She never wants to be the one responsible for the pain of another.

That is why she's reluctant to admit how nervous she really is. But Nadiel can tell. And he's fairly certain that the others of their party can tell as well. Thankfully they do not say anything. They know she would deny it and try harder to keep her unease hidden.

Nadiel walks over to her, purposely loudly so not to frighten her. Mercy looks up from what she's doing to give her one of her sweet little smiles. He can tell that there is a hint of gratitude to her smile however.

"Food is almost ready," Mercy says.

"Are you all right?" Nadiel asks instead.

Mercy pauses in her cooking for a short while before a short sigh passes her lips. And surprisingly she decides to be honest with him. "I'm...as fine as I can be, I suppose. I've been camping overnight in a labyrinth before. Just not after..."

Not after they were stranded and then hunted by assassins for five days and nights straight.

"This is different, though," she continues, more so attempting to reassure herself. "We have an Ariadne Thread and we have companions."

And they have companions waiting for them back in Maginia. Should they be any longer than two days, they will come looking for them. His sister, Opal, likely to be at the forefront of that search party.

"And you're not injured now...because of me."

Nadiel utters a sigh. He had received multiple injuries while attempting to protect his prince before being forced to go on the run with Mercy. The gentle medic blamed herself for many of his injuries. Less than half of the injuries Nadiel had sustain during that first battle against the assassins occurred while he tried to protect His Highness. The others were from when he tried and succeeded for the most part to protect Mercy.

Their nights lost within the Lush Woodlands were significantly harder on Mercy. She is not an offensive fighter. But she had to take on the role of strategist and survivalist as they laid low and hid from those assassins. Nadiel's only goal was to keep her safe, uncaring of his injuries. Her goal was to keep him alive with the bare essentials that she had to do so.

Nadiel abruptly closes the distance between him and Mercy and pulls the pink-haired medic into a hug. When he feels her tremble softly, he holds her tightly as he leans down and rests his head on her shoulder. He whispers into her ear all the things that wasn't her fault during that time. How he was alive because of her. How he had reunited with his sister because of her. How he got through that dark time because of her.

Mercy wraps her arms around him in return and just nods her head quietly. Her grip on him tightens every once in a while, as if she's attempting to reassure herself that what he's saying is true.

He'll tell her as many times as she needs to hear it, until she believes it.

"Hey, Love-birds; food ready?"

Nadiel reluctantly pulls away from Mercy to shoot a glare in their guildmate's direction. He can easily see that they were busy.

Mercy flushes lightly as she takes a half step back. "Ah, yes. Food's ready. Sorry for the wait."

She gives Nadiel one of her sweet little smiles once again as she hands him a plate of food.

Nadiel retrieves his food and moves to take a seat on the grass as Mercy hands out food to everyone else. After she's done, she takes her own plate and sits down on the grass right next to him. Staying as close as possible. Now, with everyone sitting down, chatting idly and laughing, it helps lighten Mercy's silent unease further.

With Sinclair launching into one of his long-winded stories, Nadiel slips off his coat and drapes it around Mercy's shoulders. Again, she gives him one of her sweet little smiles. As the night darkens, Mercy snuggles closer to Nadiel, seeking both warm and comfort from him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders as she leans her head against his.

The bright fire, the carefree chatter, the knowledge that they could leave any time they wish was reassuring. Comforting in a way.

That time they had spent running for their lives was over. And it won't happen again.

Mercy tilts her head back to place a sudden kiss to Nadiel's cheek. As he turns to look at her, she gazes at him softly. "As long as I'm with you I'm safe."

Nadiel tightens his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to him, and allowing him to kiss her softly but deeply. She melts in his arms and he has to remind himself that they have others present, even though they were currently amused by Sinclair's wild tale.

Yes, she was safe. And he will do whatever it takes to ensure that she stays safe.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 19 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: At 49 pages this part is decidedly the MOST EXTRA OF THEM ALL thus far, though I suspect the Gala chapter(s?) will be even longer. I’ve realized the duality of the chapters has made it so I have to cram everything I want to be from one of their perspectives into any given part, but, like, who cares, right? I’M AN AMERICAN AND MORE IS BETTER! I thought of Pilar as Ecuadorian from the outset, the Virgen di Quito is a local deity related to the Virgin Mary--I don’t think she has an effigy at the Basilica, but I stretched reality a little bit there; she reminded me of Billie somehow, and I like comparing Kenzie to feminine deities--she has that vibe to people. Here’s the version of CRYSTAL Samuel is playing on their way home; one of my favorite love songs ever, and my favorite of the various versions ‘Mac has recorded over the years. Agent Provocateur boxes are very distinct and look like this. The hanging lights in Duncan’s bathroom look like this. Here’s Kenzie shampoo (I use their hair holding spray, their stuff smells AMAZING). I found Kenzie’s peony glass! She has the other ones too, the peony one just happened to be the one she grasped first that day at her apartment, and now Duncan is wildly attached to it. Had to include some avocados in this part as a nod to Cody’s avocado obsession. Here’s Duncan’s Keurig. Adelaide’s silver tray looks like this, her little bowls with dogberries look like this. THE ECSTASY OF ST. THERESA is a sculpture I’ve loved for a long time. ARIADNE is also listed as being owned by a private collector, and as Bacchus/Dionysus’ wife, it seemed only fitting to me that Duncan would desire it as a gift for Kenzie, a companion piece to THE YOUTH OF BACCHUS, as it were. Duncan remembering Marissa Montague (my Madison/Emma AU) laying there like lead, checking her phone while he tried to kiss her is an homage to Emma’s character Chanel Oberlin in SCREAM QUEENS doing that exact thing--Marissa is indeed asexual in my AU, though she would never admit that publicly, and she has no real interest in sex, only in money and fame, thus her lingering interest in Duncan--she will indeed be at the Gala, and she will indeed try to corner Kenzie. Claire’s dog Snicky/Snickerdoodle looks like this, we’ll meet him eventually. The photo of Kenzie on Claire’s shoulders is based on a real one of Billie and Leslie here and the caption I put on it mirrors Leslie’s. Kenzie’s story about volunteering for a woman who did horse therapy for kids is based on me doing that exact thing in high school, and Kenzie’s dream of having a garden house with room for horses is my dream (I, like her, miss being around horses terribly). A reminder that this is the sleeping set, this is the white tulle lingerie, and this is the rose choker (ugh, I want it). If you’re a person with a vagina and you’ve never used one of these (the kind Kenzie--and I--have), y’all...I can’t recommend that shit highly enough--Diah ( @impiorumrequies ), Kenzie keeping her vibrator in a fake copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray is for you, lol. Here’s Duncan’s balmorals, his chinos, his shirt, his sunglasses. I’m glad I could finally put some sexting in this chapter, that stuff was fun. Here’s the dress Annette’s wearing when Duncan disses her. Here’s Kenzie’s crop top, here’s her skirt. The peonies look like this (but Kenzie’s are real, of course). Here’s the gold vases. Here’s Duncan’s Waterford wine glasses (god, I love those). His kanso knives. His wok. It was important to me that Duncan had taught himself to cook, and to cook WELL, anxious to be independent from Annette--I said this before but men who can’t are a turnoff, being useless isn’t hot, it’s stupid and annoying. Here’s the recipe for the quinoa fried “rice”. Here’s the tutorial I based Duncan’s dumplings on. I had Kenzie choose Bowie’s LET’S DANCE while they made dinner as I’ve always found Bowie to be an aphrodisiac (and TMI lmao but I’ve had sex to that album and...it was great)--Kenzie’s singing along to MODERN LOVE, the first track. Regarding the sex, it was very important for me to strike the delicate balance between sexual domination and Kenzie’s autonomy--please note how Duncan consistently checks in with her throughout the entire thing, following directions, and paying attention to her reactions and needs. It’s deeply important to me that all of the sexuality in this story is centered around the deep, true love they feel for each other, grounded in personhood, autonomy, and mutual respect, and it’s important to me that you, my beloved readers, understand that too. Thanks--as always--for reading. Thank you for your love for them and your affection towards me.

Duncan kissed Kenzie’s cheek gently from where she was sleeping against him in the plane seat, breathing in the saltiness of the sea still in her hair, the sweetness of her skin; she stirred a little, a tiny moaning sigh falling from her lips, but she didn’t wake. Pat had landed the plane a few minutes before; Pilar had already opened the plug door and was handing bags to someone beyond his eyesight (maybe Samuel), but Duncan continued to watch Kenzie’s serene face, looking down at the half-halos of her eyelashes, the aureate crown of her hair. Back to reality tomorrow, back into the jaws of the paps and my mother and the world outside. Wish we could just stay here and I could watch her sleep, deep into the night. Duncan felt tired himself; tired at the prospect of the week to come more than anything, the responsibility of it pressing into his psyche. Meetings all day tomorrow, interviews on Tuesday and Wednesday, an audience with the President on Thursday, the Gala on Friday. And our getaway in the woods still so far off.

Kenzie felt so small and delicate under his arm; Duncan wondered vaguely if he could carry her into the car without waking her, but as he unbuckled her seatbelt and tried to carefully pull her under his grasp, her eyes fluttered open and she leaned forward, hand coming against her cheek as if to wipe away an imaginary tear.

“Baby, we’re back in DC. It’s time to go home. Did you have another dream?” Duncan let his hands fall against her knees, studying the confusion in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Kenzie breathed in a tiny voice, eyes falling down, falling on her beach bag, which she scooped up with a sleepy hand. “I was in a bathtub this time. I was fully clothed, in a bathtub...I was sobbing with blood running down from my eyes, and Candice was holding my face and speaking softly into my ear as I cried and screamed--I knew someone was going to die but I couldn’t stop it, I had to stay with her, I had to let them die. God, these dreams don’t make any fucking sense, baby. I hate them. Why was I in a bathtub?”

“Maybe we really should go see a clairvoyant or something.” Duncan stood, reaching for her hand. Kenzie gripped it and stood herself, swaying a little, still half-asleep. He pulled her gently down the aisle, her beach hat in his hand, his body full of tenderness, wishing he could have carried her to the car in his arms. Kenzie yawned rather than answering--he watched her and wanted to hug her against him. He thought suddenly of the man who had gotten into the Post building and almost hurt her. My poor baby, and she has to go back there tomorrow. She should take a day or two off. I wonder if I could convince her.

They reached Pilar; it had been Samuel she’d been handing bags to, and now he was taking the beach blanket, the last thing left. He smiled at them, his very white teeth flashing in his dark face. “Kissed by the sun today, I see.”

“It was a perfect day,” Kenzie murmured, and Duncan watched her face again, her eyes low and tired, her expression sleepy and nostalgic. “Thank you for moving our bags, Samuel. And thank you for the drinks, Pilar. I love you both very much.”

Pilar and Samuel both laughed a little, and Duncan grinned at them. Isn’t she an angel. I think so too. She’s so kind and lovely to everyone. She’s the one I love most in the world.

Samuel turned back to the steps with the blanket clutched under his arm as Pilar turned to Kenzie and grasped her little hand, smiling down at her. “It was a pleasure for me to make them for you, preciosa. Your aura...is very powerful. Like La Virgen de Quito. I used to look at her image in the Basilica del Voto Nacional when I was a girl, used to pray to her that she’d find me a beautiful boy to love.” She laughed a little, then her face grew serious again. “I wanted to say that...you remind me of her, mami. It was my honor to meet you today.”

Kenzie’s expression had become a bit more alert at Pilar’s words; suddenly, she leaned forward and put her arms around the older woman, and Duncan could see the shock on Pilar’s face--then a warm, serene expression came into her eyes, and she closed them and brought her arms around Kenzie’s small body and held her for a moment before they broke apart. Duncan’s heart felt heavy with emotion, watching them--he couldn’t help but feel as though Kenzie had blessed Pilar somehow with this action, as if she were a healer touching someone who was sick, or a mother touching a child, though Pilar was the one who was older and more motherly. To be near her is to be blessed. To be held by Kenzie is to be touched by her gold. I know that because I’ve felt it too--I’ve been blessed by her again and again and my heart is so full of her light I have to share it, I can’t keep it all to myself. She’s Persephone, scattering flower petals wherever she walks.

“Thank you for everything today, Pilar,” he said, and he could see the tiny pricks of tears glistening in her eyes. “Claro, miho. You know I love you very much.” She leaned across to hug him, too--Duncan’s arm came around her, feeling warm and dizzy. I know how you feel, he thought to her. I never know how to describe how wonderful Kenzie is, either, but it’s like she is literally an angel, and we’re all lucky just to be close to her. Pilar laughed a little against him, as if embarrassed at her own sudden emotions, then let go of him and stepped away, waving goodbye to them. “Buenos noches, vida bellas.” Then she turned away; Duncan could still see the tears glimmering in her eyes, and he knew innately that she suddenly wanted to be alone. He pulled Kenzie gently through the plug door and down the steps, the evening air cascading against them suddenly--the sun was setting to the northwest, far on the horizon that faced them, falling into a skyline that was going dark with indigo, bleeding into dappled orange and rose. He turned to look up at her as he stepped down ahead, their hands still clutched together, her hat pressed gently under his arm; the wind blew her hair against her cheek, the sunset falling in a gauze, like a veil, over her eyes, turned down to watch her feet on the steps, ungainly in her sleepiness, the tiny gold necklaces at her throat glinting in the shadow. Saint Mackenzie, patron of lost souls, bringer of light and golden love. Bringing deer back from the dead. Bringing tears into the eyes of her faithful followers. Kissing flowers into my lungs.

He helped Kenzie into the car; she let him, not speaking, but he got a tiny burst of her thoughts; I really don’t want to go to the office tomorrow, god, I’m scared now, I’m scared the minute someone leaves me alone at my desk for a minute someone’s going to come and try to rip my arm out or kidnap me or something and he slid in beside her and snapped the door shut, nodding to Samuel in the rearview. He could hear Stevie Nicks low on the sound system tonight--her voice lowered and deepened by time, enriched by the glow of the sunset in this moment. I turned around, and the water was closing all around...like a glove, like the love that had finally, finally found me...and I knew, in the crystalline knowledge of you...as Samuel drove away, he turned to Kenzie, watching her face--she looked out the window, her fingers twined atop his in the middle of the BMW’s backseat, and he could see that her cheeks were just the tiniest bit sunburnt, at the stretch of her face below her eyes. She was singing along softly under her breath, and he ached at the sound of it--the sincere lilt of her beautiful voice. How the faces of love have changed, turning the pages...and I have changed, oh, but you, you remain ageless…

“Baby...I think, maybe, you should take tomorrow off from work,” he said to her, gently, as the car turned onto I-66. “I know...you’re still upset about what happened on Friday, and you have every right to be. That was traumatic for you, and no one should expect you to get over it right away. I think...this week was so much…” He watched Kenzie’s eyes flutter closed as he said this. Yes, baby, so much. It’s been so fucking much. “It would...it would give you a chance to settle in at home. Sleep...have a day to yourself...put all your things where you want them. What do you think, Kenzie?”

She was quiet for a long moment (drove me through the mountain...through the crystal like a clear water fountain…) and then she nodded a little. “I’d like to do that, I think,” she said softly, almost whispering. Duncan moved his thumb carefully over her hand, loving the bumps of her little knuckles, the softness of her skin beyond them, the rise of her wrist bone. “Okay, baby. I think I will.”

“Ben wants to do that interview on Tuesday, so I’ll be with you at work the next day, too.”

She turned to him, and the smile of relief in her eyes fell against his heart with a hard pressure. He could feel her thoughts immediately drift into calm; could feel her hand relax under his, and she moved closer to him, dipping her head down to the crook under his arm. Her spot. Duncan thought of what he’d found on the Sotheby’s website while she’d been sleeping on the plane--in a few week’s time, Waterhouse’s Ariadne would be going up for auction. He thought of the lines from Edith Hamilton’s book, the one he’d read over and over as a child: Some time during his wanderings, Dionysus came upon the princess of Crete, Ariadne, when she was utterly desolate, having been abandoned on the shore of the island of Naxos by the Athenian prince, Theseus, whose life she had saved. Dionysus had compassion upon her. He rescued her, and in the end loved her. When she died Dionysus took a crown he had given her and placed it among the stars. In the painting, Ariadne sat languidly upon a chaise, her face turned upward in serene repose, a leopard sleeping beneath, another standing near the end of the seat where lavender robes were gathered under her. Ariadne’s right breast was bare, her other covered by a crimson robe over one shoulder, knees gathered together, long flowers growing around her. In the distance there was a ship, sailing into the pink horizon away from a white dock, and bushes of white flowers. Dionysus comes from reveling and finds his Ariadne, and knows she will be his starlight, his moon, his sun and every spinning celestial planet in the sky. He thought of the way she stared at The Youth of Bacchus, wanted to look into it as they fucked, touched by eroticism. Duncan’s hands trailed languidly through Kenzie’s hair, still feeling of sea salt and the last of the sun. Ariadne will be for you and you alone, my love, and we’ll hang it in the empty space in our bedroom, and it will always be your face to me, turned up in sweet sleep. Only unlike the wine god to his bride, I have not saved you. You have saved me.

Duncan opened his phone as Kenzie breathed quietly into him (Stevie was singing another song now and it floated into his ears: well one more night I’d like to lie and hold you, yes, and feel…); the drive back from the airport would take half an hour, and if Kenzie wanted to sleep for the rest of the ride, he was determined to let her use him for a pillow. He gazed down at the photos they’d taken today--he smiled looking at the one of Kenzie in her little bikini, the embarrassed expression of happiness in her eyes. Princess Kenzie. It currently had over 700,000 likes and 6,000 comments. He scrolled down, looking through some of them.

I wish I was this skinny, maybe I could get a billionaire to date me too

She’s not a Princess she’s a QUEEN an ANGEL a GODDESS (Yes, she is.)

I’m going to frame their wedding pictures and hang them in my house

How is anyone this pretty honestly

DUMP HER FOR @marissamontague ALREADY (Pfft, never a fucking chance in a million years, honey, Duncan thought. I’m sure she’ll be at the Gala and she better not try to sink her claws into Kenzie. He noticed Marissa had liked the comment and made a face. Ugh. It’s not just her fans who are strange. She’s insane. Fuck off, Marissa. He thought of the one time they’d almost slept together with mild disgust, how she’d laid there as if she were made of lead--even reached for her phone at one point--until he climbed off of her after a few minutes, aghast. Duncan was relatively sure Marissa was actually asexual, though he doubted she’d realized that herself--and that her main motivation in the dating world was optics: the richest, most successful potential boyfriend was the one she was most interested in.)

If they did a photoshoot together I think I’d go into cardiac arrest (Now there’s an idea,  Duncan thought, and made a mental note to talk to his PR.)

BUY HER MORE DIAMONDS DUNCAN (That I will do.)

#DUCKENZIE 4 LIFE #DUCKENZIE 4 EVA

JOIN THE OFFICIAL #DUCKENZIE FAN CLUB AT DUCKENZIEFANS.COM (Jesus, okay. We have a fan club now. Can’t look at that right now.)

He noticed Claire (@clairebear) had left a comment on it: a long line of heart-eye emojis and lipstick stains. Same, Claire, same, he thought, liking her comment and going to her profile, hitting the follow button. He scrolled down Claire’s photos (lots were of food and designs on coffee drinks and a miniature boxer puppy who seemed to be named Snickers/Snickerdoodle/Snicky or some variation thereof, selfies, and fashion/glamour shots of models and couture from her job with Morgan Winthrop), liking several of them, until he came to one of her with Kenzie up on Claire’s shoulders, both of them laughing as Kenzie seemed to be falling, leaning down over Claire’s head. I mean sure why not @kenzielouwho the caption said. Duncan grinned at it--every time he saw a new picture of her it was like his heart wanted to burst out of him and start flying around his head. He liked it and left three black heart emojis on it.

Duncan scrolled through his email for awhile, thinking over the week to come--Ben’s interview with him the day after tomorrow, another harrowing day after that, no doubt, devoted to Annette on Wednesday. He thought of the task before him on Thursday, to try to gain Claire Underwood’s trust. No easy task when Annette has done everything she can to try to scare the President into legislation rather than negotiation. Something tells me her “breakdown” isn’t what it appears to be at first glance. And of course the Gala on Friday. I still need to decide what I’m wearing, shit. I should ask Kenzie to choose for me--I want my look to compliment hers, but she said she wants it to be a surprise after all. Duncan’s phone vibrated in his hand. A text from Mom.

Your Uncle had a consultation over the weekend. The cancer is moving more rapidly than the doctors had hoped and they expect him to be bedridden in a month’s time. I will be talking to him about his Will this week, after the Gala. You were completely out of bounds to tell Mackenzie about our plans for Shepherd Unlimited going forward. I expect you to use more discretion in the future and leave her out of business dealings. We have two interviews scheduled for Wednesday, one with Forbes and one with Vanity Fair. She’s expected at both. I will do most of the talking.

Leave her out of our business dealings. Duncan went out of his texts, not answering. Once I’m primary shareholder, Mom, she’s going to be intimately involved in our business dealings, she’s going to be making executive decisions for the fucking business on the board with Madeline and you’re going to have to accept it and stop being so selfish and let something generous into your heart for once. We’re going to change it. I’m going to change the Shepherd legacy--not through blood but by the desire to do something good. Samuel told me to let my heart guide me, and Kenzie’s going to help me, and that’s what I’m fucking going to do.

Duncan wondered, idly, if Kenzie wanted children. He never had, despite knowing it was something his mother expected eventually--the world, he’d always thought, was no kind place for children. And he still didn’t want to have kids, even though Kenzie was here now--it didn’t feel like their Fate, not like meeting each other hand, not like being together seemed to be. We’re still not really sure how this telepathy thing works, he thought, hand gently trailing over the bottom of Kenzie’s ear as her cheek rested on the right breast of his beach shirt. But what I feel from her is that she doesn’t want them, either. I know she has a birth control implant in her arm, but I can’t remember when we talked about that. Maybe we didn’t. Maybe I just know because I heard what she was thinking. And maybe that’s how I know she doesn’t want kids, either. Not now, and not ever. She wants to write, be a good journalist, and spread her passion for life to as many people as she can. And now I want to do that too--spread happiness as far as I can, to the people who are already here. If we can reshape the Foundation, we can make it into something that can help people for generations, even after we’re gone. And we can do that without having kids of our own.

But we should talk about it. I want to be sure that she’s sure. And I want her to know that I’m sure. Maybe tomorrow, when we’re not so sleepy. Maybe tomorrow.

It was fifteen minutes later when Samuel glided up to the sidewalk in front of the penthouse, hopping out of the driver’s seat to start unloading the baskets and beach gear from the trunk. Kenzie had stirred herself awake a few minutes before this time, and she was yawning again, running a hand through her sun-dried hair, leaning up to Duncan to kiss him, sleepy-eyed. “I don’t know why I’m so tired,” she murmured. “I do,” Duncan said, grinning, “Too much sex.” Kenzie slapped his chest, lightly, gasping. “Probably true.” She slipped out of the car before he could catch her, grabbing one of the baskets from Samuel’s hand before he could protest, skipping down the sidewalk into the high-rise’s foyer. Duncan shook his head, grasping the towels and beach blanket and shutting the trunk, smiling at Samuel, who was laughing after her. “That girl is like a little comet,” Samuel said, and Duncan was struck by the image of her flying across a sky full of stars--he saw her wings and halo again, the ones he’d seen in his dream, and they were dazzling to recall. My little firefly.

Jerry swung the door open for him and Samuel and Duncan nodded to him. Kenzie had stopped at the front desk to talk to Anchaly; Anchaly was leaning down to her conspiratorially, telling her something, and Kenzie’s face was blushing, looking back at Duncan as he came toward her. “Anchaly says there are boxes for me upstairs,” she said, turning to Duncan. “You have to stop buying me things.”

“Never,” Duncan said, shaking his head, glancing at Anchaly, who was looking between them with delighted interest. “Get used to it, Kenz.”

“Mr. Shepherd, Mackenzie--the chandelier hook was installed today while you were away.”

Kenzie looked at Anchaly with a puzzled expression, then a dawning realization came over her face and she turned to Duncan for a long moment, her eyes spinning with flecks of gold, then she turned again and thanked Anchaly, smiled at him sweetly (you little sneak, baby, he heard her thought), waved goodbye to the man and went to the elevator, leaning against it to hold it open for Duncan whose arms were full. She gazed up at him as he looked down at her, moving inside; then she reached for the other picnic basket from Samuel’s hand and leaned up to the much taller, older man; he leaned down, hesitatingly, and Kenzie kissed his cheek. Samuel’s huge, very white smile fell over his handsome face, and he stepped backward out of the elevator. Duncan watched Samuel’s hand come up to his cheek where Kenzie had pressed her little lips, and the expression in his eyes was bright with emotion as the doors slid shut. Everyone loves her so much. Our Kenzie. Our angel. I’m so grateful. I need everyone’s help to protect her. To keep her safe, no matter what. Nothing like Friday can happen to her again. He lost himself in the devolving swirl of his thoughts for a moment until Kenzie came up against him as the elevator climbed, looking directly into his eyes, her head turned up, her little arms pressing into his sides, her little breasts pressing into his stomach, making warmth pool there.

“What did you get me, baby,” she whispered, raising her eyebrows, her eyes huge and jade-chocolate under her long eyelashes, her little mouth open to him.

“You’ll see.”

“Tell me,” she whined. “Is it a pony?”

“Not a pony.”

“But I want a pony, baby.” She pouted, and he could see the indecorous smile she was trying to hide.

“Then I’ll get you a pony. But I don’t know where we’ll keep her.”

“At my garden house, of course. The house I’ll have someday in the country, with a greenhouse, and verdant fields of flowers, and a garden, and a bonfire pit, and magic in every corner.”

“Kenzie, baby...is that what you want?”

“I’ve always wanted it. I’ve dreamt about my green country house for as long as I can remember dreaming about anything.” She sighed against him. “To have a place to steal away from everything and grow things and eat the things I grew from my own garden, and write something and sleep under a dozen quilts with rain falling outside my window. And keep a pony. Or maybe a few ponies.” She was grinning at him now, and he loved her little teeth, wanted to press his finger along them, wanted to devour her mouth. “For a few summers during high school I helped this friend of Momby’s, she owns a charity that does horse therapy for kids with mental handicaps. We’d take care of the horses and clean their stalls and she’d let us ride them. They’re so sweet and so big and they have these huge beautiful eyes and ears and they’d eat apples out of my hand. One was named Foxglove and he was dappled and he was the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen and he was as sweet as honey, so gentle and quiet. I’ve liked horses ever since and....I miss being around them.” Suddenly, Kenzie seemed to grow shy, seemed to remember the opulent gold elevator they were rising in, seemed to remember that they were going to Duncan’s huge penthouse, and that she was no longer ordinary Kenzie Stone, but Mackenzie Stone, girlfriend of billionaire Prince Duncan Shepherd. She stepped back from him, looking away, and Duncan’s heart clenched.

“Look at me, baby.” Her eyes came back into his, confused, unsure. “I told you I was going to give you anything you wanted. I want you to tell me everything. Your hopes and dreams. Your desires. So please--tell me everything. I want to hear all of it.” The elevator opened; Kenzie slid away, shyly looking down again from his eyes, smiling through the blush that had spread over her cheeks. Duncan followed her to the penthouse door, his arms full of the remnants of their beach day, and pressed his face to the side of her ear as she fumbled for her key. The door swung open and she suddenly turned and pressed her mouth up into his and Duncan dropped everything he was holding and his hands came around her to clutch her little body against him. He could feel how tired she was--it licked at his mind as he pressed her into him, how exhausted she felt, her body and her heart and her mind lost in a sort of fog, a low shadow of overwhelmed, washed-out color. He picked her up under her thigh and at her waist, the better to lift her mouth up into him, and Kenzie wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips as he brought her inside, hitting the light switch to the diamond chandelier with the crook of his elbow, setting her down, light as a feather, on the obsidian island. He could see the telltale hint of pink from the corner of his eye--he glanced there from where Kenzie’s lips were still pressed into his and she pulled back from him, also having noticed.

“Dunny, oh my god,” she whispered. There were four boxes in all, neatly stacked atop one another--Agent Provocateur was visible along the box at the top, in swirling gold script, black ribbon on the top corner and the bottom right, tied in a bow. Duncan let go of her and brought the first box over to her where she sat on the island’s edge, her feet dangling a few feet above the floor; she held the box in her lap as he knelt down to untie her sandals, and he looked up into her eyes to see her swallowing nervously, her eyes glittering inside his.

“Open them, please?” Her first sandal came undone in his long hand, and Duncan leaned his mouth to her bare ankle again--the marks these shoes had left were not nearly as dark as the one that night (that first night, that night I will never forget), but he kissed them just the same, loving the salty taste of her sea-drenched skin under his mouth. He watched her neck incline, her eyes close at the feeling of his lips--then Kenzie opened them again, looking down at the box, and pulled at the black ribbon, soothing it away from the box and lifting the lid. He worked at her other ankle as she gasped into it, setting the lid beside her atop the ribbon. She lifted the silky black kimono out--it shone in the light of the diamond chandelier, to where the delicate lace around its sleeves and hem fell in graceful waves.

“This is beauuuutiful,” Kenzie whispered, longingly. Duncan kissed her other ankle as the sandal came free, resisting the urge to kiss all the way up her leg, kiss between her thighs again. She’s too tired tonight. Be patient. Be content to give her these beautiful things--beautiful but not half as beautiful as she is. “Oh, Duncan, I love this. It’s so soft.” He stood up, hands falling on her knees against the wrap dress, gazing down at the kimono in her hands, smiling. “I’m so glad you like it. After I went through all your clothes I wanted to...I just wanted to buy you some beautiful things. And I felt like I had a good idea of what you would like--”

“Dunny, I love it. I’ve always wanted something like this…” Duncan could see the glittering wetness of her eyes, knew she was on the edge of tears. He soothed his hand up her thigh. She sniffed and blinked rapidly for a moment, until the threat of tears dissipated. “I’ll wear it every night.”

“Open the other ones.”

Duncan pulled the first box with the kimono gently out of her lap, then passed her the next one, soothing it against her thighs. Kenzie swallowed again, and he noticed her little fingers were trembling as she undid the ribbon. This one had the nude white lingerie in it--flowers cut out along the bare bust (your little nipples visible under the silkiness baby) and along the panties and the waistband of the suspenders, with long transparent stockings. Its silky tulle slid under her small fingers, and watching her look at it, her eyes like wet jade, made his nerves burn for her.

“Dunny,” she whispered.

“Do you like it? Is it okay?”

“Are you fucking kidding? Is it okay? It’s the most beautiful lingerie I’ve ever seen...the most beautiful I’ve ever had. Nobody has ever gotten me anything like this.”

“Baby--I’ll get you as many you want. One for every day of the year. God, you’re going to look so beautiful in it, Kenzie.” He pressed his face down to her and she kissed him with her mouth open, her hand sliding away from the tulle of the bra and coming around his jaw, fingers trailing along the shadow of his stubble. He went to kiss her more deeply, but she pulled away from him, her hand falling a little to grip the top of his throat.

“Give me the next one, baby,” she said, and the command in her tone made blood surge into his cock, made it ache for a moment with the hint of arousal. Duncan already knew they weren’t going to fuck tonight--he could see it in her eyes somehow, had felt it in the tired drift of her as he carried her inside, but she was making him a promise--the promise was tomorrow night, and he already felt a bone-deep anticipation.

The third box had the black lingerie. It was even more beautiful than it had appeared in the photos; the leaf-like lace motifs reminded Duncan of clusters of ripe grapes (Dionysus sees Ariadne in the moonlight, and is struck with longing) and the geometric artistry of its elegant shape seemed to make Kenzie’s eyes even darker--she held the suspenders up, eyes roving over the black band that would go around her waist, the spindly, criss-crossing designs that would fall on her abdomen, the black stockings on her slender legs rising up to her curvy thighs, and then she looked up at him, opening her mouth just a little. Duncan felt trapped inside her gaze--he moved back and leaned against the wall directly across from her, crossing his arms behind his back, dipping his head shyly and looking up at her from the halo of his hair falling down over his forehead.

“You like it.”

He could see the delicate hum of her breathing under her skin--see the tiny hammering vibration of her heart at her throat and between her breasts, see the tiny shivering in her shoulders and her fingers.

“Yes.”

“I can’t wait to see you in that.”

She lifted her chin and smiled at him, and the smile was full of need, and he was stunned to see its power, too--it was a smile full of power, full of her divinity. The knowledge in it struck him like the weight of a heavy hand. She knows I belong to her. And I do, baby, I do, I fucking do. Eat me, devour me, push me down into your hands where I fall to pieces under your touch, push me down between your legs and make me beg for you, tell me every need, every desire, and I will bring it to life. You’ve brought me to life and I will give you any pleasure you have long sought, for your arms only have brought the truest pleasure to me.

“Mhmm.” She didn’t say anything else, just let her fingers trail over the black tulle, not moving her eyes out of his. “And what’s that last one, baby.”

Duncan stepped over to the box and brought it to her; she stacked the one on her lap atop the others and slid her hands down his fingers, taking it from him. Duncan shivered. That’s it, baby, make me dissolve under your touch. Turn me to warm liquid, spilling down over your body.

In the last box, the sleeping set rested, neatly folded in pink and black lace, in the center--and on top of it was the rose choker. Kenzie seemed to stop breathing for a moment as she looked down at it. Then, Duncan watched her reached out her little fist and grasped it tightly, her thumb trailing over the thick black leather, her index and middle fingers gently caressing the silvery rose at the throat. Kenzie lifted it out of the box and let a harsh breath out of her body--it seemed to shake the entire room, seemed to send heavy gold waves against every surface, and Duncan felt stunned by the energy that crashed against him from her, her eyes planetary in their golden insistence towards him. You saw this, and you thought of me, didn’t you, baby, you thought of your angel, your deep red rose, blooming under your touch.

“Duncan...this is so beautiful.” Kenzie said the words with aching slowness. She trailed her little tongue over her lips and Duncan couldn’t stop the moan that escaped from between his own, quiet but insistent. She looked up at him (I see the storm in your eyes, baby, she said into him, I see that storm that wants to devour me into sweet fragments, and if you can be patient, I will give you redolent nectar, I will give you ambrosia, and soon, very soon), holding it still, and then Kenzie smiled and bit down into her lip, her immediate need crashing against him again. “You’re gonna put this on me tomorrow night while I watch you do it in our fucking mirror, baby. And then we’re gonna lose ourselves in each other.”

“Yes, Kenzie. Yes, angel. I will. We will.”

She set it down gently into the box and pulled out the sleeping set as he stepped back toward her, his hands falling down her knees again, kissing her forehead. Kenzie set the box on the counter on top of the others, and held the silky pink satin in her little fingers as Duncan gripped her waist and carefully, with aching gentleness, lifted her down from the edge of the island, so her little face was hovering at the top of his chest, and her eyes were gazing up at him, the curve of her sunburnt cheeks turned to him, the frame of her chestnut hair around her shoulders cast in the sheen of the chandelier, her feet bare. She undid the tie at her waist that held her wrap dress on her small frame, and Duncan pulled it off her shoulders, folding it over and setting it gently on the island beside the boxes.

“Take a shower with me and then let’s go to sleep, please, baby? I’m so sleepy.” She breathed the sweet words up to him, standing there in her little bikini for the last time that day, and Duncan nodded, leaning into her with his own mixture of longing and tiredness, closing his eyes, kicking his sandals off, his hands on her arms and in her hair. She gripped his fingers and pulled him into the bathroom, carefully setting the little satin pyjamas on the bed on their way through the bedroom--their eyes skirted over where the hook and bronze chain had been extended down from the high penthouse ceiling in front of the mirror, but Kenzie continued on to the bathroom, and though Duncan longed to examine it, he resolved to do it later. Plenty of time to look at it, day after day, and dream of all we can use it for. As soon as they stepped into the bathroom, the low hanging lights at their dimmest setting, Kenzie discarded her bikini in a little pile on the cold, seamless stone tiles, stepping inside the glass-doored shower as Duncan pulled his shirt and swim trunks off, stepping in behind her, reaching out to her as steam immediately began to coat the glass. Kenzie was already massaging shampoo into her long hair, scrunching up her nose in the scalding water--if only I could take a picture of this too, Duncan thought, but he knew he’d never forget it regardless. “I love the sea but fuck does it stink,” she laughed a little, and Duncan nodded, smiling into her, kissing her. She reached her soapy hands up and massaged them into his hair, kissing him back, her little tongue slipping between his teeth, then sliding away again before he could twist his own tongue against her, moving under the shower head so the soap washed away from her body, her little face turned up to the stream.

“Kenzie,” he said, thoughtful, contemplative, reaching for the bath sponge along the shower wall, squeezing jasmine soap into it, lathering it in his hands and soothing it down between her little breasts as she stood under the water. Her eyes opened a little, slitted against the pressure of the shower head, looking at him expectantly, her mouth opening to him just a little. He could see the slight dusting of hair that had begun to grow back between her legs (he fought his desire to slip his fingers against her there) and under her arms where she’d lifted them, could see the dusting of sun along her back and collarbones from the beach today.

“Mmm?” Kenzie pulled down the second bottle of Givenchy face cleanser Duncan kept in the shower and squirted some into her hand, lathering it into her face as he ran the sponge along her back, still hesitating to go on. Then he finally spoke. I guess it’ll be today and not tomorrow. It feels like the right time.

“Do you ever want children?”

Kenzie continued to rinse the wash off her face, then rubbed her hands carefully into her eyes and turned, stepping out of the shower’s stream, gripping his arms to bring him under it instead. She eased the sponge out of his fingers, squeezing more soap onto it, her wet hair, now rinsed of shampoo and conditioner, over her shoulder. She ran the sponge down his chest to the top of his groin, the soap sliding down his hips and limp cock and testicles, down his thighs. Her eyes looked up into his, and he knew her answer before she spoke--the answer he’d known already but needed reassurance for.

“No. I don’t, Duncan. Do you?”

She kept staring--she knows what I’m going to say too.

“I don’t, Kenzie. I don’t either.”

Kenzie stepped closer to him, and he watched her breathe out--a sigh of relief.

“Did we talk about this?” Duncan really didn’t know--he tried to recall the conversation, the mention of it. “I feel like I knew that, somehow--that you didn’t want to have any. But I can’t remember when you told me.”

“I don’t think we did, baby. But I think I knew it anyway, too. That you don’t want them either. Maybe it’s...maybe...we heard it? From each other? Like...like we can sometimes. ”

“I still can’t believe that. That we can do that sometimes. It’s...beyond words. Literally.” He laughed a little, then shivered as she continued to move the sponge along his arms and down his back over the rise of his ass. Kenzie playfully pinched him there with a sharp pressure and he writhed away, still laughing, coming back to her, gripping at her wrists to keep her quick little fingers away, pressing his forehead down against hers. ”You better stop that.”

“Or what.” Kenzie giggled and stuck the tip of her tongue out between her teeth at him, trying to wrestle her wrists out of his strong hands.

“Or I’m gonna push you into the glass and fuck you, Princess,” he murmured down into her mouth, his hands still pressing into the soft flesh at the bottom of her palms, feeling her heartbeat through the veins there; rapid and fluttering.

“Duncan Shepherd, I demand you let me go.”

Duncan immediately let go of her, but he could feel the expression of longing that pressed into his face. “I can’t wait to see you in that lingerie, baby. Oh my fucking god, I can’t wait.”

“Try thinking it this time. I wanna see if I can hear you. Think about how much you wanna fuck me, baby.” Kenzie spun around very slowly in the rising mist of the hot water, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder, leaning down just a little and wiggling her curvy ass towards him, straightening up and spinning back around, eyes in his. She reached out, trailing one little finger down from the dip of his collarbone to the space between his breast, down the center of his belly to his bellybutton, dipping her finger in for a moment, then letting it hover in the center of his abdomen, right above the not-entirely-limp rise of his cock. “Think about me. I wanna see if I can hear.”

Duncan stood still for a moment, shivering at the small pressure of her delicate touch, then he thought, carefully, specifically, and tried to push it into her mind, into the space behind her eyes, as he had a few nights ago, Annette between them--but Annette was not between them now, and he gripped her wrists again and pushed her, gently, back, so her shoulder blades fell softly into the fogged glass, and his hands came up around her breasts and he pressed his face down to her neck and kissed her, softly, not speaking, but pressing his feelings into her. Kenzie, I want to tie you up on that hook and lick the soft, wet, sweet space between your legs. I want to fuck your beautiful little pink cunt and your sweet little ass, fuck you until we are lost inside each other and lost in our pleasure, and I want you to come all over my cock and I wanna come inside you until our release runs down between our legs and I want you, baby, I want you all day long, every minute, as soon as we fuck I just wanna fuck you again, I wanna lose myself in your body and your eyes, Kenzie, they’re like stars hovering over a shadowed forest or the bottom of the dark sea with its green and gold relics, like the nebulas of time. Kenzie had arched into him as he went on and on--and he’d felt the push again, flowing out from him, and as he pulled his face away from his attentions at her neck to look at her, the gold flecks had seemed to emerge in her gaze and swirl there, the rings of the planets and the galaxies inside her.

“Like the nebulas of time,” Duncan saw her little mouth move, saw the whisper of his thoughts in the words she spoke. “Baby. I heard that. I heard all of that. I think when we’re touching, it gets stronger. I think that’s how it works best. We have to push and if we are touching, it’s like it’s...a stronger radio signal, or something.”

“Touch me, try me. I wanna see if I can hear you too. Tell me a secret.”

Duncan grasped Kenzie’s hand and pressed it into his chest--spread her fingers carefully so her palm was flat on him and her hand stretched gracefully. She looked up at him in the rising steam, her wet dark-golden hair flat against her head, wetness glistening on her cheeks and on her lips, her eyes still full of whirling flecks of shimmering dust. Then he felt her--felt the pressure of her, the gold cloak of her fall over his mind--it was soothing and sweet and as comforting as a soft bed in a bone-deep tiredness, and he almost felt as if he could taste her, honey and rosewater and apples.

I’ve always wanted to write a book. Something very beautiful and very true and totally mine. But I’ve always been afraid to do it. I’ve always doubted myself. But you, Duncan...you make me feel like anything is possible. That I can bring deer back to life. That I can make Annette love me. That I can write my book. That there is such a thing as a Soulmate, and there is a One for me, and it’s you, it’s you, it’s you baby, it’s you now and forever, the other half of my soul and the body that fits against my body like we’re two breathing pieces of a living puzzle. I believe in everything now. I don’t believe in luck anymore. I believe in destiny, because I’ve found mine. My destiny is you.

Duncan heard himself gasp a little as she let go, and the pressure in his mind lifted away like a tide pulling back out from shore into the sea. “Baby. Yes. I heard you. My destiny is you. You want to write a book. And you don’t believe in luck anymore. And I’m your Soulmate. And I am. And you are mine, baby. You’re mine, too. I heard you, so loud and clear, like you were whispering into my ear.” He pulled her little face against his shoulder and gripped the back of her hair, softly, in his fingers, letting them fall through it, feeling her hands come around his back, the pressure of her nose and the tickle of her eyelashes. “I heard you.” Kenzie lifted her head and looked at him and smiled, and the feeling of her against him was beyond any comfort he’d ever felt from anything else. Beloved, he thought into her, and he felt her rebound the word and wrap herself around it, the gold of her, and push it back into him, so it was echoed in her voice towards him, beloved.

Kenzie moved away from him and turned the knob of the shower. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and squeezed it out so a rivulet of hot water fell down the drain, her eyes on his feet then up over his thighs and his cock, his hands and neck and lips and eyes and his hair. “I really lucked out in the Soulmate department,” she said softly, and he felt shyness press into the back of his mind as she opened the shower door, looking back at him over her shoulder--he tried to think of something that could possibly, ever, somehow, describe the depth of his emotion for her in this moment, trying to think it into her instead, again--whatever you feel towards me, Kenzie, know that my feeling for you is equal to it, if not even greater...what I feel for you is an ocean that doesn’t have a final depth. It knows no end and it only grows with time.

“It knows no end and it only grows with time.” He heard her voice extend towards him as she pulled one of his hydrocotton bath towels down from the hook against the wall and wrapped it around her petite shoulders, her wet hair tucked into it, then reached for another and brought it over to him, clutched in her little fingers--he took it from her lovingly, his fingers falling against hers, then rubbing it down his face and through his hair as he stepped out behind her and she turned to the sink, wrapping the towel around her breasts and reaching for her toothbrush. “I heard that too, baby. I heard everything. How amazing. To feel you that way.” She turned her little face up to him as he came up beside her, sunburned and sleepy and glowing. “To feel the warmth of you inside me. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever felt, either. It’s like you’re the night sky and I’m falling up into you. Oh, baby. It’s so wonderful.”

Duncan wrapped the towel around his waist and pressed his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead, feeling unable to speak again. Sometimes, words just aren’t enough, my love. His emotions right now felt like a color, vast and bright, vibrating and flowing, a color that only materialized out of the ether when they were together like this--a color that belonged only to the two of them, a new color, staggering in its beauty.

“It’s okay, baby,” Kenzie said, holding her toothbrush, covered in turquoise toothpaste, pausing, seeming to recognize the depth of his affectation. “You don’t have to say anything. I can feel you. Even this way. Even confused--even...overwhelmed.” She reached her hand out and soothed it along his arm, and Duncan looked down at her, nodding, his mind clouded over with her. They both brushed their teeth without speaking, the glow still drifting between them, looking at each other carefully in the bathroom mirror, shyly looking away, and looking back again, drawn to each other like two moths to the glow of a warm light. I want to marry you, Kenzie, Duncan thought, unable to stop himself, and he saw the blush fall over her cheeks despite her sunburn as she spit into the sink, rinsing her mouth out--saw the way her eyes fell on him, glittering, consort to his thoughts, saw her rose-colored affection, the provocation his thought stirred in her. We’d have so many flowers, flowers everywhere, lilies and lilacs, roses and lavender and iris and peony, lining every pathway, flowers surrounding you like an altar, flowers in your hair and around your head and flowers for you, goddess of spring, the queen of my heart--the true gold in my life, all riches be damned. Your ring would be a moonstone, because you’re my moonlight and every star dims to you, bows its head--and I can only imagine your gown and its shivering beauty and the sight of you in it and the well of my happiness and my heart spilling over into the endless love I feel for you.

“Ugh, stop thinking such beautiful things, baby. I can’t stand it.”

“I can’t help it. It’s how I feel.”

She slid away from him as he reached across the sink for her, out of the bathroom, looking back at him. Come here. Come to bed, hold me, kiss me in the dark and fall away into sleep with me, beloved, my Prince of Shadow, aching in your beauty.

He came after her, letting his towel fall to the floor, uncaring. Kenzie was slipping the little satin sleeping set over her hips, lifting the camisole over her head, toweling her hair dry as he watched the silken fabric press against her thighs and her little breasts, her nipples visibly hard through it. He slid his hands down around her hips, impossibly smooth in the little pyjamas, standing behind her, pulling her insistently into his nakedness, his nose coming down to smell her--jasmine soap and her shampoo, like lemon and roses and lily. She turned into him, discarding her towel on the floor, too--and then he watched her eyes skirt over to where the chain hung down, glinting in the low light, from the heavy hook now expertly installed in the high penthouse ceiling, and watched her gaze through the mirror beyond it at the shape of them pressed together.

Tomorrow, she thought into him, and he looked at them too, their reflection in the great and provocative mirror that now stretched its wide eye in their room, and he was overcome again by how beautiful she looked in his arms, how small and delicate, her damp hair falling into his hands, the silky-softness of her against his belly and his arms.

“Sleep now, please, baby,” she murmured, and pulled at his hips. At first Duncan followed her, hungry and aching, but then he remembered, with a wave of disappointment, that all of their beach things were still scattered in the hallway, forgotten in the distraction of their desire. They hadn’t even bothered to eat anything for dinner, but he didn’t feel hungry somehow. I expect to be distracted for the rest of my life. If you’ll have me for that long. “Kenzie, we left everything in the hall. I have to go get it. I’ll be right back baby, I promise.” Kenzie was already laying down, looking up at him with hazy eyes, and she nodded a little, tucking her hand under her chin. Duncan pulled the duvet over her and kissed the soft space beside her eyelid, hand against her damp hair--then he went into the closet and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs, moving through the living room (he noticed Kenzie’s roses had begun to wilt with a touch of sadness--I’ll just have to get her more, he thought) and through the kitchen, eyes skirting over the pink boxes, pulling the black door of the penthouse open and gathering the beach things they’d abandoned, placing them inside the doorway, bringing the picnic basket onto the island, putting the dishes in the long steel sink and the remnants of food away in the big silver fridge. He looked at Kenzie’s succulents as he did this, with long, meandering affection--she wants a garden, he remembered, she wants a house in the country and a garden and some horses to take care of, and when I take over the company, she’s going to have them. It’ll be our secret, beautiful place, away from paps and prying eyes and my mother, away from everything that gets in the way.

When Duncan went back into the bedroom, twenty minutes later, Kenzie was fast asleep, her thumb tucked against her bottom lip, her breathing very slow and even, her damp hair across the pillow. Sleeping beauty, he thought, sentimental--I don’t care, she is. She’s my Briar Rose, my ethereal fae princess, my wood nymph, dancing in the forest clearing, and I come upon her and I’m struck forever with need for her. Ariadne, bathed in moonlight. Persephone, dancing in the flowers, singing, kindling desire and hope in my wine-dark heart. O gods, Fates, whatever have I done in your eyes to deserve her, whatever can I do to deserve her? How can I hear the gentleness of her emotions, the fall of her thoughts, how have you seen fit to bless me, as doubtful and flawed and selfish as I have been? I’m utterly moved inside her embrace, moved by her grace, moved by the gentleness of her soul. I’ll do whatever I can to be worthy of her love. To be inside it is to be redeemed from all darkness, and I’m grateful.

Duncan climbed into bed beside her, switching the lamp off, his eyes falling over the mirror over his shoulder again. It seemed to wink at him; a cascade of secret gold flitted over its surface. His eyes fell with shuddering longing up the length of the chain (the chain I’ll tie her velvet ribbons to, the chain by which she’ll give herself to me in complete devotion, and I can’t even bear to think of it, her trust is so dear to me), then he turned away, overcome, and laid down beside her to watch the shuddering softness of her breath and her eyelids. The full moon is on the night of the Gala, he thought. And it will shine for her and her alone.

Soon after that, Duncan fell asleep, his hand on Kenzie’s pillow, his fingers gently twined around a wave of her golden hair.

--------

He woke first the next day; he could see the lines of tiredness still on Kenzie’s face as she turned away from him in her sleep to fold herself deep into the corner of the bed, faraway in an unknown dream. Duncan pressed his hand through the chestnut waves of her hair, now dried to silkiness during the night--the light was still dim, the morning just arrived, but his mind was already wide awake and buzzing with need--already his thoughts hung low, toward the evening. He felt relieved that Kenzie wouldn’t be going to work today--he reached for his phone on the nightstand, sending Harris a text saying Kenzie would be staying home today and that she would message him to request his supervision if she needed to go anywhere. We should make dinner together tonight, he thought, idly, watching her breathe quietly. I want us to cook together--I think she wants that too. I love that--the idea of coming home to her and making something with her that we can enjoy together. That’s all I ever want to do now--things with her that make her happy.

He climbed out of the bed, reluctant to leave the warmth of her cocoon, and went to the closet, willing himself to move past the mirror, staring at himself in it all the way--it seemed to wink at him again, familiar, full of some secret knowledge it refused to divulge, its mystery captivating. Why do I feel like I’ve seen it so many times? Why do I feel like I know it so well? Why do we both feel like it’s belonged to Kenzie for a long time? How could it have? Duncan moved past it, almost glad to be away from its colossal gaze, into the closet, reaching up to where several of his signature long-sleeved dark-colored Oxford shirts hung in a neat row, and pulled a navy one in jersey down around his shoulders, hand through his hair and around his chin, absently--then buttoned it slowly, up to the curve of his throat right before his adam’s apple. Maybe if I can believe in Soulmates and in Fate and in destiny and if I can accept that my girlfriend and I can read each other’s thoughts, I can accept parallel lifetimes or reincarnation or...something, too. And maybe we really should go see a psychic, hell, I guess I believe in those now, also. Unicorns, I’ll add you to the list, why the hell not.

He reached for his gold Movado today--why not. It’s summer and I’m wildly in love with my Soulmate. Everything gold reminds me of her, so gold it is. He pulled a pair of well-tailored gray chinos on and chose a pair of Louboutin leather balmorals that he particularly liked from his shoe shelves--Duncan clutched them between fingers and thumb and moved out of the closet into the front room, hoping not to wake Kenzie--I really want her to sleep in today. And I want her to have breakfast in bed like the Princess she is. He placed the spotless balmorals on one of the high chairs of the center island, carefully gathering the pink boxes in his arms and moving them to the long leather couch through the divide--then he went back to the kitchen to make breakfast: a simple one for him, a green kale and avocado smoothie with his Vitamix and two pieces of sprouted bread toast with unsalted peanut butter--and a beautiful one for Kenzie on a priceless silver tray that used to belong to Adelaide. It consisted of two more slices of the sprouted bread toasted with strawberry preserves and organic rolled butter, a perfectly ripe avocado, sliced in half with the pit removed, sprinkled with ground pepper, a tiny silver spoon in its soft flesh, and two perfectly peeled and separated clementines, arranged so they fanned like the petals of an opulent flower in a silver bowl with tiny clusters of silver dogberries on the sides (also Adelaide’s--she’d given all of her silver to Duncan in her Will, and most of it was priceless). Grandma would have loved Kenzie. Unlike Mom, she had perfect taste, he thought, going into the dining room and finding one of the cloth napkins in the china cabinet drawers, coming back to place it beside the plate. Mom is too worried about what other people think of her to trust her own instincts entirely. But Grandma would have seen how special she is in an instant, because Adelaide was like that too. Luminous. I could see the way Harris glowed when he mentioned her--Harris loved her. Maybe he really loved her. It seemed to be there in his eyes.

Drifting between these thoughts of his grandmother and his lover, Duncan made Kenzie a medium-roast black coffee in one of his clear glass mugs with the Keurig that lived beside his espresso machine, as sleek, black and silent as the other machine was. Then he poured grapefruit juice (admiring its deep coral color) into the peony glass, water into one of the Waterford tumblers (I’m the black coffee, Kenzie is the rosy juice surrounded by flowers--Hades beside his Persephone), setting the glasses carefully on the tray, carrying it through the kitchen on careful feet, stopping at the coffee table to pull one of the roses (wilting just a little, but still deeply red and beautiful) by the stem out of the bouquet and placing it long-wise on the tray along the back of the glasses. Then he moved on through the bedroom to where Kenzie still lay fast asleep, her hair silky and tossed over the pillow and her shoulder, her little palm open under her cheek, turned away from the doorway. She stirred a little as he sat carefully on his edge of the bed, facing her, holding the tray steadily in his hands. She turned to him, stretching cat-like and almost subconsciously, her hand coming up to the corner of her eye, her mouth opening a little.

“Oooo, baby...is that for me?”

He nodded and smiled at her--words slipping away to behold her sweetness, her loveliness in the morning light. Kenzie sat up, and he felt another burst of painful affection at her sleep-mussed hair, the fall of the satin-and-lace sleeping cami off her shoulder, revealing the dip of her breast to him as she leaned down to straighten herself, her little hands pushing her hair back and coming together in delight as he placed the tray on the mattress in front of her, pushing the duvet away with his arm.

“Dunny, ohhh. You made me breakfast in bed.”

“I should do it every day.” He couldn’t help it--in her eyes he always felt shy, and he could feel the blush on his cheeks, the way he wanted to look away under her gaze because it made him feel so bare. They were impossibly bright this morning, the memory of her dreams still shimmering behind them, and he leaned over the tray to kiss her, his hand coming against her cheek; Kenzie’s little face leaned up to him and he was struck with the smell of her hair, jasmine, roses, lemon, and marveled at the way he could feel every feverish beat of his own heart. He could feel the smile in her kiss and as he pulled away, reluctant, she looked down again at the tray, her little teeth grinning, reaching out to the little silver spoon in the avocado, admiring it, scooping some of the green flesh out and popping it into her mouth. She swallowed, gazing at him, that gold sheen hovering over her. “This tray is really beautiful, and this little silver spoon, and ooo, this little bowl.” She touched the silver dogberries on the bowl that held the clementines, licking the spoon held against her lips.

“They were my grandmother’s. Adelaide, who Harris used to protect. She would have loved you. She wasn’t like Mom. She was beautiful and graceful like Mom, but her energy was different. She was gracious.”

“I wish I could have met her.” Kenzie’s hair fell over her shoulder, catching a burst of early morning sun, as she continued to spoon morsels of avocado into her little mouth. Duncan reached out for her hand and she grasped his fingers, and her touch was like a burst of sweet sunlight into his hand--you’re my sunlight, baby, like a sunbeam right into the center of my soul.

“I do too, baby.”

Duncan pulled his phone off the nightstand as he watched her--he couldn’t help it. Kenzie looked so beautiful this way, sunlight on her face just-so, her hair falling in a golden wave over her shoulder, her face turned down with a radiant smile, the strap of her cami off one shoulder, silver spoon poised in her hand. She reached for the grapefruit juice, and he knew she recognized the peony glass--her eyes looked up at him with affection and he was ready, snapping a picture before she could protest.

“Ugh, oh no, baby, I’m all messy.” Kenzie made a face at him, sticking out her tongue.

“No, you aren’t. You’re fucking beautiful. Can we make dinner together tonight, baby? I wanna cook with you. I’d really love to do that.” He lowered his phone, recognizing the need in his voice, but he didn’t care. With you I will always say what I feel, Kenzie.

“I would love that. What should we make? Oo, baby, Claire gave me this recipe the other day--well, a few weeks ago, I guess--it’s for vegetable fried rice but it has quinoa instead of rice. It looked so good, I really want to try it.” He watched her talk, the tiny motions of her hands and her shoulders as she reached for the toast, bringing it up to her lips, taking a bite, watching the incline of her neck and the tiny shifts of her eyes and the flutter of her eyelashes, and Duncan felt lost in her--full of gratitude again to even be near her, an emotion he was becoming deeply intimate with. “That sounds really good, baby,” he replied, reaching for her hand again. She lifted her eyes up to him.

“Duncan. I’m so happy.”

“I am too. To be with you. It’s like...my heart is constantly so full. It’s so--”

“Amazing.” Kenzie nodded. “It’s extraordinary. It’s fucking bliss.”

Bliss. That was the word.

“Here, baby,” Duncan reached over to his nightstand, ripping a memo off a pad of sticky notes stacked there beside a glass with several expensive fountain pens in it--it had been originally placed there for work notes when he woke up at night in the past, thinking about the show or the app or the company--but it had become obsolete to him in the past week. Like everything that isn’t her--it’s part of my old life. And its purpose has changed. Now, it’s for Kenzie to write grocery lists or me to write her name over and over and over. Mackenzie Stone. Mackenzie Louise Stone. Mackenzie...Shepherd. Mackenzie Shepherd. He shivered at his own longing. “Write down anything you want the concierge to get today for dinner--and anything else you want. They’ll deliver it this afternoon. I already texted Harris for you and told him you aren’t going to work.”

Kenzie took the paper and fountain pen from him, munching on her slices of clementine, her expression still turned to him, full of affection. “We could make dumplings too, I’m pretty good at them, Claire and I did them together one time and it’s fun to fold them.”

“I’ve made them before too, actually,” Duncan said, smiling shyly at her. “I’ve spent a lot of time cooking for myself since I turned 18 and moved out of my mother’s house. As soon as I moved in here I started buying cook books like crazy because I didn’t want to hire a chef. It made me...less lonely, I guess.”

Kenzie reached for him. He grasped her hand, tightly, emotion bubbling in him.

“I’m not lonely anymore, baby. I’m so far from lonely now that you’re here.”

“Good. I love you so much.” Kenzie leaned over the silver tray again, and their lips came together, deeply, with aching hunger. She tasted wonderfully sweet, the citrus falling into his mouth, the creamy taste of the avocado and the butter lingering there. “Ooo, how about green tea ice cream, too.”

“I love green tea ice cream.”

“Of course you do, because you have excellent taste.” She grinned at him, then turned down to write ingredients on the little paper, leaning over to grab her phone and find the recipe. He watched her quietly as she wrote, then paused to look at the phone screen where she’d pulled up a recipe website, reading carefully as she pressed the edge of the pen into her bottom lip, and Duncan wanted to pull her against him and kiss her more, wanted to push the tray away and press her down into the bed and pull the satin demandingly away from her shoulders and cup her roughly in his hands in the dappled sunlight over the bed--yesterday was so short. I long for you.

“I can’t wait for tonight, baby,” he murmured to her, unable to stop himself. “I can’t wait to tie you up in that lingerie.” He heard Kenzie’s breath catch and she paused her furious writing, lifting her eyes to him. He grasped the peony glass in his long fingers, lifting it to lips, his stare unwavering, taking a long mouthful, licking the tanginess from his lips, slowly. I’m going to devour you.

“I can’t wait to wear it for you, Prince Duncan.” At that, Kenzie went up on her knees and carefully pushed the tray aside, crawling over to him across the sheet--Duncan’s head went hazy-soft as Kenzie climbed into his lap, her legs straddling his thighs, the soft weight of her ass pressing into his crotch. She was so small in his arms--he was struck by it again, a wave of desire. His hands fell up and down the satin of the little pink-and-black-lace sleeping set he’d gotten for her, marveling at its softness on her, marveling at how perfectly it fit against her little body--staring into her hazel eyes, loving the sweet smell of her pressed to him.

“Ugh, baby, I don’t wanna go to work,” he whined. “Not at all. I wanna fuck you, baby, right now, I wanna kiss every inch of you.”

“Awwww, poor baby, my poor Dunny,” she murmured into him, pouting with a mocking smile. “My poor baby wants it real bad, huh. You wanna fuck me real bad, huh, baby.”

“Yes,” and at that Duncan clutched her more harshly into him, digging his fingers harshly into her skin, pressing his mouth roughly into her neck, sucking and biting. Kenzie moaned into him, turning her little head up, her hair falling back, and his hand fell down between the silkiness of her thighs, fondling at her folds there, feeling the mound of her sex over the slippery fabric that covered her. He whispered up into her ear, his nerves on fire. “Play with yourself when you’re here alone today, baby. Play with yourself and think about me. I’ll go somewhere alone and I’ll make myself come and I’ll think of you, I’ll think of how I’m gonna fuck you tonight, how hard I’m gonna fuck you, Princess, angel, baby--”

Kenzie was nodding and rolling her hips against him, her breath shallow, shivering at the feeling of his lips on her ear, her tiny hands coming up to grip at the stubble of his cheeks, fall into his hair. “Uh huh, okay, baby, I’ll make myself come--” she shuddered again, more violently, and Duncan gasped at the sweet feeling of her against him, “--and I’ll think of you, I promise--I’ll touch myself for you--I have this vibrator, I didn’t show you yet--”

“Ugh, baby. Show me.”

Kenzie continued to shiver in his arms--Duncan moved his face away from her neck and stared into her feverishly glimmering eyes. “Show me, baby, please. I wanna see it.”

Kenzie nodded, biting her lip, climbing off his lap, trailing her fingers down his thighs as he gazed at her face. That’s it, baby, get yourself worked up. I want you to think about what I’m gonna do to you tonight all day. I want you to be so wet while we make dinner that you can’t stop thinking about me fucking you on the counter, I want your panties to be soaked from your thoughts when you take them off to put that silky tulle on your beautiful skin. I want to tie you up and fuck you for hours tonight. Fuck you until we’re totally exhausted and can’t even move anymore. Fuck you until we can’t breathe. Fuck you until every part of us is so sensitive it hurts for us to touch each other and still we’ll touch anyway because to touch you is to be soothed by a goddess. Let me worship you. I’m gonna worship you.

Kenzie went to one of the boxes of her belongings that still clustered around the corner (Duncan watched the sway of her body in the little pink satin pyjamas, her legs bare, her hair over her shoulder, her expression suddenly dazed with arousal); she pulled books from one until she found the thing she was looking for--it looked like a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray, but she opened the cover and Duncan realized it was a secret box made to look like a book, its interior hollow. She lifted out a small pink toy--one end had a rounded vibrating egg, and a short cord extended down from it to a battery square with a knob, climbing in intensity from 1 to 5. She turned the knob and Duncan could hear the small electric sound of the vibrator turning on. The egg end hummed against her hand.

“I’m gonna use this while you’re away today and when I come--and fuck, baby, this little thing makes me come so hard--I’m gonna scream your name, and think about what you’re going to do to me tonight.” Duncan could see that she was shivering as she said it, goosebumps lifting on her arms. His cock pressed into the tailored crotch of his chinos and he moaned to look at her, to hear what she was saying. Kenzie lowered the little egg between her legs, letting it press gently against the satin of her little pyjamas there, staring at him expectantly, still visibly shivering.

“Fuck, baby, I wanna watch--” Duncan couldn’t stop himself, fuck, I want to watch her use that on herself so fucking bad, but Kenzie bit her lip, her expression amused, shaking her head.

“No, baby. You have to be patient and wait and go to work. And at some point today when you’re alone, you have to touch yourself and think about my mouth on your cock, think about your cock fucking my pussy and my little ass, wet for you, and you have to stroke yourself until you come for me. And then we’re gonna make dinner together when you get home. And then you’re going to tie me up and buckle that fucking gorgeous rose choker tight around my neck and fuck me senseless. Do as I say, okay? Do what I told you to do, baby.”

“Yes, baby. Yes, Kenzie.” I could fucking die inside your eyes, Kenzie. I love it when you command me. I’ll tie you up but I’m your slave and I know you know that. I’d do anything you told me to do, baby. Divine and staggering in your beauty, my Kenzie, beloved angel of heaven.

Kenzie put the vibrator back into the hollowed book, setting it back into the box, a satisfied air to her now--she stood up very straight, completely awake now, sleep brushed away from her, and she climbed back onto the bed on the opposite side so he couldn’t grab onto her. Duncan reached for her but she said “No, Dunny, let me eat my breakfast.” And he stopped, his breath harsh, full of terrible crimson-gold-flushed waves of need for her. She stared into his eyes--the golden nebula of her soul--and lifted the clementines to her lips, and devoured them until none were left, and he did not look away, trapped in her gaze--no, not trapped, he thought, aching. Completely supplicant to her. I don’t want to be away from her. I want to stay inside her eyes always, for her gaze is sanctity in my sight. I am your most faithful, devoted lover, Mackenzie. Whatever you will--it is my desire to realize it. I’m yours until I lie in my grave, feeding flowers that will grow in your honor.

-------

Duncan was slipping the balmorals on his feet as Kenzie carefully moved the little silver dishes to the sink to rinse them, still wearing her little satin sleeping set--Duncan already loved it fiercely, and knew the image of her wearing it would grow to be ingrained in him with time, a certain memory of many days to come. “Is it okay to put vintage silver in the dishwasher?” she asked, turning her head around to him, holding up the little bowl with dogberries along the side.

“It is, actually, just put them in without any other dishes and run the cycle by itself,” Duncan replied, smiling at her attention to detail. “I’ll ask Anchaly to tell the housekeepers to skip us today so you have privacy.”

“Okay, baby,” Kenzie replied softly, moving away from the sink and coming up to where he stood at the table beside the front door, pushing his wallet down into the back of his fitted chinos, a pair of squarish Gucci sunglasses he’d chosen for today in his hand. “Have a very--” and here she leaned up, her long chestnut hair brushed out now and floating around her in delicate waves, her little feet tiptoeing to reach his face, kissing his stubbled cheek before he could turn his face into hers--”good--” and now she pressed a kiss to the other cheek--”day--” and she finally let him gather her against him now, tenderly pressing her open mouth against his, and Duncan wrapped his arms around her, greedy for the scent and taste and feeling of her against him, the satiny texture of her little pyjamas, the soft fall of her hair and her arms and her tongue brushing against his.

“It’s so hard to leave you, every fucking time--” he whispered into her, his voice aching in his ears, and he felt it in his bones, how true the words were.

“Baby, just think about how fucking wonderful tonight’s going to be. And text me when you’re alone later. I want to know when you’re thinking about me.”

“Kenzie, I am always thinking about you.”

She smiled into him. “Don’t forget to give Anchaly that list. When do you think you’ll be home?”

Home. Home is when I’m with you, Kenzie. We could be anywhere and if you’re there, it’s home.

“5 at the latest, I think. We don’t have too much to do today, the news has been slow--well, except for you and me, I guess, baby.”

“Claire texted me, BPF posted all the stuff we put on Instagram on their website already. They should be giving us royalties or something.” Kenzie rolled her eyes, but Duncan could see the smile in them. That’s right world, we’re together, get used to it, he thought, smiling in return to her. Then he grew serious again for a moment, lost in thoughts of Shepherd Unlimited and the soon-to-be-defunct Gardner Analytics.

“I’m wondering when I should tell Melody I’m planning to dismantle the show and the app when I take over for my uncle. She’s done a lot of work on them and I don’t think she’s going to be happy about it. Of course I plan to rehire her for another position in the company if she wants one, but…”

“I guess there’s a possibility she’d be upset enough to tell Annette about your plans.” Kenzie went down on her heels, leaning away from him.

“A very real possibility. I feel bad for concealing it from her, though. As I said, she’s worked hard on them. But Mom messaged me yesterday--my uncle is getting sicker faster than the doctors originally thought. Apparently he’s going to be in confinement by the end of the month. Which means I’m going to be taking over a lot sooner than we originally thought.”

A serious expression came into Kenzie’s eyes. “So that means Momby and I would be going on the board a lot sooner, too.”

“Yes. Probably by the end of next month.”

Kenzie blew out a long breath, and Duncan stood before her, his hand falling down the waves of hair over her shoulder. Kenzie is so fucking beautiful. Baby, you look like a fucking angel right now, in your little pink satin, your hair silky-soft down your back, your little face scrunched up so serious. Your eyes are like fucking stars. And you’re mine. And I still can’t believe it.

Then Kenzie nodded, as though she’s felt or heard his tenderness. She probably did. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it, baby. We’ll get through everything. I have such a hopeful feeling inside me every day now. Like something fell into place and now everything is moving, traveling on into the future.”

“I feel that way too, baby. Like our destiny is in motion. I love you. I’ll see you later tonight.” He lifted her face up to him with the tips of his fingers and kissed her once more, open-mouthed, closing his eyes, and he saw when he opened them and pulled away that Kenzie’s were still closed and her mouth still open just a little in a rapturous visage of desire, and he thought she looks like the Ecstacy of St. Theresa, glowing in the light of an angel, only she is the angel, the angel is her, and the ecstacy is mine. As Duncan went out into the hall, he turned around and saw her little face peeking at him through the doorway for a moment, then she smiled and blew him a kiss, and Duncan pretended to catch it in midair and pressed his hand against his heart, turning away from her, recalcitrant, as the door swung shut, slipping his dark sunglasses over his eyes.

-------

Duncan was drifting through the day--he had stayed tight-lipped at the paps who were hanging out outside Shepherd Hall (“Where’d you go on your baecation this weekend, Duncan?” Gary Spencer had called out to him as Ricky Aspen (Gary’s token photographer) snapped his camera, angled at Duncan’s face) and Duncan had shot daggers toward him, pressing his lips together defiantly) despite their insistence. He had tried to appear interested in the episode overview and the charts regarding the apps “numbers”, but he was utterly absorbed in the thought of Kenzie’s promise to use the little pink egg on herself (I’m gonna scream your name); his thoughts made him feel too hot, his mind smoky and thick, his groin throbbing and aching, making him shift in his seat, restless to be alone. Seth and Melody continually gave him sidelong glances over the long conference table as Richard, one of the showrunners, rambled on about Claire’s prolonged breakdown, entering its fourth week. Annette was probably expecting him at another meeting today, this one regarding finishing details about the Gala, but Duncan bristled at the thought of seeing her, angry at her treatment of Kenzie on Saturday--storming out on her like a child when you insisted on consuming her day. And none of you know I’m secretly meeting with Claire Underwood on Thursday, best to keep it that way, Duncan thought, shifting again, trying to refocus on something that wasn’t the dip of Kenzie’s pale skin around her throat, the softness of the space behind her jaw under her ear where he liked to press his fingers, continually amazed by how delicate she was, or the space between her breasts where he could feel her heartbeat if he pressed his lips there, or the sweet ache between her legs (me pressing my lips there yesterday as I held her legs apart and sucked at her and she cried out for me over and over, fuck, or my come falling down the side of her mouth as she sucked me dry), but dipped back down into the endlessness of her, the whirling storm of her. God, when will this meeting be fucking over. Everything is a waiting game now. None of you know what I’m going to do when Bill dies. And he’s going to die soon.

“How long, exactly, do you think it will take for the paps to not be swarming around here every single day like we’re Beyonce’s entourage, Duncan?” Melody leaned over the table, and Duncan looked up from where he’d been gazing into space, imagining Kenzie in her little satin pyjamas, straddling his lap, murmuring into his mouth. He hadn’t noticed when the meeting adjourned, and some of the other crew for the show had already left the conference room--Richard was staring at him from the head of it, a frown creasing his brow.

I guess we’re back to not being friends. Duncan sat up, blinking at her, crashing down from his heavenly imaginings. “Melody, what the fuck, may I ask, would you like me to do about it?”

“I dunno, maybe stop posting photos of your half-clothed girlfriend on Instagram every day?”

Duncan looked over at Seth, whose eyes skirted away from both of them as if there was something extremely interesting going on outside the window. Duncan felt a flare of anger course down the back of his skull, felt his teeth clench at the insinuating tone of Melody’s voice. Everyone’s obsessed with Kenzie, and I understand why, but god, I hate the idea of people wishing her ill. I hate the idea of anyone thinking cruelly towards her. When it came to Kenzie, he wished he could surround her in an impenetrable cocoon of safety, an invisible barrier between her and all the evil intentions of the outside world. She’s my Joan of Arc--far too wonderful, too brave, too bright for any of you.

“I’ll post photos of her whenever the fuck I feel like it in whatever the fuck she happens to be wearing. Lay the fuck off, Melody.” Melody’s eyes flashed at him and she shoved out of her seat, yanking the conference room door open and stalking out.

“Duncan,” Seth was the only other person in the room now besides him, Richard having made a beeline for the door as soon as Melody had shot her venomous question at Duncan. “Be forgiving of her. She’s...I don’t know how happy she is with the work lately, to be honest. And I have to say this, because it should have been said a long time ago, but Melody has been in love with you for...years, and seeing you with someone else this way is just...a lot for her.”

“Seth, what.” Fuck, I should have realized that. I did realize that. I knew she was. But I have never felt that way about her and god, that night I was fucking hammered out of my mind, and I knew it was a mistake right away. But my apology was late, wasn’t it. Really late. Fuck. And I convinced myself I was imagining that she was romantically interested in me. I pretended like I didn’t know because I was trying not to hurt her feelings. But somehow I’ve done that anyway.

“I agree that you don’t have any obligation to engage emotionally with someone who you don’t share the same affections with,” Seth said, carefully. “And for all intents and purposes you seem to have issued the apology she was looking for--but just forgive her, I guess, is what I’m saying. Melody and I have spent a lot of time together, and…” Seth trailed off.

“You care about her.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Seth looked at him, and Duncan was surprised to see how much warmth was hiding behind his eyes. In fact, Duncan thought, it seems as though you might, in fact, be the one who loves her, huh, Seth?

“Seth. Don’t worry. I’m not going to fire her if that’s what you think. There are...changes on the horizon for this company. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, at least to a certain extent. I’m going to have the power to move the people in this company where they will be most happy and well-placed. And I really do mean happy, Seth. Soon, Melody will have her pick of where she wants to be regarding Shepherd Unlimited. I give you my word.”

Seth was quiet for a long time; he seemed to regard Duncan with a mixture of suspicion and wary vulnerability.

“Duncan, you’ve really changed lately.”

“I know it. God, I fucking know it.”

“It’s that woman, isn’t it. The woman you’re with now. Mackenzie Stone.”

“Yes, Seth. It is her. She’s made me the happiest man on earth. I want to spread it outward and give it to others, too. It’s like I...I really understand that I have too much now. And it needs to be shared.”

“If I’d heard you say something like that a year ago, I think I would’ve thought you’d gone the way of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Annette must be absolutely nonplussed.”

“She is. It’s been interesting to attempt to navigate all of this with her.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“Go comfort Melody.”

Seth slid up from his chair and gave him one last long look, then nodded. “Mr. Shepherd.” Then he smiled a little, and Duncan smiled back at him, lifting his water glass to his mouth as Seth left the room. Duncan waited for the door to click shut, then he stood and went to it, snapping the lock into position. Then he went to the second door to the room across the other side of the table and snapped the lock there too. Duncan pulled the blinds of the long office windows down carefully. Next, he went to a side-table that had a box of tissues atop it, pulling several out and gripping them in his hand, then he sat back down in the chair he’d been in for the past half hour, setting the tissues on the smooth surface of the conference table, carefully unbuckling his belt. He went to his text messages and typed to Kenzie.

I’m alone now baby. Can’t stop thinking about you in my lap like that. Can’t stop thinking about putting that rose choker around your soft little white neck. Can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’re going to look in that white lingerie. I’ve been lost in thoughts of you all day. Just totally lost to you, baby.

He saw the telltale text bubbles pop up underneath almost immediately.

Baby, I’m taking my clothes off for you now, laying down on the bed for you. Are you touching yourself yet?

Duncan set his phone down on the table in front of him and finished unbuckling his belt, pulling down the button and zipper of his chinos, slipping a warm hand down into the waistband of his tight briefs, bringing his rigid cock up so it was standing to attention, pressing into his stomach with the waistband holding it there. He grasped his hand over it and turned his phone towards his unbuttoned crotch and the fist over the head of his cock. He snapped the photo and sent it to her, adding a short bit of text: Yes, baby.

The text bubbles appeared again.

Show me, baby. Take a picture of your bare hard cock for me so I can look at it while I press that egg into my clit, baby, god it feels fucking good, almost as good as when you’re fucking me. I have it right here beside me on the bed now, and I’m naked, I took off everything I was wearing and laid here for you. I’m waiting for you to tell me I can start.

Fuck, Duncan thought. Fuck, Kenzie, you are the most erotic, the most alluring, the most exquisite person I have ever met. You’re so goddamn fucking beautiful. I keep trying to find words for you but they haven’t been invented yet. You’re beyond my dreams--you’re the only person I will ever truly love and I know it with every part of me. Duncan’s thumb slid over the precum that was already leaking from the head of his cock, slathering it along the sensitive underside of where his shaft began, and jerked his hand along the length, down about halfway. He angled his phone’s camera on his crotch again, moving his hand, pushing his pants and briefs down further so its hardness, its thick need, was exposed. He moved his hand along the precum again, wetting his cock’s length. Then he took the photo and hit send; his large hand was pressed to the side of his erection, so though only half of it was exposed in his waistband, the evidence of his length was apparent. Start now, baby, he added in text underneath. Think about how I’m gonna fuck you long and hard in a few hours  and you’re gonna watch me do it in all your glorious beauty.

Duncan felt dizzy as he dragged his fingers along his length in the quiet conference room. Kenzie thinking about me fucking her raw as she works at her clit in our bed, her little naked body lying on top of the duvet, her legs spread, her hair tossed into the pillow, her head turned up and her eyes fluttering and her mouth open with need, like holy fucking fuck, baby, my fucking angel, my beloved, wild and sublime, my goddess in the throes of her desires.

Nothing from her end for a minute--Duncan jerked needily at his cock under his briefs, little moans falling out of his mouth as he read her texts to come before--baby, I’m taking my clothes off for you now. Then a photo came through his phone--Kenzie staring into the camera, bare neck and the roundness of her little breasts exposed, one of her hands clutched between them, the other lifting the phone to take the photo, her nipples hard, an expression of need on her face, her eyes heavy-lidded and her lips parted just a little. You have to come, okay, baby? You have to touch yourself until you come. Think about how you fucked my tight little ass the other night, baby, made me dissolve into screams of ecstasy under your hands, Dunny baby, stared into my eyes as you did, made me look at you, fuck, made me look into your sky eyes, my love.

Fuck, angel, he replied, typing carefully with his thumb as he worked at himself, biting into his lip as the sensations riding through his cock rose in intensity. This picture. I’m going to keep it forever, a secret just for me. God, baby, you look so fucking gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you, I’m going to kiss every part of you, I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, angel baby.

Kenzie: I want you to spank me tonight. I want you to spank me hard when I’m tied up, spank me and grab my neck and choke me because I’m yours. I want you to do it, baby. Do as I tell you, okay? I’m gonna tell you to spank me and I want you to do it until I tell you to stop. Please, baby. I want it. I want you to be rough with me.

Okay, baby. I will, he replied, shuddering under his own grip on his length. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Duncan imagined Kenzie’s little mewling cries as his hands came down hard against her soft skin, the keening of her hips as she fell against his palms, the pressure of her little neck under his hand as he clasped her with demanding fingers. Whatever you want baby, whatever makes you feel good, he typed, I’d do it a thousand times if you told me to, your pleasure is everything to me. Are you using it on yourself?

Kenzie: Yes, baby, god I’m so wet for you and it’s making me fucking ache for you, you’ve been so patient and I wanna make you feel so good tonight, I wanna give you all of myself, my body totally at your mercy my beloved, my sweet beautiful Prince, baby.

Duncan felt the shudder of his orgasm rising and he snatched the tissues from the table, bringing them carefully along the underside of his cock, emptying himself into them, gasping into the force of his release, leaning over the chair as he came, his body wracked for a moment with the force of it. “Uhh, Kenzie, baby, Kenzie--” Fuckkk. He looked down at his phone again as he gasped, and saw Kenzie had texted him again--Fuck baby, I just came so hard, I screamed for you like I told you I would, I’m lying here, shuddering and naked and thinking only of you in our bed and your big beautiful hands and your big gorgeous cock and your beautiful mouth and your eyes like the sky full of storms, I need you, Duncan, I need you and I’m aching for you baby.

Duncan used the tissues to carefully wipe the dampness from his crotch, wincing a little, crumpling them in his hand, carefully pushing his now-sensitive cock back down into his briefs, buttoning and zipping his pants, standing on shaking limbs to toss the tissues into a nearby trash can, then turned back to his phone and typed. Fuck, Kenzie, I need YOU, I need you every minute, I can’t think of anything but you, everything is you, the sky and the stars and the moon and the ocean yesterday was you and every flower and every beautiful thing is only half as beautiful as you, your eyes are like gold-flecked galaxies and your hair is like liquid sunlight and your mouth is sweeter than any fruit to me, and the space between your legs sweeter than the nectar of any god, your body so small and exquisite under my hands every time you give yourself to me. I came with your name on my lips because I belong to you forever and when I see you tonight I’m going to make you feel it, going to give you every bit of my devotion, going to press wild prayers into your body.

He hit send. Then he typed I love you, I love you, I love you.

Kenzie: And I love you, until the last star fades.

Until the last star fades.

He typed again. See you in a few hours, baby. I’m going to make you feel so wonderful. I swear I will, on everything, on the sun and the moon and the stars and the universe inside your eyes.

Kenzie: Baby, you already do, you’re my beloved, exalted in my eyes. See you soon. She left a long line of lipstick stain emojis after it.

Exalted. Something about the word was so familiar and so comforting. It was the best word to describe how he felt to be around her. Exalted: lifted up, held high in esteem. Blessed by your eyes, blessed by your thoughts, your touch, your grace, your love, Kenzie. Exalted in the eyes of a goddess. How could anything ever be so beautiful.

Duncan unlocked the door, took a deep, shuddering breath, and went to wash his hands.

------

The meeting for the Gala was unbearably tedious and redundant, and Duncan had stayed tight-lipped at his mother’s angry expression when she saw him--she had glared at him across yet another conference table, this one in a Shepherd Hall room a few floors up from the one they used for the show downstairs, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Duncan had gazed off her right shoulder into space instead, hand trailing along his jaw, his thoughts on Kenzie in the red dress he’d bought her at Nancy’s shop, redoubled on his imaginings of flowers in her hair, thought blushingly of his imaginings of their wedding, the hundreds of flowers surrounding them, the delicate moonstone on her finger, crystals and white and pink roses twined through her hair, a dress made of yards of lace and tulle, a delicate dress only a goddess would wear. I’ll get her peonies today, he thought, as soon as this fucking meeting is over, peonies to replace her roses that are slowly wilting, I’ll always make sure she has fresh flowers now, the goddess of spring can’t be without her flowers. Kenzie wants a garden, but I swear her touch alone could make things grow, pull verdant art from the ground.

Annette had approached him after, about to say something biting, no doubt, her mouth opening in a downwards tilt (she’d been wearing a black cashmere wrap dress with a sash and low pointed black heels, her neck bare, as usual), but Duncan had leaned down to her, kissing her cheek (he felt her stiffen in surprise, felt her anger melt under his touch), and then he turned away. “Duncan--” Annette had said after him, but he noticed the biting tone he’d expected to hear from her expression seemed to have faltered, and his name came out softer, more confused, from the back of her throat.

“I love you, Mom,” was all he’d said, stopping for moment, his back still turned to her, and then he’d walked away from her, and she hadn’t tried to follow him. I love you, but I won’t suffer your ill will towards her. I simply won’t do it. You will come to understand that. Already I feel as though this company is in my hands. I can feel the future coming, it’s nearly the present. It’s nearly here, its weight falling down on me, and I can’t do this without her by my side, it simply can’t become without her. Nothing of me can be without our destinies tied as they are. And this company will become nothing if we don’t change it. The Fates have already set in motion the thread of the events to come, I feel it acutely, it’s being spun now and soon, when Uncle BIll dies, it will be alloted. He could feel the ways in which Annette was fighting against that thread--could feel his mother trying to snap it, trying to stop it somehow, but Duncan knew that his destiny, now as clear as crystal, could not be broken by the will of Annette Shepherd. As he slid into the backseat of the BMW a few minutes later, he smiled up at Samuel, whose good humor was as bright as a warm lantern in the dark today, Ella on the stereo (I love the looks of you, the lure of you, the sweet of you, the pure of you, the eyes, the arms, the mouth of you) the interior of the car very cool and even compared to the hot June day outside, the sky full of cumulus clouds.

“I’ll be requesting that we stop at English Rose Garden very often in the future, Samuel,” Duncan added to Samuel as they glided away from the curb, having asked his chauffeur to make a stop there now. He took his sunglasses off to look Samuel in the eyes through the rearview, evenly. “I want Kenzie to always have fresh flowers in the house. She told me her dream is to have a garden house. If I can’t give her a garden yet, I’m determined to bring the garden to her.”

“That’s lovely, Mr. Shepherd. She’s like a garden herself, isn’t she.” Samuel’s eyes skirted between him and the road. “To be near her is to feel flowers around your heart.”

“Exactly, Samuel. Exactly.”

“I’ve heard Mr. Bill is not very well these days, Mr. Shepherd.”

Samuel glanced at him in the mirror, then back at the road. Duncan hesitated, hand moving up to his chin. You know you can trust Samuel. He’s been your closest confidant since you were still in a car booster seat.

“Samuel, I want you to know that I plan to reorganize this company. I know I can trust you to tell you this--I trust you with my life. Kenzie and I are...we’re going to make Shepherd Unlimited into something that will help the world. I want you to know that.”

Samuel suddenly laughed--his face had broken out into a radiant smile, and it made Duncan laugh too. Kenzie has made me realize that to spread joy is the greatest of all emotions, the strongest and the most lasting.

“Duncan,” and to hear Samuel call him by his first name brought pinpricks of emotion into Duncan’s eyes--Samuel hadn’t called him that for years, not since he was a child. “Duncan. To hear you say this makes me so happy. I am speechless. Mackenzie has kindled your best self. I am moved beyond words to see this change in you. Love is truly everything.”

Duncan felt a tear fall down his cheek. So what. Let Samuel see. I’m moved beyond words, too. It was all he could do to nod at the other man, nod and smile and feel the depth of this moment, sure inside it that Samuel was right, that love was everything; the only thing.

------

It was a little after 5; Duncan was finally at the penthouse door, a wildly beautiful bouquet of pink-and-white peonies under his arm--he felt like his body was vibrating to finally be home, finally be within close proximity to her embrace. Kenzie had posted several pictures on her Instagram throughout the day, tagging him in all of them--one of them with the sunlight over her shoulder, succulents along the kitchen window behind her (our little garden @duncanshepherd), one of the three photos he’d found in one of her boxes, clustered together on the bathroom wall now (he could tell from the light fixtures and the corner of Kenzie’s face which was visible from the angle that caught the side of the mirror beside the framed pictures), Kenzie with Momby, with Claire at Disneyland, and with her father. I just need one of us here now, @duncanshepherd. There was another of three of her little china birds (a robin, a partridge, a raven) all clustered on Duncan’s study desk, around his expensive fountain pens and a heavy paperweight in the shape of Atlas, holding up the Earth. To keep him company @duncanshepherd. Another of her sun and moon chimes, now hanging near one of the reading chairs in the living room, the expanse from his long picture window visible from behind them. Up in the clouds with @duncanshepherd.

Now everyone will know we’re living together, he thought. And instead of feeling apprehensive, Duncan felt a thrill. That’s fucking right. We are. Now you know Mom, now you know Madeline, now you know, World.

“Kenzie,” he called into the penthouse as he opened the door. “Baby, I’m home, where--” and suddenly he saw her racing toward him from the sink, a radiant smile in her eyes, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, her mouth falling against his (“baby, baby, baby,” she breathed into him), and she tasted like mint and smelled like roses and Duncan thought oh god, thank the gods, thank you, relief washing over him to be in her arms again. Kenzie was wearing a white, lacy strap-sleeve top (one of the straps hung down low off her shoulder, like her satin pyjamas last night), cropped just below her ribcage and coming down in a V over her little bosom--Duncan saw the moon diamond necklace there, heart racing--and a floor-length dark navy skirt with bursts of red flowers that seemed to float into him as she wrapped herself against him; Duncan lifted her up into him with his arm clutched around the bottom of her back, lost in her kisses for a long moment, her hair falling against his cheeks as if to kiss them too--she’s so small in my arms, he thought again, and not just that, but her trust in me is what I feel--her trust in me to hold her how she wants to be held, to touch her just so, to speak the secret language into her skin that one the two of us know. He set her down, but their lips didn’t part--Kenzie brought her hands up to his jaw and held him down against her, and he had to fight the sudden urge to toss the peonies to the floor and rip the clothes off her body right there.

“I saw that your roses were wilting--” he spoke into her mouth, pulling back--”and these reminded me of you so much--of that little water glass.” He watched Kenzie’s face, the brightness of it as her eyes widened over the clusters of soft-hued flowers, hair in her eyes, and she said “Ohh, Duncan. These are lovely. Thank you, baby. I--I really love them.” He saw the tears at the edges of her eyes and pressed another insistent kiss into her--”I just wanna buy you flowers every day now, baby--” and Kenzie laughed and the diamonds around her neck flashed and Duncan couldn’t help it, he reached his hand up and grasped it and rested his skin against her over her heart there and his other hand fell down over the back of her hair and he tried to kiss her again but she turned her face so his lips fell on her face, right on the space beside her eye and she murmured “Baby, you can buy me as many flowers as you want, I love them so much, it’s like I have a garden here, kiss me, kiss my neck baby--” and Duncan moaned into her softness and said “Kenzie, I missed you so much today,” and moved his mouth down to the space below her ear and then down to the dip of her little neck into her shoulder and he lifted her up into him again with the flowers still in her arms the better to reach her.

“How was your day?” She gasped into his touch, and Duncan lifted her back down, again, reluctantly, his mind full of bursts of bright need for her. “Ugh, it was the longest day of all time, except for when we were texting--” Kenzie pulled away from him, stepping back while she stared at him for another moment, arms full of flowers, and he could see the mischief in her eyes--baby is gonna get me worked up first, I see, be patient, Duncan. He moved towards her as she turned away from him, going under the sink where he knew she’d seen him get the other vase--there were several others there, another crystal Waterford and three of varying size, painted in gold leaf, their lips artistically wavy. Kenzie leaned down to one of the gold vases and pulled it out, lifting the peonies out of their soft paper wrapping and arranging them inside it on the counter, using the tap (turning the filter attachment) to fill it with water--Duncan’s hands came around her, and he pressed his cheek into the side of her head, his stomach against her back, still full of wild relief to be close to her again. “--I loved that, baby.”

“I did too,” Kenzie said in a quiet voice, but he could hear her delight, hovering just around the edges. She turned to him with the vase in her arms. Duncan pulled his phone out of his chinos, quickly, and snapped a picture of her before she could protest--Kenzie seemed unable to suppress a laugh at his eagerness, and he managed to catch it, her little head dipped down and her grin apparent. My Persephone. @kenzielouwho

“I had such a wonderful day, baby,” Kenzie said, moving around the island to the coffee table, setting the peonies beside the roses. “I got everything else unpacked and called Momby and told her we’re living together now--she seemed surprised but also...sort of okay with it? ”

“I saw your pictures--we definitely need to put one of us with your framed photos, baby. Madeline’s been so good with everything,” Duncan said, going to the fridge and pulling it open--it seemed to contain everything they needed for dinner (pork shoulder, bok choy, mushrooms, broccoli, carrots, zucchini, eggs, green onions), so it was obvious the groceries Kenzie had written down and Duncan had given to Anchaly on his way downstairs that morning had been delivered without a hitch. Duncan turned to the island, where Kenzie had laid out what looked like most of the cooking supplies they would need for dinner: a skinny rolling pin for the dumplings, several large mixing bowls, two cutting boards, Duncan’s kanso knives, and a frying pan for the dumplings as well as his copper wok--spices were lined there too, soy sauce (tamari and light) and garlic cloves and a long ginger root, sesame and olive oil, sriracha, and rice wine. “This is lovely, baby, thanks for setting everything out like this.”

“In anticipation of the evening,” she replied, coming back over to him and staring up at him--the sun hadn’t set yet, so the cool, low light of the the early evening was still illuminating the kitchen, but Duncan saw the lengthening shadows fall over her, through her hair.

“You look beautiful today,” Duncan said, reaching for her, gathering her against him, breathing in her scent. “Oh Kenzie, baby, I’m so glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re home too,” she whispered into him, her little hands skirting under his shirt, falling against his bare torso there, and he leaned into her touch, his lips on her forehead. “Let’s make dinner, okay?”

“I’m making the dumplings,” Duncan said. “I have to prove to you I can actually cook.” Kenzie laughed and nodded. “Okay, but I expect only the best, baby.” “Challenge accepted.”

Kenzie moved to the fridge as Duncan rolled up his sleeves, and she started to pass him the fresh vegetables--he pulled out one of his knives (“Kenz, you should see how great these knives are, watch,”) and started on the pork shoulder, slicing it into tiny tenderized morsels and tossing them in a clear glass mixing bowl beside him for the dumpling filling.

“Wow, baby, you weren’t kidding that you’ve made those before,” Kenzie marvelled, watching him work swiftly at the vegetables, chopping the green onion and garlic cloves and ginger root deftly, tossing them into the bowl as well. “Can I put on some music?” She looked up at him as he worked, her eyes shining, and he paused with the knife. “Baby, you don’t need to ask. This is your house. Everything here belongs to you.” With that Kenzie flitted away from him, that mischievous glint back in her eyes--and as Duncan finished combining the dumpling ingredients, he heard a jumping guitar line with heavy drums come over the speakers, a sultry masculine voice with a British accent bleeding in: I don’t want to go out, I want to stay in, get things done...he could hear Kenzie’s little voice coming back through the living room, singing along in lovely harmonization. She pointed at him playfully, using her fist as a pseudo microphone as he grinned at her, stirring the bowl with a long wooden spoon. “I catch a paper boy, but things don’t really change, I’m standing in the wind, but I never wave bye-bye--but I try, I try!” She wiggled her hips back and forth and tossed her hair and Duncan had to fight the urge to drop the bowl and grab her and press his mouth on hers. Fuck, I love this girl.

“This album is so hot,” Kenzie said, hopping around him, her skirt swirling around her legs, pulling more vegetables out of the fridge and bringing them over to the second cutting board to chop beside him. He leaned down to her and pressed a kiss into her mouth for a moment, stopping himself from tasting deeper even though he wanted to. One thing at a time. “It makes you want to dance and fuck at the same time. Ugh, I love it. You have such a great record collection, baby.” 

Duncan smiled at her. “If you notice anything that’s missing from it make sure you get it with that card I gave you, baby. I know it has some holes still.”

“Well, I noticed you don’t have all of Stevie’s solo albums, which is just not acceptable.” Kenzie was still wiggling her hips to Modern Love, and Duncan could see her toes doing the little lift and twist-out that seemed to be her tick.

“You know what to do, Kenz. Did you ever do ballet?”

“For all of elementary and middle school, yeah. I realized I was never going to be really good at it, my center of gravity is too low,” and Kenzie slapped a hand against her hip, indicating her natural curves there, “but old habits and all that.” Duncan watched her press one foot in front of the other at a side-angle, then move her arms from a low position to above her head, gracefully, turning up onto the balls of her feet, grinning at him.

“Fucking lovely,” he said, sincerely.

“Oh shut up, Mr. Shepherd.” Kenzie started chopping the vegetables, blushing deeply--Duncan could see the light sunburn on her cheeks from yesterday had already almost faded entirely, so the blush was her own. They grew quiet together, Duncan mixing the dumpling ingredients together in another bowl (flour, salt, boiling water), and Kenzie going to the streamlined stovetop to cook the eggs, then add them to the wok and toss the chopped vegetables in sequences--the garlic and onion, then the rest with the quinoa, using one of Duncan’s many long wooden spoons to toss it all. Duncan watched her in glances between kneading out the dough, then rolling it into round portions, spooning the filling into each one and pressing the edges together--Kenzie looked at him over her shoulder, her expression clearly surprised at how quickly and carefully he could fold them together.

“These are so easy to make, I’ve done them for dinner so many times,” Duncan said, a little embarrassed at her wondrous expression. “I still like ordering takeout, but teaching myself how to do these was one of my “adulting” milestones,” he laughed a little at himself, knowing it was true, and Kenzie rolled her eyes. “Getting away from mom’s constant hovering was one of the other big ones.” Her face softened at that, and she turned back to the wok. Duncan came up beside her with the dumplings lined carefully on the cutting board, frying pan in his other hand. As she tossed the quinoa he pressed his mouth into the side of her hair again, and Duncan felt her lean into him, her eyes fluttering closed. He doused the center of the pan with olive oil and let it warm for a moment, then lined the dumplings neatly in a swirling pattern with a pair of long chopsticks. He noticed Kenzie still watching him out of the corner of her eye, her expression bright--aroused. I didn’t know you could cook so well, baby, he heard her thought, the glow of it. God, it’s fucking sexy. You’re fucking perfect. The most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen and you can cook like that. And you have your own jet. And you have a big cock and eyes like the sky and your beautiful hands exploring me the way they do and your hair falling so perfectly and your mouth and the sweetness of your soul--

He pressed himself against her, hands roughly coming up to her neck and under her breast, the dumplings forgotten for a moment--”You better stop thinking about me like that, baby--” he moaned into her mouth, and Kenzie arched up into him, dropping the wooden spoon into the wok, her hands coming down to his belt to pull at it insistently, “or you can fucking forget about dinner. I’m fucking dying for you, Kenzie--”

“Shhhh, sorry baby, I’ll try to quiet down,” she whispered into him and her mouth was so wet and soft he wanted to force the waistband of her skirt down and bury his face between her legs right there, but she gently pushed him away and dutifully turned back to the wok, her face flushed, Bowie’s elegant voice ringing overhead (see these eyes so green, I can stare for a thousand years, colder than the moon, it’s been so long). Duncan willed himself down from his ardor and turned the electric off, using the long chopsticks to move the dumplings into two shallow black bowls. Kenzie’s quinoa fried rice seemed to be done, too--she flipped the switch on her side off as well and pulled a ladle from the wall where several utensils hung elegantly, moving carefully in front of him (Duncan reached a hand out and trailed it along her waist) to dish a healthy serving into each bowl beside the dumplings.

“Oh my god, this we have to take a picture of,” she said excitedly, pulling her phone out of one of the deep pocket hidden in the skirt. Duncan watched over her shoulder, as she chose a filter, smiling down at her screen--their handiwork really did look delicious.

“Pinot noir?” He asked, hiding how happy her eagerness made him. “It’s my favorite to pair with dumplings.”

“That sounds perfect, baby,” and he could see her typing a caption onto the post; Our first time cooking together, but you wouldn’t fucking know it!!! @duncanshepherd is secretly a master chef! I ain’t bad either. Duncan went into the study and pulled the glass door of his wine box open, selecting a hundred-dollar bottle from the temperature-controlled interior, a five-year vintage. When he emerged from the study, Kenzie was carefully stepping towards the bedroom, their shallow bowls in her hands, two pairs of chopsticks visible in her hand underneath one of them, two of his Linsmore Waterford wine glasses carefully tucked into the crook of her arm. He leaned his hand carefully over her and pulled them out of her grasp by the stems.

“I wanna eat in the bedroom, baby,” she said, eyes steady on him. “I wanna stare into our mirror and think about what we’re gonna do to each other.”

“Fuck, Kenzie,” and he laughed a little again. “You are killing me, baby. I beg of you, end my suffering.”

“Even Princes must be patient,” she replied, and turned away from him, angling her chin up.

This fucking angel. I’m gonna get you, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good.

By the time Duncan came back in the bedroom with a bottle opener and a small tablecloth to drape on top of the sheets, Kenzie was in the bed, the bowls balanced carefully on her bare thighs--she’d taken her skirt off and was now in only her little lacy crop top and her underwear, the diamonds still glittering at her neck, her hair falling over her shoulder. An ache fell over him to look at her--god, fuck, so soon, hang on a little longer.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said as she got up slowly to let him lay the linen down. He continued to stare at her as he opened the wine bottle, carefully pouring the dark liquid into the glasses, handing one to her after she settled again, their fingers brushing. He saw her eyes skirt back behind him, watching them in the glass of the mirror, looking at the glinting hook and chain that seemed to stare at them, waiting. Kenzie took a long drink, her throat bobbing as she swallowed twice, and leaned back to place the glass on the other nightstand.

“So are you,” she whispered. The record had stopped--the quiet hung around them, not unpleasant but deeply anticipatory, charged with their mutual desire--he could feel it coming off Kenzie is long, rolling golden waves, and he felt drunk already though he hadn’t even had a sip of the wine yet. “I was thinking of that night we went to Le Diplomate, all those roses in the bathtub--god, baby, that was such a wonderful night.”

“Every night feels like that now that you’re here,” he said, and Kenzie didn’t reply, only smiled at him, her eyes forest-bright, using one of her chopsticks to pop a dumpling into her mouth. “Fuck, Dunny, these are so fucking good,” she said, bringing a hand up over her mouthful as she spoke. “Can you make me some with chicken next time?”

Duncan laughed, untying his shoes and pulling them off, climbing onto the bed next to her, hand on her knee. This girl fucking loves chicken. My Kenzie. “Of course baby, you should have put it on the list. I would have made them for you tonight. I’ll make you anything you want, angel.”

“You’re my angel,” and Kenzie leaned up so her little ass was hovering in the air, and she kissed him and Duncan thought dinner can’t be over soon enough, baby. As they ate Kenzie told him about where she’d put all the things she’d unpacked today--going over the nuances of her thinking with him, and Duncan loved every moment of it--the excitement in her voice, the smile on her face, the movements of her hands as she waved them around to her words. “I wonder what Ben’s going to ask you tomorrow?” she said, cocking her head as she popped the last dumpling in her bowl into her mouth. Duncan had finished his food a moment before and was drinking a long mouthful from his wine glass--they were on their second round by now.

“No doubt something very invasive. I plan to be honest with him, but I was thinking of asking him to wait to publish the article he writes until the majority share reverts to me. I don’t...I don’t think it’s going to be very long, Kenzie, like I was telling you yesterday. I think my uncle’s going to die sooner than anyone thought.”

Kenzie was quiet, looking down. He couldn’t see her thoughts at all--they were too indistinct.

“It’s strange to think so much happiness might come from one person’s death,” she said eventually, and he could see the muddled sadness and contemplation in her eyes. “The world is so strange and obtuse sometimes.” He pulled her now-empty bowl from her hand and set it on the nightstand with his.

“Drink a toast with me, baby,” he said, gripping his wine glass. Kenzie seemed to emerge from her contemplative state, and reached behind her to bring her glass against his, giving him a small, secretive smile.

“To you, Mackenzie, and everything you’ve kindled in me. Only you.”

Kenzie’s eyes fell into his--a forest with a starry sky at night, he thought, and he saw the hidden tears there that she was unwilling to let fall. Duncan. My love.

They both drank, but neither of them broke the gaze that hovered between them. When Duncan lowered his glass, Kenzie leaned over to him again, her lips falling into his, tasting of salt and sweet red wine--and she whispered “It’s time for me to get dressed now, baby.”

Duncan groaned immediately--his eyes closing almost involuntarily, now that the moment had finally come.

“I’m gonna go get dressed in the bathroom. You can’t come in. Go get the shoes you want me to wear from the closet, okay? If I have heels on you...you’ll be able to reach me better,” and she kissed him again, her tongue falling into his, her fingers on his jaw--”I’ll come out when I’m dressed. The velvet ribbon is in the drawer with my underwear...the plug and my egg toy are in there too. You can decide what you want to use on me.”

“Fuck, baby--” and he tried to clutch her but she slipped away from him--skipping on her quick little feet in the lacy crop top and her white cotton underwear to the bathroom, swinging the door shut, glancing back at him with a grin--then he heard the lock click. Duncan fell back on the bed, another involuntary groan falling out of him, rubbing his hands down his face. This woman is legitimately everything I have ever wanted, and it makes me feel like I’m always on the verge of cardiac arrest. Get the fuck up and go to the closet, Duncan. You already know what shoes she’s wearing. You already know you’re using both of those toys on her. God, and that gorgeous choker around her little neck--Duncan launched himself off the bed and threw himself into the closet, yanking the drawer he knew he’d organized her (god, it seemed like hundreds) of pairs of panties in--the velvet ribbon, pink egg and the plug with the little white jewel in the end were to the far left, and they seemed to wink at him as he pulled them out. For Kenzie. It’s your duty to make her feel fucking good.

Duncan placed the toys and the thick ribbon carefully on the top of Kenzie’s side of the shelf--under the dangling line of her necklaces. He pulled his socks off, working at the buttons of his Oxford shirt, noticing how badly his hands were shaking--I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to fucking her, honestly, he thought. Every time I can’t believe it, I can’t believe I get to, I can’t believe she chose me, I can’t believe it, an actual fucking angel chose me, I can only try to make her feel as good as possible, I can try, god, Kenzie is so fucking beautiful, her hair and her eyes and her sweet clit and her little round breasts and the tiny dip of her waist and the rising curves of her hips, I’ll never forget how she looked in the starlight on that balcony, I knew, I fucking knew, didn’t I, that she was my fucking Soulmate--and heard a small ripping sound, realizing in his nervous eagerness he’d managed to tear the remainder of the buttons out of their seams towards the bottom. Duncan threw the shirt onto the floor, uncaring--and immediately reached to where he saw the tying strappy gold sandals Kenzie had worn the first night they met--that night, burned into my mind, into my soul, forever. Duncan moved back out into the bedroom, now only in his tailored chinos, the toys clutched in one careful hand, her heels in the other--then he placed everything he was holding gently on the bed, pulling the linen away, climbing onto the bed, leaning against the headboard in a sitting position, facing the bathroom door. Then--he waited, his heart slamming into his ribcage, his stomach somersaulting.

“Baby. Are you ready? Tell me when.”

He heard Kenzie’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Yes, baby.” He was careful to make his tone even and firm. “Come out.”

The door swung inwards and Kenzie emerged in the frame of it, pushing her golden hair back from her shoulders as she did--her cheeks wildly flushed in the low light, but he could see her desire to fight off her nervousness in her bright eyes--they glittered at him and she smiled. Hey baby.

“Hello, Mr. Shepherd.” Kenzie put her little hands on her hips, cocking her head to him, sending her breathy whisper out to him across the bed.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck, baby.

Duncan immediately sat up--all his composure lost in the rushing tide of need he felt as soon as he looked at her this way, as soon as his eyes fell over the delicate hold of the lingerie on her body--her little breasts and the dip of her hips outlined in the white framing and white flowers of the bra and panties, the sheer tulle embellishing the soft loveliness of her shape and laying it bare for him--the roundness of her nipples, hard in her arousal, and the lips of her sweetness between her legs, any hair there shaved away again, leaving her smooth as silk, held tight in the silky tulle--and the suspender belt around her waist, white flowers sewn along her there and a bow in the center, another in the middle of the waistband of the panties, straps down either thigh clipped to sheer stockings starting a few inches down, a stretch of bare leg between them. Kenzie clutched the rose choker in her hand, its silvery embellishment and dark, smooth black leather making him instantly hard--he felt blood rush into his cock with an almost painful intensity.

“Come here right now.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so demanding, but it was out of him before he realized--his need was like a wave that had washed over him, sudden and colossal. He moved from the headboard to the side of the bed, pressing his feet carefully to the floor, sitting up straight and shirtless, and crooked his hand. Come, angel.

He saw her eyes flicker, felt the surge of emotion come out of her towards him--that’s it, baby, be rough with me, be bossy with me, be my Prince, driven wild with your need for me, I want your hunger, give me all your desire, pour it over me like honey. Then she stepped toward him, swaying her hips just a little, back and forth, her hair glowing, her eyes burning, and when she was close enough, Duncan reached forward with one hand, stretching his long finger to press it against her stomach just above her belly button where the strap of the suspenders laid across her waist, and said “Stop.”

She did, and Duncan could see the wild excitement more clearly in her eyes now--you love this, baby. Oh, Kenzie. You look like heaven. He trailed the finger down, relishing the shiver of her under his touch, being sure to stare into her eyes, down to the soft waistband of the panties, and down further, over their achingly smooth tulle, to dip between the lips of her sex through the fabric--he could feel the dampness there, feel how wet she was already--and a shudder fell down his spine, rocking his body forward toward her. He fought the urge to force her against him, to pull her into his mouth, and reached across the bed to the strappy heels, leaning down to her (bowing to you my love) to place them on the floor, facing her. Then Duncan reached for her little hands, pulling the choker out of one and setting it on the bed beside the other things there, and Kenzie stepped toward him carefully, knowing what he wanted without him having to speak.

Duncan slid off the edge of the bed, onto his knees in front of her, as she stepped carefully into the heels, and his hands came out to the straps, tying them with aching gentleness. Kenzie’s little hands fell down into his hair, and he heard a tiny moan escape from her mouth. He could see their reflection in the mirror behind her--the panties were entirely transparent in the back, showcasing her round little ass, kindling the desire growing low in the pit of his belly. God, I love your round little ass, baby, and you told me you want me to spank you, fuck. He looked away from the mirror, back up into her eyes, finishing one heel in a double-knot, his hands moving to the other ankle, meticulous and slow. As he finished, Duncan’s lips fell against the sheer stocking, his mouth moving up to the bare stretch of thigh between the straps on her legs--and Kenzie’s head fell back, a tiny, whimpering cry escaping her now.

He lifted his head up from his kisses, hands gripping into the bottom of her ass now, his eyes turned to her face. Kenzie smelled like roses and vetiver, but there was a muskiness underneath her perfume that reminded Duncan of the way he’d sometimes felt looking at The Youth of Bacchus alone in the middle of the night, the sleepless midnights he’d studied it to low music coming from his turntable, his mind hazy with bourbon and animalistic lust. The Bacchanalia. The revelry of the wine god. Wantonness. Your need for me, my love. “Okay, baby. Turn around now, and walk to the mirror, and lift your hands up to the chain, and hold it.”

“Uh huh, baby.” Kenzie’s voice was shiveringly low--and the supplicant edge in it made Duncan feel as though the seams of his mind were being pulled apart. This angel is going to unravel into soft sweet spools of pleasure into my hands and I don’t know if I can stand it. Kenzie turned towards the mirror--Duncan saw the flush rebound in her cheeks as she looked at herself fully there, and despite her shyness, he could tell she liked what she saw, liked herself with a desirous approval. That’s right, baby, you look fucking beautiful, and you know you do. That’s right. She stepped carefully to where the chain extended down, still staring at herself, a smile falling across her mouth, her lips painted lightly pink, and her eyes came back up into his in their mirror as she reached up to where the chain hung just above her, her grip loose and languid, her mouth opening a little, her little body stretching in the tulle lingerie just enough to bring a heady wave of need through his mind again.

“I’m gonna tie you to that hook now, baby.” Duncan continued to stare at her, reaching for the velvet ribbon from the corner of his eye in the mirror’s reflection, standing up. Kenzie couldn’t seem to suppress her grin--she bit into her lip as he approached her from behind, his mouth hovering just at her neck, but not touching her. She moaned a little, needy. “And then I’m gonna strap this tight around your little neck,” and his fingers trailed down the rose choker’s soft leather strap, now clutched tightly in his fist, his eyes inside hers. “And when you’re tied up nice and tight, baby--only then will I kiss you,” he whispered into her skin, and he watched a shiver extend up her back, the smile slipping away from her mouth, but she still bit into her lip, harder now, her breath more harsh. Duncan turned his eyes up to where the chain hung down, her little fingers twined in it--he placed the choker carefully on the floor beside them, then reached up with the ribbon, his fingers brushing against hers now, and she shivered again--then he pushed the end of the ribbon through one of the chain’s links, then across to the other that hung down beside it. He pulled the ribbon through until its length was evenly distended, then he crossed the two ends and brought the first one around Kenzie’s left wrist, twisting it around her twice--then did the same with her other wrist, and then he brought the two ends together with a yank, so Kenzie’s wrists were pressed together, tethered to the chain with just enough of a stretch to make her little chest rebound with a gasp. Then Duncan tied the two ends at the bottom of her wrists, now pressed together, in a firm double-knot.

“Try to move your wrists, baby.”

Kenzie pulled down, struggling against her constraints. Her wrists stayed tightly bound, her body now prostrate in the mirror, lifted up so he could see every inch of her in the white-and-transparent-tulle ensemble, and Duncan couldn’t help but feel hot, aching arousal at the power he knew he had over her in this moment--now, you’re mine.

“Baby,” Kenzie breathed. “The straps are underneath my panties--so you can slip them off without having to unclip the suspender. So you can fuck me with everything else still on.”

Duncan’s eyes fluttered close at her words--another surge of need through the length of his cock, staggering him. “I’m gonna strap your choker on now, baby.” He watched her breath catch as her shoulder blades rose and fell, a little more labored now with the effort to breathe with her arms lifted above her head, and he leaned down to grasp it, unbuckling it carefully with measured, slow precision, their eyes locked. The choker came unbuckled with an oiled silence--Duncan lifted it around her chin and he saw her eyes flash, seem to spin (the universe inside her, turning, colossal, its greatness focused on me) as he carefully pressed its smooth underside against the white, delicate rise of her neck. Kenzie breathed in, once, sharply--her mouth fell open, and her breath rattled out, overwhelmingly fragile and gossamer-slight. Duncan steadied his mind and the surge of heat to his groin, then brought the buckle around the back, deftly pulling the strap through the metal trappings, one end, then the other, and culled it until the choker was stretched tight around her, the rose winking below her jaw in the clear-golden sheen of the mirror. Duncan tugged it one more time--Kenzie gasped a little at the tightness, but didn’t protest.

“Good, baby, good,” he murmured into her ear, his hand coming around to trail down the rose, down the strap below her jaw, checking that it wouldn’t constrict her airway too much--checking that it was tight enough--snug to the point of the edge. “Baby, you’re doing so good--you’re my angel baby, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, baby, Duncan, yes, I’m yours. I’m yours, my Prince.”

“Kenzie. Okay. I’m gonna take your panties off now. And then I’m going to kiss you.”

“Yes, baby, please.” The desperate longing in her voice--Kenzie was begging now, her little mouth dipping open, her eyes shining. He could see tears at the edges of them--”Please kiss me, baby.” God, that rose. My little rose. My achingly sweet Persephone, supine in my hands.

Duncan brought his hands, gently, to the edges of the achingly delicate panties, and then he slid them, carefully, quickly, down from her hips, exposing the smooth hairlessness of her vulva, glimmering with moisture, and the cheeks of her round ass, shivering under his gaze, the bottom of her golden hair brushing against the small of her back. Kenzie stepped out of them as he brought them down around her feet in the little golden heeled sandals, kneeling again--this time he pressed his mouth into the delicate space at the back of her knee, and Kenzie’s leg buckled, a moan falling out of her, this one louder and full of need, her head coming back and her wrists straining against the velvet. “Ahh, baby--”

“Shhhhh,” he soothed, looking at her in the mirror, the shiver of her breasts in the sheer tulle, the tightness of the straps on her thighs, the tiny dip of her waist wrapped in the tailored suspender, the wonderful curve of her hourglass shape. “Shhhhh, baby, we’re just getting started. Stay with me, Kenzie.”

“Uhh, Duncan--”

Duncan kissed further up her thigh until his lips pressed into the round softness of her asscheek--she leaned back into his mouth, her eyes rolling upwards--Duncan bit softly into the flesh there, his fingers twining through the straps along either edge of her backside, and she cried out a little again, softly. He worked his way up, his mouth pressing into the small of her back and then up the delicate incline of her spine, pushing her hair aside with a firm hand, gripping it with a delicate, possessive tightness. His other hand came around to the silky tulle around her breasts, caressing her with a slowly building need, feeling around her hard nipples, a heady roughness buried in his touch, and Duncan’s mouth pressed into her shoulder blades, first one, then the other, then into the nape of her neck where he could feel the hairs there prickling under the choker as she shivered, her head dipped to the side, her eyes half-lidded, lost in the sensation of his touch. He moved around to face her, glancing at them in the mirror for a moment (we looking fucking good together baby--you’re my goddess of spring, aching and open and bursting into bloom, I’m your god of shadows and riches, I’m yours entire), then turning to her.

“I’m going to take the rest of my clothes off, then I’m going to kiss you more, baby.”

“Okay,” she whispered, “Show me that gorgeous cock, baby.” Kenzie’s wrists strained around her confinement again--her eyes shimmered at him, full of lust now, and he could see the way the choker was laboring her breathing--flushing her cheeks, forcing her mouth to hang open.

Duncan leaned back, his back touching the coldness of the mirror behind him--and he lazily pulled at his waistband, pushing the chinos down until they pooled at his ankles, kicking them away, eyes buried in the sight of her, shivering, wrapped in velvet ties, strapped into transparent tulle, gold hair in the light, pink lips open for him, the choker gripping her throat. Time to frustrate you, my little angel, all tied up and about to get fucked so hard--but not quite yet.

He dipped his hand down into his tight black briefs, biting his lip a little, staring into her liquid eyes--Duncan moaned as his fingers fell along his erection, its mound straining through the fabric--Kenzie whimpered, eyes fluttering and he grinned at her.

“You like that, huh, angel? You like watching me touch myself?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Yes. I love it.”

“I’m gonna fuck you hard, baby.”

“Uh huh.” Kenzie’s mouth opened more, and her little tongue came out to lick along her bottom lip, her labored breathing making her shoulder blades cascade up and down, her stomach shudder, her thighs shiver. “Please, baby. Please fuck me, baby.”

He pushed the briefs off with a lazy hand, slowly, the other one still gripping his length--a sigh of pleasure fell out of Kenzie’s mouth as her eyes fell over his nakedness, and Duncan let go of his cock, leaning off the mirror and standing straight, the better to absorb her gaze, loving the way her gold-flecked eyes roved up and down his thick length, hungry for him. His hands came against her hips, gripping her against him with a heavy demand, and he pressed his erection flat against her stomach, his mouth coming against hers and his tongue pressing against her tongue, probing into her insistently--he felt her buckle downwards again, shuddering, and pulled her little body up into him with strong hands, dipping one down between her legs, his fingers pushing up into the wetness of her cunt, one finger, then two, then three, and Kenzie arched into his kiss, her eyes closed and the moans now falling out of her in a steady, soft wave. “You’re mine, aren’t you, angel,” he asked as his mouth crashed against hers (sweet honey, wine, spiced nectar), and heard her murmurs and her probes into his mind “Yes, I fucking am,” I belong to you beloved, “I’m yours baby,” Fucking fuck me now baby, “I’m yours forever, I belong to you,” Gimme that cock baby, gimme that big cock, I need you so fucking much, I’m your baby, your angel, I’m fucking weak for you, I can feel myself coming undone--

Duncan broke away from her, loathe to do so but eager for the other things he’d left on the bed--Kenzie whined as he stepped away from her to grip the plug and the egg--he came back around to face her, his back to the mirror again, clutching them both with one hand, and the other hand came out to grip onto her neck harshly against the metal and the leather, pressing her mouth roughly into his again, hushing her lamentations and her need. “Shhhh, baby, be calm. Stay calm. We have a ways to go. Shhhhh, breathe.”

Duncan loosened his grip on her neck and Kenzie sucked in a deep breath--it shuddered out and he felt the pressure of her under his finger tips, the shiver of her throat and the leather and her skin. “I love your hand there, baby,” she murmured, a dazed sheen in her eyes. “I just love that so much.”

“I love you, baby,” he whispered, dipping his face down to hers so his lips hovered over hers, without letting them touch. “To touch you is...heaven. To touch you everywhere like this--it’s fucking heaven. You tell me if anything is too much, okay?”

“Mhmm, baby.”

“I’m gonna touch you more, okay? Kiss me.”

Duncan let his mouth fall down on hers again; Kenzie lifted up into him, her tongue pressing into him again, and his hand came down from her neck to fondle at her breast under the tulle, then he kissed along her jaw and her neck and into the dip of her clavicle and his lips pressed into the tulle around her nipple as his hand went between her bare thighs again, his fingers going into her cunt and emerging wet with her arousal, and he slid his index finger up into her clit, lubricating her as he bit softly into the fabric that covered her breast, and she keened up into him, crying up towards where the hook was now buried in the ceiling. Duncan probed into her cunt again, and then his wet fingers slid back to the pucker of her ass and pressed inside, wetting it with her need, too--back and forth, until everything under his fingers was shuddering and soaking wet, and then he slid the plug into her cunt for a moment--wetting it too, Kenzie rocking back and forth in her constraints--then pushed it into her ass as he stared into her eyes and her mouth lifted up to him and she let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a moan--he shushed her with his lips, kissing her deeply, soothingly, sending calming waves of gold-silver into her from the center of himself, and he felt her soften under him, felt her soothe, felt her calm inside the intensity of the moment.

“Okay, baby, breathe,” he whispered into her again, and Kenzie nodded, wrists straining a little against the velvet again, hair shimmering, eyes wide--he pressed gently into the jeweled end of the plug and she shivered, but didn’t cry out this time, biting into her lip. “I’m gonna use this on you now.” He opened his palm with the pink egg inside it. “And then I’m gonna fuck your sweet little pussy. And then I’m gonna fuck your tight little ass.” He pressed against her again, hands clutching at her asscheeks, spreading them out from the plug, making her gasp. “And you’re gonna tell me when to spank you. And you’re gonna tell me when to stop, okay? Okay, baby? And I’m gonna do what you say. And I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, Kenzie, my Kenzie, I love you--”

“Yes, baby, fuck yes, yes, I love you,” Kenzie was shuddering helplessly again.

“Breathe, baby, just breathe, okay? Remember to breathe.”

“Uh huh, okay--” Kenzie blinked rapidly, shook her head a little as if to clear the haze away, and  Duncan thought fuck, Kenzie, I fucking love you so fucking much, I love you so much, I love you, I love you and then he turned the knob on the egg and the rounded end hummed with vibration and he brought it up, carefully but pointedly, into the mound of her clit between her legs--Kenzie jerked forward, lifting her neck, her eyes drifting upwards again and then into his, her mouth open and her moan immediate. “Dunny--baby--fuck, I can’t--fuck, that feels--uhhhh--” and with that Duncan moved around behind her, clutching the egg harshly against her as she keened back into him, her moans rising in intensity, and he looked up at her in the mirror now, looked at her little wrists tied tightly into the velvet, looped through the chain that hung from the sturdy hook far above them, gazed over the cascade of her soft chestnut hair and her eyes, half-lidded, overcome, staring into his over her shoulder, the white fall of her arms extended helplessly, the flash of the silvery rose under her chin and the tight strap of the leather buckled tightly against her neck, the erotic loveliness of her body in the lingerie, fitted against her with its achingly tight touch, the straps at her thighs and the bareness between her legs where he pressed the egg between her lips on the round bud of her clit, her slender legs in the sheer stockings and her little feet strapped into the golden heels, and his lust crested into the front of his mind and he pushed himself, dripping with precum and painfully hard and raw, into the wet canal between the plug inside her little ass and the rise of her clit, an impossibly warm space that seemed as though it was made for him and him alone.

“Duncan, fuck me,” he heard her voice, suddenly very clear and very demanding, a clear command that he knew he had to obey, knew he would obey fully, and pressing the egg harshly into her clit Duncan pounded his length in and out of Kenzie with a primitive concentration that demanded he remove any other thought from his mind--there was nothing for awhile but the two of them locked together, Duncan staring into the shape of her in the mirror, this mirror like a spell that’s weaving us together even more tightly, even more utterly, irrevocably, a spell around our sex that will make us close beyond all earthly pleasure, fucking her with an intensity of sensation that left them both speechless and unable to feel the reality of anything except the press of his thick length into the stretch of her cunt, up into her, so deep he wondered if he’d ever reemerge. Duncan’s hand shuddered and he dropped the egg from her clit--”I need to touch you baby, I want to touch you--” he murmured, and Kenzie nodded, her mouth open, her moans returning, sucked back into her lungs. “I’m so--fuck, baby, I’m so--god, you feel--like we’re locked together--”

“I know baby, I know--fuck--”

Duncan pressed his middle finger into her clit, rubbed back and forth, wetting it with her arousal, slicked along the space between the lips of her--let his finger fall down to the opening where his cock was pounding into her, unceasingly--back up into her clit, and his other hand coming up to her neck again, his mouth biting down into her shoulder. Kenzie let out a little scream of pleasure--one that reverberated in his skull like someone had rung a giant bell right next to his ear, and Duncan pressed his hand into her neck more harshly, cutting off her cries--”Shhhh, baby, be inside it with me--breathe, feel me, feel all of it--”

Kenzie quieted, and he could feel her throat working under his hand, trying to catch her breath--he loosened his grip and she gasped, and as he fucked her, pounding his entire length into her again and again he pushed his index and middle fingers roughly into her mouth. “Suck, baby, suck,” he demanded, and he watched her eyes flutter open and shut as her lips closed around his skin, doing as he instructed needily, a thin line of saliva dripping down the side of her mouth as his palm gripped around her chin, his mouth at the space under her ear, open and desperate for her, his senses overwhelmed in her.

“I’m gonna fuck your ass now baby, okay--” and he watched her nod in the mirror, knew she wanted him to, and Duncan pulled out of her and waited for a moment, lifting her down a little, his mouth staying there, breathing into her skin, and he moved his hand down to grip at the plug gently--he felt the pressure against his hand as she pushed it out of her, and Duncan dropped it on the floor, instantly forgotten. Then he took a deep breath and stared at her--her expression was dazed and her eyelids fluttered again, and then she nodded to him again as he pulled his fingers out of her mouth. “Do it, baby,” she said. “And spank me.”

Duncan positioned the head of his cock at the entrance of Kenzie’s tight little asshole--then he pressed into her, his eyes rolling back--Kenzie let out another little aching cry, but this one was more controlled, edged with a demand for pleasure--that’s it, baby, Duncan thought into her, feel it with me, I know you’re doing it now, it’s like we’re coming together, against each other, blending into each other--and then he brought his palm down, flat and insistent, on her right asscheek with a loud snap.

“Oh fuck yes, Duncan,” Kenzie said, and her voice was demanding now, as he moved his cock in and out of the impossible tightness of her, her eyes full of such an intensity of gold he felt mesmerized by them, utterly unable to look away. “Do it again.”

Duncan brought his hand up, hovering for a moment, then back down again with even more force--the snap that reverberated off Kenzie’s skin echoed up into the high ceiling and Kenzie gasped, the sound of her sharp and heavy in his ears. “Yes. Fucking yes. Again.”

Duncan’s eyes drifted closed--fuck baby, that makes me so fucking hard. Fuck, that unravels me into a thousand strands, your commands, your ecstasy at this from me. He steeled himself, then lifted his left hand this time--he brought it down at an angle, and as his slap reverberated off her skin he saw the immediately outline of his hand begin to form there--the harsh red marks on her right were forming as well. “Fuuuuuuck me,” Kenzie moaned, and Duncan continued to plunge himself in and out of her--let it go, let it all go, he thought into her, let everything that isn’t us go, baby, your little wrists in velvet, your body in silken bindings and dark leather at your perfect throat, your needs prostrate against my needs, our souls pressing into each other, baby--Duncan brought his hand down against her left asscheek three more times in quick succession until Kenzie was whimpering on the edge of tears--”Baby, should I stop--” he said, breathing harshly--

“No, baby, no, don’t stop, don’t stop--”

Duncan sucked in a deep breath, his body shuddering--he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on now, such was the grinding need gnawing into him from where the lips of her impossibly tight ass were gripping at his cock--and he hesitated, loathe to hurt her, even for her pleasure. “Please, just a little more, baby,” she murmured as he did, and then Kenzie’s eyes met his in the mirror again and she said “Do as I say, baby, fucking spank me,” and he moved his hand up over her right cheek again and brought it down three times in quick succession, each one harder than the last, and she gasped and shuddered and she said “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” and then Kenzie was looking into his eyes through the mirror’s crystalline surface as she screamed and lifted herself back into him, straining against her bound wrists, and Duncan moved his face down to the space beneath her ear again and continued to fuck her as he watched the spasm of her cunt, watched the wetness of her release drip down her legs in the reflection, watched her eyes flutter closed and then he was coming deep inside her and groaning into her neck, the sweet sweat of her on his tongue, one hand pressed tightly to her clit, the other coming up into her hair and twisting there. “Baby, Kenzie, sweet angel, beloved, Kenzie, princess, baby love--” his words bled out of him until he couldn’t stop, murmuring every sweetness he could think of into her as she gasped, and the muskiness of her was overwhelming to him, and he felt lost in it as if she were a sky full of stars and he were floating inside her vastness, untethered, minute. Then he came back to himself and pulled out of her, watching the thin line of come that fell out of the head of his cock, down his thigh and the inside of the back of her leg, dripping down the space behind her knee. 

Duncan immediately reached up and worked at the knots that pushed Kenzie’s wrists together--he could see how she was sagging against them, her knees shaking, and he worked quickly to untether her--as he lifted her down from the chain Kenzie seemed to collapse down toward the floor, and Duncan reached behind her shoulders, bringing her gently earthwards where she hovered in his arms, her face turned against him, her cheek resting on his bare chest as he looked down at her, worried, gently clasping her wrist, red with the harshness of her straining, and kissed it again and again--lifted her other wrist to mouth to repeat the motions, over and over, fretting over her. His hand came up to work at the buckle around her neck, quickly pulling the choker away--he moaned a little to see the red marks it had left on her throat, his fingers coming up to massage her there, watching the shudder of her breathing--

“Kenzie, are you okay, is everything okay, your body--”

“Yes, baby,” her voice was tiny but she gave him a sleepy smile, her eyes fluttering open. “Yes, Dunny, I’m okay. I feel amazing.”

He smiled down at her with relief--then Duncan lifted her up and carried her to the bed, laying her with aching softness on top of the duvet, eyes still roving over her face with concern, hands coming down to the laces of her heels, undoing them carefully and quickly with soft hands, dropping the shoes on the floor. God, was that okay, is she okay, she seems like she’s on the verge of passing out, is she really okay--

Kenzie’s eyes snapped open--they were surprisingly clear suddenly, and she looked down at him, cocking her head on the pillow.

“My green tea ice cream!” she said, suddenly. “I want it.”

Duncan gave her a puzzled look, winced, then burst into a peal of laughter.

“Kenzie. Baby. Fuck. Kenzie. You are...you’re the most wonderful person I have ever known, Mackenzie Stone.”

She smiled at him, her eyes hazy-bright, and he felt her push her love into him--resplendent and approving and satisfied--and then Kenzie shut her eyes again.

“Thank you, baby. I feel the same way about you. Now, can you go get me my ice cream, please?”

[a-curious-wednesday]

Embrace

[A Destiny short story]

The Titan grimaced as he fought back the phantom pangs of pain.  He coughed up lubricant as he struggled to a knee. The helmet he wore had fractured along the faceplate.  Where once a skeletal face had been exquisitely etched; showcasing beauty in the macabre, now a large, jagged gash crisscrossed.  From the right temple of the helm, it spread, like a fissure. Exposed beneath was the Titan’s exotic, robotic visage. His coloring had dulled and chipped over the years, exposed to the elements and unending battle.  The black stripe that once proudly bisected his skeletal visage was now dinged, scratched and punctured. Sparks flickered beneath the protective casing. His twin horns, which sat upon his brow, small and snubbed, were fractured and cracked.  His eye socket lain bare, exposed as lubricant leaked from the ruined luminescent orange eye.

Erath coughed.  There was no need for the motion, as he did not breathe air, but it was a reflexive mannerism that most exos displayed.  The vestigial remains of his once flesh and blood body and life. He remembered what pain felt like. He’d felt it a few times since he became exo or so he assumed. Since his first resurrection, he had most assuredly experienced that dreadful sensation. When the Red Legion invaded and stole the Light, it hurt. Like a dismal ache that never left, it stung. That pain of being severed from the Light of the Traveler still burned in him, hollowing him out and filling him with quiet fear.  When the Worm God Xöl let him taste the Deep, he had felt the crushing pressure of that other dimensional plane close in around him. Felt it push upon him, felt it crush his metallic form. He still had nightmares about the experience. And now, as he laid strewn between some barren rock in the reef and a pocket dimension, he felt it again.

The soldier moved his mauled right arm. It was heavy. So very heavy. The armor he wore so proudly, given to him by the Vanguard Zavala himself; those vambraces and pauldrons that were inspired by the lost amor worn by patrons of the Followers of Osiris were absolutely ruined.  His one good eye surveyed the stump of his right arm. Sparks of energy and a rainfall of lubricant poured from the gaping wound. Erath felt lightheaded. He struggled for air, as if his chest were caved in. And, indeed, it was punctured by a steel beam. The mimetic savior plate he’d worn for so long, a gift from his dear and departed friend had been pierced.   He’d been run though like a hot knife through a sheet of paper. The feeling was profoundly brutal.

The beam that pierced his chest had been broken, severed in two by the Titan himself.  He had refused to remain impaled to that abandoned Awoken structure. Erath groaned, spilling more of his precious lubricant from his broken mouth.

“Phe-Phoebe,” he sputtered.  There was no response. Dark shapes danced about him, encroaching on him.  “Phoebe?” he called again.

His ghost was gone.  He had cast her aside before the battle had pitched.  Cayde’s death still freshly stung. Sundance was an amazing friend to all, and the perfect counter to the cavalier Cayde.  She did not deserve her fate. When Erath heard what happened to Cayde and Sundance, he had followed the Guardian.  Trailed that legend.  Shadowed that hero. He knew he wasn’t the only one.  Many other Guardians disobeyed Zavala, forming a secret movement of sorts that blatantly disobeyed their Commander.  Erath had never guessed he’d be one of them. He had always considered himself loyal to the Vanguard, even when they didn’t see eye-to-eye.  Erath had been too young to take the field during the Battle of Six Fronts. He and all the other recently exhumed and reincarnated Guardians had been forced to defend the City from within.  He’d stood guard over four neighborhoods with 3 other revenants. Together they patrolled their ward, providing peace and comfort to its denizens. All the while, he could hear Zavala, Lords Shaxx and Saladin fight and die.

And yet, as he laid there dismembered and dying, he did not regret his choice.  Avenging Cayde and Sundance had been his most sacred charge. Cayde was friend to so many risen and Guardians.  Mascot for their peoples, hero to the public. Everything the man did, he did with a smile, with grace and ease.  He made adventuring and hero-work look easy. Erath would be lying to say he hadn’t looked up to Cayde as a sort of brother, mentor and dear friend.  His feelings towards the heralded Guardian were slightly different. The man earned his status.  First among Guardians was he.  First to drive the Hive back on Luna, First to put down the Fallen Houses and recapture Skolas, First to unlock the means to become Ascendant and kill a God.  He was first, but not last. He forged paths, blazed trails. Threats ended by him refused to die out, though. The Hive pushed back on Luna. Erath had been there to stem their tide.  The disassembled Houses arose under new leadership and regrew in strength. Erath had hunted the worst of their flock, aiding to keep them in check. Erath had answered the call and joined the main force that assaulted the Dreadnought.  Helping to push back the endless horde and close the paracausal portals. He had even fought The Taken King Oryx, first in his native plane and then in Oryx’s throne world. Yet, the God never lingered in death. And the duty sapped more of him with each new attempt.

Erath had been among those braves who’d taken up the charge of the fallen Iron Lords, rising to be among those called “Young Wolves.”  He was among Lord Saladin’s most trusted and privy to ancient arms and legacy. Erath had fought and survived so much, faced insurmountable odds, looked death in the face and laughed gleefully.  Not this time.

The Mindbender had proved to be something else entirely.  He’d woven his way into Erath’s head, distracting and weakening the deeply scarred Titan.  Filling his visions with illusions of past lives lived, yet unlived; loved ones unremembered and remembered.  The tragedy and sorrow he experienced as he struggled to fight this villain had proven to be his undoing. And Erath knew it.  Avenging Cayde and Sundance had become personal, blinded him, unsettled him. The Mindbender knew this and capitalized on it. He’d raided Erath’s mind from the moment he’d arrived on the Shore.  Despite knowing that the ‘Bender did this to his brethren of lesser mental fortitude, Erath hadn’t worried. He’d wrongly assumed he’d dealt with his issues. With the death of so many of his friends and loved ones.  Dealt with the lives he’d lived, but would never remember. Dealt with the knowledge that a family, his family, laid in their graves somewhere, unremembered, unmourned. Erath thought himself a wall, but was arrogant to the cracks upon its surface.  The Mindbender used those cracks to worm his way within. And now Erath was dying.

A wave of comfort washed over him.  A sense of peace. There was comfort in death.  He wondered if Cayde felt it? If, at long last, Cayde could put down his gun and rest.  He could slip back into Death’s embrace. It would be nice to fight no more. To die no more.  One final death was all that was required of Erath. Just one more time. All he need do was to let go and it would all be over.  Never mind the memories of his friends and family. Never mind the whispers of lives unlived. Peace in death awaited him. And yet.  There was the Mindbender who twisted his way through Erath’s mind. Even now, he could feel the Scorn Baron clawing at his mind. He could feel the thralls slashing him, pulling at his armor, ripping it away.  A spark of flame smouldered like the last dregs of a campfire refusing to go out. Defiant of the wind and the dirt and the forces upon it, it belligerently smouldered. And, as the ancient soldier laid there, dying and broken, that spark began to grow.  Brighter and fiercer did its embers burn until it began to consume the old Exo.

Erath refused to go out this way.  Refused to be beaten by an abominable Eliksni that weaved Hive magic with science and Fallen ingenuity.  Erath would not spend the rest of eternity as food for this Ascendant realm, kept in a state of undeath and agony.  This realization fueled the embers, growing them into a fire that bloomed into an inferno of righteous indignation and fury.  The last of his Light came to him with verve and vehemence. Erath embraced it warmly, like a lost lover or his forgotten mother.  The flames broiled from within, bursting without. They seethed from his mangled frame and dismembered arms. They seethed and roared and roasted those thralls that set upon him.  Tendrils of righteous fire licked from his eyes as Erath loosed a mighty bellow. The ferocity of his roar was such that the nearby Acolytes dived towards the nearest cover they could find, pushing aside thrall, knight, dreg and vandal.  The weak cowered from this mighty incarnate of fury. Cowered from the flames that encased him. Cowered as the flames took shape, as the last of his light repaired his damaged arms so that they might, for one final time, wield that great, fiery maul.

Erath bellowed again and took a bracing stance.  He was lost to the flames, to the Light, to the need to burn this putrid throne world from existence or die with extinguished might.  This would be his final gambit. He would burn brightest before flickering out. He would embrace. The furious maul took shape and form.  Its haft appearing between his hands, the weight familiar, comforting. Its head burst into existence, one end flat and scarred, the other tapered to a point, sharp and angry.  It was the maul of his mentor and closest companion. It was Ariadne’s. From beneath the shattered helm, he grinned such a Cheshire grin. The Light provided!

He leaned forward, putting all his strength into his legs, tensing and releasing.  He shot forth like a round from a magnetic rifle. His greaves, those trusty dunemarchers, collecting and storing ambient energy and friction from his charge.  His prey was everywhere, his joy: boundless. He launched himself at the nearest foe, the knight who’d ripped his arm off. Erath slammed into the knight with such velocity that the undead thing disintegrated into sparks and ash.  Erath threw himself into the nearest foe, a cluster of weaklings. He swung his massive maul, his tribute to Ariadne around effortlessly, melting foes around him, their screams choking in their mouths. His inner flame grew brighter still.  From cluster to cluster her careened, smashing his foes and releasing static charges. His prey became electrified gouts of flame before bursting to ash. Those who fled from him, met his hammer. It was a traditional Sunbreaker’s hammer and he flung it about with unerring accuracy.

The Mindbender, whom, until now had been languishing in his presumptive victory began to feel, for the first time, in a while, excitement and fear.  Here, at last, was a challenge. A Guardian worth breaking. A will worth bending. “Yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YES!” He cried rushing forward, his lesser arms moving in mystical patterns to cast Hive magic.  The void began to form around this abomination as two wills rushed each other. Whose was stronger?

Erath caught sight of his prey.  The fool!  He cried with a sneer.  At the charge of the Mindbender, his subordinates were roused.  They rose from their cover to fire upon the crazed cyclone of fire and lightning.  It mattered not. The blasts of energy that weren’t outright melted by the heat of Erath’s inferno did not faze him.  Nothing stopped his assault. He decimated foe after foe, line after defensive line of enemies in his charge towards the Mind bender.  Gouts of cyclonic flames leapt forth from his mighty maul, travelling in whatever path Erath so chose. His grenades seemed endless and spewed torrents of raging fire forth to hammer and hamper his foes.  

The two mighty beings crashed into each other midfield with such force it sent a shockwave that wiped away all the weaker, lesser creatures.  Both beings stumbled back before quickly regaining their footing. They each charged back in, loosing mighty channels of void and void energy blasts, blazing cyclones that channeled with electricity struck out from the Guardian’s maul as he threw himself unendingly at the Mindbender.  There was no reprieve for the abomination and the thing began to realize this. The more ground he gave, the more furious Erath’s assault became and the brighter he burned. Before long, Erath’s armor had all but burned away. Its only remnants, his trusted dunemarchers. His ragged body exposed, it seemed a brief wonder to the Mindbender how this Exo was still alive.  He could not help, but marvel at how absolutely possessed this Titan was by the Light.

Erath felt no pain.  Instead, he was consumed by the righteous fire that burned within him.  He had slipped into a berserker state. A heightened state of combat that allowed a warrior to shrug off mortal wounds and keep fighting.  He waylaid the Mindbender with unbridled, relentless fury. Each mighty blow from his maul hammered the Eliksni abomination, staggering the giant, wavering his resolve.  Yet, the Mindbender took joy from this. This struggle. This contest of might and power. He reveled in it and what came after. How he would enjoy the thrall this berserked Titan would make!  To twist such a proud warrior and bend him to his will! Oh, the thrill!

The Sunbreaker had other plans in mind.  Even now, as he mauled his prey with earthshattering blows, he could feel the fiend searching for a way into his mind, to burrow himself deeper.  Erath knew his wall would not last much longer, but he had faith. Faith that the Light would not fail him until the deed was done. Faith that he would not become pawn and food for this horrid creature.  He would allow his faith to carry him this day. He burned brighter for it. The two rained mighty blows upon each other, sending out smaller shockwaves of pressure as they carried out their assaults. Magic and void ceaselessly fell upon Erath, yet with each assault, they were rebuffed and returned tenfold.  The Mindbender was on the defensive, only able to turn aside the very worst of the Sunbreaker’s tremendous strikes. Their macabre dance torn asunder this throne world.

Pockets of Dark energy apparated into this reality, forming gelatinous pools of murky energy that moved of its own volition.  Those tendrils reached out and toward the Light, grasping vainly at nothing. Erath knew it would be the end of him if he got caught in one of those pools.  So, he leapt above them. Each one he could not sidestep, he jumped over only to bear down his maul with ferocious might. A cascading streak of solar energy invariably appeared and would careen recklessly towards the Mindbender, burning all in its path.  The ensuing cyclone that formed upon its connection was glorious! It burned away the ‘Bender’s will and armor. He became desperate. In his desperation, he gathered as much of the void to himself as he could and released it in a mighty explosion.

Erath took the brunt of the blast head on and was sent flying backwards.  He bounced upon the ascendant terrain like a ragdoll, his solar flames snuffed out.  An overwhelming wave of fatigue washed over the Titan. He could feel the end upon him.  Erath could barely move, let alone keep his eyes open. Yet, Ariadne’s maul remained, clutched in his hand, smouldering darkly and undiminished.  The exo heaved and hacked, his body battered by grievous injuries. His unfocused gaze had fallen upon that maul. He watched it for a time, unable to move.  Comfort and solace greeted him as he gazed upon it. He could hear her in his ears; feel her touch upon his shell.

Great void portals popped into this reality.  Many and massive, they crushed the air around them with their unnatural gravities.  Entities spilled forth uncountable. Many were knights, both brave and true and cowardly.  Their sins mattered not to the Mindbender. He cared not for those who had defied the Sword Logic.  He cared only that they were strong and would fight for him. Warped fallen joined him. Vandals and disgraced Captains all.  Scattered among the horde were the Scorn. Those unnatural, undead and twisted Eliksni. How they unsettled this Titan.

“Just a little bit longer,” he declared between gasps, a triumphal glare upon his broken visage.

The Sunbreaker summoned every ounce of willpower he had and order himself to stand.  His body obeyed and the flames returned, rekindled and renewed. A guttural cry broke the frenzied battle chatter, disrupting the bickering of the circling Hive Knights and calculating Captains.  The visible mirth that once lit the Mindbender’s face fell away. Massive, grotesque creatures fell from the biggest portals. The thundered as they landed, wailing with excruciating pain. Their scarred and tormented forms moved in constant flux.  Ogres. Erath’s glare became a wicked grin. He gathered all his courage, all his might and threw himself, maul and all into a spin. Knights melted to ash before him, creating space for him to move. He came out of that spin into a vicious charge, sparks of electricity forming in his wake.  The Titan slammed into clustered prey that stood between him and the Mindbender. Fire and lightning mated happily, burning away all opposition.

Before long, pitched battlefield had risen in intensity.  Every rifle, every spell, every ray of vicious energy fell upon the charging Titan.  The worst of it, Erath’s flames absorbed, spreading the trauma across him. He was upon the ‘Bender, maul swinging wildly, voice echoing across this throne world, ash and ichor falling upon him like soot in the rain.  The Scorn Baron recoiled, but found no reprieve. Yet, Erath’s flames began to diminish. They grew less wild, more focused. His body became more exposed as he became consumed, once again, by his berserker state.

Erath was overwhelming the Mindbender, hunting him across his extraplanar dimension.  Each time, the Mindbender tried to summon assistance, Erath was there, upon him crushing his focus.  It went on this way for what felt like eons. Finally, Erath bludgeoned the Mindbender to fiery ash and within an instance found himself once again upon the mortal plane, within a crashed section of the Dreadnought that had washed upon the ‘Shore.  The fires had fully extinguished in an instance and Erath collapsed upon his knees. The skeletal frames of his arms remained, but were charred to beyond recognition. He gingerly raised his hands to his battered eyes, to gaze upon them one final time.  A gust of wind revealed they were ash and he watched, through blurred vision as his arms wafted away, carried upon that breeze. Erath sighed heavily, the relief and triumph existing his wrecked frame. He closed his eyes and let go.

>>Embrace the Praxic Fire!<< He heard his old friend decry and sneered.

[yourladyocs]

Hard mode: emoji asks for Vesta !

Oooo! Challenge Accepted! 

(I am going to do older Vesta (around 15). But if this time line changes, the answers might change)

🐰 what is one secret that you’ve never told anyone?

That I actually miss my family. Sure they weren’t the greatest, but I love them. I almost regret running away as many times as I did. 

💗 if you could hug anyone, who would it be? 

My dad, Mort. 

🐹 what are some of your favourite Pokémon and why?

Mismagius! I love the aesthetic, but also feel like they are one of the Pokemon that would love me the greatest! 

🌠 if you were in charge of the world, what would the world look like?

I don’t want that responsibility. I guess it would be free and have a good value system. I am not very good at this type of thing and I don’t want to be. 

👀 what was the most recent vivid dream that you had?

That I was standing on a boat with the sea mist splashing on my face as I went sailing forth. I had no ties to hold me back, but yet I felt guilty. 

☀️ what do you like the most about your best friend?

My closest friends would be Ternelle and Ariadne. Personally, I love their drive and their freedom. They are the most care-free people I know, yet the most hardworking. And more importantly, they stop and take care of each other. They stop and love each other. I don’t know if this is true, but I think the reason I like them so much is because they stop and share that love with me. It’s silly I know! :p

😘 talk about your crush or partner

I have several. Its a whirlwind to keep them all under control, but I do it. 

💁 if someone was rude to you, would you be rude back?

I probably just accept it and move on. I will sing a jam about them later to get back tho. Everyone will know about the rude thing you did to me! 

🌟 what do you like about yourself? (must choose at least 3 things!)

I love me, but I don’t know specifics. I love my ability to play an instrument. I love the way I can fight. I love the way I move. 

🐾 what are you scared of most? how will you overcome it?

Being stuck in this town forever. I left obviously. 

🎁 what never fails to make you happy?

Hearing Uncle Ternelle play his music! Or Ariadne showing me the ships! Or listening to Cade talk about Mae! Or Mae talk about Cade! I love how Arthur hangs out with me sometimes! 

💙 what annoys you about some people?

That sometimes they can’t see the problem right in front of them. That some people are just blind to everything around them. 

😤 do you get angry easily?

I don’t like to think so. 

🐇 what do you always daydream about?

Escaping! Running Away! ...Trading parents...Living a new life... a happier one. 

🌻 if you could change 3 things about the world what would you change?

I would change the way the city is run. I would change the fact that are pirates attacking Ariadne. I would change the fact that I am a demigod. 

🍓 send me 4 names: kiss, befriend, kill or marry?

(I don’t really know how to answer this one.).

✈️ what is your dream city and why?

Any place far away from here. 

☕️ talk about your ideal day

When my parents are home and don’t fight. But thats a dream! A day I don’t get yelled at! Impossible! 

🌸 are you an introvert, ambivert or extrovert?

I don’t know dude. I am not social. I like sticking within my bubble. I guess I wave high to the kids at the university, but I haven’t hung out with them. I usually bug Arthur or Cade or Ternelle, etc. 

💧 when was the last time you cried?

Yesterday. 

🎵 name 5 songs you love at the moment

Friends- MarshmeloI’m Born to Run - American AuthorsThe Wolf- PhildelHeads Will Roll- Yeah Yeah YeahsRun or Hide- Run River North

⚡️ if you had any superpower, what would it be and why?

Teleportation or Invisibility because then I could run away with ease. 

💛 if you could talk to your younger self, what would you say?

Arthur is your best companion, but learn how to hide earlier. 

💚 who are you jealous of and why?

Any kid with a functional family. 

💎 which one would you rather have more of: intelligence, beauty, kindness, wealth or bravery? why?

Bravery because then you can stand up to the things you are afraid of instead of running away. Or you will have the courage to run away fully out of a bad situation. 

🙊 what are you ashamed of?

I mean I feel bad for running away, but I had to do it. 

🌺 which languages do you know? which do you want to learn?

Elvish, Common, and I am working on others! 

🍀 if you could be any fictional character’s best friend/lover, which fictional character would you be?

I would love to be Sophie’s, from Howl’s Moving Castle, best friend. 

☁️ talk about your dream universe.

Where the city didn’t fall into the ocean, so that way my mother wouldn’t be mayor of the city. 

💜 which acts of kindness are you going to do today?

Plan for the kids at the university or help in the tenements. 

🐬 if you could transform into any animal/magical creature, what would you be and why?

I would love to be a fairy! I would love the ability to flutter and explore small spaces. 

🍄 talk about someone/something you really dislike

Ohhhh.... I mean it would be mean to say. But I really truly dislike Ophelia. She may be my mother, but I wish she would pay some good attention to me. I don’t want her scolding me all the time. I don’t want her yelling at me, forcing me to wear this or that, or performing my tasks properly in a certain way. Just stop and tell me you love me for once!!

😣 talk about some things that have been making you depressed/angry/anxious lately

My home life has. 

🍪 what did you want to be as a kid, and what do you want to be now?

I as a kid wanted to be someone who impressed my parents. I wanted to be a cleric and then maybe they would love me. But now I realized that I want to be a bard and play music. 

🍰 what are some of your favourite sugary foods?

Vanilla Cake! 

🍑 what are you obsessed with?

Running-away seems to be a theme. I kid! I don’t have a current obsession. 

💘 what happens to you when you’re stressed?

I panic and flee. I have to get out of the situation now and run away. 

😪 what are you sick of?

These questions. I don’t want to keep stating this, but I am sick of my home life and running away. 

🙀 are you an adrenaline seeker?

I guess?

💥 what are some unpopular opinions that you have?

That you can be Lawful, but doesn’t always make you good. 

☔️ would you consider yourself a good person?

I am pretty neutral. 

😊 what do you like to do as hobbies?

I love playing my instrument! I got a violin. My mother wanted me to pick a ‘noble’ instrument. 

🎤 what’s the last song you hummed or sang by yourself?

Friends by Mashmelo and Anne-Marie

🐝 what’s your worst trait? how are you planning to improve it?

My lack of ability to stick in a stressful situation and solve the problem. I want to, but I don’t know if I can at this point. 

🎨 what do you always doodle when you’re bored?

Flowers and hearts! 

🐻 what’s stopping you from chasing your dreams?

Money? Attachment? A need for a family connection? My want to stay with my support system? Good answers. But really it’s my cowardice. 

🌷 what’s your mbti personality and why do you think it suits you?

ENFJ. I don’t know. I tend to put out my emotions, but also everyone is usually happy to see me. 

🐶 send me 3 fictional people and I’ll choose my favourite!

(can’t do this one)

👑 who are your favourite celebrities and why?

(she doesn’t know)

🐴 opinion on __?

On horses? I mean they are a mode of travel. 

🍋 do you consider yourself an emotional person?

Yes! Unfortunately. 

📚 share 3 books that you love and your favourite quote from them.

I only read education books. I don’t have very many good books outside of that.(I think she would like Madame Bovary, The Family Fang, Maupassant. “She cut him off. ‘You know what I said. If you’re not happy, you know where the door is. Nobody’s stopping you. But I’ve promised, and I’m going.’” from Femme Fatale by Maupassant).

😔 what do you always do when you feel sad? does it help?

I always play my instrument or practice fencing. Or I run-away and go hang out with Arthur or Ternelle. Of course it does! 

😌 what thoughts keep you going when you’re sad?

That there will be tomorrow. That tomorrow could be better. 

🌍 which country do you live in?

(Fictional world)

🐧 describe yourself in 3 words

Romantic, Wishful, Musician. 

🐵 which quotes changed you?

“Feel what is great, cherish the beautiful” or “Her will, the veil of her bonnet, held by a string, flutters in every wind” 

💭 do you keep a diary?

Nope! 

💫 who inspires you?

Ternelle and Cade. They got to live their lives and making the most of it. 

👻 do you believe in ghosts and why?

I mean... I haven’t met one. 

🎀 what’s your fashion sense like?

I wish I could wear pants! I hate dresses. I want to wear a suit. Like I want beige pants with a white shirt and some sort of vest. 

🎬 what are some of your favourite films?

I don’t know!(Madame Bovary probably. Or some sort of run-away story).

🍦 what is one treasured childhood memory?

I remember the one time Ternelle taught me to play an instrument. It was a pan-flute I believe. When I expressed interest with it to my mother, she gave me a violin. I honestly think it was one of the best things to happen. Sure, my mother got her way with the instrument choice, but at least she gave me one! 

🐼 if you could meet anyone, who would it be and why?

Maybe I could meet Arthur’s family? I mean they are my family technically. 

[jinavie]

The One

Many people dream of finding "The One" - the perfect romantic companion who is destined to be with you. It is a dominant trope in stories, both old and new. Plato's The Symposium contains a story about how Zeus split human beings in two to weaken them, so we are always searching for our other half. An old Chinese tale tells the story of the “red string" - an invisible connection between two people created when they are born, that will eventually bring the two together in the name of true love. There are countless examples of books, movies and TV shows that reinforce the notion that we will all eventually end up with just the right person.

What makes The One so special? Typically, instead of a list of ideal features such as a certain personality or look, most people describe The One as someone who they can connect with, be understood by and feel completed by; someone who they can't imagine not being with.  People who believe in the idea of The One may picture a relationship where things are easy, because the other person will just "get" them and there will be no trouble in paradise. In short, The One represents a perfect relationship with the perfect person, tailored just for you.

But how realistic is the possibility of finding The One? If we look at it from a purely statistical point of view, the chances are infinitesimal. Not only does your match have to be born of your preferred gender, but they must live in the same space and time as you at some point in your life. Even if you happen to find this one person, you have to accommodate for whether you will even notice, let alone be attracted to, them since the qualities you are looking for may vary depending on what stage of life you are at. (Read this wonderful What If? article: https://what-if.xkcd.com/9/)

Of course, the whole point of The One is that despite all of these odds, the two of you are supposed to be brought together by some external force - fate, destiny, the gods, or whatever supernatural power you believe in. Then, it is said that the moment you set eyes on each other, you will feel an instant connection and true love will be born. Some people even believe that "if it is meant to be, it will happen without fail". Because of this, some people test their relationship by stressing it, or will be more open to letting people go because they believe that if they are truly The One, then surely they will meet again and everything will be alright. This is explored in a short story by Haruki Murakami named On Seeing The 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning.

(Bacchus and Ariadne by Titian)

However, as beautiful as the idea of finding The One is, it can be a dangerous - even toxic - idea.

The most obvious problem is that dreaming of The One sets unrealistic expectations. Even when they are with an amazing, supportive, kind partner, some people will consider them only 80% or 90% perfect. Because of the nature of human greed, we always want something better or greater than what we possess. This makes us less grateful for what we currently have and we fail to appreciate how lucky we are to be with our partner. We may even decide to end a relationship in search of greener pastures, only to regret it and remember that person as "the one that got away".

On the other hand, people are so afraid that they might not realise that someone is The One that they make the classic error of the sunk cost fallacy. They think that they invested so much time in this relationship that if they leave now, they will forever lose the chance to live happily ever after. This often leads to unhappy marriages and even divorce, causing people to miss out on opportunities of finding someone that they will truly be happy with.

Similarly, because we feel the pressure of time passing by while others seemingly find their soulmates and happy endings, we end up feeling desperate. This desperation may push us into forcing relationships with people who do not share our values, treat us unkindly or generally incompatible with us. Some people will fake an encounter with a supposed soulmate, marry them and hide their problems and resentment, while struggling to put on a happy face for the rest of the world.

Another problem with believing in The One is the concept of fate. It is comforting to think that things are predetermined, but this also makes us lazy. What is the point of looking for the right person or fighting to make a relationship work when fate will just throw you The One at some point in your life? If you believe in fate, it makes you complacent and take less action. Instead of taking the leap of faith, communicating and trying to improve yourself, you think instead "it shouldn't be this hard if they were The One" and give up. Believing that there is someone out there set aside for you is entitlement. Much like anything in the world, luck and probability will only take you so far. Good things will only come to you if you take action and make an effort.

The inherent flaw in the concept of The One is that it is a black-and-white, binary question: "is this person perfect"? The quest for perfection is as futile as a dog chasing its own tail. When the standard you are comparing everything or everyone is perfection, you are sure to be disappointed. 

Furthermore, how can we demand a perfect person when we are not perfect ourselves? As we mature, our preferences and needs change with us. Is it not arrogant to think that we know ourselves so well that we can pick out someone that we think will be perfect for the rest of our lives at first glance?

The perfect partner is not someone that will understand our every action, thoughts and words, and cater to our every need. The perfect partner is someone who possesses qualities we value, have imperfections that we can accept and will communicate openly so that we can work things out with them. No human being is perfect, so every relationship needs to be fine-tuned, negotiated and improved on, which involves each person undergoing change, compromise and sacrifices.

This philosophy sets a much more realistic expectation on our partners and ourselves. We don't have to be perfect or find someone who is perfect: we just have to find someone who is willing to work with us to become perfect for each other eventually. Someone who makes us happy, while helping us grow to be someone that can make them happy.

There is no one true "The One". The One that matters is the one who - out of all the imperfect people out there - you chose because you find them awesome and want to try work with to build a happy relationship together, and they feel the same way about you. 

The One is someone you made a conscious choice to round them up to The One.

(Image source: Puuung http://www.grafolio.com/puuung1)

[erintoknow]

bigger than the sound

fallen hero fanfiction chargestep and intrigue ~3k words [ao3]

title taken from [Cheated Hearts by Yeah Yeah Yeahs]

–––

“Thanks for coming with me,” Ortega whispers from the corner of her mouth.

“Of course, thanks for inviting me.” A smile flits across Jane’s face as she studies the mess of an abstract portrait hanging on the wall in front of them. “Hopefully no super villains crash this party.”

Ortega laughs, uneasy, as she rubs the back of her neck. “Anyone that does is going to regret it.”

Jane arches an eyebrow as you try to keep her from smiling. In the aftermath of the Gala fiasco, security has tripled in order to keep the city’s elite feeling safe. The Mayor’s Guardian force was milling around here somewhere, ready to jump into duty in a split second. For the Rangers, beside Ortega, Jane has seen Herald milling around somewhere and it wouldn’t surprise you if either Argent, or Steel, or both had been bullied into attending.

The Mayor needed to prove to her benefactors she was worth keeping in office. The Rangers needed to prove they were worth keeping in Los Diablos.

Taking them all head-on as Banshee would be a pointless suicide.

Lucky for you then, Ortega still owed Jane a second date.

No explosives this time. No dramatic fights. No terrible mistakes with people screaming and blood everywhere and emergency rooms filling up. Going to do this right. Going to do this quiet. The bastards won’t realize the damage until it’s too late.

“Charge! How’re you holding up?”

Jane and Ortega turn together to find Herald walking towards them. It’s a little strange seeming him in a tuxedo again. All crisp angles and sharp features. He raises an arm to wave and you think Jane spies a glimpse of blue sleeve from a Ranger skinsuit underneath. Well, that confirms what you suspected from the Gala. Wonderbread really is ready to throw-down at a moment’s notice.

Is Ortega? She’s in a suit this time instead of a dress. Easier to fight in?

Ortega waves back at Herald with a smile. “Haven’t throttled anyone yet, how about you?”

Herald takes Ortega’s hand and pulls her into a quick hug. “Oh, this is old hat to me. I just focus on the art, and see how many fancy hors d’oeuvres I can sneak before anyone notices.” Ortega laughs and Jane politely covers her mouth to hide the smile. He shifts his gaze down to Jane and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Sides–?” He flinches and shakes his head. “Wait, no?”

Jane keeps her face blank. Sidestep? Sidestep who? Never heard of the bitch.

There is a tense silence and then Ortega breaks it with a forced laugh. “Sorry, this is my friend Jane I was telling you about.” She gestures towards you and then from you to Herald. “And Jane, this is Herald, but you probably already knew that.” More forced laughter.

“Sorry,” Herald rubs at his knee, “you just reminded me of someone.” He shoots Ortega a curious look.

Was it too late now to go back and dye Jane’s hair? You idiot. You stupid vain idiot. All the more reason to keep your two lives separated. Why did you have to go and get Jane involved with Ortega? Moron. Fool. Buffoon.

Jane keeps her face a careful blank. “It’s… nice to meet you too, Mr. …?”

Herald smiles, awkward. “Just Herald is fine. Nice to meet you, Jane.” He doesn’t offer a hand to shake.

When Ortega and Herald descend into small talk Jane breaths a small sigh of relief and politely detaches herself from the conversation. A few tense moments, but it had at least bought you some needed freedom from Ortega. Time to get to work then.

“Excuse me, folks, I’m just gonna duck into the restroom real quick.”

Ortega nods, “You know where it is?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll see you at the shrimp bar, sweetie.” Jane winks at Ortega, a smirk spreading across her face at the slight color on the hero’s face. Still got her.

Your sense of direction as Jane isn’t as strong as Ariadne’s but enough time spent studying floor plans makes up for it. Weave through the crowd, past the buffet table. The further from the food and the booze Jane gets the less people in ritzy outfights milling around being offensively rich.

There, next to the restrooms, a side entrance for the gallery. A very bored looking cop stands next to the door, watching the guests. 

Mustering up all the elitist disdain she can muster, Jane approaches the door and gives the cop a dismissive glance. “I’m taking a smoke break.” The man frowns but otherwise doesn’t stop Jane as she steps through the door, pretending to fish through her purse. Perfect.

Outside, the street gives a clear view to the Hero Museum just down the block. Once again closed for renovation and repair. The dumb bastards. Maybe you’ll trash the next grand opening too. Keep it up until they get the idea.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. The woman pacing back and forth down the sidewalk, staring anxiously at her phone, purse hanging loose in the crook of her arm. Jane whispers to get her attention and when that doesn’t work progressively raises her voice. “Hey! Ochoa!”

She looks up, sags in relief and hurries over to Jane, her movements stiff and awkward in the tight black and gold floral dress. “Finally! I was about to call the whole thing off.”

“Do you want your dirt or not?” Jane hisses. 

“Please, Jane.” Mia Ochoa’s frowns, “I’m an investigative journalist, not a tabloid columnist.”

“Sure, whatever.” Jane glances up and down the street. She keeps a hand in her purse, fingering the gadget from Dr. Mortum that should be disrupting the video cameras. How long did the charge last for again? Five minutes? “Sit tight, I need to get the pig out of the way first.”

“You’re not going to–?”

Jane snorts, “I’m not going to hurt anybody. I’m not stupid.” She tilts her head, thinking. “Well. I’m probably not going to hurt anybody.” She shakes her head and holds up a hand. “Whatever, wait here. This’ll only take a second.”

“Ugh,” Jane contorts her face into a visage of barely contained fury as she steps back inside. “I can’t believe some people.”

The cop sighs, “There a problem, Ma’am?”

A short bark of a laugh. “Problem?” Jane glowers down the hallway. “Yeah, there’s a fucking problem.”

“There’s no need for that kind of language, Miss Smith.”

Jane snarls, “Tell that to the asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

That gets the cop’s attention. “Again, is there something I can help you with, Ma’am.”

Jane holds her breath. You’re about to do something really shitty. Oh well. Sorry Kieth, it’s for the greater good. “Yeah, alright.” Jane sighs, avoiding the cop’s gaze. “someone ought to teach that damn waiter at the cocktail bar some manners. I’m not the only woman either he’s harassed tonight. The ass.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “I’ll see someone talks to him.” He puts a hand up to the walkie-talkie strapped to his breast pocket. Presses the button. Jane holds her breath. “Hey, Sam? I got a woman here reporting a problem with one of the help.”

The cop frowns as no one answers.

“Sam? You there?” No response. “Kim? José?”

Jane crosses her arms, and taps her foot. “I thought you said you’d take care of it.”

He shakes his head, “Something’s wrong with my damn walkie.” He taps it one more time and shakes his head. “Goddamn this garbage keeps busting. Sorry miss, I’ll have to find my superior.” He shoots Jane a glance, eyeing her up and down. “In the meantime, use some common sense.”

Jane huffs, as the cop walks off, grumbling about equipment.

Honestly, you half expected that not to work. Thank you, Dr. Mortum.

A quick glance around to check for any other eyes and you step back to hold the door open. “Alright Ochoa, you’re in.”

“Finally.” The reporter quickly steps inside and you let the door close. “I can’t believe I’m really doing this.”

Jane frowns as she digs through her purse again. “Yeah, well, if you want the real meat you gotta go where they don’t want you to be.”

“Oh believe me, I know.”

“Ah, here we go.” Jane pulls out a small laminated pin, holds it up for Ochoa’s inspection. “Your own name pin. It’s like you were supposed to be her all along.”

“Oh!” The woman takes it from Jane’s hand with a look of surprise. “You thought of everything.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

As the two of you walk down the hallway to rejoin the main event Ochoa pins the name tag to her chest and smoothes out her dress. “Alright, well, thanks for getting me in. I can take it from here.”

“Just don’t forget our deal. You owe now.”

The smile fades from Ochoa’s face. “Of course.”

Jane scans the room as the two of you step in. There’s Ortega and Herald still talking in the far corner, and then there’s… “Actually,” a tight smile crosses Jane’s face, “how do you feel about in introduction to the Mayor’s right-hand man?”

Ochoa’s eyes light up, “I’d love it.” She frowns, “But do you think he’ll talk?”

“I think you might be surprised.” Jane grabs Ochoa’s hand, pulling her through the crowd. There we go. Jane raises her free hand in greeting, “Professor Vanderpoel, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The balding clerk turns with startled surprise towards Jane, as the other two men in his group stop talking, watching the two approaching women with mild interest. “I’m sorry… do I know you?”

Jane laughs, a bright smile on her face. “Don’t tell me you forgot me already? Tell me you at least remember the linden trees?”

A cascade of color rockets up the man’s face. “That– that was a very different time in my life.”

One of Vanderpoel’s companions laughs and elbows him in the side. “You never told me you used to teach!”

Vanderpoel flinches, “I haven’t for eight years.”

Jane nods, knowingly. “Such a shame what happened! Still I’m so happy to see you’ve bounced back without any problems.”

“Well…”

“Anyway,” Jane cuts him off without mercy, “I was just catching up with my good friend Mia over here,” Jane tugs Mia forward by the arm. “When I saw you over here.”

One of Vanderpoel’s friends tilts his head, “Mia…? You look familiar.”

Ochoa’s smile is strained. “I’m a reporter for LD Confidential.”

Jane laughs, “Don’t worry, she’s not working today.”

Vanderpoel’s two friends laugh with Jane, but Vanderpoel himself has a thoughtful look in his eye. Encouraging. Banshee’s bridge-side chat with the man had been sinking in after all.

The man on the right claps Vanderpoel on the back. “You know some lovely ladies man, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us!” A strange look crosses across Vanderpoel’s face and the three men make room for the two of you to join their conversation. You can’t stop the smirk on Jane’s face. You’ve got them.

S u c k e r s.

Not every bomb needs to be literal.

A few more minutes of smalltalk to help work Ochoa into the conversation and then Jane politely excuses herself from the group. She’s got a date to rejoin after all.

Ortega perks up as Jane crosses the room, a glass of wine in each hand. She doesn’t wait to ask before offering Jane one of them. “I was beginning to think you might have ditched me.”

Jane smiles, laughs, as she takes the wine glass. “Sorry, sorry, I saw some people I knew and got distracted.”

“Oh?” Ortega’s focus zeros in on Jane, “Anyone I’d know?”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Jane shakes her head and waves a hand to dismiss the idea. “Just some old college friends. “ She glances about the room, “Herald still around?”

Ortega laughs, “He’s around somewhere. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.” Jane sips from her glass. “You have a lot of attractive friends.”

Wait, fuck what? Why did you say that? What the fuck? What happened to that masterclass of infiltration?

Ortega blinks, surprised, then laughs. “I hadn’t pegged you for being into men too.”

Jane glowers up at her. “So what?”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m bi too.” Ortega smiles, pats Jane on the shoulder, then lets her hand run down the arm.

“You are?” Jane winces, “Ugh, what am I saying, of course you are. Sorry, I’ve apparently lost my mind tonight.”

“I suppose my love life is pretty well documented at this point.” There’s a bitter tinge to Ortega’s voice that catches you by surprise.

“I’m surprised we haven’t shown up in a tabloid yet,” Jane admits.

“The press don’t follow me around like they used to.”

“Miss it any?”

“God no.” Ortega smiles widely, and then the smile quickly fades. “Sometimes I wonder how many relationships it cost me.”

Huh. “Was it that bad?”

“You got out for dinner with one guy and suddenly they’re your boyfriend. After awhile I just kind of embraced it. Especially once I became Marshal. At least I could take some ownership over it that way, you know?”

“I’m… sorry, that sounds pretty rough actually.”

“It’s in the past now.”

Silence threatens to stretch out between you two. Jane coughs, “So… when did you figure out you liked women, then?”

Ortega rubs her neck, “When I figured it out…? Hrm.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I’m just… it feels like so long ago, now.” Ortega sighs. “I guess… there was this vigilante…”

Jane holds her breath. No– It couldn’t be, could it? “A vigilante?”

“Well, I had just joined the Rangers properly.” Oh. “This vigilante, Axel. She was this speed boost that worked in the south end of the city. She was Latina too, and we just… kind of hit it off.”

“Wow,” Jane says. You try to wrack you memory for anything about an ‘Axel.’ It’s not ringing a bell. “What ended up happening?”

“It wasn’t easy trying to keep it out of the press. Eventually it got to be too much and we just kind of… mutually broke it off. She retired not long after. Or moved, maybe?” Ortega crosses her arms, thinking. “That’s it, she moved down further south. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“She didn’t want to go public?”

Ortega sighs. “This was like the early aughts. Things were starting to change but…”

Jane frowns. “There would have been consequences.”

“Yeah. I think…” Ortega stares at the floor between the two of you, lost in memory or maybe regret. “I think maybe I had been too pushy. I was under a lot of pressure at the time. The new face of the Rangers. They told me I needed a relationship to look ‘normal.’”

“Human.”

“Yeah,” Ortega laughs, bitter. “That too, I guess. Not that it was an excuse mind.”

“Would a relationship with a woman really of worked for that though?”

“Well, we’ll never know now. I wanted to try but…”

“But?”

“I don’t think I gave her the space to really process what coming out would mean. We just fought about it. A lot.”

Jane rocks back and forth on her heels, avoids looking at Ortega. “That’s rough, I’m sorry.” Ortega never shared this with you – with Ariadne. You’re not sure what that means. How to feel about it. 

“Well, hey,” Ortega looks up, catches Jane’s eye. “I learned from it. Eventually.” She smiles, and Jane smiles back. “Well, I told you my story, what’s yours?”

Jane blinks, bites her lip. “Oh! Uh. Hrm.”

“Sore subject for you too?”

“Uh… not exactly…” Jane laughs while panic runs through your head. “Like… when I figured out I liked guys…?”

“I was thinking more women? Society kind of expects the male interest.”

Jane forces a laugh. “I guess that’s true. I’ve never actually dated a guy though.”

Ortega shrugs, “Doesn’t make you any less bi. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Is it still bi if you don’t want to date guys though?” Jane frowns, looking away. Floor, artwork, the crowd. Anywhere else.

“Oh. Hrm,” Ortega pauses, “I guess that’s up to you? I’m not the sexuality police.” She laughs and Jane finds herself joining in.

“Oh good. I’m safe then. I mean… guys can be… attractive, I guess.” Jane shrugs helplessly, “But… I don’t know. I guess I’m kind of afraid of them?”

“Jane…?” There’s a note of concern in Ortega’s voice, and Jane cringes. This conversation is getting too real.

“This isn’t really the place to talk about it.”

“Okay. I get that. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jane sighs. That is absolutely not a subject you want Ortega to chew on. You need something to distract her. “ As far as women go, well..” You need to think of a story quickly. “There was this… girl I worked with in – in… college.”

“You know,” There’s an impish grin on Ortega’s face, “they say you should never date a co-worker.”

Jane scowls, “Oh believe me, no dating was involved.”

Ortega puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh no! You just pined from afar?”

“Uh… more like, right next to her. For five years.”

“Ouch. She never caught on?”

The pained expression on Jane’s face matches the one in your heart. “I… have no idea?” Jane sighs and downs the rest of her wine glass in one go. “Honestly, I didn’t really… realize what it was I was feeling until years later. And then it was too late.” She shrugs and looks away. Can’t believe this conversation is happening. Have you lost your goddamn mind?

Ortega is shaking her head, equal parts amused and pitying. “I never would have pegged you for the shy type.”

“Hey!” Jane crosses her arms, “not shy enough to keep from kissing you.”

Ortega laughs again, “I’ve noticed.”

“I learned from my mistakes too,” Jane lies.

[bewitchingbloom]

Owlcatober Day 5 - Ruins

It's only been the 5th for about 30 minutes where I live but I'm posting this @owlcatober now. I've had a rough night, I don't want to go to bed and need a distraction, and Ariadne and their boys make me happy. Granted, this prompt only feautures one of the boys, but my point still stands.

The Fateful Tug of Gravity - 1244 words

Rating: T to be on the safe side

Characters: The Commander, Daeran Arendae, Nenio (briefly)

Ship: The Commander/Daeran Arendae

Warnings: Flirting and vague references to sex, nothing explicit

Can be read here on AO3

“And you’re completely sure you want to visit these ruins?”

“Absolutely! As I have already told you, I conducted a thorough experiment and I believe something of great interest lies within them. I know those of average intelligence such as yourself might not get the appeal of…”

Ariadne tuned Nenio out, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at her. It was probably unbecoming of the Knight-Commander to act in such a way. It was becoming an uphill battle, however, especially when one Daeran Arendae was on her war council and often elicited such urges from her. As well as others she wasn’t ready to think too deeply on.

The scientist had continued prattling, unaware that Ariadne had become distracted by thoughts of how punchable the Count’s face was. Especially his lips. When Nenio turned back to her, eyes bright with expectation, Ariadne stumbled for a response. “I, uh…yes!”

Thankfully, that seemed to be the correct answer to whatever question Nenio had just asked. She nodded in satisfaction, taking the lead and heading further afield. They were about an hour out from the war camp, heading towards these ruins she had been so keen to visit. While Ariadne was usually glad to help out her companions, she couldn’t shake the feeling they were getting themselves into more trouble than bargained for. Still, any excuse to get out of camp and away from Paralictor Derenge for a while was one she was willing to take.

The previous day had been an eventful one, culminating in the daring rescue of a chapter of Hellknights and Sunrise Sword crusaders. Perhaps her mind should have at least been on the logistics behind the merging of the two orders, as well as navigating their continued partnership with the former, but instead her mind was on a certain vexing nobleman and something he had said to her the previous evening.

Unconsciously, she glanced over to where he stood. As if sensing her gaze on him, Daeran straightened from where he leaned against a tree, far too casually to be anything but an attempt to get her attention. Ariadne knew what he was going to ask even before the words left his mouth.

“My dear Commander, surely there’s no need for me to join you on this…quaint excursion.” Daeran’s smile was strained, as if for once he was trying his hardest not to say whatever nasty little thought that was undoubtedly going through his head. If only he had had such restraint the previous night!

The memory of his assessing gaze before he declared that no, he was certainly not in love with her was irritatingly burned into her memory. It frustrated her to no end - even if his personality wasn’t considered, she had known him all of two weeks, at most. Why should she care so much that he wasn’t in love with her?

But that didn’t change the fact that it did bother her. And try as she might, she was having a hard time being around him right now. That might explain the change in his demeanor - she had been more than happy to trade quips with him before now, no matter how barbed his has been - but that would also require a level of self-awareness and compassion from him that Ariadne wasn’t so sure he possessed.

“Count, we’re about to go diving into some unknown ruins where anything could be waiting for us. I’m sorry that this is interrupting your usual routine of loafing around the camp and being functionally useless, but for once, your services are actually required.” The words left her mouth before she had really thought them through, and for a moment she regretted the viciousness of them. That wasn’t truly what she thought of him - if anything, he had proven to be an invaluable member of her inner circle.

But then a familiar gleam shone in his eyes, one she knew all too well, and her misplaced sympathy fled. “Oh, but if I’m so useless, what ever could you possibly need me for? I’ll just get in the way. Unless…” Somehow, that maddening smirk of his became even more so as he stepped forward, closing the space between them as he said, “There’s a more…base reason you want to keep me around.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ariadne snapped, cursing the way she felt her cheeks heating up. Now that the image was in her head…no, no, she was not doing this. Not here, in the middle of nowhere, where anything could sneak up on them at a moment’s notice.

“Flattering myself is one of the many talents. But you’re right, it’s not one we can make much use of out here. Though, I do have other uses along those lines…” Daeran’s smirk never faltered, and the way his eyes lit up at her reaction made her stomach flutter in a way she really didn’t want to think about. That she wouldn’t think about. There was no way, in all the planes of existence, that she was thinking about this here.

Damn it, she was thinking about it here. How his infuriating, beautiful lips would taste pressed against her own. How his skin would feel under fingertips, how his body would press into hers as she parted her lips and his tongue…

The Count’s grin was unbearably smug now. She knew he couldn’t read minds but her entire body burned anyways, as if he had just been witness to her intrusive daydream. When had he gotten so close?

“So, are you certain you still need me?” he whispered, leaning closer still, voice far too sweet for her liking. He was but a hair’s breadth away, his warm breath ghosting over the tip of her ear. All it would take was some careful maneuvering from her and…

“Yes,” she managed to rasp out. Closing her eyes to fight down the embarrassment, she added, “If you’re going to brag so much about your talents, I am going to have to see proof of their existence. Besides, Count, at least out here in the field with me you’re getting some much needed enrichment, and not bothering any of the important people back at camp. Or would you like to see firsthand what sort of training the Hellknights go through every day? I’m sure the Paralictor could be convinced to take you on.”

Without waiting for an answer, she brushed past him, pretending not to hear Daeran’s chuckle - low, soft, and somehow simultaneously obnoxious and endearing. She spent the remaining journey plotting a way to get back at him. Perhaps it was high time for there to be an accident involving some glitter and his person, or maybe the Next Door Theater Company would find themselves in possession of some wonderful new costumes in their wardrobe. Then she glanced back to find his eyes on her, expression giving nothing away save for the fact he clearly found her threat amusing. All thoughts of revenge dissipated, replaced by that damned pull she felt toward him, not quite unlike gravity.

It was then she realized that her attraction to him went deeper than a mere appreciation for his aesthetic appeal. With that epiphany came another - if she was seriously attracted to this man, then she was in deeper trouble than she thought.

And, as she felt a grin of her own begin to pull on her lips, she realized she wouldn’t want it any other way.