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into-the-daniverse · 4 years

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Alec x Iris | Call Me

For @motherofqups who requested 30. Sharing a Bath/Swim from the Sweet Affectionate Moments list! Title: Call Me by Kimbra

With a deep sigh, Alec stepped into the palace’s bathing chamber and shed her clothes, tossing them haphazardly into the corner in favor of the bath robe that had been left for her. There would be an outfit in her guest room for her to change into after the bath, so she wasn’t too worried about keeping her clothes neat. Getting brand-new, perfectly tailored outfits from the Countess was a perk of performing at palace parties—that and all of the food she would get to eat. But before the performance, Alec, and the rest of the band, needed to get washed up.

The water was steaming, clouding up the window overlooking the city, the last rays of sun casting a soft light around the room. Alec stepped gingerly into the bath, a moan escaping her mouth as she practically melted into the water.

She dipped her head underneath the almost unnaturally sparkling blue for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as it wobbled under the filter of the rippling water. Undoing the braid she kept her hair in, she carded her fingers through the dark strands, shaking them loose.

When she came up for air, she heard footsteps approaching the tub, and glanced through her wet hair towards the door. Recognizing the blonde, wavy hair and curvy figure as belonging to Iris Keshet, a fellow musician, she moved back to the edge of the tub to greet her.

“Oh, hello!” Alec said, lifting her hair out of her face to give the other woman a welcoming smile. “Are you getting ready for the party as well?” Though she had only met the other woman a few times, mostly in passing at other parties, she was intrigued by her, and was very happy to get any time alone.

Iris returned the smile but hesitated, glancing over at the bath. “Yes, but I didn’t realize someone was already in here. I can come back once you’re done?”

Alec shook her head, waving at her to come over. “No, come in! This is way too much water to waste on one person.” She reached behind her towards the rows and rows of colorful bottles, filled with different scented oils and soaps. “I was just about to pick something to put in—do you have anything in mind? Iris hummed thoughtfully, changing into her own bath robe. “Something floral?”

“I thought that’s what you’d say,” Alec replied with a laugh. She grabbed a bottle of hazy pink liquid and cracked it open, the smell of roses, irises, and a hint of oranges flooding the air as she poured it into the still steaming water.

Submerging her head completely again, she closed her eyes, feeling her hair spread out in the water around her. She could hear the distorted sound of Iris singing as she stepped into the tub, sending ripples through the water that caressed Alec’s skin as she floated weightlessly.

When she reemerged, opening her eyes, she was met with Iris’s indigo gaze, looking down at her.

“Nadia has you performing today, too?”

Alec nodded, propping herself up on the tile next to Iris. “She wanted Jamil—as her cousin—to be here, and, well, as a band we’re part of a set, so here I am.” She trailed a finger through the water, which was now tinted pink and glittered as it moved. “Not thrilled at being surrounded by stuffy royals for the rest of my night, but oh well.”

Iris laughed, starting to wash herself. “I would think you’d be used to them by now.”

“Just because I’m used to them doesn’t mean I like them,” Alec said, and grabbed another bottle to pour over herself, lathering her body with a sweet vanilla scent. “But at least I know I’ll have some fun company.”

“I’d be more than happy to keep you company during the party, maybe grab a few drinks, share some court secrets,” Iris said, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “There’s a lot of those to go around.”

Alec laughed, turning away to run an oil through her hair. “That’s not surprising.”

“Oh, you missed—here, let me.” She felt Iris’s hand on her back, rubbing the skin she had missed, and relaxed into her touch.

“Thank you!” Alec glanced over her shoulder at the other woman and gave her a soft smile.

“My pleasure.” The teasing glance Iris gave her as she pressed a feather-light kiss to her shoulder made Alec’s face light up in warmth from more than the bath, and she turned away before she could do or say anything too embarrassing.

They washed themselves, keeping a light conversation, but Alec’s eyes kept traveling back to Iris’s face, and specifically, her lips. She could feel the kiss on her shoulder as if it was a branded mark, and she felt a familiar hunger in her stomach for more.

She figured out that she was being more than a bit obvious when Iris suddenly pulled her close, one hand cupping her face, and the other on her back.

The other woman didn’t say anything, just quirked an eyebrow, a small smirk on her face. Alec nodded, and felt her breath escape her as their lips pressed together.

The kiss tasted of the bath, which was to say, roses, irises, oranges, vanilla, and a little bit of soap, but Alec found she didn’t mind it, and moved against the other woman, venturing a small nibble on her full, pink lips. Iris pushed back, her fingers gliding through Alec’s hair as Alec’s hands rested on her hips. Her strong fingers pressed lightly into the bath robe, into Iris’s pale skin.

The room felt a bit cooler when they parted, and Alec sighed, knowing that it was probably time for her to get out, her fingertips and toes significantly wrinkled. Iris seemed to know what she was thinking, and pressed a quick kiss to the beauty mark on the left side of her chin. “Guess I’ll see you out there.”

Alec nodded, reluctantly rinsing the last of the suds off her body as she stepped out of the bath, wringing her hair out. “Don’t take too long to join us—I’m going to need all the help I can get fielding those court members,” she said with a wink.

Iris smiled, “I’ll see what I can do.” She leaned against the tile with her chin in her hand. “Save me a song?”

Alec smiled back, drying herself off with a quick, warm breeze as she walked towards the door. “Of course!”

#the arcana #daniverse fic #journey to 300 #apprentice alec #apprentice iris #iris keshet #daniverse oc

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valhallanrose · 4 years

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hey @motherofqups I redid Iris’s tarot card

So something I feel I should explain on this post: the reason apprentice tarot is taking me so long is because I’ve been trying to figure out how to make them all look like they’re part of the same deck rather than just random art. I wanted to make the pieces more interesting, and while I’m happy with how the previous Iris card turned out, I love this one so much more. Sure, it’s not perfect, but I could sit here for hours and nitpick it and still find flaws.

I’m planning on getting Halla and Adrien up this weekend. Cross your fingers for me because Halla’s is kicking my ass for some reason and it’s making me wish I could fight my drawing skill

#apprentice tarot #apprentice iris #iris keshet #fan apprentice #the arcana #the arcana game

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drdevoraak · 4 years

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moodboard: iris keshet

For @motherofqups ~

#moodboard #iris keshet #fan apprentice iris #fan apprentice iris keshet #motherofqups #my post #the arcana apprentice #the arcana mc

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the-writer-muse · 2 years

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Color-Themed Names

Red/pink-themed names

Camellia, Carmine, Cerise, Cherry, Claret, Flynn, Fuchsia, Garance, Garnet, Holly, Jacinthe, Linnea, Phoenix, Pink, Poppy, Reed, Rosa, Rose, Roux, Rowan, Roy, Ruby, Russ, Russell, Scarlett, Sherry, Titian, Zinnia

Orange-themed names

Alani, Amber, Azahar, Cam, Coral, Ginger, Orenji, Sziéna, Topaz

Yellow-themed names

Blaine, Bowie, Boyd, Citron, Citrine, Maize, Marigold, Saffron, Xanthe, Xanthus

Green-themed names

Basil, Beryl, Celadon, Chartreuse, Chloris, Clover, Fern, Forest, Emerald, Esmeralda, Giada, Hunter, Ivy, Jade, Juniper, Kelly, Midori, Moss, Olive, Orrin, Sage, Viridienne, Viridis

Blue-themed names

Aqua, Azul, Azure, Blue, Cobalt, Hyacinth, Indigo, Mazarine, Nila, Ocean, River, Sapphire, Sky, Teal

Purple-themed names

Amethyst, Heather, Iolanthe, Ione, Iris, Lavender, Lilac, Mauve, Sigal, Violet, Wisteria, Yolanda

Brown-themed names

Anise, Auburn, Brindle, Bruno, Coco, Clove, Fawn, Hari, Hazel, Roan, Russet, Sienna, Tawny, Umber

Black-themed names

Coal, Ebony, Jet, Melanie, Onyx, Pepper, Raven, Sable

Gray/silver-themed names

Arian, Ash, Chamois, Ecru, Gin, Gray/Grey, Grayson, Isabelline, Silver, Slate, Sterling, Stone, Storm

White-themed names

Alaska, Alba, Albion, Bianca, Blaine, Dove, Everest, Fidda, Fiona, Ivory, Lily, Opal, Pearl, Snow

Rainbow/misc-themed names

Aya, Ayami, Ayane, Enfys, Hong, Iridiana, Iris, Itza, Itzel, Iro, Jalus, Kelemi, Keshet, Nanako, Ostadar, Raga, Solongo, Szinta, Tolbon, Tourmaline, Vaiva, Walken, Ziazan

Gold-themed names

Altin, Arta, Aurelia, Aurelius, Aurian, Aurum, Cressida, Dahab, Florin, Genji, Gilda, Golden, Goldie, Eurion, Hiran, Kanaka, Kanok, Loreal, Oriana, Orville, Sonali, Sui, Suvarna, Tala, Zahava

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stargreen · 3 years

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So what to say, I became passionate about the Fanfiction of @motherofqups and I tried to reproduce her protagonist Iris Keshet. I know it's not perfect and I let myself go with her dress, but I hope you like it anyway 🥺❤️

#pencil #art #drawing #illustration #drawtime #drawdrawdraw #love #my art #artoftheday #colors #the arcane game #artwork #fanart

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shkspr · 4 years

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i’m very attached to the K and all that it stands for (pun intended) so my theory is this: trans icon martin blackwood spent a long time trying to find a name that Fit (”sorry, sorry, i just wanted to try it out”) and when he went to change his name legally he couldn’t commit to a middle name, so his legal name is just martin blackwood. he always knew he liked the sound of a k in his name, it made for a good middle initial, but he couldn’t land on one name.

and i think, for all his faults, jon has always been vocally accepting and supportive of his colleagues when they get a bit personal on a night out or something; he’s a good man to talk to about gender and sexuality feelings because he listens and he always has the dry rational angle covered to combat whatever strong emotions his friends are feeling about their crises. but he is still openly disdainful of martin, so it’s a unique balance.

so it’s sometime in season one, or maybe even pre-archives, when martin “tells jon his middle name.” they’re all together, the two of them and tim and sasha, and it’s not something martin would usually just offer up in casual conversation, but he’s just changed it again and he really likes the sound of this one and he wants to test it out aloud to see how it sounds and how it feels. so when sasha jokingly calls him “martin jeremiah blackwood,” he says “that’s not my middle name,” and she says “no, it’s tim’s, i just like the way it sounds with any name”

and jon says “what is your middle name, martin?” and martin has a moment of panic because jon doesn’t usually ask him questions, jon doesn’t usually show an active interest in his life, but then he remembers that he has recently changed his middle name (in his head because that’s the only place he has a middle name) and he actually wants to tell them, to test the waters. so he says “kalidasa,” and they all look at him for a second just to be sure he isn’t joking. and he isn’t, or at least he isn’t copping to it, and it’s at that moment that jon has to leave, always a stickler for the rules, not willing to go over his scheduled lunch break time.

and then when he’s gone, sasha says “that’s a really nice name. what’s it mean?” and martin explains, because the meaning is the bulk of the significance: it means “servant of [the hindu goddess] kali” and it was the name of a classical indian writer whose work is very important to martin personally. there was a single hardcover book with no dustjacket on a low shelf in his home on the day, months after his father had left, when his mother finally decided to get rid of all his things. just one book, that’s what eight-year-old martin managed to squirrel away while his mum directed moving men to take his dad’s boxes away, and so he cherished that book, a slim volume of classical sanskrit poetry.

martin recites a bit of it from memory, his eyes going a bit fuzzy as he stares off into the distance and murmurs, “look to this day: for it is life, the very life of life. in its brief course lie all the verities and realities of your existence. the bliss of growth, the glory of action, the splendour of achievement are but experiences of time. for yesterday is but a dream and tomorrow is only a vision; and today well-lived, makes yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope. look well therefore to this day; such is the salutation to the ever-new dawn.”

sasha and tim don’t let on that they’re aware he picked the name himself, nor do they make any derisive comments or poke fun at him. they know where to draw a line, they know martin’s sensitive about anything to do with his dad, and they know it’s just generally a dick move to make fun of someone’s name. sasha smiles and tells him that’s very touching, and then she says “my middle name is josephine, after my mum’s aunt,” and that’s the subject easily changed, and they move on as normal as anything.

martin lasts about two weeks before deciding he hates “kalidasa” and he hates himself for picking it, it sounds stupid and pretentious and everyone already thinks he’s trying way too hard, he doesn’t need to go and make it worse. but it never comes up again like that, with all the shit that keeps happening, so he never gets the chance to set the record straight with jon. he tells tim, at some point, what he’s thinking of changing it to now, and tim is very supportive. but jon goes several years thinking his name is martin kalidasa blackwood, and martin is painfully aware of that fact at times.

so. when jon becomes post-apocalyptic google and martin asks what his middle name is... well, he’s not quite sure what he expects. he’s stuck with the same middle name for a while now, since around the time his mum died. they didn’t always get on perfectly, but he loved her; he’s not in denial, but that doesn’t mean he has to let his every memory of her be tainted. anyway, he was getting sick of his last middle name, and he wanted to honor his mum. iris was her name, it means rainbow.

and despite their rocky relationship, she gave him his faith, which has so often been a source of comfort and community when he had none, and he’ll always be thankful for that, he’ll always cherish that. it all sort of fell into place, really, it seemed to fall into his lap that the hebrew word for rainbow happens to start with a k. so he’s been martin keshet blackwood for about a year, give or take an apocalypse, and he doesn’t anticipate changing it anytime soon, and not only because he doesn’t have the time to think about his name while he’s trying to fight the world.

that’s it, he thinks, this is as permanent as things get in this world, so he figures that’s what will pop into jon’s head, but it doesn’t and that’s fine. nobody knows how any of this works, and so jon gains the knowledge that martin doesn’t have a middle name in any legal or official capacity. and jon says “i actually believed you! that’s ridiculous, i thought, that’s not a real name, but he wouldn’t lie to me!” and martin feels a tiny little warm flowers blooming in his chest at that because - well, because jon thought of him, back then, asked him a question and then ruminated on his answer after the fact and concluded that martin wouldn’t lie to him, and that’s a sight better than where he thought he’d stood at the time.

there’s some guilt, too, of course, because he was lying to jon at the time, and he felt bad about it at the time and he feels bad about it now but they’re so far past that, aren’t they. and he clears it up, later. the next lull in their journey, the next quiet moment that they have to just talk to each other, he clears up the whole issue and explains the whole story and jon laughs, because it’s funny. and then he says something awful sappy, something like:

“the journey to the man you want to be is one that i will gladly travel, too. whatever name you choose is fine with me, so long as it’s a name that pleases you. keshet is lovely, for that’s what you are: a burst of color in a dreary sky, a ray of hopeful beauty from afar, a comfort from the ever-present eye, your smile a pot of gold i treasure so. each color leads me deeper in this love, to places inside you i’d like to know, to all the little things that you dream of. if one day soon you find you wish to change, your life and name are yours to rearrange.”

martin cries, of course he does, and he gets a little indignant through his tears - “it’s not fair that you can just spin that off the tip of your tongue; poetry is supposed to be my thing; i try so hard, and here you come, just spouting rhymes like nobody’s business” - but there’s no real rancor in it, only fondness and warmth and the affirming knowledge that even here, they can learn new things about each other; even here, they can be together in a way that feels like home to them; even here, they have their love, and they won’t let it go.

#tma spoilers #tma s5 #ok to rb #mag164 #i've been sitting on kalidasa for a while now bc i don't think he'd keep it but he would definitely try it #under a cut (assuming the cut works) bc it got looooooooooooooong #optma #meta #jm

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angelosotelojunior · 4 years

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La cueva de Keshet (también conocida como la cueva del arco iris o la cueva del arco) en Galilea, es una de las maravillas naturales más bellas de la Tierra de Israel. Coméntanos: ¿La conoces? Foto: Eyal Asaf - Aerial Photography Via: Israel en Español #ANGELOSOTELOJÚNIOR #SANTOSANTOSANTOÉOSENHOR #GLÓRIASADEUS #ALELUIA https://www.instagram.com/p/CBUpwWOlP5R/?igshid=19weky65r3x9n

#angelosotelojúnior #santosantosantoéosenhor #glóriasadeus #aleluia

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motherofqups · 2 months

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Weights & Measures Chapter 27

You Should've Known That This Was Gonna End In Tears

#weights & measures #the iris oracle #the arcana game #fan fiction #fan fic #lucio morgasson #lucio route #lazuli keshet #iris keshet #lucio is here too

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deehollowaywrites · 7 years

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horse of a different color

Four jockeys, two cities, one love, all Pride.

New York City - June 25, 4:15PM

“You know what’s so great about being based at Gulfstream?”

Joel looked at me over his sunglasses, black eyebrows quirked like he was ready for me to say something foolish or obvious. “The year-round riding?”

“Good point,” I allowed. He was such a workaholic, but I liked that look on a guy. “I was thinking more that Miami’s Pride is in April, so we get to do two per year. Aren’t we the luckiest motherfuckers on the planet?”

We were, to my way of thinking, or at least I was. Me with my paragon of a boyfriend, handsome and talented and a Classic win deep into a very good summer. Me in one of the most beautiful cities in the world--New York was no Miami, but it was a good place to be on the second Saturday in June, and the third Sunday was even better. Me surrounded by color and life, music, chanting in twenty different languages. Me and him and everyone else, the same and different for that moment.

“You just like parades,” Joel said, and wrapped his arm around my waist. “And marches and rallies. You remember…”

He cut off, a hint of a smile on his mouth, and I tried to decide what he might be remembering. Us two months earlier in Miami Beach, dancing on one of the drag floats with his cousin Dani, wearing Hawaiian-print board shorts and not much else? Us the year before, the weekend after Belmont, our first Belmont and our first New York Pride, or us this past Friday night at Fantasy, the ‘Men At Work’ theme and Joel’s breeches in a context different than the one I was used to--

“That rally,” he said. His arm tensed, his hand on my hip. I was wearing a tank top, Breeders’ Cup purple the perfect shade for a Pride weekend, and the sides were slashed down far enough that his skin was warm against mine. He turned his head, looking beyond the High Line, and his lips met my curls. “You remember.”

I remembered: the two of us in a crowd heading for the Miami-Dade courthouse, the wet June heat. His mouth, vodka-flavored; my best friend texting where r u and me ignoring it. Joel trying to tell me something, to open up, and me ignoring that too because I was a dipshit, or scared, because it was easier to go for what I wanted in that moment instead of what I was afraid I might want for life. The two of us at the start.

Across the rooftops Fifth Avenue was visible, the glitter and noise of the March snaking slowly through Manhattan. People we knew were down there, street-level, in the parade itself and along the sidewalks. Tallis was somewhere with Jessa and her girlfriend, and we’d have to go find them pretty soon, because we had dinner reservations at Ngam. As though on cue, my phone buzzed and I slid it out of my pocket, expecting a chiding Tallis text. Instead it was Lexington’s own blond-bitch princess, a picture of Felix and Adair in front of a rainbow horse statue in Triangle Park. A giant LexPride flag wrapped them together. I’d have sworn Adair’s smile was brighter than the light reflecting off their sunglasses.

“The cutest,” I declared, and showed my phone to Joel. “Great. Now we’ll have to one-up them.”

There was no question of the quantity of photos in my phone. We’d been walking all morning, pausing to get drinks and take pictures and kiss. If Felix was going to be all adorable, we’d be adorable right back at her--even more so, because I had a secret weapon of industrial-strength cuteness, and he was standing right next to me. Joel’s flannel had accumulated more pins and patches beside his old rainbow Cuban flag button as we’d stopped at stalls and merch booths, and--I rubbed my arm against his shoulder, where skin met the soft, torn edge of his sleeve. Was it the same flannel? Black-and-red plaid, faded, the softest thing in his closet. Back then, in front of the Miami courthouse, it’d been buttoned up; now it was open over his bare chest, sun glinting on a gold cross and the warm brown skin of his abs, black boxer-briefs visible above cut-off jeans and his Jordans.

“Just so you know,” I said, and I hadn’t expected my voice to be rough. “You look deadly.”

“You should be looking at the parade,” Joel said, but a smile slipped across his face. The hand on my hip eased north, his fingers hooking inside my shirt. His other hand tipped up the brim of my hat, then adjusted the JEWS FOR JUSTICE patch and the rainbow Keshet pin. A pinky lifted my Magen David from where it dangled over the Breeders’ Cup logo. “You look like free advertising.”

“The powers that be should pay me for this endorsement,” I said, and tugged his face down to mine. “The best is yet to…come.”

Joel snorted. “I guess I’ll give you some credit for waiting so long to whip that out.”

“Considering what you were whipping out on the dance floor last night, I deserve all the credit.”

In the sky above us, the sun passed over a cloud. It’d been like that all weekend, fast-moving clouds shot with brutal sunlight. Colorful sunscreen and body paint were everywhere. Yesterday Joel, long-suffering mensch that he was, had let me draw stars and horses all over his arms in rainbow splotches of zinc, a gigantic green outline of Florida on his stomach, a heart on each cheek. Now he pushed his sunglasses into his hair and gazed at me. “Ben.”

“Petsl.”

Tatteleh, I wanted to whisper to the smooth skin beneath his jaw, bubbeleh, gelibt boychick, every soft, sweet thing I could think of, all the endearments that weren’t enough in English and were somehow almost enough in Yiddish. He had a tendency to forget--how good he was, how beautiful, even on days like Pride when it was so easy to remember that we were loved, when it was safe to love.

I liked reminding him.

“I hope you’re having fun.”

“I’m always having fun,” I said, which was only the truth.

“Well--” he said. “But you know what I mean.”

“You mean,” I said, “that the racetrack is suffering without us.” He pressed his lips together, a sure sign that he was trying to be serious and failing to resist my notable charms. “You mean that the bettors are pining. You mean that Jamie Hamilton is gnashing his teeth over race five, which you would be winning right now if you weren’t here. Is that what you mean?”

He kept looking at me, his eyes soft black without the blue-tinted aviators, humoring me.

“Thank you for being here with me.” I kissed his cheek, the skin tasting faintly of sunscreen. “I know I can be a one-man gay Pride parade, but this only happens once a year.”

“Twice a year,” Joel murmured, turning so that I felt his smile on my lips. “If you’re lucky like us.”

New York City - June 25, 5:05PM

Jessa’s new girlfriend was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.

To be fair, every woman I laid eyes on was up there; I just happened to really, really like women. And maybe I should’ve been jealous--maybe I should’ve looked at Esther draped over Jessa like kudzu and sucked my teeth--maybe in the back of my mind there was a highlights reel playing, the two of us that summer when everything changed, and the two of us in an Ozone Park walk-up, a Morningside Heights cafe, a Saratoga ballroom. But Jessa was happy and it was Pride, and as my grandma would’ve said, my cup was overflowing.

“Your cup,” Jessa said, giggling. “Tallis.” She grabbed the solo cup out of my hand as it tipped, my elbow on the railing of the rooftop bar. “Some poor soul down on the street won’t know what hit them.”

“Hey, like, if I time it right--like, when Ben texts me they’re heading over I’ll have to keep an eye out,” I said. “I’ll spot Joel’s frowny-face a mile away and then I’ll dump this right on Ben’s head.”

“That would definitely give them an idea of our location,” Jessa agreed. Esther looked at her and then at me, smiling and a little confused. Her face, I decided, was sweet. She looked like an icon of Black Mary, round cheeks and big dark eyes and a neck that wouldn’t have seemed out of place with the swan boats, her hair hidden beneath a bright blue-print turban. Jessa leaned over and darted a kiss at her, and I thought very hard about anything other than the berry flavor of her favorite purple lipstick, the way the sun hit her deep brown skin. “They’re Tallis’s friends. She just has a strange way of showing affection.”

“Ben understands me,” I said loftily. “And Joel respects me. Like, on the dirt, at least.” I sipped at the rest of the cocktail in my cup, what Jessa called an Ice Pick. Something along the lines of an Arnold Palmer, but with vodka. It was refreshing as hell on what was turning out to be the hottest day of New York’s summer so far. “They were supposed to come to the rally but--I mean, I suppose they were hungover. I guess I’ll allow it, like, how often does Joelito get smashed? Not often.”

Still, it would have been nice to have them at the rally. Ben was more political than he let on, and Joel was more political than he looked, and it was always chill when they were around, among the chants and the signs. If I couldn’t have Iris and Marcy, my best friends from high school, armed with slogans and literature, the boys were a good next-best.

“Those were some pictures from last night.” Jessa cocked an eyebrow. They were sparkling today, her perfect eyebrows, pink glitter swept along their arches to match the fuchsia braided into her hair. She looked like cotton candy, pink and purple swirled together in a galaxy-print romper and her lilac lips. “Tallis, I kind of figured you might wear something similar today, yet here you are in civvies.”

The pictures in question involved breeches, because Ben and Joel were predictable. I looked down at my own gear. “So maybe I didn’t feel like wearing my work uniform, geez.”

“Still,” Jessa said, face straight and brown eyes dancing. “Does what it says on the tin.”

The tin said DOWN TO RIDE in white block letters across my sports bra. It was too hot for real clothing, and Pride wasn’t for real clothing anyway, and I couldn’t figure why Jessa was giving me a hard time. Between my bra and cut-offs and Docs I still had more coverage going on than half the people dancing on this roof.

“You look great, Tallis,” Esther said, almost gushing. Maybe she felt like she had to be extra-nice, since she was kissing on my former lady-friend right in front of me. “Can I ask what your work-out regimen is like? Because Lord, you are in really good shape.”

“I mean,” I said. “I mainly just, like… ride horses.” I flapped my hands at my chest, not that there was much chest to be flapped at. Whatever boobs I’d been packing had long vanished in favor of muscle. “Like Jessa said. Does what it says on the tin.”

“Oh,” Esther said, and did that thing again, her eyes swerving between me and Jessa like she’d missed something. They hadn’t been dating for that long, they were still in the gooey stage of staring at each other and touching every three seconds, and when I’d heard--when I’d gotten back to New York after the Derby and Jessa had called me instead of responding to a simple hook-up text--when I’d seen Esther today, lovely and giggling on Jessa’s arm… It was difficult to be angry, or even that sad. Sad was a well-worn spot in my heart that would probably never scar over. But it was Pride, and Jessa was happy. Esther made her happy. Esther, who looked at me again and said, “Well, you look amazing.”

“Speaking of pictures,” I said, because things were starting to get awkward, “check what my guru’s up to.” My agent’s wife had texted me an hour or so before, and I flashed my phone at Jessa. “I mean, for real, look at this old man! I gotta tell him to perk up. Somebody up there better dunk his head in a cooler or some shit, like, it’s too early for naptime.”

Jessa giggled. “If I were Phil I’d have drawn dicks on his face.”

“Good to know,” Esther said. She slipped Jessa a sidelong look, lips pursed. “Remind me not to fall asleep around you.”

“That ain’t what you’ll wake up to,” Jessa said, composed. I tried to ignore that face of hers, the calm one she pulled on when she was delivering lightning bolts, the smooth full cheeks and innocent expression that came out when her hand was on your thigh. “Tallis, there’s a cutie at the bar giving you mad eyes.”

I tugged a curl of my frohawk and turned, hoping I seemed casual even though if said cutie bopped my way she’d find out soon enough that there was nothing casual about me. She was pretty, all legs in a pair of sailor shorts, black ink peeking out of her waistband and a belly-button ring turning olive skin golden in the sun. She had a tallboy in one hand, the aluminum hiding her mouth as she sipped, round sunglasses low on her nose.

Jessa whistled and kicked my ankle. “Quit standing around, girl. We’ll keep an eye out for the boys.”

Ben and Joel could take their time, as far as I was concerned. The girl at the bar wasn’t looking away, and Jessa and Esther had their heads together, tittering like pigeons, and it was Pride. Maybe I should’ve been at the track, making money instead of spending it, but there were a few things I loved more than horses and this was one. All around me New York was partying; from this high up the streets below looked like they were paved in glitter. Hands were being held and cheeks kissed and in bathrooms and stairwells and on balconies and throughout the parading streets people were in love. I was in love, with my work and the people in my life, even if... And some of that feeling I could pinpoint, I had the receipts committed to memory, and some of it seemed like it’d always been in me, and some of it I knew would never leave.

But there was always room for more.

Lexington - June 25, 5:35PM

It’d been five years, I realized when the float was swinging past Broadway, aimed straight for the arena.

“What?” Phil called, her hip twisting under my hand. She’d been dancing, so it seemed, since we woke up that morning, hungover beyond the telling of it in a hotel off Red Mile and Felix beating our door down, get the fuck out of bed, Eduardo, we got bigots to piss off. Phil grinned, her face close to mine. “Five years since what?”

“Five years!” I put my lips to her ear so she could hear me over the loudspeakers, the grand marshal in the distance and our float blaring Tegan and Sara. “I know you ain’t forgot. It was all your idea anyway.”

She looked at me a moment longer, and then her smile broke into laughter. Sun glinted off her tongue ring, a tiny little gold-edged rainbow for the occasion. “Oh my god. Eddy. I totally forgot I popped your Pride cherry. Baby.” She kissed me, still laughing, and I caught the taste of orange-bourbon slushies on her tongue. “Mazel tov, man. Happy anniversary.”

June was a good month anyway, so I’d always figured, the Belmont being my preferred of the Crown races and my birthday landing another week in, and now Father’s Day. I did like being a father. Add Pride into it, and June was the heavy favorite for best month of the year, as far as I was concerned. Phil linked an arm around my waist, moving faster as the DJ switched over to a Gaga remix. Her cheek pressed mine, the gold lame fabric of her dress slightly sticky under my palm. “I’m glad we’re still here.”

Still here. Still in Lexington, still together--still brazenly queer, her, and still a little squirrelly about it, me. I remembered that conversation, when we’d been together for nearly a year. You’ve really never been? But Felix… Felix, Pride enthusiast extraordinaire. Felix, who’d probably be Grand Marshal of Lexington’s Pride before she turned thirty-five. Felix, who right then was about a mile ahead of us, her and Adair and Maribel with Iona on the Ruffians float. It was the first year that batch of ritzy Kentucky horsewomen had reserved a spot in the parade. Felix had scoffed, but I liked what I thought it said about her mother.

“Anybody give you a hard time yet?” Phil said, and leaned past me to wave. “Here, we should start throwing beads again.”

There was a bucket of beads at our feet, half-forgotten as the sun and noise had gone to work on us. It was real easy to forget a lot of things, I’d noticed, this particular weekend. The mass of color caught my eyes, made me look everywhere at once instead of focusing on any one detail. The simplicity of the whole thing gummed up my gears. For once, for just a few days, you could believe things were all right.

I grabbed a handful of beads and raised them, looking out at the crowd on the street. “Anybody gave me a hard time, you’d have known about it. Seeing as you been all over me all day.” Phil bumped her hip into mine. “I’m not complaining, mind.”

“You better not,” she said. “And they better not.” Her lips tightened, her profile sharp with its sunglasses against the downtown skyline and the bright blue sky. “When we were getting ready to push off I heard that new guy say something to Marisa. ‘Who invited the hets?’ Some shit like that.” She tossed her beads out to the air, aiming for a couple of girls in UK gear, then leaned into my shoulder. “Like, of course I’ve got to come out to some rando on Pride. Of course.”

“You don’t have to say anything to anyone.”

Our float was one put on by the art collective Phil was part of, had been running in the Lexington parade every year that I’d been going. Any new guy participating needed to introduce himself to Phil, not the other way around. It prickled me--how this happened every year in some form, somebody looking at us and thinking they knew what they were seeing. It bothered me because it bothered her, not so much for my own sake. That had been part of the reason why I’d never been to Pride, before Phil took me. It had seemed like I’d be butting in, even if I belonged there, and I’d never been sure I did. Phil had been the first person other than Felix I’d said those words to. Even now I didn’t know, not really.

“Eddy,” she said, and kissed me softly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a great weekend.” Her hand slid down my back, slotting into my pocket. “Also, you look hot.”

“I am hot,” I told her, and pulled back just enough to drop a strand of beads around her neck. I’d been doing this off and on all day, watching the multi-colored beads nestle into her cleavage until she complained they were sticking to her and took them off. “It’s very hot out, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Uh-huh.” She lifted her hair with both hands, the heavy black weight of it, and pulled some magic trick to keep it in a bun without an elastic. “I meant that new ink, but you’re not wrong. You should take up meteorology when you get bored with agenting.”

I examined my right shoulder where it lay open to the warm air. I’d finally used up all the real estate on my left arm, the round petals of a Bayahibe rose inching down over the back of my hand. The first and only ink on my right arm thus far was our daughter’s name, etched into a scroll to match the one with my mother’s name on my left bicep. When I looked up again, Phil was looking too, green eyes narrowed over her heart-shaped sunglasses. She licked her lips and winked.

“I’m just saying. I’d marry your ass if I hadn’t already, tattoo like that.” She leaned in again, her mouth against my ear. “I like commitment.”

I liked it too. My whole life people had been calling me serious, too serious sometimes. In the early days someone had told me Phil got bored easily, and maybe it was true, but if it was, apparently my glitz hadn’t worn off yet. Hers sure hadn’t, and I doubted it ever would. She’d been hard to resist then, smirking at me over a big fancy Nikon, her tongue ring and those hips I wanted to die between; she was even harder to resist now, the soft stamp of motherhood on her, that gold dress low-cut over a strappy black bra and sandals winding up toward her knees.

Somewhere on this float was a guy who thought the two of us didn’t need to be here. Somewhere in the parade was our baby and her aunties. Phil had started this chapter of my life and we’d finish it together, us and Mari and Felix and Adair, and right then I couldn’t think of anything better.

Phil’s hand pressed harder into my pocket, then flashed my phone. “Someone wants you.”

“I know she does,” I said, and kissed her nose. She giggled, swiping open the phone. “So who wants me now? Better not be Tallis.”

“It is Tallis,” she said. “But not for work.”

The picture on the screen was my errant little girl-jock, smack between Gwen Taylor’s daughter and a very pretty girl I didn’t recognize. New York soared behind them, and color exploded in every corner of the picture, Tallis with a rainbow painted across the slope of her nose and Jessa wearing pink braids and purple lipstick. happy PRIDE 2 my favorite bi babes, the text read. B good & kiss Mari PLEASE xoxoxox Tallis n Jessa

Phil giggled, her head tipped against mine. The sun lit her skin and the unicorn-sheen blush she’d swept on that morning. “Happy Pride, Eddy.”

I kissed her and kissed her again, murmured it back to her, let it sink into me. Viva Orgullo.

Lexington - June 25, 6:30PM

Somehow, this was the first time I’d cried at a Pride festival.

The amphiteatre was crowded to capacity but every scrap of conversation and laughter died as the recitation began. Voices swelled over it, the choir on the stage singing ‘Amazing Grace’ while the speaker read out Antonio Brown...Luis Conde...Eddie Justice...and maybe it was shoulders pressing mine, a hand on my waist, and maybe it was Adair’s face on the platform among the women singing, and maybe it was too many other faces in my mind, too much terrible potential.

Eddy’s arm on my shoulders went tight. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Phil, not even to whisper jokingly that the rainbow painted on my cheek was about to smudge. I licked my lips, then said, voice low, “Can I hold Mari?”

I knew they were looking at each other over my head, but Phil smiled as she shifted the kid in her arms. Mari’s weight was comforting, her cheek rolling against my chest and her hair smelling of sunscreen. I wanted to close my eyes and bury my face in her black curls, but Adair deserved more than that, and so did the woman speaking.

So did the dead.

“She sounded amazing,” Eddy said a few minutes later when the crowd around us began to move. We stood there on the grass, an island of three and a snoozing baby, watching couples kissing and groups forming, friends calling out directions and plans. “They all did, but Adair--por Dios, up there looking like an angel.” He slapped my shoulder, tweaking the thin strap of my dress. “And you, Miss Slutty Charms, pride of Lexington.”

So maybe the dress was bright green and transparent in the sun, and maybe it was so short as to barely deserve the name, but I thought the Honeycomb Hills snapback and high-top sneakers kind of leavened the look. Anyway, Adair’s eyes popping when I’d come out of the hotel bathroom this morning was the whole point. I hefted Mari up, patting her back as she mumbled something. “That’s Mrs. Slutty Charms to you, asshole.”

It still felt bizarre, being someone’s missus, bizarre and impossible and perfect. We were nearly a year in, me and Adair, and I was never going to be used to it. It was just one more thing kicking this year’s Pride into the stratosphere: the rock on Adair’s finger, the smile on her face now there for yet another reason. I looked at her again, across the crowd, still on the stage with her chorus. She’d come meet us in a few minutes but for now I wanted nothing but to stare at her. Her long legs in that high-waist skirt, her brown belly under that bright pink crop top. She had on one of her fun prosthetics, rainbow-print plastic meeting her thigh, and a pair of lacy leather gladiator sandals. Even on a stage full of women in peacock feathers and wild hair, she glowed.

“So am I getting my daughter back any time soon?” Eddy peered at us, his disapproving dad face out in full force. “You going to add kidnapping to your long list of incorrigible activities, Felicity?”

I hmm-ed and didn’t answer. Truth be told, Mari was something to clutch right then, something to remind me that life was still going on. Eddy’s eyes softened, and he pushed us over to a bare spot on the ampitheatre’s north wall. “You ok?”

The stone felt gritty on my thighs when I sat down. “I hate being afraid.”

He didn’t say, what do you got to be afraid of?

I let Phil take Maribel off my lap. She was starting to wake up and would probably be hungry, and that was her parents’ arena, not mine. Flicking open my phone, I showed Eddy the screen. “Look at this.”

He chuckled, gray eyes skating over the picture. “Yeah. Tallis texted me earlier too. Looks like they’re all having fun, eh?”

The text had arrived sometime late in the afternoon, when our float was just pulling up in front of the arena. It was a message like a dozen others I’d gotten over the past month, pictures and captions from Pride festivals in cities all over the country. I liked seeing them--liked knowing where all my friends and colleagues were, that they were having fun, they were safe. And it wasn’t like Ben Goldfarb didn’t text me more or less endlessly anyway. Fucking up your Laurel track record, nbd or hey you ever been to the Keys? Next time you’re at GP we’ll go, pictures from the jocks’ room, Joel frowning at the camera.

It was cute, and this message was too: the two of them on the New York City High Line, Fifth Avenue’s blaring-bright parade in the distance. The two of them smiling at the same time for once--hell, you could even see Joel’s teeth--the two of them in love with each other and their world. There was a ball cap barely staying put on Ben’s curls, and sun flared on a pair of necklaces, gold and sapphires. Everything about it broke my heart.

“We don’t deserve them,” I told Eddy. “It was supposed to be better by now.”

“Felix, come on.” He showed me his own phone. “It is better.”

The text displayed was pure Tallis. She was the most joyful kid I’d ever met. She and Ben both--and Joel in his own way--and all of that, everything I knew about them, just made my eyes sting again. “You know Ben gets… and he didn’t tell me this, Canseco did. People send him death threats.”

Phil looked up from where Mari was nestled against her with a juice box. “Jesus Christ. Eddy, you never told me that.”

He shook his head. Phil had braided his hair for this weekend and it looked fantastic, tight rows against his scalp, his profile all jaw and nose. “Felix, you got to focus on what’s in front of you.” He waved his phone at me. “Let them live. They’re living, so let them. You think maybe Joel left out a detail when he told you that?”

There had been plenty of details when Joel had told me that, but I knew what Eddy meant. There was no way Ben got those kinds of emails and Joel didn’t. I’d gotten them--still did; they’d slowed down for a minute and then ticked up again when Adair and I sealed the deal. Almost always men, telling me how they’d fix me, they knew where I lived, every filthy word under the sun. Sometimes women, the hellfire types. Stuff about Adair--about my wife--that chilled my blood.

It was worse for the boys, I knew it, and for Tallis. No one had ever slapped a goddamn swastika on any of my nastygrams.

Phil touched my arm and nodded across the amphitheatre. “Adair’s about to come ask you why you’re sad.”

She was moving toward us, Phil was right, and I had about three minutes to get my shit together, because I wasn’t going to ruin tonight. None of this was news. We’d been dealing with it and we’d keep dealing with it, because the generation coming up deserved better.

Eddy leaned over, and somehow managed to get his arms around all of us. He kissed my cheek above the rainbow paint and tucked blond strands back under my hat. “You’re part of the reason they’re here at all, mija. Don’t downplay it.”

Who knew selfishness could get spun into heroics?

“I’m here,” he said, quiet, and his chest moved like he’d drawn a deep breath. “We’re all here. Todos juntos.”

We were here and we weren’t going anywhere, not out of our cities and certainly not out of our sport, and if I hadn’t managed to fix everything, maybe they would.

#u: honeycomb hills #diana's writing #project: on the fence #project: eddynovel #project: teenage flirtbags #project: losing the bug

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