#the planets orbit the sun babe and so do we

[greatunironic]

work in progress wednesday

(from the regency au)

“In Bath, Father?” he questioned, setting aside his knife gently before folding his hands in his lap beneath the table. A gentleman did not fidget, or pick at his cuticles, he was oft told, but he dearly would have liked to, in this moment and all others at this table with his father. In fact, Steve dearly would have liked to do anything but have this conversation; he knew he should have made for the stables at sun up. Submitting to the inevitable censure for missing breakfast would have been preferable to this, he thought.

“Indeed,” Father was saying, beaming. “It’s a splendid time of year for it, and as you know Mr Bauman says that we can fetch quite the price on the manor with the leasing.”

Steve did indeed know, but Steve was not the one being addressed, despite all pretenses. Father’s speech — all of them, of late — was addressed almost entirely to the few servants dotting the dining room walls, and to the lady of the house, his so-called mother. Diana Harringtion, nee Hastings, had been the latest in a long line of several courted by his father since his own lady mother’s passing six years prior, when he was eighteen; she had thoroughly won Father’s attentions above all others by virtue of the simple fact that she was the first born daughter of three, issued of an English baron with no sons, and was young enough to beget an heir to that house — young enough indeed to be Steve’s little sister, some three years younger than him.

He did not pretend to understand the psychology of his father, though in truth he thought it quite transparent in the end: he supposed it was indeed obvious to all that wished to see it: his father, the fourth son of a minor English noble himself, never to inherit unless true tragedy befell his elder brothers and their own many sons. He had always felt that lack, no title, no prospects, no land to call his own, and when he had been married off to Steve’s mother all those years ago — well, Father always said it had been a love match, a story for the ages as this untitled son met a beautiful Scottish baroness during her first and only season in the Ton, eyes meeting across the room, dancing set after set night after night, two planets bound in orbit —

A love match, except for the land that Steve’s grandfather came into suddenly on the border; a love match, except for the babe that appeared in winter, six months after a society wedding.

[runawaymun]

“Whetumakayi sa le’e um da,  sa um da le’e to’ijesen, panejesen, tvisharii Em chamad akala ano akala akiyamad sa le’e um da, sa um da le’e   tae ki nate pumastrichad ano nosharii tanaakhii ano charera panej deyji sa le’e um da, sa um da le’e.”

-

“As the planets align  So I do with you. Orbiting, turning, binary stars This pull of gravity again, and again, we meet I do with you, and you do with me. until the sun falls from the heavens and the stars rend apart and time runs straight back to its start I do with you, and you do with me.”

Eldarin Seamus-hholo (Ancient and Noble House of O’Neill) and Eldina Sinead-hholai (Noble House of Grace, formerly of Ceres) ~ poem written in the Thollan conlang I’m devising for the sci-fi series I’m working on with @the-commonplace-book

TBH one of my OTPs to end all OTPs. They’re just...I am clenching them in both hands. Epitome of absolute heart-of-gold woobie pessimist meow-meow with a Tragic Backstory x absolute optimist sweet sunshine. I love them with all my heart. Can’t wait until we actually finish the first book!

Merry Christmas babe! <3 

[brandyllyn]

Hey. So. Ezra and only one bed. That's it. That's the request.

Babe, I had this one half planned out just waiting for someone to pick 'only one bed' as their trope. 

Don’t expect the others to be this fast.

Ezra x f!reader Words: 1k

Rating: Teen Warnings: I don't think any? One use of the word 'cock'

My Masterlist

The little mining town was tiny, on the dead side of a desolate planet orbiting two suns. You held your hand up to shade your face, staring at the small clay buildings. A spaceport, mechanic’s garage, cantina, miner’s exchange, what looked like a boarding house…

"Well if that is not a sight for sore eyes."

You lowered your hand, turning to your companion. Ezra hadn’t been your first choice for this op, but mining tetrak required two people. Until you met Ezra you would have sworn it required two people with two hands but he had quickly proven you wrong. It wasn’t like you had many choices for partners. The prospectors willing to take out a woman were usually looking more for… companionship than they were a dig partner.

"I wonder if they have a genuine sonic fresher…"

Ezra moaned at the thought and your mind raced. The last few days things had gotten… flirty? Was that the right word? You lingered at dinner together longer every night. You had begun to notice his gaze on you at odd times. He never tried anything, neither of you were dumb enough to get physical out in the dunes, but now that you were back in town maybe…?

The town did in fact have a sonic fresher - at the boarding house. Two side by side where you were treated to the sounds of Ezra bathing, the low moans and grunts that reminded you a little too much of other activities. You exited at about the same time, both reaching for the piled towels and meeting hands. He was nude, every inch of his body bared to you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roam down the tight cords of his muscles. The dark trail of hair on his abdomen. The thick length of him nestled between his thighs.

Your mouth went dry and you jerked your gaze away, looking at his face. Except that he… Kevva above you were naked too. You yanked a towel out but wrapped it around yourself more slowly. Watching from the corner of your eye as Ezra did the same.

"I will head to the miner’s exchange, will you secure us some food?"

You nodded, trying not to let him see how flustered you were.

You had barely regained your composure by the time he returned from depositing your joint take. You would go back out tomorrow, back to the dig site you had carefully locked down. But for today - hot food and a real bed.

Ezra tucked into his meal with a gusto, cramming a piece of flatbread into his mouth and gulping the mug of water. Real water - not recycled. He sighed and sat back for a moment, enjoying it. You didn’t fault him, you’d done the exact same thing when you’d arrived. You’d also had time to think.

And scheme.

"We’re spending the night here tonight, right?"

Ezra nodded. "Rooms are the around back. We can get keys from the barkeep."

You nodded in return. "Wonder how many rooms they have…"

"I’m sure plenty," Ezra said around a mouthful of food.

"I mean, this is a busy little town. What if they have only one room left?"

"I doubt that, starshine," Ezra reassured you. "I do not believe we will have any issues securing our own lodgings."

You reached across the table, taking a risk, laying your fingers over his wrist. "But Ezra, what if they only have one room?"

Ezra stared at your hand, then lifted his gaze to your face. He blinked for a moment and then hesitantly said, "Then I suppose we would have to share it?"

You nodded again, tightening your grip. "It’s not like it would be all that different from the dunes."

"Not at all."

"And if perhaps other things were to happen…" you started to say and trailed off.

"It seems to me that - if against all odds - we are forced to share quarters tonight it might be a sign from Kevva that such happenings were meant to be."

You smiled and he smiled back, reaching up and brushing a lock of his hair back from his forehead. He finished his meal quickly, shoving the plate away and holding a hand out to you as he went to the bar.

"I don’t suppose you have just one room left for the evening?" Ezra asked hopefully.

The man laughed, turning his screen around for Ezra to see. "I’ve got a dozen, place is dead mid-week until the transports arrive."

You deflated behind him, sighing softly. Suddenly Ezra let go of your hand, reaching into his pocket and sliding a chit across the counter. "I would ask you to check again my good man. I believe you have only one room available."

The man stared at the chit and then Ezra, brows drawn together. He glanced at you and then cautiously said, "Oh, look at that. Just the one room left. Must have been a run on off-world reservations just now." He looked at you again and ventured, "Two medium berths?" Ezra slowly slid another chit over and the man blinked. "My eyesight must be going, I’m afraid all I have left is one large berth."

Ezra turned to you, one eyebrow raised. "It seems, my little starshine, that they have only the one bed available for this evening."

"Oh that’s too bad," you sighed melodramatically.

The corner of Ezra’s lips pulled slightly and he sighed as well, "I would be happy to let you have it."

"Or we could share?" you offered, giving him a small smile.

"If it is not too much of an inconvenience on you."

"Not at all Ezra," you grinned. "I’m sure we can make it work."

Inverted Tropes Masterlist

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Injured

A/N: Here is my entry into the wonderful @nebulablakemurphy ‘s 500 followers writing challenge! Congratulations again! I loved the prompt, it’s in bold in the fic! I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for letting me take part in your challenge! :) I know I’ve written something similar to this before but there are some differences and who doesn't love reading healing fics? 

Summary: Sirius is injured on a mission. 

Pairing: Sirius Black X Fem!Reader

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, a gross misuse of commas

Word count: 2.9k

Sirius slumps against the garden wall; holding a hand to his bleeding arm. He grits his teeth against the pain, resisting the growing urge to moan in pain.

A rogue spell had hit him after his cover had been blown on a mission. The Death Eaters he were following had been tipped off to his presence and retaliated from the first sign of his appearance.

It got nasty quickly.

Sirius had always been talented with duelling spells; practicing most of them on Severus Snape through his formative years at Hogwarts.

But twelve years imprisoned in Azkaban had made his reflexes a little rusty.

Sirius hisses, putting pressure on the wound to stem the bleeding. He wouldn’t be able to heal this on his own; he was already feeling woozy from the blood loss. The swears that leaving his mouth in response to the pain, would turn even the dirtiest of cheeks red.

He gathers what little strength he has left and enters Grimmauld Place.

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

From your place in the kitchen, you have a clear view of the front door. The minute Sirius left on his mission, you had sat down in that very spot and you wouldn’t move until he walked through the door again.

From your place in the kitchen, you see Sirius walk through the front door – face pale, arm bleeding.

He sags heavily against the wall; his face drawn with pain. You shoot up out of your seat, practically running the ten feet to him.

Your eyes take in the damage: a deep cut running down the length of his upper arm, and it was bleeding heavily. You knew then that his mission had gone wrong and he had been very close to dying tonight. Your heart skips a beat at the very thought; a life without Sirius would be like living with half a heart.

You smile as calmly as you can, “Alright, sweetheart. I think we’re going to need to sort this out, don’t you?”

“You’re not wrong, darling.”

You wrap an arm around his waist; supporting his weight as you walk down the hall to the kitchen where you could get him sat down.

“Harry?” You call; sitting Sirius down at the large kitchen table.

“Is he going to be okay?” Harry questions, his voice wobbling despite his best attempt to not let it. He had followed you out from his place in the kitchen; he had chosen to spend time with you to get to know you better as his Godmother rather than stay upstairs with Ron and Hermione.

“He’s going to be just fine, but I need to you to go find me some things okay?”

“What do you need?”

“I need a towel and a fresh shirt for Sirius too – a button up if you can find one. Can you get those for me please?”

“I’ll be right back with them.”

He disappears; you can hear his feet clattering up the stairs – in a rush to get what you asked for. You head to the kitchen, grabbing a pair of scissors from the draw before reaching for one of the many first aid kits hidden around the house.

“Sirius, I know how much you love this jacket and shirt but I’m going to have to cut off the sleeve.”

He groans; half from the pain in his arm and half from the pain of losing this jacket. “Babe, they’re my favourite.”

“I will buy you another, I promise, but I need to cut off the sleeve so I can heal your arm.”

You focus all of your attention on the man in front of you as you cut away the sleeve of his jacket. “How do you feel?” You whisper.

“In pain, but I’m coping.”

“Take a swig of this,” You say, handing him the pain potion kept in the first aid kit.

Harry returns with a towel and the fresh shirt for Sirius. You smile at him gratefully; you know he wants to stay, that he wants to make sure his Godfather is okay, but this isn’t something for him to watch no matter all that he’s been through at his age.

“I’ll come get you when I’m done, okay? He’ll be okay, Harry, I promise.”

Harry is reluctant to leave, but he looks at Sirius who nods slightly. “You don’t need to see this, Harry.” Harry frowns but he goes; no doubt going to tell Ron and Hermione what’s happening.

You turn back to the love of your life, “Right then Handsome, let’s get this sorted.”

“I love it when you call me Handsome.”

“I know you do. Has the pain potion kicked in?”

He nods.

It takes no time at all. You whisper ‘Ferula’ over the wound; watching as the bleeding stops and his skin knits back together again.

Healing Sirius was something you had become accustomed to over the length of your relationship with him. Through Hogwarts, he was known for getting in scraps whether they were physical or magical. And then through the first wizarding war with the first Order; healing him over and over again – he would trust no-one else. The second wizarding war was, so far, no different.

You and Sirius had always revolved around each other; as if planets in orbit. He naturally gravitated towards you and you blended seamlessly with the rest of the Marauders. For so long, you danced around each other. Touches would linger; smiles would be wider; longing looks from across the room when the other wasn’t looking. Sirius would look at you as if you had hung the moon and stars in the sky each night for him. You would look at him as if he were the sun personified.

Things changed in Sixth Year when confessions were whispered in the darkest corners of the library and kisses exchanged until thrown out by Madame Pince.

Eloping after James and Lily’s wedding was something that wasn’t planned, but Sirius had taken one look at you in your bridesmaid dress, standing so proudly next to Lily and decided that he was going to marry you. Through their reception, when friends and family were occupied with the couple’s first dance, Sirius pulled you in a corner where a private moment could be shared. His proposal was a whisper in your ear; your acceptance was an exhilarating kiss.

You were married just over a week later. Remus, Lily, and James witnessing the ceremony each with tears in their eyes.

The time apart from him was a pain that could not be described; how every day you rolled over to his side of the bed expecting him to be there, his hair mussed with sleep. For twelve years, you woke each morning alone, but you knew that whatever you were experiencing was nothing compared to Sirius’ experiences.

You didn’t think you would ever see him again, but he showed up on the doorstep one day. he had aged, but then again, so had you.

“It’s been an age, darling.” Were the only words he spoke to you before you pulled him in for a hug.

However, you quickly pushed him away at his smell. “I’ve travelled for days to see my wife who I haven’t seen for over a decade and you push me away saying I smell.” He states in disbelief as you pushed him towards the bathroom with a towel.

“Talk to me when you smell better, Black. I’ll be waiting.”

“You better be, Black.” The mention of your married name, a name you hadn’t gone by for years, had you biting your lip.

“What are you thinking of?” Sirius’ voice sounds, pulling you from your reminiscing.

You take in the scene before you: Sirius’ arm is fully healed, dried blood crusted around the pale pink scar.

You clear your throat as you reach for the towel and some antiseptic, cleaning the scar even though the risk of infection was now low, “I was thinking of us.”

“Us?”

You nod, “Our relationship from Hogwarts to now.”

Sirius chuckles, “No wonder you were so quiet. We have decades to go through.”

It took time to reach this point in your relationship. You had loved the man almost twenty years, but the time apart changed the both of you in ways neither one could imagine. It took time to relearn the quirks and habits of each other, but learn you did. You were both still surprising the other, but the one constant between the two of you remains the overwhelming love you feel for the other.

“Okay, let’s get you out of this shirt.” You start to unbutton to the first buttons to his shirt, the first of his many, many tattoos making an appearance.

“If you wanted me undressed, love, all you had to do was ask.”

You fix him with a flat, unimpressed look, “Sirius, that line has never worked on me nor will it. Now would you like to take off your shirt or shall I?”

He fixes you with a smirk, gesturing to his chest with his one good hand, “I’ll let you do the honours.”

“I married a ridiculous man.”

“But you love me.”

“But I love you, even if you do ruin your clothes.”

His top half is entirely bare now. You swallow at the sight of all of his tattoos now on display. Tattoos on Sirius were never a new experience for you, he got as many as he could the moment he left Hogwarts. It was hard to keep track of them all, however. Your eyes run over the date of your wedding tattooed over his heart; affection for the man in front your surging through you.

“You get your good arm through, and I’ll help with your bad arm and the buttoning up.”

He follows your instructions, and then follows your movements with his eyes.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

“The feelings mutual, Mr. Black.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Mrs. Black.” He drawls, a slow smile spreading over his lips, crinkling his grey eyes.

His shirt is soon buttoned up; tattoos covered save for the one decorating his hands. Hands which are now cradling your face and pulling you in for a kiss. One hand travels into your hair, the other remains on your cheek. You brace yourself on his thighs, smiling against his lips, enjoying the feeling of his mouth hot and insistent on yours.

It was routine after a mission, no matter who’s, to greet each other with a kiss. A reminder that you’d made it home, back to the other. A promise to never leave the other without a goodbye. It had been delayed due to his injury, but Sirius was making time up now.

Sirius pulls away first, yawning. You chuckle, “Come on, old timer. Let’s get you to bed.”

Sirius squawks indignantly, “We are the same age!” He tries to say more but he’s stopped by another yawn. The adrenaline and loss of blood now taking its toll on his body.

You tap his knee, “I think we should head upstairs to bed.”

Sirius nods, admitting defeat, letting you pull him up from his seat.

You help Sirius up the stairs to your shared room. He flops down immediately on the bed, careful not to jostle his freshly healed arm. He watches you flit about the room, tidying up dropped clothes and sorting out the dressers.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something is wrong?”

“You’re tidying – you only tidy to this extent when you’re upset. Remember when Marlene died? I don’t think our house had a speck of dust for a month. So what’s wrong?”

You hold a discarded shirt to your chest; knowing immediately from the smell that it’s his. “It doesn’t matter how many times I do this, how many times I heal you, it will always be hard.”

Sirius’ face crumples, “Sweetheart…”

“Every time you head out a mission, my stomach churns constantly. I thought it would go after so long; after the first war but it hasn’t. Sirius,” You sob quietly, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Come on.” Sirius pats the bare space next to him, urging to lie next to him. He wraps his arms around you; his hand running up and down your arm in a comforting manner. You take in his familiar scent – cinnamon, cloves and sweet orange with a hint of tobacco that no matter how long he hasn’t smoked for, will always linger in his clothes. Your heart starts to calm from his smell and his actions.

“Darling, I will always come back to you. Even Azkaban couldn’t keep me from you. I’d fight tooth and nail to be able to return to you. They could send me to another planet, another universe and I would still come back to you.”

“Here you are, injured and you’re the one comforting me.” You mutter, drying your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

“It is interesting how we got into this position. But I don’t mind, my love.”

You chuckle, “How does your arm feel?”

“Entirely healed, thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll always fight for you too, Sirius.”

“I know you will,” He says, quietly.

Quiet falls across the room; the only sounds being the ticking of the clock and the synchronised breaths of the both of you.

You begin to pull away from the embrace, throwing your legs over the side of the bed. Sirius’ hand stops you, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to tell our Godson that you’re okay. He’ll be waiting for us.”

“Don’t go.” Sirius says, a pleading note in his voice. He wanted to end the night with you; holding you or you holding him, he wasn’t bothered. He just wanted to be near you; needed to hear your heartbeat after coming so close to never hearing it again.

“Sirius, Harry will be up all night worried.”

“Stay with me until I fall asleep.” Sirius whispers, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere in the room. “I’ll see him tomorrow, I promise.”

You shuffle on the bed, pulling the duvet covers over you both. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” You murmur, a hand running through his long hair.

Sirius remains silent for a while, enjoying the feel of your hand in his hair. He’s silent for so long that you think he’s fallen asleep until he asks quietly. “What are your plans after the war?”

“I’m not sure. You remember how it was last time? We made plans and they didn’t happen.”

“I’m not going anywhere this time though.”

You sigh, thinking it over, “I’d like to move back to the country, I think. Buy a cottage large enough for the three of us. I think I’ve spent enough of my life living in terror to deserve some peace.”

“The three of us?”

“Yes. You, me, and Harry. Look, he only has to return to his aunt and uncles for long enough for the protective charm to restore itself. For every other holiday, he’s living with me and you. I spent too long away from my Godson, it’s time I stepped up to the job James and Lily gave me.”

“So you want him with you?”

“He’s my godson too, Sirius. I love him just as much as you. I was also a part of the decision made by Dumbledore that night.”

Sirius relaxes further, if that’s possible at all, your voice lulling him close to sleep. “So a cottage?”

“A cottage. An ivy-covered cottage with a front and back garden where I can grow my own vegetables. We’re going to have a large kitchen where I can bake and you can cook, and hopefully teach Harry how to cook other meals than breakfast. It’ll have three bedrooms; one for us, one for Harry and one to be used as a guest room because I have no doubt that Ron and Hermione will be visiting us. Harry’s room, he can entirely decorate on his own – he can make the choices for it all. We’ll help, of course, with anything he asks us to, but it’ll be his own space where he can relax and be himself. And the centre of the house will be the living area which has nothing but warmth for those who want to sit with us. A place for our friends and family to come visit and not have any stresses while they’re there.”

Sirius’ breaths become slower and slower the more you describe your planned future for all of you. In no time at all, he’s snoring away – completely relaxed with a muscled arm thrown over your waist. You smile serenely down at him, your hand still running through his hair.

With your other hand, you grab your wand from the bedside table, casting the Patronus Charm to send a message to Harry – he’s okay, he’s asleep, come see him in the morning.

In the morning you would be woken by Harry, peeking his head into the room as you had forgotten to check in on him last night. You’d smile at him sleepily whilst holding a finger to your lips, nodding down to where Sirius sleeps – his head on your chest, legs thrown on top of yours effectively pinning you to the bed. But he’d be okay. He’d be completely healed. Sirius would wake more determined to get to that little cottage in the country.

For now though, you were happy to doze off with the love of your life in your arms, no longer injured and planning your future.

********

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers

Sirius Black taglist: @cheapglitter @fific7

[passivenovember]

The Headlights and the Highway.

Harringrove April, Day Twenty : Breeze.

(Pre-relationship hangout at the quarry for two, please!)

--

They were never allowed to listen to Bowie when Steve was younger. And he thought, as naïve little tart with his head in the clouds, that maybe it was because David Bowie was a Martian. 

Steve had seen the costumes.

Shiny pea coats with intergalactic platform boots. Bright red hair and planets drawn on his forehead in a type of marker Steve had never seen on the shelf at Melvalds but somehow still made the top of his list every birthday and Hanukah.

His parents said Bowie’s music made people want to do things to each other. 

Bad things.

Like kiss, on the mouth and other places, and swap clothes when they went into the bathroom at parties. 

Steve always wondered if it would have an effect on him. The vibe of something that was surely cosmic, the way his friends at school always spoke of it. 

Can’t I listen to just one song? Steve would ask. 

And every time, the answer was the same. No, son. Good, respectable young boys didn’t fall victim to those intricately laced traps. 

No matter how shiny and badass they were, Steve thought.

But the matter was always left behind. Discarded, as Steve moved on and grew up. Attending parties where the vibe was much more seedy bar than intergalactic prom.

So. 

Steve had never listened to David Bowie. 

“Ziggy Stardust,” Billy insisted, holding out a freshly rolled joint, tip red in the dark night air. “You’ve never listened to Ziggy Stardust?”

Steve took it from him, confused. “Isn’t his name David Bowie?”

“Yeah, but no one under the age of thirty calls him that anymore.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” Billy said, hopping off the hood of the Camaro. “Either way, you better buckle up.”

Steve took a hit from their joint, coughing for a long time before gaining the strength to answer. “We’re listening to it now?”

“That a problem?”

“No, I just.” He peered through the front windshield, watching as Billy pulled the massive cassette case from the back seat of his car and began rifling what was rigidly alphabetized. “I just always thought my first time hearing Bowie would be more. Special.”

Billy paused, cassette tape in hand. “Special?”

“Yeah. Y’know, headphones on, hammock swinging in the summer breeze, pretty girl under my--”

“God, you’re such a virgin.”

Which.

Steve took another hit, frowning. “I’m sixteen.” He said, like that meant something. 

It didn’t. 

“Best I can do is the quarry and a half smoked joint.” Billy said, jamming the cassette into its home and leaving the drivers side door open as he took his spot next to Steve. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” He winked. “I’ll be gentle.”

Steve felt hot under the collar, absolutely feverish. “Don’t be gross.”

“’M not.” Billy teased, leaning back against the windshield. His arm, from where it laid, was warm. Grounding. “Shut up and listen, pretty boy.”

“I’m not--”

“You are.” Billy said harshly. “Shut up.”

Steve fell silent as the night air swirled, bright and sweet, with something he had never heard before.

--

“Is it everything you ever dreamed?”

“Shh.”

Billy rolled onto his side. Steve could feel his breath, warm and smelling vaguely of weed and pineapple bubble gum, brush against his neck. His face, as Billy nudged him. 

“It’s good, yeah?”

“Will you shut up?” Steve snapped, opening his eyes to glare at a sun-dipped asshole. “I’m trying to get beamed up.”

“Where, into outer space?”

“Yeah.” Steve concluded, shutting his eyes once more. “I’m on a journey.”

Billy must’ve been smiling because he was quiet, for once. Deadly so, grinning and still breathing on Steve’s neck when he turned to glare. 

Billy held up his lighter. “Want another?”

“This is exactly the kind of situation my parents warned me about.” Steve sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Drugs and stargazing.”

“Absolutely sinful.” Billy said, rummaging around for his stash. 

“Yeah, next thing you know we’ll be switching clothes in the bathroom.”

Billy stared at him, joint hanging between two red lips. “What?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” Steve searched the sky for Orion’s Belt, squinting even as that first puff of smoke obscured his view. “Do you think there’s life out there?”

“What, like on Mars?” Billy laid down next to him, passing the joint. “Gotta be. That’s the whole plot of this entire album and, like, half of Hunky Dory.”

Steve coughed on smoke, floating ten feet off the ground. “There’s more?”

Billy’s eyes were soft as he stared back. Pretty. “Of course there’s more, baby, he’s been around forever.”

Steve grinned. “We gotta listen to that one next. Bill, we have to listen to that one next, like--”

“Don’t got that one.” Billy said softly. He shifted again on the car, joining Steve in his search for life. 

Steve watched Billy’s eyelashes, fluttering in the breeze, brushing and rearranging the stars with every blink, every exhale of pineapple scented air. 

Steve rolled to face him, somehow landing closer. “Next time. I’ll pick it up.”

“Contraband jams?” Billy gasped. Asshole. “What will mother and father say?”

Steve’s fingers were moving, somehow. Tips brushing Billy’s stupid Metallica shirt, palm resting firm over his heart. It was incredible, that rhythm.

Matching the song even as it switched over. 

Steve held Billy’s gaze. “What song is this?”

“Moonage Daydream,” Billy said, eyes falling lower, tracing the gentle line of Steve’s lips. “‘S one of my favorites.”

Make me baby Make me know you really care Make me jump into the air

Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe...

Billy’s eyes slipped closed.

Close, so close, that Steve could feel his eyelashes from miles away. Billy floating in and out of Steve’s orbit. He reached for him again, as if to keep him close, or.

Bring him closer. Fingers trailing from Billy’s chest to his neck, stubble-rough jaw carrying them into the chorus. 

Billy’s mouth fell open against Steve’s lips, eyes blinking in question, as love filled all the empty spaces. 

[karasuno-chaos]

In His Orbit (Nishinoya x Reader)

On a lovely day in Nice, France, you reflect on the past few months and the many reasons you love your boyfriend.

I came sooo close to putting Noya in a flower crown for this.  Maybe next time.😆  -Giz

Word Count: 1,974

The market was busy, though it was still early in the morning.  Vendors were rearranging pallets into shoppable displays, piling produce into cascades of color, already calling to each other and the few early shoppers who, like you, were wandering between the stalls.  You loved the energy here.  Even though they had a long day ahead, everyone was buzzing with caffeine and adrenaline.

A year ago, you never would have guessed that you’d be in Nice, France at the famous Cours Saleya market.  You’d always thought you weren’t impulsive enough to travel the world with nothing but adventure to guide you.  It sounded unpredictable and impossible.  But you’d fallen in love with a wanderer whose thirst for excitement had pulled you across the world, and you’d never been happier.

You purchased a small container of raspberries and ate a few while you wandered between the stalls.  The fruit season would be ending soon, but the berries were still deliciously tart.  You took note of certain goods to come back for later before ducking out of the market to a side street.  You’d noticed a little cafe during your first passage through the stalls, and you were craving some caffeine.

A few minutes later you returned to the market balancing two drinks and the raspberries.  You could already tell there were more people, even though the crowds were nowhere near what they would be during peak hours that afternoon.  The Cours Saleya was rather touristy, but in many ways, you were a tourist yourself.  You’d been helping on a flower farm just west of the city for only two weeks, so much of the city was new.  You were excited to explore this corner of the world.

You managed to make it to the other end of the market without dropping anything.  You loved this part of the Cours Saleya.  While the food vendors were enticing, the truly unique magic of the market was the flower sellers.  The buckets and bundles of colorful blooms brought the charm of country fields into the city.  Their simple beauty was something you had come to view as quintessentially French, and the dazzling variety of colors and aromas meant there was always more to see.

You headed to the stall with the rustic orange buckets.  A kaleidoscope of blooms burst from the displays, barely contained by the careful arrangements of the vendors.  They’d almost finished setting up, so you didn’t feel too guilty for ditching them to scope out the market.  You’d put in your time to help as customers came, assembling bouquets and refilling the displays as needed.  Even though you barely knew any French, the languages of commerce and flowers were easy enough to translate.

“Y/N’s back!” one of the men at the stall announced.  Rin and his wife Chizuru had moved to France five years ago after falling in love with the French way of life.  Both had grown up in Hyogo on farms, so buying up a flower farm outside of Nice had been a natural transition for them.  You’d met last month in Spain while they were on vacation and you and your boyfriend were working at a futbol stadium.  You’d hit it off right away, and when they’d invited you to their farm, you’d readily accepted.

“Need a hand with anything?” you asked.

“Nah, we’re pretty much set.  Nishinoya’s just grabbing the last of the daisies.”

As if summoned by his name, your boyfriend appeared carrying a bucket bursting with daisies.  He set it down in line with the other flowers as though it weighed nothing, though you knew firsthand how heavy the buckets were when full.  He adjusted the blooms a bit so they looked welcoming to customers, stepping back to cast a critical eye over the display as a whole before giving a satisfied nod.  Only then did he turn his attention away and notice that you were back.

“Find anything good?” he asked, face breaking into a smile like sunshine.

“I’ve got coffee and raspberries.”  You handed him the drink you’d ordered for him, and he took it along with a handful of berries.

“Thanks babe.”  He kissed your cheek in appreciation before popping a raspberry into his mouth.

“The stall looks really good.  I think we might be the only vendor with so many lilies left.”

“The greenhouses were worth the investment,” Chizuru agreed, arriving with the cash box and little folding table that you’d keep out of reach of customers, “though the crop this year has been great in general.”

“All right!” Nishinoya cheered.  “We’re going to sell a ton of flowers today!”

You smiled as your boyfriend got psyched up.  His energy was infectious, and his dedication to the task at hand never ceased to inspire you.  It was just one of the many things you loved about him.

You barely had time to finish your coffee before a steady stream of customers was keeping all of you busy.  Many simply admired the blooms as they passed, but you knew that quite a few would come back later after perusing the rest of the market.  After all, why come to the Cours Saleya if not for the flowers?

The weather was nice, and the crowd steadily grew as you headed towards the afternoon.  You were grateful for the caffeine and reinforcements as other farmhands arrived around ten o’clock.  It was exciting to be consistently busy, and you felt part of a team even though you’d just started working with these people.  It was a privilege to be a vendor at this famous market, and you were proud to see the culmination of your work in the fields as you bundled bouquets and trimmed stems for shoppers.

You also loved working with your boyfriend and watching him rise to the challenge.  You’d always admired his work ethic.  When he was committed, he couldn’t be satisfied with doing things halfway.  He constantly challenged himself.  Sometimes you wondered if he ever got tired of the hustle, but he was always looking toward the next adventure.

You’d been surprised when he’d asked you to travel with him after graduation.  You’d started dating halfway through your third year at Karasuno, and while you had no doubts about your feelings for each other, you hadn’t considered tagging along on his world tour when it was still pretty early in your relationship.  You should have expected that he’d already worked you into his future plans.  After all, he never did things halfway, and that included giving his heart to you.

These past few months had been some of the best of your life.  You’d discovered so much about the world, about Nishinoya, and about yourself. Not knowing what you’d be doing next month could be challenging, but you were learning that not having everything planned out could be exciting, too.  Liberating, even.  And your boyfriend kept it fun.  You were really glad you’d decided to join him on his travels.

“Here.”  You offered him a chilled water bottle as you sat in the back of the transport truck a few blocks from the market.  He gave you a sandwich in exchange, the bread fresh and the meat sliced as you’d watched by one of the vendors in the market.  Everything seemed to taste better when you knew the people making it cared about the quality of the ingredients.

You savored the first few bites of your lunch in silence.  You’d been busy nonstop nearly all morning, and you welcomed the chance to sit down for a bit.  The weather had warmed as the sun arced through the sky, but it remained comfortably mild.  It really was a lovely day to be outside surrounded by flowers.

“I think we might sell out again,” Nishinoya observed, crumpling the paper wrapping of his sandwich into a ball.  The rate at which he ate never ceased to amaze you.  “That’ll be two weekends in a row!”

“No doubt it’s due to your charming salesmanship,” you mused with a grin.

He laughed appreciatively.  He attracted people like the sun pulled on the planets, and his easy-going straightforwardness meant he got along with almost everyone.  Even if your compliment had been partially in jest, you wouldn’t be surprised if his bright smile and enthusiasm were drawing people to the stall.

“I think it’s the flowers,” he deflected, picking up a bloom that had fallen out of a bucket.  “Rin and Chizuru’s farm is amazing.”

“Thinking of buying up a French flower farm yourself?”

He laughed again, and you thought that you could listen to that sound forever and never get tired of it.

“No way, it’s way too complicated.  I’d have to remember when to plant and harvest and water and fertilize, and then there’s all of the budgeting and hiring and way too much planning.  I can’t keep track of all of that!  You could probably do it, Y/N.  If you wanted to, I’d be your best farmhand ever.”

He tucked the flower behind your ear, and you couldn’t help the light blush that dusted your cheeks.  You knew Nishinoya meant what he said.  He never spoke without conviction in his words.  If you really wanted to buy a farm and settle down, he’d support you and help you.  He really would be the best farmhand ever.  But you wondered if he’d really be happy, being tied to one place when there was still a whole world to explore.  Would he tire of perfecting flower patches and grow to resent your choice?  Could he ever settle and be content in one place?

He was looking at you intently, smile undimmed, and you decided that you didn’t want him to settle.  Certainly not for yourself.  Someday perhaps you would tire of the travel and adventure, and then you would broach the subject of finding something more permanent.  You weren’t ready to ask that of him yet.  He was still blazing across the sky, and you were pulled along in his wake.  For now, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That sounds like too much for me, too.  Besides, there’s still a lot to see, right?”

“Right!  We’re going to conquer the world together.”

“Let’s just focus on conquering the market today,” you chuckled, standing in the truck bed to grab a few buckets of flowers.  You’d need to refill the displays when you got back.

Your boyfriend surprised you by leaping into the truck bed and nearly tackling you from behind with a hug.  You laughed as he gave you a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, babe.”

“For what?”

“For coming with me.”

He said it like it was the simplest thing, his focus already turning to the buckets of flowers.  Warmth bloomed in your chest.  You’d follow him wherever he wanted to go.  You just couldn’t stay away.  Your universe wasn’t complete without its sun.

“Hey.”

He turned, and you surprised him by capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Yuu.”

“I love you, too,” he promised with softened eyes and a look of devotion he saved only for you, and for a moment, you thought you knew how the moon felt when she was set aglow with the sun’s reflection.  You kissed him once more before hopping out of the truck and hefting a bucket of flowers in your arms.

“Come on, let’s go charm some shoppers so we can sell out and get the rest of the afternoon off.”

“What, did you have plans for today?”

“Nothing particular, but we haven’t done much sightseeing since we got here.  I figured we could wander around a bit and find something fun to do.”

“Sounds good to me!” he agreed, and you knew that whatever you ended up doing, he would make it an adventure for both of you.

[pinkjeanist]

pynk || katsuki bakugou

desc.: You enjoy making pink, yarn bracelets for Bakugou, so naturally, he enjoys wearing them. As shameless as he is about your relationship, he can’t help but flush when his class discovers his new garments. 

a/n: this was pretty self indulgent but i just like cute shit so [masterlist and requests]

w/c: 1,482

Bakugou had no idea how the two of you ended up together. It was even more bewildering to him that you’d ever spent an ounce of your time on him in the first place, with how poorly he’d treated you (as well as most other people) the first few times you tried to talk to him. But even with the curses and mean words he’d hurled in your direction, you still had smiled, and had come back the next day even more determined to befriend him.

He was a cold, far away planet, and you were the sun. Before he’d even realized it, you’d pulled him into your orbit, and it made him sick every time he would respond rudely to your kind gestures. So, without thinking, he let himself gravitate closer to you until he was practically burning in your glow. It didn’t take him long to not mind the heat, and when you finally confessed to him that night on the beach, he had let your warmth envelop him completely.

From that day on, he was wholeheartedly yours, whether or not you asked for him to be. You wanted to wear his sweatshirts, so he bought cute ones to match your aesthetic and wore them more often than not. You had a killer sweet-tooth, so he always had candy in his pockets, in his bag, in his room. You wanted to hold his hand, so he always had one free for you to take. But even with as much as he unconsciously conformed to your unspoken wants, there were still things he wouldn’t do- change his style completely, utterly flip his brash personality, devote every waning second of his life to you and forget about his own needs.

Bakugou wouldn’t submerge himself in the perfect, pastel world you’d created for yourself, but he’d be damned if he didn’t wear all of the little, pink bracelets you made for him. 

At first, no one really noticed them besides Kirishima (who, like yourself, was almost constantly glued to his side), in which his friend elected to kindly ignore (because it really wasn’t a big deal). When you started to make more for him after he bashfully confessed that he’d taken a liking to the bracelets, it felt wrong not to wear them all at once, since you’d put in so much time and effort into making him something. You insisted that he didn’t have to wear them simultaneously- or at all, for that matter- but alas, he persisted, and started wearing them around his ankles when his wrists filled up. 

He was changing out of his hero costume after a taxing day of training when his classmates really first took notice. Bakugou never had the bracelets on during training, nor when he used his quirk at all, in fear that he’d damage and ruin them. So, after he’d slipped back into his uniform, he made quick work of putting the bracelets back on. He wasn’t fast enough, though.

“Woah, what are those, Bakugou?” Kaminari exclaimed it loud enough to catch the attention of the entire locker room, and as much as Bakugou tolerated him compared to the rest of their classmates, he could feel his dull anger sending shocks of power to his hands. “Dude, you’ve got, like, fifty of them!”

Bakugou slammed his locker and started slipping on his shoes, maybe a little faster than usual. His classmates, now intrigued, flocked like birds and, whether lightly teasing him or not, doused him in questions and inquiries. 

“Why are they all pink?”

“How many more do you have?”

“Seriously, who has that much pink yarn?”

“Why do you have them on?” 

“I really think we need to take into consideration how much pink yarn was used in the making of these bracelets. The pink yarn industry is gonna go out of business, at this rate.”

“Who gave them to you?”

Deku managed to tick his last nerve with a question barely heard over all of the others. Bakugou turned to Midoriya, just as he was about to leave the locker room, fed up to the heavens and just about pushed over the edge.

With hands balled, small bursts of explosions around them, he replied: “My girlfriend, so shut the hell up!” 

He left without another word, cheeks stained pink and steam practically billowing from his ears like a kettle. He wasn’t bashful about your cute antics or the gifts you’d made for him, just more along the line that he’d been caught redhanded with them and interrogated so firmly. He made an effort to snap at everyone for the rest of the day besides you, even giving Kirishima the cold shoulder, and only letting his guard down once the final bell rang.

You caught up to him as he was making his way back to the dorms after having chatted with Mr. Aizawa about bettering your quirk, and you saw his body visibly relax at your call to him. Bakugou turned to face you, though he wasn’t smiling (not that he often did, but you’d noticed that he liked to at least make an effort for you). Still, you placed a kiss on his cheek, and after irate grumbling on his part, you practically giggled and gave him a proper one.

“How was your day? I saw that you were a little fussy at the rest of the class.” You wrapped your arms around his own as you walked, taking your time. The afternoon was too nice not to bask in.

“They’re all assholes. Feeling entitled to my personal life.” You hummed and urged him on with your silence. “Kaminari decided to scream to the whole damned locker room about the bracelets you gave me, and they wouldn’t shut up about them.”

“Is it really such a bad thing?” You teased with a grin, all your focus on him. “I can’t see why they’d have any problem with it. It’s just a change to your usual look.”

Bakugou gave an affirming grunt in response and pulled up his sleeve to look at the bracelets, only to find them charred and hanging on by their last few good strands.

He stopped, and when you gasped, he felt his heart sink into his stomach. He couldn’t immediately find the right words to say, so before you could speak, he began to panic.

“I’m sorry,” He looked to you with wide eyes, his hand on your arm as a silent plead to keep you by his side. He must have burned the bracelets when his quirk started acting up in the locker room. “I’m sorry, I got mad again. I’ll- I’ll make it up to you.”

Apologies from Bakugou were rare unless he really messed up, so you knew, even without hearing the sincerity in his voice, that he meant what he said. You weren’t mad, not in the slightest (you had plenty of pink yarn left, as well as various other soft colors), but you still felt bad, just hearing how sorry he was for something more or less out of his control.

“No, don’t apologize! It’s okay, really!” You squeezed his arm and smiled up at him, but he was still frowning deeply to himself with eyes fixed on the charred bracelets. It was always hard for him to calm down when he was upset with himself, but you were dead set on making him feel better. “I’ll make you more, as many as you want! We can even make them together so that I can wear yours!”

“You don’t get it, (Y/n). You spent hours making these, and now I’ve gone and fucked it up!”

You press yourself even closer to him, and his cheeks were, once again, bright red as he looked at you, though this time more sheepish than anything. “You’re fine, hon, I promise. I’m not mad at all!”

Bakugou sighed, and you knew that he was trying and failing to let the relief of your words set it. You cupped his cheek and turned him toward you, trying to take his mind off of the burnt bracelets. “Let’s go back to my room. I can teach you how to make them, and we’ll wear bracelets for each other! But if you really do feel bad, I could use some more of those suckers you bought yesterday.”

Bakugou looked at you with those heart eyes he often gave you at the most random points in time, and even if he wouldn’t smile, you could tell he was already calming down. It made you smile brighter.

“Whatever, babe.”

You kissed him again, and many times again before you parted for the night after staying up late making bracelets to replace those lost. Bakugou just couldn’t stay mad when it came to you, even if the one he was mad at was himself. He loved you too much for that.

[haphazardlyparked]

AU Coalition Part III

part one and part two were extremely different, but I have continued this birthday tradition with a Raven Tower-inspired flashback thing. Happy belated birthday, @gingerly-writing!! As always you continue to be an inspiration, seeing as I haven’t written anything in literal ages but then I remembered I had had an idea for the birthday space AU for you.

————

I traveled for a very long time, and for very much of that very long time, I saw nothing. I knew there were many things to be seen—I knew this as I knew I was not alone among my kind. Merely very far away from them, as I was very far away from the many things that could be seen. Though often I saw them from a distance, as I sped by, there is yet again so much empty space between those things and my own body that glimpses were all I ever saw.

And then I came very close upon a star. This star and its companion shone in tandem, not so bright as some of the things I had seen in the distance, but blindingly, newly so for how close I was to them. It was a novel thing, to feel such heat upon me, and I thought how nice it would be to stop.

It took a great deal of thinking how nice it would be to stop before I did stop, right between the grip of the swirling stars, and that was when I came upon the world.

It was a soft world, full of vibrant colors where for very long I had seen streaks and pinpoint flares, and I could see that life was in profusion there.

My arrival was not a great thing for that profusion of life, and I do not remember much of that period. For I was small, compared to the soft world, but I brought with me all my endless travel, and the power that came with that tilted the world into confusion. It was a long while before we settled, the soft world and I, and I spent a great deal of my power trying to save and strengthen the life I had greatly diminished.

So it was that when I truly woke and was my own self again, I circled the soft world and it and I had found a balance that again gave room for life’s profusion.

I watched the soft world, the little light I found myself bound to. The life there grew in great leaps and broken bounds, reached great highs and then, sometimes, such lows that I turned my face and could not watch. But if I turned my face, I was always called back.

The first time the life called to me was not with words, though they certainly said many of them. What I heard was a kind of rhythm, a movement of sound that went back and forth, an interplay I had not known I had once known. So long I had traveled, everything around me streaked and disappearing beyond as I made my swift way through space, and now there was a rhythm that called and gave back, that cradled, that moved and yet did not leave its place.

I turned my face back, of course. I looked for the faces of those who sang to me, and slowly I learned their words. My joy in their triumphs was greater, and my sorrow when I saw their paths darkening increased the same, and when it grew too painful for me to see, I turned my face. Sometimes, this was enough to halt a sharp fall, and sometimes I heard many desperate cries before I was called back. (I answered those desperate cries, of course. I turned my face, but I do not need to see to know how my people suffer, and to help them where I can and where it is just to do so.)

Great Lady Moon, they would call, though this is not all they called; they gave me a name, too, the life on the soft little world, one that I cherish and hold close to the dearest parts of me.

This time gave me much in joy and satisfaction, and I heard my name spoken widely and freely, and I gave of myself when I was called. I felt a kinship with this world I had nearly destroyed, but then given of myself to save, and now it and I thrived together. It was my little world, which had named me, and we might have stayed that way forever if the ships had not come.

They bore life like my life, but they tasted stale and yet seemed to remind me of something from very long ago, from before my voyage. The ships landed on my little world and disgorged its cargo of alien life, and my people called to me in amazement as they sheltered their alien visitors, who looked so much like themselves in some ways, and yet differed so much in the ways that mattered.

But time passed and the aliens did not leave us, or could not leave us, and I grew to see even these aliens as mine. They stayed so long I began to hear them speak to me, and then they truly were mine, and I helped my people build together ships of their own so they might explore the space beyond the soft little world.

But there were two things my people did not do, as the first visitors had done.

They did not travel near to me, for they held me in great respect, and they would not explore my being as the first visitors had spoken of doing to their own planet’s companions.

And they would not sleep long, long years and travel through endless empty space as the first visitors had; as I had. In all my travels as the lights of distant bodies flew by, I had thought very much about the nature of the space I inhabited, that I entered and left and moved through continuously. And as I had thought about that space, I had thought about its properties, and how it might be shifted here and there to make my ceaseless way easier or more interesting, and then I had come upon the star and ceased my thinking. 

Now, I thought again of all that space I had traveled through, and I saw that it could be changed, and I directed my people to do so. With my instruction and their own ingenuity, they created great gates that hung in space, and through these gates they flew their ships and crossed between the space between the stars, to distant worlds beyond.

Beyond my protection.  

Many of my ships came home to me. Some did not. For as I have said, I was not alone among my kind, merely very far away from any others, and with these gates hanging in the dark of space, my people could travel very far away. There was other life, shepherded by others of my kind, and not all was as peaceful as we. There were other gates, too, built by others.

My people began to construct their travel stations farther and farther away, and creating new ones and deactivating others; creating alliances out among the stars, and shunning other parts of the universe that grew too unsafe. We worked together, my people and I, to keep our corner of the vastness whole.

During this time, with all the ships flying in and out of the gates, and all the foreign ships visiting my small world and I, I quickly learned I did not like my ships going out beyond where I could see them. For almost all this little world’s life, I had been there, giving my power to this life, and now they went where I could not see.

You are distressed, Lady, a Speaker of that time to me, early in the days of my people’s gate travel. All of my people speak to me, but there are always those who speak more often. And among them are those whose voices ring with foresight, who think a great deal over what I have to say, and then do a great deal more of acting after that. Those who called me back in the old days, when I would turn my face in sorrow, were often led by my Speakers.

I admitted to my Speaker that I did not like to have my people go so far, to places where they could die and I could never bear witness, never know their fate.

And the Speaker thought a great deal over what I had said, and then did a great deal more acting after that, and suddenly my people did had never done before: they flew their ships to me. They landed, and one walked upon my surface, and cut a piece from me and carried it into the ship.

Can you see now, Lady? my Speaker asked, and as the ship flew away the one who had walked upon my surface, who was indeed my Speaker, set the piece of me they had wrested from my surface into the body of her ship. Thus I could see them all.

I went everywhere. I watched over my soft little world, in the embrace of our suns, and also I was with my people as they leaped between the stars. I learned names and met others of my kind (though I did not say much to them, and did not form alliances among them as I saw they do with each other) and I went farther than I ever had before, and this time I was not hurtling through space alone.

You already know this, of course, because I am your moon and you are life from my little planet, but it is my story to tell and it may be my last telling. Even so, I will now skip ahead to the voice that sang to me sharply one night, drawing my attention from all parts of the vastness. In the end, I too have learned something of haste.

The voice that sang was a wail, actually, and it came from a new babe aboard a ship that carried a piece of me, as all of my ships do. She was born in orbit around the little planet, between the little planet and me, and before me.

I do not know. I do not claim to know everything, as you well know, only to have lived very long and seen very much. But I did take an interest in the infant, and because I was interested a sliver of me contrived to find its way among the child’s things, and I watched the girl who had cried to me begin to smile, and laugh, and do many other interesting human things besides.

I knew my people lived through different phases of maturity, grew from babies to children to adults, but I had been aware of it in the sense that I was aware of everything; human children grew just as the children of any animal grew, as any living thing grew. I was among it all, aware of it all. But this child had a voice that called easily to me, and through that crystal voice I saw life with new eyes.

Your people called you a lady then, though you will go by different titles now. You will be a queen next, I know. In watching you, I have learned names and seen people and understood the pulse of lives more sharply, seen the tangle of your concerns, and learned your context. It was like this when I became very fond of someone, always those with something of a Speaker in them; and as I traveled aboard ships, parts of me became very attached to my crew, my traveling life, and it was like this then as well.

My perspective changed yet again when you began to speak to me. You were not a Speaker yet, but you told me of all sorts of things from the moment you could talk. Your little joys, your petty sorrows. Your fleeting interests and passing observations. Perhaps this is because you were born so close to me, between my world and myself, and before me, yet I was captivated by every little thing. Rarely had one spoke to me so; they called me Great Lady, and Lady, and Goddess, but you used my name freely and spoke freely, and I had not know much of this before you. 

I am studying history, you would say, and I should think you know more than anyone of it.

Perhaps, I would reply, because I see things differently from where I am, and I do not always know your past by your names. But together we found a common language much of what I had seen, and then I would tell you of other Speakers, each of whom I remembered dearly, all different yet the same in the ways that mattered.

Have you ever learned to dance, Sascrin? you would ask, I am learning a pattern from old Kas, and I think I might break an ankle.

In my memory, I have only ever danced one pattern, and it is the dance I share with my little world. But I did love to watch you do it, and you did dance so well with the boy from old Kas who wanted to captain a ship. No ankle was broken.

Lady Sascrin, you would muse, what is it like to be in so many places at once?

I had not thought of that before you asked me, for I simply was where I was, with each part of my body. I did tried to explain it to you, and you thought very hard about it until you could only laugh with confusion. In turn, I wondered how it felt to be tied to one body. The idea was almost confusing enough to amuse me, but then I thought that if you lost a part, it did not remain you or yours, as the small sliver that is still me can hang on a chain around your neck.

I endeavored to keep all your parts together. After a while, I also endeavored not to favor you too greatly, because I did see how your gifts made you shine uncomfortably.

My cousin the prince is angry with me again, you had told me often, and I had not thought to think what it could mean. We both had greater concerns. I knew from you a new great empire threatened our people; had destroyed allies and alliances already, and might yet break the guards on gate construction we had to protect us. My attention followed you when you traveled the gates and fought in distance space. 

And there was also the simple fact that I did not often hear the voice of your cousin. And because I did not know what he would do, now I am too late to stop it.

Do you know why I am telling you this tale, my Speaker?

“Lady Sascrin,” you say, “we cannot save the planet, it is true, but you could put more of yourself into our ships. We will take you away with us and find a new planet.”

I can feel how deeply you wish this, how shamed yet determined you are to save what your blood has destroyed. You think you have failed me. 

You have not. I believe this moment must come for everything, even for those of my kind, and it has been a very long time since I have heard of others (though I think you may find something like me in the heart of this empire.)

Speaker, I am telling you this tale now because I have lived a very great deal and been many places and seen many things, and I have loved my soft world. I am sorry that it will fall to you to build something new for us, and though I have done what I can to help you, I am sorry that I will not be there for you as I have always been there for my Speakers.

But I have never had a true friend to be mourned by when I go, and I would like to ask this of you.

You are silent for a very long time. When you speak, your sorrow runs so deeply I feel an ache somewhere in me.

“I do not know how much sense our blessings will make, but I do wish the light of Lady Sascrin upon your heart. My dear friend.”

My own light upon my heart, I muse.

And I say, as you prepare to jump through a gate in your ship to escape the imminent explosion, My light will be with you always, Masara. My dear friend.

————

"This is..." Hikaj felt that his eyes were comically large in his face as he stared down at Amir-Y, but it could not be helped.

The great station was the size of a small moon, though instead of being solid through it was made of bands over bands of habitable station. The inner bands were finished and even populated, but there were countless manned and unmanned droids crawling about the outer edges of layered sphere, building new and ever-greater bands that curved elegantly unfinished over the layers beneath.

"Even for famed Sascrin technology, this is beyond comprehension," Hikaj finally manages.

Arlis's grin widens, and Inarim turns faintly proud, and Masara looks Hikaj in the eyes.

He sees loss in there, but great respect.

"This truly is Sascrin's technology," she said. "The Lady had always been our greatest teacher, and she wanted us have a home. When we win this war, Hokiraj, Amir will have something to protect as well.”

[dammit-stark]

out of the blue

carolrhodey - - 1.5k words

She texts him one day, even though it’s been over a year since they’ve talked. It’s bad. The way her tone comes off through the texts, Rhodey knows she’s probably drunk off her ass somewhere, nursing a bottle of strong liquor like a baby while she pets that damn cat and giggles like a maniac. He knows how bad of an idea it would be to respond. Disaster-level, heart-wrenching, kill-him-twice-over bad idea.

He waits five minutes and sends back a three-word text. He can’t help it. She’s his soft spot, even if she’s disappeared.

What’s up, carol?

She texts back immediately. The uninhibited speediness hits him almost like a twisted knife right in the spot it hurts him the most.

Miss you.

Oh, god. Here it comes.

No you don’t.

Do too!

They text for hours. Rhodey’s in his bed at the compound, buried under a heavy comforter, the soft light beside his bed stealing a respite from the overworked blue light that unceremoniously sheds itself across his room that night. He has no idea where she’s texting him from. It’s nearing dawn when he finally gets up the courage to ask.

Where’d you run off to, Carol? Where is it that you’re texting me from?

For the first time all night, she doesn’t respond immediately. Rhodey wonders if she’s sobering up or if she really ran away from him like that. Either way hurts. The grey bubbles on his phone are quiet for an uncomfortably long time.

He tries something else, I miss you.

There’s another completely expected beat of nothing, and Rhodey’s hope dwindles his hand over the power button. His too is dark and he’s an idiot who ruined a good thing without bowing how yet again.

Then there’s a soft vibration, and Rhodey’s glad he’s alone because nobody is in his room to witness the desperate way he dives for his phone.

Can’t tell you, babe. You know that. I’m sorry.

He stares at the word babe for an unacceptably long time.

Then she adds, almost like a taunt or a promise or something even more painful, I miss you too.

The sun peeks out from between the blinds, and Rhodey knows it’s time to go to sleep. His heart hurts and his eyes feel heavy.

Good night, Carol.

He doesn’t pick up his phone again when she responds, the blue light of the notification flooding his bedside table. He’s already asleep. Dawn comes quickly after that, and Rhodey continues to doze, blissfully dead to the world.

When he wakes up, there aren’t any more texts, and Rhodey hates that he’s actually disappointed.

When he picks up his phone and a receptionist tells him, “Please hold for NASA security division,” Rhodey automatically assumes that oh, Tony’s causing trouble again. Great. Fantastic. Figures. 

His head falls back heavily into his pillow and he sighs. Pepper was supposed to have a handle on him, though the veritable question lies in whether a single person could ever truly have a handle on Tony Stark. Rhodey listens to NASA’s incessant hold music and decides that no, Tony Stark has never been one easily controlled. Rhodey should’ve figured that.

Then the music stops and a NASA big wig behind a desk somewhere is saying, “Is this Colonel Rhodes?”

“Yes, it is.”

“We have a report here that you received a number of messages coming from Mission Ship D16, and it is policy for Security Division to be read in on these messages.”

Rhodey rubs a hand over his face. He’s too tired for this shit, really, “Excuse me?” He says, because what else can he do.

“We need a physical or oral transcript of your interactions with those aboard the Mission Ship, sir. Either will do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”‘ Rhodey says, as blunt as can be as he sits up in his bed and leans against his knees. He isn’t as good at all nighters as he used to be, that’s for sure, “I’ve never heard of a Mission Ship D16, and I didn’t receive any messages last night.”

The voice on the other end of the line is silent for several long moments, and a vague flipping of papers can be heard through the device, “No,” He says, confident and tired, “We have a distinct record of transmission between your phone and the exact location of the ship in orbit for several last night. We need access to those transmissions, sir.”

Last night. Carol. Oh.

So maybe everything isn’t about Tony after all.

“Did you say location in orbit?”

“Yes, sir, Mission Ship D16 is an aerospace vehicle.”

Oh.

Oh.

“I did receive some messages last night now that I think about it,” Rhodey says, feeling much more awake now that his mind is absolutely reeling, “They were from Lieutenant Danvers.”

“Yes,” The engineer says. He’s sounding increasingly tired, “Lieutenant Danvers is in charge of the craft. Can we have the transcript of the messages now?”

“I’ll- I’ll fax it over later,” Rhodey tells him, stammers, “Over and out,” Then hangs up abruptly on the NASA tech.

He opens up Carol’s contact information and just stares at it. Space. She was in space. Not even on the planet. She left him and didn’t tell him where she was because she was in space and it was confidential. Rhodey can barely fathom how this is his life. He texts Carol.

So you’re in space.

He watches the gray bubble fill with a blinking ellipses as she hesitates. It’s almost comical, the idea of Carol hesitating, being thrown off guard. Rhodey’s used to it himself, his best friend and his ex-girlfriend are both superheroes, surprise is practically a personality trait of his at this point, but Carol fights aliens for a living, not much surprises her.

What makes you say that? She replies, neither confirming nor denying. It almost makes Rhodey laugh aloud. Almost. There’s this heavy feeling in his stomach of a puzzle clicking in place that keeps the noise from coming out into his mostly dark bedroom though.

Got an enlightening call from NASA this morning.

Shit.

Yeah.

So you know?

If you’re asking if I know that you’re currently in space then yes I know, Rhodey hesitates, then adds, Why didn’t you tell me?

You weren’t high enough security clearance, Rhodey. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't.

Full bird colonel and my clearance still isn’t high enough to know where my ex-girlfriend works why am I still surprised by things like this

He can still imagine the lilt of her laugh perfectly.

I meant it when I said I miss you, Carol says suddenly, and it’s like she brandishes her knife again, Now that you’re read in do you want to come visit?

He laughs aloud, finally.

In space?

Yeah, why not.

God, he missed her, too.

Yeah, He finally responds, I’d like that, as long as NASA doesn’t mind.

fuck

What?

I forgot about nasa, how did they feel about our texts last night?

Rhodey laughs aloud again, he can’t help it. He’s got this irritatingly accurate image in his head of Carol as a freight train, crashing her way through troughs of red tape.

I’m sure they’ll have a good laugh when they see them

Shit.

That’s what you get, Danvers, for texting me while drunk

Shut up, Rhodes, she tells him, and it almost feels like she’s on the planet, like she never even left, like she somehow isn't impossibly far away.

Rhodey finally gets out of bed, stretches languorously and blinks away some of the stray exhaustion. He wonders distantly as he pads toward his laptop and coffee machine, whether or not text rates are extra going to space.

NASA, as it turns out, does not find their exchanges very amusing. Carol gets a very strongly worded letter from some straightlaced agency director about the immorality of drinking while on what is technical government property and Rhodey gets a very lovely selfie of his girl posing with a bottle of vodka and the letter printed out on cardstock. He can see the metal walls of the spaceship in the background and it’s weirdly normal for him to see.

It doesn’t matter what NASA thinks about them, though, because two days later, a giant metal ship makes traction on Rhodey’s front lawn and Carol’s stepping out all grins.

“Hey, baby,” She says, real and there and not converted to words theough a device.

Rhodey looks at her dazzling smile, to her Ship, to the giant mud pit in his yard, then back to her smile, and he grows a grin of his own and says, “What the hell, Carol?”

“Wow, Rhodey,” She says, taking a few strides toward him, “Good to see you, too.”

He wraps his arms around her, pulls her tight- real, tangible, more than just a coding and a transmission. He doesn’t say anything.

“So,” She says, “Wanna go to space with me, baby?”

He looks up, sees the clouds and the stars and the largeness of it all, then he looks down at her face and he can see her glowing, and he nods, “Yeah,” He says, ecstatic, “Show me the way, Space girl.”

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 7 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I’m sorry we have to go through all this stress, babes, but it’s imperative that Duncan and Kenzie face the formidable forces of their badass mothers before they can deal with the incoming stress of the paps and the press; because that shit is coming. I both enjoyed and struggled writing Annette in this chapter; I really wanted to get Diane Lane’s performance down in this, and I do think I ultimately succeeded, but it wasn’t easy. Ultimately, Annette Shepherd loves her son, and that’s an unshakable truth. I keep thinking of Samuel as Duncan’s Jiminy Cricket, always saying something profound, Duncan’s conscience sitting on his shoulder. The smut is returning in the next chapter. They can’t stay away from each other for long and I don’t want them to and you, dear reader, probably don’t want them to, either. Here’s IN A SENTIMENTAL MOOD, which is the mood around this part too, for what it’s worth. Please reblog and like and spread around the masterpost, which won’t show up under the godforsaken #millory tag for some reason, thank you!

Duncan pressed a hand to his chin in his familiar tick, finger stressing against his bottom lip, his eyes gazing downward, not really seeing anything around him the backseat of the BMW; what he saw was Kenzie, the golden fall of her hair in the morning sun (god, I love her, an angel, he’d thought, his mind still soft in sleep), the way she’d turned over her shoulder to look at him, her round, bare ass making his morning wood even harder, the way he’d eased into wakefulness, drunk with the kind of restful, all-consuming sleep he hadn’t had in years, drunk on being pressed against her, the way she’d bitten into his finger, thrilling him, the soft feeling of the skin between her shoulders under his mouth. Her smell had filled his nose as soon as he breathed in, eyes opening to her; he felt sure he’d be content to wake every day to the scent of her, filling him, enveloping him. He was already dreading the coldness, the emptiness of his bed tonight. It made him absolutely ache. A blessing to be near her, a curse to be away from her. I guess this is what it’s like, and he shivered. To be in love.

Samuel eyed him through the rearview. “Mr. Shepherd, she is an angel. And absolute angel. You best not let go of her. I can see how special she is. I saw it right away. Like a pearl in the flotsam of the sea.”

Duncan looked up at him, grinning. “Samuel, that was lovely. And I know. And I won’t. I asked her to be my girlfriend last night, and she said yes.”

Samuel flashed his white smile, his dark brown eyes taking on the glow that Duncan knew so well from when he was a child and Samuel was one of his closest friends and dearest comforts, especially when his mother was in a bad mood. “That makes you a very fortunate man, indeed.”

“It does. I am not going to mess this up. I can’t.”

“But she is Madeline Stone’s daughter,” Samuel said, like the voice of Duncan’s conscience, probing into his private thoughts. “Whatever shall we do about that?”

“Fuck if I know, Samuel. But I’m going to tell Mom tonight. I have to try to make her understand.”

Samuel blew air in a harsh stream from his nose. “Whew, Mr. Shepherd. That is not going to be easy.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I wish you the best of luck. She is a jewel. I hope to see her often with you in the future.”

“Thank you, Samuel. Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me.”

Samuel looked at him, eyes glancing up from the road, going back to it, looking back at him again. He seemed to be thinking about something for awhile, something he didn’t say; then, he spoke.

“I do believe she is making you a better man already, Mr. Shepherd. Fortune is indeed smiling on you.” And Duncan was struck by the familiar words, so similar to the ones he’d thought to himself, spoke aloud to Kenzie in the privacy of his room with her little hand in his, their eyes gazing into each other. Deja vu washed over him in a wave again (how often will that happen now, he thought, eyes staring out the window at the city lights again, and they reflected the blue in them, making them gold, as if he were Midas, turning the world to riches, how often will I feel like time is crashing into me now, insisting I’ve known her for a thousand years), and he felt overwhelmed with the embrace of all that had happened over the past few days, overwhelmed with the hand that felt like destiny that had pushed him onto the balcony and into her orbit, as if she were a planet and he was the moon, attracted to her inexorably, brought to her by the invisible, feminine hands of the Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, he thought, spinning, weaving, cutting, if you are watching us, you Wise Women, All-Knowing, please bless us, have pity on us, mortals in love, abject to the will of the Gods. For I love her and my Fate is now sealed.

He couldn’t and wouldn’t let anything come between him and Kenzie; not even his mother.

------

Duncan stumbled through his Gardner Analytics press that day, his mind elsewhere entirely. Melody had given him an exasperated, confused, incredulous look, a what the fuck is your problem today look, after the third time he messed up his taped interview with C-SPAN at Shepherd Hall.

“Are you okay?” She asked, siding up to him as the reporter and cameraman walked away, a mixture of annoyance and concern on her face, pointing at them with her thumb. “What the fuck was that?”

Duncan pressed his hand against his chin, shaking his head; “I’m fine, just feeling disoriented today, I had a lot going on this weekend.”

Melody’s raised her eyebrows, her expression falling further. “And what exactly did you do this weekend…?”

“A lot.” He walked away from her. No doubt everyone will know soon enough, he thought as he heard her scoff behind him. But fuck, telling my mother is enough for today.

An hour later, he texted Kenzie while he was in his meeting (I’m aching for you, angel) until she stopped replying, obviously done with her lunch, and he scrolled back, lost in her messages, discontent with the physical distance between them. Mackenzie Louise Stone. He felt like he was in high school, looking down at the corner of his napkin where he drew the loops of her name during the meeting for the Foundation’s upcoming charity event; though it was less a charity event than a Gala, at $3,000 a plate and only accessible with an exclusive invitation; only for the wealthiest of DC society. His mother invited practically every A-list celebrity in New York and the surrounding proximate cities to the event for the past two years alongside the expected politicians, and it was becoming the new Met Gala in its own right; the dress code was wildly strict and staunch, themed, and well-documented by DC press (and, increasingly, by press on the East Coast in general). Duncan only half-listened to the list of preparatory arrangements, pondering her face, the shape of her mouth, her wide, bright eyes, her hair falling like ocean waves made of gold and sand, the plunge between her breasts, the sweetness between her legs, her loveliness, her sincerity, tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes, the way she had said I want you to come, baby, and how he had wanted her to grasp his neck and force him to come, remembered how she’d told him to surrounded by roses and he had, wildly, into her, hoping it would never end because it was in her embrace, ecstatic to obey her, but then he thought of how he’d wildly grasped her in his shower, his hands on her neck and his body full of pent desire and she’d welcomed him, her eyes dark, full of lust, begging for his touch, and he wondered at what secrets they’d unlock in each other in the days to come and was thrilled at the prospect, at the fantasy of her reality; she seemed to have unlocked a Pandora’s box of desire in the pit of his body and he wanted her to do with him whatever she wanted, wanted to give her anything she asked for, imagined her little clothes hanging in his closet, her pointed boots and strappy heeled sandals and her little intricate gold jewelry and her crystals and her scent lingering there among his black shirts, her gold settling into his clothing, into his life; he was far, far away in thoughts of her and her wet sex pressed against his lips, her cries of rapture, when Seth cleared his throat and said again:

“Duncan. What do you think?”

“Hmmm?” Duncan looked up, his fingers pressed to the side of his jaw, turning his eyes up from where he’d been drawing spirals languidly around Kenzie’s name on the napkin under his tonic water, where before they’d been turned down to the texts they’d exchanged half an hour ago, making him hard and restless and drifting in his longing for her and her alone.

“Something about a silver lining. The theme. For the Gala.”

“Oh.” He sat up a little, blinking.

“Angels and Demons?” Seth said, turning back to the shareholders and advisors around the table. “Diamond in the rough? Yin and yang?”

“An ember of fire in a void.”

The people around the table turned towards Duncan’s statement. He put the pen that was in his hand down, and trailed a finger along the surface of his phone in his hand under the table; all along his thoughts, Mackenzie danced and flitted away from him, gazed up at him through a field of flowers wherein she lay, laughed at him, against him, in dripping candlelight, pulled him into dappled sunlight, kissed him beneath blooming trees and in his dark bed and in the dark light of evening, glowing. Held him in the darkness. Held him in moonlight, her hands in his hair, his lips on her neck, their bodies close beyond measure.

“Gold in the darkness.” The audacity of hope, he thought. Her.

“Gold in the darkness, that’s great, Duncan, perfect.” Seth glanced at him, nodding, writing furiously on the memo pad in front of him. “That’s it.”

It’s her, Duncan thought again, blue-gray eyes flickering from Seth to the others and back down to his phone, where he knew her messages were enshrined like words scratched into a digital temple, thinking of Kenzie’s little black velvet dress, her quartz necklace in the moonlight, in the light of his bedside lamp as he pulled her into his lap in the throes of the first time they fucked and the softness of her on top of him in the bathtub with roses kissing her skin, her face shrouded in candlelight and his sight going hazy with her beauty and she was exquisite and soft as a dream and gold and the memories were like amber in him already, going solid, hard, seared onto the surface of his heart, fossils of time, a fossil of her pressed into him, no matter what happened now, he’d never forget it, gold on his black clothes, gold dust ground into his skin, the sheen of her aura, her soul, as if he’d eaten a piece of her and now the glow emanated from his body, invisible but to those who had a blacklight from the eternities, able to see the essence of a person, able to see how he was glowing from within because she loved him and he loved her and that, he thought, was the only thing, The only thing. Everything. Kenzie.

-----

Back in the warm, familiar backseat of the BMW, Duncan gazed out the darkening window at the glittering expanse of the District of Columbia, unable to divorce that image of Kenzie from his mind, the slight outline of her that he’d first glimpsed against the roses along the balcony, the lights glittering behind her, her sad face staring out into the open air, the hand of fate pressing into his chest. He wondered; what can I do to make her happy? The thought shook itself into the outline of his ribs, into the space of his eardrums, into the ventricles and veins of his blood.  What can I do for her? I’d do anything for her. I’d die for her. His heart pounded in his ears; he felt as if he could feel every drop of blood coursing through his body. How can I make Mom understand how I feel about this woman? We’ve only known each other for three days but I feel as though I’ve been searching for her every day of my life until now. That this is, at last, the realization of hole in my heart that has finally been filled, like the missing mechanism of an intricate clockwork. I didn’t even know it was missing, but now I don’t know how I lived without it. I don’t know how I lived without her. The thought of living without her now fills me with so much horror, I can’t stand it. Is this what the great poets wrote about? Love, undying, all-consuming, and like the soft hand of a little death?

“Samuel, have you ever been in love?” he asked, looking up into the rearview, running a thumb absently over the surface of his phone, clutched in his hand, as if he could feel her through it. He imagined her name there, tracing its imaginary outline. He thought of her hair again, her eyes, her laughing against him after they came together, thought of her tears.

“Oh yes, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel said nothing after that, and the silence leaned into Duncan, like the weight of a heavy hand.

“What happened?”

“She married someone else, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Oh. Samuel, I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Shepherd. It was...a very long time ago. Not everything in life happens how you want it to. To be loved, even for a little while, is a great gift. To love, in its way, an even greater gift. However long you are given these gifts, you cherish them. That’s the secret to life. I’ve thought so for quite awhile.”

“I love her, Samuel. I love her and I want to make her happy. I want to do whatever it takes to be with her.”

“Make sure she knows, Mr. Shepherd.”

They both lapsed into silence, soft strains of Ella Fitzgerald (Samuel’s favorite) floating toward Duncan from the front of the car: there’s a somebody I’m longing to see / I hope that he turns out to be...someone who’ll watch over me…

Mom, I’m on my way to you, he typed into his phone. I have something important to talk to you about that means the world to me. I love you and hope you’ll understand. See you soon.

-------

Samuel pulled around the wraparound drive of the Shepherd mansion, its Colonial shutter-style windows lit with the electric candles that went on automatically around sunset (the sun had just peeked below the horizon a moment before, the last indigo fragments hovering at the skyline, small scudding clouds still visible over the hazy city starlight), between their crimson velvet curtains. The lights were on downstairs, throwing glowing light out onto the blacktop; Fine, Duncan, I’ll see you soon, Annette had replied in her text to him, and she hadn’t said anything else. Duncan felt on edge now, conscious that the moment he so dreaded was closing in on him, clenching its hands to trap him. He looked down at his phone again as Samuel idled in front of his mother’s house, and noticed a text from Kenzie.

There was a link to a gossip website (buzzpopfeed.com) with an accompanying headline attached: SHEPHERD UNLIMITED HEIR DUNCAN SHEPHERD SPOTTED AT--and then the link cut off. Under it, Kenzie had typed: Just told my mom and she isn’t taking it very well so far. I’m going to try to talk to her somemore over dinner. In the meantime, my friend sent me this. I thought you should know.

Duncan clicked the link, raising his hand to his jaw. He scrolled through the pictures (she’s so lovely, he thought, gazing at her shy expression, their hands clasped together, the fall of her hair over her shoulder, my Kenzie) until he reached the one at the bottom. Oh, no, he thought, staring at the aching kiss he was pressing into Kenzie’s face, the expression painted into her sweet features, the way their bodies pressed together. There’s no room for ambiguity with this one. He was sitting in his mother’s driveway, about to steel his nerves to tell her he wanted to date Mackenzie Stone because he was in love with her, and now this. Now he had no choice, now, it was out, no matter what he decided to do next. He wondered with a cold chill if his mother had seen the photos yet. He winced.

“Bad news, Samuel,” he said, lowering his phone. “Some pictures were taken when Mackenzie and I were at the bistro last night. Now they’re online.”

“Mr. Shepherd...it may be for the best.”

“I know you’re right. But fuck.”

“Be brave, Mr. Shepherd. That’s what she deserves. Your courage. And you know as well as I do: this is for her. She will need all your strength in the days to come. She is not from your world and she will need your help to navigate it.”

Duncan gazed at him for a moment, quietly; then, some strange sixth sense touched him, and he looked up through the window of the car and noticed, with a jolt of shock, that his mother had been standing at the balcony on the second floor that overarched the pillared front doorway, staring at him, or at least at the BMW (the windows were tinted) with a curious expression for at least a minute or more; her body had an observant sort of stiff pose, her arms crossed, her face gazing down, her brow furrowed, her lips closed. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a stillness about her that unnerved him deeply. It communicated one thing in particular to him: it was time to get out of the fucking car, Duncan.

He pulled the door open, stepping out, staring up at her.

“Hi, mom,” he called up, raising his voice enough to carry it over the steps and pillars to where she stood, staring at him, her eyes dark.

Annette said nothing. She stared at him a moment longer (his blood coursed suddenly to an icy cold stream), then she stepped away, through the second-floor deck’s glass French doors.

“Oh, fuck,” Duncan murmured. He pressed a hand through the side of his hair, looking down at his phone for a moment. He contemplated sending Kenzie a quick reply (goodbye my darling I am about to be fucking murdered by Annette Shepherd), but decided against it, slipping his phone into the pocket of his tailored leather jacket, idly yanking at the sleeves of the long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath it, taking a deep breath of the early-evening air into his lungs, blowing it out, and going up the three long white steps, into his mother’s house.

Inside it was glowing and gold, the opulent fixtures and furniture spotlessly clean as they always were, the gold-white banisters of the staircase shining in the dim glow of the electric chandeliers that extended on either side of it. He looked up the stairs and watched his mother descend; tonight, Annette Shepherd wore a black wrap-top with tailored black suit pants and black flats, the shoes she only wore at home when she was alone. Her hair was down around her shoulders in soft styled waves; her hair always seemed perfect to him, not a strand out of place, not a tangle, smooth and serene, the way her slender face often appeared even when there was a boiling river of hellfire rolling under her expression. She had no jewelry on but for the small round diamond earrings she often wore at her ears; he almost never saw her wear necklaces, as though her neck were perfect enough on its own without adornments. Her dark eyes continued to look at him, silent.

She reached the bottom of the steps, stopping before she descended entirely, so she hovered above him, just enough to look down into his face. It was a familiar power move from his mother; he was taller than she was, so she used those steps strategically, as she did in all things (how could she use it, them, anything to her advantage), to give herself leverage. She held her large iPhone in one hand; she brought it up, scrolling down for a moment, and held the screen up to him. It was the photo of him and Kenzie embracing, his lips pressed ardently against her; the picture he’d just seen for the first time in the car a moment before, the photo he knew he wouldn’t be able to bullshit his way out of to Annette Shepherd.

“Who is she.”

“Mom. Please don’t--”

“Do not fucking stall with me, Duncan. Who. Is. She.”

He regarded her for a moment, forcing himself to stare into his mother’s dark eyes; he could see the glimmer of anger there now, one she was good at hiding from years of political practice, but not forever, not from him. There was a moment of struggle that passed between them; a sort of clash of silent wills, Annette determined to have her son tell her the entire truth with not even a hint of falsehood, Duncan determined to tell her only what was absolutely necessary for fear of her wrath and shielding Kenzie from it, as well. Annette won the battle for the moment, as Duncan felt the wave of resignation wash over him. There was nothing for it. Time to rip off the bindings and air out the truth.

“Her name is Mackenzie.”

Annette rolled her eyes at that, scoffing, her composure finally fracturing. “What’s her fucking name, Duncan, her full fucking name. Who the fuck is she? Is this what you wanted to tell me about?”

She spat the word this out, her anger palpable in the texture of it, her annoyance bubbling over and clashing against him. This. She meant Mackenzie. It sent a twinge of anger through his skull, a scattering of red-hot reaction at the back of his eyes. Fuck it, he thought. I don’t care.

“Mackenzie Stone.”

He watched his mother’s eyes go wide and dumbfounded for a moment, the anger in her expression muddling to one of shock.

“Stone.”

“Yes.”

“No. No way. No goddamn fucking way, Duncan. No FUCKING way.”

“Mom. Please.”

“What could you be thinking? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She pointed a finger at him, the way she used to when he had broken something priceless or made a mess in an inconvenient place.

“She’s Madeline Stone’s daughter, and I’m in love with her.”

The flabbergasted expression fell over Annette’s sharply beautiful features again, and she reached out, it seemed, involuntarily, to clutch the banister, like she would fall otherwise. Her face drained of color (oh god, just how I imagined, he thought), cheeks seeping into whiteness.

“I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it? What am I, a teenager?”

She stormed down the remaining steps, pushing past him roughly, waving a hand dismissively at him as she turned her back towards the dining room.

“This is ridiculous, I refuse to listen to this. Forget her. I’ll make it disappear. Just stop, right now.”

“Mom. No.” He forced his voice to remain even.

She stopped abruptly, turned, eyes blazing.

“No?”

“Mom, listen to me,” he said, and he was devastated to find that he could hear tears at the edge of his voice this time, could feel emotion bubbling under his throat, at the back of his eyes. He stepped to her, reaching for her hand, grasping it (it was cold and she tried to pull it away), gaining traction, tightening there, insistently. “Please, listen to me. It’s me, Duncan. I’m telling you something important. I love her, okay? I love her.”

Her eyes, dark and clouded with her blind anger, blinked at him, her lips pressing together, her body rigid.

“I love her. I want to be with her. I want your blessing, but I’m going to be with her with or without it. I love you and I wanted to tell you because I want to be honest with you. Please don’t make me regret that. Mom. Please. Can we sit down? Can we--please (and his voice cracked, he couldn’t stop it)--can we talk about this?”

He felt her trying to pull out of his grasp again, her expression still threaded with deep anger, but she said nothing, only stared at him. He saw her eyes flicker, change, as a tear, to his dismay, fell from his eye, coursing down his cheek.

“Duncan.”

“Mom. Please.”

Annette seemed utterly confused then, her perplexity falling over her cheeks and mouth, making them fall downwards; her eyes looked away from him, across the hall, at nothing.

“Madeline Stone’s fucking daughter, Duncan.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear this. I know you hate her and she humiliated you. But this isn’t about you. It’s about me. I’m asking you to please--please--give us your blessing. If you’ve ever loved me at all, you’ll do this for me.”

She looked at him again, annoyance in her face once more until she glanced at the wetness on his cheek; remembered the tear that had fallen there a moment ago, and her mouth opened a little, her expression falling again, disbelieving. Duncan knew that his mother wasn’t used to seeing him cry; he almost never did, even when he was a child, holding in his fears and his sadness until he felt ready to explode, never feeling as though he was safe enough to let his emotions go, let his despair out. But Kenzie had kindled in him an openness, an abandon; a desire to show his emotions, to hell with what the world pinned on him. She loved him. That was more than enough.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I was coming to tell you and those photos beat me to it. But I’m telling you now because I want you to know. You can’t pretend like I didn’t tell you, because I did. I just did. I love her. Please accept her.”

“You love her.” Annette repeated his words, her tone incredulous. “You fucking love her. Jesus. Youth. Of all the women on the planet, Duncan. Madeline Stone’s daughter?”

He let go of his mother’s hand, taking a step back, brushing his fingers under his nose, the back of his knuckles against the wetness on his cheek, and turned away from her in frustration.

“It doesn’t matter whose daughter she is, Mom.”

“Oh, you think it doesn’t?” she snapped at him, walking past him, back towards the dining room. He followed her, ears ringing with the anger and sadness that had started to hum in his mind, bringing his hands together, pressing his thumb into the palm of his left hand, trying to quell it.

“When you love someone, it shouldn’t.”

“This could fucking destroy your political career. This could cause serious problems with the bill, with Shepherd Unlimited, with all the work we’ve done.”

Duncan let out an exasperated groan. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mom, how is will this destroy anything but one of your endless grudges? Your stubborn insistence on hating people who, in this case, you’ve never met...and who mean everything to me?” The dining table was set with an impressive leg of lamb with several side-dishes surrounding it; Annette had employed a personal chef, Arturo (3 Michelin stars) for as long as Duncan could remember, his meals throughout Duncan’s childhood and adolescence prepared meticulously; he remembered his school lunches looked markedly different from even his other wealthy classmates in private school growing up, featuring pan-seared greens and cuts of Kobe beef and creme brulee (Annette had insisted on Arturo making his lunches, he was never allowed to have the school lunches). Annette stopped in her tracks, mouth agape at him again. “Means everything to you? And what do I mean to you, Duncan?”

“Mom. Why do you think I’m here?”

She turned away again, storming to her seat, slapping her phone down onto the Waterford tablecloth, grabbing at the bottle of Chateau Lafite (the corkscrew still hovering around the lip, but mostly pulled up by the house butler--Ingrid, who was Scandinavian and tight-lipped and who Duncan felt sure would defend Annette with her life if the need ever arose, and who had also been with the Shepherds for three decades--though at the moment, she had wisely vacated the room, no doubt hearing the raised nature of their conversation) that rested between the two place-settings at the south end of the room, yanking the rest of the cork out, and pouring the expensive wine unceremoniously into the crystal wine glass in front of her, glaring at it as though it was the source of her anger. She set the bottle down, pushing it away from her; grasped the crystal and raised it to her mouth, draining it all in one long draught.

“Sit the fuck down, Duncan.”

He stalked over to the seat beside her (hers at the head of the table, as usual), yanked out the heavy oakwood dining chair, and sat, his hands coming together in front of him, elbows on his thighs, sitting back, glaring at her, his eyes full of gathering stormclouds. It was time use the leverage at his disposal.

“I’m your son, Annette.”

“I’m fucking aware of that. It’s the source of my ire.”

“This is what I want. This is my happiness at stake.”

Annette paused, lifting her head, setting her chin at an angle, breathing in and out great bursts, and then she let out a sigh (resignation?) that made Duncan’s nerves fizzle.

“If you do anything--I mean fucking anything--to compromise the bill or the company, I will personally push her off a fucking balcony.”

He bit his lip, anger seething through the space between his brow. Annette talking about hurting Kenzie, even in jest, made him feel absolutely mad, unhinged with resentment towards her. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how beautiful Kenzie was, how luminous and lovely, how kind and the way gold shone out of her, the light, the goodness. She didn’t know Kenzie, and she didn’t know what she was fucking saying. He was silent and still, the stormclouds still seething behind his eyes, gazing at her, hands still clasped on his lap. I won’t let you do that, he thought. I will never let you lay a finger on her golden head.

“Did you fucking hear me, Duncan.” She poured more of the Lafite into her crystal glass, glancing down at her phone (a text flashed up, the iPhone vibrating against the table), glancing at him.

“Yes, Mom. I heard you.”

“Not a thing. Not a fucking thing to compromise the institutions I have built the last twenty years. Or I will fucking get rid of her myself.”

You could try, he thought. They stared at each other for a moment again; that impassable tension floating between them once more, both struggling for the upper hand. As long as I’m alive, you won’t touch her.

“Tell me you understand what I just said.”

“I understand.”

“Fine.” Annette reached across the table curtly, grabbing the silver tongs that rested in a dish of pan-seared asparagus with lemon and ground pepper, throwing several stalks unceremoniously onto the Hermes porcelain plate in front of her. “I want to meet her. This week. No excuses. Friday, after the Foundation press conference for the Dance Center. Plume, the usual table. 6 PM sharp. She’ll be coming to the Gala with you, I’d imagine.”

He hadn’t even thought of the Gala beyond the meeting today; his thoughts had been far too wrapped up Kenzie to even bother to consider it. “Yes,“ he said, fighting to keep his tone simplistic.

“She’s telling Madeline, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Good. None of this can go forward otherwise. Now that those photos are live, we have to work hard to control the story surrounding them.”

“I’m not going to lie to anyone about her, Mom.” Duncan clenched his teeth.

“Control, I said. Containment. We can turn this into an advantage, but we have to harness the narrative from the outset.”

“There is no narrative. I love her and I want us to be together.”

“God, stop fucking saying that, Duncan. I fucking heard you the first fifty times.”

He leaned back in the chair, letting a colossal breath of frustration out of his mouth and nose. His mother could be a cruel, heartless person sometimes. A cold, ruthless, and implacable psyche, unfeeling and immovable. He loved his mother, but he hated her propensity for spite. He hated the way she was ignoring his sincerity; as if it meant nothing to her.

“I’ll call Madeline. I’ll do this for you, Duncan.” Annette took another ungraceful gulp from her wine glass, no doubt aware there were no prying eyes to critique her at the moment beyond her willful son. “But you keep this under control. You keep her under control.”

As if I could ever do that, he thought. Kenzie’s spirit is brighter than anyone I’ve ever seen. I could never control her. I can only hope to deserve to be near her. But Annette did not understand, that was clear. Whether she ever would remained unclear. But at least she had agreed, in her way, for now.

He pulled the Lafite over to his own crystal, pouring himself a generous glass.

“You’ll like her.”

Annette smiled, but it was a mirthless smile. “That was her smell on you the other day, wasn’t it.”

His eyes flickered. He hesitated.

“Don’t ever fucking lie to me again. Or I will make you regret it, my only son.”

Duncan gulped the wine, not moving his eyes from his mother’s face. Annette stared back, and her eyes were like dark orbs of obsidian, spheres of void, blackest night. He did not doubt that she meant what she said this time, and he nodded, swallowing the wine. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She used the tongs to place several spears of the asparagus on the plate in front of him, the way she often had doled his food when he was a child. He picked up his fork, his heart slowing finally, and stabbed it into one of the spears, bringing it to his mouth, her dark eyes watching him for another moment, her expression indecipherable. Then, she picked up her phone to stare at the text she’d received, and he glanced down into his pocket, noticing his phone lighting up with a text message of his own. Kenzie.

Mom isn’t happy, but I think I made her understand, at least a little. At least for now. She wants to meet you soon; I thought maybe on Friday? Duncan pressed his lips together in frustration. He couldn’t imagine it would be a good idea for Annette and Madeline to have dinner together so soon after his and Kenzie’s admissions. He couldn’t imagine how he’d orchestrate a scene that included his mother, Madeline Stone and Mackenzie, at least, not yet. The thought made him shudder with its likelihood of disaster. He looked up from his phone, noticing his mother’s eyes on him again.

“Is that her?” She asked curtly.

“Yes.”

“Eat dinner with your mother. She can wait.”

Duncan looked at Annette, stormclouds rolling in behind his eyes again. This was going to be a hell of a ride, wasn’t it? A real hell of a fucking time.

-------

Duncan had finally escaped from his mother’s clutches; she had insisted he stay later than he’d wanted to, going on and on about the Foundation, Claire Underwood’s opposition to the bill, his Uncle Bill’s chemo (I’d feel worse about his cancer if he wasn’t such an asshole all the time, Duncan thought), the Gala (“I’ll be the one to take her for a dress,” she’s said matter-of-factly, and Duncan had been unable to hide his smirk; good luck telling Kenzie what to wear, he thought, she has a unique style of her own and I would never presume to do that, and Mom, I’m giving her an expense account, and I’m not going to tell you about it, and she’s going to keep her things at my penthouse and you can’t stop her because I won’t let you), the Dance Center’s grand opening, and the inner workings of his recent projects for the front that was Gardner Analytics; a hard-working piece of propaganda orchestrated by Annette primarily, though he didn’t presume to erase his own contributions and involvement. Duncan felt as though in a few short days the trajectory of his life had abruptly switched course somehow; had been pulled into a tunnel lit by fairy lights and roses and wisps of summer air full of drifting flowers; the things he’d cared about only a few days before no longer seemed to mean anything, and his thoughts were full of Mackenzie Stone like an oasis of water in a desert, a haven of wondrous meaning in a vast expanse of nothing. His mind drifted with the Lafite ground into his blood now, and he laid his head back on the leather backseat of the BMW (Samuel was playing Duke Ellington and John Coltrane now; In a Sentimental Mood, he thought, oh yes, I am). He looked down at his phone, finally alone to text Kenzie without any interruptions or prying eyes.

Baby, I’m so sorry it took so long to text you back. It took a long time to get my Mom to a place where she wasn’t being irrational. Thank you for sending me that link; everything’s okay, my Mom has seen it already, we’ll make it through this, I promise. She wants to meet you on Friday as well; can we see your Mom on a different day? I can make time on Wednesday or Thursday, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to have dinner with both of them at the same time yet. I feel like we’re going to have to ease them both into this, and I want everything to work out okay. I want them to accept this (accept us, accept you, accept me) because it means more to me than anything else. You do.

I miss you terribly right now.

He lowered his phone, staring out at the night, and truly he wanted nothing in the world but to be with her. He felt starkly afraid at forgetting the smell of her hair and her perfume; he wished he had a piece of her clothing or a token of some kind to grasp in his hands, assuring him of her reality in a world that seemed to lack her in every instance in this moment. A world without her was truly abject. He sent a silent prayer into the sky; Fates, you seem to be the Gods for me: make her sure that I love her, because I do, I do, I do.

He felt his phone vibrate in his hand, and looked down, dazed in the rhythms of drum and piano; Kenzie.

Baby, can you come to my apartment? Please come.

Duncan sat up with a jolt, his hazy drunkenness eeking away. “Samuel, go to Kenzie’s apartment building, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel turned abruptly, without needing to change the course of his GPS; I guess he knows the way to her house already, Duncan thought, and he smiled, full of affection and anticipation. Coming to you, baby, he typed, and sat back, Ellington and Coltrane assuring him: fortune is smiling on you, the Fates have heard your prayer.

[dimancheetoile]

For the Shepard ask meme; 13, 9, 22, and 40!

AAAAAH THANKS FOR ASKING ABOUT THE BABE

So. Paule Shepard. I went with them because why the hell not but I have a second main Shep called Gabrielle, if anyone wants to ask about her instead.

First of all, a face. A face is good:

NOW

9. Their Hogwarts house?

Paule is a Slytherin. They identify strongly with both the water and the green side of the House, and as for the traits, Shepard is a strong leader, who gets out of many situations by talking and using their wits. They have one goal in mind, and will do anything inside of their moral boundaries to achieve it.

13. Are they a sun or moon person?

Paule is a moon person. First of all, their skin is not meant for the sun. That’s a fact of life, and their pack always includes sunscreen, no matter the teasing they got from other soldiers. Also, in a world of planets and moons and stars, Paule used to look at Terra’s Luna when they were in the Tenth Street Red Gang and dream of leaving Terra behind to explore the Galaxy. They didn’t know they would become the Great Commander Shepard, and now they can’t quite let go of the fondness they have for the idea of moons, of orbiting around something instead of being orbited around like a sun is.

22. Are they left or right-handed or maybe even ambidextrous?

Paule is right-handed, and it actually was a joke in their old squad because they were the only one. Whether the Admirals thought they were being funny or it was completely random, the squad Paule lost on Akuze was entirely made of left-handed or ambidextrous soldiers.

40. Who is their LI and what do they love about them?

SO WE ARE GOING TO PRETEND BIOWARE ACTUALLY GAVE US WHAT WE WANTED, HUM?

Paule’s LI is Joker. Paule originally thought Joker was the only not-boring one on the SR1, up until Wrex joined. Then Joker pulled them out of an exploding volcano and asked for a medal, and Paule was a goner. They like that he didn’t let his disability stop him, and the strong will he developped to fight against anyone who would tell him he couldn’t fly. They like that he’s funny, dry at times, even when it’s hard to hear like it was after the fight on Thessia. They like his beard, and the freckles he shares with them. They love that he’s the one helming the Normandy, a symbol of home and safety for Paule, and always there to welcome them back when they finish a mission. Joker means ship, means space, means a fixed-point in the life of someone who lost everything time and time again, and Paule fell in love with that.

(they got together during their time with Cerberus, after Paule had to go to Alchera to see the wreckage of the old Normandy and gather the dog tags. Joker insisted he pilot the shuttle to bring them on the planet. When Paule didn’t come back, he wobbled out in the snow and almost broke his legs trying to find them. Paule was staring at the mummified hand of a soldier, barely out of the snow, completely out of it. Joker brought them back to the shuttle and wrapped blankets around them, before going back to the Normandy. He didn’t leave the shuttle, and the shuttle bay, until Paule was capable of looking like Commander Shepard. Paule went to the helm an hour later and told Joker how they felt about him. Joker had a hard time believing Paule wasn’t making fun of him but eventually agreed to a date (which was them in the Captain’s Cabin discussing Joker’s brittle-bone disease and Shepard’s PTSD, ended up in an almost double-sided panic attack until they fell asleep on top of each other. After the Reaper War is won, Joker and Paule move to Tuchanka were they’re adopted into the Urdnot Clan, they have a Krogan wedding and ask Grunt to move in with them because he misses his parent and Paule misses their son, and they adopt two more baby Krogans who lost their parents in the war)

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE FEELINGS OVER THIS SHIP? dunno what you mean.

Thank you so much for asking ♥♥♥ You’re an absolute dear.

Ask about Paule Shepard or Gabrielle Shepard (my two main Sheps)

[pietrotheavenger]

valentine’s day (part 6)

summary: you rant about your sad love life to a stranger at a bar. he ends up taking you on the best date of your life.

pairings: au!chris evans x fem!reader

warnings:

a/n: ah next week will be my last updates! and please if you want to be tagged, the best way to reach me is through my ask box

part 5 « part 6 » part 7

series masterlist

y/n was hanging onto consciousness by a thread when the carriage stopped. “hey, babe, you asleep?” chris looked down at her as she sat up, and shook her head.

“sorry about that,” she muttered, fiddling with the end of his coat.

“hey,” he said, softly. he didn’t continue until she looked up to him, “don’t worry about it.”

“c’mon,” he grabbed her hand and helped her down. “hey, thanks, man,” he gave his friend a hug, who had come down from where he had been riding the horses.

“anytime,” they patted each other on the back. “enjoy yourselves!” he called out to the two as they walked down the sidewalk.

“so,” y/n tried to keep herself from yawning, but failed.

“if you want, i can take you home,” he repeated his words from earlier.

“no, i want to stay with you,” she repeated her own words, more adamantly.

“alright, but after this, i’m taking you home, missy,” he nudged her with his shoulder and she rolled her eyes, reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers.

“so,” she started again, “where are we going?”

“it’s a surprise,” he told her, squeezing her hand. he stopped before a dark and narrow alleyway. “we have to go this way, it’s just quicker. if you don’t want to, then we can take the long way. it’s up to you.”

she was touched that he was taking her sense of personal safety into consideration. she gave him a warm smile, then tugged him down the alleyway, taking the lead even though she didn’t know where they were going. they broke out into some sort of walking area. they were surrounded by the towering buildings, but there was a large circle of space. in the center, there was a huge, stone, water fountain, but it wasn’t on. there was a boy standing several feet away from it, with a violin case at his feet and a violin in his hand.

“hey, chris!” he exclaimed, and bounded over for a hug. chris ruffled his hair and laughed.

“y/n, this is tom. tom, this is y/n,” he introduced the both of them before tom returned to where his case was.

“whenever you’re ready,” tom smiled at the couple.

“now would be great,” chris responded, tucking his hands into his pockets. “the fountain was supposed to be on,” just as the words left his lips, the fountain sprang to life, both of them jumping in surprise. “there we go. now we got some romance.” he shrugged his coat off and laid it over the edge of the fountain, careful that it didn’t go into the water, then took y/n’s coat, that she had taken off once she had seen what he was doing, and draped it over his, along with her purse. “may i have this dance?” he questioned, offering her a hand as tom started up with a song on his violin. it was smooth, gentle, and strong.

a slow smile spread onto her lips, “yes, you may,” she slid her hand into his. he secured his hand on her waist, pulling her in, closely.

she saw him differently, in the moonlight. it bounced off of his features, making him seem utterly divine and ethereal. his movements suddenly seemed like liquid gold, perfect and fluid. the tightening of his grip on her waist, the way he looked into a middle distance when talking to her and then looking down into her eyes, the way that he moved gracefully around the fountain. he was the sun, and she was a mere planet who had been pulled into his orbit.

y/n wasn’t sure how long they had been dancing for. it must’ve been an hour. they chatted about anything and everything, yet all chris could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss the girl in his arms.

when tom’s music came to a crescendo, they stopped talking, allowing the music to propel them forward, and looking rather intensely into one another’s eyes. it ended on a sweet high note, slow bow and lots of vibrato. chris brought his hand to the back of her neck and finally crashed his lips into hers.

part 5 « part 6 » part 7

series masterlist

updating every monday and wednesday until valentine’s day

taglist: open

@chillbucky ; @ilovethings-somuch ; @be-amaziing ; @patzammit ; @mymarvelobsessions ; @see-you-again-my-sun-and-stars ; @hellsbells1001 ; @sassycat15 ; @slightlysoftgrunge ; @saxgirl21 ; @dninah ; @violetsoph ; @guera31 ; @josislife ; @liajt314 ; @ssweet-empowerment ; @bishopl ;

[endofdaystraveldelay]

BILLIONAIRES THESE DAYS...

Branson.  Bezos.  Musk.  They were crucified at the time, but… those guys will go down in the history of life 2.0 as the saviors of humankind.

You think I’m joking.

Look, someone had to innovate.  Airplane travel used to be expensive too.  If we had started working on commercial space travel right after the first moon landing then maybe more people would have been able to get the hell outta dodge in the last two weeks.

Jesus.  What a disaster.  (Literally!  Ha!  Too soon?)

Right.  It’s not my fault that I have the money to be on here.  I refuse to feel guilty about this.  Don’t try to tell me that if the lottery tickets cost a hundred dollars instead of a billion dollars, that every wingnut with a bank account wouldn’t have entered.  I was also able to get Melissa and her sanctimonious, intolerable mother on here too… so obviously I’m not that big of an asshole if I’m willingly bringing Glenda along on an indefinite charter to Goddamn outer space.

The International Coalition for Human Preservation Lottery was announced the day after the world was told that we were all about to be taken out by a rock the size of the sun.  There’d be only a hundred winners, and each winner could bring two other people—one of whom had to either be a child, or be of child-bearing age.  

Each continent was granted a set number of tickets based on population density.  For twenty-four hours, tickets were available via secured VPN access—first come, first served and one per person—and the draw would be the next day.  And then if you won… and if you could make it to the rendezvous pickup point on time… you were on your way to Skylark-MK2, the self-sustaining space resort that wasn’t supposed to open for another five years.

Ya.  You can imagine.  Shit was crazy.  Every snowflake advocacy group on earth had something to say about it. Revolutionaries in South America were murdering winners for their tickets.  Bastards.  And who knows what the hell was going on in North Korea.  Man, I felt like Jason Bourne trying to get us from Charlotte to the Cape Canaveral rendezvous.  Seriously wild.  Like one of my movies.

“Babe!”  Melissa burst through the door of our space cabin, her eight months pregnant belly barely squeezing through the door.  

“Babe, I’m dictating.”  I clicked off my recorder. “You know I need to get all this out while it’s fresh so that I can really nail the emotional tone when I’m writing…What’s wrong?”  She was doing that thing where she’s too emotional to form a cohesive sentence so she just… stares.  

Eventually she squeaked out, “it’s late. The rock. We can watch it.”

: : : : : : :

“Skylark-MK2 orbits earth once every 4 hours.  It was originally assumed that our positionality would be antipodal to the impact, but given a recalculation to include various environmental factors affecting the orbital curve…”  The captain addressed the theatre from a platform in front of the panoramic window that was intended to provide unimpeded views of the cosmos.  Now, it seemed, it would be providing an unimpeded view of Earth’s demise.

As the Captain stepped down off the platform and the fullness of the planet presented itself to the theatre.  I held my hand up in front of my face, which blocked the planet from my view completely.  The hair on the back of my neck stood up.  Everything I’d ever known, every tree, book, house, pet, family member… every stupid movie I’d ever made... all of it hidden behind my palm.  I grabbed Melissa’s arm and motioned to leave.  “We don’t need to see this,” I said.  She patted my hand and pressed it against her belly.  The baby had one little foot pressed out towards me.

“C’mon, remember what you said,” she whispered, “it’s like a movie.”

[stoweboyd]

The Committee to Abolish Outer Space has existed for a long time—possibly forever. The movements we founded over the centuries had different names and different leaders, but all of them were in some way part of our war against the stars. Only now are we making ourselves public—behind frail masks—because the danger is almost upon us. For all our great age and our knowledge of certain secrets, we are not powerful. We are few, and hunted, and scared, but in our weakness we will conquer. C.A.O.S. sets out these five guiding principles:

Humanity will never colonize Mars, never build moon bases, never rearrange the asteroids, never build a sphere around the sun.

There will never be faster-than-light travel. We will not roam across the galaxy. We will not escape our star.

Life is probably an entirely unexceptional phenomenon; the universe probably teems with it. We will never make contact. We will never fuck green-skinned alien babes.

The human race will live and die on this rock, and after we are gone something else will take our place. Maybe it already has, without our even noticing.

All this is good. This is a good thing.

We have a program, closely guarded through the centuries. At one time it was the hidden book of the Sumerian heresiarchs, later the mystics of Europe were dimly aware of it as the Holy Grail:

First we will abolish the moon, that smug sack of shit in the sky, our constant condescending stalker. This should be the easiest step: People have set foot on its surface, and come back, and eventually they stopped going there; they realized how utterly dull it is.

Next we will overthrow the fascist institution of the sun, finally achieving the dream of all great revolutionary movements in history.

We will disestablish the planets, one by one, leaving them to vanish with Pluto into death. We will sweep up the dusty nebulae, plug up the black holes, drink up the Milky Way, tear down the Great Wall brick by brick.

Comets, asteroids, space dust, quantum foam: no more.

Finally, when our victory is almost complete, we will abolish low earth orbit, the black depths of the oceans, the wildernesses of the poles, the pulsing core of the human psyche.

We said earlier that for us to abolish something does not mean to destroy it. Once the cosmos was thought to be painted on the veil of the firmament, or to be some kind of divine metaphor, a flatness inscribed with thousands of meaningful stories. Since then it’s become outer space, a grotesque emptiness. Space is a site of desecration, an emptiness in which one moves, and moving into space means closing down any chances for Earth. C.A.O.S. is not interested in setting up limits. We want to create a future, not one of tin cans dodging rocks in a void, but a future for human life. To do this we must abolish outer space with all its death and idiocy, and return the cosmos to its proper domain, which is mythology, so that when we look up it will be in fear and wonder, and the knowledge that we live in a world that is not possible.

Join us. There’s no need to find us; we will find you. One morning you might step outside to find a tiny bird staring at you intently from the shivering bones of a midwinter tree, or a drab curtain of rain creeping slowly from the end of your street. Maybe the bodies on a crowded train will suddenly release the smell of damp cool caves, maybe thin strands of grass will sprout from the cracks in your tile grouting. Maybe, with increasing regularity, you’ll start to see our initials on walls and underpasses, not spray-painted, but emerging from the patterns of ripped fliers and mossy stains. Whatever it is, you’ll know. In a movement as strange and senseless as the spinning of the stars, you will have been elected to join the Committee to Abolish Outer Space.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Binary Star (IV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jaebum / Mark

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3,749

Summary: “In some cases, these close binary systems can exchange mass, which may bring their evolution to stages that single stars cannot attain.”

You and Jaebum have been dating forever when Mark Tuan shows up in your classroom. You’ve always been against change - a bit debilitating, being a writer - but for some reason this new kid has you thinking there might be an upside to chaos.

Before you know it, you’re at the back. At the back during your song. The one Jaebum wrote for you and you’re struggling not to feel upset about that fact. Struggling to hang onto the bubble of excitement you felt when the music started. It’s hard though, when Jaebum is still singing to the crowd as though nothing happened. Is still singing to the idea of you, not to you.

This song is a hit. A smash, actually. All around you the club is out of control. This is the song that could get them famous. But do you want that?

Even having to ask yourself that hurts.

It’s been three weeks since Jaebum’s concert. Three weeks since the blur of meetings and discussions about whether or not Jaebum and his band have ‘potential.’ The whole thing ended with James saying he would call as soon as he heard.

Apparently James now submits a review to his higher-ups. Who submit a review to their higher-ups. Somewhere above that lies the final say in whether or not On the Shore gets signed. When Jaebum asked how long this process takes, James couldn’t say.

“Hard to tell,” he said, packing up his briefcase. “Sometimes a week – sometimes months. Once time I had a band on the ropes for a whole year before someone at corporate finally decided to let them in.”

On the ropes. That’s what agents call their waiting bands. They have signed bands, potential bands and bands who are on the ropes. Jaebum’s band is currently one of these. As more and more days tick by, you know Jaebum is internally freaking out. Every word he says is on edge and you find yourself tiptoeing more than usual. Not that this bothers you – much.

It’s just that with Jaebum so wrapped up in his own problems – there’s no one to talk to about yours.

Mark slides into the seat next to you, glancing sideways as the bell rings. “Hey.” He nods. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” you ask, trying not to smile. “Not much, homie.”

“Oh, god.” Mark winces. “Never say that again.”

“It’s my new thing!” you protest, tapping your pencil on your desk. This is an inside joke with you two now – you doing mundane things and calling them special to get a rise from Mark.

Mark rolls his eyes. “You know you’re completely misusing my concept.”

“Poor Mark,” you sigh. “Lost in a sea of angst. Continually made fun of by the evil Y/N.”

Mark starts to laugh as Mr. David enters the room. “Settle down, settle down,” the teacher says, turning towards the board.

Raising your eyebrows, you grin at Mark. “He means you, giggle nuts. No one else is speaking.”

“Giggle nuts.” Mark starts to laugh even harder.

Mr. David turns with a frown, effectively sobering you both. Mark straightens in his seat, ducking his head into his notebook. He’s still smiling though, as are you reading through the lines of chalk on the whiteboard. It looks like today’s lesson is on solar systems. The suns of solar systems, to be exact.

When the bell rings at exactly 9:00 am, Mr. Davis clears his throat. “Good morning class,” he drones, not waiting for an answer. “Today’s lesson is about the sun. Last class we breached the topic of galaxies – groups of celestial bodies associated with natural law and bound by gravity. This class we’ll delve deeper.”

Flipping to a new page in your notebook, you smooth out the corners. Your previous page is filled with drawings of star clusters. General rules and theory on galaxy formation as well as its degeneration. Concentrating on Mr. Davis’ words, you sketch today’s date at the top of the page.

“Most planetary systems are single star systems,” he lectures. “Meaning there is only one sun. All non-stellar objects rotate around this, drawn in by the gravitational pull. This is not the case in all systems.” Continuing on, Mr. David finds a blank space on the board. “There also exist multiple and binary star systems.”

Raising his hand, Mark waits until Mr. Davis notices. “What’s a binary star system?”

“Good question.” Nodding, Mr. Davis scribbles Mark’s comment down on the board. “A binary star system is one whose systems contains two suns orbiting a common center of mass. These systems balance each other in careful harmony, continuously influencing as they rotate.”

Your hand pauses halfway through your drawing. On the left-hand side of your page lies the singular star system. One sun with its planets drawn orbiting, accepting a singular star’s light. On the other side is a binary system. Two stars circling one another, coexisting together. Both stars are strong, powerful – equal in their light.

You can’t help but think the singular system is Jaebum. Bright, gravitational, drawing everyone into his orbit. In that system, you’re a planet. Maybe the closest planet, but circling him regardless. Allowing him to pull you onward, always thinking you’re surviving while secretly knowing you’re following.

The thought makes you dizzy and you exhale through your nose to steady yourself. Do you really see your relationship with Jaebum that way? No, of course you don’t. He might be a strong presence, sure – but so are you. You’re intelligent, confident and creative. What does it matter if he’s currently successful and you are not? Jaebum is the exception in that regard.

So is the star, though. You fall quiet for the rest of the class, barely even glancing from your notebooks. When the bell rings for second period, you gather your books tightly to your chest.

“Y/N?”

Mark is staring at you. Has been for several minutes, actually. “Sorry, what?” you blink, shaking your head.

Mark frowns. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, playing absentmindedly with your pencil case. “Everything is fine.”

Stepping before you, Mark effectively stops your walk. “Liar,” he says, eyes glinting with humor. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Have you filled out all your college applications?” you ask, avoiding eye contact.

Mark’s forehead wrinkles. “Some. Why?”

“What major did you list?”

“Biology.”

This surprises you. “Really?”

Mark nods, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah. After everything that happened to me, I want to do something in medicine. I’m not sure if I want to do research or pre-med yet, though.”

Rather than make you feel better, this only serves to increase your nausea. “Right. Good,” you say, a laugh escaping. “Everyone seems to know exactly what they’re doing except for me.”

Mark gives you a curious look. “That’s not true. You want to be a writer.”

“Ah, yes. How practical,” you laugh. You feel breathless, unable to regain control over yourself. “I need to find a real job.”

“A real job?” Mark folds his arms over his chest. “Writing is a real career.”

Staring past, you start to walk again. “I know,” you sigh, voice hesitant. “I know that if you’re successful writing can be a career. But if you’re not…” Trailing into silence, you allow your lack of words to speak for you.

Mark’s pace is even, footsteps lost in the deafening shouts in the corridor.

“Look,” you say, turning to face him. “I’m not being self-deprecating or searching for compliments. I’m just saying a lot of people are talented. There are a lot of good writers and there’s only a small chance I’ll succeed, even with talent.”

Rather than object, Mark falls silent. “That’s true,” he admits.

“So you agree?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes,” Mark nods. “But I don’t think that’s a good enough reason not to try.”

His words give you pause and somewhere inside, a voice you’ve been shoving aside lately grows slightly louder. “No?”

“No.” Mark looks thoughtful. “Put it this way. If you try, you have two options: either you fail or you succeed. If you don’t try, there’s only one: you fail.”

Considering this, your heart beats strangely. A new kind of courage enters you and for the first time in a long time, you find yourself wanting to try. Wanting to fight, wanting to fly - or wanting to fall trying.

Mark grins at your expression. “There it is.”

“Fine,” you exhale, turning towards your classroom. “I’m doing it. I’ll apply to college as an English major.”

Mark lets out a whooping noise. “Thank god! I was scared I’d have to do a covert ops mission. Sneak into your house, switch out your application – something like that.”

Shaking your head, you shove him away as you enter your classroom. Sliding into your seat as your front pocket vibrates. The teacher is still busy setting up for lecture, so you chance a glance at your screen. 

Hey, babe <3 excited for tonight?

Tonight. Tonight; your and Jaebum’s four year anniversary. He’s had something special planned for months now – dropping hints while unable to hide his grin. You quickly type back.

Tell me what we’re doinggggg

The bell rings then, so you shove your phone into your pocket. Jaebum won’t answer before lunch anyways, which is the next time you’ll see him. The rest of the morning flies by like this, filled with people and notes. At lunchtime Jaebum still refuses to tell you where you’re going. He grins each time you ask, folding his arms over his chest. Today he’s pushed his hair back, which he only does when you’re going somewhere nice. 

“How nice is nice, though?” you whine, poking him. “Should I wear a floor-length dress? Would a high schooler even be allowed into a place fancy enough to wear a floor-length dress?”

Jaebum just grins. “It’s not that fancy. Just wear something you like.”

“I like sweatpants. Is that good?”

Jaebum shrugs. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

He’s being stupid but he says it with such sincerity that you groan and lean into him. Allow his arm to wrap around your waist and pull you close. “Fine,” you mutter, kissing his cheek. “I’ll dress nicely.”

Hours later, you’re regretting this edict. 

Your mouth is pursed, hands on your hips while you stare into the mirror. Pushing your hair back with both hands to see what it would look like off your neck. You let it drop - down, definitely down. Grabbing your purse from your table, you hurry downstairs.

Jaebum said he would be here at 7:00 pm and its 6:58 pm now. He won’t be there a second before 7:00 though, he’s just like that. So now you sink into your kitchen chair, watching your mom work on her laptop.

“Happy anniversary.” She glances up from her work. “What has it been now, four years?”

Nodding, you find yourself happy she remembered. “Four years exactly.”

Your mom sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Growing up so fast,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “Your dad would’ve loved to see this.”

“Would he have?” You laugh quietly. “I seem to remember him threatening Jaebum every time he came over.”

“Yeah,” Robbie nods, entering. “It’s why I’ve taken up the mantle. Fight Jaebum always.”

Your mom laughs at this, leaning back in her chair. “Your father loved Jaebum,” she counters. “Or rather – he loved how much he loved you. It was always terrifying how much you loved Jaebum.”

This is the first your mom has ever spoken of this and you find yourself wanting to hear more. “What?” you ask. “Why?” From the corner of your eye, you see headlights swing into your driveway.

“Well.” Your mom shrugs. “Losing the people you love hurts, even if it’s losing them by choice.”

You blink at her words. Even if it’s by choice.

It’s been two years since your dad passed away. It’s just now getting to the part where it doesn’t hurt as much to talk about him. But saying that it doesn’t hurt as much is like saying you’re only hit by one lightning bolt, not five. One may hurt less than five, but even one is enough to kill you.

You usually think of your dad in terms of your own emotions. Never really in the light of your mother. She lost her husband though – her partner, life, love. Lost the man she thought she’d be spending the rest of her years with, not just his. This makes you think of Jaebum and when you do, your heart clenches. Losing someone you love hurts.

Leaning over, you give your mom a quick kiss on the cheek. “Love you,” you say, drawing back. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t ask what your gratitude is for. Your mom knows there are things your family do that go without saying. That’s one thing about loss – it either tears you apart or makes you stronger. The three of you are stronger now than you were before. Even Robbie has had to grow overnight.

Like now. He stands before you, arms folded in the doorway. Frowning as you walk past. “Be home by eleven,” he scolds.

From behind him, your mom laughs. “Midnight,” she corrects.

You wave at both when you leave, blowing Robbie a big, exaggerated kiss. Jaebum sits in his car, immersed in some game on his phone when you slide into the passenger seat. “Hi,” you greet him, leaning over.

Jaebum kisses you, lingering for just a second before pulling away. “Happy anniversary,” he grins, putting the car in reverse. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go … to the park?” you ask, settling back in his seat. “To the circus? To an airplane show?”

“No, yes and no.”

“We’re going to the circus?”

Jaebum looks over. “You’re so crazy already, why not give in completely?”

He’s in a good mood tonight and you find yourself giggling, sliding lower in your seat as you turn to face him. Jaebum’s hand finds yours on the console, pulling your fingers into his lap. He lowers the windows, allowing the early breeze to caress your cheeks. Curling into your own seat, you watch him. Watch the sun play across his face.

“What?” Jaebum asks, glancing sideways.

“Nothing,” you smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The drive is quiet after that, silent except for the music on the car’s speakers. Jaebum turns the volume up, sliding his fingers over yours and humming in time to the music. Before long he pulls into a parking lot, coming to a stop beside a restaurant.

A restaurant you recognize. “Really?” you ask, starting to laugh.

Jaebum nods, eyes sparkling. “This time we’re eating inside.”

You laugh unbuckling your seat belt. This restaurant is known for its food and amazing views and on your fifth date, Jaebum tried to take you here. After just one glance at the menu though, you realized there was no way in hell you could afford this. The two of you ended up out on the cliffs, just sitting and talking.

That day was also the first time Jaebum kissed you.

Now though, Jaebum takes your hand in his, pulling you forward. You’re glad you decided to wear a dress when you enter the lobby, realizing this place is even fancier than you remembered. Jaebum blends right in, completely at home in a button-down and slacks, blazer thrown over top.

“Im,” Jaebum says, walking up to the hostess. “Reservation for two.”

The hostess nods thumbing through her booklet. “Here – Im.” Grabbing two menus, she smiles back at you. “Follow me.”

Raising both eyebrows, Jaebum gestures for you first. At the table, Jaebum pulls out your chair, holding it while you sit. Sitting across the table, he watches the waiter fill your glasses with water. When the waiter leaves you peruse the menu, flipping open to the first page. Smiling gently when you travel back to that fifth date.

“You’re smiling.” Jaebum sounds suspicious. “Why are you smiling?” 

You set your menu down. “I was thinking about the first time we visited.”

Lowering his head, Jaebum hangs a few centimeters from the table. “Will you never let me live that down?” he groans.

Starting to laugh, you reach over. Lifting his chin with your finger. “I was thinking about the end of the day,” you correct.

Jaebum’s frown lifts in a smile. “Oh.”

After leaving the restaurant that day, the two of you hiked over the tops of the cliffs. You talked about a lot that night – both about everything and nothing at all. Whatever thoughts popped into your mind. That was the thing you liked most about Jaebum. It was so easy to be with him, like you could say anything and he wouldn’t judge you for it.

Jaebum was a great listener. He took everything you said with a grain of salt, listening with a small tilt to his head. You noticed that that day on the cliffs. It was the first time you ever felt close to Jaebum - the two of you sitting close enough to feel but not touch.

You kept glancing at one another. Looking sideways until one of your eyes met the other’s. His gaze was enticing, entrapping in a way you couldn’t get out of. It’s often said that the last hour before sunset is called the golden hour. Called so because the light at this time of day is so soft, muted with diffused rays of the sun. People are most flattering during the golden hour.

The way Jaebum stared at you was as though he saw you clearly for the first time. As rays of sun slipped from his cheeks, they illuminating hair half-ruffled by the wind. When Jaebum leaned in, you hardly knew what he was doing.

When his lips met yours, you understood.

It was your first kiss. The first time you’d even considered kissing someone. As Jaebum kissed you, his lips pressed firmly to yours, you wondered if Jaebum might also be the last.

Now he sits across the table from you, smiling in the same way he did that night. You find yourself ashamed for the emotions which have churned your stomach since his band’s last performance. Ashamed of the fear you felt. The fear of him pulling away. Of him embarking on a new part of life which you can’t follow. 

Or won’t. Because now you’re realizing that although you’ve applied to college, Jaebum hasn’t. He keeps holding this in his back pocket, patiently waiting for the call from James Marolin. His future is at fork in the road, while yours is at an arrow.

It’s just as you’re thinking this Jaebum’s phone rings. Wincing, he shoves his hand deep in his pocket. “Sorry,” he sighs. “I thought I turned it off – let me just check if it’s my mom, she –"

He stops talking. At the look on his face, you feel yourself sinking. Stomach churning, thoughts scrambling because you know exactly who is calling him.

“Hello?” Jaebum answers, switching his phone to his other ear. “Mr. Marolin?”

You can’t hear the other side of his conversation. Can’t hear what the other man is saying but you watch Jaebum’s eyes widen. Watch his mouth drops and no words come. Instead he just nods, suddenly recalling that he’s on the phone and can’t be seen. “Yes,” he blurts, continuing to nod. “Yes. This is amazing news – thank you so, so much! We won’t let you down.”

Jaebum hangs up. He doesn’t speak at first, just staring at the phone in his hand. Reaching across the table, you touch his arm. “Jaebum?”

His gaze snaps to yours and suddenly – brilliantly – he smiles. “Y/N,” he gasps. “Y/N, They want us to sign. They want us to sign and record an album. An album,” he laughs, full of disbelief.

“That’s amazing,” you say, struggling to smile. “Congratulations!”

It is amazing. It’s amazing and wonderful and perfect. Jaebum’s eyes find yours when he jumps up, fumbling across the table to grab your face. His lips press quickly to yours and you start to laugh. “Wow,” you say, grinning when he sits back down. “I guess now there’s two things to celebrate tonight, huh?”

“Oh.” Jaebum freezes. Glances at his phone. “I just – ah, shit.”

The knot in your stomach tightens. “What? What is it?”

Jaebum looks away, unable to meet your gaze. “I was just thinking… It would be nice to tell the guys in person.”

It’s a reasonable request. You know this, know you’re stupid for wishing it otherwise. Of course Jaebum would want to tell them himself. Of course he would want to see their faces at the news. Of course, of course, of course. 

Your gaze drops to your lap.

“Y/N?” Jaebum asks.

Exhaling softly, you look up. “You should go.”

Jaebum doesn’t move. “Are you sure?” he asks, watching you carefully. “This is our night, Y/N. It’s our night and if you want me to stay, the news can wait until tomorrow morning.”

If you want me to stay. These words echo in your mind, making you feel guilty for wanting this. You do want Jaebum to stay. You want Jaebum to be yours, want him beside you because right now every step he takes seems further and further away from you.

Lifting your gaze, you force a smile. “Of course,” you say, though your voice sounds robotic, unsure. “You should go. Our night is any night – tonight is about the band.”

Jaebum smiles. “Thank you,” he says, jumping up. Kissing you briefly before helping you upwards. “Let’s go,” he grins, lacing your fingers with his.

You’re practically pulled from the restaurant, Jaebum stops quickly at the hostess to mumble an apology. Then you’re outside, in his car. Speeding down the highway, barely able to hold yourself together. You think you respond to everything – you must, because Jaebum doesn’t seem to realize something is wrong.

Once you’re dropped off in front of your house, you wrap your arms around your waist. You don’t want to go inside, not yet. You’re afraid that if you see your mom and hear her questions, you might cry. Tears are already threatening to spill over onto your cheeks.

You don’t want to cry and so you walk over to the tree in your front yard. Folding your legs beneath you to lean against the rough bark. You’re not sure when you began to feel like you couldn’t tell Jaebum things. It used to be you told him too much. Told him everything, no matter how difficult or sad.

Not anymore.

Sighing, you look down at your phone in your hand. There’s a small kernel of anger growing larger by the second. Yes, you should have told Jaebum this tonight was important to you. Should have said you wanted to celebrate his most recent success together.

But should you have had to tell him?

Without stopping to think about what you’re doing, you unlock your phone.

Hey.

It only takes a few minutes before Mark texts back.

Hey?

He sounds confused and you don’t blame him. The two of you rarely text on weekends.

What are you doing tomorrow? Something crazy?

Maybe. Why? Want to join?

After staring at your phone for a long second, you lower your fingers. Fighting every natural instinct in your body to respond.

Yes.

[Master List]

[bearingwater]

April Forecast for Aquarius

Get out and circulate! The Sun is in Aries and your third house of communication until April 19, sparking up your social life. Local action could heat up, so head out and explore the happenings in your ‘hood. You might need to make a conscious effort NOT to overbook, since your calendar will fill quickly and you could exhaust yourself with too much running around. Still, this is a vibrant time to network and mingle, as you’ll easily draw kindred spirits into your orbit.

Fun as flitting about may be, April has its…complications. Five (yes, five) planets will be retrograde (www.astrostyle.com/learn-astrology/retrogrades) this April, a challenging cycle that IS ideal for inspecting and revamping. As the month begins, Venus and Jupiter are already retrograde, to be joined by Saturn, Mercury and Pluto. Retrogrades occur when the Earth and another planet pass each other in their journeys around the Sun, creating the illusion that one of them is moving backward. Since retrogrades govern the past, unfinished business often comes up to be handled, and people we haven’t seen in awhile (if not years) can resurface.

Harmonizer Venus has been retrograde since March 4 in Aries, which may have created a few social speed bumps or lover’s quarrels. It might be a relief that Venus is leaving Aries on April 2, backing into Pisces for the duration of its retrograde, which ends on April 15. Since Pisces rules your second house of work, money and security, there could be conflict with colleagues and clients, or ripples of discord at the office. Your self-confidence might take a small nosedive, so do things to affirm your worth, like treating yourself exquisitely.

We’re not saying a spa pedicure and hot-stone massage are the long-term antidote to insecurities, but pampering yourself can help lift you out of a self-flagellating slump. Just make sure any retail therapy you indulge in has a generous return policy, as aesthetic Venus’ backspin can lead to some major style missteps. Hold off on big-ticket furniture items or pricey wardrobe pieces. Instead, how about doing a closet edit and donating home decor items that no longer suit your tastes? When Venus turns direct on April 15, you can shop to your heart’s content.

Some grander plans might have sputtered a bit, thanks to expansive Jupiter’s retrograde in Libra and your visionary ninth house from February 6 to June 9. The ninth house rules publishing, travel, study and entrepreneurship—big themes for Aquarians ever since Jupiter entered Libra on September 9, 2016. But have things gotten too big too soon? Use this cycle to pause and catch up, making sure you’re not biting off more than you can realistically chew. You might enroll in a short summer extension course to build your skills (like the finer points of social media or Javascript, perhaps) or take a trip back to an old favorite place for inspiration. When Jupiter zooms ahead in June, you’ll have the spotted planet in this lucky zone until October 10, the perfect time for a really ambitious launch.

The one exception to this arrives on April 11, at the year’s only Libra full moon. This could bring an exciting opportunity to put your boldest message in the spotlight. Have you been holding back the truth? The moon will form a tense square to potent Pluto in your twelfth house of hidden information. An unexpected and intense conversation could erupt, and while the atmosphere may get heated, at least you’ll clear the air. Just don’t whip out a laundry list of everything this person did wrong in the past six months. Take some responsibility: If you didn’t tell them you were upset, how could they have known?

As if that weren’t enough to navigate, April brings three new retrograde cycles, starting with structured Saturn. From April 5 to August 25, the tough taskmaster will backspin through Sagittarius, impacting your eleventh house of teamwork and technology. Plans could get mired in red tape and bureaucracy. A collaboration could slow down, or team members might not see eye to eye. Is there a weak link in the chain? With stern Saturn here, you may need to do the hard work of asking someone to leave or of distancing yourself from a draining friend. If too much has fallen on your shoulders, you might step down from leadership and let others pull their weight. Planning an online launch or digital debut? Saturn’s U-turn pushes you to ensure your product is airtight before springing it on the public. Test everything behind the scenes. When your YouTube channel goes viral, you’ll be glad you took the extra time to craft the plan or hire that pro editor.

Speaking of all things digital, from April 9 to May 3, communicator Mercury goes retrograde (www.astrostyle.com/mercury-retrograde), disrupting technology, communication and travel for almost a month. This cycle happens three or four times a year, and it’s notorious for confounding interpersonal matters. Practice radical patience and back up your data and devices stat, before Mercury swoops down and erases your Great American Novel. If possible, delay signing contracts, or at least scrutinize the fine print before you do.

Mercury will be retrograde in Taurus and your domestic fourth house until April 20, which could stir up discord at Chateau Water Bearer. Hold off on any big plans to renovate or oust a roommate (unless you have due cause). Put together a Pinterest mood board of inspired interior design and try to hash things out with the people under your roof. And by all means, declutter your nest, especially if you’ve accumulated too much over the winter. Retrogrades are favorable times for reunions. Reconnect with relatives or important women, since the fourth house rules the ladies in your life. From April 20 to May 3, Mercury backs into Aries and your communication zone, a time to really watch what you say, email and post. All things verbal or written can (and likely will) be misconstrued.

With all this drama is going on in the stars, why not do a deep dive into your own psyche and emotions? If you can’t beat the cosmos, you might as well join ’em! As within, so without—and maybe if you get right inside yourself, your outer world will stabilize accordingly. Transformational Pluto, ruler of the unconscious, goes retrograde in your twelfth house of healing, closure and hidden information from April 20 to September 28. This could be a powerful time to reconnect with your intuition or do some forgiveness work. (Here are a few spiritual tips http://bodhispiritualcenter.org/5-techniques-to-work-on-forgiveness/). You might need to grieve a loss or deal with a mind-body health issue. Explore the link between emotions and wellbeing, since “mysterious” chronic symptoms often signal a deeper issue you haven’t wanted to confront. Pluto retrograde will snap you out of denial, but ultimately, that’s a good thing.

With shadowy Pluto backing through this mystical zone, you might be grieving a loss or having psychic dreams. You could receive healing messages from a departed loved one while you sleep or get undeniable “signs” that guides from the other side are assisting you. Meditation, listening to music, dance—these are just a few ways you can get out of your head and tune in to powerful leads from the universe.

Whew! So much going on, Aquarius. Feel free to hunker down at home and escape from April 19 on, when the Sun makes its annual sojourn through Taurus and your domestic fourth house. The April 26 Taurus new moon could bring exciting news for your personal life: a move, a pregnancy or an opportunity for some nurturing self-care. New moons unfold over a span of six months, so set intentions for your personal life. Where and how would you like to live? Start researching new cities or neighborhoods for a perfect fit. Is there a family relationship that needs healing? Extend the first twig of that olive branch. Someone has to make the first move, and it might as well be you.

Love & Romance

Romance on the rocks? The first couple weeks of this month could be choppy while love planet Venus is retrograde from March 4 to April 15. Venus makes this tricky backspin every 18 months for about six weeks, and it's a good time to reevaluate relationship dynamics and try to iron out any differences. In some cases, couples may go their separate ways; in others, since retrogrades can bring back the past, old lovers might reappear on the scene.

From April 2 to 28, Venus is in Pisces and your second house of security. There could be discord over money: Is one of you footing an unfair share of the dinner tabs or bills? Since the second house also rules self-esteem, you might discover a need to shore yours up before hitting the dating scene again. Take a time-out from Tinder if it’s been chipping away at your self-worth or making you jaded about love. This Aquarius woman’s story of why she took a break from dating apps (http://www.rannysays.com/blog/2016/1/19/why-im-taking-a-break-from-tinder) could give you food for thought. If you’re getting over a breakup, get a shot of meme-fueled confidence from the Brokenhearted Babe Instagram account (https://www.instagram.com/brokenheartedbabe/), also curated by an Aquarius.

But don’t plan on wallowing for too long! From April 21 to June 4, lusty Mars marches into Gemini and your fiery fifth house, pumping up the passion. Spring fever cometh! You’ll be turning heads and attracting admirers without even trying. Mars only visits this part of your chart every couple years, so take advantage. Reach for bolder statement pieces and brighter colors when you go out. With the red planet here, there’s no such thing as “too much.” For couples, your mojo gets a spicy spring awakening. Single Aquarians might decide to lift your temporary Tinder ban. But honestly, your infectious joie de vivre is likely to magnetize some passionate prospects in real-time. Why swipe when you can meet on the dance floor or exchange a laugh while you wait for your brunch tables?

Opportunity Days

April 6: Mars-Pluto Trine Whoa! Who knew you felt that strongly about something? Probably not even you. Today, something could trigger you, bringing up powerful emotions that can actually be healing when they see the light of day. For couples, this karmic day might spark a gesture that brings you closer, like meeting each other’s relatives or exchanging keys, or possibly news of a pregnancy. This is a powerful moment for healing, forgiveness and breaking an old family behavior pattern. Single? You may have a soulmate encounter or romantic deja vu. Have you known each other in another lifetime?

April 26: Taurus New Moon A new emotional chapter opens as the new moon awakens a nurturing and sensitive part of you. Family and home are also in the lunar spotlight. A move, pregnancy or lifestyle change could unfold in the coming six months.

Challenge Days

April 20-September 28: Pluto Retrograde Get ready to go into those shadowy places and explore your hidden blind spots. Plumb-the-depths Pluto plunges into reverse motion, putting you intensely in touch with powerful, possibly painful feelings. Consider taking a healing retreat to work through core wounds. If you’ve skipped over the healing process, you may need to go back and deal with it now. You might be especially driven to explore the hidden meanings and mysteries of everything due to Pluto's presence in this spiritual zone. This is also a good time for intensive therapy, especially if you're healing from a childhood trauma. Art, music, dance and any right-brain activity can be especially transporting.

Money & Career

Spread the word, Aquarius! With the Sun in Aries and your communication house until April 19, this is an excellent time for networking, pitching and putting a creative message out there. Don’t hide your smarts, either, as this intellectual cycle is perfect for putting your quirky “geek chic” on full display. We love everything about your fellow Aquarius (and proud bookworm) Emma Roberts’ new website, Belletrist (https://belletrist.com), an online book club that features interviews with authors she loves. Gather kindred spirits through social media and IRL meetups, and see what you can stir up together.

Working from home could be productive this month, as motivated Mars steams through Taurus and your domestic fourth house until April 21. Convert that cluttered corner or spare nook into a productive space. Women figure into your ambitious aims. A powerful and well-connected female could open doors or make an auspicious intro. If you’re thinking of starting a cottage industry, devote some energy to that.

Opportunity Days

April 5-August 25: Saturn Retrograde Press pause or take a sober step back from a group- or tech-related project. You could face a few obstacles to building your dream team or implementing technology.

April 7: Sun-Jupiter Opposition Know-it-all alert! People (yourself included) could be blowing a lot of hot air under this ego-driven cosmic aspect. Don’t believe the hype. While it all sounds exciting and promising, very little of what’s being said can actually be backed up with action or solid evidence. Be careful about getting roped into pointless arguments, both in person and on social media.

April 9: Sun-Pluto Square Read between the lines. Someone may be saying one thing, but their body language and non-verbal cues are telling a very different story. Not every friendly person is a friend. Some are wolves in sheep’s clothing. Don’t be their sacrificial lamb today—keep your wits about you and be careful what you divulge.

April 11: Libra Full Moon It’s a great day to launch a creative idea or to take a bold risk. Express your “out-there” ideas: You might discover that others are eager to get on-board. Travel, publishing, study and public speaking are all on the agenda at this full moon. Just be careful who you bring into this endeavor, as a square from calculating Pluto indicates that a shady person may be hovering on the periphery.

April 14: Sun-Uranus Meetup No filters? The courageous Sun and radical Uranus make it impossible to bite your tongue. But choose your audience wisely. Not everyone is able to digest it all in one bite. While you shouldn’t sugarcoat the truth, you don’t want to turn people off by coming across as volatile or unhinged.

April 17: Sun-Saturn Trine Choose your words carefully, and you could win the attention and support of some well-connected people. If you’re trying to get an initiative or project approved, band together. There’s power in numbers, so show the decision makers that your ideas have clout. Even better? Don’t wait for them to give you “permission.” Form a coalition and make change together.

Challenge Days

April 9-May 3: Mercury Retrograde Uh-oh! Mercury, the ruler of technology, travel and interpersonal affairs, begins its dicey three-week backspin, which could foil efforts in all of these areas. Back up your data to the cloud, explain yourself clearly, and triple-check all plans and reservations. If you’ve been waiting for a green light, you may have to sit on your hands a little longer, but be patient! This is not a favorable time to seal any deals anyway.

Love Days: 28, 5 Money Days: 12, 22 Luck Days: 11, 19 Off Days: 30, 8, 17