#it took me far too long to find a picture of her fairy on google

[zolanort]

Was reading a lu fic and caught some regrets about Fado and now I have to art the regrets out of my system before I combust so here we are I guess.

(Several Secret Disasters Slowly and Disastrously Reveal Their Secrets by CuteButAlsoStabby on Ao3)

[miracleonice87]

Say You Won’t Let Go

a Sidney Crosby wedding series

Part Three

a/n: read part one here and part two here. Part four will be the wedding and probably also the wrap-up! again, please pardon any French errors — relying heavily on Google Translate and my singular conversational French class.

summary: rehearsal dinner with some sweet Sid and Mario.

warnings: mention of deceased father. social alcohol use. otherwise, so damn fluffy it’s practically cotton candy.

_____

The rehearsal had thankfully gone off without a hitch and also without too many further comments from Nate and Mike, our personal peanut gallery. Even Geno, Tanger and Marc behaved themselves, and the kids were all champs. After two full walk-throughs of the ceremony, Sidney and I both felt comfortable enough with the flow to wrap things up and head back to Mario’s place for dinner and drinks with our wedding party and family.

When he and I arrived back at Mario’s, we walked hand in hand through the house and out the back door to the yard, where the tent was set up with all our tables and chairs for tomorrow, flowers and decor only along one long table in the center where our smaller group would be eating tonight. The fairy lights strung through the boxwood bushes lining the yard and also wrapped around the eucalyptus and peonies under the tent gave a soft, dreamy glow to the space. The decorators, under Nathalie’s careful direction, had made my vision come to life and far exceeded my expectations. Our guests themselves seemed to be enchanted by the decor as they pointed out different aspects of the set up, finding their way to their seats.

I stood still on the patio for several seconds in complete awe, my hand falling limp at my side when Sidney moved forward, expecting me to come along with him. He turned back toward me, then looked at the ethereal scene laid out in front of us. He chuckled as he grasped my hand once more.

“I take it you like what they’ve done with the place,” Sidney teased, kissing the side of my head. I simply nodded.

Nathalie emerged from the house just then and wrapped her hands around my shoulders.

“So... what do you think?” she asked, sounding a bit nervous.

“Tantine... (auntie)” I whispered, turning to face her. “This is so perfect. I couldn’t have pictured anything better! Thank you.” I hugged her tightly. She cradled my head as she returned my embrace.

“Oh, sweetheart, you deserve it,” she insisted, pulling back and kissing my cheek. “Only the best for our girl.” We both watched tears well in each others’ eyes as we held hands for a moment, Mario walking behind Nathalie and gently placing his hands on her hips as he smiled at both of us.

“Well, shall we? I have a few words I want to say before we eat,” Mario said. I inhaled dramatically, making Sidney and Nathalie laugh as the four of us made our way to the long candlelit table.

“I hope you brought that hankie I asked for, mon chérie, (my dear)” I told Sidney, squeezing his hand as I leaned my shoulder into Mario’s chest playfully. “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

We four made our way to the center of the tent where the rest of our guests now sat, chatter and laughter floating through the night air. When we reached the table, Sidney pulled out my chair and tucked me into my seat, as Mario cleared his throat, a hush falling over our family and closest friends.

“Can I have everyone’s attention, just for a minute?” Mario asked gently, taking hold of the glass of champagne at his place setting that matched the other flutes dotting the glittering gold table runner. Sidney draped an arm easily across the back of my chair and I leaned back into him to look up at Mario beside me.

“I just wanted to say a few words ahead of our dinner this evening, but more importantly, ahead of tomorrow’s events. First of all, thank you all so much for being here. I’m really thrilled to be throwing this celebration for Juliette and Sidney, and you all are such an important part of this as the people who walk alongside them every day. I know it means so much to them to have you all here. I also... I just want to say how proud I am of Juliette and of the woman she has become. She is my only niece, and that has been special enough, but she has really been more of a daughter to me, to us.” Mario stopped to clear his throat and glanced down at the table, and I felt my chest tighten as I looked on.

“As those of you who are here tonight know... we lost Juliette’s father, my brother Robert, unexpectedly when she was twelve years old. Robert, he... he loved Juliette more than anything he ever loved his whole life.”

I felt tears fall from my lashes at last as Sidney pulled me closer to him, kissing my cheekbone softly. He tucked the aforementioned handkerchief into my palm with his free hand and I whispered my thanks as I dabbed at the corners of my eyes.

Mario’s voice was quivering as he continued.

“He would always say that she was his ‘cadeau le plus précieux’ — his most precious gift. And that’s what Juliette has been to us, too. A precious gift. And... I know that that’s what she is to Sidney as well. I see it in the way he treats her every day. He truly treasures her. I’ve known Sidney for a long time now, and I know what a remarkable man he is. I can tell you that Robert would be so pleased that Sidney has taken over as the most important man in his daughter’s life, the person who cares for her and protects her. It’s a big responsibility, and I truly cannot think of anyone more perfect for the role.”

I squeezed Sidney’s thigh as he dropped his head and sniffled. Mario smiled at us both, as did Sidney’s parents seated across from us. Trina reached for Sidney’s other hand and squeezed it once as he blinked back tears.

“Juliette, Sid — I can’t wait to watch the two of you continue to grow together, now as husband and wife. I’m so grateful, as we all are, to be able to bear witness to your love. So, let’s all raise our glasses,” he instructed. All of us at the table did as he requested, holding our flutes skyward.

“Cheers to Sidney and Juliette — two precious gifts — and the love they share. Love you guys,” Mario finished, a round of “salud” and applause sounding as I clinked my glass with Sidney’s, sharing a quick kiss with him before we both stood.

I threw my arms around Mario’s neck, hugging tightly and delighting in his fatherly embrace.

“I love you, oncle,” I whispered. “Thank you so much. For everything. You mean the world to me.” Mario breathed a solemn chuckle and replied, “Oh, ma petite princesse, I love you, too. You truly are a gift to me.” We held each other for another moment before pulling away with soft smiles and damp eyes, Sidney following by leaning in to hug and exchange words of gratitude with Mario.

Once we were all seated again, dinner and more drinks were served as we all fell into gleeful conversation, sharing stories from Sidney’s and my childhoods and also from our time as a couple. Our families and friends rotated retelling tales of the moments they each knew Sidney and I would be together forever, warming both of us and also occasionally making us blush. We talked of our Italian honeymoon itinerary and Sidney’s and the other hockey players’ plans for the remainder of the summer, and we reviewed once more the men’s and the women’s schedules for tomorrow.

Eventually, long after the plates had been cleared, our guests began to rise from their chairs, saying their goodbyes. Nate and Mike were staying at Mario’s with Sidney and of course Austin. Nathalie and her girls, along with Taylor, were coming back to my house with me for the night. Our couple friends with children had opted to head back to the hotel nearby where we had booked a block of rooms.

After hugging Troy and Trina and excitedly promising to see them tomorrow, I planned to make my way back inside and prepare to leave soon. Instead, Sidney grabbed my forearm gently, spinning me toward him as he smirked.

“Not so fast,” he giggled, the drinks in his system having turned his cheeks pink and his eyes sparkling.

“What are you doing, goofball?” I asked, noticing that Mario was the only other person left under the tent. He simply winked at me and carried his highball glass away with him, through the door and into the house.

“Well, the DJ’s all set up, but he has to do a sound check before he leaves... I thought maybe we could help him out,” Sidney suggested, smirking at me with his palms extended. I took hold of his hands and laughed, “What do you mean?”

Before I could say anything else, I heard the first strains of the song that Sidney and I had selected for our first dance at tomorrow’s reception. Only then did I notice the DJ at his booth at the back of the yard, past the walls of the tent. Sidney smiled warmly at me.

The first time we listened to the song together, it came on Sidney’s car radio during a road trip, and we couldn’t stop looking across the vehicle at each other as we realized how closely it reflected our relationship. Since then, we had danced to it many times alone in our home. It was the only song that seemed worthy of accompanying our first dance as husband and wife.

I met you in the dark

You lit me up

You made me feel as though

I was enough...

Shaking my head in disbelief at his thoughtfulness, I followed Sidney’s lead out to the empty dance floor.

“You set me up,” I joked, pushing a finger into his hard chest. “You’re good.” He chuckled.

Then you smiled over your shoulder

For a minute I was stone-cold sober

I pulled you closer to my chest...

“Just figured we could get in a practice run is all,” Sidney grinned, pulling my hips toward his as we moved slowly as one, my head resting on his chest, hands intertwined. “Not that you need one, but I do.” We both snickered and I hit his shoulder playfully.

I knew I loved you then

But you'd never know

'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go...

“God... can you believe this day is finally almost here?” I asked, feeling Sidney hum softly into my hair.

“I really can’t. It’s been a long time coming, love,” he spoke, kissing my forehead and breathing me in. I squeezed his hand as we continued to sway together.

I knew I needed you

But I never showed

But I wanna stay with you

Until we're grey and old

Just say you won't let go...

“Yeah, it’s been coming since I was eighteen and you came over for that bonfire. You walked up and I was sitting with Lauren right over there,” I recalled, motioning to the brick patio nearby and making Sidney laugh against the top of my head.

“And I couldn’t believe how beautiful you were,” he told me. “And I really couldn’t believe that I was falling for Mario’s niece.” I giggled, fingers folding against his collar.

“I know it sounds crazy to everyone else, but we knew that night, didn’t we?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, baby,” I replied sincerely. “We did.”

I'll wake you up with some

Breakfast in bed

I'll bring you coffee

With a kiss on your head

And I'll take the kids to school

Wave them goodbye

And I'll thank my lucky stars

For that night...

“How are you doing... with everything?” I knew Sidney so well that even by the tone of his voice and the pause in his question, I understood what he was asking — how I was handling not having my parents around for this momentous weekend. I inhaled and picked up my head to look at him. I gave him a small smile as he eyed me attentively.

“I’m honestly doing okay,” I promised him. “I have my moments, you know? Especially just thinking about my dad. Mario looks so much like him and sometimes I—“

My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed thickly. I looked at Sidney with hesitance and shrugged slightly. He sighed softly and hugged his arm tighter around my hips as moisture coated my eyes.

When you looked over your shoulder

For a minute I forget that I'm older

I wanna dance with you right now, oh

And you look as beautiful as ever

And I swear that every day you'll get better

You make me feel this way somehow

“I know, Juliette,” Sidney told me, lips close to my ear, sensing what my words had failed to convey. “I know this isn’t easy.”

After a deep breath I said, “No, it isn’t. But Mario and Nathalie, they just make everything so much better. That alone is so incredible. And then... your parents, and Taylor, and you.” I shook my head, looking up into his gaze. “That’s enough. You are more than enough. You’re my family.”

Sidney stood up a little straighter, becoming visibly emotional as I uttered the declaration. He leaned down to capture my lips in an ardent kiss, then rested his forehead against mine as we continued our dance.

I'm so in love with you

And I hope you know

Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold

We've come so far, my dear

Look how we've grown

And I wanna stay with you

Until we're grey and old...

“I’ll always be your family, Juliette,” Sidney assured in a low voice. “And someday we’ll have a family of our own.”

I grinned against him, head resting in the crook of his neck. He continued, and I allowed my eyes to fall closed, his promises soothing me.

“God, they’ll be so beautiful — our kids. And they’ll know just how much their mom and their dad both love them, and how much the rest of their family does, too,” Sidney said, kissing my hair. “They’ll never have to wonder. And you’ll never have to wonder how much you’re loved, too.”

I wanna live with you

Even when we're ghosts

'Cause you were always there for me

When I needed you most

I’m gonna love you ‘til my lungs give out

I promise, ‘til death we part

Like in our vows...

“I love you so much, Sidney,” I whispered, pushing myself up on my toes to take his face in both hands and kiss him firmly. His strong exterior melted palpably in my grasp.

“Say you won’t let go,” I murmured against his lips.

He shook his head.

“I’m never letting go of you, Jules.”

_____

After a lengthy and intimate goodbye in Mario’s driveway, with our respective bridal party members periodically calling our names trying to speed up the process, I finally attempted to pry myself out of Sidney’s hold. With one last heated kiss that made my lips tingle and toes curl, I smoothed my hands across his broad shoulders and sighed.

“Let’s leave on that note,” I suggested. “Because that right there... that’s gonna leave me wanting more,” I added in a whisper. He ghosted his fingers down my bare arms as he let out a soft moan.

“I wish I could take you now,” he growled, pulling me into himself once more. I laughed, holding him close then finally backing away, squeezing his hands in mine.

“One more day, handsome,” I promised. “Then I’m all yours... forever.” His eyes flashed with pride.

“Forever,” Sidney repeated, nodding once. He squeezed my hands with another sigh and said, “Okay, you better go now, because I’m just never gonna be ready to let you go.”

“Okay,” I whispered with a cutesy laugh. “I’m going.” I walked backwards slowly, drinking in his fit figure and biting down on my bottom lip. His eyes widened.

“Juliette!” he warned in a strained whine. “Please don’t do that.”

I tipped my head back in a slightly maniacal laugh. “You can punish me tomorrow,” I whispered with a wink. Sidney’s own head fell backward as he groaned.

“I love you, Sidney Crosby,” I told him, nearing Lauren’s Mercedes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I love you, Juliette,” he returned. “How ‘bout tomorrow I make you Mrs. Juliette Crosby?” My heart fluttered as I giggled like a schoolgirl.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” I told him earnestly.

I blew him a kiss as I got into Lauren’s passenger seat and was whisked away from Sidney, with him watching us pull down the driveway until we were out of sight.

On the ride home, Lauren and Stephanie teased me about the never-ending farewell between Sidney and me. All I could do was roll my eyes and smirk as they poked fun.

Alexa, ever my protective little sister, stepped in for the second time of the evening.

“You guys are mean! I find it adorable,” she announced. “We should all hope that we find someone who loves us as much as Sid loves Jules.” I turned in my seat and threw my youngest cousin a grateful grin.

“Thanks, Lex,” I said. “You always were my favorite.” Lauren and Stephanie, resigned to Alexa’s sentiments just a moment ago, now launched into hysterics once more as they fought over who was indeed my preferred cousin.

For the rest of the short drive, the nonsense had only morphed into giddy slap-happiness as we piled out of the SUV and made our way into Sidney’s and my house. We pushed the door open to find Nathalie already waiting for us inside, shaking her head at our antics.

“You girls! You’re never goofier than when you’re all together,” she laughed.

Stephanie hooked an arm around my neck and touched our heads together, her athletic frame towering over me.

“Together’s our favorite place to be,” Stephanie mused, causing us all to groan and needle her about her sappy statement as we made our way into the living room.

“Hey, Jules, why don’t you go put on some comfy clothes, then we can sit out back and have some wine?” Lauren suggested.

I nodded quickly. “Sounds perfect to me,” I replied, beaming. She mirrored my smile and I started up the grand staircase.

“Not too much wine!” Nathalie scolded from the kitchen. “No hangovers or puffy eyes for us tomorrow.” All of us younger girls giggled again amongst ourselves, though we knew that we would be best to follow her motherly advice, especially on this occasion.

As I reached our second story, my heart flickered with a distinct emptiness as I realized that Sidney wasn’t here, and wouldn’t be. The two of us spent so few summer nights apart that I could probably count them on only one hand each year. Since his in-season schedule was so strenuous, he made sure that he was home every summer afternoon or evening in plenty of time to catch up about our days, to have dinner together — whether at home or out — and to unwind with a cocktail or a beer. On those summer nights we spent in Pittsburgh and not Cole Harbour, we could often be found with drinks in hand on our bedroom balcony, watching the late evening sun set behind the trees.

I stepped out of my heels when I reached our master suite, flicking on the light switch before scooping up my shoes with two fingers. As I headed for my walk-in closet to change, I gasped at what was before my eyes — on the mirrored glass table in our sitting area sat a massive bouquet of red roses, in an enormous glass vase adorned with a white silk bow. Tucked into the ribbon was a folded piece of paper. My breath caught in my throat, and I scampered to the table on the balls of my feet.  

I pulled the letter from its resting place — “To My Bride,” the outer leaf read. I splayed my fingers across my chest as I began to get misty-eyed. The paper smelled faintly of Sid’s cologne. I pulled it open with shaking hands, eyes flickering over the familiar handwriting.

My dearest love,

Just think — by this time tomorrow, you and I will be husband and wife! What a journey it’s been so far. I can’t wait to travel this road with you for the rest of my days, and to fill this house for years to come with laughter, love, and lots of children with you.

My Juliette, never forget how intensely I adore you, how incredibly much I cherish you, how deeply you amaze me, or how proud I am to call you mine. Tomorrow is the first day of our forever. I can hardly stand the thought. I’ll see you at the altar, princess.

With all my love, for all my life,

S

P.S. Six dozen roses for the six years I’ve loved you. I’ll love you for an eternity more. XO.

I moved my hand from my mouth to wipe a few fallen tears that had dropped onto my cheeks, sniffling as I refolded the paper. Though I had promised my cousins that I would avoid talking to Sidney tonight, I knew in my heart that even they would allow an exception to the rule for a gesture as remarkable as this one.

I dug through my purse on the floor beneath me and found my phone, calling the most recent contact in my history. It rang only once before the line was picked up.

“Hi, princess,” I heard my groom say, the smile in his tone evident.

“You are incredible,” I remarked in a shaky voice, trying to swallow the evidence of my happy tears. “I just walked into our room and found your flowers. Thank you, baby.”

Sidney let out a hum, pleased with himself. “You’re welcome, love. Gotta hand the assist to Nate on that one — he dropped off the roses when you and I left for Mario’s earlier,” he told you.

“Love you, Jules!” you heard Nate exclaim in the background, followed by a couple of whoops from the other men. You laughed as their volume faded, guessing that Sidney had stepped into a more private location as he chuckled.

“Well, thank him for me, too,” I said into the phone. “I was just thinking of how much I already miss you. Normally on a night like tonight, we’d be together on the balcony or in the yard.” He let out a contemplative hum.

“I miss you too, Jules,” he admitted. “We don’t spend too many nights away from that porch this time of year, eh?” I breathed a laugh at how he seemed to be able to read my thoughts, and he continued. “Soon enough we’ll be sitting there together again, with rings on both our hands.” I smiled at the thought.

“Sounds perfect. Listen, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say thank you for the flowers, but mostly for the letter,” I told him. “I can’t wait to spend a lifetime with you, Sidney.”

He sighed contentedly into the phone. “Good news is we don’t have to wait much longer. I’m glad you enjoyed the surprise. Have a nice night with the girls and I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful. I love you so much,” Sidney said warmly.

“I love you, too,” I responded. “See you tomorrow, babe.” We both hesitated slightly to hang up the call but I finally did after we exchanged yet another set of goodbyes. I clutched my phone to my chest and stared at the bouquet once again.

“Forever,” I whispered airily.

[robin-the-enby]

Beautiful to me

Pairing: Diaval x OC

Summary: Rhea is a daughter of a lumberjack living near the Moors, a forest which everybody fears. It is no wonder that she became Aurora's first best friend.

Warnings: body insecurities

A/N: As I've said, I've never seen the whole movie, but Diaval is such a sweetheart and...well, this happened. So I'm sorry that this maybe won't go as the movie does, for example, I couldn't find a clip on youtube about how Aurora first got to the Moors, so I changed it.

Pictures found on Google

* * * * *

Everybody feared the Moors, because they believed that a great evil lived behind the great wall of thorns.

Only one family was brave enough to live near the place. It was a lumberjack and his wife. They have never been afraid of the strange part of the forest. Everyone deemed them crazy when they answered their curious questions with: "There is no need to be afraid. If you'll respect the forest, it'll leave you alone."

When news spread that the lumberjack's wife was with a child, people were baffled to hear that they aren't moving from their cozy little cottage near the dangerous Moors.

And after nine months, a baby girl was born. Her loving parents named her Rhea. She had black hair, like her mother and beautiful green eyes like her father.

Rhea was a curious, happy go lucky child. Taught from early age to respect those around her and do no harm until she was the one harmed, she grew into a kind young girl. Her parents treated her with love and kindness and so she didn't see a reason to ever disobey them.

One day, Rhea was walking by the edge of the forest, which grounds she knew better than the back of her hand. The 'normal' part of the forest, the one where her father worked, was surrounded by meadows full of flowers and beautiful little creatures.

She listened to birds chirping and bees buzzing as she skipped along the secret path she found for herself, her little hands gently caressing flower petals of all colours.

Rhea heard a laugh. It wasn't her laugh, but it was a child's laugh. It sounded like a little girl. Rhea looked all around her, trying to see who exactly was laughing, but couldn't see anyone. That is, until the tall grass started shaking, little giggles escaping between the rustling.

Rhea kneeled on the ground and pushed the grass aside, so she could see better.

At first, she thought she's seeing things. But at a second glance she recognized the creature she mistaked for a fairy as a young girl. But what a beautiful little girl!

She was a few years younger than Rhea, but too young to be left alone. The little girl hasn't noticed her yet, so Rhea softly called out "What are you doing here little one?"

The little girl gasped and turned to face Rhea. It took little to no time for a big grin to take over her face "Pretty girl!" she squealed.

Rhea blushed. Nobody, aside from her parents, had called her pretty. She never really felt pretty and thought that her parents told her that just because they were her parents. But there was something about this girl that looked so sincere. Maybe it was how her eyes shone brightly or her big smile.

It didn't look like the girl wanted to wait for Rhea, her attention was grabbed by something else. As she waddled away, Rhea called out to her "What's your name little one?" and ran after her.

The girl stopped to examine a catterpillar crawling on a leaf and when Rhea caught up with her, she repeated her question. "Aurora." the girl said without turning her head. Rhea thought it was a really strange name.

The rest of the afternoon Rhea spent by Aurora's side. The younger girl hopped around, fascinated by every little thing. Rhea patiently walked behind her, looking after Aurora, so she wouldn't hurt herself. She wondered why was she alone? Did her parents not care for her? How could they?? She was such a sweet little thing.

"Pretty flower!" Aurora exclaimed happily, plucking the flower from the ground and twirling it between her little fingers. This caught Rhea's attention. Everything Aurora saw she called pretty. Pretty flowers, pretty bees, pretty clouds...

Rhea felt a little sad at the thought that for Aurora 'pretty' didn't mean anything special. But she quickly chased the thought away. Why should she be sad about such a trivial thing as beauty? They were in the forest, she didn't need to be beautiful! Wait, the forest..?

Without her noticing, Aurora led her straight through the forest to the thorn wall. She looked at the big branches with even bigger thorns in awe. Strangely, she didn't go to feel it with her tiny hands.

For the first time in the whole day, Aurora turned to Rhea, pointed at the barricade and said "Pretty bush!"

Rhea couldn't help but smile. Pretty really wasn't a meaningfull word for the little girl. "It sure is magical, isn't it?" Rhea came to stand by Aurora's side.

Flapping of wings and cawing could be heard and both girls turned to look at the tree where the noise was coming from. It was just a raven.

There was something strange about the way it looked at Rhea. Almost suspiciously...

"Pretty bird!" Aurora said laughing, clapping her tiny hands. Rhea smiled at the little girl. It's just a bird, there's nothing to worry about.

Rhea grabbed Aurora's hand, gaining the girl's attention. She crouched down next to her and pointed at the raven "That's a raven. You mustn't mix ravens up with crows. They may seem similar, but they are different none the less."

The bird's eyes softened and it cawed happily. It caused Aurora to laugh in a childish glee and Rhea tried to mimick him. The raven turned its head to the side a little, amused by the girl's attempts to make the younger one laugh. So it played along, Rhea and the raven cawing at each other, just so Aurora would laugh.

After that, everywhere they went, the raven was with them. And every time Aurora set her gaze on it, she immediately called out excitedly "Pretty bird!" And so, the name stuck.

The years flew by and the girls became best friends. Some would even say they were as close as sisters.

Every day they would spend the whole day together, Rhea usually teaching Aurora about nature and in return, the younger girl invented the best adventures, while Pretty bird, who Rhea always brought treats for, watched over them.

They both grew into beautiful young women. Aurora was just as lovely as she was when she was a child, if not more. She had the beauty of a fairy and the heart of a playful bunny. Rhea matured and grew into the kindest and most generous woman far and wide from the Moors.

Rhea admired Aurora's beauty, as if she couldn't see her own. And it was true. While she thought everything around her was beautiful, she 'could never compare' as she'd say.

One day, which Rhea was going to remember in great detail long after, they stayed outside longer than usual, the sky was getting dark and night was slowly falling upon the land. But they didn't care and kept on walking by the thorn wall.

"I wonder if you can get through it somehow..." Aurora wondered, gently petting the bush, careful as to not cut herself. Rhea turned to look at the wall and just silently nodded her head.

Maleficent was, like many times before, looking after Aurora. She watched the two girls chat and wondered how much the girls have grown. If she wants to see the Moors so bad...I can grant her that wish. Maleficent thought to herself and with a quiet chuckle put a spell over the two girls that put them to sleep.

She cleared out a path for herself that went through the giant thorn bush and carefully levitated both girls behind her as she entered her kingdom.

Next, she gently laid them on the ground and hid in the shadows and crooked tree branches and undone the spell. Now I just wait until they wake up...

The spell wore off pretty quickly. The first one to sit up was Aurora, while Rhea tiredly blinked her eyes. "Rhea, do you see that?" Aurora asked in disbelief, standing up. "No." Rhea croaked tiredly "What should I see?" she slowly sat up and looked around.

"We're in the Moors!" the younger girl exclaimed happily, giggling. Aurora twirled in place, taking everything in with fascination. Rhea rubbed the sleep from her eyes and joined her best friend.

Curious eyes looked at them from behind the rocks and tree leaves. Blue heads poked out from their hiding spots and tiny blue creatures slowly and cautiously floated to the two strangers. Both girls slowly extended their palms and let the fairies touch their fingers. Before they could properly introduce themselves, the fairies looked around in panic and fright and quickly scurried off to hide again.

Aurora felt presence behind them and turned to face the shadows. Nothing but a pair of yellow eyes could be seen in the darkness. "We know you're there. Don't be scared." Rhea came to stand by her side and took her hand.

"I'm not scared." it chuckled darkly. Rhea noticed its voice was smooth, cold and rich.

"Then come out." Aurora prompted the voice again.

"Then you'll be afraid." it said again. It sounded like it was making fun of them.

"No we won't." Aurora defended them bravely, her cheecks puffing out a little.

It seemed like the voice complied. The pair of glowing yellow eyes moved from the shadows. It had the moon behind its back, so only a silhouette could be seen.

Aurora gasped softly at the sight of the big horns and Rhea stepped protectively a little in front of her.

Maleficent then stepped into the light completely. Instead of screams of fear that she expected, Rhea's breath was stolen away by the fae's broken, dark beauty and Aurora just laughed.

"I know who you are." she said with a smile "You're my fairy godmother!" Rhea was used to Aurora telling her about the shadow that looks after her. But she, as beautiful as she was, didn't look like a protector. More like a predator.

"What?" Maleficent asked, clearly thrown off by this comment. "Your shadow. It's been following me everywhere I went." Aurora's smile didn't falter.

A raven landed on a branch next to its mistress. Both girls turned their heads to look at it. "I remember you." Aurora said and with Rhea they both giggled. "Pretty bird." Rhea said and the raven turned its head to the side. "This is Diaval." Maleficent said, not even looking at him, waving her hand, after the raven bowed politely to the girls.

And suddenly, their Pretty bird was now a man. A very handsome, young man, Rhea observed. His hair and eyes dark like the night around them, black tunic, that showed off his chest, as well as black trousers and black boots. On his temples, his neck and the exposed parts of his chest were scars, from what Rhea would love to know.

Diaval went to closer to Aurora "It's nice to finally meet you." and kissed her hand gently "I knew you since you were a little one." Rhea quietly snickered to herself. What a strange thing to say.

But then he turned to her and she found herself lost in his eyes. Apart from his scars his face looked really smooth. Just like his feathers looked smooth when he was a raven. "My my, what a beauty you've grown into." he said and kissed her hand too, while looking her directly in the eyes. Rhea felt like she couldn't breathe. His skin felt so smooth where he touched her but his voice was so deliciously scruffy, she couldn't wrap her head around it all. "This must be a dream." she said quietly and Diaval grinned, still not letting go of her hand, but neither of them noticed.

"I know right?" Aurora squealed excitedly. She started ranting about how beautiful the Moors were, overwhelming Maleficent so much, that she had to put her to sleep again.

When Rhea saw her floating friend, she wondered So that's how we got here, huh... "I think that is enough for today." Maleficent stated "Diaval, take Rhea home."

A small mutter of 'yes mistress' could be heard from him and as he went to lightly bow to her he realized he was still holding Rhea's hand. He immediately let go, embarassed and showed her the way.

He insisted to take her all the way to her cottage and held her hand every time there was any obstacle in the way, small and large ones. "We're in a forest. If you want to be gentlemanly like that, you can just hold my hand and not let go." Rhea giggled, but Diaval took it seriously and, deciding it would be a good idea, grabbed her hand, making her cheeks turn pink.

Days went by and they were all spent in the Moors. Aurora played with all the fairies, often including Rhea or even Diaval. Maleficent usually stood on the sidelines and watched them. Rhea noticed the fondness in the fae's eyes and sometimes she'd catch a glimpse of the tiniest smile.

If they were not playing with Aurora, Diaval and Rhea also stood on the sidelines, chatting and finding out more things about the other every day. Aurora and even Maleficent noticed how close they became.

It was a beautiful night. The stars shone brightly, the moon was big, nowhere a cloud in sight and the temperature was just right. Perfect for stargazing.

Rhea needed time to herself. Her mind felt heavy, burdened with negative thoughts and doubts.

"Why are you frowning at the stars?" a voice above her asked. Rhea smiled a faint smile "Hello Pretty bird." "Why do you keep calling me that even when you know my name?" "Because you are a pretty bird." she shrugged. "I suppose you're right." Diaval said proudly and laid next to her, their shoulders and hands touching.

He could see something was troubling her and he wanted to help. He never liked seeing her sad. It made his heart clench. When it first happened, Rhea found a dead baby bird, fallen out of the nest. He thought he was deathly ill and came to Maleficent immediately, panicked. She just stared at him and whispered something strange "You're in love."

She left abruptly, not saying anything else. He wasn't mad. After he processed the words, he realized she probably needed time to ponder if she is going to do something about it or not. He could see how conflicted her thoughts on love were as of late.

He came to terms with it a few days ago. Those days leading to this one were spent consciously pining after her.

"Just...my parents." Rhea started slowly. But he didn't mind, he would listen to her patiently for years if it meant helping her. "They told me I should start looking for a nice man, since I'm the right age for marriage right now."

He swallowed hardly. Was she in love already? What if it wasn't him? What would he do if it wasn't him? "And what seems to be the problem?" he forced out of himself, as if he didn't even want to know the answer.

"I don't know anyone!" she cried out. It wasn't entirely true though. Her heart already picked a certain raven someone, but her insecurities blinded her so much she didn't even consider him liking her back as an option.

"I'd have to go out and impress someone and...to be honest, who in the world would be impressed by me." the last word harboured so much disgust in it, it made Diaval frown deeply.

"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely confused. Rhea sighed sadly "Look at me. Look at everything else around us. How can I compare to the beauty that is this world? How can I impress someone when I'm just...so...ugly."

Oh no. She didn't. No, no, no, no, he wasn't going to let her talk about herself that way.

Diaval gently grasped her chin and made her look at him "Listen here Rhea and listen closely. You can't compare to anything? For me It's more like nothing can compare to you, because you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Prettier than any flower, star or even the moon itself. You are better than flying, everything about you is so otherworldly I can't put it into words."

His voice lowered to nearly a whisper "You don't have to impress or catch anyone's attention. You already have. I'm afraid, Rhea, that you've captured my heart. I don't know if I'll be a good enough suitor for you, but I will try my best...if you'll have me?" his eyes filled with hope met hers filled with tears.

She couldn't get the right words out, she just nodded her head and hugged him tightly.

And as they laid there in a tight embrace, under the starry night, she whispered to him "I wouldn't have anyone else."

[paintedrecs]

‘It didn’t snow in their part of California; it never had, and likely never would. But that didn’t stop him from asking, or longing, once he was too old to believe his parents could make anything happen. Maybe it wasn’t the natural state of the world, for a town that wasn’t far enough north, or high enough in the mountains, to gather that magical dusting he daydreamed about every winter. The thing was, though. Most of the world didn’t know werewolves existed outside of fairy tales and horror films. People relied on what they knew, and what they’d been taught, without opening their eyes to other possibilities.’

Honestly I just want the origin for this story. What led to it, what parts did you know first, etc. it’s one of my favorites and I love it.

Submissions are actually kinda weird (I’ve never used them before), so I don’t know if there’s a better way to post this, but! We’ll try it this way.

For this meme. 

Excerpt from the opening of tide pulls from the moon (Sterek, 45k, canon divergent, future fic)

I’m very fond of this fic, which people tend to refer to as “warm” and “healing.” Two things I wanted to achieve with it, so that’s always awesome to hear. I’m really glad that you like it! 

Funny story..........this was one of my failed attempts to write a 3k fic for the Sterek Zine. I tried like....three times, I think, and they all ballooned too much, because writing within a strict word limit is really difficult for me. (One of the reasons it’s probably the only zine I’ll ever be a part of.) So I sat down and just cranked out the rest of this fic instead, which ended up being one of my favorites for a long time.

It’s been long enough now (five years since I posted it!!!) that I honestly don’t really remember the initial inspiration or plan. I do know I was sitting in one of my favorite local coffee shops, drinking a latte. I was thinking about winter (a thing I don’t get in California) and about Derek and his family. I think I was planning for it to be a very short thing about his family - the image of his grandmother came right away - that would lead into a scene with Stiles in the snow, maybe building a snowman. Something soft and sweet about new beginnings.

Then I started writing, and I got into a little bit of the family feels, as one does with the Hales, and then this scene happened:

The holidays made Derek happy, every year, even if the weather never did shift over into the picture-perfect landscape all the movies and songs lingered over lovingly.

He even secretly loved being born on Christmas Day - "the best gift I've ever received," his mom would say. "Me too," Laura would add, since her reward for a ruined Christmas spent in the hospital had been a silky black puppy with big eyes and bigger paws. She'd spent years trying to shift into her full wolf form so they could tumble together in the Preserve, two woodland creatures at play.

She hadn't managed it - not then. Not until years later, long after the Alpha powers had coursed through her body and left her shaking and sobbing, grey-white flakes of ash drifting softly in the air and settling onto their bowed shoulders, coating their smoldering house and scorched yard into a mockery of the winter wonderland Derek had always dreamed about.

It'd been snowing in New York the day he felt her die.

And suddenly I knew this wasn’t going to be a short fic. It had to be canon compliant (or at least, compliant with the parts of canon I’m willing to acknowledge), and somewhere in the future, with Derek leaving Beacon Hills for a place where he could find things he’d never get if he stayed. Snow, maybe. Distance from both the good and horrific memories of his past. Maybe some kind of healing, if he could ever manage that.

(More under the cut.)

Derek leaving Beacon Hills isn’t a new concept - I’ve been reading Sterek fics for years, so I’d seen plenty of this concept before - but I hadn’t ever read one where he went to England. And I just...I don’t know. I took him to a place where I’d been during a sort of transitional point in my life, where I’ve felt some of the deepest contentment.

I realized after writing and editing and fact-checking and posting my fic that I’d made a mistake and Cornwall actually does not get snow either, at least not to the thickly soft level I’d described at the end, so just...ignore that part. It’s a fantasy world. In this world, Cornwall gets more than a little dusting of snow in the winters, okay. (I’d visited for several weeks during the summer, had been in England during the winter but not in that part of it, and had foolishly relied on googling images, where I’d seen evidence of snow. I mercilessly research all my fics now, largely because of this error, hahaha)

Anyway, the point is that Cornwall is this little jewel of a place that’s small and quiet and beautiful and slow-paced enough that I could see Derek really finding his footing and learning how to be himself in a world that had been so incredibly damaging for so much of his life.

Most of the settings are real places I’ve been to. Derek’s house, with the deck overlooking the tidal river, is a house my best friend’s godmother owns, and which I wish I could someday retire to. The three of us drank tea out there and journaled in the mornings and watched the river pull back, leaving boats stranded - but only until the tide came rushing back in to free them.

We walked through a bluebell-thick wood to a pub with cozy wooden booths and plates of crunchy-boned fish. We went to the Eden Project, to Land’s End, to a modern art gallery. I was, during this particular trip, pretty deeply in love with my friend, who was not in love with me, and whom I never told.

I think all of that just added.......emotional depth when I pulled out those memories and shaped them into a story that didn’t match any of my actual experiences, but drew from a backdrop of physical settings I’d embedded in my soul.

This was a beautiful place that I still think of very fondly. I wanted Derek to be able to live in a place like that - to have his pack, Stiles, his new family, join him there and see what kind of peace and happiness he’d found.

tide pulls has always been a pretty personal story to me, and I think that’s why it always makes me so happy when readers come out of it saying they feel a sense of healing and contentment, too. 

[seven-oomen]

First, I hope you’re enjoying your game.  One of my friends posted about how she’d just gotten her copy of it, and her husband’s response was basically “so, I’ll just bring you food occasionally and see you in a few days?"  Also, I hope you’re feeling better.  And man you are KILLING ME with these previews.  Oh god, Peter, what are you planning now?  How bad is this gonna hurt and for how long?  (Don’t answer that, I’m afraid to know. XD )

I think all those Hogwarts Houses are excellent choices.  I always think it’s fun to see how people sort various characters, because I rarely have any that I feel are firmly one House (maybe it’s because I’m a proud HuffleClaw, myself, doomed to waffle between Houses every time I take a quiz or read an analysis on the subject.)  Side not - can you imagine the furor that would have occurred about a Slytherin and a Gryffindor hooking up in Fourth Year (I think?), and then pulling an innocent little Hufflepuff transfer under their spell?  Would any of them have played Quidditch?  (Peter I feel definitely played, though I can’t decide what position.  Undecided on the other two.)

Poor Peter, having to behave himself.  Although debatably as long as he kept the fangs put away it wouldn’t necessarily be a risk, though I can see him being worried anyway.  That’s why he needs to find someone to spin his fur into yarn he can then make them scarves/gloves/sweaters/etc with.  And why he’s so into the clothes sharing.  Anything to get his scent on them as thoroughly as possible.

And I am so here for PTA Dad Peter.  Helping out at school functions so he can keep an eye on the younger kids.  Building new, supportive relationships with his older kids, helping them with college applications and essays, making up lists of stuff they’ll need for dorm rooms, finding apartments if any are going to the same or nearby schools and can share, making sure they all have pictures and mementos to help combat homesickness.  And now I’m thinking about the memory quilt again.  Goddammit I don’t want to make myself cry.  Again.  "Imagine Peter hearing their heartbeats for the first time."  Oh nevermind, I see you’ll do it for me.  Ugh, my feels.  Peter shifting to his wolf form and curling protectively around them all the time, head pressed up to their abdomen so that he can listen and scent at maximum effectiveness.  Them just gently stroking through his fur until one or both fall asleep.  (Also, how quickly do the other wolves in the family pick up on the changes in scent?  How do they react?  How do the older kids react to the idea of more siblings in general?)

And you know that whichever one wasn’t the one pregnant at the time would be super protective at the time, then turn around and insist they were fine and that the others were worrying unnecessarily when they were the one pregnant.  (Also, glad your brother was okay!)  I also like that it apparently took them nearly 20 years to learn about planning for this sort of thing.  I know you’ve mentioned Peter and Chris being the ones that do the stupid thing next chapter (or something to that effect), but really I feel the biggest moment of "what the hell, guys?” is Noah getting knocked up just two months after Chris.  It’s like, you guys had a huge, in your face, live example of why protection is important, and yet…  I’m also just going to assume that they have at least a king size bed to accommodate that many people, even if many of them are tiny people, and none of them mind piling.  That’s still a lot of bodies cramming into one bed.  (That much room would also come in very handy for…other reasons, which is why I feel certain Peter would insist upon it.) 

Also, omg, I was not expecting to be attacked by those pictures like that.  Tag your porn, dude XD .  But really, can you imagine the poor, unsuspecting college friends their kids bring home for visits getting a triple barrel of that with no warning?  Like they’ve just seen the goofy, weird pics that they have on their phone/on their walls.  They were not prepared for the sheer DILF power of that household live and in person.  But then, is anyone, really?

Loving all the names.  I actually know a guy named John who has a son named Jackson, so that one was particularly amusing to me.  I also noticed that none of the kids have been named after anyone in Noah’s family, at least so far.  And don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting to have those spoiled yet, though I’m happy to know you liked some of my suggestions :D .  Now if I could just remember which all ones I went with…  Didn’t really think to put it in anywhere, but for some reason I’ve always liked Alexander as a middle name for Peter, though I remain undecided on the other two.

And yes, loving the idea of more family cosplay.  Oh god, they would never get ANYWHERE at a con because they’d be getting stopped every 3 feet for pictures.  For Star Trek, I feel like they’d do groupings from assorted series and versions.  Chris, Peter, and Noah are totally OS Spock, Kirk, and Bones (Peter with strategically torn shirt, of course).  I think Melissa would be their Uhura, and Natalie would be Yeoman Rand (she wants to see if she can fake the hairstyle), because I dare anyone to tell them they can’t pull off dresses that short.  Since he has sword training from his hunter background, Melissa makes Julio be their Sulu.  Boyd, Derek, and Jordan would be Picard, Riker, and Data (Derek would totally figure out how to do that weird way Riker sits down, too.)  After much debate, I feel Stiles would be Kirk from the recent films (NuTrek, or whatever they call it), Jackson would be Spock, and Malia would be Bones.  I think Lydia would make an excellent Uhura for them, as well.  Scott would be Scotty because he can remember to answer to it, and it gives him an excuse to do a TERRIBLE fake accent.  I’m leaning towards Isaac for their Chekov, but beyond that can’t think what to do with everybody else, I’m not familiar enough with the different tv shows.

Marvel we’ve talked about some.  DC I have a few random ideas.  I always thought it would be funny to see Peter, Derek, Jackson, and Liam do the assorted Robins.  While I feel Peter is DEFINITELY more of a Jason personality wise, I think he’d be far more comfortable in Dick’s costume that Derek would be, and if Derek was Jason the heights would line up better.  Jackson would be Tim, and Liam would be Damian (because who else would play DC’s tiny and angry than TW’s tiny and angry?)  Also, don’t overlook the fun and variety of villains DC offers.  The last group costume I did was a cross between Bill & Ted and assorted Bat-villains.  We called it Bruce & Dick’s Excellent Adventure, and even photoshopped a sign to carry to help people get it.  Among our line-up was Cleo-Catra, Ivybeth the First, The Poison Queen, Harley Antoinette, Joker Napoleon, Freud Nygma, and Bane-thoven.  (I really need to do something with the various pieces of my costume someday.)  I know there are several girls in the Bat-fam now, too, depending on who all wants to be a part of it, or if they want to skew more Justice League/Teen Titans/Young Justice.

Oh man, Disney.  So many options.  I feel like Lydia and Allison as Ariel and Prince Eric is a given.  I also like the idea of Kira and Malia as Belle and the Beast, partially because of Malia’s issues about having to hide her nature, and also because I think she could absolutely rock that suit.  Ben could join them as Chip.  (Stiles would actually make an excellent Belle, but I feel that might just get weird.)  I can see Danny helping Erica rig up a Sleeping Beauty dress with strands of LEDs that keep shifting from pink to blue to green so the dress keeps appearing to change color (it’s a massive hit.)  I don’t know why, but I really want Stiles and Jackson as Elsa and Anna for some reason.  Scott can join them as either Kristoff or Olaf, depending on the mood he’s in.  Can’t quite decide for the other pack kids.  Since the theme is nominally just fairy tales, I think the dads could just opt for a classier, fancier version of their Red Riding Hood looks.  Maybe go for a steampunk edge or something (I would have included links here, but Google was not my friend today and I couldn’t find quite what I wanted.)  Rich velvets and wools in vivid scarlet and forest-y greens, black and deep brown leather and suede, lots of polished buttons and buckles, loose cotton shirts unlaced at the throat.  Mmm, yes.  And Peter could have one of those super fancy Victorian type nightgowns with the long sleeves and high necks made out of super soft and fine materials.  Instead of getting some kind of mask to wear, he’d just do his partial/beta/whatever you want to call it shift and let them add extra fur on with makeup to blend it in.  Everyone just thinks it’s amazing effects work.  He does opt for some cute wolf paw slippers since cons tend to get snotty about people going around barefoot.  (Applying and removing the fur is also how they learn his ears are particularly…sensitive…to a delicate touch in that form.)  

Lord of the Rings.  Yes.  Like, I can’t figure out who or any real details right now but.  Just.  Yes.

I feel like some years they enter the costume contest and some they don’t, just depending on their moods.  (They totally take the Jurassic Park group to a con and people adore it.  It makes for great skits.)

Random bonus thought for the day concerns dancing.  I was thinking about the whole drag queen thing, and whether Jungle was around in the 90s, and it sort of segued into what types of dancers they are.  I feel like Peter is a very good dancer.  Not quite competition level, maybe, but very skilled, nonetheless.  Like Malia, he’s just very comfortable in himself, in all forms, which helps with spatial and bodily awareness, in addition to his natural grace and balance.  I also feel he’s the most likely to have taken, like, ballroom lessons or similar as a kid, maybe at a parent or grandparent’s insistence.  With Noah I keep thinking about the various videos I’ve seen of Dylan dancing both outside of TW and as Stiles, and I feel his dad would have a very similar style of awkward disaster from the chest up, undulations worthy of a harem girl from the waist down (those Stilinski boys tend to leave a lot of confused boners in their wake.)  In Noah’s case, settling into his frame after that last growth spurt and learning self-defense/martial arts helped smooth most of the awkward out, but it resurfaces every so often.  Chris I think would be the least likely to dance, just because I feel his background would make him very self-conscious about it, whether he wants to feel that way or not.  He’ll dance if it’s just the three of them or just family, or for a slow dance, but that’s normally it.  However, if he’s drunk enough, or if Noah or Peter have dragged him into a dark corner to makeout for a while and gotten him all distracted and relaxed, he can be pursued out onto the floor to show off some actually pretty sweet moves once he lets go.

Anyway, gonna try and wrap this up, because I just realized it’s way later than I realized, and I should try and get some sleep at some point.  Enjoy your game, I hope it’s epic!

When this little paragraph made me realize I had a gaping plot hole in this chapter and I got to go back to fix it. My god my friend, you are a lifesaver!

I also like that it apparently took them nearly 20 years to learn about planning for this sort of thing.  I know you’ve mentioned Peter and Chris being the ones that do the stupid thing next chapter (or something to that effect), but really I feel the biggest moment of "what the hell, guys?” is Noah getting knocked up just two months after Chris.  It’s like, you guys had a huge, in your face, live example of why protection is important, and yet…

Because oh yeah I wanted to make it canon that wolves can detect a heartbeat of the embryo at 4-5 weeks. Which is about a week after the heart starts beating. And oh yeah, Chris is two months along by the time Noah gets pregnant... shit. I wrote something else in that flashback.

And now I got to fix that, so cheers!

I also finished writing my chapter today! Yay! All glorious 13K of it. And I’ll be editing and posting tomorrow (or technically later today as it is past midnight.) Oh, I’m so excited, I’m so excited to see what you think!

As for the game, my god it is awesome!!! I played a few hours today but my heart raced so much I had to pause after two hours because I was getting dizzy because of my heart. But it’s a great game so far, very accessible and it just draws me in completely. It’s so good.

Definitely what I needed after my day at work.

hehehe I’m happy to see my previews and writing and getting emotions, it sounds so bad, but that makes me smile because it’s getting the desired response and that’s awesome. 

“Cue Lego Movie music”

can you imagine the furor that would have occurred about a Slytherin and a Gryffindor hooking up in Fourth Year (I think?), and then pulling an innocent little Hufflepuff transfer under their spell?  Would any of them have played Quidditch?  (Peter I feel definitely played, though I can’t decide what position.  Undecided on the other two.)

I think Peter would’ve been a chaser or beater, somehow those seem to fit him well. Noah played but he was a keeper. (which would be funny if Peter was a chaser since they would get to battle lover’s disputes on the quidditch pitch) Chris I feel wouldn’t play quidditch, he’s too busy trying to keep track of his studies and really just likes to watch the sport but not participate. I think he’d be more into care of magical creatures and defends against the dark arts than any kind of sport. Though he does join and excel at the dueling club.

And the scandal of Peter and Noah dating from fourth year on would be massive, people can barely wrap their heads around it. But they’re happy and they’re just doing their own thing. And they don’t pay attention to anyone else but what they think and what Chris thinks of them.

Peter shifting to his wolf form and curling protectively around them all the time, head pressed up to their abdomen so that he can listen and scent at maximum effectiveness.  Them just gently stroking through his fur until one or both fall asleep.  (Also, how quickly do the other wolves in the family pick up on the changes in scent?  How do they react?  How do the older kids react to the idea of more siblings in general?)

<3 <3 it’s honestly an adorable image. The twins are very active when dad’s curled up around them, knowing just where to kick so Peter’s wakes up by a foot to the face. Though he doesn’t mind and just nudges back gently, letting out a low grumbling noise or whine that he knows the babies can hear in utero. As for how quickly, it depends on whether or not they smelled it before. Jackson, Ben, or Scott wouldn’t pick up on it. They weren’t wolves around pregnancies before. Malia and Derek catch on quickly though. They start noticing the scent change at around 5-6 weeks and hear the little heartbeats of the new family members.

Malia is moderately excited, she’s a little worried about her dad and how he will handle pregnancy at his age. (Although he’s like 35 when he gets pregnant, that counts as a geriatric pregnancy, dad... I’m worried.)

Stiles just flips between the two of extreme worry where he read up on pre-eclampsia and other pregnancy complications and birth complications and omg what if that happens. But he’s also so so excited because omg he’s finally gonna be an older brother!!

(He knows he’s Ben’s older brother, and he adores the tyke, but it’s different when you have a pregnancy close instead of a five-year-old sibling from one day to another.)

Jackson is pouty and a bit grumpy. He feels like he’s losing baby status in the family more and more and he doesn’t know how to deal. (Ben was a bit difficult to get used to for him but Chris handled it well by setting time aside for his baby Jackson. It helped. But now he’s a teen and there’s going to be two more babies and he’s- he doesn’t know how to feel. When Chris breaks the news he wants to have another baby he’s even more torn but he does come around, deciding that he will always be the baby of the family, even when he’s not.

It’s a good compromise. And the three parents set some time for each of their kids so everyone gets attention.

Allison handles it the best out of the teens, she’s very excited for all of them and immediately to volunteers helping with decorating the new nursery. She paints a few awesome looking murals of Winnie the Pooh or Bambi or some other cutesy Disney animals (Or maybe even a space/star wars or a fairy tale ala Fables theme?) and just goes all out. She also convinces Malia to quilt a blanket for the new baby and helps her knit a few cute hats. She’s just extremely excited and happy.

Ben is very happy too, he’s finally not the youngest anymore and he’s happy to be an older brother. He also finds it fascinating to learn how pregnancy works and how those babies got in there in the first place. They let him tell them how it works and explain some basic details, sperm, egg, you need both to have a baby and the baby grows in pops and papa’s belly. But they leave out any details that Ben doesn’t figure out or doesn’t ask about to keep it more age-appropriate for him. 

Though Ben’s smart and he figures out a lot on his own. Noah and Peter are honestly impressed by Ben’s deductive skills. They knew Jackson and Stiles had them, but they hadn’t expected Ben to show them too. He’s a quiet observer.

They were not prepared for the sheer DILF power of that household live and in person.  But then, is anyone, really?

Honestly, I don’t think anyone is. Nobody can resist the sheer DILF power.

Since the theme is nominally just fairy tales, I think the dads could just opt for a classier, fancier version of their Red Riding Hood looks.  Maybe go for a steampunk edge or something (I would have included links here, but Google was not my friend today and I couldn’t find quite what I wanted.)  Rich velvets and wools in vivid scarlet and forest-y greens, black and deep brown leather and suede, lots of polished buttons and buckles, loose cotton shirts unlaced at the throat.  Mmm, yes.  And Peter could have one of those super fancy Victorian type nightgowns with the long sleeves and high necks made out of super soft and fine materials.  Instead of getting some kind of mask to wear, he’d just do his partial/beta/whatever you want to call it shift and let them add extra fur on with makeup to blend it in.  Everyone just thinks it’s amazing effects work.  He does opt for some cute wolf paw slippers since cons tend to get snotty about people going around barefoot.  (Applying and removing the fur is also how they learn his ears are particularly…sensitive…to a delicate touch in that form.)  

I- this whole thing? yes. Headcanon accepted because it is that good. I can literally just see them going in steampunk hunter, red riding hood and the wolf. thank you for putting that image in my mind XD

I feel like Peter is a very good dancer.  Not quite competition level, maybe, but very skilled, nonetheless.  Like Malia, he’s just very comfortable in himself, in all forms, which helps with spatial and bodily awareness, in addition to his natural grace and balance.  I also feel he’s the most likely to have taken, like, ballroom lessons or similar as a kid, maybe at a parent or grandparent’s insistence.  With Noah I keep thinking about the various videos I’ve seen of Dylan dancing both outside of TW and as Stiles, and I feel his dad would have a very similar style of awkward disaster from the chest up, undulations worthy of a harem girl from the waist down (those Stilinski boys tend to leave a lot of confused boners in their wake.)  In Noah’s case, settling into his frame after that last growth spurt and learning self-defense/martial arts helped smooth most of the awkward out, but it resurfaces every so often.  Chris I think would be the least likely to dance, just because I feel his background would make him very self-conscious about it, whether he wants to feel that way or not.  He’ll dance if it’s just the three of them or just family, or for a slow dance, but that’s normally it.  However, if he’s drunk enough, or if Noah or Peter have dragged him into a dark corner to makeout for a while and gotten him all distracted and relaxed, he can be pursued out onto the floor to show off some actually pretty sweet moves once he lets go.

Malia definitely inherited Peter’s dancing skills, I like to think Jackson did as well. Those three are the best dancers in the family. They just move with natural ease. 

Allison is a decent dancer, her gymnastics training really helps but she’s not as fluent as her brother, sister, or dad.

I feel like Noah and Stiles have awkward flailing down to a T but every once in awhile there’s a hip movement worthy of a fucking professional dancer and it’s very confusing. But yeah, totally agree with that assessment of them.

Chris isn’t much of a dancer and neither is Ben. Both of them are very self-conscious. Chris gets better when he’s drunk because he let’s go of insecurity but even then it’s not great. He just doesn’t dance, it’s not his thing. Although he was a very good grinding and hip rotation move. He’s also pretty good at jump style once he lets himself go and just turns his mind off. but the rhythmic jumping just feels natural to him. He also likes to slow dance since he can just bury his face in Noah’s shoulder or nuzzle Peter’s cheek and just forget about everything else.

Also, I like to think they all love to sing. Chris’s voice is best suited for country I feel like. Noah’s more for singer-songwriter. And Peter just loves singing pop songs and he knows how to hit some high notes. 

And now I am going to bed because It’s almost three am XD And I need some sleeps. Thankfully I have the day off this sunday.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Okay, so I was joking around about Cinder with a friend who is very much into Kingdom Hearts (I guess you're familiar). End of the story, I quote: "Aaaaaaand in the end, it turns out she's Summer Rose's nobody, yay!!" Which actually brought me to an idea and I wanted to hear your thoughts about it. Do you think it is possible that Cinder is somehow connected to Summer Rose and if so, how? I'd be very interested to read your thoughts on this.

Hello again Mizu. Hmm, that’s an interesting question but I think I’ve got a decent answer that can best give my point of view on this subject. To be honest, I never considered the possibility of Cinder being connected to Summer Rosebefore. I always figured that Summer happened prior to Cinder joining Salem’sranks. But since you brought it up it makes me consider an alternative to my initial perception.

Do I think it is possible that Cinder is somehow connected to Summer Rose? Well there is one way I can think of. The only way I can fathom Cinder having an unknown connection to Summer if she was her murderer. 

What if…Cinder Fall was the one who killed Summer Rose?

Alrighty, now this is the part where I ask you to hear me out as I explain how this works so saddle up pilgrim and allow this squiggle meister to take you on a wild ride down headcanon lane.

What if…at a very young age, Cinder murdered Summer Rose on behalf of Salem? 

Here’s how I think that could be possible. Since we’re not quite sure what Cinder’s true age is, I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume that Cinder is the type to possibly be in her late twenties but still appears young enough to pass for a young adult of 17-18 years old. I can even use myself to vouch for this cause I’m nearing my thirties and I can still physically pass for ten years younger than I actually am. So let’s say this is same case forCinder.

So for the sake of this hunch of fine, I’m going to peg Cinder at being about 27 years old. That places her about roughly 10-11 years older than Ruby Rose.

Keep that in mind. It was mentioned by Yang in V2 that Summer allegedly passed away when Ruby was still too young to comprehend death. It was also stated that Summer passed away around the time Yang discovered the truth about Raven’s existence and had set out with Ruby in a wagon to find her. In her back story, Yang described Ruby as still being a toddler at the time. So at best, let’s say that Ruby was around 4 years old when Summer died. A child is considered of toddler age when they’re between 1 and 4 years old according to Early Stages of Childhood on Google Search.

Why am I bringing this up you might ask? Well like I said, the only way I canpicture Cinder being connected to Summer Rose is if she was the one responsible for killing her or at least played a significant role in her death.

Going back to my hunch, if Summer died when Ruby was about 4 and assuming that I’m correct about Cinder being about 10-11 years older than Ruby, that would make Cinder about 15 years old when she killed Summer.

This fits perfectly for what I had in mind since 15  is a significant age in RWBY since Ruby Rose was that age  when she first encountered Roman Torchwick (and by extension Cinder herself) when she challenged him on the rooftop before running into Glynda Goodwitch who ultimately took her to meet Ozpin.

15 was the age when Ruby met and firstly impressed Ozpin enough to encourage him to allow her to attend Beacon and train to become a huntress despite not meeting the required age. 

15 is the age where Ruby first started her journey towards achieving her goal of becoming a huntress—a valiant hero who protected the innocent just like the ones in the stories Ruby indulged in as a child. The same stories that were read to her by Yang and before her, possibly even Summer herself.

With that thought in mind, imagine if…15 was the same age Cinder began her decent into become the power-hungry killer we know her to be. Imagine if 15 was the age Cinder was when she took her first life and claimed her first victim—-Summer Rose.

What if…15 was the age when Cinder officially solidified herself into Salem’s ranks and the murder of Summer Rose was part of her sort of initiation process.

I’m not entirely sure how long Cinder has been affiliated with Salem as herapprentice. However I wouldn’t be too surprised if Cinder was found by Salem at a ripe age—possibly when she was just a teenager. Just an impressionable little girl like Ruby was who had her own set of ambitions and desires that she was uncertain she would ever fulfill given her harsh upbringing. At least, before she was discovered by a wicked witch who took pity on her and decided to groom her into her perfect successor under the promise of gaining the power she needed to make all of her wishes come true.

This is why I always liked the analogy of Salem being a twisted version of the Fairy Godmother in Cinder’s Cinderella story.In the original Cinderella fairy-tale, the Fairy Godmother used her magic tohelp Cinderella in attending the royal ball where she ultimately got a chanceto meet the prince with the two falling in love afterwards. 

Thus the Fairy Godmother played a part in making all of Cinderella’s dreams come true. Yet here we have Salem who, just like the Fairy Godmother, possessed magical powers but rather than sharing her magic with Cinder just as how Ozma shared his magic with the first Maidens. 

Instead Salem groomed Cinder to take power from others. She sparkedthe girl’s megalomaniac tendencies and fed into it, ensuring that others payedthe price for Cinder’s greed (or is it gluttony? One or both of those deadly sins). 

This is also why I really like my Grimmoire/Red Queen Cinder Fall headcanon where Cinder grows powerful enough to overthrow Salem after she gets defeated and cleansed of her darkness through the combined power of Ruby and Oscar who share the God of Light’s light within them. This is why I like the twist of Cinder eventually turning on Salem as the monster she helped create; draining her of all of her magic and taking it for herself. Such sweet karma right there but…that’s only my theory for now.

Anyways, again for the sake of my headcanons, I’m going to theorize that Cinder was probably 14-years-old when Salem first found her. 14 when Salem took Cinder under her wing and 15 when she killed Summer Rose—fits well enough for this squiggle meister and her theories.

14 is another significant age in the RWBY narrative since it could now tie Cinder to Oscar in a sense.

 Think about it. If 14 was how old Cinder was when she was discovered by Salem and had her destiny rewritten by the wicked witch then it can parallell how Oz first met Oscar at the same age and how his fate was drastically changed too due to their sudden chance encounter.

Going with this idea, 14 was the age when Salem whisked Cinder away from her old unhappy life to change her destiny and grant her the power she desired. Cause even at such an impressionable age, let’s assume that power was something Cinder had always desired for it’s something she never had. Let’ssay, in the past Cinder used to believe that power was something you were born with. At least until she met Salem who taught her that power is something that could easily be taken away given the right tools.

My theory is that Salem first lured Cinder with the promise of granting her thepower she desired but before Cinder could get her wish, Salem put her through a single test, not to see if Cinder was worthy of power like the young girlpresumed but her drive. If Cinder wanted power, Salem wanted to see just howfar the girl was willing to go to achieve it. How far was Cinder willing to let herself fall for the sake of changing her fate or something to that liking?

Hence the encounter with Summer Rose. The theory I’ve been building up to is…what if… Summer was Cinder’s test from Salem. She wanted her to kill Ozpin’s current Silver Eyed Warrior. The incentive was if Cinder proved she could successfully kill a Silver Eyed Warrior (presumably the last known one at the time) then what was stopping her from killing a Maiden, right?

I think before going after Summer Rose, Salem put Cinder through the ringer—making her endure rigorous training in hopes of making her strong. At first the girl struggled but she ultimately proved Salem’s assumptions about her resilience when she persevered and conquered all challenges thrown in her way, fueled by nothing but her blood lust and hunger for power. 

To Cinder, there was nothing she would not do to get what she deserved. To get what it rightfully hers. Even if she had to claw it out of her victims, she will take what is hers and this is what Salem needed to see from her.

Similar to how Cinder gathered and worked with Emerald and Mercury to take down Amber, what if…long ago, a young 15-year-old Cinder Fall worked beside a younger Hazel Rainart and Tyrian Callows in facing Summer. 

Although, Tyrian and Hazel were instructed by Salem to not interfere. Since this was Cinder’s test, the two were only instructed to support her if things got out of hand and even if Cinder ended up needing the two to restrain Summer, the strict objective was that Cinder was to kill Summer. No one else.

This wouldn’t be the first time one of Salem’s forces ambushed a Silver Eyed Warrior. We saw it with Maria when she was ambushed by Tock and her crew. We also glimpsed this even with Amber when Cinder ambushed her with Emerald and Mercury’s help.

I can even picture Cinder first fighting Summer alone and getting overpowered by her almost instantaneously due to her superior experience in combat as a seasoned huntress. I pictured Summer downing Young Cinder but upon realizingthat her assailant was a girl—just a child, Summer forfeits the fight by sparing Cinder’s life. 

Since Summer was both a Silver Eyes and a mother with two daughters, I doubt she would have the heart to kill a young girl even if she was her attacker. I’d like to think that Ruby gets her good-natured heart and righteousness from her mother and as fans saw with Raven in V5, this could similarly prove to be a thorn in Summer’s side in the face of the wrong people. 

Let’s say…Summer choosing to spare Cinder and walk away was a bold move which enabled her to let her guard down long enough for Hazel and Tyrian to intervene.

Long story short, Tyrian poisons Summer with a toxin which disrupts her mobility. And despite doing her best to combat the poison rushing through her veins, her efforts proved futile especially against Hazel who used his brute force to disarm Summer. 

Similar to how Emerald and Mercury forced Amber to her knees before Cinder, Hazel did the same to Summer. The juggernaut of a man forced theolder Rose to kneel in front of Cinder. Tyrian, then mockingly grunts forCinder to complete her so-called ‘test’ unless she wanted Hazel and him to holdher hand through that as well, much to the girl’s embarrassment.

In a nutshell, Cinder basically stabs Summer repeatedly. Picture it like Cindertrying to kill a chicken but rather than going straight for the kill she keepsavoiding the one area that would end it all and just proceeds to gut the thinggruesomely over and over again while it hollered in agony.

That’s kind of how I pictured it. Cinder knew she had to kill Summer but she just kept stabbing her only in places where she knew she’d lose blood but wasn’t an instant kill. She didn’t go for the heart.

At first she boldly attempted to laugh off her hesitance by claiming she wanted towatch her victim slowly suffer. However Cinder fooled neither Hazel nor Tyrian.Both men noticed her resistance to kill Summer but while Hazel showed sympathy in a sense, Tyrian continued to mock Cinder. Undermine her. Make her feel every bit of humiliation she used to feel from her past, triggering her horrible memories of her previous life. Unbeknownst to Tyrian, he had unintentionally given Cinder the push she needed to make the kill and she goes to stab Summer right in the heart to end her.

This is where I’m afraid my hunch may have to deviate a little bit to feed into twopossibilities I have. The running theory in the FNDM is that Qrow was the one who either found Summer Rose dead and already killed or Qrow was responsible for killing Summer due to his semblance.

Speaking for myself here, I mostly ran with the idea of Summer dying to protect Qrow. 

The idea I had is that Summer wanted to go after Salem herself against Ozpin’s wishes. Fearful that she would do something stupid, Oz tasked Qrow to follow Summer when she went on her supposed ‘final mission’. He never told him why since at the time Oz was still keeping the truth about Salem. All Oz told Qrow was that he was worried that Summer might do something irrational and dangerous that might result in her death and that was all the motive Qrow needed to go after Summer.

Unfortunately for Oz, Summer kind of foresaw that he would try and stop her despite already making up her mind for her sacrifice. So let’s say Summer fed Oz false information on when she was leaving for her mission. By the time Oz sent Qrow to find Summer, she had already long left for her mission. This is where my point deviates:

Either Qrow discovered Summer already killed with the identities of her assailants still a mystery or…Qrow found Summer on death’s doorstep; again with Cinder and her forces already left her for dead. 

Qrow tries to rush Summer to the nearest village for help but…of course; luck wasn’t on Qrow’s side that day. Summer’s killers were smart enough to lure her out to a secluded area far from the awareness of a people. 

Summer had been completely alone. Killed in the middle of nowherefar away from human aid. And the kicker is that she either died alone and was later found by her dearest friend and old teammate— Qrow or she died in the arms of her friend Qrow while he tried to rush her to help but was too late.

Meanwhile the identity of Summer’s killer was never learnt. Even if Cinder was Summer’s true killer, neither Qrow nor Oz nor any of the other members of the Inner Circle would know this. So in a sense, Cinder would be left with ties to Summer Rose that could be later revealed in the story for shock value. Buuuuut…that’s only if it’s canon.

I will admit his though. For Cinder to be revealed as the killer of another important person in Ruby’s life then I think that could easily be used as the final straw to break Ruby.

Cause let’s wrack up the list. In terms of those affiliated with Ruby, Cinder wasresponsible for killing off Penny and Pyrhha who were good friends of Ruby. Cinder also killed Ozpin who throughout V1 and V2 was shown to be the teacher/mentor character that Ruby bonded to the most.

To have Cinder be connected to the death of her mother too would be veryinteresting. It can give Ruby an incentive to challenge Cinder now. Before,Cinder was the one with the beef against Ruby. I would say that instead ofSummer Rose, Cinder is the antithesis to Ruby. The only thing is that Cinderhas no true connection to Ruby at all. We know Cinder has her vendetta againstRuby for taking her eye and all that. But what does Ruby have against Cinder?What does Ruby have as a motive for her to challenge and desire to defeatCinder?

Not much. Sure you can call out what happened at Beacon and the death of herfriends and mentor as good motive however that’s more deep-rooted in Ruby’s ties to Salem. Not Cinder. 

The one with the direct beef with Cinder is Jaune since Cinder killed Pyrhha—his former teammate and closest confidant. Unlike Ruby, Jaune has a reason to directly challenge Cinder which we already saw him do in V5.

There is a reason for Ruby to wish to challenge Salem but not so much Cinder. Yet here we have Cinder going after Ruby. 

I guess as another idea it could be interesting to see Cinder giving Ruby an ultimatum to force her to face her. Hence why I’ve gravitated towards the idea of Cinder possibly kidnapping Oscar and using him as bait to lure Ruby out to fight her and Neo for V7.

I say Oscar over any other one of Ruby’s closest comrades since I have a feeling that V7 may attempt to push Ruby and Oscar’s budding friendship on a stronger level than we’ve seen with them in previous seasons. I’m expecting these two rosebuds to grow closer in Atlas.

Not to mention that in an odd way, you can say that Oscar is somewhat theembodiment of the three people Ruby lost at Beacon. He embodies Penny since similar to Penny, Oscar is often seen as being less of a person than he already is since he’s currently a vessel for Ozpin/ Ozma’s soul.

Ruby is the one person to always treat Oscar as his own person and despite knowing the truth of what he is (and who he might become), she still genuinelylikes Oscar as the farm boy that he is and cares about him as him; NOT just another life for Oz to live.

Oscar embodies Pyrhha because similar to her, Oscar was dealt a tricky choice that he had to choose between as part of saving the world. It wasn’t something he initially wanted to do but rather something he had to more or less accept. Istill feel like there are more moments and choices that Oscar will be forced tomake going forward toward Atlas and this would place him in the same awkwardposition Pyrhha had to endure at some point. Another reason why I think Oscarembodies Pyrhha is cause I haven’t given up on my headcanon of him joining upwith JNR to revive Team JNPR. Still holding onto that vehemently.

And lastly, Oscar embodies Oz cause…well…he shares a body with him. He is meant to be Ozpin’s successor soon inheriting all of his powers in addition to all his mistakes and responsibilities towards humanity. 

So yeah, Oscar embodies Pyrhha, Penny and Ozpin—three people affected by Cinder whose deaths still hold weight on Ruby. Ruby saw both Pyrhha and Penny die before her very eyes. More than that, she failed to arrive in time to stop both of their deaths. 

So if Oscar is unfortunately placed in the same scenario, not only would it mean Ruby reliving the same nightmare of failing to save her friends but Cinder targeting Oscar can bring to light Ozpin’s death as well.

I guess when I explain it like that, it does look like Ruby doesn’t need Cinderto be connected to her to fight her. Not to sound like the big KH nerd I indeedam but…Ruby’s friends are her power. They are her strength. Their love andsupport is what helps her light shining. However Cinder singlehandedly killedthree of Ruby’s friends while she failed to stop her.

I believe this will be the next step in Ruby’s development. I think Ruby needs torelive a moment like what happened at Beacon to have some kind of closure at long last with what happened to Pyrhha and Penny cause as we saw  from V6, it still haunts her psyche. She almost couldn’t summon her powers because of it and you can’t convince me that that’s not going to come up again in V7.

As Jinn rightfully put it, she might have been able to help Ruby that one that time and provide her more time but that’s not gonna happen again. Ruby will need more mental training in summoning her powers (hence more work for Maria to do thankfully) and this is good because it can help her get to the root of what gave her her block in V6. 

Meaning she will have to talk about Pyrhha and Penny. Especially Penny since she was the first friend Ruby failed to help and saw die. And being in Atlas, the home of her former friend is bound to bring that up. ESPECIALLY if my theory about Atlas manufacturing multiple Penny robots and selling them to the public  throughout Atlas becomes a thing. 

Ruby never truly talks about how much Pyrhha and Penny’s deaths affectedher (out of the V5 dojo scene) but we saw how much it still does from the V6 finale. She still is haunted by that stuff and it would be interesting if her friends’ deaths are also connected to her repressed nightmares of her mom’s death.

I dunno. I guess what I’m really trying to say is, I don’t necessarily need forCinder to have a connection to Summer Rose for her to have a connection to Ruby by extension. However I will admit that Cinder being revealed as Summer’s killer who murdered her when she was only 15 as a test given to her by Salem is an interesting concept.

It checks off everything. It can parallel how different and somewhat similarCinder and Ruby were at that age. Heck if the Writers wanted they can even show Cinder being similar to Ruby at 15 but because of her upbringing and how Salem trained her, Cinder turned out the way she was which leaves us as theaudience with the lingering question of…if Cinder and Ruby were so similar atthe same age, does this mean that Ruby could have easily turned out just likeCinder if she went through the same tragedies as her and vice versa?

This can also be an interesting way to further emphasis why Cinder despises Ruby so much—perhaps Ruby reminds Cinder of who she used to be. The weaker part of herself she killed and discarded in order to become who she is now and wants to become and all that jazz.

That’s not a bad idea. But…as always these are just ideas. 

And with that, I think that’s it. That’s all folks XD

This was originally going to be a short answer but…pffft, who am I kidding here? XD You should know how I roll by now, right? Better stop jibberjabbing while I’m still at 4 pages of an answer in MS Word XD

For the most part I hope I answered you well enough Mizu. As always please let me know your thoughts on my thoughts and in the meantime, take care fam.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 26 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: So I was almost done editing this part in Tumblr earlier today and then my laptop, for some reason, decided to close the window, and of course I hadn’t saved it as a draft, so I lost everything I’d formatted! Including my many meticulous links for this chapter that has about 235453636 details! So, that was great!!! I had to start from scratch and find everything again (thank goddess for Google search history for once), and it took a really fucking long time--your encouraging comments for this part in particular would mean a lot because knowing anyone is actually reading will soften my deep frustration at spending literally my entire day on posting this chapter. I’ve said this before but this fic is primarily about two things: 1) big cosmic fucking love (emphasis on the FUCKING) and 2) CLOTHES, hence me elaborating on their outfits constantly ad nauseam, so if you’re ever wondering why I talk about their clothes so goddamn much, it’s because clothes are very erotic/important to me and they are a big part of the way I tell a story, especially this one. Kenzie manifests Telekinesis in this part. Oberon and Titania are the fabled King and Queen of the Fae, and the lines Duncan and Kenzie speak to each other are from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. Kenzie sings CRYSTAL to Duncan before they sleep--that song is very important to Duckenzie, and it will probably show up again before the end. Kenzie’s outfit in this part/part of the next: her wrap crop top, her cut-off shorts, her black bikini, her Vans. Other stuff she packs: the rust-colored mini dress, the pink rose mini-dress, the white mini-dress, the white crop top, the denim shortalls, her Timberland boots, her boot sandals, the black dress with the buckle, the gray cardigan, the gray long-sleeved top, the long linen dress with roses. I can’t find the original sunflower-colored maxi dress I based hers on now; it was sort of like this but with short sleeves. Duncan’s outfit in this part: his button-down, his jersey shorts, his Suede Pumas. Other stuff he packs: the navy flannel, the other button-down, the Nike club hoodie, the zip-up hoodie, chino shorts, tee shirts, relaxed chinos, Nike hiking boots, fitted chinos, the feather shirt Kenzie likes, his black swim trunks. My Duncan doesn’t wear jeans, and Kenzie rarely wears pants; that’s just their stylistic preferences. His suitcase, her suitcase, her moon and sun tote. The Yeti coolers look like this and apparently keep stuff cold, like, FOREVER. Here’s the stargazing book, which I have. Duncan’s gold weed pipe looks like this and was inspired by these pictures of Cody smoking a weird vape, and also was inspired by the fact that he’s apparently (sources tell me) a big stoner irl, which I love. Pullman’s The Golden Compass/Northern Lights is indeed about parallel universes, among other things. I had to make them listen to Kiiara’s Gloe, a song that definitely sounds like it’s about Duckenzie, as I mentioned before. The Blue Skies remix is this one by Maya Jane Coles. I’m the bitch who has loved WUTHERING HEIGHTS fiercely since middle school, hence me giving Kenzie that love/a good recollection of it. I love writing their little conversations so fucking much--just my moon babies, in love. The route to Deep Creek Lake really is via a road called Lakeside Trail. The luxury cabin was inspired by two different models, this one for the front, this one for the back. The gazebo looks like this, more or less. The front room looks sort of like this, but with darker wood, no TV, a bigger fireplace (something like this, with dark stone around instead of the white wood), and not as much taxidermy. The Swarovski chandelier is like this. The bed is like this, the headboard like this, the gold laurels, and Annie Swynnerton’s Cupid and Psyche, which, fuck it, I’m saying is the real thing that Annette bought at an auction at some point (now I want a print of that one too, I love it so much, especially the flower crown in Cupid’s hair). The copper bathtub will feature again soon. I looked at this photo of Billie and this one of Cody a lot while I wrote this chapter; that’s my Kenzie and my Duncan. I said this to Luna ( @misslunarayne ) yesterday--but sometimes I get so overwhelmed by how much I love what I’m creating that I legitimately feel like I’m going to pass the fuck out. ART AND LOVE ARE THE DRUG, LADIES/GENTS/NONBINARY FOLKS. As ever, your likes, reblogs, asks, comments and edits mean the world to me. Get ready for ~a lot~ of fucking in the next chapter.

And here at the end of the evening, watching the night lights of the District of Columbia scatter and disperse as Duncan drove them back to the penthouse, Kenzie was full of contentment.

It washed over her like water, like a tide; to be inside this moment with you, Duncan, is like the purest solitude. To be inside your mind as I know you’re in mine, and to feel so much peace inside that certainty. Despite the pressing chaos of the Gala, a chaos that had tried unsuccessfully to disturb them, Kenzie knew that in the future, she’d only retain the joy from this night in her memories: Lindy and Gabby in their floral dresses, tears in Lindy’s eyes, the purity of the happiness Kenzie had felt in Duncan’s arms as the photographers snapped their cameras wildly, the way Duncan had fucked her so passionately, so utterly, his voice dipping into her ear (you are the greatest pleasure I’ve ever felt, will ever feel, you’re mine and I’m infinitely blessed) his lips open on her neck, the press of the plug still inside her now, holding him inside her, the look of him leaning next to Day, his face serene, happy, and oh-so-deeply beautiful, the nostalgic joy in his gaze as he had flipped through the mythology book now safely resting on her lap. The dark beauty of him now, the dark shadow shrouding his blue gaze, glancing at her singing, the adoration in his eyes so strong it made her shiver.

“I love you so much,” he said, his tone resolute and aching, then with his mind, I love you so much, I love you, love you, love you forever angel, my angel, divine goddess his thoughts echoed against her, devolving down into blue warmth like a fading fire. “Baby, we finally get to be alone. Really alone. Oh god, I can’t wait. I might never want to come back. Would you come live in the woods with me, wild and free, Princess Kenzie?” Duncan’s gold Cartier bracelet glinted on his elegant wrist as he deftly jerked the steering wheel, his eyes glancing between her and the road, that angelic smile playing at his mouth, dizzying her. As it always will.

“I would, Fae Prince,” Kenzie drifted her fingers along the frayed edges of the mythology book, gazing up at him from the halo of her eyelashes. She felt the waves of his delight at that--the shy approval of his acceptance. The romance of this evening is ours. It exists because it exists between us. That’s all there is--this. Us. And you truly are my Prince.  “Oberon of the fairies.”

“Am I not thy lord, Titania?” Duncan grinned at her, and the blue depth of his eyes flashed darkly, and Kenzie’s breath caught. Oh sweet Goddess, you are. My body is yours and you know it is. My soul clings to yours as though it’s the lifeblood of me. Your soul is mine and the knowledge of you encircles my heart and I’m overcome in its beauty. You are my lord. You are my Hades in your shadowed majesty, my Dionysus in your wanton desire for me, if I am Titania, you are Oberon most assuredly, the moon to my sun, the sun to my moon, the sky that holds the stars of me, and my lord. Always.

“Then I must be thy lady,” Kenzie replied, reaching for his hand--Duncan grasped it with fingers hot and insistent, his thoughts bursting with warmth at her words, pulling them away a moment later as he turned the steering wheel again, onto the side-street where the high-rise was tucked off the main road, in its serene stretch of manicured lawn. The moon was silhouetted in almost the very center of the sky, not quite descending west yet. The G-Class shut off with almost no sound at all--its sleek, streamlined affect seemed almost intelligent, knowing. Kenzie looked up into the sky, gentle moonlight kissing her cheeks as she slid out of the passenger seat, brushing her hair from her shoulders--waves of it had freed themselves from Hannah’s ordered mess of roses and Kenzie watched several petals scatter on the sidewalk around her as her hand fell. She turned to Duncan, who had exited the car, coming up behind her, his hand drifting across the back of her head, down the cascade of her rosy hair. His eyes were on the petals that had fallen to the ground, then he looked at her as she turned to him, her hair still sliding through his fingers, and she could feel the ache of his mind, knew what he was thinking, saw his earnest vulnerability, felt the pounding of his heart, heard the rapid beating of her own.

I want to ask you to marry me, he was thinking. I want to ask you, Kenzie. I want to so much...

Kenzie shook her head a little, her mouth dipping open, her hand coming up to his stubbled cheek--in that hazy ring of moonlight, the stars shrouded by city lights but still almost visible above them, in that cocoon of night, and the rest of the world seemed to be utterly still but for the distant sounds of traffic far off in the distance, the slightness of the summer wind.

Not yet, Duncan. Not yet. Wait until we find out--find out whatever it is. The thing that’s coming. You feel it too. I know you do, as certainly as the dawn, as the moon in the sky right now. It’s almost here. The knowledge--the secret thing.

“Wait,” Kenzie whispered, and Duncan’s hands came down to her cheeks, and he held her there with such a delicate sweetness Kenzie felt herself immediately begin to cry. A tear drifted down from her eye to his thumb, and Duncan brushed it away, his mouth falling open in dismay. She smiled--it’s okay, baby, my sweet Prince, it’s okay. My tears are a relief to me inside your love. It moves me so much, I have to cry. “Just wait a little bit longer. Just a little longer, okay?”

Duncan was nodding, and Kenzie could see the threat of tears on him, too--he drifted his fingers against her for another moment, his face, shrouded in shadow and angelic as a painting on the roof of some holy chapel, leaning down to her, his height enveloping her, filling her with solace. The wind was drifting into his curls, and Kenzie felt utterly moved by what seemed to be on the horizon--she felt lost inside its rising call, the feeling of it suddenly swirling around them like a whirling sphere of gold, the sidewalk deserted, the night so quiet. It was as if they’d suddenly been transported to another universe, imperceptibly, in the hair’s-breadth span of a moment. Everything looked the same, but the air was different, charged with a potency that seemed alien. Because that other universe is always so close, Kenzie thought, her mind hazy with Duncan’s eyes. Isn’t it? That’s true, isn’t it, baby? That other universe, and all of them, hovering nearby.

Then the thought, imperceptible, obtuse--and the feeling--drifted away. Duncan still seemed to be lost inside her mind, in her gaze--she could feel him, rosy and desirous, falling down the curves of her body, the invisible touch of him along the golden gown she still wore, the fingers of his soul at her throat, imagining her in the throes of his passionate attentions. Kenzie shivered, then gently pulled his hand down from her cheek; Duncan dutifully gathered her train over his arm, and they walked down the pathway to the high-rise’s entrance with the moon shining on them, watchful, and its face seemed familiar again, no longer the hidden moon from a moment ago, Kenzie thought, but our moon again, though I know the other moon--those other moons--are always behind this one, aren’t they? Those other moons live beside our moon, and together they echo through time. Tonight there’s a thinness--and in that thinness, there are visible things that will vanish when daylight comes again.

It was well past midnight now, and neither Anchaly or Jerry were anywhere to be seen--a security guard sat in Anchaly’s usual seat at the front desk, and he glanced up at Duncan and Kenzie, then did a nervous double-take. Kenzie smiled at him, yep it’s us, those Instagram stars, then Duncan was pulling her with him into the elevator out of the guard’s eyesight, and she was falling against him, the book and her clutch in her arms pressing into his belly; she could see that Duncan had closed his eyes in the mirror in front of them, and his face was lined with tiredness now, the makeup there no longer able to conceal it. Lost in the feeling of you, my constant comfort, my Kenzie, and Kenzie closed her eyes too, turning her nose into his shirt and breathing deeply, her hands coming up to clutch at the lapels of his jacket, the golden tips of his collar.

“I can’t believe we can finally be alone together, baby,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it. Really alone. I’ve missed the woods so much--and we’ll be together--”

“Wait until you see it, baby,” Duncan said as they walked to the penthouse door. He was tiredly reaching for his wallet, but his hand slipped and he dropped it--Kenzie smiled, dipping down to pick it up, holding her clutch and the mythology book against her chest with her elbows, opening it, loving the feeling of the leather in her fingers (because it’s his, because it belongs to him) as she pulled his keycard out (there were at least ten other cards in it, and at least ten or twelve hundred dollar bills alongside two dozen crisp twenty dollars bills--Kenzie recognized his Black AmEx immediately amid several other American Express cards, scrunched her nose up at his license for a moment, SHEPHERD, DUNCAN MALCOLM, then the penthouse address, SEX M, HGT 5’11”, WGT 160, EYES BLU, DOB 07/06/1988, his solemn expression in it crushing her heart with affection), swiping it through the keypad beside the door. She tucked the keycard back inside the wallet and then, in a moment of abandon, lifted it to her mouth and kissed it. Duncan gave her a look of deep longing, lifting his chin back, eyes closing, biting his lip--then Kenzie reached behind her head, grasping the softness of one of the rose buds there, gently pulled at the petals--two in dark, aching red came out in her fingers, and she opened the side-nook of the wallet, slipping the petals inside.

“Just a memory of tonight,” she murmured, and slid the wallet back into his back pocket, her fingers lingering along the rise of his ass. Duncan dipped and caught her mouth inside his--he pulled the penthouse door open absently as they clung together, refusing to break apart as they stumbled inside, his hand coming down to press at the aching plug (still there, still pressing into me, aching with you now, aching with the length of my supplication to you, holding your release deep inside me). The tiredness in her seemed to dissipate now; she felt his lifting too, lifting in the cadence of his desire rising again. Kenzie noticed several shipping boxes piled by the kitchen island from the haze of his embrace, throwing the book and her clutch down on the obsidian surface, remembering the things she’d ordered for the trip a few days before, then returned to his touch, the feeling of his fingers.

“Bed. Come, baby.” Kenzie broke away from him, not even bothering to unwrap her shoes--you can do it in our bed, beloved. You will undress me. She ran to the bedroom, her train slipping from his fingers, away from him because she knew he’d follow, suddenly intoxicated with their bed’s serene black surface as it came into view--threw herself on it, watching with delight as the golden train of her dress floated out behind her, stretching off the bed in gathers that pilled along the dark wood. She turned from the position on her belly, crooking her knees as Duncan followed her into the room--he was suddenly on top of her, his much larger form enveloping her, pushing her gently down so her back was facing him, his legs on either side of her hips, his crotch pressing gently into her ass--his long fingers were instantly at the concealed zipper along her spine, pressing it down insistently. As he went lower he slid off the bed, hands coming up to begin to ease the sleeves from her arms, pulling her toward him with ease, and Kenzie turned to face him, laying on her back now as Duncan peeled the dress off her breasts. His mouth came down to one of her nipples as it came free, and Kenzie shuddered against him, against his lips, his hands working the dress down now, lips reluctantly pulling away so he could ease the dress from her hips, exposing the delicate panties he’d carefully helped her into again in that quiet powder room. Duncan had the exquisite dress Morgan had created for Kenzie in his hands now--Kenzie went to get up, but Duncan shook his head.

“Don’t, baby. Stay here.” Kenzie lay back, still wearing her golden heels and panties, her eyelids shivering, her breath gasping now in anticipation, rose petals scattered on the sheet behind her head. Duncan disappeared into the walk-in closet for a moment, then reappeared a moment later without her dress. Too beautiful a thing to discard on the floor this time, she knew, and nodded to him, loving his thoughtfulness, his mindfulness. Duncan came up to the edge of the bed, his dark and gold jacket shimmering down at her, his darkly-shadowed eyes roving from her hair scattered on the bed around her to her breasts, her nipples shivering with hardness, then he dipped his (beautiful) hands to the waistband of her panties, pulling them down as he kneeled before her, kneeled before their bed. Your altar, she heard him, and she trembled, her body feeling too hot and too cold at once inside his blue eyes. Duncan.worked at the ties at her ankles with his graceful long hands, kissing the inclines of her feet as he pulled the shoes off, carefully setting them aside. Kenzie glanced over his shoulder, watching the shape of his back, the velvety gold of his blazer, the soft fall of his hair, kneeling before her in the Mirror. My Prince kneels before me, oh, fuck, Goddess--

“Do you want me to undress?” He asked her; and his thoughts were intensely earnest, his mind interested only in her needs, making her think of evening clouds drifting in an indigo sunset. Oh Duncan, you are so beautiful inside. So fucking lovely. I feel selfish to behold this part of you, this hidden wondrous beauty of you, but I can’t help it, I want it all to myself. Beloved, exalted in my eyes. You’re so beautiful to look at, but oh, Goddess, your real beauty is the one the world cannot see, and I am moved by him, that hidden self, body and soul.

“No--” Kenzie gasped as the cool air of the room drifted against the sensitivity of the plug, the hardness of her nipples, and her arms broke out in goosebumps. She moved her thighs apart as his hands pressed insistently up the incline of her legs, felt the lips of her sex spread open for him, the stretch of her asshole around the plug, wet with the residue of his come. “I want you to suck on me, Prince, give your mouth to me with your come held inside my naked body, worship my body that belongs to you--”

“Kenzie, fuck,” he whispered, then Duncan brought his face down close to the open lips of her, laving out his tongue, wet with spit that dripped from his aching mouth, to press insistently to her clit, lingering there as she writhed inside his grasp for a moment, lifting her chin to the ceiling and moaning in a soft, prolonged stream that she knew would drive him insane with longing--then one of his hands was drifting from her thigh to her belly, from her belly to pinch insistently at her breast, twisting her nipple in a hard grip that made her gasp, then drifting up further to her neck, to where she still wore Adelaide’s braided golden ruby, and Duncan pressed his elegant, achingly lovely hand into her there, and gripped her tightly as he sucked, hard and unrelenting, at her clit. Kenzie’s hips bucked up in a keening roll that bled into a steady rhythm, the whining cries from her sent out like entreating prayers to him, and she was murmuring his name, her hands thrown back, palms open at either side of her head, knowing he wanted her to stay still, knowing he wanted to hold her under his mercy in this moment, murmuring to him to try to keep herself from coming already, fuck, not yet, I want you to give me everything, my Prince, I dream of your mouth on me always, your devotions. The pressure of the plug in her ass was sending shocks up her spine with every convulsion of her cunt under his lips and tongue, and his hand at her throat was sweet with constriction.

“Choke me, baby,” she heard herself, whimpering, “Ch-choke me and suck my clit, I’m your angel baby and I n-need you--need you--fuck me with your mouth--”

“Mmmhm,” Duncan’s mouth was buried flush against her, but Kenzie could feel the rolling vibrations of his lips humming against her, and his hand was pressing with measured strength, harder, into her neck, the feeling of his fingers so intense they seemed to burn against her. Kenzie let out a little gasp, and Duncan moved his hand up to the dip of where her jaw began at the top of her throat; with careful insistence he pressed her chin back so her eyes couldn’t see him, were forced to look towards the wall behind them, the empty wall that she’d said they should put something on--for a brief second, Kenzie contemplated this again, wildly--we really should put something on that wall, something beautiful--and then Duncan was raising his head to rest his chin for a moment on her abdomen, still forcing her head back, his other hand coming down to rub at her clit so she’d have no reprieve from his attentions.

“Kenzie, you taste like fucking heaven, baby, like the fucking nectar of heaven, like ambrosia, you taste like wine made from the apples of trees that grow in paradise, I dream about the sweet scent of your cunt now and I wake up in hunger for you, all I want is you, you bless me to let me worship you this way, princess of heaven, my flower of the universe--”

Kenzie was shivering under his hand, her hips trembling, and she tried to move back from his fingers, loathe to come yet, loathe to miss his fingers touching her with such terrible sweetness, and she was murmuring between her gasping, heard herself say “put your fingers in my mouth, baby, make me suck on you too,” and he was nodding, bringing his index and middle fingers up to her wet, shuddering bottom lip, pulling her head back down to look at him, dipping them inside her to press on her tongue for a moment before drifting up so she could close her mouth on him, his other fingers still holding her head back, still keeping her steady, prostrate, and Kenzie sucked desperately at his (those hands, for me alone, let me worship you too, baby) fingers, whimpered into the feeling of his skin, and Duncan was burying his mouth against her again, his tongue gentle now, but no less insistent, dipping against her until she keened once more, keened against his arm pressed along her body between her breasts, holding her down for him, you like keeping me here, don’t you, baby, she drifted against him, you like holding me down, making me writhe for you, my angelic love--

“Fuck, yes,” Duncan’s reply was spoken aloud, and Kenzie knew he wanted to speak his longing into her, not just press his love to her sex, but speak it into the room, fill every corner with it. “I do, baby, I fucking do, I love you all to myself this way,” and he was licking along the curve of the lips of her sex, down to the dip of skin before the plug pushed snugly inside her, “Unng, baby, fuck, you taste so good--wait till we’re in the woods, I’m gonna fuck you every hour, fuck you until we’re so exhausted we have to sleep all day, and then we’ll wake up and fuck again, I’ll worship you again and again, into the night, under the stars, all through the day until the sun is dipping low in the sky--” he was dipping his fingers in and out of the wetness of her mouth now, making her moan with the sensation of being filled so with his lips and his fingers and the plug, still sending its shockwaves through her back every time Duncan made her cunt twinge; the space between her convulsions was becoming smaller and smaller, and she was beginning to see golden bursts of need in the corners of her vision, bearing down on her--Duncan seemed to sense how close she was treading to her orgasm, and he continued to speak against her between his admonitions, dipping his tongue into the shuddering twinge of her vulva, then long and languid at her clit, then speaking the sweet, ardent poem into her, his breath so shivering-soft, brushing down onto the wetness gathering strongly between her legs, her arousal and his saliva mingling irrevocably--Duncan brought his hand away from her mouth to grasp her under both thighs, hitching her knees over his shoulders so she was lifted up utterly, into his face, his eyes closing in the throes of his ardency, shrouding them in the dark eyeshadow still on him, reminding her of some holy fresco painted dark, a pious congregant in ecstatic worship, an achingly lovely visage of a damned soul finally redeemed. I love your eyelashes, your sweet eyelids, the incline of your cheeks, your mouth, fu-fuck, your beautiful fucking mouth, Duncan, how--how are you mine--

“You’re my angel, you’re fucking heaven to me--you’re a fucking goddess, even now you’re dipped in gold, the gold is you, it’s you, only you, exalted, beloved, entire, my only--” Duncan brought his fingers down, pressing them into the plug, pulling gently at it so she cried out at the smooth pressure of the bulb against the opening of her there as he flushed his mouth onto the bud of her again, “--So fucking beautiful I never want to look away from you, Kenzie--so fucking beautiful you fill all of my senses and time means nothing against you--nothing, uhhh, fuck, Kenzie--my fucking beautiful angel, god, I fucking love your body, I want to hold it forever--my Princess, sweetest golden honey, my moonlight, come for me, come for me, come against my lips, come into me--” and he was lifting his mouth away, bringing the hand that had toyed with the plug up, raising a flat palm to give her a little testing slap along the spread lips of her sex--Kenzie whined and bucked up into the air, her knees over his shoulders, his mouth hovering near her, smiling that smile beyond the beauty of her imagining, and she was whimpering again, and now she was begging, “Fuck, baby, please, do it again, I’m so close,” and Duncan’s face went slack with adoration, a little moan escaping him too to see her beg, to hear the sweetness of it, she knew--

Then he brought his palm down more harshly, the sound of it snapping into the wetness between her legs as he slapped her clit with a concentrated, sharp pressure, and Kenzie cried out, her eyes closing with an involuntary, ragged intake of breath--the coil of her orgasm was making her thighs begin to shake uncontrollably now, and she knew Duncan could see it in her eyes, see that she was about to let go for him, and he yanked her across the black sheet to the edge of the bed, so she was intently against him, as close as he could possibly clutch her to his open mouth, bringing both hands down to her face, one grasping at her neck again, against the cool gold of the necklace, oh god, Adelaide, if you could see where your necklace is now, Kenzie thought wildly, under the hot fingers of your grandson fucking the life out of me with his tongue, his other hand dipping around the space under her ear, his thumb probing into her mouth again, dipping harshly into the crook of it, forcing her lips open to him, wanting my mouth open to him, she knew, could feel his desire like an intense bluish flood, felt his thumb move down to her bottom lip and press it open, could feel the satisfaction in him when her moan needled up.

He leaned back from her cunt just long enough to spit a rivulet of saliva down onto her clit, then he pressed his tongue there again and she was dazzled with bursts of glittering anticipation, down from her mind into her body to her thighs, and Kenzie whimpered into his fingers, a whimper that became a wailing convulsion--Duncan did not ease his mouth, rather rebounded onto her as the plug tormented at her, pressing into her as her thighs shook, the shiver moving down her legs and down through the center of her abdomen, coursing out in tendrils of white-hot pleasure from his mouth’s avid attention.

Kenzie’s chin lifted back as she came now, her voice pressing out an sobbing cry that rattled every corner of her mind--she felt Duncan’s hands press more harshly into her mouth, harder into her neck, bringing dips of darkness into her vision, could feel the shuddering of her cunt under his mouth, the reverberations of the plug, and tears were coursing down her cheeks in an instant--she was crying in earnest now, but unlike the tears from earlier tonight, prompted by the terrible hate in Bill Shepherd’s agonized eyes and her own rebounded sadness toward the people who had surrounded Duncan for so much of his life, these tears were ecstatic, astounded at the fullness she felt inside this moment with him, utterly shaken by the feeling drifting out of him in surges that felt like a kiss on every inch of her.

Duncan heard her sobs now, she knew, because he’d lifted his eyes up to her from his pressing diligence between her legs--he lifted his mouth away as she came down from the edge, and his arms were lifting her limp, spent body into him now, sliding up onto the bed as he held her so his knees were against the black sheet, sliding her naked body up to the pillow to set her head gently against it, scattering rose petals as he did from her hair now coming undone, his mouth, wet with her sex, coming to kiss along her cheek and jaw. His arms were caressing at her, up and down her waist, along the dips of her breasts and against her neck, but with aching gentleness now, and Kenzie felt like she was on fire with his touch, could barely catch her breath with her tears. She grasped at his velvet jacket, her hands trailing at the gold collar, lifting up to his hair, to his cheek with its sweet stubble, and her tears were terribly hot and their salt fell between her lips, a relief inside the depth of her love for him in that moment.

“Shhhh, baby, shhhhh--” and Duncan was hovering over her, hands coming up to her hair and her cheek, soothing over her there, his elbows crooked on either side of her body, his much larger one enveloping her with his dark velvets and silky shirt, the heavy heat of him, the overwhelming musky-sandalwood-woods scent of him, his desire and his love, the scent of her sex lingering near her cheek now from his mouth as he kissed along her skin, making her sigh and shake, drying her tears. “I love you, Kenzie, baby, I love you--” and she could feel his thoughts, knew that he could sense her relief, the depth of the calmness settling into her now, sense how good (so fucking good baby fucking fuck I love you too Duncan I love you) he had made her feel, and she could feel him smiling into her cheek, feel his joy at her joy and her peace, and she wished this moment could extend, on and on, its perfection shaking her heart.

“It is perfect, isn’t it,” he whispered against her, and she could feel the tininess of his eyelashes as his eyes closed against her, and she felt close to her tears again, had to scrunch her face so they wouldn’t begin anew, and Duncan was saying “oh, Kenzie, oh, baby, if you want to cry, it’s okay--” and she was pressing her arms around the back of his hair, pulling him down against her so she fell into the space of his arms with his head beside her on the pillow, pressed her wet cheek against his heart, tucking her arms down between them against her mouth, bringing her legs together, shivering at the sensitivity of her sex, the deep moisture there from her release and his mouth. His cheek pressed into the crown of her hair, his fingers tangling in the roses that were drifting apart in the chestnut waves scattered behind her. Kenzie sighed again--a deep, shuddering sigh, a sigh that she knew was pushing away everything from the past two days, pushing it away from him too, insisting that now, beginning now, starting now, under this moon, like the all-knowing eye of some resplendent white goddess, and away from the other, prying eyes of everyone and everything, they’d worship each other in earnest, get lost--it’s time to get lost in each other, my dearest love. The days to come belong to us and us alone.

“Wait till you see it,” he was whispering into her hair. “Fuck, baby, I’m never going to want to leave, I know it already--even imagining being with you there feels like--like a beautiful dream. We’ll light a bonfire, we’ll bring the big blanket out under the summer sky, there’s this patch a quarter of a mile from the cabin, the trees part and the sky is totally spread out, and you can see everything at night--” Kenzie felt herself calming, let herself float inside the sound of his voice--the penthouse was blessedly quiet, any sounds from the world outside hushed, 30 stories down, far away. This is the only thing I want in the world right now, she knew, just to be here with you, the memory of your mouth still lingering on me, your hands in my hair, the jasmine-cedar scent of you, the beating of your heart against me.

“There are so many goldenrods in the summer, too, and last time there were all these wild orchids--Annette and Bill had this weekend retreat with all these Congress members, god, it was awful--but--one evening I escaped from everyone and went off in the woods alone and the light was falling so sweetly on them, everything was bathed in soft gold and deep blue, and I think I hoped for you that night, Kenzie, I think I longed for you, even though I didn’t know it was you I was thinking of, I didn’t know it was you I was missing so terribly, but it was, wasn’t it? It was you all along...it’s always been you. I know that now.”

Kenzie lifted her chin up from where it had been pressed against him, and Duncan brought his mouth down onto her, and their kiss was dream-soft and so earnest from him it almost pained her, his mind aching against her--she could feel the slight weight of his cock on her leg through where the pants still constricted him, knowing he was hovering around his arousal again, but also feeling the depth of his tiredness, the sincerity of his emotion inside the memory of his loneliness. He leaned away, the blue of his eyes so bright they didn’t seem real, then he pushed himself up, hand drifting down to her hip, looking down at her, his elbow crooked so his face hovered over her.

“I’m starving, baby,” Kenzie murmured up to him, sleepiness tinging her voice, her hands drifting at his velvet arms. The pillow was so soft under her head, his fingers so soothing on her skin--her eyes closed for a moment as Kenzie surrendered to the wave of tiredness that washed over her. Your touch is home. It’s the highest of all pleasures, the most soothing thing I’ve ever felt. Your touch.

“Okay, baby, hang on--don’t fall asleep yet,” and she felt Duncan kiss her cheek, his lips drifting down to press more along her skin, two kisses, three, four--then he lifted away from her and she opened her eyes, turning to watch his velvet back retreat, his hand drifting through the back of his hair--he glanced back at her, eyes adoring, and she smiled, bringing her hands down to drift between her legs, I can still feel your mouth there, and he grinned shyly (still shy of me, I can’t believe it), disappearing through the doorway.

A moment later she heard him call to her from the kitchen, his voice amused and curious. “Baby, what’s in all these boxes?” She could hear the small sounds of him moving around there, but not their precision--she waited for a moment, still floating inside her post-orgasm, not answering. Duncan reappeared after a few more beats, having removed his shoes and blazer now, a black bowl in one hand and a Waterford glass in the other. He slid onto the bed again, holding the glass down to her. Kenzie propped herself up against the headboard, clutching it in two hands and drinking greedily. The water was wonderfully cold and clear, and it brushed some of the sleepiness from her mind. She sat up more, feeling the plug pressing into her as her ass brushed along the sheets; she shivered out a little moan, and could see the desire flit across Duncan’s gaze again. She smiled at him and leaned over to set the glass on his nightstand; he passed her the bowl now, hand dipping down to her thigh. It had another bunch of the crimson grapes they’d been eating earlier (The Youth of Bacchus, Kenzie thought, fighting the urge to run to the study to look at it right now, thrilled with knowledge that she could if she wanted to, for it hung there), a handful of raw almonds, and a long bar of very dark chocolate in six segments that looked almost black in the low bedroom light.

“Ooo, baby,” and she was squealing with delight at the chocolate, reaching for it with insistent fingers, crossing her legs under her against the sheet. She broke a piece off and lifted it up to his mouth--Duncan’s teeth snatched it out of her fingers and Kenzie couldn’t help but laugh--being with you. She leaned up to kiss him, the sweet, dark taste of the chocolate mingling in their mouths. Being with you is heaven.

“What’s in all those boxes?” Duncan asked again, reaching for some of the grapes, popping them in his mouth, then reaching up to his collar and beginning to unbutton it. He pulled the hem of the shirt out of his belt, easing it off his arms, then worked at the buckle as his eyes drifted over her nakedness--Kenzie felt shy under his gaze, wondering again if that feeling would ever fade. Caught in the eyes of this beautiful boy--truly beautiful, a face that a sculptor would die to render, Michael the Archangel, David trapped in stone, fairest Adonis. And he kneels to me. Kneels and worships ME.

“Stuff I ordered for our trip,” she replied, breaking off more chocolate, twining golden strands of hair around her finger, recalling. “Ghost stories--” she wiggled her fingers at him and he laughed, “--and some quilts and blankets for our bed--I want it to be extra cozy--and for stargazing, a fireside cooking kit--we can make tinfoil dinners, those are so fun--and, well, a bunch of clothes--” and she grinned at him, loving the way his face immediately went soft with the prospect, enthralled with the mere mention of such a thing. Baby, she thought, you get to watch me get dressed every day now, every fucking day, you care stare as much as you want.

“--including these tiny little cutoff shorts, and a little black bikini,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper as she spoke, letting her mouth hang open at the end, her eyes teasing him.

“Fuck,” Duncan leaned in to kiss her, and as he did he bit gently at her bottom lip, sucking for a moment and then releasing her--and then he was dropping his belt on the floor to the side of the bed, bringing his legs over it to ease the pants off, then his socks, then his briefs, discarding them all in a heap, freeing his partially-hard cock. He looked over at her, reached for the chocolate in her hand, fingers drifting down her skin, then breaking another piece off and dipping it into his mouth (your lips, baby). Then he rose with a teasing glance of his own to her, and went into the bathroom--Kenzie admired his ass as he did, blushing a little into her chocolate. Round and smooth. I wanna bite it. She heard the water running, and set the remainder of the chocolate in the bowl, sliding off the bed, wincing a little at the soreness of the plug still inside her.

Kenzie stepped into the bathroom; Duncan was washing his face, and she glanced down, watching the dark makeup swirl down the drain. The Gala really is finally over. I’m so relieved, honestly. Now it feels like I can breathe again. Like we can breathe. This revelation from Annette may have actually been a blessing in disguise. Time to run away with you for awhile, my love. Duncan was patting his face dry with a towel, then he turned to her as she came up beside him, leaning on the sink. She knew he could hear her. Can you take my plug out now, please, Prince?

“I’ll take it out now. Lean down a little, baby.”

Kenzie nodded, and leaned over the basin, moving her feet apart so her thighs were spread slightly. Duncan unscrewed the top of the coconut oil on the counter and dipped his fingers into it--then he stepped behind her and eased the fingers around the jewel at her backside. Kenzie breathed in, slowly.

“Press out, baby.” Kenzie did as he said, and winced a little again, but only a little--the oil had soothed the sting of the chafing there, and the plug popped out of her a moment later. Duncan brought it over the sink and turned the hot water on over it again--Kenzie watched him rinse it with soapy, gentle hands as she pulled the pack of wet wipes from one of the drawers under the sink, easing one of them along the dip between her ass. It came away with a little blood again, but just a little--it’s worth it, honestly, because fuck, you fucked me so fucking good, baby, fucked me hard and ate me out so fucking good, fuck. He glanced over at her as he turned the faucet off, having finished washing her plug--she saw the glint in his eyes, the indication that he’d heard her thoughts, the knowledge of her lust. Duncan set the plug on the counter, and then he pulled her achingly against him, pressing his nakedness into her, lifting her up into an open-mouthed kiss. The roses were still falling from her hair around their feet--Duncan set her back down to earth and turned her gently, and then his beautiful fingers began to work the roses out of her hair, setting them gently one by one on the bathroom counter. Kenzie glanced over to the mirror to watch him as she reached for her toothbrush; my Prince, your gentleness amazes me still. She knew she would remember this moment, crystallized, in the future. Your hands in my hair, the roses falling through your fingers, the blue of your eyes, the drift of your thoughts to me, so soft, so devoted.

Kenzie, he was thinking, I’ll put flowers in your hair in the forest, scatter flowers on our bed, flowers in your arms, we’ll lay in them and forget the world, they’ll weave flowers in your hair on our wedding day, I know it already as if I can see through a window, I can see the halo of your head and a crown of dark roses there, my Persephone, a dream of the future yet I know it’s real, how I long to ask you, to speak it into existence…

Duncan untwined the last of the rosebuds and Kenzie turned to him, lifting her chin to his face, but not kissing him, not quite--she hovered her lips achingly near to his, and heard the quiet, longing sound that drifted out of him against her, his face now free of the dark makeup he’d worn all night, and still so stunningly, completely beautiful, and yet you long for me, she thought, her skin wildly sensitive under his touch, you worship me, little old Mackenzie Stone.

“You aren’t little, Kenzie. I mean...you are little. I love how little you are, I love how close I can hold you--” and here his hands drifted down to Kenzie’s ass, cupping her there, pressing her sensitive sex up into him, his mouth hovering at her chin, “but baby, you aren’t little. You’re so bright--like the sun. Your vastness...it fucking staggers me. It’s like you have a universe inside you, and it’s beautiful beyond all description.You’re so divine--so strong, so brave, so kindhearted and so bright, like golden starlight--”

“Fuck, Duncan, the way you talk to me--”

“Just my entreating prayers to a goddess,” he whispered, lips finally falling under her ear. “Just my endless hope for her blessing.”

“Come to bed with me, hold me, sleep with me, fair Oberon, and in the morning, let’s fuck off into the forest and never come back,” and Kenzie was smiling against the overwhelmingly sweet sensation of his lips, and she felt him smile too and then laugh against her, a laugh that was so desperately joyful that she felt lost inside it for a moment, as though he were Eros and the sound of his laughter was the sound of desire itself. Purest joy. My love, that I can bring you this, that you have given yourself to me this way--it moves my soul utterly, it is the highest of all things, to be loved, to love you. She laughed too, a heartfelt laugh that threatened to dissolve into tears in her throat, and Duncan was kissing her mouth with soft, sweet pecking kisses, and she knew he felt the mingling fall of her emotion, the deluge in her. His hands came around her neck, unclasping Adelaide’s golden necklace, setting it on the sink beside her roses, and Kenzie was moved by the sight, by its shivering, quiet beauty--one is the city, the other the forest, and tomorrow we’ll retreat into nature and find its secrets, she thought. She shivered, and then Duncan was pulling her to the bed, shutting the lights off as he did, easing her down against into the sheets with his (clouded sky) eyes full of tenderness, setting the bowl with the chocolate and grapes aside (later my love, all things later, now, only you, only me, only sleep and our dreams of those other places, only the moon and us) and she was gathered inside his arms, her cheek at his heart again, his sex pressed into her belly, their legs irrevocably twined.

“Kenzie,” he murmured, and she was moved to be in the sudden darkness, in the feeling of him, “Will you sing to me? I love your voice so much.  Just a little, baby, please?”

Kenzie sighed against him. “Oh, baby. Of course I will.” She heard the thought he didn’t say aloud, the shyness in it: a lullaby. My sweet Duncan. My beloved. I will soothe you as you know only I can. She was quiet for a moment, in the stillness, in the shadows, in his arms. Then she knew what she wanted to sing to him; knew it as certainly as her love for him.

“Do you always trust your first initial feeling, special knowledge...holds true…bears believing…” And Kenzie felt him bury his face against the softness of her hair, his deep sigh of contentment, his love bursting into her, “I turned around, and the water...was closing...all around, like a glove, like the love, that had finally, finally found me...and I knew...in the crystalline knowledge of you…”

And then they were dreaming, untethered from earth, together; under the face of another moon, this one much larger than the one they’d left, and lit with a glow that was utterly not of their world.

--------

The light was sweet and low as Kenzie drifted up, back to reality. It’s very early, she knew. She let her eyes linger closed for a moment, trying to recall the dream she’d surfaced from this time; it certainly wasn’t a bad dream, not like our nightmares, she knew. In this one she’d been wearing a very long black velvet gown with a very tight bodice that had exposed her throat to the dip of her breasts--it had pilled around her in huge folds, had drifted behind her as she walked--she remembered with a rush that the Mirror was in the dream, its embellished gold frame distinct, its vastness obvious. I saw myself in it, and I looked beautiful, but I looked--I looked like myself but not like myself. I wore dark jewels on my throat, and...there was this power in my eyes, I could see it reflected in the Mirror. Duncan was with me, but he was wearing something...something from another time period. He wore...breeches, I think that’s what they’re called, and long boots. His hair was longer--it fell to his shoulders in beautiful waves, but it was the same color it is now, like russet autumn leaves, not like the terrible, dark man I dreamt with his face, and not like that other Duncan, the one who had nebulas for eyes, with wings I didn’t understand the shape of. He was kissing my neck--he was wearing a flowing white shirt and he was taking it off, we were in a room with a huge four-poster bed, an opulent room, like we were in Versailles or something, the fireplace was lit and the light was low and we were full of nervous excitement, full of desire…

Here her recollection of the dream ended and she opened her eyes, sighing a little. The Mirror. The Mirror was there. Our Mirror. My Mirror...the one I know belongs to me somehow. It had something to do with that...with me knowing that. Duncan stirred a little against her--his arms had moved in sleep and one of them, she realized, was clutched at the dip of her ass--the other was against her hand between their pillows, his pinky and ring finger hooked around hers, their Cartier bracelets hovering near each other--the diamonds of Kenzie’s caught the early light, glinting into her sleep-touched eyes. Duncan’s stubbled jaw turned up in his sleep, his mouth opening a little, then closing, the small movement of his throat sending a shiver up her bare spine. My beautiful baby. His hand at her ass moved up to the small of her back--drew her in closer in his sleep, her hip bone pressing against his, his hardness (always), sending a little gasp of sensation out from her as it lifted into the space between her legs.

Kenzie hesitated for a moment, longing for his eyes to open, longing for his mouth to fall on hers, longing for the feeling of him probing into her mind--I feel lonely without him there now, I can’t help it--longing for the feeling of his beautifully thick, hard cock to be inside her, but she knew they had a long drive today--the sooner they left the penthouse and got on the road, the sooner they could be in the wonderful solitude of the woods, be at the lake. Alone together. Not like our day at the beach--which was so wonderful, but so brief--really alone together, for days, and free to explore the secrets of each other and the joy of nature. Fuck, I can’t wait.

It had been almost a year since the last time Kenzie was in the woods--she and Claire had gone with some of her old Georgetown friends to a nearby campgrounds and stayed for two nights during the muggiest stretch of August. It had been terribly hot, but the evenings had been so tranquil and lovely and the sunsets so beautiful, and she’d been so happy to be with Claire, and the memory was a good one--they’d shared a tent and eaten burnt hot dogs and canned baked beans and s’mores, got eaten alive by mosquitoes, and laughed with each other a lot, over everything, as they always did. My Clairebear. I wonder how your date with Harris went, and Kenzie smiled, thoughts drifting from Claire back to Duncan, her gaze roving over the man (almost more than a man sometimes, to me, like an angel, his soul having opened to me this way) she loved more than she ever thought possible--more than she would have thought herself, or anyone, capable of. She pushed back the feeling of tears, which always seemed to be hovering near now, and eased herself out of his embrace. Duncan stirred again, dipping his head down, his hand coming under his cheek--and he sighed in his sleep, then descended back into silent, slow breaths. Just sleep a little longer, my loveliest love, she sent out to him, her thoughts lined in gold. Sleep until your tiredness melts away--then we’ll leave.

Kenzie eased off the bed, glancing at the roses she’d tied above it, her eyes sliding to the Mirror (you were in my dream, beautiful thing--maybe our dream, if he dreamed too), examining her nakedness, moving to the bathroom. She gazed affectionately at her Golden Pothos on the back of the toilet as she sat to pee, wincing as she wiped herself--my poor asshole, she thought with an inner laugh, sorry sweetie, you’re gonna need to suck it up and get used to a big cock inside you. She snorted, giggling at her own thoughts, reaching for her hairbrush, coaxing the tangles out of her hair as she looked at the necklace and roses scattered on the sink affectionately. Kenzie set the brush down, grasping the necklace and moving to the closet, eyes watching Duncan in his quiet repose, hair tossed over his forehead; Eros sleeps. It was barely past 7, but she felt wide awake now, the stresses of the Gala--the chaotic energy of the press and photographers towards them, Marissa Montague’s tantrum, Bill Shepherd hissing into her face, his skin gray, his breath sour with sickness, the overwhelming sadness that had driven her to run blindly through a back hallway until she had reached that room that she knew had once belonged to Duncan--seeming far away already. She neatly set the necklace along the stretch of dark wood shelf where she now kept her jewelry in the huge closet--she admired it for a moment, the sheen of its gold and diamonds, fingers drifting over it, the perfect roundness of the ruby--then Kenzie reached for the Tiffany moon and clasped it around her neck. The first thing he ever brought me as a gift--like he was bringing me an offering on an altar. And my offering to him was the meal that I made for us--and he was so happy to receive it. I knew he was. I know he’s happy, truly happy, to receive whatever I give him. Because he loves me. Fuck, he truly does.

Kenzie turned, noticing Duncan had hung her golden gown from last night on a long wood hanger in the corner, so it faced the doorway. Its train drifted in a gathered pile on the floor, and Kenzie was struck by its loveliness again--a dress for a goddess. I wonder how all those pictures turned out, she wondered. I felt so lost in that happiness with him in those moments, it’s like for a little while I lost track of everything that was going on around us. But no. I’m not going to look. In fact, I’d like to not look at my phone at all while we’re away. I’ll bring it with me, but I think I’m going to just turn it off. Kenzie went out through the living room, still naked but for the moon necklace and the Cartier bracelet (which I’ll never take off, only he can take it off me) now; the penthouse was cool and she liked the chilliness on her skin, knowing it would be another hot June day. She moved to the obsidian island--it was clean of all residue of the food that had been spread there the evening before by Erik, Hannah and Georgio, the hands of the still-unseen-to-her housekeepers having whisked it away. I need to meet them and thank them for all the work they do to clean this penthouse, Kenzie thought, feeling guilty. They clean this space so beautifully. They deserve my thanks at the very least. I know Duncan is used to living this way, but I’m not--I’m used to cleaning up after myself. This world is still so strange to me.

She slid her golden clutch from last night off the island, snapping it open, glancing for a moment at her phone--a text from Mom, confirming Samuel had dropped her off safely, wishing them a wonderful time at the cabin, and an alert for an email from Candice, who’d confirmed Kenzie’s requests for PTO while they were away. Kenzie felt strange again, drifting in the knowledge that she’d never really need to worry about money again--god, since when? She wondered. She remembered living on ramen and oranges while she was at Georgetown, loathe to ask Momby for money; thought affectionately, nostalgically, of her tiny apartment, now empty of her things, empty of her life, which was here now, with Duncan. And now I’m wearing diamonds, and ordering hundreds of dollars’ worth of clothes with my boyfriend’s card like it’s nothing. She tucked her left foot behind her right heel, absently toeing a fourth position, the old habit of her ballet classes hovering in her subconscious as she wallowed in the feeling. Then, she remembered the longing look of happiness in his eyes when she had mentioned it last night--he loves to buy me things, he loves my clothes. He gave me that card because he loves to give me things. He loves me. He loves me so much. How does he love me so much. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I’m going to just be happy--just be happy and enjoy this right now. 

Kenzie shut her phone off, then knelt down to where the boxes were piled, sifting through them until she found the ones with Free People shipping labels. Glee fell down through her as she opened them--every day since they met, the way Duncan would stare at her getting dressed sent wild, nervous, anticipatory energy through her body. She thought of him looking at her in these lovely things, these lovely pieces of clothing she’d so carefully chosen to make herself feel beautiful, to make herself feel like the best version of herself she could be, the happiest, the kindest, the most open--the self she knew she had in her, had sometimes been before she met him and was still, the self she would always be, but now even greater than before. If anything, he makes me more myself, she knew. He makes me braver, fills my heart with courage. With him I feel like I can do anything. I feel like I can be the person I’ve always known I could be, deep down. Now, I can be her, that best self, because he’s here, and I was waiting for him. I was waiting for my partner, the person I could share everything with--all of me. I was waiting for my love, for the love that would kindle my heart to the highest emotions, and bring me to life. When Duncan said he longed for me that evening in the woods when he was alone, I knew he meant it. And now I know I longed for him too--in the dark of my quiet bed alone at night, those nights after Tyler and I broke up and I was so fucking lonely sometimes I’d cry myself to sleep in the shadows, it was Duncan I ached for, and now I know that. It was him, and now I feel like sometimes I almost perceived the shape of him inside that loneliness, saw the outline of his face, his hair, his hands. Knew that he was out there somewhere, in the world, looking for me too. And I found him, oh, Goddess. I found him. Thank you, Fates. Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. You weaved us together, tied us with a golden string that cannot be broken. You brought us together again. The wheel turned for us. I’m grateful.

Kenzie pulled a pair of classic black Vans with white laces from one of the boxes, alongside the aforementioned tiny cut off shorts and little black bikini--she also pulled out a golden-yellow lacy cropped top with long blouse sleeves and a v-neck that plunged low, a tie at the front. Kenzie gathered her outfit choices and moved to the bathroom again, slipping into the shower and turning the knob--she used a tie she’d left on the toiletry rack at some point to hold her tawny hair back, and lathered Duncan’s jasmine soap over her body, over the sensitivity between her ass cheeks, along the lips of her cunt, thinking of his mouth there. The way you eat me out, fuck, baby, it’s like--fucking nirvana. I feel your worship in every bit of my body when you do that. Then Kenzie stepped out of the shower, letting her hair fall down again, slipping into the little bikini, which hugged her small breasts flatteringly, then wrapped the gold-sunflower crop top around her body, the cut-offs over her thighs. She glanced at herself in the bathroom’s oval mirror, the wide glow of her eyes, the fall of her hair, brushed to soft waves, the moon at her neck, the incline of her thighs below the little shorts and the dip of her bare waist between--go wake your baby up with your cute ass, girl.

Kenzie went to the bed softly, smiling against her fist--Duncan hadn’t moved from the same position, his head dipping down into his hand on the pillow, his expression achingly angelic. She slid down to him, lifting her leg around him so she was straddling him across his torso, pushing him gently so he was on his back--Duncan stirred, moaning a little, reaching for her, and then his hands fell on the softness of her blouse then to the smoothness of her stomach, the dip of her ass in the little shorts, and his eyes drifted open, their depth instantly intrigued.

“Good morning, Prince Duncan,” Kenzie whispered, shaking her hair around her shoulders, fingers coming up to brush along the Tiffany moon, so he would see she was wearing it. “Are you ready to fuck off into the woods with your baby?”

“Mmmh, Kenzie, angel--” Duncan was blinking the sleep away from his eyes now, gripping her tighter, sliding himself up so he was against the headboard, pulling her against his naked lap, his hard cock coming up between them, pressing inside her spread thighs, against the crotch of the denim cut offs, his lips falling to the space beside her mouth and drifting back to her ear. Kenzie couldn’t stop the tiny moan that fell out of her at the insistence of his mouth and his arms, suddenly--god, you smell so good, baby, you smell like desire.

“Unng, you look so fucking cute,” he was murmuring against her, lifting away from his hot kisses on her skin, his (finally open, oh fuck, goddess, open and full of so much need like a blue sky over an ocean of impossible depth) eyes roving over her, the shape of her in the crop top and the tiny shorts, the moon at her throat, the fall of her hair. “You’re my Princess, Kenzie, aren’t you? Fuck, kiss me, Princess--” Kenzie grinned at him and gripped his stubbled jaw, nipping hot kisses along his bottom lip, one of his hands burying itself inside her hair at the back of her skull, holding her steady to him, the other drifting into the back of her shorts against her ass, his Cartier bracelet cool on her skin--his hands felt the smooth fabric of her bikini bottoms and he let out another low moan into her mouth.

“I’m wearing my new little black bikini under this,” Kenzie smiled into him.

“Mmh, Kenzie, fuck, baby--babylove--” Kenzie could feel the straining in his mind, drifting against her, the thought he was hesitating to speak out loud. I need your mouth on my cock, baby, my poor cock is so fucking hard for you, hard like last night, it hurts, it needs you, I fucking need you--

“You want me to suck your big cock, huh, Prince Duncan?” Kenzie moved her hips as she spoke into his mouth, lifted herself so she ground against him, the denim shifting against his length. Duncan let out a pitiful moan, his eyes wincing closed in an achingly lovely supplication to her.

“Please,” he whispered into her “Please, Princess Kenzie. I’ll do anything. I--I’ll--”

“Shhhhh, shhhh, baby,” and Kenzie brought her hand up to her mouth between them, willing spit from the back of her throat for a moment, then licking down the inside of her fingers wetly, shushing his begging, pressing her lips against the bridge of his nose, leaning away, smiling, teasing. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just beside his hardness, not letting herself touch him, a line of spit falling down from her fingers onto the head of his erection, and he let out another piteous little moan, his fingers drifting at her thighs, staring into her. Then, Duncan rolled his hips into her, and his stiff, thick cock fell against her hand and she closed her fingers around it with terrible gentleness, and he was crying piteously against her, “uhh, Kenzie, Kenzie angel, fucking please--”

Kenzie gripped him tighter, eased her little fingers up to the head of his cock, her index finger drifting over the sensitive hole at the tip, and she felt the shiver fall through him, watched the ecstatic drift of his eyes. I’m never gonna get over how fucking gorgeous you are, Duncan Shepherd, and she jerked her hand along his length again, squeezing it a little at the base, palm brushing over his balls with a weighted insistence.

“This big cock belongs to me, doesn’t it, baby?” Kenzie pressed her mouth against the stubble on his jaw as she jerked harshly at his thick length, letting her whispers drift against him, letting her eyelashes flutter at his cheek, letting her hair fall against his nose where she knew it would fill his senses. The sounds he was making--keening, needy cries, sighing moans of abject craving for her--were kindling low heat in her belly, between her spread thighs, the lips of her cunt in the tiny bikini pressing harshly into the denim, rubbing into her clit, stoking her arousal. Gonna make you come, rich boy. Gonna make you come hard for me. You’re mine, aren’t you? You’re my beautiful baby, aren’t you, Dunny? Your come is for me, your beauty all for me, your moans for me, your big hard cock is for me--

“Yes, fuck, yes, fucking yes, Kenzie, I’m yours, my cock is yours, every part of me is yours, uhmm, please, fucking please, fuck--you’re so lovely, I can’t stand it, you smell so fucking lovely, uhh, unnnh--”

Kenzie spread her legs out further, easing herself backwards off Duncan’s lap as she continued to flit her hand up and down his hard cock--he let go of her reluctantly, his face raw with yearning, and she slid down onto her knees between his legs stretched out on the bed, bringing them together tightly so the denim rode up into the lips of her cunt, the pressure of the soft bikini fabric against her clit, her head dipped down in front of him. She willed more spit from the back of her throat and let it drip in a long slaver from her lips onto the head of his cock, her fingers dipping up to the head of him again to ease it insistently down. She could see his thighs shuddering, his hands reaching into her hair again, tangling there, pulling, burying themselves as if he never wanted to let go again. Then, finally, Kenzie dipped her mouth onto him, swirling her tongue around the hole at the tip of his cock, and her eyes came up to watch his head tilt back, watch his aching loveliness inside her ministrations. She dipped further down, remembering to open her throat to him, taking him entirely into her as she had when they went to the beach house--she didn’t gag this time, but her eyes immediately began to water, and she tried to breathe in but realized he blocked her airway entirely this way. Drool dripped down from her stretched lips, pooling into his balls, and Duncan’s hands were pressing her head down onto him, his cries lifting--his hips bucked so Kenzie’s lips fell to the shaft of him, and tears drifted down her cheeks. Kenzie thought of the way he’d fucked her ass last night, his thickness filling her to the point where her mind seemed to untether, and she imagined him inside her ass now, wishing he could fill both ends of her at once.

“Fuck, me too, baby, me too, fucking fuck Kenzie, baby, you feel so amazing, I love your little throat so much--” and his hand drifted down to grip her neck. “I love holding you in this spot, love choking you into white-gold thoughts--” and Kenzie knew he meant the way her mind looked to him when he pressed his fingers there, the color of her thoughts under the ecstasy of his hands. His eyes seemed to go darker as she glanced into them, and she pressed an insistent hand into his thigh, easing herself back--Duncan let go of her throat and she lifted up, gasping air through her nose as his length slid out of her throat, the head of him still resting against her tongue. She nodded into him now, sucking greedily at him, her fingers coming down to grip along the bottom of his balls. Come in my mouth, Prince. Give me your sweet come. I know how much you want me, I can feel every fiber of it. Your thick cock is mine, my little mouth is yours. Come for me, let me swallow all your desire into me.

Duncan bit down into his lip as Kenzie watched, and for a moment it seemed as though he was on the edge of tears, his face crumpling into a wince that shook her with its loveliness, and then she felt the warm thickness of his come flooding her mouth, felt the intensity of his shuddering into the cavity of her mouth, coating her tongue, splashing down her throat. It was sweet this time--fruits and chocolate, she thought. Beloved Dionysus. Dunny, baby, oh, baby. She let her mouth dip down one more time, let some of his come slide down the side of his shaft before lowering herself to suck it clean--and then Duncan was pulling her up, pulling her head away from his cock insistently, hungrily claiming her lips with his open mouth, sucking at them, tasting, nibbling at her. The sun was finally rising in earnest now--one of its beams scattered along the bed as they tasted at each other, and Kenzie’s heart was hammering rapidly, the sweet taste of his come still on her tongue, the woodsy-musk of his scent filling her head.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered into her, and they were both smiling--smiling with earnest contentment, Kenzie sending drifts of her golden affection against him, feeling the cool blue of him swirl back into her. Her heart felt suddenly too full, the tears not yet dried on her cheeks; Duncan was kissing her again, gathering her against him in his lap again, whispering “I love you, good morning, I love you angel--” until she couldn’t help but laugh, giggling against him as his breath tickled on her neck, dipping her arms around his neck. To be with you, just to be with you, my heart’s going to just burst, I never knew anything could be so perfect, so right.

“I wanna go swim in the lake and eat blackberries in the shade, baby,” she said into his ear. “Let’s go fuck under the trees, in the flowers. I’m gonna make some coffee.” She tried to lift away from him but Duncan grasped her at the dip under her shoulder blades, mouth clashing into her, still hungry. “Dunny, I mean it, you need to get ready, you’re being fucking naughty--” “Yes, yes I am--” and he was biting along her neck, moving his hand down to press into the dip of her ass, a reminder of yesterday, and Kenzie yelped against him, struggling, jabbing her fingers into his torso and making him twist in tickling surprise as she tumbled out of his lap, laughing again.

“You did it to yourself! You tempted the tickler!” she called back as she rolled off the bed, running away from him, and Kenzie could hear his frustrated laugh as she escaped on bare feet. She went to the cupboard and brought down two of the glass mugs, starting the Keurig under one, then going to the fridge and pulling out a mango and a grapefruit, using one of Duncan’s bamboo cutting boards and kanso knives to slice them open, getting down two plates and putting half on each, getting two of Adelaide’s little silver spoons for the grapefruit, cutting the mango halves into checkered squares, discarding the hard center. Kenzie blew on the coffee, setting the other mug under the Keurig for Duncan, taking a careful sip. Perfect. Today will be perfect because I will it. I’m going to push my love out of me and let it fall over everything. I’m going to manifest my love into the world and mold my surroundings into loveliness.

She set her mug down on the island, lifting the sweetness of the mango to her lips, relishing its succulent taste--then she went to the cupboard and brought down a Waterford glass, dipping it under the faucet and pouring a splash into each of her succulents along the window, making a mental note to ask Anchaly to have the housekeepers check on them in a few days. Kenzie looked out the kitchen’s sunny, wide window to the clusters of trees and streets and the outline of the historic Colonial houses of Georgetown stretching far away and far below, sunlight spilling into the long steel sink, the sky almost impossibly blue with only the tiniest hint of cloud wisps scattered in it. I think when we come back, I’ll be different somehow. I have this feeling like--like I’ll know something important about myself that I didn’t know before.

Kenzie looked down into her hands at the mango--then she turned with a strange feeling, setting the mango down on the counter, and glanced back at the grapefruit half she’d left on her plate on the island. She hesitated, dipping a hand over the wave of her hair and tucking it behind her ear--then she sent the gold tendrils of her--of my spirit, my will, she knew--out to it. Come here. Into my hand.

Kenzie blinked, once, twice; then she felt a surge, as though she’d sent out a hook into the air, and then there was a heavy feeling, of the hook burying itself into the soft flesh of the grapefruit skin--and then she was blinking down in her hands as the dimpled weight of the fruit’s cool surface pressed there. Somehow. Impossibly. I made it move into my hand. And I KNEW I could do that. I knew that somehow. It’s impossible--but no less impossible than anything else that’s been happening to us lately. Hearing each other’s thoughts. Duncan finding me just by feeling for me. Duncan moving himself across a room with his mind. Me pressing my gold into people, healing them, pushing Marissa away with my mind. No less impossible. And yet.

Kenzie looked up from the fruit clutched in her palms--Duncan was coming into the kitchen, moving around the island to press a soft kiss against her hair, reaching for his coffee. He was wearing a slim-fit, short sleeve button-down in very dark navy, the top button undone, giving him a much more relaxed look than his usual fully-buttoned seriousness, and slim-cut, tight-fitting jersey shorts that came only to his upper thigh with a tying waist in washed, neutral black. His hair was now damp and towel-mussed from the shower, but to an unaccustomed eye (my eye is becoming accustomed, Kenzie couldn’t help but note with vague satisfaction), it seemed deliberately styled. He looks, Kenzie thought, so fucking perfect. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d be so fucking annoyed with him for looking so fucking good so early in the morning.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured to her softly, taking a sip, then looked at her with some concern as he noticed her eyes, the dumbfounded expression on her face. “What? What is it?”

“I--Duncan. I just moved this grapefruit--” she held the half up to him, its pink interior dipping in her palm, “from the island, into my hand. From across the room.”

“Huh.” Duncan looked down at it, frowning, then moved to the island, brushing her arm a little with his fingers as he stepped away from her, the Cartier bracelet sliding down his wrist. He looked down at the plate she’d made for him, then back up at her, setting his coffee cup down.

“Try to move the other one, baby.”

Kenzie put the half of the grapefruit in her hand down on the counter beside her mango, then stared, concentrating, at the half on Duncan’s plate. Come to me. Into my hand. She dipped her palm down, fingers crooked--then sent the tendrils of gold out of her again, as she knew she could. There was a pause, then the hooking sensation again; and then Duncan was whispering “oh, fuck,” as Kenzie blinked down at her hand again in surprise. The dimpled weight of the grapefruit was now pressing there. She’d done it again.

“What the fuck,” she said, staring up at him. “How the fuck did I do that?”

“Fuck, Kenz, I don’t know, but for a second it sort of wobbled, then it zipped through the air into your hand like a shot. It was so quick. You blinked and you missed it. But it did.”

Kenzie felt dizzy for a moment, and she suddenly dropped the grapefruit half to the floor--Duncan hurried over to her, reaching out to grip her under her arms. “Kenzie, baby, are you okay? Do you feel dizzy again, like you did last night--after you sent Marissa went away?”

“A little,” she whispered, and Duncan was pressing her back against the counter, reaching behind her for a glass (this one had sunflowers on it, from the set the peony glass belonged to) and filling it from the filtered tap, holding it up to her. Kenzie clutched it with a hand she noticed was now shaking, taking a long drink as Duncan leaned down to pick up the grapefruit.

“You can do extraordinary things, Kenzie,” he murmured to her softly. His eyes were so blue--she felt dizzy again just looking up at him, dizzy with how lovely he was in the sunlight. “I have this feeling, baby. This feeling like--like when we come back--”

“Yes,” she was whispering against him, his hands coming around to her elbows, thumbs caressing the sleeves of her golden-yellow shirt. “We’ll be different. We’ll know things about each other--we’ll know.”

They both fell silent--it was all Kenzie could do to look into his face, so radiant with beauty, so full of love for her, tinged with hope and vague apprehension. The worries from the last few days were fading from his mind, she could feel it; pushed away by the more pressing knowledge that was the thing approaching them swiftly on the horizon, whatever it is. It has to do with me being able to move things. It has to do with us hearing each other’s thoughts, baby. It has to do with you finding me last night. Whatever we find out, it’s going to explain this. It’s going to show us what all of this means.

Duncan was nodding, his blue eyes burning like flame on her. “I’m not afraid, Kenzie. Not with you by my side.”

Kenzie felt her lip trembling. No, baby. I’m not afraid either. Just moved beyond words inside the vastness of everything I can feel is on its way. Thank the goddess--I have you. Inside your love, I fear nothing.

----------

An hour later, they were almost ready to leave for the cabin. Kenzie had begun to feel effervescently happy as they packed the picnic basket and two sleek white Yeti coolers with a vast array of fresh fruits (grapes, pears, honeycrisp apples, a huge pineapple, more mangos and grapefruits, little clementines, raspberries, blackberries and cherries) and vegetables (tomatoes, spring lettuce, avocados, celery sticks, mini sweet peppers, baby carrots, little cucumbers), sandwich fixings (turkey, cold chicken, tempeh, sliced swiss and provolone), a carton of organic eggs and a butcher’s wrap of turkey bacon, several hunks of artisan cheese (gouda, brie, havarti), jars of olives, tiny gherkin pickles, round rice and wheat crackers, sprouted bread, cream cheese, hummus, tortilla chips, pico de gallo, and an assortment of nuts and trail mix, granola bars, greek yogurt, almond milk, orange juice, lots of coffee k-cups and a bag of ground espresso beans; Duncan assured her there was a Keurig and an espresso machine at the cabin. Something tells me this cabin isn’t quite a cabin, Kenzie thought. The picnic basket had four bottles of red wine, the cooler had three each of rose and white, a bottle of Stoli, a bottle of bourbon, Pellegrinos, lime La Croix, organic ginger ale, and fresh limes and lemons. Duncan had also packed a half ounce of blue-strain weed and a gold-leaf weed pipe that Kenzie had demanded to admire for a moment before she’d give it back to him. Still discovering each other’s little secrets, she’d thought.

“There’s this little general store pretty close to the cabin, too, so we don’t need to pack enough for the entire time--we can go there during the day if we need anything,” he told her, setting the striped buckling blanket--the one they’d taken to the Cape Cod house--the lovely quilts, and the box that held the fireside cooking kit Kenzie had ordered beside the cooler and the picnic basket in front of the penthouse door. Kenzie had hauled her rolling red Kenneth Cole suitcase out of the side-closet in the walk-in where she’d placed it, after moving all her things to the penthouse--she’d had it since Georgetown, a gift from her Abadaba before she passed away, but it was holding up nicely. Inside it she carefully organized enough clothing for a week, almost all of it new (two cardigans: Duncan’s black Brooks Brothers’, and a new long gray one with large buttons and slits at the sides, a long button-down short-sleeved dress the color of sunflower petals, a short pink babydoll dress with long sleeves and roses prints along its hem, a tiny white cotton summer mini dress with a plunging neckline, a black flowing v-neck wrap dress with a buckle at the waist, a rust-colored, strapped mini dress with the sides cut-out, a pair of short-coveralls in light blue denim, a crop top with banded straps and white embroidery, a gray top with extra long sleeves, an ankle-length flowing linen dress with roses printed all over it), several pairs of sandals (her strappy beige, a new pair of black boot sandals) and her brown Timberland hiking boots (she’d only worn them once--on the trip with Claire last August). Kenzie tucked the velvet ribbon, her egg and plug, the rose choker, and Duncan’s cock ring into the suitcase as well, alongside both pairs of her Agent Provocateur lingerie, her little black kimono, her satin pyjamas, the oversized Led Zeppelin tee and lots of clean underwear. She only packed one bra--and I don’t plan on wearing it at all, she thought defiantly. Wild and free with my lover in the woods, and I can’t fucking wait. Fuck bras.

As she packed Duncan did the same alongside her--his suitcase was Prada (and decidedly more expensive than my banged-up one from Bed, Bath and Beyond, Kenzie thought), made of some kind of tech fabric with leather trim, and black, of course. She stole glances at him, eyes lovingly falling down his form, his eyes meeting hers every now and then when they caught each other staring--Kenzie watched the concentrated squint of his face, his hand drifting thoughtfully to his bottom lip, the fitted perfection of his clothing, the coiled strength in his arms, the fine hair on his legs to his large feet, now in black ankle socks, the soft dip of his hair on his forehead as he leaned into his drawers, pulling out several pairs of fitted and relaxed black chinos, black leather Nike hiking boots, the Armani sandals he’d worn to Yarmouth, black swim trunks, another short-sleeved button-down Oxford like the one he was wearing right now, a Nike club hoodie, another hoodie that zipped, more pairs of black jersey shorts, two jersey tee shirts--black, all black, and a single long-sleeved navy cotton flannel, along with at least ten pairs of the black briefs he always wore, and a dozen pairs of black moisture-wicking socks. He pushed through his hangers and Kenzie’s eyes fell on a black short-sleeved Oxford with earth-tone feathers printed all over it--”Bring that one, baby,” she said. “I like that one.”

He turned to her, smiling. “Whatever you want, Princess Kenzie.”

Kenzie was putting some of her jewelry (her rose quartz, the tiny rose-gold moon, her triple-moon pendant with the black obsidian) in a little travel pouch she usually used for it, and smiled with satisfaction at his answer. “Yep, that’s right.” She pulled the new black Vans onto her feet, skipping away from him to the bathroom, feeling his eyes following her all the way, the drift of his thoughts: Kenzie, my sweet Kenzie, my little shooting star, my firefly, I want to kiss your hair, your cheeks, your feet, the sweet space between your legs...she gripped toiletries in her fingers, calling out to him: “What do you need from in here, baby? I can bring it to you.” But she realized he was coming up behind her then, his long hands drifting around her under her breasts, his mouth coming to her neck.

“We need to get going, baby,” she laughed, twisting out of his arms, her toothbrush, mascara, eyeliner and tube of deodorant slipping out of her hands at his insistent touch; they scattered against the sink. She gave him a facetious look of annoyance and he grinned at her. “Later, okay? Stop being so naughty. We have a three hour drive ahead of us.”

Duncan groaned at the ceiling. “Don’t remind me, Kenz. I haven’t driven a car for that long in...probably at least two years.”

“We can take turns. I still drive Momby around in her old Jeep sometimes, so honestly I’m more used to a stickshift at this point. But I have a quick memory.”

“My little Kenzie driving a stickshift. That’s just sexy.”

Kenzie snorted. “Not if you saw it. There’s nothing sexy about that car. It’s like the old donkey of cars. That G-Class is sexy, though.” He bit his lip at that. You’re fucking sexy, baby. Nothing else is compared to you. He tried to grab her again and she skittered away, laughing nervously.

“Did Madeline get home okay last night?” Duncan was pulling several black Prada toiletry bags out of a bottom drawer under the sink, holding one open to Kenzie to put her things into--she smiled up at him and saw the melting expression in his eyes as he hovered over her. She took the bag from him and his hand immediately drifted into her hair.

“Yeah, she was fine. She told me to tell you she hopes we have a good time. I was thinking, baby--I think I’m going to turn my phone off during the trip. I’ll bring it, but I might not turn it back on until we get back. Unless there’s an emergency.”

“You know what, babe--that’s a great idea. I’m gonna do that too.” Duncan pulled his black iPhone out of his back pocket, holding down the side button, swiping the power off. He slid it back into his pocket, palm falling against her cheek.

“I can’t wait to be there alone with you. Kenzie. I can’t wait to show you everything.You’re going to love it so much.”

“I love you so much,” and she grinned up at him, hand coming against his on her face, cherishing the warmth of it. He leaned to kiss her but she slipped away, her mind humming with mischief towards him.

“No more kisses till we get to the cabin, baby. That’s the new rule.”

“Ugh, Kenzie, that’s hours from now--” and his expression was enough to drive her to the edge of immediately recanting, but Kenzie crossed her arms, turning her chin up in mock severity.

“Then you better hurry up, Mr. Shepherd.” Kenzie gave him a prim look and slipped away from him to the closet, retrieving a tote bag from her drawers--it was midnight blue and had a pattern of white celestial suns and moons, tiny stars glowing in the background. Kenzie went back to the kitchen and put the ghost story books and Duncan’s childhood mythology book in it, then she stepped into the study, moving to Duncan’s bookcases--she couldn’t resist looking back at The Youth of Bacchus for a long moment, lost in its ethereal beauty. I could kiss it, I love it so. She turned back to the bookcase, searching through his meticulously organized library--organized first by subject, then by author, alphabetically. Astronomy/astrology, she found near the top of the first shelf, and hummed with frustration--I’m too short to reach.

“Dunny! Come help me! And bring me the books on the nightstand, please?” She cupped a hand around her mouth and shouted through to the bedroom. Duncan appeared a moment later, Jane Eyre and The Golden Compass under his arm. “What’s this one about?” He asked, holding the second aloft.

“I haven’t started it yet, but I think it’s about parallel universes or something? I think that’s what the synopsis said.” He passed them to her, fingers clutching at her as she put them in the tote, trying to kiss her again. She deftly avoided him, loving the tiny frustrated sounds he made, the pained longing in his sky-colored eyes. “Baby, help me reach a stargazing book. That one up there, Backyard Guide to the Night Sky.” Duncan went to reach for it, then stopped, smiling at her vexingly. His hair looks so perfect. His skin is so beautiful. He is so fucking beautiful.

“Kiss me first.”

“Hey, I thought I said--”

“Please, baby. Please? Just one...little...kiss. Please, Miss Stone. I beg you.” Duncan was dipping his face (fuck he’s so beautiful, fuck, I can’t get past it, I can’t stop admiring him, he just doesn’t seem real sometimes, it’s like I made him up in my head, how can I resist him) down to her, his fingers drifting down the sides of her waist, and she tried for another long moment, tried to fight it, but then his hands were cupping along the bottom of her ass, dragging her against him, and her mouth was opening to him, and she thought fuck it, I love you so much--and his tongue was teasing into hers and she sighed and thought fuck we’re never gonna get to that cabin at this rate and he pushed her against the bookcase, fingers coming up to her hair and under her ear, pulling her insistently into him, and he tasted like the mango and bitter coffee and smelled like rain on cedar wood--

“Okay, baby--” she tried to pull away and he captured her lips again, moaning into her softly, “Dunny--you got your kiss, get that book for me--”

“I love you.”

“I know you do.”

“I love you, Kenzie.”

“I know, you dipshit, I fucking love you too.” She stuck her tongue out at him, but Duncan wasn’t deterred--he pressed his nose against hers, drifting it from side to side, then leaned back to stare at her. His eyes were like clouds reflecting a blue sea; he could see into her mind, she knew, feel the rosy adoration there for him. Just for you, Duncan Shepherd, and only for you, and you fucking know it. You know you’re the One, the only One, exalted in my eyes, beloved. He stared at her for another long moment (divine goddess, she heard, princess of heaven)--then, not without a marked disappointment, reached his long arm up to the shelf and brought the book down for her.

“It’s time to go, baby,” she whispered. “You can kiss me a million times when we get there.”

“Promise?”

“I fucking promise, Prince Duncan. In the long grass. Under the stars.”

-------

It was past 9 when they were finally on the road--Duncan wore his round Yves sunglasses, the smooth glide of the G-Class’ steering wheel drifting under his elegant hand; he was pressing one of his black Puma suede sneakers (Kenzie was amused to note it was the first time she’d ever seen him wear sneakers of any kind, but these were undoubtedly Duncan-style) on and off the gas pedal impatiently, starting and stopping in the Arlington traffic on the way to the Maryland highway.

They’d packed everything neatly in the trunk and along the backseat; Kenzie’s eyes gazed over her dark red roses affectionately, the gold vase carefully tucked into a basket that rested in the middle of the backseat, held steady between the two coolers and the picnic basket. A bellhop had appeared upstairs to help with a cart after Duncan had called downstairs on the intercom, so it hadn’t taken long. It was everything else that took awhile, Kenzie thought, thinking of Duncan’s hot, insistent kisses--she glanced over at him, saw him glancing between her and the road, looked away, smiling into her hand, her own round sunglasses shielding her eyes from him. She took another bite of a half-eaten chocolate-peanut butter Luna bar in her other hand, and flipped the Sirius XM on as Duncan merged onto I-270, heading north--Kenzie had waved as they’d driven past Madeline’s neighborhood a few minutes before, murmuring “hi Momby, bye Momby,” under her breath. Duncan had glanced at her, and she saw his endeared smile. Kenzie found the electronic station from last night, rolling the window down--the day wasn’t quite as hot as it would be later, yet, and there was a delicious summer wind. A sultry feminine voice drifted through the speakers as Duncan hit the highway, pressing his foot fully down on the gas now--Kenzie’s heart drifted up, and she sighed deeply, relief flowing through her. She reached for Duncan’s hand and he grasped her fingers, eye on the road. I can feel your heart lift too, baby. We’re escaping.

I’mma swallow all these diamonds, I’mma make you proud--you’re the greatest of all time, you’re the greatest of all time, you’re the greatest of all time, you’re the greatest...chain me up, trap me in gold, you’re my king, I gotta have you close--

God, this sounds like it’s about us, Kenzie thought shyly into him, and she could see him biting into his lip, his thumb drifting across to her knee. It does, doesn’t it. She twined her fingers into his there, loving the weight of him, the warm halo of his touch, the smooth drift of the car, the cool smell of new leather in its interior. The wind was whipping her hair against her neck, the sun hovering a quarter of the way into the sky, the temperature still in the merciful upper 70’s, and according to the GPS, traffic was minimal all the way to the lake. Kenzie laid her head back into the seat, sighing contentedly.

Pick me up and go, no I don’t wait don’t wait for no one, you gotta pick me up and go, no I don’t wait don’t wait don’t wait no, I’mma glow with or without you, two mil’ in my system I’mma swallow all these diamonds never spit ‘em out…

“I’m gonna jump head-first into the lake as soon as we get there,” Kenzie was murmuring to Duncan, her eyes drifting closed behind her sunglasses in the comfort of this moment. “Let’s go swimming, then eat lunch, then fuck all afternoon--”

“Holy fuck, Kenz--that sounds perfect. Wait till you see the water, today is exactly the kind of day I was talking about, where the sky reflects on it and everything is so clear and blue--”

“Like your eyes, baby,” Kenzie felt sleepy suddenly, sleepy with the depth of the peace she felt, the half-eaten granola bar falling down into her lap from her fingers, her other hand soothed by the slow caress of Duncan’s thumb over her skin. She heard his little scoff, but felt the glowing warmth of his affection, his quiet acknowledgement that she was right. Yeah. Yes, baby. Like my eyes when I stare at you, and you alone.

“What’s the bedroom like, baby?” She murmured to him, her eyes still closed. The wind felt so miraculously good; she smiled in the cocoon of all of it, the feeling of the sun on her cheek, the pressure of his hand, the electronic pulse of the music from the speakers, only a couple of hours and we’ll be in our own secret paradise.

“I’m assuming you mean the master bedroom, which is where we’ll be sleeping,” she heard Duncan say, his thumb still drifting against her, and Kenzie puzzled at that--what kind of cabin has a master bedroom? Her curiosity burned for a moment at Duncan’s quietness after his statement, then the soothing sensations of the drive were drifting against her again. Might as well just enjoy the ride and see it when we get there. You’re being coy on purpose, baby. Kenzie opened her eyes for a moment, glancing at him. Duncan’s face was placidly beautiful, his sharp jaw striking as he looked toward the road--a remix of Ella Fitzgerald’s Blue Skies now pumped from the speakers--blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see, nothing but blue--and Kenzie thought this is how it feels to be with you.  

Kenzie closed her eyes again, leaning her head back into the seat this time--when she opened them again, she realized she’d fallen asleep. The light had changed, was brighter and coming from directly overhead, the sun no longer streaming into the car from the side. Her neck was aching from the odd position she’d slipped into, her head crooked down onto her shoulder. Duncan looked at her sideways, grinning at her. The road was mostly deserted now but for a Prius driving a yard ahead of them and a slow-moving red Corolla that Duncan passed easily--they were surrounded by trees on either side of the asphalt, and it felt like they were climbing to a slightly higher altitude, the G-Class on the drift of an incline.

“Hi, baby. We’re about half an hour away now.”

“You’re kidding.” Kenzie lifted her arms out, stretching, the sound of her voice decidedly sleep-tinged in her ears. “I slept for two hours?” She glanced up at the dashboard; the digital clock read 11:37.

“It’s okay, baby. Yesterday was a long day--the last few days have been long. It’s all been--you know. Overwhelming. You were tired.”

“I said I was gonna help drive.”

“Kenzie, angel, it doesn’t matter. It went by so fast--it was peaceful. To watch over you. It was soothing, to have some time to think about everything. About...my mother. About Annette, I mean, but about my mother too. My real mother. Whoever she is. Wherever she is.”

“I’m sure Annette knows.” Kenzie reached for Duncan’s hand again and he drifted it out to her, grasping her. He looks so lovely in the memory of his solitude, she thought. I can see how his face must have looked at me as I slept. Oh, baby. How I love you.

“Yeah, I--I’m going to talk to her when we get back. I decided I will. There are things I know she knows that she needs to tell me. But for now I think it was enough to just contemplate it. Accept it. That there’s this whole part of me I haven’t known about until now. And it was calming to--to think about you...” Duncan’s head dipped here, his expression shy. To think about how much I love you, about how much I want to marry you, how much I want to know about the thing that’s coming, the hidden thing that’s right on the horizon, the secret thing, the thing that will tell us about each other, why it feels like we’ve always been together, always will be, about the dreams. “And the things that have been happening.”

“I wonder if there are other things we can do. You moved through a room just by thinking about it. I moved objects--I moved a person. I wonder if there are other things. We should try things, I mean--being in the woods alone is the perfect place for us to do weird shit without anyone bothering us,” and he snorted at her, laughing. Kenzie grinned at him, then she was serious again, straightening the smile. “Let’s see if we can figure it out.”

“Okay, baby. Let’s do weird shit.” Duncan was taking his sunglasses off, smiling at her with bemused mischief in his gaze--the oaks and pines gathering overhead and rising along the road were shielding them from the sunlight, and it was shady inside the car now, sunbeams dipping in and out, dancing over his cheeks. But within the playful expression in his face, the trust in his eyes shook her heart; I’d follow you anywhere, to the ends of the earth, to the edge of the universe, Mackenzie Stone. I’d follow you into the darkest abyss. Even that would be heaven, as long as you’re there. A line from Wuthering Heights, a book she’d loved fiercely since high school, drifted into her mind, clashing against his thoughts--if all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger…

“We’re getting really close now,” Duncan said, glancing away from her at the GPS. “Kenzie. I have a confession. I may have been misleading when I called it a cabin. It’s more of a--uhmm. A very large cabin.”

“Duncan.”

He bit into his lip. Turn left here, the GPS chirped, a feminine voice with a British accent. In .2 miles, turn left onto Lakeside Trail. Duncan spun the steering wheel under his long hands, and Kenzie’s eyes drifted to the Cartier bracelet locked to his left wrist, its gold flashing.  It’s me. That bracelet is me, my gold, the chain of us together, the golden thread of us.

“You’ll see. I think it’s..probably...bigger than you might be expecting.”

“Fuck. I forgot. You’re Duncan Shepherd. Playboy billionaire, soon to be CEO and majority shareholder of Shepherd Unlimited. Hot shit.”

“If I’m a playboy, you’re a playgirl. My little playgirl bunny. God, now I’m imagining your centerfold, fuuuuck--”

“Ugh, shut up, god, you’re being naughty today.” Kenzie reached out and pinched his side, hard, and he laughed in surprised pain, shying away from her. “Oww, baby, that fucking hurt.”

“Keep it up and I’m going to fucking spank you next,” Kenzie threatened.

“What if I like it?” He laughed as she jabbed her fingers out again, dancing them along his torso.

“We might just need to test that theory, then, huh baby?”

Duncan didn’t say anything, just continued to smile at her, amused and shy. He turned the SUV down a very long gravel path now, up to a long steel-bar gate with round golden lamps on either side of its entrance. Duncan pulled the car up to a keypad that dipped from an awning at the side, punching a code into it: 070688. His birthday, she thought. His mother’s doing, no doubt. Kenzie continued to drift inside his thoughts--the gates floated open and Duncan reached for her hand again as he put his foot on the gas. I was so used to being dominant with partners before you, baby, she heard him thinking. But I love it when you tell me what to do, and I love to tie you up and worship you, how you let me lead when my desire to is strong, and I loved it when you tied me up too, when you tell me I can’t touch my cock until you say I can, when you told me I couldn’t take my cock ring off, that only you could do it--with us, both are right, both feel right. Giving to you, taking from you, and around and around, like some holy circle we make together. I love it so much. I’d try anything with you. It’s always safe in the drift of your love. I love the way we give to each other endlessly. Nothing in the world could possibly feel more right to me.

Yes, baby, yes, Duncan. Then Kenzie lifted her eyes past the two rows of trimmed crabapple trees that lined the gravel drive--they were covered in red clusters, their very young fruit visible in the dappled sunlight of the late morning. She stifled the gasp that wanted to escape immediately; Duncan clearly heard her sharp intake, however, and glanced at her, his blue gaze hovering between apprehension at any hint of discontent, and an obvious hope for her approval.

This is not a fucking cabin, Duncan Shepherd. This is a fucking lakeside mansion. Kenzie pulled her sunglasses off, squinting at the huge structure that rose before them through the window of the SUV, aware her mouth was hanging open.

“Holy fuck, Duncan,” she whispered.

The cabin, as Duncan had called it, was a two-story sprawling structure, easily beyond 5,000 square feet, made of elegant stacked stone and dark walnut wood, with long, latticed dusky-red windows stretching along every wall of the lower level, giving it a regal romanticism that Kenzie immediately loved. The edges of the roof were slanted, made in dark black oak slatting. There were round string lights hung over every awning, but they were unlit at this hour of the day; Kenzie could only imagine how beautiful they looked at night. The structure’s lower level clearly encompassed more than half a dozen rooms, judging from its length--and a glass-enclosed structure with long wood tables, clearly for group events, was built off the side to Kenzie’s right, a spacious garage next to that. The entirety of the cabin-mansion’s length was enclosed by smooth, decorative white stones, and flowers were planted along the bottom of every window--Kenzie could make out geraniums, marigold, peonies and gardenia. There was a path to the left, surrounded by pines, and down it Kenzie could see a triangular-shaped, elegant white-wood gazebo built in the center of blooming hydrangeas. Inside the gazebo was a long wicker outdoor couch surrounded by flower pots with dozens of pillows, more of the round string lights hung about the eaves, and a long, low drink table with a decorative lantern. A long wooden swing hung nearby from a huge, sturdy oak that looked like it was at least a hundred years old. Beyond that, Kenzie could make out the long stretch of luscious water, indeed reflecting the blue of the summer sky with striking clarity--just as Duncan had promised. The lake. There was a long deck that extended from the shore, and a canoe tied to it with a length of rope, bobbing in the small tide. And I haven’t even seen the backyard yet.

Duncan had brought the SUV to a stop, pressing the smart key; the engine faded into silence. He reached a hand out to her, and she looked at him; is it okay, baby? His eyes searched her face, his mouth opening slightly towards her.

“Okay? Baby. This is like...oh my god. This is fucking paradise.” Kenzie felt tears begin to prick at her eyelids--she fought to keep them back, but it was all so wonderful, so much bigger than her, the vastness of the loveliness of him, of this, washing over her in a suffocating crash. Could this all be a dream, she thought once more. All of it, the last few weeks, my life utterly changed by you forever, my love, the magick inside us now, the magick that kisses every corner of my mind, every corner of our lives, tied together now, the beauty of everything, and you--you, so wildly beautiful, so tender to me in every instance, you, impossibly wonderful, impossibly perfect for me, and yet somewhere defiantly possible--please tell me, if it is a dream, that I’ll never wake up, that I’ll sleep for all of time inside this extraordinary, resplendent dream of you, my dearest love, Duncan--

“Kenzie. Angel. Don’t cry. You’re gonna make me--cry--” Duncan’s voice broke, and she saw the tiniest tremble in his lips, watched the clouded sky of his eyes flicker, resonate with the emotion she could feel from him like a swirling gust of wind; Kenzie, in an instant, threw her arms around him over the middle of the car seats, burying her face in his neck, the tears coming now, no way she could stop them, a little shuddering sob escaping from her. Duncan was pulling her easily into his lap, tucking her short legs over to his thighs so they fell down between the space between his bare knees, the smoothness of her skin brushing his prickly calves, her body pressing flush against his, the denim of her tiny shorts against the soft jersey of his crotch. The warmth and the scent of him--wood, jasmine--overwhelmed her more; you are no dream, my love, you never were and I know it, the time before you was a dream, the time without you when I’m away from you is a dream, and you are the only real thing in all the world. The love I feel in your arms is the only reality.

“I just--getting to be here with you, alone--fuck, baby, I’m just--”

“I know, Kenz, I know, baby. I can’t stand it either. God, I love you. I love you so much. I’m so fucking happy, Kenzie. I feel like my heart’s just going to fucking stop--”

“No fucking way. If it does, I’ll bring you back to life.” She was pulling her face away from his neck, the tears stinging her cheeks; she saw the glitter of the tears in his too before she opened her mouth against his; he cradled her low, dipping his head over her, his arm clutching at the band of her top under her breast, along the rise of her ribs, his Cartier bracelet burying into her hair, gold on tawny gold. She felt one of his tears fall down onto her cheek, sliding to pool at her throat, and Kenzie brought her fingers to his face, wiping them away as he tasted her lips with aching slowness.

Duncan, I love you. With...with every part of myself. With everything I have. He was nodding into her, his soft, entreating sounds making her feel as though she were vibrating, enveloped by him. They clutched each other for awhile; the peaceful sounds of the birds, the wind, the lake splashing far off, the rustling of the trees--that was their music. It held them, drifting into the car windows, surrounded them, made them a bed for a long moment, let them lay together inside it as they tasted each other, as their tears calmed, as Kenzie wandered away from the feeling of tears, into a heady desire for him, an abundant joy. She pulled back, her hand on his bristly jaw.

“I wanna go inside, baby. I wanna see everything and then I wanna go fucking swimming and eat lunch with you and fuck you in every fucking room and out in the grass, under the trees--”

“Kenzie, fuck, baby, we get to be here for days--fuck, I can’t believe it, I’m so fucking happy--”

Kenzie grinned and closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his mouth--Duncan’s words bled away as he kissed her there, lips open, his thoughts rosy with her, her mind brimming over with the gold she felt for him; for the gold is my love, and it always has been. It’s me giving the best of myself to him, because I love him. I love you, Duncan. I always will. The gold is the everlasting promise of my love.

“Baby, let’s go. Show me everything.” Kenzie leaned over and pulled the handle of the driver’s side door, pushing it open with one Vans-clad foot. Duncan helped her to the ground as she slid out of his lap, his grip steady, but very tender. He slid out after her, his chest pressing into the back of her hair for a moment, his mouth kissing down on the crown of her head. Kenzie went into the backseat, grasping the golden vase that held her roses with careful fingers--this will be the first thing to go inside, the token of his love for me. Duncan grasped one of the coolers and easily hoisted it in his arms, crooking his head towards the big front double-doors made of more sturdy dark walnut. He nodded to his thigh, eyes lifting to her.

“Kenz, get the keys out of my pocket, will you?”

Kenzie gently reached into the jersey shorts, staring into his face as she did, being sure to let her fingers brush against the length of his cock as she dipped her fingers into the pocket; he shivered, biting into his lip, sending a wanton promise into her. You’re gonna get fucked, baby. I’m gonna fuck you in the wild woods under the stars, in the big fuck off bed, in the bath, fuck, everywhere. I’m gonna rip those little shorts off you and make you fucking scream as loud as you can until you lose your voice and I’m fucking deaf, angel, babylove, Princess.

Kenzie giggled nervously, her face pressing down against her roses, watching his expression morph into one of romantic longing. My queen of roses. Persephone of spring. Kenzie stepped away from him to the doorway, her Vans crunching over the gravel, and unlocked the door with a rustically-styled key--as she stepped inside she groaned, overcome with the loveliness of everything again, Duncan coming up behind her, setting the cooler just inside the door. The interior of the front room was huge, a spacious expanse she could dance across if she wanted to--there were two long couches in the center of the glossy hardwood, a huge, probably priceless dark Persian rug under them. The roof was a wildly erotic charred black--a huge pair of moose antlers were attached to one wall, the Shepherd crest on another with distinct fleur de lis. A huge, life-sized statue of Hermes in a breastplate, smiling good-naturedly, his winged feet obvious, stood in one corner; a naked Aphrodite in another, her long hair fanning out in an invisible wind behind her, her face turned up ecstatically to some unseen delight, her breasts bare. A huge stone-lined fireplace was against the center wall that adjoined with a middle hallway, an opulent black grate across it. Along the wall that faced the backyard there was a huge glass window, looking out on a long deck with a sheltered deck table and a fence, beyond it, covered in more of the round lights, with a locking gate.

“We’re turning all the fairy lights on tonight,” Kenzie said, turning to Duncan. He nodded with a smile; such a beautiful, earnest smile it was. Anything you want, Princess Kenzie. Kenzie could see the fire pit beyond the deck, its huge, coppery circular indentation distinct on an inlay of deep-set brick in the daylight, low wicker lounge chairs in tawny colors surrounding it. Beyond that was woods--dense from the look of them, though there seemed to be a marked path from what she could see from her far position, the lake stretching to the far left, blue-reflecting and wildly inviting. Plenty of time to explore, Kenzie thought. She could feel Duncan’s eyes watching her again and looked up at him, smiling. She set the roses down on a table near the entrance, bringing her hands against the fabric of his button-down, feeling his body beneath it, the coiled strength in him, the desirous tightness that was lingering there. His hands came around to the small of her back, to the bare skin there above the tiny little denim shorts she wore.

“Dunny. I love it so much.”

“Come look at the bedroom. We’ll get the other stuff in a minute.” He clutched her hand, leading her to the hall, then up a huge staircase with a black banister, a chandelier of Swarovski crystals and gold embellishments hanging at the second-floor landing. He pulled her down the wide, darkwood-paneled hall, past several empty guest rooms, one with matte black decor, one with silver, to the end, where a set of double-doors painted with gold leaf around the edges seemed to promise her something exceptional--he pushed them open and Kenzie oooohhhh’d, immediately letting go of him to run to the bed and throw herself onto it--it was so wide she felt immediately lost in the center of it, sinking down into its luxe, gold-embellished feathery spread, laughing in delight, her hair tossing into her eyes, her heart fluttering against the Tiffany moon. There was an opulent, upholstered gold panel at the head of it, and what seemed like a dozen duck feather pillows piled high against it. Silky, sheer white curtains with gold edges hung across huge bay windows along the wall--through them she could glimpse the lake, its serene surface impossibly lovely in the early afternoon streaming in. 

This room was fitted with golden decor at every turn, gold-leaf along the wide dresser and the decorative tables, each with a breathtakingly lovely decorative gold leaf laurel wreath. On one wall hung a painting in an embellished gold frame: Cupid and Psyche, Kenzie knew immediately, her breath catching. In it, Cupid pressed his lips to Psyche’s cheek, her eyes closed in ecstatic repose, his wings, here portrayed as deep purple, the color of ripe grapes, dipping around her naked form, a crown of violets in his curls, curls like Duncan’s. It was wildly lovely, and looking at it made her long for him, as though it were them painted there, not the god of passionate attachment and his lover. She glimpsed a gold-embellished bathroom through a side-door, and what looked like the side of a polished coppery-gold bathtub. She glanced up to Duncan from her prostrate position.

“This is a bed fit for a queen,” Kenzie murmured.

Fuck. I didn’t realize we’d be sleeping in a bed like this. The mere feeling of the silky spread under her bare legs was kindling desirous heat between her legs.This bed is for fucking. This bed is for getting fucked hard by your Prince’s big cock. This golden, feather-soft bed is an altar for his beautiful mouth to worship the space between your legs. This bed is for you to kneel on while you suck him dry, for you to be tied to while he works you out into wordless cries of euphoria. This bed is for you to slave over each other’s bodies, sleep until noon, and then wake up wrapped to each other’s lips, impossibly entwined, sheets tangled in intricate longings, smelling of your need for one another. Duncan was staring, listening to these thoughts from her, his gaze becoming hot and flushed, the blush of his desire spreading over his statuesque beauty.

“Good thing it finally has one in it,” he replied. Duncan had leaned on the door in his familiar tick--his eyes had darkened deeply to storms, his thoughts dipping low into heady lust, the taste of her cunt, the softness of her skin, the nectar she knew he regarded as her mouth, and Kenzie bit her lip, propping herself on her elbows. Come the fuck here and get me, then, King. Come and get your Queen.

Then Duncan was advancing on her, his arms reaching down for her with a determined look in his divinely blue eyes that made her blood freeze, and she was writhing in his strong grip, with his sudden, immediate ardency, the aching softness of the down at her back stirring warmth through her body, in dazzling streaks of sensitivity. Duncan lowered his lips to the moon at her throat, making her gasp (my moon, my moonlight, moon flower, he was thinking) and then he was drifting down to kiss between her ribs at the deep V of her wrapped, sunlight-colored top, down further to kiss her belly button, open-mouthed, his tongue licking out.

“I think,” he whispered, his large, insistent hands at the waistband of her shorts, his mouth drifting to her hipbone over the denim, “That you need to get fucked hard before we do anything else today, Princess Kenzie. I think we need to christen this bed as ours. What do you think?” His hands were pressing into her now, holding her down, drifting up to her throat, holding her against the silky, aching softness of the bed, sensing how it was stirring her, thrilling her, kindling her desire up to a high agitation.

“Uhhhuh,” Kenzie felt absolutely weak to him, lost in his adamant stare, lost in the press of the tips of his fingers, sensing that they were barely containing their powerful grip on her. The bed, the huge house, the lake, the woods--we’re finally here, she thought. And it kindles a wild lust in me, the whisper of Dionysus, urging us to abandon our senses, and fuck each other until we can’t breathe in the middle of the day on this wildly easeful bed that feels like a cloud from heaven. We don’t have anywhere to be. We don’t have to meet with anyone, we don’t have to go to work, to interviews, to see our mothers, to find bodyguards, to go to stupid Galas, to fight off paps, nothing, nowhere. Our phones are off, we’ve disappeared from the world, we’re alone, we’re together, we have days. DAYS. Holy fuck, baby. Holy fucking fuck.

“Duncan,” Kenzie whispered, and she whimpered, long and low, and his mouth was pressing, hot, aching, at her throat, and his devotion was like a knife, and she wanted it plunged deep into her body.

“Oh my fucking goddess, baby--fucking fuck me.”

[wellhellotragic]

Oh Captain, My Captain (1/2)

So I was going though my google docs and found this little ditty from the first time Colin played in a charity soccer match.... It’s just been sitting in my docs for over a year now unpublished

Six weeks had passed since Emma’s name had been thrown into list of mandatory volunteers to play a charity game for the local soccer club. In an effort to boost rating for the aging show, Regina, the producer, had contacted the head of the club, pitching the idea. Their team would be composed of veteran crew members from “Enchanted,” a fairy tale show based on Disney characters, as well as some of the professional team players. Regina had also struck a deal with Robin, the producer of “The Jolly Roger.”  It was a show that also filmed in Vancouver, and played on a rival network on the same night and time slot. Every Sunday night, the two shows battled for viewership numbers, and each week, Emma’s show was coming up shorter and shorter.

It wasn’t uncommon for a show of it’s age. After six years many of the actors had declined to renew their contracts, and a slew of new kids were coming in. Twitter had been up in arms about how the show should have ended its run during the last season, and if anything, this next season was nothing more than a money milking spin off. Fans were still kind during the conventions, but there was an current of resentment and nervousness running just below the surface.

The Jolly Roger, or the Rolly Joger as Emma and David had dubbed it during a drunk night of binging so they could make fun of it, had only been on the air for two years. It had actually been one of the first shows announced for a season pickup, much to the chagrin of everyone on Enchanted, who weren’t notified until right before the network upfronts. It was pandering, plain and simple. Real pirates had scurvy and potbellies, waxed mustaches and bad perms. Their teeth were black and rotted. They didn’t look like fucking Killian Jones, with blue eyes that launched into your very soul, or raven hair that rivaled a Greek God. No, the show was crap, and so was Jones’ portrayal of Captain Hook.

She hated that man with the very essence of her being. True, she’d never met him personally, but she’d heard things, sometimes in vivid detail. He’d managed to romance more than any man’s fair share of the extras that bounced from show to show in the city, and had even caused a skirmish or two on set when two of his conquests had found out about each other.

Luckily she’d been able to avoid him during the past two weeks of practices and scrimmages. His team practiced earlier in the mornings than hers, and she’d hid out in the team’s clubhouse until she saw him leave the field for the parking lot. David hadn’t shared her proclivity for hiding and had actually talk to the man on their second practice. Somehow the interaction had led to some friendly trash talking and before she knew it, Regina had them all filming mini spots to release as promotion for the game. Everyone seemed to be taking the entire thing in stride, and it irked Emma. Didn’t they understand that they were the enemy?!

The line was drawn when the other show’s cast members starting responding. Or more specifically, when Killian Jones responded to her. Ruby had Killian’s retort pulled up, playing it for David and Henry 2.0, as he’d been lovingly dubbed. Emma had walked onto set far too early that morning after a late night of filming, and she heard a voice ask him who he thought his biggest competition was. She’d hardly registered any of it, still severely under caffeinated, until she heard a lilting voice say her name, forcing her to look at Ruby’s cell phone.

“Uh, I’d hafta say Emma Swan. She seems like a pretty feisty lass, and I’m quite eager to see if I can score on her, or even if she might be able to perform a header.”

The most infuriating part had been the way his eyebrows wiggled as he said it. No, the most infuriating part was that it was now out there, on repeat. It was war.

Over the next three weeks, Emma gave her everything to practice. There was such an intensity to her resolve that she’d started staying late, practicing one-on-one with Graham Humbert, the star of the Whitecaps Soccer Team. He taught her how to read the other players’ looks so she’d know the plays they were about to make, and before long she and Graham had their own silent conversations, making them an unstoppable force.

When Emma arrived at the stadium the morning of the match, it was near chaos. Fans were lining the entrance trying to get autographs and pictures with all of the actors and team players. She signed a few pictures, but when she really started looking around, she noticed that most of the fans were younger women, all decked out in t-shirts donning Killian’s name on them. Some of the shirts even had a ‘C’ for captain slapped on the sleeve. She’d had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she heard the screams and cheering pick up.

She looked back to find the man of the hour approaching the crowd with a sharpie marker already in his hand. She tried to duck out, but between the crowds and security, she was boxed in, and Killian stood between her and the entrance. She motioned to move past him, but as she did he caught her arm and leaned into her.

“Emma Swan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

There was something in his facial expression that set her on edge, cocky bravado that he probably used when speaking to every woman. She gave him a forced smile, but when he winked at her, she’d had enough and pushed past him, making sure that her shoulder caught him on the way.

“Ah, a preview of what’s to come? Oh, Emma,” he shouted, causing her to stop and turn around to face him. “Don’t be afraid to, ya know, really get into it.”

His eyebrows wiggled again, the way they had in the video, and Emma had to force herself not to punch him. Instead, she made her way into the stadium, where David and Graham were waiting for her. Together the three of them headed for the locker room. Normally, it was one large open area, but as the charity match was co-ed, a curtain had been drawn down the middle to grant privacy.

They changed quickly, only taking time to put on their pads once they had regrouped on the sidelines. After the rest of the team and actors had joined them, Graham called out the roster, telling each person who their equivalent position on the opposing team was. As team captain, Graham was matched up with Keith Nottingham, David with Mary Margaret, a pint sized woman who played a tavern owner on Killian’s show. The rest of the list went on, but Emma zoned out until she heard her own name called, followed by the last person in the world she wanted to be attached to for the rest of the day. Killian Jones.

She pleaded with Graham to change the lineup, but he told her that it wasn’t his decision and that his hands were tied. Apparently Regina had made the suggestion that the two leads should be teamed up knowing that it would gather more attention. Internally cursing herself, she took the field for the first play. She had Graham had devised a plan. It was simple really. She was to going to start, play the first half, and be done until the last fifteen minutes of the game - just enough playtime to appease Regina - , but it seemed Killian had other ideas as he refused to be taken out of the game, which meant that Emma was stuck in as well.

She was in shape - at least in good enough shape for all of the physical stuff she needed to do for filming - but soccer was a whole different beast. The running never ended, and by half time, Emma was certain that her lungs were going to explode. It didn’t help that Killian had spent most of the time throwing out innuendoes like the goalie threw out blocks.

Graham had run as much interference as possible for her, but Killian had been unphased, all too happy to being playing the game with men he’d come to idolize. He was in his element, and if Emma hadn’t been too keen on hating him, she might have found it endearing how he blushed when receiving a compliment from one of the professional players. She might have noticed how nimble he was as he slid to kick the ball, or how glorious his bum was as he stretched out on the sidelines. But she didn’t notice any of that. Definitely not.

What she did notice was the very naked fan that had leapt out onto the field running straight for the penalty area near the end of the second half. Killian on the other hand, had only had eyes for the ball, as the man that would eventually become dubbed as the ‘Whitecap Wanker’ (pun intended) nearly collided with him, in what surely would have been an ankle-breaking incident. Without thinking, Emma bolted for Killian, wrapped her arms around him, and pushed him backwards to save him. They both tumbled to the ground, causing Killian to land squarely on top of her.

The wind had been knocked out of her, she was sure of it. That had to have been the reason she was breathless. It certainly couldn’t have had anything to do with him lying across her, or the way his blue eyes bored into her soul. The way those same eyes briefly fell to her lips before snapping back up to her own eyes.

The moment was ruined though when Will Scarlet sauntered over, reminding them that this was a family friendly charity match and they should go get a room. Something shifted and the blue of Killian’s eyes darkened just a bit as he stood and offered his hand out the help her up. She took it reluctantly, but once she was up, instead of releasing her, he pulled her further forward, so that her chest was pressed into his. His lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“It’s about bloody time, but I can think of much more pleasurable things to do with a woman on her back.”

She hoped he didn’t notice the small shiver that ran up her spine.

“I was just trying to keep you from getting slapped in the face with streaker junk.”

“Well, that’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time don’t stand on ceremony.”

She pushed back, schooling her face into something closer to determination.

“Trust me, Jones, you have a better shot of scoring a goal than you have scoring with me.”

They had been so enraptured with each other that they hadn’t even noticed that the game had started back up. Not until Emma heard Graham calling her name and she saw the ball whizzing straight at her. Taking a moment to look back as Killian, she noticed he was still transfixed on her. His jaw nearly pulsated.

Graham called her again and she snapped out of the bubble she and Killian had created for themselves. Stepping around him Emma found the ball and kicked it with all of her might. It flew through the air and sailed straight into the net. The game-winning goal.

The celebration had been lively. Her team had been ecstatic about her goal in the last three seconds. The team popped champagne and danced around her, chanting their captain’s name. Eventually the party dispersed and Emma was left alone in the locker room with Graham, who was smiling at her sweetly.

“You were marvelous out there, Emma.”

She felt the blush crawling up her neck.

“Thanks, but I think the credit really goes to you and all of that extra practice time you put in with me.”

He took a step forward.

“Trust me, it was my pleasure. Spending time with you wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

She had to overt her eyes. He was dancing around dangerous territory. Emma didn’t date, plain and simple. She’d been screwed over often enough to realize that relationships just weren't worth the pain they inevitably brought.

“Graham-”

“Wait. Emma, I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you, and to be honest, I’m not really ready for it all to end. Would it be too forward of me to ask you out to dinner?”

She took a deep breath, trying to stifle the panic she felt clawing it’s way out of her. He really was a sweet guy, and she didn’t want to hurt him, but it was too much.

“Graham.” His face fell, already knowing what she was going to say. “My schedule is so erratic right now, and filming just started a few weeks ago.”

“It’s okay, Emma. I understand.” He clasped her hand squeezed it. “But you have my number if you change your mind.”

She nodded and he released her hands before turning away, pausing only long enough to grab his bag, before exiting the locker room. The breath that she’d been holding slipped out and she finally let herself relax. Every muscle in her body had been so tense that now her legs felt they might buckle under her, and the champagne had left a sticky residue on her jersey and skin.

All she could think about was how much she wanted a hot shower. Looking around, noticing the empty locker room, she considered her options. Ya, she could wait until she got home, but that was thirty minutes away in traffic, or, she could sneak into on of the empty stalls in the locker room. Everyone was gone, and she’d just be in and out. Taking one more look, calling out to ensure that she was in fact alone, Emma headed through the rows of now empty cubicles that had housed uniforms earlier that day. The shower wasn’t anything like she had expected. In high school, there had been separate stalls, blocked off by curtains to protect everyone's modesty. In college, she’d avoided sports all together, so she’d never had to worry about it.

Standing in the Whitecaps shower though, there were no barriers. Just one large room with rows of shower heads peeking out from the wall. It was almost enough to make her change her mind, but the thought of getting in her car with her sticky clothes gave her the push to stay. After all, everyone had already left.

Finding an available clothing hook on the opposite side of the room, Emma slowly began to peel her jersey off. The dried up sweat and alcohol had stiffened it, causing it to stick as she tried to pulled it over her ponytail. It took a fair bit of fighting to dislodge herself from the offending garment, and she nearly gave up, but when a voice called out, the shock had her wrenching it off to cover her front side.

“Oh, love. There’s no need to stop on my account.”

“Shit!”

Of course it was him.

“Well, Swan. You bested me.”

“Like there was ever a question.”

“Don’t be so dismissive Swan. I can count the number of people who’ve beat me on one hand.”

He held up his right hand, flourishing it for effect. She should have been pissed that he was there. She was pissed, but she was also thinking about how his long fingers would feel inside her. Something about their match, their constant drive for dominance over each other on the field had awoken something in her.

Fuck. She wanted him.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 54. Scotland

“Sing me a song of a lass that is gone

Say, could that lass be Chelsay?

Merry of soul she sailed on a day

Over the sea to Skye”

Those lyrics are from an 1870s song about Scotland’s Prince Charlie fleeing from the British after his failed Jacobite rebellion. ...They’re also from the Outlander theme song, but just ignore that.  

I’m using them because the lyrics are a perfect introduction to Chelsay and I’s Scotland escape following lockdown.

I wrote about the lockdown in the last post, but the past five months have been… uncomfortable. Chelsay and I made it through relatively easily, but months of stay-at-home orders, minimal social activity, and the daily onslaught of terrible news take their toll.

Chelsay and I also hadn’t taken a single day off since we started in London six months ago. Without the chance to travel, we didn’t want to waste our vacation days sitting at home. All of this culminated in a pent-up desire for adventure. To get away from the house, the city, and the news.

Flights and international travel aren’t quite safe yet, but luckily we have Chelsay’s favorite travel destination in our own backyard: Scotland.

One of the only small benefits of lockdown has been the extra time to plan trips. I mentioned in the last post that I booked fully cancelable trips throughout the year, preparing for whenever lockdown measures eased. I knew the Puglia and Lakes District trips in April and May had little chance, but a road trip to Scotland in July MIGHT be possible. I scoured the news throughout lockdown, interpreting every story in the context of possible travel: “Did you see France is opening up in May - good sign. And the UK said they might open restaurants in June...”

Chelsay quickly got tired of my over-analysis, but finally, in June, the Scottish government announced they’d reopen for tourists on July 15. I’d booked the trip back in April, but nailed the start date: July 17. Nostra(vel)damus.

With a flood of confidence and excitement, I used our remaining lockdown time to smooth any potential hurdles throughout the trip. Downloading offline maps, saving every possible location we’d visit, researching the best trails and how to avoid crowds - even trawling Google Street View to find where to park (difficult given how rural Scotland is).

We left a bit later on Friday afternoon than planned, so our six hour Day 1 drive had us crossing the Scottish border around 11 pm. That said, Chelsay downloaded some excellent podcasts to pass the time: Dolly Parton’s America and Serial Season 3.

Day 2 is when the trip really began. And within 5 minutes of arriving at our first destination, Glencoe, the dream of our Scottish escape became reality.

We’d visited Glencoe on our 2016 road trip through Scotland, but I planned the 2020 visit slightly differently. Namely, I accommodated a dog. I found a quieter trail far from the road, but still providing dramatic views of the undulating valley.

Maybe it was freedom from the previous day’s drive, but Indy seemed entirely in his element. He was darting off path, investigating small waterfalls along the trail, and thoroughly enjoying every bit of his border collie homeland.

Chelsay and I were swept up in the setting too. This wasn’t stuffy London – it was nature… Raw nature… Raw nature happening all at once: wind, clouds, sun, and rain all within 10 minutes. These are the elements in Scotland, but it didn’t bother us at all. In fact, it was invigorating. After months of being cooped-up at home, we felt so much freedom just steps into our first walk.

I was also overwhelmed by another emotion: adventure. It’d been so long that I hardly recognized the feeling. You start the day in one place – at home, in your routine.  Then, suddenly, you step out of the car, train, or plane, and you’re transported to a different planet. What happened to your routine? Work, cooking, doing the dishes… all gone. Your attention is completely captured by what’s in front of you: colourful Italian villas, wild Australian outback, open Indian Ocean. Glencoe may only be a few hundred miles from London, but this adventurous feeling took Chelsay & I worlds away.

Now, when I say Scotland took us worlds away, I could have been more precise: it took us specifically to the Wizarding world (of Harry Potter).

This was especially true when visiting Glenfinnan Viaduct. Here, the Jacobite steam train passes through a scenic valley along a viaduct twice a day… But the picturesque backdrop isn’t what makes this experience so popular. It’s the fact that the train & viaduct are portrayed as the Hogwarts Express in Harry Potter. As steam billowed into the air and the locomotive let out a whistle, Chelsay jumped around and triumphantly pumped her fist. Indy had the opposite reaction, running away from the booming train as it chugged by.

After a quick stop at fairy-tale castle Eilean Donan, Chelsay and I wrapped up our long journey from London, finally arriving in Balmaqueen on the northern tip of Skye. This trip was really to celebrate Chelsay’s 30th birthday, so I splurged a bit on a holiday cottage. Immediately upon our arrival, Chelsay and I wished we could move here permanently.

First, the cottage was completely renovated – it’s rare for a place this remote to offer Nespresso, Netflix, and digitally-controlled shower, but the owners had thoughtfully accommodated every modern comfort.  Second, and far more significant, the cottage maximized its stunning scenery. Two reclining chairs faced out through the cottage’s wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Some of my best memories from this trip are the quiet mornings Chelsay and I spent in these recliners, sipping coffee while staring out at peaceful pastures and the surrounding North Atlantic sea.

We spent the next three days exploring Skye’s wild landscapes. We’d visited Skye in our 2016 Scotland roadtrip, but despite being a relatively small island (two hours from end-to-end), the 2020 itinerary was almost entirely unique. Chelsay & I only repeated one experience from the previous trip: the Quiraing, our favorite hike in the entire world.  

Minutes into the hike, we were reminded of the Quiraing’s desolate beauty. My description from the last Scotland trip is still spot-on:  

“I’ve never seen solid land twist and turn in this way – the blending brown and olive hues, the fact that there were no trees, and the smooth bending earth made land look like waves.

For some reason, there’s something about this desolate sight that I love: just us, empty space, and open sky (Skye, pun?). There are no city sounds or buildings or buses or people, and there are no boundaries. Just boundless expanse.”

Despite repeating many of the same views, this experience was still unique for two reasons:

First, Indy introduced a new dangerous element. In London, we worry about him invading an unsuspecting picnic. At the Quiraing, a wrong turn could lead him off a cliff. He earned our trust by staying nearby for the first 15 minutes, and we figured border collies are smart enough to safely stay on-trail. We let him off-leash and immediately regretted it – he’s an idiot. He started bounding around the bouncy moss and, next thing we knew, he’d jumped off a 12 foot crag. OMG – is he dead!? I was taking a picture at the time so you can see how big of a vertical drop it was... Thank god he popped up like nothing happened! The only reason he didn’t break both legs was because he awkwardly landed on his face and chest. Needless to say, he was back on leash until the path became safer.  

The other difference from our previous visit was the weather. In 2016, Chelsay & I had to have visited on the hottest day in Scottish history (consequently, we packed extra water this time). In 2020, the weather was back to its normal, turbulent self. The hike started with patches of blue sky – Chelsay and I actually took our jackets off during a quick lunch. It was perfectly pleasant, until Chelsay quietly mumbled “Uh oh” under her breath. I turned around to see billows of rain tumbling over a cliff face about half a mile away. An entire ocean of rain. It looked like the dead invading Hard Home in Game of Thrones.

You could tell it was moving fast so as you read, keep in mind, the following sequence of events happened in under 20 seconds. First, I yelled “Initiate protocol!” (as if Chelsay & I had trained for this) and we hastily packed everything, especially hiding our electronics. Chelsay crouched behind a hill to brace from the wind & rain, and god bless him, Indy INSTINCTIVELY darted underneath her! I’ll never forget his terrified little body sprinting over and literally diving into the hillside. He’d seen exactly what I’d seen (the Army of the Dead) and wanted no part of it. The dowsing ambush only lasted 10 minutes, and thanks to our waterproof gear, we survived... though I’ll never forget Indy’s panicked reaction.

There was actually a second memorable weather-induced experience this trip. Although the storm had passed, heavy clouds remained and completely enveloped the peak. The fog line was very unusual though: there was a distinct line between dense fog and unspoilt views, which gave us two entirely unique feelings. At the top, the brooding clouds felt ethereal and mysterious. We couldn’t see more than 50 yards. Meanwhile, the descent ensured we wouldn’t be robbed of the spectacular setting, providing pristine views of the sweeping landscape.

Similar to our 2016 trip to Skye, the Quiraing was the highlight of our time on the island. That isn’t a surprise: as I said earlier, it’s our favorite hike in the world. That said, our other adventures on Skye were similarly invigorating.  

After the Quiraing, we made a brief some at Neist Point, where a lonely lighthouse sits at the edge of a craggily outcrop. Chelsay, Indy, and I looked on as the North Atlantic waves crashed below, seagulls squawking as they swooped toward the water. What makes Neist Point especially unique is its undulating shape: similar to my quote from the Quiraing, I didn’t know solid land could twist & turn this way.  

The next day, we’d embark on our longest hike of the week: Camasunary Bay, a secluded cove only accessible by foot or boat. This hike doesn’t really have a peak, but rather a long journey through open farmland, leading to a secret beach at the base of the Black Cuillin Mountains.

Along the way, Indy met a fellow border collie named Clyde. I’ll first say that it was extremely rare to bump into people in Scotland (which I loved), but when we did, they often had border collies (which I also loved). Indy had only met one other border collie while in London… and its name is ironically Skye! He met at least 10 in just four days on the island.

Anyway, Indy and Clyde played around in an open heath overlooking the quiet bay. Indy again jumped off a ledge from way too high, this time falling into a bush… He really is an idiot, but again managed to avoid injury.

We completed the long walk without further issue, though Chelsay and I were exhausted by the end. After the Quiraing and Camasunary Bay on back-to-back days, we could hardly feel our legs. Our massive Amatriciana dinner that night revived us, and was hands down the best meal all trip.

We moved very slowly the next day – I’d say we didn’t want to overwork Indy’s juvenile joints, but really our >30-year-old knees couldn’t take anymore. We managed one shorter walk: Old Man of Storr. This is actually the most famous attraction on Skye, but Chelsay and I had previously avoided it due to its popularity. Thanks to Covid though, the crowds were scarce, and we pretty much had the trail to ourselves.

The next day, we departed Skye for Scotland’s far north, Assynt, which is somehow more topographically extreme than Skye.  This terrain pushes most Assynt hikes out of Indy’s (our knees’) range, though there was one feasible option: Stac Pollaidh. “Stac Polly” is just a four-mile hike, but its 1,700 foot elevation provides both a healthy challenge and a view that ‘punches above its weight.’

This view is hidden throughout the ascent, but once you reach the top, the scenery is stunning. It’s like nowhere Chelsay and I have been – like a Scottish Monument Valley: lonely monoliths looming over a basin of stony cnocs and boggy lochs. The setting beneath us had the topographical diversity of an entire continent!

We were due to stay in Assynt for a few days, but decided to make a rare mid-trip audible for two reasons:

Our entire Assynt itinerary was hikes, and we were exhausted. It was time to rest.

Our AirBnb was haunted.

In our 50+ trips while abroad, we hardly ever make such drastic mid-trip changes, but we’ve gotten to the age where we want a little relaxation in our vacation… free from ghosts. Thanks to my Booking.com status (and the Covid-induced absence of travel demand), we found a shockingly affordable alternative:  Thainstone House, a country mansion in Aberdeenshire.

Aberdeenshire is in Scotland northeast, just above Inverness. Its known for its pastural setting (and steak), but also its salty sea coastline. It’s a few hours away from Assynt, yet our couple stops en route proved our audible was the right call.

First, we stopped in the small fishing village of Lossiemouth. I don’t remember anything about the town… We were really just visiting for the four-mile long beach, accessible by crossing a short bridge over the surrounding canal.

Well, the bridge was closed, but the canal’s water levels seemed low enough. After getting drenched at the Quiraing, crossing this dry creek wouldn’t be an issue.  

Wrong. The next hour was eventful, so I’ll break it down in bullet form:

First, the creek was slightly deeper in certain places, but Chelsay remained dry in her tall rainboots. My duck boots were too short, so our solution was that I’d jump on Chelsay’s back, and she’d carry me through this short stretch…

This plan lasted two small steps before she dropped me in the river. My feet were soaked, but no worry. We had all our clothes in the car, so I’d just change when we get back.

We arrived at the beach, an immaculate stretch of empty sand and surf. Apparently, no one else ‘braved’ the canal, because Chelsay, Indy, and I had the beach to ourselves. Well, except the dolphins and seals we saw along the shore! The entire setting was gorgeous: wind-swept grass, endless sandy expanse, and clear waters quietly crashing along the shore.

After thoroughly tuckering Indy out, we decided to head back to the car. One problem, the tide had changed, and the dry creek was now a FLOWING RIVER! WHAT!? We hadn’t even considered the tide when we ventured out… It was too shallow to even think about!

…The emptiness of the beach now made a lot more sense.

Already wet (from being dropped earlier), we decided the only way back was through. The below video is from the SAFER portion of our fording experience. Imagine the scene on the deeper side: Chelsay and I. Waist deep in the river. Fully submerged in shame.

This story may sound familiar… In fact, it’s happened to us before. In Scotland. It was Loch Coruisk, and Chelsay & I were forced to ford a river to catch a once-a-day ferry. What is it about us and Scottish rivers…

Back on dry land, Chelsay and I continued our Aberdeenshire tour through three more small towns: Fordyce, a 13th century hamlet where we stopped at the town’s Old Kirk (church) for lunch; followed by Crovie and Pennan, two salty fishing villages with single-row housing along the seafront.  …After the river ordeal earlier, we didn’t stick around to see what high tide was like.

We pulled into Thainstone House around 4 pm on Thursday, and the car didn’t move until Saturday around 10 am. That kind of dormancy is RARE for Chelsay & I. The only other vacation where we didn’t leave our accommodation for 36 straight hours was Fiji… where the entire island was our accommodation.

The grounds of Thainstone served as an ‘island’ of sorts for Chelsay & I. There was no reason to leave because the manor met every need: elegant dining, dog-friendly trails, cozy rooms, soothing lounges, and plenty of wine & scotch to occupy our leisure time. Chelsay thinks the staff even tailored to our Americanness: they kept playing Chris Stapleton whenever we were in a room alone.

We were sad to leave on Saturday. Not only had we appreciated the slower pace, but we also knew the next two days required driving 11 hours on our way back to London. That said, we had a few noteworthy stops.

First, a brief visit to Castle Fraser, where we stopped for coffee, scones, and walk. This short break was a reminder of the perks of living in Europe: even road trip stopovers included a fairy-tale castle.

We also stopped in St. Andrews, a small, charming college town north of Edinburgh. Over the next few hours, we walked the campus grounds (regarded as one of the best universities in the world and alma mater to Prince William, the future King); took in St. Andrews cathedral (built in the 12th century); and walked the St. Andrews golf grounds (known as ‘home of golf’ and site of the first round in the 15th century). Indy wasn’t impressed – he pooped on the Old Course.

And that was it. That was our trip. We just had one overnight stop in Peebles, Scotland before arriving back home in London…

Well, except… This stop turned out to be the highlight of our entire trip. I’ve genuinely rushed through the last 3,000 words to finally get to this part.

Chelsay & I had an entire castle to ourselves!  

Backing up: I’d initially reserved different accommodation in Peebles, but the owner had accidently double booked. They were very apologetic, and offered an alternative: the ‘Queen Mary suite’ in Neidpath Castle.

I had no idea what she was talking about… I checked the website: a 13th century castle that has hosted Mary, Queen of Scots, her son King James, and poet William Wordsworth. …Yeah, I’ll take the castle!  

Despite this anticipation, our stay still exceeded my expectations. When booking, I thought we’d only be staying in the ‘Queen Mary suite’: a bedroom with accompanying lounge. There were probably other guest rooms though, right?  

Wrong. We pulled up, the owner gave us the keys to the entire castle, and wished us a great stay.

We immediately began running up and down spiral staircases, through corridors, past dungeons, into dining halls, and around the castle’s chapel. We were like little kids. The only other time our hotel had elicited this reaction was in the Maldives (and two days earlier at the country manor… and four days before that at the Skye cottage…).

The castle is so large that we actually lost one another multiple times. One time, Chelsay & I were together but had no idea where Indy had gone… I whistled, but we didn’t hear anything. No movement. We started to worry that maybe he’d gotten hurt or stuck somewhere. We whistled again, but still nothing.  

Suddenly, a *scraaaaaaaaatttcch* came from behind a door.

Chelsay yelped, assuming it was a ghost. Maybe the same one from that Airbnb in Assynt.

We carefully opened the door *creeeeeek*, only to find Indy staring up at us with his mouth wide open. He was having just as much fun exploring the castle.

It had to have been at least two hours before we finally settled down, cozying next to the fire with a bottle of wine. We reminisced on what a spectacular trip it had been, scrolling through the photos to remind ourselves of all the jaw-dropping landscapes we’d visited.

We couldn’t believe some of the scenery… We had just visited these places… We were in the pictures… Yet the settings didn’t seem real.  Glencoe, Skye, that train Chelsay loved, Stac Polly, the river in Lossiemouth…

Scotland’s rugged beauty seems unbelievable in normal circumstances, but the past week felt like even more of a dream given the preceding months. After nearly half a year in lockdown, our Scottish escape was a reminder of how effortlessly adventure awaits while abroad.  

[princessalethea]

How Do I Self-Publish a Book? (A List, With Resources)

I’ve been asked about self-publishing a lot recently, so I decided it was high time to write up a big, long answer with lots of fabulous and helpful links!

If you are asking yourself “Should I self-publish my book?” — the answer is NO. Self-publishing is a ridiculously hard amount of work (on top of writing your novel in the first place, which was already a ton of work, am I right?). And right now there is a glut of indie-published books out there, which means that once you DO get through the hard work of writing and the harder work of editing and publishing, there’s the virtually-impossible job of actually getting your book actually SEEN and READ by people.

But if self-publishing is so terrible, why are you doing it? Because I’m the stubborn brat who did terribly in English class, but never stopped writing. I got a Chemistry degree and immediately went to work at a bookstore. I moved across state lines and made really bad life choices (I once started a publishing company to impress a boy) and went into debt several times, all for the sake of writing because it is my soul. I was orphaned by two major publishers and still refused to stop writing.

If you are a crazy person like me–and I know you are out there (MY PEOPLE!)–keep reading.

Everyone else: submit your manuscript to an agent or shove it back under the couch, and then go see a movie and be glad I saved you from the really bad decision you were about to make.

*************************************

Princess Alethea’s Self Publishing Basics

The Manuscript

When you have finished writing your novel (we’re going to talk about novels here, because picture books are ENTIRELY different horses), you need three different kinds of editors to look at it: a content editor, a copyeditor, and at least one proofreader.

The content editor’s job is to be sure your manuscript makes sense. Is the pacing right? Does it flow? Did you forget to describe a character? Did you leave a plot hole dangling? Did you write an adventure story when you meant to write a romance? (I’ve done this at least twice.) Did you realize you have an underlying theme of loss that you should really explore and carry out through the resolution?

The content editor will give you revision notes. Take a day to scream and cry about these notes, and then sit down and do the work to make your story better. (The content editor’s job is not to find typos, but she might mark a few.) When your revisions are completed satisfactorily, your manuscript goes to the copyeditor.

The copyeditor’s job is to go through the manuscript with a fine-tooth comb and catch all your typos and grammatical mistakes. They will sort out your hyphens and pry the commas from your cold, dead hands. They will catch inconsistencies or anachronisms. They will point out awkward sentences that should really be rephrased. They will catch that you used the word “small” five times in one paragraph. Once you have fixed all these silly mistakes, it’s time to send your manuscript to the proofreaders.

A proofreader’s job is to catch whatever tiny things the copyeditor didn’t see. In traditional publishing, this is the equivalent of the Advance Readers Copy. My ARCs go to my VIP Review Team and my Brute Squad. There are a couple of readers who I KNOW will catch things my eagle-eyed copyeditor missed, and I pay special attention to those comments.

In the course of my two-decades-plus in the publishing industry, I have professionally held all three of the above positions. I am here to tell you that YOU NEED ALL THREE OF THEM. If you are the writer, do not do these jobs yourself. And if you are a writer who CAN do any of these jobs yourself, I bow to you because you are a God.

As in traditional publishing, you should always start with the cleanest version of the manuscript you can. If you are distracting any of these editors with a messy manuscript, it’s possible that they will be concentrating so hard on easily fixable mistakes that they miss something they SHOULD be paying attention to. (And that is often how typos end up in final manuscripts)

My editorial team is made up of my best friend (who happens to be an English professor at a big university), a dear author friend, my fan club, and my mom. It took me a long time to put these folks together, and we are AMAZING. You will find your team. But don’t get discouraged if it takes you a while. And be open to looking in un-obvious places.

Casey has papers to grade, Kat has books to write, and Mom’s not currently offering her proofing services on a professional basis, so I’ve compiled this short list of friends & acquaintances for you to research. Please, DO YOUR RESEARCH. Some of these folks only do one kind of editing, or for specific genres. Each will charge different amounts. Feel free to tell them I sent you, and BE KIND–these are friends of mine!

Renee Murphy Shannon Page Chris Kridler Laura Anne Gilman Bryan Thomas Schmidt Spencer German Ellsworth Literally Addicted to Detail (Chelle Olson) Melissa Gilbert Lyn Worthen John Jarrold Ashley Davis Jenny Rae Rappaport Eschler Editing (Sabine Berlin) KH Koehler Michael Kabongo Laura Helseth Venessa Glunta

The Cover

Even after all these years and thousands of idioms, readers still judge a book by its cover. Your cover is INCREDIBLY important. I spend a LOT of money on the cover art for my novels, and it it 100% worth it.

My cover artist is another amazing author (Rachel Marks) who is no longer taking new clients (because she also has books to write!). Luckily for you, there are a TON of new, great resources out there for covers–even places that provide pre-made covers!

(I do not have a list of resources for these yet.)

  The Layout

I am a Mac user, so I have been blessed with the fabulous software that is Vellum. I have been known to tell PC indie authors that it is worth it to buy a Mac, just for the e-book software. And that was BEFORE it could do print layout!

Vellum is magic for e-books. And I suspect I will be doing quite a few print layouts there too, in the future. But outside of that, my go-to for print layout will always be Polgarus Studio. They have made all of my fairy tale books look amazing, and even helped me when I was having massive amount of trouble with Diary of a Mad Scientist Garden Gnome. Their rates are reasonable, communication is excellent, and they provide layout within a week. LOVE THEM.

  Retailers

There are websites where you can upload your e-book and they will get it out to all the various retailers…but really, it’s best if you do the Big Five on your own: Kindle, Nook, Kobo, iTunes, and Google Play. (Google Play is a bit problematic…do some research…but I’ve still got a few books there for now.)

You will need to set up accounts, link bank numbers, and fill out tax forms for each of these sites. It is not a short process. And every time you upload the book, you will need to input the metadata. Another not-short process–while all sites require a lot of the same information, every ine is different.

Do you need ISBNs from Bowker? That’s up to you. I bought a bunch way back when they were on sale, and I use them mostly for my print books through Ingram…but if you’re only using e-books and Createspace, you don’t need them.

I use both CreateSpace and Ingram for my print books. I did a lot of research before I made this decision. Did I need Ingram? Probably not–they are expensive, and a hassle–but I did want hardcover books. I hear that Nook is now doing hardcovers. I haven’t looked into that yet. But CreateSpace can get you into most of the sales channels you need.

Affiliate Programs

Make sure you are set up on all the Affiliate programs: Amazon, Kobo, and iTunes. I admit, the only one I’ve really seen money back from is Amazon…but you never know. All those nickles and dimes add up eventually. And remember to use these links! I know it’s a pain in the butt, but it’s a good habit to train yourself to get into. DO NOT EVER BUY ANYTHING OFF AMAZON without clicking on a link to a fellow author’s book first. Even if you don’t buy the book, they still get the kickback. IT MAKES A DIFFERENCE. You have no idea how much!

  Advertising

The book advertising climate changes every five minutes. It’s true that you have to spend money to make money, but FB ads and newsletter ads and free sites are so prevalent now, it’s tough to make a list of reliable ones. I will say that BookBub ads are still great if you can get them (don’t stop applying!) and Hidden Gems is fabulously reliable for getting ARC reviews!

Also: Be sure to “claim” your books on BookBub and add them to your Amazon Author Profile (make sure you are set up on Author Central) as soon as the buy or pre-order links go live!

Author Central will be indispensable to you as an indie author. Their customer service is bar-none.

  Audiobooks

If you’re just starting out with self-publishing, you shouldn’t worry about audiobooks just yet. That said, make sure you also “claim” all your books and short stories on ACX. ACX has a ton of great video tutorials…I highly recommend them. And be prepared to spend a lot of money on your narrator–you get what you pay for. My audiobook narrators have blown me away…and brought me some of the greatest joy. Their exceptional performances remind me why I do what I do!

*************************************

WHEW! Okay, I know that’s a LOT of material, but it really only scratches the surface. I just want to make sure I properly convey the scope of the GIANT HEADACHE you are about to have for the next two-five years.

And if you made it this far…I wish you all the best of luck in the world. Vaya con dios!

xox

Princess Alethea

***************

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The post How Do I Self-Publish a Book? (A List, With Resources) appeared first on AletheaKontis.com.

from How Do I Self-Publish a Book? (A List, With Resources)

[winterhawkkisses]

82.

[Also on AO3]

R&R

 Unlike some people in this crazy superhero team, Clint knew how to take advantage of enforced vacation time. Fury had barely finished his sentence before he was on his feet, slinging his bow across his back and heading for the door at something that wasn’t so far short of a flat out run. Straight to the locker room, back into jeans and sneakers, bow tucked away a little more discreetly in a duffle he swung onto his shoulder, and then he was haring up the stairs and out into the sunshine. It had been literal days since he’d been out in it, and he took a long moment to tilt his head back and just bask.

Clint took a deep breath of exhaust-smoke and cart-coffee and the barest gently green edge of spring, and felt a grin spreading across his face. He had no plans – Clint was not a man that planned, it was part of his genetic make-up or something – but there were certain essentials that needed attending to, and Ravi the Coffee Guy wasn’t gonna cut it on this sort of day. Good coffee was worth a little effort, when you had a little time.

Taking the subway felt like blasphemy when the weather was so fine, so he sauntered along the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. He fished out his phone, typed ‘SUN!!!’ and an indecipherable string of emojis, sent it to Tasha – who was probably sparring with Steve, see previous comments about inability to use vacations appropriately – and after a second’s thought sent it to the rest of the team, too. Sam responded instantly with his own set of cheerful emojis, because Sam was nowhere near Clint’s favorite but always edged higher whenever electronic communication was involved. A few seconds later his phone buzzed again, and he was a little startled to see a text from Barnes; even more so when it turned out to be a picture of the goddamn grumpy cat, because who the hell had educated the guy about memes?

Clint responded with a picture of Princess Monster Truck and then shoved his phone into the top of his bag, crossing the street with a herd of German tourists and ducking into a little alley that had nothing much to grab the attention save a chalkboard with a solar-powered dancing flower zip-tied to one of its legs.

Poorly thought through sleep deprived choices, it said, with an arrow that pointed to the street, and coffee with an arrow pointing deeper into the alley and a tiny chalkdust heart. And, okay, if this was a fairy tale – if life was a fairy tale, or a slasher film, or an after school special – then Clint would be fucked several times over, because he could never resist a mysterious offer, and he could never remember to bring a ball of goddamn string. Life had proved over and over again that fairy tales weren’t exactly its area, though, and Clint had a million and one tiny unregarded sanctuaries pinned all over his mental city map.

It was nothing much inside. Bare brick and local art, in the way of hipster coffee shops the western world over, wrought iron bar stools and the occasional sinfully comfortable armchair that would likely be the cause of WWIII. And, somehow, behind the counter, the most goddamn talented baristas, or the most expensive coffee machine, or… look, someone somewhere made a deal with the devil and Clint wasn’t judging, that was all.

 Jin was behind the counter, the shop’s logo stretched all out of shape across her chest, a huge smile at home on face. She’d rearranged the syrups again, by color this time, and on the back counter there was a towering structure built out of take-out cups and plastic lids and wooden stirrers that was threatening to fall down any second.

“Morning, Hawkguy,” she said, and Clint scowled out of habit.

“Coffee,” he said and, pointed, “for Clint.”

“Sure,” she said, scrawled something that was definitely not short enough to be his name on the largest cup they had, then passed it across to Devonte who’d been hiding behind the muffin basket. He fumbled for it, caught sight of the sharpied words, bit down hard on a laugh, and turned to the monstrous coffeemaker with his shoulders suspiciously unsteady.

“Kids these days,” Clint said. “No respect.”

“Coffee for The Least Hot Avenger?” Devonte called, and there was a perfect moment of silence when every head in the shop turned Clint’s way. He let his shoulders slump.

“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for that.”

Clint had sold his soul for coffee. His soul, his self-respect, probably a few other things he’d never had any use for. He dragged out his phone again, snapped a quick picture of the cup in his hand and sent it Barnes’ way. Guns, he got back, mysteriously, his phone buzzing harshly against the plate-glass door as he pushed it open. He leaned against the wall a second, breathing in richly scented steam as he painstakingly picked out a one-handed reply.

Seems a little excessive. Fury’d be mad.

An eyeroll emoji came back. *Flex*. Least hot my ass.

Clint tapped his phone against his teeth for a second before shrugging and shoving it back into his bag, not feeling up to the level of sarcasm that a response would require before the caffeine had hit his bloodstream. He took his first scalding sip, winced and shoved away from the wall, heading back out into to the sun-drenched world outside of the alley.

There wasn’t much of significance to his day. He took a wander through Central Park, ate a pretzel, wandered home through the weeds and cracked concrete, bought some amazing baklava from his local bodega, dropped most of it off with Simone – not every Avenger had a superhero metabolism, damn it – and fixed the leaking faucet in her bathroom while he was at it. The day ended with his feet, crossed at the ankle, propped up on the low wall that encircled the roof, beer in hand and a half-eaten burger on the paper plate on his lap. The sun had disappeared behind tall buildings a while back, but it was still painting the sky in shades of purple and orange and pink. He snapped a picture, feet off center and blurred against the bright-striped sky, and sent it to Tasha and Barnes.

Tasha responded with a truly hilarious picture of Steve Rogers, sprawled on his back and gasping up at the ceiling of the gym in Stark Tower like a beached fish, an expression of pained bemusement on his face.

Gotta teach me how to do that he replied, and she sent back a wink.

You will learn when one of us dies, which was a level of ominous that warranted screencapping and saving in his ‘ominous Russians’ folder alongside angry Colossus and way too many pictures of Barnes’ face.

Speaking of, Barnes’ response took a little longer. Eventually he sent his own picture of the sunset, just as beautifully colored but with something off about it. After a moment’s squinting, Clint realized that it was a reflection – that it’d been taken through a window, and he could see just the barest hint of Barnes’ scowl. Which made sense, since it took a special kind of grouchy to not take advantage of the weather, to stay all miserable and moodily lit inside.

Sunshine not your style? He responded. He left his phone on his thigh, waiting for any sign Barnes was typing, something odd and kinda unsettled in his stomach.

Steve was w tony, Barnes sent back, eventually, and Clint flailed, sitting up and slamming both feet back to the floor. What the fuck?

He quickly called up his contacts list and down to the Cs, stabbing his finger at ‘Captain Cut’ with a little more force than his elderly smartphone maybe deserved. It rang and rang on the other end, and Clint’s temper wound slowly higher until finally Steve answered with a kinda out of breath mumble that meant Clint knew exactly what he’d been doing.

“Clint?”

“Tell me Barnes’s not still on house arrest,” he snapped, and there was a suspicious silence on the other end of the call.

“He said it was –“

“Okay, sure, we’re gonna let the guy with the guilt complex the size of Tony’s ego make rational decisions today. But hey, you got your booty call, right?”

“Clint, that’s not –“

“Fair? No. How about that.”

Thumbing a button wasn’t as satisfactory as slamming down a handset – even a flip phone would’ve felt better. He wasn’t sure what it was that had him so angry, why it felt so personal. Maybe it was the period directly after the Chitauri had showed up, when everyone had looked at him with suspicion and he tried not to read Tasha’s constant quiet presence as something she hadn’t chosen. Maybe it was the time after he’d recruited her, how long it’d been before he’d seen the sun.

He unlocked his phone again and logged in to his work email, ignoring the text from Tony written in caps.

Fury –

Tomorrow I’m stealing the Soldier, assuming clearance high enough.

Then he sat in the slowly dying light and googled what the hell to do with him once he had him.

 *

 Bucky woke to the smell of hot coffee, the mug on his dresser still steaming. Had to’ve been one of the spies, since no one else was quiet enough, and he assumed Romanova since the archer’d been out of there like his ass was on fire the day before. So he was a little surprised when he emerged into the common area to find Barton doing something at the stove, a pale purple shirt stretched over his shoulders and unflatteringly baggy jeans barely clinging to his ass.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, raising the mug a little, and Barton turned to give him a grin.

“You’re gonna need it,” he said. When Bucky just cocked an eyebrow, his grin widened in response. “We’ve got plans.”

“Unless they revolve around the couch and the gym you’re shit out of luck,” Bucky said, trying not to let any bitterness seep into his tone. “’cos Fury’s decided –“

“That I’m a responsible adult,” Barton finished, and shot Bucky the kind of conspiratorial look that made him look all of twelve years old. “Now eat your damned pancakes and put this on.”

‘This’ was a slim black band for Bucky’s wrist. There was nothing visible on it, nothing obviously technological, but Barton had to close it with his thumb, presumably for the print, and it had the cold oddly heavy feel of something that’d come off for nothing short of a bomb blast.

“Just imagine it’s counting your steps,” Barton said, fidgeting with the thing until it was settled to his satisfaction. “Picture yourself as a suburban mom. Your name is Helen.” He looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes, and the sparkle in his made Bucky’s lips automatically turn up into a little grin. Barton’s eyes dropped to his mouth and he blinked, the surprise on his face unflattering.

“So where’re we headed?” Bucky asked, taking a step back and snagging the plate Barton had set out for him.

Rather than answer, Barton stuffed a forkful of pancake into his mouth and gave him another one of those stupid grins, his cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk. Bucky sighed, resigned, and followed suit.

The instructions for dressing were ‘nothing fancy’, and considering how much Barton whined when expected to show up in anything even vaguely resembling a suit, Bucky figured shirt and jeans was his best bet, black on black, battered boots on his feet. He hung a pair of aviators from the v-neck of his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, shoving a cap over it before heading out to join Barton by the elevator.

The guy was already wearing sunglasses, leaning back into the corner as the elevator started moving, a faintly infuriating little smirk on his lips. Bucky figured he was angling for more questions, was aiming to annoy, so instead he folded his arms across his chest and let himself relax against the wall. Wherever they ended up it’d be better than another day working out until he was drenched in sweat, ordering take-out, watching whatever he could bear for more than five minutes on Tony’s giant TV.

When they walked out the door of Stark Tower it was all Bucky could do to keep walking. He’d been out on the roof, sure, but it’d been a long time since street level. The sunlight was bliss but everything else was overwhelming, too loud, too fast moving. Without the focus of a target, the blinkers that a mission put in place, he ducked his head and focused on his feet while he took a couple deep breaths.

Barton was a couple steps ahead when he looked up again. He was waiting but not impatient, expression understanding but not sympathetic, and for that he was a better companion than Tony or Steve, the only others Bucky’d left the tower with since he’d arrived.

“Coffee?”

“Sure,” Bucky said. It’d at least give him an adjustment period, somewhere off the street.

There was a chalkboard outside an alley. Life happens, it said. Coffee helps. The dim interior of the shop was relaxing and Bucky felt the knots in his shoulders ease a little. The guy behind the counter was skinny and short, some kinda twisting pattern shaved into his black hair, and he smiled like sunshine when he saw Barton.

“Hey Devonte,” Barton said. “Two coffees, please. Big as they come.”

The guy set to work, coaxing dark coffee out of the behemoth behind the counter, turning surreptitiously to get another look at Barton when he thought no one was looking. Bucky accidentally caught his eye and, ‘cos he was nothing if not an asshole, smirked a little and stepped in a little closer to Barton’s side.

“Two coffees,” Devonte said after another couple minutes, and his hangdog expression made Bucky feel a little bad, so he grabbed his wallet and left a healthy tip when he paid.

“This is supposed to be my treat,” Barton protested, and Bucky just grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him, shoving him towards the door.

Clint, his cup said, with a tiny black heart. Clint’s boyfriend was on Bucky’s, and he burned his mouth on a laugh.

Bucky had woken late enough that the sun was high in the sky and the subway was deserted, just the two of them in the carriage and an old Chinese guy reading the paper. Bucky scowled at his reflection in the dark window and thought about cutting his hair. Barton was slumped down in his seat, his feet crossed and resting against the pole in the center of the aisle. It should’ve been a precarious position but he was rock solid, swaying with the movement of the train. His eyes were closed and Bucky took a moment to study the lines of him, wondering what the hell had motivated him to drag Bucky out anyway. He wasn’t someone Bucky knew too well yet; mostly he had an impression of laughter – mostly at himself – and deadly fuckin’ accuracy with a bow and a cutting comment.

Barton’s blue eyes flickered open and caught Bucky’s, and he gave him a wide open smile that Bucky wasn’t sure he deserved.

When they got off the train in Queens, Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting; a petting zoo sure as hell wasn’t it.

 *

 The look on Barnes’ face when they walked into the zoo was something else, like he didn’t know whether to grin like a kid or punch Clint in the arm. Whatever the resulting expression was had an edge of vulnerability to it that tugged at Clint’s heart. He cleared his throat, uncertain and uncomfortable because of it, and headed off determinedly in the direction of the farm themed bit, ‘cos he had ambitions of feeding Barnes’ cap to a goat.

He wasn’t sure exactly why it was the zoo he’d picked. He’d looked at pictures of kids shrieking with laughter at pot-bellied pigs and it’d been pretty much the opposite of everything Bucky Barnes – and at the same time it carried a lot of the Bucky in Steve’s stories, big brother and big joker and patience of a saint.

They watched a lamb being bottle-fed, fed the goats – although not with Barnes’ hat – and Clint almost tripped when being chased by a swan because it was the first time he’d seen Bucky laugh, bright and selfless and loud, and the breath caught in his chest at the sound.

Apparently he’d had an ulterior motive. Apparently he was a fuckin’ idiot not to realize that.

Clint trailed Bucky around the rest of the zoo in a daze. He was with it enough to take a picture of Bucky with a rabbit in his lap, at least, and sent it to Steve as something that fell into the gap between an apology and an accusation. They finally left when Bucky’s stomach started growling too loudly for Clint to ignore; their trip through the gift shop meant Bucky carried a stuffed wolf with him onto the subway, its spherical face perfectly matching Bucky’s scowl.

The train this time was far busier and they stood close together, holding onto the same pole. Clint kept his face turned away, watching a young woman’s expressions as she reacted unselfconsciously to her book.

“You wanna – “ he said after a second, “we have this cook-out most nights at my building. Up on the roof. If you - ?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and from the tone of his voice he was smiling, so it was a good goddamn thing that Clint was looking down. “Sounds good.”

 *

 Barton – Clint – lived in Bed-Stuy. His building was old and kinda falling apart, but it held inside it the signs of being well-loved. There were welcome mats outside doors, flowers in window boxes nodding in through windows, a kid’s tricycle trusted to the corner of a hallway. Clint’s apartment was big and split level, and filled with nothing much of anything. He went over to get burgers, brats and beers from the refrigerator and Bucky followed him and leaned against the counter, watching him move without anything like subtlety.

It’d been an interesting day. It’d been a day as far from being an Avenger as it could have been. It’d been the best day that Bucky could remember having recently, and a lot of it was to do with the guy in front of him who had slipped effortlessly somehow over the course of the day from Barton into Clint. And where Barton was safe territory, the Widow’s territory and therefore off-limits to any thoughts outside of ‘team’, Clint was something kinda new. Clint acted like an idiot and smiled like a kid. Clint picked up all the warmth of the sunshine and reflected it back in his voice. Clint was doing something dangerous to Bucky’s insides, and he was pretty sure he liked it.

So he circled the counter and snagged the beers from Clint’s hand, placing them carefully beside the refrigerator in a way that left him pressed up close. He watched with satisfaction as Clint swallowed, as his eyes turned dark.

“Thanks for today,” he said, voice low. “Thanks for thinkin’ of me.”

Clint smiled off-center, his eyes flicking away.

“Can’t seem to help it,” he said, embarrassed and honest and a little ashamed, and that couldn’t stand. Bucky lifted his hand to cup Clint’s cheek, rubbing his thumb across fair stubble.

“I’m good with that,” he said, and leaned in to press his lips to Clint’s dawning smile.

[togreeceandbeyond]

17th of June we took our time getting ready for the day then went out to find the fabled Tram 28. We went to a metro station to buy a 24 hour ticket. While there we were having trouble with the machine not wanting to take our credit card instead of a debit card. A little old man was helping everyone including us. We finally got our cards bought using cash and he said to me could you help me out a little bit since I helped you? I knew that was coming so I gave him some euros by dropping them in his pocket while he was talking to someone else. He smiled and understood I didn't want people seeing me give him the money. It took a while to find Tram 28 and when we did there was an hour-long wait to get aboard. We almost walked away right then but instead we visited with a British couple, Richard and Anne. We had a good discussion with them about politics,being responsible for your own actions, and not looking for a handout. We also talked about being safe and careful in the less touristy parts of town. I showed him my secret weapon, the car keys that had a spring loaded key. He said yes that sounds like a switchblade knife and might make people think twice about bothering you. I told him I thought I could also do a lot of damage with that key if necessary. His back started hurting and they couldn't stay for the tram ride. The couple behind him were from Italy and we enjoyed a good conversation with them before we got on the train. Philippe and Marta live north of Venice and she is a graphic designer and he's a trainer with the Volkswagen Corporation. Whatever you do when you go to Lisbon, don't ride Tram 28 unless you ride it at 7 in the morning or so. By 11 it was very crowded with tourists and commuters. It's too crowded to get a good look at anything unless you're in the back where we were. Then you only see things as you are pulling away from them and you don't know what it was. There was no narration or any explanation of what you were looking at. Just don't believe the tour guides. We got off at the end and had lunch in a cemetery before heading down to the seaside. We were walking along and found out there was going to be a celebration of Navy Day which included a visit from the president of Portugal. We waited around and listened to some boring and unintelligible speeches for about an hour or so. We did get to see and hear the president of Portugal before we caught a bus back to our hotel to rest before our dinner with Stephanie and Nuno. We met them at a plaza not far from the hotel and we recognized Stephanie very quickly. We then proceeded to a neighborhood restaurant which only had about eight or nine tables for dinner. They wanted us to have a typical Portuguese meal. I had  small sardines that you don't have to debone. You just chop off the heads and tails and eat the fish. I wouldn't want to get a large portion because I can only eat two-thirds of mine along with the rice and wine. E had a chicken sausage with french fries. While we were eating a couple sat at the table beside us. He is a clinical psychologist and had met his wife in Buenos Aires when he went there to study the tango. They have been together ever since and is currently touring Europe looking for someplace to work and teach. He is Lithuanian who was born in Germany and moved to the US when he was a child. Quite an interesting background for both of them but we didn't get much information from his wife. Stephanie and Nuno walked us back to our hotel about 11. It was another difficult goodbye because we had really bonded with them very quickly. There was a undercurrent of asking us to spend another day on Sunday and we could have but the decision was never really made. There were lots of hugs and goodbyes and promises of meeting again someday. That rarely happens on a cruise.   June 18   On Father's Day we left for Porto. We never got there because we decided to go to a little town just outside Lisbon called Sintra. There a man started, and his family finished, a magical wonderland. It was like his own fairy land where you come in touch with the cosmos, relax and enjoy life. Maybe you could even learn a little something about yourself. It is probably a 30 acre garden with a mansion. The map was not very good but we were able to find all the things we wanted to see, including a giant sequoia. After that we headed toward Porto. I knew we would only get part of the way there. We found a beach town that had a tourist rural place about eight klicks out of town which was inexpensive including breakfast. We found out why it was inexpensive. It was clean but it was like a 1950s or 60s motel on Route 66. Only one outlet in the bedroom connected a TV refrigerator and one cell phone. The people were very nice. We had a good night sleep because it was very quiet. We left fairly early for Porto. We wanted to see the best preserved Roman ruins on the Iberian Peninsula so we stopped there on the way to Porto. It was very nice, well-preserved, and very extensive.   The smoke from the large forest fire that was northeast of us was very thick and pungent. As of Monday afternoon, 62 people had been killed in the forest fire. Most of them were killed in their cars as they were trying to flee the forest fire. It has been very dry and hot in Portugal and Spain the spring.   After that we headed to a another must see place called Mata de Forest which is a 2000 year old monastery for people to go visit and meditate. It was started by some monks who planted over 700 species of plants from around the world. It is a spectacular place with miles and miles of paths through the forest to see many things including the cedar of Joseph. It's supposed to be the oldest tree in the forest. At some point people came to this area and harmed the plants. Pope somebody the six made an edict that anyone who destroyed anything at the forest will be excommunicated. While wandering around on a one and a half hour walk that had been suggested by the information office, we encountered a couple from Israel who were looking for the same sights as we we were. They were lost and decided I couldn't do any worse. We finished our walk with them and had coffee before we left the park to go Porto. They are very interesting and we exchanged emails so we can keep in touch. We now have a place to sleep in Jerusalem if we decide to go to Israel someday. I think that brings us up to Monday evening. We got to Porto late but found an apartment near downtown that we couldn't drive to, or so we thought, with GPS directions. I found a parking place but GPS said we were less than 100 m from our apartment. Two guys were in the street directing people into the parking places that you had to pay for so I didn't know their racket. We weren't sure of the parking restrictions and Elizabeth went into a local store to find out. They said we could park there until 8 in the morning. When I parked one of the gentleman came up to me and started talking. I asked him if he were going to keep an eye on my car. Not sure if he understood or not but I said I didn't want anything to happen to my car and I took a picture of him and said in case something happens, I'll show your picture to the police. His friend said can you take my picture to? That's when I knew they were just looking for a handout, but I went in to ask the store owner if that were true and should I be worried? She said not to worry, they won't bother your car. They just look for $0.50 or an euro. It turned out our hotel was about 75 feet from where we parked. Luckily for us the clerk had not gone home on time and he was still there when we rang the doorbell. He helped us get settled before he left for the evening. We went to the grocery store for provisions because we were too tired to go out to eat. The apartment is a really nice place, king bed, living room/dining room combination with a fold-out sofa, full kitchen and a great bathroom. It's obvious that some entrepreneurs are renovating apartment buildings downtown for rental properties. There are a lot of buildings being renovated and the one across the alley from us is renovated on the front portion and the back, off the street, of the same building is in ruins. We got up early so we could move the car and find a 24-hour parking garage. Google was no help so we started driving and found one about half a mile from the hotel. We then headed downtown to see the church that everyone recommends and the bridge that was designed and built by Gustave Eiffel's student around 1886. It was a rather interesting walk up and down through narrow alleys and streets, sometimes along the waterfront. We were walking up a long flight of stairs and met a young woman from Vancouver, British Columbia, looking for a church. We got her going in the right direction and as we were saying goodbye to her, a French couple came up and asked if we knew where the bridge was. We said we thought we did but we should Google it.  It was only 150 meters away but we couldn't see it for the buildings.  They had walked right past it to where we had met them. We walked across the bridge part way with the French couple. After taking in the sights, we decided to go back to our hotel for lunch. On the way back across the bridge, we ran into the French couple again and had a 30 minute conversation about French politics, England getting out of the EU and how convenient it was to travel with one currency, the Euro. John Peter (Jacques? Pierre) had moved to Paris to try to find a job because it was hard to find a job as a software engineer. His wife Laure works with an import-export company and her English comes in handy. She had actually studied in the Lake of the Dardanelles in Arkansas on an exchange trip many years ago.  It's very interesting when people open up to you and tell you what's really on their mind, the second time you run into them. We had a very open, interesting and intellectual conversation about travel, enjoying the fruits of our labor and travelling while healthy.  Since we have bumped into them twice and had really enjoyed their conversation, we gave them a business card in case they ever come to America to visit. On the way back to the hotel we bumped into Michael, who is selling tickets on a train ride around some wineries, with sampling, followed by a 40 minute river boat cruise for only 22 Euros. We said we don't usually do that but you seem like a nice chap. He was curious about my accent. I told him I was from New York but he said it sounded more southern to him. I teased him for a little bit before we told him the truth. He speaks English, French and Portuguese probably with a little Spanish thrown in. He was supposed to go to England to work this summer but decided he wanted to stay home with his friends. We're glad and we reserved a seat on the train and on the boat. We’ll have a late dinner tonight (for us) on the river before going on the Douro river valley road tomorrow on our way to northern Spain.  

[rosemaidenvixen]

You are my Sunshine

Chapter 10: Eleven

Ao3

“Ok everyone, keep your eyes on your teacher and don’t let go of your partner’s hand,” the chaperone called out as they got off the bus.

Jim clasped his hand to Toby’s and followed their class off the bus. They were old enough that they shouldn’t have to hold hands on field trips, but it wasn’t worth arguing with their teacher about it.

Their teacher, Mr. Rhodes, had gathered their class at the main gate and had started talking about the gold rush and how this mine was important and historical. Other kids kept trying to interrupt him and ask when they could see the gift shop.

Jim glanced ahead and got his first view of the mine. It was tough to miss; a giant hole carved into the side of the mountain leading down into the earth.

Once the whole class was there, Mr. Rhodes led them to the entrance of the gold mine. Then they had to stop and wait for half the class to go to the bathroom and  then  they had to listen to Mr. Rhodes give another long-winded lecture about safety and how important it was that they followed the rules inside the mine.

This was always the most boring part of field trips, he had just started and half the class was yawning already. While tuning out Mr. Rhodes, Jim found himself reading the big sign right outside the mine entrance. It was actually pretty interesting, more than Mr. Rhodes anyway.  According to the sign, there were strange creatures called Tommyknockers that lived inside the mine.

Mr. Rhodes finally stopped talking and started leading the class inside the mine. Jim stayed where he was, wanting to finish reading about the Tommyknockers.

Toby nervously tugged on Jim’s hand “Hurry up Jim, they’re going to leave us behind,”

Jim shrugged him off “Go ahead, I’ll catch up when I’m done,”

Toby squirmed for a bit before dropping Jim’s hand and darting off to catch up with the class, leaving Jim alone outside.

Jim eyes scanned the lines of text and pictures on the sign. Apparently there had been a bunch of strange noises and sightings of weird creatures in the mines, the miners had called the creatures Tommyknockers. And the miners believed that if they left them presents, the Tommyknockers would protect them from cave-ins.

Once he was finished reading, Jim stood in place for a while, pondering over what he’d just read.

Were the Tommyknockers real? Not pretend-real like Santa Claus or the Tooth fairy, but  really real. He was pretty sure most people would say that they weren’t, and that they were just figments of the miners’ imagination. But Jim knew better than most people that there were strange, magical things in the world that defied explanation.

Jim looked ahead at his retreating class. They were really far into the mine now. If he didn’t catch up with them soon he’d be in big trouble.

Knowing he only had a short time before Mr. Rhodes noticed he was behind, Jim ran into the mine. He sprinted into the rough-hewn cave, the air turning cool and stale as he descended into the earth, gravel crunching underneath his sneakers. In no time at all, Jim was at the back of the class, he could even see Toby walking a just little ahead of him. Relieved and panting from exertion, Jim slowed to a walk. He was just about to announce himself to Toby when he felt something.

Something he’d only ever felt at sundown.

The shock was enough to stop Jim in his tracks.

He looked down at his hands.

They were blue.

Jim could feel the blood rushing in his ears.

He flexed his arms and raised his shoulders.

His clothes were too tight.

With trembling hands Jim reached up into his hair.

His horns were out.

Jim frantically looked back at the entrance, staring in disbelief at the bright sunshine pouring in through the cave mouth.

He had changed.

In the middle of the day.

“Hey Jim, do you think any miners are buried in here?”

Toby’s question brought Jim crashing back down to reality.

If anyone in his class turned around right now or if anyone new came into the mine they’d be able to see his blue form.

He needed to get out of here  now .

Jim spun around and bolted for the entrance, barely aware of another shift happening as he rushed out, not stopping until he made it back to the sign, gasping for air. He looked down at his hands; they were soft and fleshy. He raised and lowered his shoulders; his clothes fit again. Nervously, Jim reached into his hair; no more horns.

He was back to normal.

Jim slumped to the ground, limp with relief.

He was normal again.

But why had he turned blue, it was the  day ! He was only supposed to turn blue at night, why had he transformed now?

“Jim, get back with the group!” Mr. Rhodes shouted from the cave.

A sharp spike of fear instantly immobilized Jim against the ground. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

He couldn’t go back in there. Jim had only turned blue when he’d gone into the cave. If he went back in there, he might turn blue again.

In public, where people could  see  him.

And if people saw him they’d yell and scream and call the police.

And if the police came they’d lock him in a cell and call the government. Then the government would send men in black to come and take him away and never let him see his mom or Toby ever again.

“Jim!”

The anger in Mr. Rhodes’ voice was enough to snap Jim out of his paralysis, he scrambled to his feet and ran in the opposite direction of the mine entrance.

He didn’t care about how mad Mr. Rhodes was going to get or how much trouble he would be in.

He couldn’t go back in the mine, he just couldn’t!

Barbara only had six minutes left in her lunch break and her burrito was lukewarm and getting colder by the second. But neither of those things mattered as much as the single line of text on her laptop screen.

After years of research she had finally found it.

The same name that came up in the obituary, the census, and the housing record. The person who had died and left a cursed bath bomb among their belongings to be sold at an estate sale and purchased by Barbara.

Sarah Good.

Barbara could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, her hands shook as she scrolled down the screen. They had a name now, an identity, a human being to connect to the object that had destroyed both of their lives. She could track down this woman’s family, get some answers, find out where that damned bath bomb had come from in the first place.

And figure out how to undo whatever it had done to Jim.

“Dr Lake?” the receptionist called from down the hall, startling Barbara out of the rapture of her discovery.

In an irrational bout of paranoia Barbara shut the laptop, not that there was anything wrong with looking at old censuses and housing records, but it never hurt to be cautious, and headed over to the desk “What is it?”

The receptionist nervously held out the phone “A phone call….about your son?”

Switching gears from Dr. Lake to Mom, Barbara took the offered phone phone and held it to her ear “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Barbara Lake?” a female voice asked.

“Yes, and it’s Dr. Lake, ”

“I’m one of the chaperones for Jim’s class….,” the voice hesitated “I’m not really sure what to tell you….”

That wasn’t reassuring at all.

“Is Jim ok?”

“He’s fine….physically,”

Barbara felt her heart rate triple “What happened?”

“Well everything was going fine an hour ago, right up until we started the gold mine tour….then he just….freaked out,”

It was getting harder and harder to resist snapping at this woman “What do you mean ‘freaked out’?”

“He just started screaming and crying and refused to go into the mine, I don’t know what’s happening with him,”

“Where is Jim now?”

The chaperone hesitated before answering “....He’s in the visitor’s center with one of the teachers….I think he’s still pretty messed up,”

Barbara nearly dropped the phone, Jim had been having some kind of breakdown for over an hour and they were only now just calling her?

“So is this a regular thing for Jim? Because if it is--”

“I’m coming down there,”

That caught the chaperone off guard “Oh, well….I’m not really sure if--”

Barbara hung up. The chaperone was probably just doing best she could, she didn’t deserve to have Barbara curse her out.

As fast as she could, Barbara signed out with her supervisor and went to her car, heart pounding the entire time. What could have happened on the field trip, what could have upset Jim so badly?

The mine was an hour away, but by playing fast and loose with the speed limit, Barbara managed to make it there in just over forty minutes.

By the time she pulled into gold mine’s parking lot she was a nervous wreck, all of the potential misfortunes that could have befallen Jim flashed through her mind.

Barbara stepped out of the car and all but ran to the visitor’s center. A young woman in a t-shirt with the school’s logo was standing outside looking at her phone.

“Are you one of the chaperones?”

She jerked her head up, startled by Barbara’s sudden appearance “Oh-- yeah that’s me,” she looked back towards her phone “I’ve been trying to Google ways to help kids calm down, so do you know if this is a panic attack or--”

“Is Jim still inside the visitor’s center?”

Right as she finished asking, the muffled sound of raised voices wafted out of the aforementioned building.

The chaperone at least had the grace to look sheepish “He is, but I don’t--”

Ignoring anything else the chaperone had to say, Barbara dashed past her and opened the door, instantly making the muted shouts crystal clear.

“--acting like a goddamn baby!”

The visitors center was composed of a medium sized room with a small service desk. Over in the corner Jim was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees and tears streaming down his cheeks, while one of his teachers, Rhodes if she remembered right, stood over him yelling.

Seeing a grown man shouting down at her son, who was clearly crying his eyes out, brought out a dark, primal emotion in her. One that demanded she decapitate this man on the spot.

Barbara stormed over to them, forcing down any violent urges “Don’t you  dare talk to my son that way!”

Jim instantly perked up at the appearance of his mother while Rhodes practically jumped out of his skin, spooked by the anger in her voice.

“Mrs. Lake? What are you--”

“It’s  Doctor  Lake,” she cut him off, practically spitting venom “Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh-- I-- it’s….” Rhodes stammered for a reply “We were heading into the mine when Jim started panicking out of the blue, we tried to ask him what was wrong but he won’t say,”

“Let me talk to him,” Barbara walked past Rhodes and bent down to be at Jim’s level.

Without preamble Jim scrambled upright and threw his arms around her neck. Surprised by the sudden contact, Barbara froze for a few seconds before she returned the embrace.

Jim was in middle school, very much not a little boy anymore, something truly awful must have happened to send him running to her like this

“Can you tell me what happened Jim?”

Jim stiffened in her arms at the question, before slowly leaning up to whisper in her ear.

“I turned blue,”

Now it was Barbara’s turn to go rigid with shock.

Jim had transformed….

How !? It was the middle of the day in August. Jim should have been his normal self for a good six hours more. What on earth could have caused this to happen?

Barbara was faintly aware of Rhodes babbling about something in the background.

She couldn’t do this. Not here. Not in public. Not with other people around.

She needed to get them somewhere private  now .

“I’m taking Jim home,” she interrupted his ramble.

It took Rhodes a few seconds to register her words “What?”

“Jim and I are  leaving .” Barbara stood up and grasped Jim’s hand, pulling him after her as she briskly strode towards the exit.

Seeing them head toward  the door snapped Rhodes into action “Hey wait-- You can’t just leave during the middle of a field trip,” he started chasing after them “You need to fill out a release form!”

Barbara ignored him and strode out the door, Jim in toe. They made brisk progress walking across the parking lot and were soon at her car.

Rhodes ran up to the car just as they were getting in, shouting more nonsense about excused absences and official documents.

Barbara slammed the car door shut, nearly catching Rhodes’ nose. If it weren’t for Jim’s presence, she would tell him exactly where he could shove his excused absence forms.

The instant they both were buckled in, Barbara started the car and pulled out of her parking spot. Ignoring the hysterical teacher, she turned out of the lot and drove down the side road away from the mine.

Driving did little to settle her nerves. Her hands were shaking badly, Jim had curled up into an unmoving ball on the seat next to her. Panic reaching its crescendo, Barbara nearly missed the exit for the highway.

She shouldn’t be driving right now. She needed to find somewhere to pull over, to calm down, to talk to Jim, figure out  exactly  what had happened.

As soon as Barbara spotted a semi-reputable looking gas station, she pulled over, put the car in park, and killed the engine.

Gripping the steering wheel, Barbara shut her eyes and took deep breaths; five seconds in, hold for five, five seconds out. Ready to present a calm and collected front, she turned towards Jim in the passenger seat “Ok, tell me what happend, from start to finish,”

Jim took a few shaky breaths before he answered her.

“It happened when I walked into the mine, I went inside and….” he trailed off “I just changed….”

“That’s it? You just changed after going inside the cave?”

Jim nodded in response, face still gaunt and pale from fear.

Barbara herself was frozen in her seat; paralyzed with shock and disbelief, fighting back the urge to scream.

How could Jim change during the day? This had never happened before, not at home, not while camping, not ever. He was only supposed to transform at night!

Or was he?

They had come to the conclusion that Jim only turned blue at night because that was the pattern his transformation followed. It wasn’t as if his blue form came with an instruction manual that described exactly where and when he changed. For all they knew, standing on the international date line could cause him to change.

But what  had  caused it? Did it have something to do with being in the mine? Why, was it the gold ore? Would he change in any cave? Or was it being underground that changed him, but that didn’t make sense Jim had been down in the basement without--

A slight touch to the back of her fingers pulled Barbara out of her whirlwind of panic.

Jim had reached out to grasp her hand with his and was now looking up at her, peaked face a mask of worry, making him look so much younger than his eleven years.

Barbara somehow found the will to slow the maelstrom of questions swirling in her mind.

She couldn’t go to pieces, no matter how much she wanted to. Jim might be in middle school now, but he still looked to his mother for strength. No matter how terrifying this was, Barbara needed to figure out how to keep it together, for Jim.

And right now, they needed a plan of action.

“Ok. Here’s what we’re going to do,” she exhaled deeply “I’ll plan our next few camping trips near old mines and caves, to see if we can figure out a common factor between them that makes you change. Until then, no going underground anywhere new, sound good?”

Jim smiled weakly “Sounds good,”

Barbara gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze and looked back out at the road “Since it’s still early and you don’t have to go back to school, what do you say we go out for a late lunch in the city?”

That caused Jim to perked right up in his seat “Really?”

“You betcha, I’ll even let you pick the restaurant,”

“Awesome! Thanks Mom,”

She smiled, glad that he was feeling better enough to be enthused about a meal out “You’re very welcome, now buckle up so we can head out,”

Jim clicked his seat belt shut, allowing Barbara to pull back out onto the highway and start heading towards the city, willing with all her might that the dread and terror of their new discovery stayed behind them.

[writerreview]

Sarah and Jasmine

Twirling a single strand of long brown hair around my finger, I looked down at the glossy pages of the math textbook before me and dropped my head down onto it with a groan.           Math sucked.           “Sarah?” Mum called out from the living room. “Are you working?”           Ugh.           “Yeah, yeah!” I answered, voice muffled, before I took a deep breath and lifted my head again.          I was sitting at my desk, the newest addition to my room, which my Dad had brought me to celebrate his baby girl becoming a high-schooler, and then struggled and swore while putting together. I was torn on my desk. On the one hand, it was beautiful; white, with drawers and shelves and a large computer monitor, which was currently turned off and was to stay turned off until I finished my math problems, lest I face the dreaded Wrath of Mum. On the other hand, it represented something upsetting. I had not gone through any wardrobes when I was 8, had not received a letter when I was 11, and had not gone to Camp Half-Blood by the time I was 12. Now I was 13, and starting high-school, and sometimes it got so frustrating I could scream – where was my magic, my adventure, my fairy tale? What did I have to do to be chosen?           Probably not fail math.           In one of the little sections on my desk, I had a Superman action figure, and I turned to him for help.          “Did you ever have problems with math when you were 13?” I whispered to him. Superman said nothing, frozen in plastic glory. I sighed and turned back to the textbook. The Superman figure wasn’t my only one – I had Batman and Wonder Woman, Naruto and Sailor Moon, the Doctor and Harry Potter and a whole lot more. They were scattered around my room and posters and paintings decorated my walls, each based on a fictional character or movie or book series or anime. I also had two big bookshelves, one stocked with books, one with comics – and despite that, I had books and comics piled up on chairs and tables and bedside drawers. Some were even stacked on the floor. Mum despaired of ever getting my room clean, but I liked it. I didn’t need it clean or organised, I knew where everything was.           Letting out a deep sigh, I glanced back down at the cursed textbook. This wasn’t working. My mind kept wandering, I kept looking out the window and chewing on my pencil and drifting off in thought and fantasies…I needed motivation.           Eyes lighting up, I pulled the end of my pencil from my mouth as it spread into a grin. Yes, motivation! I would finish at least half the problems by – I checked the clock on the wall – well, let’s say 20 minutes from now, and when I did I would go to the store and grab a pack of cookies!           Dismissing the thought of ‘what about the other half of the problems?’, I bent down and started seriously working on trying to unravel the mystery numbers before me – after all, the teacher always said that it’s better to get the answer wrong than not answer at all!

An hour or so later, I was heading home from the market. I grinned happily while gleefully tearing open the packet of cookies, and promptly stuffed one in my mouth. Humming to myself, I closed my eyes, chewed, and savoured the chocolatey goodness, decidedly ignoring any possibility of my cheeks having puffed out like a chipmunk’s. There was no point in eating cookies if you were going to nibble on them like a squirrel. Who cares if you look silly while doing it?           There was a clatter as my shoe hit something, the sound making me blink my eyes open and look around, attention quickly being drawn to the small spinning form of a white stone. I must have kicked it. Shrugging, I kept walking for a moment, before something, some odd impulse made me pause, quickly pick up the stone, and drop it into a pocket. It was a nice stone, and I might clean it up and put it on my desk…or I might forget all about it.           Eh.           ‘ow.’          Swallowing my mouthful of cookie, I stopped for a moment. I could have sworn I’d heard something, as I passed by that alley. A bit nervous, I looked around.           There didn’t seem to be anyone – or anything – in the alley, apart from some bins down the back. It was lined with clean, grey cobblestones and had faded advertisements, layers of them, papered over one wall. If you peeled off one layer you’d just get more, older, advertisements, and I wondered idly how far down you could go while edging into the alley, ready to run should a crazed axe murderer or rabid animal spring out of the non-existent shadows.          The warm afternoon sunlight was the only reason I was even that brave. It is very hard to be scared in daylight when there are no shadows to hide possible dangers.           ‘Hello?’ I called out, only to be greeted with silence.           Shrugging, I started to head out of the alley, figuring it had only been my imagination, when suddenly there was a clatter behind the bins at the end of the alleyway.          ‘Fermented goats milk!’ someone, hidden behind the bins, swore – at least, I assumed it was a swear based on their tone.           ‘Do you need help?’ I asked, hesitation forgotten as I ventured further in.           ‘No!’ The stranger behind the bins replied, voice tight with pain. ‘I’m fine, go away!’          Ignoring this, I rounded the bins and crouched down next to the stranger, who I could see was a pretty girl with long dark hair and dark brown eyes, golden skin and full lips and a slightly downturned nose, cradling a very obviously broken arm to her chest.           I swallowed down some nausea at the sight of the break.           ‘You don’t look fine.’ I said.          ‘You’re not the best looking yourself.’ She spat out through gritted teeth, and I tried not to let on that she’d hit a sore spot. I knew I wasn’t pretty, with plain, straight brown hair and pale freckled skin and crooked teeth. Some of the girls at school were more then eager to let me know how ugly I was at any time, so I didn’t need it from this stranger when I was only trying to help – but I remembered how snippy I’d been when I’d tripped and bumped my elbow, and magnanimously decided to ignore her obviously pain-related lashing out.           ‘Do you want me to call an ambulance?’           ‘No!’           I rocked back on my heels at her vehemence.                       ‘No hospitals!’ she demanded strenuously, glaring at me with flushed cheeks.          I glared back. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, you have a broken arm – a really bad one too. It’s not something you can just walk off!’           ‘I’ll be fine.’ she repeated. ‘Go away!’           Gritting my teeth, I settled down cross legged in front of her and crossed my arms as well as I matched her glare for glare. ‘No.’           For a moment we stayed like that, frozen, me sitting on the dirty ground, her huddled in the corner against the wall, looking each other straight in the eye – before the tension broke, and she sighed explosively.           ‘I can’t go to the hospital.’ she said, face white and strained. ‘and I can’t tell you why.’          I nodded seriously, excitement bubbling up in the pit of my stomach. This was it, I knew suddenly – my call to adventure, my Hogwarts letter. I’d been wanting it, hadn’t I? and here it was, in the form of this strange girl with her broken arm. I beamed at her helplessly, and offered her a cookie. She looked at it cautiously.          ‘It’s chocolate chip! Chocolate is good for you.’ I informed her, ignoring her raised eyebrow. ‘It’s because it has endorphins.’ I had found that out a while ago, and promptly adopted it as gospel, and pulled it out whenever I needed to make a point about the glory that was chocolate. As for her refusal to go to the hospital…           ‘You can come to my house.’ I said impulsively. ‘We’ll splint your arm there – somehow, I don’t know, we’ll check a YouTube video or something, or google it.’           I’d have to sneak her past my parents…          Plans were racing through my head now like lightning, only to be derailed as the girl – whose name I really needed to get – sighed in frustration.           ‘Fine.’ she said flatly. ‘We’ll go to your house – picture it.’          Huh? A bit baffled, I did as she asked, picturing our house – two stories, with a wooden door and a large garden out the front, the windows, the red bricks and white fence and terracotta tiles of the roof…           The girl reached out with her good arm and grabbed my hand, and there was a sudden moment of disorientation, like taking a step and suddenly finding air where you’d thought ground would be, a sickening lurch – and then there was a soft, muted Pop! of sound as air was displaced, and we were standing in front of my house instead of the alleyway.           I looked at her, wide eyed for a moment, before beaming even brighter and barely resisting the urge to pull her into a hug. She seemed baffled at my reaction.                       ‘You’re magic!’ I whispered, bouncing up and down on my feet, effervescent delight floating through me like golden bubbles. I was smiling so hard my face was starting to hurt. ‘Real magic!’ I grasped her good hand in both of mine. ‘Oh, I’m so glad I found you!’           Finally!

Sneaking the girl up to my room wasn’t difficult. Resisting the urge to pester her with questions until we were safely there was, so it was probably no surprise that the moment we were behind my bedroom door, I pounced.           ‘You have magic!’ I squealed, gesturing for her to sit on my bed. It was the centrepiece of my room, a four poster, canopied princess dream, decked out in pink and frills and dozens of pillows and stuffed animals. I loved it.          Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t, as she gingerly sat down on the edge, trying to avoid touching anything.           ‘That is an oversimplification,’ the girl said, her voice rich and accented and regal as she drew herself up – before subsiding with a wince, and I was abruptly reminded of why I’d brought her home in the first place.           ‘If you have magic, can’t you just fix your arm?’ I waggled my fingers at her as I said fix. She sniffed haughtily.          ‘No,’ she said shortly, before elaborating with a sigh when I continued to eye her expectantly. ‘I cannot use my power on myself.’                       That didn’t make much sense. ‘But when you apparated us –’           ‘- teleported.’           ‘When you teleported us, you came too.’           ‘It’s different. I cannot use my power to help myself, though I can still be affected by it.’           Well, that sucked.          I hurried over and sat next to her on the bed. ‘So what else can you do?’ I should probably be researching how to set a broken arm, but I was too curious to focus right now, feeling like my bones were vibrating in my skin. If I sat down at the computer, I’d be shaky and distracted and itchy until I knew more. I leaned in eagerly, hands clenched in my lap to stop me from reaching out and touching the girl – whose name, I realised with a sudden lurch, I still didn’t know.          She shrugged, one shoulder going up and down with a disinterested look on her face. She clearly did not find this discussion as entrancing as I did. ‘Normally? Pretty much anything, if the…circumstances… are right. Right now? Not much. The teleport to your house took most of my reserves.’           ‘What does that mean?’ I wanted to know everything.          The girl sighed, seemed to have realised that I was not going away or going to stop asking questions, and apparently decided to humour my curiosity.           ‘I am in this situation because I was attacked and separated from my lamp. Without my lamp, I cannot recharge my energy – what I have is what I am stuck with.’                   Lamp? I sucked in a deep breath, looking her over again, realisation hitting me like lightning. ‘You’re a Genie!’           ‘Djinn!’ she snapped, suddenly glaring at me. Judging from her insulted reaction, I guessed calling a Djinn a Genie was not good and smiled apologetically at her as I made a mental note in my lexicon. Djinn. Never Genie.           The girl nodded briskly, seeming to accept my apology, and continued. ‘I am a Djinn – a being from the plane of air and flame. I am older than this country – I am older than this continent. When I am at my full power, I can rewrite the stars, change time, even bring back the dead – I have been worshipped by you humans! I am a being of such grandeur and magnificence that were you to see me in my true form, your eyes would melt!’ She sat straighter on my bed, surrounded by lace and frills, eyes burning and cheeks flushed as she finished her dramatic pronouncement with a flourish of her good arm.           ‘Cool.’ I said.          There was a long moment where she stared at me, eyes wide, before slumping and covering her face with her hand. ‘Cool,’ she muttered.           I nodded in response. ‘Very cool. So, what’s your name anyway? I’m Sarah, by the way.’                     It was like a shutter fell, the girl’s face turning expressionless. ‘I don’t have one,’ she bit out, voice flat.          I hesitated, not sure what to say to that, feeling I should comfort her, but sure that if I did, she’d bite my head off (possibly literally).           ‘Do you want one?’ the question burst out impulsively.          Her head rocked back as though she’d been slapped, and I winced. I’d made another mistake – it seemed like even when talking to a magical creature who just looked like a girl my age, I still couldn’t do social stuff properly. I always ended up offending people, even when I hadn’t meant to – half the time, I didn’t even realise I’d done something to upset them. It usually resulted in me keeping quiet when I wasn’t around people I knew.           ‘You are…offering me a name?’ the girl said wonderingly. I nodded, starting to brighten. She didn’t sound offended – maybe I hadn’t screwed this up!           Yet.           ‘Only if you want one.’           She hesitated, studiously not looking at me, picking at my bedspread with her good hand. ‘I…wouldn’t mind one,’ she said softly.           I beamed at her. I already had the perfect name. ‘How about Jasmine?’           (In my defense, she really did look a lot like a real-life Disney princess, and also – Djinn. I made a mental note never to let her watch Aladdin.)          ‘Jasmine.’ The newly named girl repeated softly to herself, before smiling. It was a small smile, but, I realised, the first time I’d seen her do so. I swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and face flushed as I looked down at where my hands were clasping each other in my lap.           It was a beautiful smile.          There was a moment of awkward silence that was probably only really awkward to me, before I was able to look at her again without blushing, and noticed she was scowling down at her broken arm. That reminded me. ‘Do you have enough magic – or energy, or whatever – to fix your arm?’           ‘I already told you –’           ‘No, no hear me out!’ I interrupted, voice getting louder as I got more excited. ‘I’ve been thinking, and when you teleported us – you teleported us, not just me. Your magic worked on you – because you weren’t trying to do something for yourself, you were trying to do it for me.’          ‘Your point?’ She raised an eyebrow at me, and I felt a brief moment of envy – I’d never been able to do that single eyebrow, raised condescendingly, thing.           ‘Well, right now, healing your arm would be doing something for me! Cause I don’t like knowing you’re in pain, and the break is kinda gross, and also I really want to see you do more magic so – what if you focused on that? You’re not healing your arm for you, you’re healing it for me?’           She frowned. ‘I…don’t think that will work?’ I latched onto the hesitation in her doubt.           ‘What’s the harm in trying?’          She nodded slightly as she acknowledged my point, then closed her eyes and focused. I leaned forward, excitement making me tremble. For a moment nothing happened – then, with a sickening snap, the break in her arm straightened out. Despite the sound, Jasmine didn’t even flinch, opening her eyes and raising her previously broken arm up and tilting it from side to side, inspecting it. I did the same.           ‘Is it fixed?’ I asked.          She moved her arm around a moment more, straightening it, then nodded. I smiled happily at her, letting out a breath I’d been holding in. It had only occurred to me after saying it, but the ‘harm’ could very well have been her blowing up her arm or something.           And now, with her arm healed…she didn’t really need me anymore, did she.        ‘So…you said you were separated from your lamp?’ I prompted, slightly desperately.           I didn’t want her to go.          She nodded, and moved back slightly on my bed, relaxing a bit more as she did so, and I realised how stiff and tense she’d been before. Even if she hadn’t been showing it, a broken arm still hurt.          ‘I was fighting another one of my kind,’ she said. ‘I lost.’ She scowled at the reminder. ‘When he won, he robbed me of my lamp, and sent it through space – it could be anywhere on this planet.’           She did still need me!           ‘What does it look like?’           ‘What?’           ‘Your lamp – what does it look like? We could look for it!’           She looked at me weirdly. ‘Did you not hear me say it could be anywhere on this planet?’          ‘That’s what the Internet is for!’ I beamed at her. ‘We could post something on craigslist, social media – I have Twitter, Tumblr AND Instagram, and I’ve got quite a few followers – someone’s bound to have seen a lamp!’           Jasmine sighed and shook her head. ‘That would work – if it looked like a lamp. Being separated from me, it will have gone into defense mode, and taken on a disguise.’        ‘Like a TARDIS?’          ‘A what?’ she asked, then continued before I could explain. Guess it had been a rhetorical question. I had a bad habit of answering those. ‘It could appear as anything, from a building to a single grain of sand on a beach somewhere, and until I touch it I will not know what it is.’           ‘So, almost exactly like a TARDIS.’           ‘I do not know what this TARDIS you speak of is.’ Jasmine said flatly.           I made a mental note to show her all my Doctor Who episodes.          ‘So, it’s hopeless?’ I felt dejected. I’d really enjoyed helping Jasmine. And if I wasn’t able to help her anymore, did that mean she would leave?           ‘Not at all.’ Jasmine denied. ‘I said I would know it when I touched it, did I not? It will simply take a while.’           ‘How long is ‘a while’?’           ‘Probably not more then a few thousand years.’ Jasmine shrugged, then her face blanked as she sat up very straight, carefully not looking at me. ‘While I am without my lamp, I am without a home, or a way of recovering my energy through food and sleep.’ She said stiffly. ‘As such, having a place to stay would be of great aid in my quest –’           ‘You can stay with me!’ I interrupted, leaning forward so abruptly that I startled her. Her eyes darted to mine, wide with shock.           ‘Just like that?’           ‘Just like that!’ I nodded at her, smiling.          Jasmine rose to her feet abruptly and started to pace. I felt my smile falter. Had I said something wrong? Finally, she stood still and let out a breathy sigh, turning to where I was still sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her eyes were deep and dark.           ‘You are a very strange human,’ she said. ‘I do not think I have ever met anyone like you.           Was that good or bad?           ‘Sooo…will you be staying?’           Jasmine bowed her head to me, curtain of silky black hair falling over her shoulders. ‘For as long as you will have me.’          I bounced off the bed and rushed over to her, grabbing her hands and smiling so hard my cheeks felt like they were going to burst. ‘I’ll have you as long as you need!’           I’d made a friend! A magic friend! This day couldn’t possibly get any better!          ‘Come on! I’ve gotta introduce you to my parents!’ And convince my parents that she should stay indefinitely. Eh. I’d burn that bridge when I got to it.           Still holding one of Jasmine’s hands, I headed out my bedroom door and down the stairs to where I could see the flickering light of the television, marshalling my arguments, still smiling.           I wonder if Jasmine is any good at math?

[aion-rsa]

J.K. Rowling is One of Our Best Serialized Storytellers

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In a media age defined by long-form narrative, Harry Potter creator J.K. Rowling is one of our best storytellers.

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Books

Kayti Burt

j.k. rowling

Jul 31, 2018

Harry Potter

Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them

When people talk about the great storytellers of the modern era, J.K. Rowling should always be included on the list. The narrative of her writing of the Harry Potter series is one often defined by good luck, creativity, and — yes — a little bit of magic. However, that muse-centric, fairy tale structure is a lazy, simplistic way of talking about Rowling's skill with story. It takes away from the extreme intelligence, capacity for hard work, and storytelling genius that Rowling possesses.

In honor of the author's birthday, let's talk about the elements of storytelling that the British author demonstrates such an impressive command of in the Harry Potter series. And let's think about how, in a media age increasingly defined by long-form, serialized storytelling, Rowling is one of the very best...

Story structure in Harry Potter...

Rowling's true genius lies not in prose, but in story structure, which is perhaps why the books have translated so well into film form. Even when you take away Rowling's signature wit, the story itself can stand on its own in any medium. (We're looking at you, too, The Cursed Child.) 

Pictured above is one of Rowling's many notes for the crafting of plot in Harry Potter. This specific spreadsheet is from the outlining of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the fifth book in the series, and includes separate columns for most of the book's major subplots, including: what's happening in the main "prophecy" plot, what's happening with Cho and Ginny, what's happening with the Order of the Phoenix, what's happening with the unraveling of the Snape/James Potter backstory, what's happening with Dumbledore's army, what's happening with Hagrid/Grawp, etc.

See related 

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them Review

Sure, this is typical authorial outlining stuff, but anyone who has read the Harry Potter series can explain to you how Rowling started foreshadowing the end of the series from the very beginning, especially picking up in The Chamber of Secrets. The Horcruxes were always integral to the story, hidden in plain plot sight — one example of the many narrative subthreads developed throughout the series and throughout each book. This development was rarely done in a heavy-handed way, which made the eventual reveals in The Deathy Hallows that much more rewarding.

For example, Harry spots The Vanishing Cabinet that Draco Malfoy would later use to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts in The Half-Blood Prince way back in The Chamber of Secrets when he ends up in Knockturn Alley's Borgin and Burkes. In Prisoner of Azkaban, Professor Trelawney "reads" that Harry is born in mid-winter, even though his birthday is in July. As we later find out, she is actually seeing Lord Voldemort's birth in Harry, a sign of his Horcruxian tie to the Dark Lord.

The examples go on: Dumbledore tangentially mentions his brother Aberforth in one of the early books. We "meet" the Grey Lady in book one, only to learn about her importance to the founding of Hogwarts and the destruction of the Horcruxes in the seventh books. We could sit here listing the detail-payoff patterns in this series all day.

The fact that these narrative crumbs were spread over not just a trilogy, but seven books, is particularly impressive. The amount of forethought and adherence to planning that Rowling demonstrates in pulling off this series is mindboggling in its focus. Pair that with the patience it took to introduce extremely relevant plot points early on in the series, and have that greater relevance revealed later on, and genius of Rowling's plotting starts to take shape.

Characterization in Harry Potter...

Plotting is important, but the Harry Potter series would not be what it is without Rowling's command of characterization. The author creates a rich interpersonal world within the wizarding community that is so important in exploring the coming-of-age story's main themes of love, family, and loss. We care if Harry defeats the Dark Lord because we care about these characters. It's a simple narrative necessity, one that demonstrates emotional intelligence, but a skill that far too many storytellers don't actually have.

For me, one of the best examples of characterization in the Harry Potter series is Ron Weasley. Rowling's skill in articulating character is so well demonstrated with Ron because he is the character that is generally characterized the poorest when other writers take him on. In the movies (and, to a lesser extent, in The Cursed Child, too), Ron is too-often flattened for comic relief. We lose the rich texture of this character, the way his struggle to get out of the shadow of his many brothers and, now, Harry, is balanced by his intense goodness and loyalty to the ones he loves. 

Ron isn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. He's not great at expressing his feelings and he is often petty and stubborn when he is feeling slighted (e.g. his fight with Hermione in Prisoner of Azkaban or his fight with Harry in Goblet of Fire.) But he would do anything for his friends, and matures an immense amount over the course of the series, while still maintaining his distinct Ron-ness. When we meet Ron, he is a bumbling, yet good-natured kid who has some outdated views of a world he is very much still trying to figure out. By the end of the series, he is destroying Horcruxes and worrying about house elves, even whilst still occasionally succombing to his jealous, insecure side. 

From the book's main protagonist to the seemingly most minor of supporting characters, Rowling has a gift for creating immediately distinct, relatable characters. Mrs. Dursley is a nosy gossip. Hermione Granger is a socially-awkward brain. Remus Lupin is a weary and mysterious, yet trustworthy authority figure. And, as with Rowling's plotting, these characters have arcs within the individual books and the series as a whole. We understand how they exist within the wider community, how they are seen by those who are closest to them and by those who only know their family name. 

More than that, the steady adherence to characterization exists not only in the individual character arcs, but in the relationships between characters. We understand why characters do everything they do — and that's down to consistent characterization and the carefully-constructed relationships between characters. ("'Always,' said Snape.")  

World-building in Harry Potter...

You can't talk about J.K. Rowling as a storyteller without discussing her skill for worldbuilding. Rowling's ability to create a just-out-of-sight magical world with its own system of lived-in logic may be the most impressive thing about the Harry Potter series. Rowling created an entire subculture, complete with economy, government, media, sports, history, lore, educational system, etc. Sure, it is very much based on the British social order, but it still exists as its own vividly-realized world.

As the Harry Potter For Writers website points out, Harry's first introduction to the wizarding world doesn't happen at Hogwarts, but rather at Diagon Alley where he visits the Leaky Cauldron, Ollivanders, Gringotts, and a slew of other shops. It is a mini-tour of the wizarding world, both for Harry and for the reader. We learn about wizarding money, customs, and the trappings of how Hogwarts works through the purchasing of Harry's school supplies.

This worldbuilding extends to Hogwarts in The Sorceror's Stone, then to the larger wizarding world with The Goblet of Fire's Qudditch World Cup and Triwizard Tournament and, eventually, Hermione and Harry's tour of wizarding England in The Deathy Hallows. 

Rowling slowly broadens the scope of this world from The Sorceror's Stone onward, weaving setting and wizarding culture. However, its depth is apparent from day one. Like any good writer, Rowling exudes confidence in her writing, a promise that she knows where she is going, that every detail has meaning and value, that this narrative journey won't end in disappointing, disatisfying chaos. She doesn't break that promise. 

The difficult importance of an ending...

It's hard to end a story in a satisfying way — especially a story that takes place over the course of seven books. You can't just hope for the best. An ending needs to have its roots in the beginning. It needs to be present in everything that has come before. It needs to be a truth illuminated in the final moments, but a truth that has somehow been there all along. 

Epilogues and canon-extending plays aside, Rowling sticks the landing of the Harry Potter series, and she does it in an unexpectedly bold way by sending the Golden Trio away from Hogwarts to go on a dark, depressing adventure that not only calls into question the strength of their own relationships with one another, but the motivations of Dumbledore, a character that — up until this series-ending book — had been painted as a somewhat uncomplicated trustworthy mentor.

These challenging choices prove just how sure of her narrative Rowling was from the very beginning. She always knew where she was going, famously writing out the last chapter and keeping it hidden away in a safety deposit box, and it shows in the ending. If an ending needs to be informed by everything that has come before, then The Deathly Hallows is a parade of the Harry Potter series greatest hits, but a parade that never feels like a tired retreading of what has come before. 

If many of the questions, characters, and settings are the same, they are maturing and deepening in necessary ways. Can love conquer evil? What does it mean to grow up divorced from your past and identity? Do the ones we love ever really leave us? The answers get more complicated, their potential relevance more immediately dire, in The Deathly Hallows. 

But Rowling never lets the narrative heavy-lifting show. She makes the moving and fitting together of the many, intricate moving parts of this story look simple, doing so much work through her plotting, characterization, and worldbuilding that we never doubt for a second that she knows what she's talking about, that this world — and its meaning — is real in some sense of the word. In the way that any fiction is real: in the expression of theme and the exploration of humanity.

Dumbledore tells Harry at the end of The Deathly Hallows: "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" With Rowling, that master of narrative, moving us through this story, how could we ever believe otherwise?

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[junker-town]

I went to Disney on Ice and witnessed the evolution of the Disney Princess

I also maybe cried.

BROOKLYN — A tiny princess is wailing inside a giant plastic teacup. Her mother leans against it with one arm akimbo, mirroring the handle, and beams into the camera. The photographer waves a rattle behind the lens in a futile attempt to coax a smile out of the miserable toddler.

Zoom out, and you’ll see a sea of miniature royals, all pale pinks, blues, and yellows. Disney On Ice’s Dare to Dream show is about to start, and Barclay’s Center is packed for 11 a.m. on a Thursday. The entire pre- and elementary-school age population of New York seems to have skipped school to “celebrate what’s possible as five Disney heroines spark the courage inside us all.” Disney tells us we’re here “to find our inner hero.”

My seat is next to a woman named Tyra Brooks and her daughter Sanaa. It’s Sanaa’s third birthday, so Brooks and her husband, who live in Brooklyn, took the day off work to be here. Sanaa is obsessed with Moana, the lead character from the movie by the same name. On my other side sit Stacy Cruz, 27, and her little brother Wyatt, 9, who’s been begging to go to the show since he saw ads for it on TV. Cruz monitored tickets until she found these, which, at $15, she could afford. Wyatt skipped school in Manhattan, and Cruz took the day off from her two jobs nannying and working in retail. In front of me, Natalie Nunez from Queens and her daughters Melinda and Evelyn, who are four and nine, cheer as the lights dim.

Our master of ceremonies is a relentlessly positive woman on skates in a purple figure-skating dress and a blazer. She seems adamant that nothing has ever gone wrong that can't be made right. Happily Ever After is a destination, and this woman is on a mission to make sure we all end up there.

She announces Minnie and Mickey, and the place erupts. These kids scream for the two famous mice the way teens would react to Harry Styles, or whoever the Cool Teen Celebrity Du Jour is. Melinda, the four-year-old ballerina in front of me, grips the armrests of her seat, sways her torso back and forth, and shakes her head so violently that I think there’s a chance she’ll launch herself out of her chair.

Minnie and Mickey leave, and the Beauty and the Beast segment of the show begins. Gaston, the blow-hard who always made me uncomfortable as a child, shows up. He declares himself a handsome hero. None of these kids give a shit about him, but they go nuts when Belle glides out onto the ice holding a book.

You know the rest of the story; at the end, Gaston falls off the set in dramatic fashion, the Beast takes off his Beast costume under a cloud of dry ice and turns into a handsome man, and Belle finds true love. She closes her books and glides around with her prince to a love song that sounds like a Belinda Carlisle B-side and definitely wasn’t in the original movie.

The kids get a real kick out of the lifts and spins that these skaters are doing. Most of the performers were professional figure skaters; some Disney On Ice dancers have been Olympians. The actual athleticism on display here is impressive, beautiful.

Charlotte Wilder with a shakily-held iPhone

Cinderella’s story begins. She does her thing, and eventually the clock strikes 12. She skates away, thanks to the arbitrary curfew her asshole Fairy Godmother set. Our friendly MC — who’s been hovering at the edge of the rink while interjecting life lessons throughout the show — skates around to see if the glass slipper fits any little girls in the front row. It doesn’t. It also doesn’t fit the Ugly Stepsisters.

Did you know that in the Grimms’ Brother’s version, the Stepsisters cut off their heels so the shoe would fit? My mom used to read me the original fairy tales, peeling back the layer of frosting with which Disney coats these mostly-terrible stories. I loved them. They terrified me, but I was fascinated by the vivid descriptions, like the ones of the sisters’ mutilated feet bleeding all over the glass shoe. I couldn’t believe women would hurt themselves like that to be beautiful or loved. Or both.

Cinderella gets her prince. They dance around to another song that sounds a little bit like off-brand Tina Turner.

“No matter how mean, mean, mean everyone was, she was able to rise above bullying and bickering to be kind and hopeful,” says our MC. “She found her happily ever after, plus a cute new pair of shoes.”

“That’s bullshit!” I want to yell to the children around me. “Don’t just roll over when someone’s a dick! Stand up for yourselves! Buy your own shoes!” But I stay quiet.

We move on to Rapunzel from Tangled, a movie that came out after my childhood and which I haven’t seen. Rapunzel is still pretty damsel-in-distress-y, but she does whack a dude on the head with a frying pan in the first scene, which the kids (and I) get a total kick out of. There's also a horse comprised of two people — one for the front legs and one for the back legs. I’m not sure how they can see anything.

“There's a horse with two people and it's working?” Cruz marvels beside me. “Pretty cool.”

Rapunzel is sassier than Belle and Cinderella, but the story still ends with her skating off into the sunset with a prince.

It’s intermission. I leave my seat and pass a guy hawking lemonade and sno-cones instead of the usual beers Barclay’s sells. The floor is sticky with various forms of spilled sugar. I wait in line behind tens of princesses to use the bathroom, then go buy some cotton candy. The man asks if I want one with or without a crown. I say with, but it’s too small to fit my head, so I go back to my seat and give it to Melinda. It falls over her eyes and she giggles. Her mom takes it and puts it on.

Someone starts a chant — Elsa! Elsa! Elsa! — as the lights go down, and, indeed, here comes Elsa from Frozen. I haven’t seen this movie either (I should babysit more, or, like, have a child if I want to stay up to date), but I think the gist is that Elsa’s pissed at her sister for wanting to marry someone she’s only known for one day. In retaliation, Elsa turns all of Norway or wherever into a hellish winterscape using her magical powers. Then disappears and her sister has to find her.

It’s finally time for “Let It Go”, the hit song from Frozen which I somehow know all the words to. The crowd of children is singing along almost louder than Elsa is through her mic. Melinda and even little three-year-old Sanaa beside me know all the words.

Let it go, let it go That perfect girl is gone Here I stand!

Frozen’s abridged version ends and the MC spews a message about how truly loving someone means sacrificing everything you have for them, which, I mean, let’s all relax here, okay? Then Moana skates onto the stage and the screaming is more intense than it’s been for the whole show. I haven’t seen Moana either, but Google tells me it’s about a Polynesian girl whose grandmother has tasked her with saving her island and finding herself. The kids sing along to every word and dance in their seats. They — okay, I — take particular delight in a massive, sprawling crab with a sparkly shell whose costume seems impossible to skate in.

Charlotte Wilder

Sorry this picture is so shitty, but it was the best I could do

We meet a dude named Maui, who is not Moana’s love interest. I don’t think she has one, as far as I can tell. She’s just a determined girl who’s scared of the responsibility placed on her but willing to rise to the challenge. She overcomes her self-doubt as she sails around the ice rink on her motorized boat. Kids are screaming, “I AM MOANA!” as she sings, “I am Moana!” There are fireworks inside Barclays when she finally saves her island.

But hold on. I have to take you back to the first part of the show for a second, when Belle comes out and floats around the outer edge of the rink. She flips through the pages of her book, ignoring Gaston (and his puffed out chest) as he tells her he’s going to marry her. She begins to sing: “I want so much more than they have plaaaanned.”

Children are cheering, reaching toward the stage, and I, a full-grown woman, break down into sobs. I’m crying because these shows are money-grabs designed to make you feel. They are operations that strike at the core of your being with surgical precision: Turn the lights down here, crescendo up to a chorus and strike a soaring note there, insert a key change, spin some spotlights, make the heroines reach toward the sky with longing. Each element must’ve been focus-grouped and tested within a billion-dollar inch of its life to tug at specific ventricles of your heart. I am powerless against Disney’s execution of this emotional warfare.

But I’m also crying because I’m looking at all these little girls around me — earnest, excited, hopeful — and I want them to have more than anyone has planned for them. I want them to glide off into the bright lights with a prince the way Belle does, if that’s what they truly desire. But I also want them to throw an encyclopedia at the Beast’s head and start their own bookstore, if that’s what they’d prefer. I want all the Gastons of the world — because I know they’ll meet more than a few of them — to be taken down before they encounter them. I want this world to be more fair than it currently is.

And it must be said that Disney is, in its own way, changing.

Whether it’s because feminism sells these days, or because it’s what Disney thinks is The Right Message, the company seems to be Leaning In. The 30 minute cliff-notes of stories, and the order in which Disney On Ice chose to present them — from oldest to most recent— made Dare to Dream feel like a trip through the brand’s feminist awakening. We started with women whose only rewards are finding men, then moved on to a woman whose primary complication is her relationship with her sister, and ended with a girl who literally saves her entire people with the help of her badass grandmother.

“She persevered and never lost sight of herself,” says the cheerful MC of Moana, after praising Cinderella’s ability to land a man and new footwear an hour earlier. “That's what inner strength is all about. Be yourself!”

The princesses come out to take a bow. The kids give all of them, especially Moana, big cheers, but save the biggest for Mickey and Minnie. Then the skaters disappear. Melinda is clapping. Sanaa grins. So do their mothers. They’re in the Happily Ever After for a moment. But then the lights come up.