#oh lord she’s writing aqui

[seraphdreams]

aki is a man of heavy regulation, routine even. he does things the traditional, responsible way, so imagine his surprise when you suddenly ask him to do it raw this time. you’re laid underneath him, his usually gentle gaze sending daggers into you. because, never had you said such a thing before. but if raw is what you want then you’ll be sure to get it; he couldn’t deny how you pouted and pleaded, the very thing that made him harder than a fucking rock. he loves how you wince when he slips it in, when you instantly get all cross-eyed from the delicious strokes that force heady whines from your lips. he’s gentle, but only because he’s holding back. aki’s slow strokes formulate the sweetest friction within your gummy walls, a feeling that shoots up the both of your spines. it was as though he was much more sensitive in that his cock wasn’t clad by an annoying piece of fucking rubber. with his head tilted back and deep groans almost a bit too pitchy for someone like him, he does what he’ll regret later but not now, not in this moment — shooting ropes of his hot cum within your walls, cock nestled deep into your pussy, the tip kissing your cervix as if he’s never been that deep before. oh, he’ll definitely regret giving into temptation.

[brbzonedout]

Earth 42 Rio and Miles go grocery shopping!!

I saw this art by @bluumey and had to make something. Also, I wrote this all in one sitting so don't jump me too badly.

“No Miles…for the 47th time”. Rio sighs as she ducks into the driver's seat of her car.

He trails behind her and repeats the same motion on the passenger's side. “C’mon mami- hear me out! If you let me start driving now”, Miles clicks his seat belt into place. “I'll be a stupid good driver by the time I take my test”.

“And I’d be a stupid bad mother if I let my 14-year-old son drive through Brooklyn without a license or permit!…so we done here?” She pulls off from the street to the nearest store.

They arrive and park in a nearby garage then get out and make their way into the store then BOOM all hell breaks loose. Y’all know how moms (or other guardians) be in stores.

“De acuerdo, Hijo!” She snaps as Miles starts to walk away on his own. “No no, I need your help it'll be faster that way.”

Soon as he hears that it's over for him he knows that he's not getting out of this store until the sun goes down.

-

Rio drags him all over the store as he walks behind her picking everything off the shelf that she listed.

“Ma are these ripe enough?” Said as he gestures towards a group of plantains sitting in the produce section.

“Let me see…” The look on her face was confused as I don't know what, “Are they serious, putting these out knowing damn well they're not ready…you know what excuse me!” she exclaims as she flags down an employee.

“Oh lord-”

-

They finally grab everything from her list and make their way to the checkout line. Miles puts everything up on the conveyor belt, his job every time a trip to the store is taken. Rio hands over her coupons and cash to the cashier, everything is going great.

When all of a sudden they're about the walk back to the parking garage Miles hears…

“RIO?! RIO MORALES?! OMG!”

“Oh, a la mierda mi vida... cada vez...” Miles says folding his arms and laying down on the cart handle.

Mrs.Morales hears her name and spins around leaving him with the cart.

“You’re kidding!!! It's been so long!” They run up and hug each other.

“I know 7 years I think?! That's crazy, how’s the family- wait I'm so sorry about Jeff.”

“It's hard but you know one day at a time…”

“I know that's right- oh my god” The old friend looks behind Rio at the boy leaning over the shopping cart. “Is that the baby?!”

Rio giggle “Yeah that's him…not so much of a baby anymore…Miles! Ven aqui say hi!”

Poor Miles just wants to go home but reluctantly walks toward them the cart rolling in front. “Hi…” He waves with an awkward smile.

“Ah! He's so big…damn time really does fly what grade you in now?”

“9th…at Brooklyn Visions.”

“Oh ok! I see you gotta brain just like your mama..”

Rio and her friend talk for at least thirty more minutes. Until they finally hug and part ways causing Miles to get a lipstick mark on his cheek at just won't come off.

-

Finally, they make it back home and pull into a parking spot. “Ma…you know I love you but, please next time just send me down there with the list.”

Rio cracks up laughing, once again noticing the sunset and the prominent red kiss mark on his face. “Yeah, ok baby…maybe that's an idea for next time.” She says while licking her thumb trying to remove the stain.

“Stop- Mami!” he groans wiping the spit from his face, as she continues quietly laughing.

“Just stay still!!”.

That's all this definitely feels short and fast but I just wanted to put something else out! If y'all have any tips on how I can my writing sound more fluid let me know, thanks for reading<3.

[viajoimenso]

ardra tears

Ardra. Um nakshatra mercuriano (Gêmeos) regido por Rahu. O potencial aqui é ilimitado porque juntamos o poder fascinante das palavras e da comunicação com a sede de domínio sobre o mundo material.

Só vou recopilar aqui citações aleatórias, com os seus devidos créditos, sobre essa mansão lunar. Sem traduzir.

“Ardra nakshatra does not get the credit it deserves for being one of the most sincerelt humanitarian nakshatras out there. Which other placement is symbolized as literal tears shed from concern for creation?” @HiddenOctave_

“In Ardra part of Gemini; mind & emotions literally go through a storm.” @AstroCounselVik

“Both these signs can create havoc, and through there tenacity also transform the world. However this only occurs post going through a storm. Ardra Nakshatra (6° 40 to 20° Gemini) Jyestha Nakshtra (16° 40 to 30° Scorpio) These two nakshatras are the so called ‘testing ones’" @AstroCounselVik (OMG, I’m both of them. Ok, not my choice).

“I always thought Rahu is associated with tattoos especially Ardra Nakshatra but seems like Jyestha are too as Alakshami is described as an outcast.” (Chandalini) .@AdiParashakti

“The Tikshna sisterhood - Ardra, Ashlesha, Jyestha, Mula.” @LucidRain2

“Sharp (Tikshana): Ardra(6), Ashlesha(9), Jyestha(18), Mula(19). In the old times these Nakshatras were used for evoking of spirits, use of poisons, punishments, sharp Nakshatras offer a sharp tongue, piercing eyes. Even strong if they happen to fall on Saturdays.” @AstroCounselVik “Ardra natives are always spoken about constantly.” @AngelNumberz (oh, you bet we are).

“In Ardra, we merge the themes of destruction, creation and transformation to master ourselves and conquer the world.Ardra then becomes “The Star of Achievement” ‘the storm that we must weather so that our nature can once again become pure and clean.’” @zamanlafiyaa

“Octavia Butler - Ardra Moon. Her father died when she was 7. In her childhood she was bullied, socially awkward and struggling at school due to dyslexia. Reading became her escape. And eventually she started writing. “I began writing about power because I had so little.” @zamanlafiyaa

“Mercury’s influence on these natives gives them an instinctive understanding of the value of writing  and purging their mind - that in itself being a form of transformation. It can become a daily practice for them, sometimes serving a different purpose later.“ @zamanlafiyaa

“I heard adra people- ruled by rahu - need to live in the country since the city overwhelms them. idk i feel like ardra people generally don’t like people.” @Ariesdirection (yes, I don’t like people; I always said that).

“kafka’s ardra sun. i love seeing Ardra and sleeping themes :’) (ft. two ardra princesses kissed and woken up from their “sleep”)” @turiyaa

“Rudra, the deity presiding over Ardra is an early form of Shiva: the lord of destructive storms – Ardra natives have to destroy themselves first in order to heal and obtain success. Ardra’s Vimshottari Dasha ruler is Rahu – Rahu has destructive qualities and Ardra being the first Rahu ruled nakshatra we see illusions being exposed and reality kicking in.“ @lunagiiselle

“That’s where he got Ardra fucked up. Ardra and Gemini in general, is very observant. They will observe for years while playing a certain role before they take matters into their own hands. They are obsessed with data. The more time goes by the more data they have collected.“ @lunagiiselle 

“ardra natives are more likely to experience a grave and earth shattering loss very young in their lives, and this aggravates their need to be accepted and understood even more. the fear of losing is a major theme here, losing people and losing themselves. natives often go through the phases of being unloved and untouched by the ones they need the most, so they respond to this by rebelling, acting out and going against the grain they were snuggly pressed against. they can only ever be redeemed from this hell cycle by being the “right one” for themselves, loving and embracing who they are without the need for someone else. ” @gr4vyrd

“these nakshatras can be especially insensitive with their language, if you push them far enough they will rip you to shreds with their words and feel no remorse. a lot of people can’t tolerate this, they’re afraid to step to them for this reason, they feel small...ardra natives are intensely sensitive, like a raw, open, nerve. these natives are on a never ending journey of finding the “right one” but no matter where they search, high and low, destruction and greif seem to follow them.“ @gr4vyrd 

“Ardra natives are always struggle with receiving praise from the people they wish to receive praise from. People often look at their cries for help as miniscule and not serious until it gets serious.“ @lunagiiselle

“best to share these thoughts with a mula or keep them to yourself. because in this world we live in we don’t fit in. we came from a different substance. we were supposed to be animals. lmao“ @lunagiiselle

“I read somewhere that Ardra natives literally have to find the time and space for themselves to sit, calm, center and be mindful because I genuinely thirst for it and need it. My alone time is so important. Meditation is needed. Nature time is needed. Imbalance without it.” @hotchhinamasta

“Rudra is the lord of wild animals and ardra natives feel more comfortable with animals than with people. So I even dare saying that maybe they don't charm snakes, they govern them (and the other wild animals).” @sirens_portal

“I found with Ardra (Rahu) they are so often painted as “the bad guy” but I think people actually harm & provoke Ardra more than Ardra harms and provokes anyone. They’re more internally tumultuous than externally so. Heartbreakingly, I saw people don’t consider their sensitivity! And I think say and behave quite harshly towards Ardra when all Ardra is often doing is existing and trying to navigate an already difficult internal existence in a material world it does not know. I say in a material world it does not know bc Ardra is associated with when man was kicked out of the garden Eden (coming after Mrigashira) - it’s like trying to navigate life on your own under harsh punishment for something that wasn’t necessarily their fault. Ardra is sidereal Gemini between the degrees & minutes of: 06°40'-20°00Just wanted to encourage all Ardra natives that it’s not them or their fault and to keep your heads up! " @AudnyApeiron

“like their destructive deity, ardra natives can seem like very formidable folk. but how can one not be so hardened, when one is so dissatisfied in knowing the state of the world? when one is so invested yet heartbroken?” @lovejustlied​ (<3 that)

“rahu's energy in ardra is brought down to earth through the mental & communicative powers of mercury, the ruler of sidereal ♊︎. rahu's attachment to the world is sharpened into awareness of it marking ardra natives as very astute observers of the human condition. & with mercury's gifts of mental acuity & speech, ardra natives are found to be investigative, critically minded, & quick witted, as well as opinionated & sharp tongued.“ @lovejustlied​

“Any other Ardra natives always loved storms? The charged atmosphere, the flashing sky, the rich smell of wet vegetation, the rain on your feet. When I was a child I used to leave little pots outside to collect storm water. I felt like it made the water powerful. Anyone relate?” @LucidRain2 (yes, I do relate)

“Ardra natives can gain good karma by being more charitable. Rahu is both left and right, but inclined to forward moving, it can become mercilessly selfish.” @EbonyART_ (definitely)

An overlooked trait of Ardra natives is how nurturing and caring they can be. This is confirmed in myths and symbolisms related to Rudra, it's deity. @thefalgunis 

Ardra means "moist" and "green". Water sustains life on this planet and green is the colour of lush and abundance. The meaning itself tells a lot about the nurturing side of this nakshatra. Also, Bhagwan Rudra (Shiva) is worshipped as "Bholenath" or the benevolent one. @ashterisked

[bittysvalentines]

You Shine in What I Am / Mas Brilhas No Que Sou

From: @aceinhyperspace

To: @sailorsav

Fic Summary: When Whiskey turns 18 years old, he receives his Gift. But what is he supposed to do with Love? No Content Warnings. General tags: Gen (no pairing); Asexual Whiskey; Eric Bittle; Magic Au; Message: I was so happy to see that I got your gift! Your magic AUs are some of my favourite fics and when I saw that Asexual Whiskey is your jam, I just KNEW what I was going to be writing about. I hope you enjoy!!

Connor knew what love was long before he knew he was ace. It was six year olds holding hands and twelve year olds sneaking kisses because they wanted to be grown up. It was the women in movies, pining after men and demanding roses. It was his teammates in the locker room, talking about bases and the girls they wanted to hook up with after games.

Connor knew that love was something physical and scary and frankly, he wanted no part of it.

Thankfully as everyone in his grade crept closer to their 18th birthdays, the “plant boy” jokes wound down. There was much more interesting news as people got their letters.

“I can’t believe Lauren got metal-bending and I got nothing,” Adriana complained one day at lunch, sprawled on the floor of the hallway outside their 5th period class.

“You know the Guild doesn’t actually call it metal-bending.” Whiskey said into his sandwich.

Adriana rolled her eyes so violently, her head moved as well, dragging her tightly coiled hair across the linoleum. “Ugh, you nerd. That’s not the point. Pretty white girl, I wear bows even on days where there’s no football games, Lauren. She gets to manipulate metal, Connor Whisk. Me-tal.”

“We don’t get a choice, Adri. And frankly, I’ll be thrilled when I get my letter and the Guild tells me ‘Hey, Connor, you’re off the hook. Go play hockey and don’t worry about accidentally setting your college dorm room on fire with this super exciting new superpower you manifested.’”

“Give Peder a break. He’s doing much better now.”

“Yeah, whatever, Adri.”

That evening when he got home, his mother was already at the kitchen table, Skyping her sister in Brasil, hands elegantly shaping the lump of clay spinning on the wheel.

Connor loved watching his mother work- ancient techniques interacting seamlessly with her magic. Her deep brown hands skimmed the edges of the vase, feeling for form sleeping inside the unshapen material. She once told him that her Gift was so much more than moving dirt around. From the rock beds lining the back of their desert home to the red dust she could sweep away with the movement of her hand, Ana Maria Francisca da Silva Whisk saw potential. She saw the shape of things that had been and were meant to be.

“I think I always knew,” She told him a couple years ago, combing her fingers through his hair, loose and chestnut colored, like his father. “Your avô had a farm when I was little. He couldn’t keep me out of the animal pens! He and my mother would lose sight of me for a minute, and they’d find me pelado como Adão e Eva-

“Mãe!”

“-sitting in the middle of the pigs, covered head to toe in mud.” She laughed and laughed.

That day, Connor didn’t feel much like laughing.

“Mamãe?”

“Si, meu amor?”

“Do you see anything in me?”

“O que você quer dizer?” His mother stopped the wheel and looked directly at him. Her eyes were dark, warm.

“I guess…” He stopped, unsure of the words. “I guess I’m worried.”

“Your letter?”

“Sim.”

She took a deep breath, the fine grey dust covering her hands loosening, gently floating to the floor. “Is that it?”

“I don’t know. I’m just ready for highschool to be over. Jake decided to spend all of bio making uncreative jokes about cellular reproduction. And how my gift would be to clone myself.”

“Meu amor, when we spoke about you coming out, I did tell you to be prepared. People can be cruel.”

“Okay, but I thought you meant that about the bi part, not the ace part.”

A small smile flickered across his mother’s lips. Her hand reached out to touch his cheek gently. “I just want things to be easy for you.”

“Eu sei, mamãe.” Connor sighed. “I guess I wanted to know that I’ll be something more than the weird kid.”

“Meu filho. You are so much more than I can tell you. I get glimpses of the man you will be and can only be proud.”

“Ugh, gross mom.” Connor complained, his voice rising in pitch, swatting her hand away.   

“Ah! Sem graça! Deixe seu mãe dá amor quando ela pode. Amanhã você vai ficar uma homem grande!”  

“Mom!” He ran off, and his mother tossed bits of clay at his retreating back.  

-------

Connor had to fight to open his eyes the next morning.

His eighteenth birthday. The day he would receive his Gift.

His feet couldn’t even lift off the ground as he drug himself down the hall towards the kitchen.

Please don’t let it be clones. Please don’t let it be clones.

It wouldn’t be clones, Connor reasoned with himself. His whole family had natural gifts or no gifts at all. If he was lucky, maybe he’d be like his father and oldest sister, who got to live life normally. That way he could focus on hockey and school and not worry about things exploding like Peder. His oldest brother’s pyrokinesis was the coolest thing ever for approximately five minutes.

He stood in the doorway, the glass door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house an immovable barrier. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

“Meu amor, vem aqui,” his mother called gently from inside. Her black eyes, sometimes so disarming, were as soft as he ever had seen them. Using all of his strength, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mother stepped forward and wrapped him in her arms. “Voce ‘sta pronto?”

“Nunca.”

“Whatever it is, you can always decline, okay? There is no shame in that.” Her chin rested gently on his shoulder. When had he gotten so much taller than her? She’d always been a towering figure in the family, carrying them through.

“Okay.”

She stepped back, pulling the letter from her work apron. He took it with trepidation, carefully tearing the seal and unfolding the heavy paper.

After a few moments, most of which the words on the page didn’t register, he spoke.

“I… I think... the Guild sent the wrong thing, Mamae.”

“They’re just messengers. You know they have no control over what manifests.” His mother responded, hands already buried in the clay lumped on the wheel of the kitchen nook. “Deixa eu ver.”

His mother’s hand left gray fingerprints on the paper, but she didn’t seem to notice as her eyes scanned the letter.

“Amor.”

“Yes, mom?”

“Nao, not you amor. Amor amor.”

“I think it’s a mistake.” Connor whispered. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Love magic.

For him.

Connor Whisk, asexual extraordinaire, whose longest relationship was with the Shane Doan jersey pinned lovingly to his bedroom wall.

Love magic.

“Connor Silva Whisk.” The letter gently thwapped across the back of his head. “I raised you better than that. Now, if you don’t want it, that’s your decision to make. But what can you do with love? That is a very stupid question.”

Fast forward six years and behold: Whiskey, collegiate hockey champion, in possession of a liberal arts degree, bartending license, and a certificate in business administration, still has no idea.

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

The day that Whiskey meets Eric Bittle, the lights go out.

No, seriously. The lights are actually out.

“I’m so sorry! That just, happens sometimes? I’m workin’ on it. Oh Lord. There is nothing worse than these delicate wire light bulbs, one short and they’re toast! I am so sorry. You know, they make LED versions of these now? Not that I’m telling you how to run your business but-”

Whiskey only stares at the man in front of him, blonde and tanned from the summer sun, already on his knees gingerly picking up shards of glass with his bare hands, words running at a thousand miles an hour.

Poetry, early readers, maybe a teacher? Needs something smoky to drink… whiskey… no, red wine. I have the perfect Zin in the back.

His quick scan of the other man’s desires only takes a second or two. His needs sit close to the surface, close enough that he was probably on his way to ask Whiskey himself.

“If you want to help, at least use a broom. I don’t need to clean up your blood too.” Whiskey says from behind the bar.

The young man freezes, hands already filled with glass. “Well, I suppose that would make much more sense.”

“Yeah, probably,” Whiskey says. He reaches out with a metal bucket. “Here.”

The glass clinks as it’s dropped into the bucket.

“I really am sorry about that. I’m Eric. Eric Bittle. I live up on the third floor. And uh, I have a gift for electricity. Well. Usually. Sometimes unfamiliar systems don’t react well to my emotions. Have you read that fantastic book by Derek Nurse? That’s what caused this whole mess in the first place.”

“Connor Whisk. People call me Whiskey.”

Somehow, even after their disaster of a first meeting, Eric becomes a staple of Whiskey’s bookstore-slash-bar. Most nights find Eric in the corner sofa, a glass of red wine in hand, grading papers for the kids he student teaches.

On a slow night, Whiskey sits next to him, reading through new releases he wants to stock.

Eric’s head hits the back of the sofa.

“Why can’t I just become an electrician?”

Whiskey snorts. “That’d be too predictable. Also, you clearly adore children. You’ll make a great teacher.”

“You’ve never seen me with a child in your life, Connor.” Eric groans.

“Trust me, I just know.”

Not that Whiskey was ever planning on telling him how.

------

The day that Whiskey meets Jack Zimmerman, the lights go off again.

This time metaphorically.

It’s a busy Wednesday night, which puts it right between a quiet Saturday and an overwhelming Monday. Ford and Tango from upstairs are arguing over a game of scrabble; Ransom laughs at them from above his post-rotation beer, hand on Holster’s knee. Dex and Bitty are finishing a diagram of the best way to rewire the bar lights to save energy while still providing ample lighting. Nurse helps stack chairs after his poetry reading. A couple other folks float in and out of the store, occasionally stopping to ask a question. And Whiskey is hovering around all of them, making sure everyone is satisfied.

The seating area is small, so when a stupidly handsome man wearing a godawful black tracksuit walks in, everyone notices.

Grad student… maybe? He’s here for history? Queer Theory? Well, he’ll get more of the latter, but he’ll see that out soon enough. No alcohol. I’ll make some tea in the back after I check in with everyone.

“Excuse me?” Eric leans forward, bridge of his nose crinkled in interest.

“What?” Whiskey asks, picking up the empty glasses on the low coffee table.

“You just started talking about Queer Theory and tea?” Eric says. “I wasn’t hallucinating was I?”

Dex shakes his head. “Nope, I heard it too.”

Whiskey’s stomach drops. “Uh, nothing, just restocking the shelves.”

“If you say so.” Eric is completely unconvinced, but is too polite to push the subject in public.

Yellow.

The echo of desire floats from among the shelves. The new customer’s hands rest on a book, the cover a bright canary, and Whiskey smiles.

With that, he leaves Eric to his drink to help the customers that are reclining against the bar.

About 5 minutes later, the customer had taken a seat at one of the couches in the reading corner, setting the book on the coffee table between him and Bitty.

“Do you mind?” Whiskey, hears him ask. Bittle’s face is flushed.

“Not at all! On second thought, let me move my mess so you don’t have to be competing with… whatever this book is-” Eric waves animatedly at the pile that had been forming in front of him.

Whiskey barely restrains himself from snorting.

Bittle hurriedly shoves his work into a stack and then escapes to the bar counter, “Good Lord, it’s a good thing that man dresses like a russian mobster because if he paired his face with nice clothes, it’d be over for the rest of us.

Ford, two seats down, snorts into her coffee mug.

“This is a small shop, Bits.” Whiskey laughs, “Careful with the volume.”

“Honey, this is New England. I travelled 3,000 miles to be unabashedly loud and gay. This is a queer bookstore for God’s sake.”

“You can say what you want, just know that the object of your unabashedness can probably hear you,” Whiskey says.

They look over to the man in the corner and sure enough, his eyes are on the both of them, a deep furrow in the middle. The intensity of his gaze and the concerned frown on his lips seem to indicate anger. But Connor feels something else.

It hadn’t been the book.

Oh.

OH.

Yellow.

It smells like Quebec in the summer (had he ever been to Quebec?), and feels like a long car trip, singing into the wind, stealing ears of corn from the farmer’s field, grilling it over a campfire at night. There is expensive whiskey and cheap beer on his lips, elation.

Yellow like the afternoon sun reflecting against the pond in winter. Blinding and exhilarating, flying with no sense of direction and no hope of stopping.

“You.” Whiskey whispers.

He can’t hear if Eric responds, his head still filled with desires not his own. It takes him another moment to come into the present, shaking his head subtly to remove the extra noise.

“Connor? Are you alright?” Eric says, gently laying a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught up for a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Just a side effect. I try not to go that deeply but some people suck me in.”

“Oh I knew it! You are a telepath!” Eric whispers excitedly. “Did I tell you my PawPaw once-”

Whiskey cuts Eric off, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. “No, no. I definitely can’t read people’s minds. But, uhhh. I can see what they… love?”

Eric’s eyes widened. “My Lord.” There’s a reverent sparkle in them that Whiskey can’t explain. “You have a Love Gift. That’s something special. Much more special than electricity.”

Whiskey rolls his eyes. “Sure. Really special. I can’t do anything but tell what drink someone wants before they order.”

“It’s a real shame you think that way, Connor.” Eric shakes his head. “Well, now I know how you’ve managed to draw us all here like flies to a sty.”

“Isn’t it flies to honey-”

“Think about it. All of us were floating around, not from the same place or backgrounds. Some with gifts and many without, but now we’re here. Together. That’s because of you.”

Eric saunters back to the couch, oblivious to the distress rising in Whiskey’s chest.

“Hey, Ford. You mind watching front of house for a second?” Connor manages to say before he loses his breath completely, slipping into the back room before receiving a response.

The phone is clammy in his hands, but, like clockwork, she picks up on the second ring.

“Amor?”

“Mom.

“Que está acontecendo, filho? Você ‘tá no trabalho?”

“Mom, I did it again.”

There’s no sound on the other end of the phone for a brief moment. When his mother’s voice comes back on the line, he feels his breath release.

“Okay, I can talk now. Tell me everything.”

“Well, there’s a group of people that come to the store a lot. And I like them, mom. I like all of them. But Eric-”

“That’s the Southern boy, right?”

“Yes Mom, but Eric found out about my Gift today. And he said that everyone is here because of me. It’s my fault. It’s like college all over again.”

“Did he say he didn’t want to be there?”

“No but-”

“Did he say anything about being in love with you- romantically I mean.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Then this doesn’t sound anything like what happened back then.”

Connor takes a few deep breaths. “Mom, I don’t know what to do with this Gift,” he barely whispers into the phone.

A few more seconds pass.

“This may not be my place. You are a grown man now and can make your own decisions. But my love? You need to get your head out of your ass.”  

Whiskey stops, shocked. “What?”

The voice on the line is firm, like the earth she manipulates. “I am your mother. I would give you the world, make it kind and easy. But I can’t. You told me, all of seventeen shaking years old that you were bisexual and ace and I let you make the choice to tell others on your own. You received your Gift and kept it on your own. And then when you transferred out east and graduated and started your own business- you did that on your own too. If you want to live the rest of your life away from others, separated by your fear, that is a choice you also make on your own.”

A deep sigh breaks the tension across the line and when his mother speaks again, her tone is gentle.

“I am here for you now, whatever you need, but that won’t always be true. What happened in college was awful, amor. Love magic is a powerful, dangerous thing. But you are not that scared young boy anymore. You are building a new home with new people. And that requires you to love, filho. Love. Love yourself and others and let them love you too.”

Whiskey feels the wet lines running down his cheeks before he realizes he’s crying.

“Thank you mom. I love you.”

“Eu te amo também. Agora, faz uma decisão. E chama-me mais frequente, eu sinto falta da sua voz.”   

When Connor comes out of the back room a couple minutes later, he does so with his Gift wide open. And the hearts of the people in the space are so bright, he can’t even see the lights.