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boxofbadaddiction · 3 years

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The Missing Piece

Fred Weasley x Reader

George Weasley x Reader(Platonic)

All I Wanna Do Continuation

Warnings: Swearing. Angsty.

A/N: I know this was only meant to be a two part series...but I'm hopeless. So I present to you; Part II of (?)

It had been a couple days since y/n ran into George in Diagon Alley, revealing the hardest of truths to her long time friend. That being of her secret child to one Fred Weasley, conceived only the day before his death. The one whom she kept secret from her whole old life in London, after running from it. Marcos was the Weasley no one knew existed.

It had been more than difficult when George discovered the truth, seeing a young Fred with peircing y/e/c eyes barrell towards the two adults during a casual conversation between old friends. It'd hurt George more than he thought it were possible to hurt, no injuries sting ever coming close to the one he felt that day. However, after a night spent bonding with his newly discovered nephew and multiple nights of y/n explaining everything to him. From the night before the battle; which involved a little too much information in Georges opinion, to the day they accidentally crossed paths, he'd found a way to forgive her.

He'd been so angry in the beginning but now that they'd spoke and he saw her side none of that mattered. He couldn't stay mad. Not really.

It turns out though that y/n and Marcos had been staying in a small Muggle Inn as y/n searched for a place to relocate whilst Marcos reddied to begin his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Something which George refused to stand for, and so that's how for the past 4 days the two had been living happily above the store of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, number 93 Diagon Alley.

George hadn't been happier in so long, to have someone else living within the flat with him. To have someone to come home to. A family no less. Y/n felt the same way. But that didn't mean the dread of letting the rest of the Weasley family in on her dirty little secret were any less prominent in her life. Even George had to admit he was nervous as to how they'd react.

Of course since Marcos had learned of the additional family members, he were yet to meet, he'd been pestering the pair as to when he'd finally get to see them. So, often y/n and George found themselves up late planning the right way to go about it.

They'd decided on a meal at the Burrow with the entire clan present. No exceptions - meaning Dragon Boy himself, as well as the Workaholic. They'd worked out all the kinks through countless Owls flown tirelessly back and forth and it was settled.

Tomorrow at 5pm, the three (two as the family expected) were to arrive via the Floo network, in accordance with the fact Marcos had never travelled by Floo before and was eager to experience it. Though if you asked Mr and Mrs Weasley the reasoning, they'd say the pair simply preferred that way.

At 4:52pm, the day of, Marcos could be found waiting eagerly and very impatient by the fireplace of the Twins flat. "Come ooooon, Mum!" He whined staring to his uncle and mother fussing over whatever he-knows-not, whispering seriously to one another by the kitchen counter. "In a moment, bud." George answered, receiving a huff in response.

George had his hands placed firmly on y/ns arms to steady her as he spoke sternly, eyes fixed directly onto hers. "Everything is going to be okay. I'll be with you the whole time. They're going to love him." "It's not him I'm worried about." Y/n croaked, voice thickly laced with emotion, "I know this is what's right and he'll fit in perfectly, that they'll love him unconditionally. But what of me George, I kept him from all of you. How could they ever look at me again. Let me in that house again. I know it sounds selfish but I'm not worried for him at all. Because it's what's right. But just because it's the right thing to do doesn't mean it makes this whole mess any easier. There wouldn't even be a mess if it weren't for me." Y/ns head dropped, picking at her nails in attempt to distract herself from the burning that set in behind her eyes and in her throat.

"Hey." Lifting a delicate finger to the underside of her chin, George pulled y/n's attention back to him, "You did what you thought was best for you at the time. What you did wasn't easy and I understand it now, just like they will. Once you explain and they meet him...there's no way they can stand against you. Okay? It's going to be okay." The whites of y/n's eyes burned red as she held back the tears which were ready to spill. All it took was a nudge, in the form of a tight comforting George Weasley style hug, to knock them over the edge.

"Can't you hug when we get there?" Marcos groaned, rolling his eyes in frustration this causing his Uncle chuckle. Y/n pulled back and looked to the clock on the wall, 4:59pm. Wiping the few stray tears still running down her cheeks she stepped toward her son. "Sorry sweety." She smiled sadly, fixing his hair. "Why are you crying?" her son asked simply. "It's just...it's just been a very long time since I've seen any of these people. It's got me a tad emotional. Don't worry, we can go now." "ALRIGHT!" The boy yelled excitedly, jumping into the large fireplace. George placed a hand to y/ns back, guiding her in next to Marcos as he grabbed a handful of powder and stood to the boys other side.

"Everyone ready?" George spoke with a wide-eyed, unnerved expression to y/n, "ready!" Marcos bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly while his mother, unknownst to him, offered back a grimace and shrug. "Yeah that seems about right" George spoke more to himself. Looking back out over his living room tight-lipped he grasped the boys shoulder, "The Burrow." He dropped the glittering dust in a swift motion and the three were quickly engulfed in vivid green flame. Here goes nothing.

This dinner would be the first time everyone had been together in years. Since the war if you were to include y/n in the family head count, which Molly did. So as you can imagine she had been fussing over every nanodetail to ensure the whole night went perfectly.

"Molly dear, you must try to relax. You've out done yourself, everything looks splendid and they'll love it." Arthur assured his wife, with a light kiss to her cheek. "I just haven't seen her in so long, not since...well-"

Y/n and Molly had shared such a close bond as she grew up alongside the Twins. The sort of connection Mothers dream of having with their daughters. Y/n came to her about absolutely everything; classes, grades, bullies, boys. There was nothing the two couldn't talk about. So when y/n disappeared after the War, well to Molly it were as if she'd lost another part of her family: the pain she felt neared that of losing another child. That day Molly Weasley very well lost a piece of herself.

It was no wonder her emotions were currently running ragged at the thought of finally seeing her again.

"I have so missed her." "As I'm sure she has you but that is no need to overwork yourself dear, come sit in the lounge." Arthur directed his Wife back from the kitchen to where the rest of their family were gathered.

"Jeez mum, wish you loved us that much." Charlie joked over his mother's flustered form. "It's just y/n" Ron groaned. "The house looks lovely, Molly. But Arthur is right. You must relax." Fluer spoke from her place beside Bill. Though she appreciated the sentiment, their words did little to soothe her excitement and nervousness over tonight. "I know, I'm sorry everyone I'm just so excited to have her back. It's been so long after all." Arthur had his arm placed over her shoulders, stoking her arm contently as she stared to the clock on the wall. 4:52pm.

The group fell into comfortable conversation as they awaited the final two guests, all far more excited to see y/n than they'd care to admit aloud. This would be the first time any of them had seen her in over a decade.

A loud crash and a flash of green from the kitchen alerted the family huddled within the lounge just as the clock struck 5:00pm.

"Oh! They're here!" Molly spoke excitedly. George was the first to step out of the fireplace, ruffling his hair to rid the ash which coated it's ends: appearing like smoke from a flame as it hung from the ginger locks. The family moved quickly from the room, essentially jumping from their seats, to come greet them, however they were suddenly halted.

"Before you all swarm us!" George declared with palms raised towards the group, "there's a little uh-...announcement to be shared first. Or rather an introduction. You see we've brought someone with us." He looked back over his shoulder to y/n who was staring up at him with scared eyes as she trembled slightly in fear of what was to come. She glanced back to her son, hidden by the corner of the large stone wall of the fireplace before looking back up to George as if to say 'it's now or never'. "Just...try to have an open mind." His eyes were pleading for his family to understand even if they hadn't the foggiest what was going on. All their faces contorted as they looked between one another in confused anticipation.

George lowered his hands with a nod satisfied no one was going to tackle them in a crushing embrace or otherwise hectic greeting typical to that of the Wealsey family. Turning to the side so he no longer stood infront of y/n and the wall of the fireplace he encouraged his friend to continue. Y/ns eyes barely left George, aside from a quick nervous flick back over the gathered audience.

Turning back determinedly she reached her arms out for Marcos to hold, helping support him as he stepped down from the slightly elevated floor. There's a kind smile on his face as he moves toward the sitting room where the family is waiting. George places an arm on the back of Marcos nudging him forward slightly, with a nod to y/n, who is staring teary-eyed at him, breath hitching as she starts to panic. "Everyone..." he turns back to his family, "this is y/ns Son, Marcos." "Hello" he says simply with a warm smile.

Everyone looks like they've seen a ghost. Staring silently with mouths agape.

Though covered head to toe in soot his firey red hair sticks out like a Dragon in a flower patch. The Weasley hair. Not just that, it's his face. His entire body. His voice. It's everything but his eyes.

Marcos is quickly becoming uncomfortable as everyone just stares at him, this wasn't what he'd expected. He looks back over his shoulder to his mother. She steps forward and grabs his hand, placing her other on his shoulder, looking to George for strength as she speaks quietly, "I know I have a lot of explaining to do" she swallows hard looking back to the pale faced Weasleys, "but this has been too long coming and it couldn't wait any longer. If George's reaction is anything to go by I know you all have quite a few words to say to me. And I'll hear them all. I deserve it for what I've done."

Marcos looks up to his mother confused, what had she done? For all he knew they hadn't met simply because they lived in different countries. That's no reason why she'd be in trouble is it? He looks back around the room then to George who smiles warmly to him in reassurance. "Sorry isn't enough I know, but I am. Truly. It's time though, Marcos needs you. He needs his family."

No one says anything. Though all silent there's a mixture of strained emotions held within the room. Many teary eyes. Some white knuckles and poorly hidden anger. But mostly it's shock.

Bill's looking around his family, worried, someone needs to say something. They can't just stand there any longer gawping. Dropping Fluers hold he walks forward, heads turn at his sudden movement. He squats infront of Marcos smiling as he shakes his nephews hand with both of his "It's nice to meet you Marcos. I'm Bill," he turns slightly on the spot to point towards his partner, "that's Fluer, my wife." She offers a small smile and wave, then Bill turns back to face him "I'm the eldest of your uncles." He states proudly, "And the coolest" he winks speaking the final line in a whisper. Marcos smiles, whispering back "But Uncle George said that he's the coolest" "yeah don't listen to him, or any of the others - there'll be a lot of that going around." Bill chuckles.

Marcos starts to relax at his uncles attempt in conversation. Y/n and George smile sweetly to one another but with nerves still evident in their expressions. "How did you get your scars?" Marcos asks abruptly. "Marc-" y/n warns, "ah, now THAT is a pretty awesome story" Bill grabs both his hands in his once more, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet etching ever closer to his nephew as he readies to tell the story, "you see there was this fight, at Hogwarts, before the War where I was up against this Werewolf-"

"Alright, alright, Bill, don't hog the boy with your boring old Greyback story." Another redhead interrupted, walking forward from the group to push his brother to the side, Marcs face contorted in confusion, brows furrowing and head falling to the side. Did he just say his story, with a werewolf, was boring!?

"I'm Charlie" the man knelt before the boy smiling widely "and I am by far cooler than these ones don't listen to them." "How are you cooler?" Marc asked "I work with Dragons." He widened his eyes in mock surprise before smiling again. "REALLY!? DRAGONS!?" Marc lit up like a Christmas tree. Charlie turned his head over his shoulder with a smug shit-eating grin on his face as he taunted his siblings for the reaction he'd elicited from such a simple statement. "Yep. Dragons." "Do you have one!? Can I see it!? Are they really as dangerous as everyone says?" Marc was firing questions at him quicker than his breath could carry, his enthusiasm endearing and contagious as the rest of the family made their way to make their introductions.

"Move it Charlie" stated a firey haired young girl "Merlins bollock!" "Marcos, Language!" Y/n warned but her son paid no mind to the woman too engrossed in the individual before him. "I know you! You play for the Hollyhead Harpies!" It was Ginnys turn to grin smugly to her brothers as they were pushed to the side. "It's lovely to meet you Marcos." She hugged him warmly. George and y/n stepped back a couple paces to allow the family more room for introductions.

Y/n was quietly crying as George had his arm placed securely around her back listening along to the excited conversation of everyone present, her son in particular, each time he was met with a new face. Until it seemed to reach a peak.

"YOU'RE HARRY POTTER!" "There it is." George whispered amusedly in y/ns ear. "The one and only." Harry smiled, "I must say, you look so much like your father. Except the eyes of course you've got-" "-my mothers eyes. Yes. So people keep telling me." Marc nodded with thin lips, this being maybe the hundredth time he'd been told so. "Sorry, trust me, I know that line gets a bit old." Harry smiled to himself.

Y/n was wrapped up in the various pieces of conversation that met her ears as more introductions were made. She always felt something had been missing from her life, she assumed it were simply Fred. She was wrong. This is what she was missing. They were missing from her.

They were her missing piece.

"Hello, my boy, I'm Arthur - your grandfather it'd appear" he stated warmly very much liking the sound of that. "What do you do?" His grandson asked curiously. "I work with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts in the Ministry. Tell me..." Arthur began in a firm murmur, "do you know how exactly a 'microwave' works? I've been told it is a box which produces heat a-" "Daaaad not now!" Ron had grumbled. "I'm Ron. I'm an Auror with the Ministry" "like Mr Potter?" "Exactly." "Wicked".

"Greetings, Marcos. I'm Percy" came the next, posh, voice. "Hello, what do you do?" "I work within the Ministry-" Percy began before being interrupted by a sarcastic voice, "yeah don't worry about that one, Mate. Percy is in no running for the favourite uncle." George had spoke loudly causing a wave of chuckles to issue through the room.

Everyone was so warm and inviting and excited, it made y/ns heart swell. Hand placed to her chest as the other muffled her quiet gasps as joyful tears fell from her eyes. It was perfect, until she noticed something.

Where was Molly? Her eyes scanned the room, she was here not a moment ago where had she...

George noticed her shifting gaze and tensed posture. "Something the matter?" He whispered before his own eyes scanned the crowd of people. She needn't say a word as realisation struck swiftly, causing him to straighten himself. Dread flooded his body. "Don't fret, love" he whispered once again, gently rubbing her shoulder blades before taking a step towards Charlie - the closest member of his family - tugging on his shirt sleeve. Charlie leaned himself back towards his brother, eyes not leaving Marcos, nor the smile leaving his face. "Where's mum?" George asked. Charlie shrugged in response with a slight shake of his head "no idea".

Worry set in across Georges face, caught by Ginny across the room, whose head fell to the side as she silently asked the question, mouthing a simple "what?" To this George mouthed back "Mum?"

Her gaze quickly fixed to the room, brows furrowing as she noticed her mother's absence. Ginny looked back to George, shrugging she mouthed "up stairs?" George grimaced. It wasn't like his Mother simply to disappear. He certainly hadn't expected such a reaction. Given the circumstances, she should have been the first greeting him. With a suffocating hug and some offer of food.

"One sec" Ginny mouthed, holding up a finger while she quietly ascended the Burrows staircase in search of Molly.

George placed a firm hold around y/n again as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Ginny returned a few minutes later, arms wide with a shake of her head to let him know her search came up empty. George nodded a thank you, turning his head over his shoulder toward the kitchen. Empty. But the door...the door wasn't latched.

With a final squeeze to y/ns shoulder and a light comforting kiss to the top of her hair line he left her side for the first time since they'd arrived.

Y/ns arms wrapped around her body feeling far too vulnerable in the moment without George by her side. But she knew he had to be the one to find her.

Charlie's attention had been turned to the pair as he noticed Ginnys shrug in their direction. Looking just in time to see George walk towards the door as y/n tensed, insecurities and anxiety setting in.

He was unsure how to react. On the one hand he was ecstatic to discover he had a Nephew, one which oozed confidence and joy. One exactly like the Brother he'd lost. He fit like a puzzle piece into their lives, filling a hole they thought would never be filled. Though the cracks were still there, and he could never truly replace Fred - not that they'd want or expect him to, Marcos was the missing piece they needed in their lives. More than any of them probably realised.

On the other hand, however, Charlie was angry. Worse than angry. He was full-fledged fucking furious. Not an emotion usually acquainted with Charlie Weasley, the most carefree and open minded Weasley in the clan. To think someone he considered a friend, no. family. For years could just up and disappear from their lives, hiding this boy from them, this part of their family from them for more than a decade...it was a thought that made him sick. Feeling his throat close over and stomach turn at the disgusting lie he'd been unknowingly living. Talk about hard pills to swallow. Could he look past this?

Staring at the girl infront of him he did what he's always done. He began to reason. As painful as this is he knows there's two sides to every story and lashing out in anger is not going to solve anything. So he looks at it from her perspective; she'd just lost the man she loved. Perhaps she didn't know at the time she was pregnant? After that she ran, he remembered the last time he saw her. She'd broke down saying she can't stay in England any more, he'd thought it was just the emotions talking but she was gone days later, once everyone who'd died were buried. So she ran, and found out she was pregnant. She was alone and grieving and terrified. Still he couldn't see why she didn't think she could come to them. That was beyond even his reasoning, he assumed she'd explain all of this in due time. Until then what she really needed was for them to be there for her.

So, swallowing all those festering venomous thoughts he stepped toward her. Placing a tentative hand to her shoulder with a brief half smile. She looked to him defeated, his name falling from her lips in a sigh the beginning of an apology followed as she trembled before him. He silenced her with a shake of his head, wrapping her within his arms in a hug to let her know everything would be okay. "We're here for you" he whispered simply.

As George stepped out of the house in search of his Mother, eyes squinting as they adjusted to the bright unfiltered sunlight beating down overhead, he scanned the hills and the veggie patch - where she wasn't. Walking slowly he headed for the back garden - where she was.

Sitting with her back to him on their concret garden bench, her posture was stiffly straight but her head hung low. The light sniffle of her nose told him everything he needed to know about her current emotional state. He had been fully prepared to find her seething with anger, afterall she had never been afraid to cry infront of the family before but anger was something she rarely liked to broadcast. Unless of course a scolding was in order for her children's bad behaviour. But here she was crying.

He placed a gentle hand to her shoulder unable to think of the words to make his presence known. She jumped at the touch before placing a hand atop his own. "Mum?" He asked hesitantly, she didn't speak, only wiped the fresh tears which had fallen from her eyes with the corner of her appron. George moved to sit next to her, hand not leaving her shoulder. He patiently waited for her to speak knowing it best not to force any conversation.

His eyes travelled over her face; eyes puffy and red, lip trembling slightly. Then down to her hands which both now played tensely with her frayed appron ending. He always hated to see his mother so upset, usually he had a joke to crack making her smile but since Fred he had trouble 'picking up the slack', as it were. Never able to break an awkward silence the way Fred had. He needed that first line from another to prompt any sort of sarcastic or witty remark. Hate to admit it but he were a tad envious of his twin in that respect.

After several long minutes Molly spoke. "Oh, George..." she sobbed defeatedly. His attention was immediately back on her face, waiting for her next strangled set of words. "He-he...he's..." "he's not mine." George nudged playfully in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere but it comes out a tad sad in his opinion.

"He's so much like him. Exactly like him if not for the..." "eyes." George spoke, smiling fondly at the thought, "he has his mother's eyes." Molly faced him finally, "Why'd you leave?" He questioned. Gingerly running a hand through the hair above her sons scar she replied sadly "It was just too hard." And more tears fell.

"It's hard for all of us Mum, I know it's a lot and this would be the last thing you'd ever expect to come from the fireplace but it's what came. And through all the bad and confusing you need to see the good. You have a Grandchild. Your first. What you've always wanted." "But George, it's not-he..." "he looks exactly like Fred, sounds exactly like Fred and acts exactly like Fred. But he's not, I know. He's not Fred. But he's a piece of him. More than what we had." Molly was shaking with tears now as George spoke with her. A similar burning taking root behind his eyes, but he had to hold strong. The family needed that right now. "I know it's hard, believe me when I found out I-well...let's just say some bystanders were scared they were about to witness a murder" he chuckled. "I'd never been so angry. But y/n explained everything. She talked me through it and she'll do that with you. With everyone. You just have to give her the chance."

Molly scoffed slightly as she let out a long breath. Looking up to her son her heart swelled to think she was able to raise such a strong, passionate and caring young man. She'd never been prouder of him. Seeing how, through everything; the war, losing Fred, finding out the truth about Marcos. How he managed to stay that compassionate and loving young man she always knew...it was beyond her how he could do that.

She'd lost so much during the wars. In the first she lost her brothers, and countless friends, then she lost a son to the second. When had she lost herself along the way? It was then she knew she needed to be the mother he deserved. That they all deserved, stronger than she had been before. She had to be with her family now. The family which just grew by a member. "What do you say, Ma, Ready to meet your Grandson? Cause you know I've been telling him all about how his Grandmother is the world's best cook. Don't know how much longer he's going to be able to wait for one of your homemade apple pies I've been telling him so much about."

Molly began to smile through her light tears before her face dropped completely. "Oh no!" She'd near shouted placing hands to her mouth, jumping from her place on the bench and startling George in the process. "I didn't cook any apple pies! I didn't think to! Usually we only eat those on very special occasions and- well, yes of course this is the most special occasion...but I had no idea!" Molly paced back and forth fussing over the fact she had no pies prepared "oh, George, you don't suppose he'll be too disappointed do you? I'm sure I can whip up a batch before dinner. Oohh but I haven't any apples! I'll have to run to the store".

George sat smiling fondly as his mother twidled her fingers together stressfully. It was endearing he thought, how quickly her priorities change. It wasn't till she started running her hands through her hair and down her appron he knew she needed to be calmed down.

He stood, placing both hands to her elbows to stop her pacing, looking down to her with a grin "Mum...relax." "oh George but the pies!" "MUM! How bout, first things first...you meet the boy." Silent laughter radiated through his chest as her eyes flew open "oh of course! How could I be so selfish! Do I look okay? I don't want to come across as some nutter" "doesn't matter how you look, you'll ways be a nutter." Molly smacked her son's arm as he laughed.

Slowly the two made their way back inside, his arm tight around her shoulder. He found it concerning at how slow she were walking but knew this was a difficult situation.

As the kitchen door swung open all eyes fell to the pair. Marcos was sitting on the small coffee table of the sitting area as everyone was gathered around, filling him in on anything and everything he wanted to know. Y/n was tucked closely under Charlie's arm on the sofa. Everyone went quiet once again as the two rejoined. Y/ns eyes flew to George who nodded at her, letting her know everything was okay.

Y/n was the only one to move as George and Molly approached the group. She stood, grabbing Marcos by his hands and moving him towards his Grandmother.

He stood straightly, smiling before her as y/n knelt beside him. "Marcos, this is Molly. Your Grandmother" y/n smiled sweetly but nervous up to Molly who only had eyes for the boy infront of her. She had a hand placed to her mouth as she held back glistening tears. "It's nice to meet you" he held out his hand for her to shake, but she didn't move to take it.

"Wait for it" George smirked knowingly. Marcos dropped his hand slightly, head falling to the side in confusion. Wait for wha-

Molly instantly swooped down, engulfing the young boy in a bone crushing hug as a heavy breath left her throat. "We're so glad to have you here, my boy." She let him go, leaning back to place his face between her palms smiling brightly through joyful, unfallen tears. "Bit peaky, what's say we begin dinner" she asked warmly. "That sounds nice" Marcos mumbled through squished cheeks.

"Come, this way Dear," Molly placed a hand to his back directing him to where they'd be eating, fussing over the boy more with each step.

George and Y/n watched on as her son happily seated himself at the table and Molly began piling various foods onto his plate as the rest of the family did the same from the lounge, basking in the small moment shared between Grandmother and Grandson.

'This is how it should always have been' Y/n thought with a heavy heart. There was a calmness in her mind as she watched on, replaying the way the family had greeted the pair as they entered. Things might just work out better than she had feared. Might.

#harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #George weasley x reader #fred weasley/reader

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cl-01-kestis · 4 years

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My Little Rebel - Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Female Rebel!Reader | Part 8

Summary: After reuniting with the force and discovering your past as a Padawan, you join Cere and Greez, and Merrin in hopes to restore the Jedi order.

Warnings: violence

You woke from your meditation hours after, eyes stinging from the sudden light pouring into your room. Never in your life had your body felt so relaxed, so comfortable and at ease. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t have a back ache or a sore neck. It felt nice.

You walked into the main hanger of the ship and yawned, stretching your arms out and covering your mouth as you approached the holotable located in the centre. You looked over to your right and noticed a young woman with stone grey skin and silver hair, her eyes were dark and she had unmistakable markings on her face. You couldn’t believe your eyes, that was a Nightsister.

You remember your time at the Jedi temple, your master spoke a lot of nightsisters and warned you about them, calling them witches and trouble makers. You had never met a Nightsister before so you didn’t have a personal opinion of them.

The Nightsister spotted you at the table, didn’t flinch or jolt at your sudden appearance. She kept a respectful stare on you and it seemed that she wasn’t causing any trouble, she didn’t seem that intimidating either. You wanted to speak to her, but you were aware about the situation with the Nightsisters. She might as well be the last of her kind, you doubt she’d want to trust anyone or speak to anyone after what happened on Dathomir.

But still, you decided to sit at the other side of the couch and sat with your elbows on your knees, hands clasped as you looked up at the holotable and spectated all the planets that were available to go to. The Nightsister turned her head to look at you, her eyes neither judgmental or wary, she simply just looked and sighed as though she was underwhelmed by something. You paid no mind to it and continued to look at all the planets until Cere appeared from the cockpit and smiled warmly at you.

“How did it go?” Her voice was eager and excited, standing in front of you a few paces away from you and crossing her arms over her chest as she awaited your answer. You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It went great, Cere, I saw Shaak, she was there” You rejoyced in a calm yet happy voice, earning a bright grin from Cere who was more than happy for you.

“That’s wonderful” She gave you a loose hug and patted your back, her heart was filled with warmth at your rediscovery and she felt as though she finally accomplished something useful, something meaningful.

“Sorry for being so abrupt, but is there a shower I can use around here? I stink of oil” You laughed, sniffing the sleeve of your mucky shirt and pulling a disgusted, scrunched up face. Cere chuckled, pointing you to the hallway you just came out from and directing you to the showers.

“Straight on and on your left, next to your room” She said, smiling as you thanked her and quickly rushed off to get a shower.

Merrin stood up from her chair, walking towards Cere whilst watching you scurry away.

“I’m not sure she’s the right person for this” The Nightsister whispered, leaning close to Cere so neither you or Greez knew what they were speaking of.

“She is, I’m certain of it” Cere insisted, nervously fiddling with her necklace and pursing her lips at the kick of hope within the Nightsister.

“What is she ends up like Cal?” Merrin had to ask, her friend had been taken by darkness and she didn’t want the same happening to you even though she hardly knew you. Cere’s head snapped in Merrin’s direction and for a second she didn’t know how to reply. The mentioning of their old friends name caused a stir within Cere and her heart collapsed remembering him.

“She’s strong, she’s older than him as well... her master was a wise woman, I doubt (Y/N) would want to face her disappointment” Was Cere’s answer, earning a sharp eye roll from Merrin who returned to her seat and folded her arms over her chest.

“You said the same thing about Cal” Merrin grumbled, tears of frustration filled her dark eyes and Cere felt guilty for a moment, watching as Merrin wiped her eyes and sniffed.

“What if he gets her? What will happen then?” She continued, but that was the last of her pushing questions. Merrin stood up and stormed to her room, leaving Cere alone in the main hanger of the ship to think about the conversation they just had, maybe Merrin had a point.

Cere never forgot the say she lost Cal to Trilla, her old Padawan. She’ll never forget the feeling of horror when she saw Cal in that black and red uniform. She was too late to save him from the dark side, but she wasn’t going to let that same mistake happen to you. Even if Cal was after you, you were proven to be stronger than him, in many ways that you didn’t realise just yet. Cere had to let you meditate again, she needed to let you see more of your past and discover more powers you forgot about. You were her last hope, you were all she had left.

Getting into the showers, you threw your towel over the door handle and made sure it was locked before grabbing the handle and twisting it. It squeaked in an almost deafening high pitch as cold icy water came out of the shower head, giving a great shock to your toes which where in the wet zone of the shower cubicle.

There was only one in the ship, it was fairly spacious and it had the necessities for cleaning and getting the dirt off you.

The sound of water hitting the ground echoed around the shower cubicle and it mushed together with your busy thoughts. You got your head under the shower and gasped at the bitter cold of the water, your body tensing and goosebumps raising as a response. It felt good though, you can’t remember the last time you had a shower.

You held your head underneath the shower for a few minutes, letting the water deep through just to be sure you were going to clean it correctly. You grabbed the shampoo bottle closest to you and squirted it into your hand, rubbing it together before smearing it all over your scalp and massaging it into your hair. You felt euphoria as you felt all the mud and rain leave your hair, brushing your fingers through tangled bits of hair and winding as you accidentally pulled some strands out.

After rinsing out your hair, you scrubbed your face with your hands and scrubbed your body with soap will it was sore. You had to be 100% certain you were clean, you wouldn’t leave the cubicle unless you were absolutely positive.

You weren’t sure how long you were in the shower for, probably under an hour at most. You turned the faucet off and wrapped your body in the towel on the door handle. You rubbed your hair until it was no longer dripping with water before creeping out of the cubicle and scurrying to your room, only to realise you had no fresh clothes.

You looked around your room, through the drawers of the cabinet in hopes something would’ve there. Nothing. Damnit. You flushed a furious red as you chewed your nails, other hand holding the towel wrapped around your body.

A light knock behind you caught your attention and you turned around to see who it was. To your surprise, it was the Nightsister. In her hands she held a pair of fresh clothes that appeared to be hers. A red tunic and a black long sleeved shirt, black leggings and red boots.

“It’s not much, but it’ll do” She spoke to, catching you off guard with her thick Dathomirian accent but you found it unique.

“Thank you” You smiled, using one hand to take the neatly folded pile of clothes from her arms all whilst holding your towel on. The Nightsister bowed her head respectfully and returned the smile.

“I’m Merrin” She blurted out, fiddling with her hands behind her back as she tried to smile without feeling awkward or embarrassed. Your smile only widened and you bowed your head back.

“I’m (Y/N)” You said, watching as the Nightsister nodded her head to you once again before turning around and closing the door, leaving you in peace to get changed and into more comfortable attire.

You weren’t sure what time it was, possibly around 3 in the morning. You’d lost track of time a long time ago on Bracca and at this point your body was malfunctioning and lost its rhythm of sleep. You slept a solid 2 hours since you arrived on the Mantis, mostly because you couldn’t get to sleep with all the thoughts running wild in your head. So you decided to stay up and join Cere on the couches. You fit well in Merrin’s clothes, thankfully you and her were similar sizes.

“Alright people, we’re in coming to Kashyyyk, saddle yourselves up” Greez called from the cockpit, alerting you and Cere and interrupting your conversation. Merrin emerged from her room, clearly practicing her witchcraft, and strapped herself in to the seat behind you in the cockpit.

You remembered the last time you were in Kashyyyk, it felt like years ago. Your eyes widened as they fixated on the familiar vibrant greens and blues of the Wookie dominated planet, heart thumping in your chest as if the occurances that happened months ago would happen all over again. You couldn’t afford that, neither could Cal.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit tense” Cere asked curiously, turning her head to look at you as her eyes held reassurance and serenity. You nodded your head, your lips in a thin line as you struggled to keep the memory of you and Cal meeting at bay.

There was a strange surge in your stomach, something felt wrong as the Mantis aoproached the landing bay at the hidden Rebel base. Cere was worried, she could feel how uneasy you were. She wanted to ask more but it had to wait for later.

As soon as Greez landed, you unfastened your seatbelt and bolted to your room, fetching your lightsaber before returning to the middle of the ship, meeting Cere and Merrin half way. The two women stared at you with wide eyes as you walked out bravely on the open ramp and scanned the area. You ignited your lightsaber, the feeling in your stomach grew stronger as your feet touched the green grass of the planet and the wind swirled around you.

“Stay inside” You called to Cere, walking forward to investigate the area. Cere wasn’t sure whether to follow you or let you do your thing, she could feel how on edge you were and by the looks of it Merrin could as well.

“Should we listen to her?” The Nightsister turned to Cere with questionable eyes, looking back and forth at you two until Cere shook her head and pointed to you as you finally came to a stand still and closed your eyes.

There was a faint noise in the distance, it sounded heavy. Mechanical feet stomping on the grass and nearby as you slowly crept back. Your predictions were true, the Empire was here.

“Are there any rebels here?” You asked, running back to the ship with urgency and desperation in your voice. Cere nodded and pointed to the entrance to the base which was a small secluded door that was extremely hard to see. Quickly, you thanked her and ran to the door.

“The Empire are here, we need to evacuate the area” You yelled over your shoulder, sprinting to the entrance and slamming your fist onto the brass door which was concealed by leaves and dirt.

You heart footsteps behind the door, lots of them, and the door opened to reveal a man with heavy war armour and ran skin, a bald head and dark eyes.

“Who are you?” He asked sternly, eyes narrowed and fixated on you as you raised your hands up to prove you weren’t here to cause any harm.

“I’m (Y/N), listen, I know you don’t know me but I spotted an AT-ST nearby. You need to evacuate now” You were straight to the point, earning a gasp from the man in front of you before he looked behind you to see the Mantis and Cere who was standing, waving on the ramp to signal they had ally’s.

“Are you a Jedi?” The man asked, and for a moment you felt your heart leap.

“Yes” You answered, feeling an overwhelming amount of adrenaline pumping through your blood as you confirmed who you were. The man tinged a smile, moving to the side to let you in and share the evac info to the rebels within the base. There was a lot of them, you could already feel that this was going to be a long operation.

It took a while to get everyone’s attention and spread the word that the Empire had arrived on Kashyyyk, a few rebels cried, others were determined to fight. It was a disasterous heap of nerves and emotions.

You learned the man in the war armour’s name was Saw Garrera, he was a freedom fighter and a rebel like the rest of the people there, but you can’t remember seeing him during your time as a rebel. You introduced yourself and helped him prepare for evacuation. Many other rebels prepared for war.

You wanted to fight, I mean, you had a lightsaber now, and the force! You’ve meditated a few times already before you landed on Kashyyyk and you remember so many tricks and skills up your sleeve that could be very useful in situations such as facing the Empire in battle, especially for that.

“We’ll evacuate those who do not want to fight, if you aren’t evacuating, please follow (Y/N) and help the others onto the transports” Saw yelled over the loud commotion within the Rebel crowd. All of them nodded and only moved faster at this, running and skidding around the underground hide out.

“Saw” You grabbed the commanders attention quickly so you could try and wrap your head around with what’s going on.

“What if there’s an Inquisitor?” You asked.

“Then that’s for you to handle” Was his reply, sharp and it caused you to mutter a cursive under your breath. You were the one with the lightsaber after all, don’t get all weak now (Y/N). You thought to yourself.

There wasn’t much time to doddle about and daydream, you helped board the transports and there was one left behind for those who were fighting. Saw Garerra stayed behind and decided to fight with you, his faith in this fight was sky high and it was clear he expected much from you.

Once the transports were off, you and 20 other rebels were left behind, loading guns and checking ammo. You inspected many blasters and snipers to check that they were stable enough to use, polishing the pipes and making sure the triggers weren’t stiff. Next to you was a young girl, she was polishing rifles and rubbing her nose on the sleeve of her khaki jacket. You glanced at her for a few seconds, realising she was far too young to be involved in a fight such as this but you decided to stay quiet in case she took it personal.

You spoke with a few other rebels stationed nearby, some that were suiting up and others who were checking the cameras outside to see if the enemy was near.

“We’ve got an AT-ST south exit” One rebel reported, it implied to whoever was working beside them and by the looks of it things were getting hectic outside.

You looked back to the blaster in your hands, noticing it had a small rebel sign carved onto its side. You looked around and snuck the rifle onto your belt, just to be sure you had the right weapons and a backup if your saber went missing. Everyone around you finalised their equipment and approached the door with confidence, yet you could feel the pressure surrounding them. This wasn’t their first fight but they feared it would be their last.

You walked up to the front since the rebels moved to make a line for you, watching intently as you ignited your lights saber, illuminating everyone’s face and even making some of the rebels gasp. It was clear some of them had never seen a lightsaber before, or met a Jedi. You smiled at their curiosity before kicking the door open with as much strength as you could muster, immediately sprinting outside to the scorching sun of Kashyyyk and immediately hearing blaster shots in the distance.

The rebels followed you, yelling and chanting with rage and anger towards the Stormtroopers ahead.

“Go! I’ll take care of the AT-ST!” You yelled to all of them, running to the side and letting the Rebels take the lead as you sprinted to the south exit where the mini Walker stalked the grounds.

You crept up onto a nearby slope, spying on the AT-ST that trampled over the greenery and nature of the planet, it hurt your heart to see how much destruction it caused.

Just as you were bout to strike and jump onto its head, you were met with a flashback, an unlocked memory.

“Concentrate (Y/N), enemy vehicles are always hard to take down but you need to make it quick and swift” Wolffe’s voice echoed in your mind and slowly, the force filled your body and you remembered your training, another missing piece that was useful in situations such as this.

You sprinted towards the Walker and pounced on it within seconds, grabbing onto the head with one hand and using the other to cut into the inside and grab whoever was steering it. The Walker started spinning in circles, as if the person inside was trying to find you and see what was happening. Your saber cut through the top like butter as soon enough, you were let face to face with an Imp who’s eyes were blown open with fear and shock. Pulling him out, you threw him to the ground and knocked him out immediately, you didn’t want any blood on your hands just yet.

Getting into the Walker, you looked at the controls cluelessly, there were so many. The rebel inside You was itching to steer it and use it on the stormtroopers, but the Jedi in you wanted to hand it over to someone else so you could focus on what was really important. Conflicted, you decided to push a few buttons and see what the Walker did. It steered around and you were thrown to the side, face slamming against the wall and causing you to groan out in pain.

“Okay... maybe not” You told yourself, avoiding the button you just pushed and instead going for the steering wheel. You had no clue what you were doing, you just went with your gut instinct and steered it towards the fight. It felt so heavy, the feet practically slammed against the earth and made you tumble inside it with every step it took. You grumbled in frustration, trying to keep yourself in place as you trampled over forest territory and towards the fighting and the sound of blaster shots.

Before you knew it, a few rebels began shooting at you, thinking it was still in Imperial hands. You were quick to stand up, ducking as a blaster shot missed you by a hair. “It’s me!” You exclaimed, waving your arms for the rebels to see and feeling relief as they lowered their blasters and apologised to you profusely.

“Sorry about that, Jedi!” A young rebel girl yelled up to you, her hand cupping the side of her mouth so her voice could echo. You waved her off and shrugged, hands pressed on the edge of the walkers head and looking out to the land of Kashyyyk. You had such a better view up on the Walker, you could see the fight from where you were located and witnessed a flurry of red blaster shots and flames. Your instinct was to get there as quickly as possible.

“Someone take this, i gotta go!” You exclaimed, grabbing your saber and jumping out of the Walker with clumsiness before sprinting past the rebels and towards the battlefield.

You ignited your lightsaber as you approached the field of scrambled Rebels and stormtroopers. You jumped right into the mix and ran to the middle of the battle, raising your saber and concentrating on blocking the blaster shots and deflecting them so they could return to the person who shot them and hopefully hit them as a result. The Rebels around you were relieved now that you were here, helping them out with everything you had and putting your all into the fight. This was the first time you’d fight as a Jedi, adrenaline flowed through you but so did the Force, controlling your every move and helping you balance and get rid of the anxiety you had moments before. The force was helpful when it came to deflecting shots and charging at stormtroopers, lightsaber gripped tightly in your hand as you struck them down one by one.

You let it guide you through battle and dodging enemy attacks effortlessly, cutting through the piles of white armour and securing the area as though it was an easy task. Your heart wrenched as a few Rebels were taken down, crying out for them as you went for their killer with your lightsaber, no hesitance in taking their life quicker than they took the rebels.

The stormtroopers were reluctant attacking you as they watched you take down so many enemies, so many bodies of white and black that hit the ground faster than you could say ‘Bantha’. They eventually called a retreat but you weren’t finished yet, you kept going after them along side the other rebels who certainly weren’t finished with them either. Angry cries left their lips as they shot down the remainder of the troop, bodies falling and eventually coming to a halt when none of them were standing.

A sudden silence erupted amongst the group of rebels behind you, no one spoke a word as a strange sound ripples through the sky above. Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach, you felt like your throat was about to dry up and you’d suffocate on your own breath. The very distant echo of a Tie howled above you and the rebels, their first instinct was to immediately run and get to the transport as soon as possible. You turned around and looked up behind the rebels, head tilted slightly as your eyes met a Tie fighter charging right towards your location, practically the size of your fingertip but slowly getting closer and closer.

“We have to go! The Inquisutor is coming” The young rebel from earlier called out, tugging on your arm desperately to get your attention in hopes you’d come with her and board the transport.

“No” You replied, voice firm and sure of what you were about to do.

“Are you sure? You’ll be killed!” She argued.

“Someone has to stay behind to distract them, you go ahead and board the ship, we’ll see each other again. Please, can you tell my crew I might be a while?” You pressed a reassuring arm on her shoulder and looked up to meet her scared eyes, eyes that only recently witnessed the death of her friends.

The girl had no other option but to nod and listen to your command, tears welling up in her blue eyes as she sniffed and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her grubby clothes.

“Please be careful” She whimpered, patting your shoulder a few times before running off into the trees to reunite with her comrades and board the transport that awaited them.

You smiled as you watched her disappear, but the smile was short lived when the tie from earlier was right behind you and was currently landing, the leaves and grass around you blowing away in every direction which caused your hair to whip in your face. You didn’t dare turn around, scared to see whoever it was as you quickly blocked off your force aura and made sure the Inquisitor didn’t recognise who you were. The ship soon came to a halt and you heard the hatch open up, the clear footsteps of an Inquisitor landing on the ground as they jumped down from the ship.

You tensed, unable to recognise who it was but you still didn’t turn around, you kept your head high and fought back the fear as you awaited their move.

“So... you’re the Jedi I’ve heard so much about”.

Your heart stopped and you felt like you were going to throw up at the least, a horrific churning stirred in your stomach as you recognised the voice of Cal Kestis standing right behind you.

You realised now how late you were at explaining yourself, your lightsaber out, ignited and on full show as your back faced the man you loved with every bone in your body. You fought back tears now, biting your lip and hoping he wouldn’t so much as hate you when he realised who it was standing in front of him.

“Is someone shy? Uncommon for filth like you” He continued, you felt a sting in your heart as he spoke his words of disgust. You weren’t used to this Cal, you didn’t like it. Not one bit. But overtime you started to realise that this was really who he was, this was his job, his lifestyle. He was now your hunter, and you were his pray.

Sucking in a breath, you swallowed your fear and turned your head slightly, unable to see anything but his feet. Slowly but surely, you turned around and you were finally face to face with Cal. He wasn’t wearing his helmet which meant you could see every bit of shock break out of his face when he realised it was you. His golden eyes snapped open and he took an almost offended step back, his lightsaber already ignited before he realised it was you and his other hand balled into a fist.

“What-“ He blinked a couple of times just to check he was seeing correctly, lips quivering and heart racing in his chest.

“When did this happen” His voice wasn’t friendly, full of demand and frustration as he gritted his teeth and his hand clenched around the hilt of his lightsaber. You tensed at his sudden change of emotion and took a cautious step back, lightsaber slowly readying in case he had any ideas as he stood meters away from you.

“Yesterday, I already feel so welcome” You said sarcastically, you started circling one another like predators with their prey, ready for whatever was about to happen but also hesitating because of your feelings towards each other.

“I don’t want to fight you (Y/N)... just give me the lightsaber and we can act like none of this happened” Cal’s voice came out more reassuring this time, realising a hand out to you as the other still gripped his scarlet lightsaber. You scrunched your face up in confusion, eyes sharp and narrow as they concentrated on your boyfriends face.

“No” You muttered, shaking your head and making your answer known to the Inquisitor in front of you who’s gold eyes were ablaze with rising anger. Cal didn’t want to raise his voice to you, he didn’t even want to lay a finger on you, he was angry because he wished it wasn’t you who he was up against. Out of all the Jedi left, you had to be one of them. You were the thing he was trained to kill.

“It doesn’t have to be this way” You called out to Cal in a more confident and clear tone, scared that he would take it the wrong way as you two continued circling one another.

“Come with me” You carried on, raising your own hand this time and spreading it out so he could take it. Bewildered, Cal took another step back and swallowed a lump in his throat, not sure where to look as he trembled. There was a war going on in his head, a war he couldn’t conquer just yet. He looked back up to meet your desperate gaze and softly shook his head.

“You know I can’t do that” He shook his head and his voice croaked out to you as if he was holding back tears, you could feel the sadness and guilt from where he was standing. It made your head dizzy. You wanted him to come with you, maybe run away with you and start a new life. But he wasn’t for budging, you could tell it would take some time to get him to think about leaving his life as a killing machine behind.

It pained you to see him like this, it also didn’t help that neither of you had seen each other in over a month and your meeting wasn’t on good terms. He was here to kill you, you knew it.

“I’m not going to fight you Cal, I’m not” You unsheathed your lightsaber that once was his, clipping it to your belt but a part of you was screaming to get it back in your hand and defend yourself. Cal didn’t unsheath his own and kept still, eyes wide and his brows furrowed.

He didn’t say anything, his bottom lip quivered as he sucked in a shaky breath and tore his gaze from you.

After what felt like minutes, he unsheathed his lightsaber and his hand was shaking violently as he held it. You sighed in relief, heart thumping wildly in your chest as you awaited his further actions.

“Where did you get that lightsaber?” He asked, eyes flickering to your waist where the lightsaber lay. You took a hesitant step closer to him, taking the lightsaber from your belt again but not igniting it.

“Bracca” You answered truthfully, watching his gaze shift from curious to confused.

“What were you doing there?” His voice was hoarse all of a sudden, like his old life was flashing before his eyes at the mention of his old home.

“A mission with the rebels” You looked at the lightsaber and traced it with your fingertips intricately. Cal watched you with a soft gaze, he looked down at your lips and all of a sudden felt his heart speed up just that little bit more.

Cal wanted to kiss you, but he wasn’t sure how many eyes were on you right now. You were both amongst bodies of fallen stormtroopers and rebels, it wasn’t entirely the most ideal place to kiss you. But maker he wanted to, he wanted to kiss you even though he was supposed to kill you. Sharp pain lingered in his chest at the fact you were now a priority within the Inquisutors, another Jedi on the list to take out. As much as he is loyal to the Empire, he can’t take out the one person who made him feel true love for the first time in his life. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, and it made him feel worthless. But in his head your life was more valuable than his, he’d die for you if it meant getting you away from the Empire. You weren’t aware of the impact you made on his life, you were the first and only person to have been put in front of his job, the meeting on Kashyyyk goes to prove it.

You looked down past the lightsaber in your hand and looked at Cal’s free hand which was balled into a fist. You reluctantly stroked it with your fingers, hand slowly but surely slipping into his own and intertwining. Cal felt all the stress and anxiety flush out of his system as he felt your hand in his, he looked up to you and all of a sudden his lightsaber dropped to the ground with a loud thud, proving how heavy it really was.

In a flash, his other hand cupped your cheek and he brought you in for a passionate, longing kiss that made your stomach flutter. You dropped your own lightsaber which landed next to his and wrapped your arms around his neck, his own wrapped tightly around your waist. You ran your fingers through his red hair, pulling him closer to kiss you deeper as his hands gripped your waist. His lips felt so soft against your own, teeth tugging on them softly as you opened your mouth to let him in. You weren’t sure how long you stood there kissing for, the sun started to set on Kashyyyk and you didn’t want to let him go so soon after not seeing him for more than enough time.

Cal dipped his head to your neck and bit down on it, lips teeth and tongue creating a dark bruise on your skin which you guranteed would be there for over a week. It felt sore, you tugged on his hair and let out a weak whimper as your eyes shut over. Cal smiled against your neck, biting down once more before leaning his head back and returning to your lips.

“(Y- (Y/N) are you there?” It was Merrin, her voice was static with the quality of the coms device on your wrist but you heard her loud and clear. You took a hesitant step back from Cal who’s arms were still around your waist.

“Yeah, I’m here” You replied, your voice cracking slightly which caused a blush to rise on your face as Cal chuckled silently and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Thank Maker you’re still alive, we were told an Inquisitor had arrived on Kashyyyk, are you alright?” She asked with worry, her heavy Dathomirian accent ringing out in the warm Kashyyyk air.

“I’m okay, a little hurt from a blaster shot but it’s just a scratch” You smiled, looking to Cal who frowned at your words and took a step back to inspect your body. You stifled a giggle as he spotted the blaster shot on your leg and looked like he was about to rip someone’s throat out.

“We’ve got bacta patches here, hurry up and get to the Mantis, Cere wants a word with you” Merrin sighed before switching off her coms and leaving you once more with your Inquisitor boyfriend.

Cal froze in his spot, looking up to you and opening his mouth to say something. Nothing came out of his mouth, you were guessing he just didn’t want to go and leave you once again.

Taking a step close to him, your heads leaned against one another and you closed your eyes, enjoying the silence between you and wrapping your arms around Cal once again to bid a painful farewell to him. Cal buried his head in your neck and hugged you tightly, stroking your hair as you yawned in his shoulder and caused him to chuckle.

“I should let you go” He sighed, pulling away and making you frown. Just as you were about to protest, you realised how late it was getting and how impatient Cere must be. You ruffled his hair playfully and made him laugh, his golden eyes narrowing as his cheek raised with the smile on his face.

“I really should get going” You mumbled, cupping his cheek and tracing it with your thumb. Cal closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, purring at the feeling until his eyes opened once more at the sound of a distant yell.

“I love you” You whispered to him, kissing him firmly and cupping the back of his neck as he kissed you back with just as much passion.

“I love you too” He pulled away, flicking your chin playfully with his index finger before you both picked up your lightsabers and gave each other one last yearning glance before running off in opposite directions, returning to the opposite lives you both had.

#star wars #x reader #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #jedi fallen order #jedi reader

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Walk Me Home

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3229

Author’s Note: Here we go, fam! New story, new adventures, new thrills and chills and feels! Who’s excited?!? This story was inspired by P!nk’s song “Walk Me Home”, which you should totes listen to (and watch the video, it’s so COOL) if you haven’t. This was a birthday present for @thoughtslikeaminefield , though I will admit it was a few...well, either days or years late, depending on how you look at it. I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! SHE ALSO MADE THE IMAGE!! HOW GORGEOUS?!?!

Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1

A firm tap on the door of her office makes Kimberly’s head snap up. She blinks, her eyes unable to focus quickly after looking up from her computer screen. She remembers she’s wearing her reading glasses, and slips them off her nose, letting them dangle from the chain around her neck.

“Dr. Harper? Could I take a few minutes of your time?”

“Yes, I…” Her eyes finally focus on her visitor, and the room is suddenly devoid of oxygen. “Dean? Is it...really?”

“Kimber?”

The astonished man framed in the doorway is a far cry from the brash, charming boy she met in a different life, but she’d know him anywhere. Time has been more than kind to Dean Winchester, and Kimberly has to admit some things really do get better with age.

Which is saying a lot, considering.

“God, no one’s called me that since high school.” She stands and takes a couple of measured steps around her desk. Seeing him unexpectedly like this after so much time leaves her physically and emotionally off-balance, but the smile she offers him is genuine. “You’re a helluva sight for sore eyes. It’s been a while.”

Dean recovers from his shock quickly, crossing the small room in a few quick strides, and sweeps her into a hug. She’s engulfed in his presence, not just his physical stature (she does not remember him being this tall or broad or...solid) but also the scent and feel that is absolutely Dean. She feels a shock of vertigo as memories and emotions she’d long laid to rest all vie for immediate attention.

It hits them simultaneously that they’ve embraced for a few moments longer than necessary, and they disentangle with sheepish smiles.

“What are...no, I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Have a seat!” A lop-sided smile pulls at Dean’s lips, and suddenly she’s seventeen again, trying desperately to keep her cool as she finally gets to talk to the handsome, mysterious new kid. Warmth floods every cell of her body, and she comes dangerously close to giggling.

“Coffee?” she offers, forgetting most of her hard-earned vocabulary in the face of her teenage dream.

“Always.”

...

The last time she’d seen Dean Winchester, his father was burning holes in his elder son’s back from the driver’s seat of his precious Impala. He glowered at Dean and Kimber, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the teenagers stumbled through their good-byes. Dean’s younger brother sat, slump-shouldered and defeated in the back seat, resigned to yet another relocation.

“Don’t forget my number,” Kimberly murmured, her palms sliding over his jaw, fingers threading into his close-cropped hair, and they both knew she meant, “Don’t forget me.”

“I couldn’t if I tried, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. He cleared his throat, trying to turn away before she could see any weakness.

“Don’t,” she said, holding his face firmly. “If this is all I get of you, don’t even take that much from me.”

Five blissful weeks they’d had before Dean’s father concluded his mysterious business in the area. Five weeks since she’d begun tutoring Dean in AP American History; an absolute sham, she had realized exactly five minutes into their first session. Dean may not have been caught up on the exact dates and details of what they were covering in class, but once he set eyes on the material, even she had a hard time keeping pace with his reasoning.

“Just wanted to talk to you alone,” he’d admitted that afternoon, his olive eyes sparkling. He flashed her what had to be an award-winning half-grin, showing a glimpse of perfect, dazzling white teeth and the merest touch of uncertain vulnerability.

“Does that usually work on girls?” she asked, genuinely curious. He had to practice that expression in the mirror; it was too perfect to be natural. His face lit up as his smile spread, his cheeks gaining the faintest hint of pink. In that one moment, Kimber realized she’d lived her entire life under an overcast sky, and now the clouds had parted. His smile was the sun on her face for the first time, dazzling and vital, and she soaked it in with dizzy abandon.

“Why, is it working on you?”

“Yeah, it, um, it really is.”

They spent the next month or so getting to know each other as only kids can, when everything is new, the absolute pinnacle of priority and passion. They studied each other as fervently as they should have studied for midterms. Explaining how the Age of Enlightenment influenced the American Revolution was a complete waste of time next to finding out that the beautiful, smooth-talking, tough-as-nails Dean Winchester was actually ticklish.

Dean told her the most amazing stories, which she only learned were true after he and his family disappeared. She caught him up in history enough for the teacher to get off his back, and in return he showed her how to get rid of unwanted physical attention with minimal risk on her part.

Dean wasn’t her first kiss, but he wiped the memory of every other fumbling embrace from her mind with a searing permanence. Some nights they snuck out to the treehouse in her backyard, and some nights she snuck him into her room. He would never take her out to any of the famous local make-out spots, though; he said they were too dangerous and just begging for trouble.

She knew better than to argue with him when he got “that look” on his face, spoke to her in “that tone.” It took many years and some hard experiences of her own, but she did eventually learn that he’d been protecting her from so much more than she ever could have understood at that point in her life.

She found herself in awe of the sheer amount of wisdom contained in such a carefree, often goofy package. That they were chronologically the same age, almost to the month, was irrelevant; Dean Winchester had lived far beyond his years, and it showed.

And then one night, he’d arrived on her doorstep in the middle of dinner, asked if she could come outside for a minute. When he told her he was leaving, she knew he wasn’t joking. He’d warned her it would happen this way, that he had no idea how long they’d be in town, but she’d always imagined that future as some vague, misty destination, like “graduation” or “college.” Definitely going to happen, but not anytime soon, so might as well relax and enjoy things while you could.

“I…” But she couldn’t say it, not yet. She wanted to, had read so many novels and seen all the movies. It was the thing to say, and half her friends had already proclaimed their hearts belonging to various celebrities and hot guys around school. But staring into Dean’s eyes, so much older than they should be, she knew better than to throw that word out so lightly, carelessly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. His eyelids dropped, shoulders heaved once, and when he met her gaze again, that smooth front of cool confidence had slid back in place. “I know, sweetheart. Me, too.”

He kissed her then, despite his father’s glowering, despite her parents’ astonished looks from between the living room curtains. His hands were tight on her waist, and she raised up on her toes, pulling his face just a little closer.

They pulled apart after a long moment, eyes locked, and she kissed him one last time, chastely, savoring the plush of his velvet-soft lips against hers.

Then she let him go, and he went. There was nothing else they could do.

She hugged herself against the chill autumn night, ignoring the first dashes of icy rain that stung her bare arms as she watched the black Impala turn a corner and disappear.

She didn’t see him again for nearly two and a half decades. When he knocked on her office door, asking for Dr. Harper, the years melted away. She felt the sting of the rain, the chill of the night he’d left, and for a long moment, all she could do was stare.

…

“How did you find me?” he asks. His fingers slip around the coffee mug she offers him, and she has to make a physical effort to keep her thoughts focused on the task at hand. Everything about Dean has aged so gracefully. She would be envious if she weren’t also granted the absolute gift of drinking in the sight of him.

“I didn’t,” she says, “not exactly. I’ve been teaching mythology, folklore, and urban legends at the university for a long time now. You got me started on that, back in the day.” She offers him a small smile, hoping he understands she remembers all the stories he told her.

The grin he offers in return melts something in her chest that’s been rigid and frozen, deliberately separated from the rest of her emotions for most of her adult life, and she can’t breathe for a second.

“After you left town, I started digging a little. I looked into some of those stories you told me, some of the places you’d mentioned, and then some of the weird stuff that had been happening in the towns where you said your dad was working. I’m sure you know what I found,” she says, eyebrows raised.

Dean’s lips purse as he considers her words. He opens his mouth, brows creased, but then he seems to change his mind. He takes a long drink of coffee, and when he lowers the mug his expression is once again neutral.

“Well, I stayed interested. Made a career out of it, somehow. And then people started coming to me, asking for help finding bits of information here, some lore or ancient knowledge there. Some were hunters, some scholars, but it kind of became my thing. I’d hear stories about you and your brother occasionally, Mr. FBI’s Most Wanted,” she adds, and he chokes a little on his swallow of coffee.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” He brushes stray droplets of coffee from his chin absently, and her eyes laser in on a particularly enticing drop on the corner of his mouth. His tongue flicks out, catching it before it falls, and her breath hitches.

“To be honest, I was too nervous,” she admits as he sets his mug on the coaster in front of him. For the first time in many years, old feelings of abandonment, inadequacy, rear their nasty little heads. She has to work to keep her tone even.

“It’s been how long? I figured you’d forgotten all about me; I thought maybe I was just another conquest to you-”

“You were never a conquest to me, Kimber. You know that.” His jaw works in agitation as he frowns. Hurt and something else - guilt, maybe? - cross his face before his expression smooths out, replaced by a blank mask. “You should have known that.”

Doubt cartwheels through Kimber's mind, sending her thoughts reeling. Twenty-four years of thinking Dean Winchester had forgotten her are suddenly put into a new, alien perspective. She scrambles internally to regain her bearings, stunned in a way that only comes from a solid blow to one’s core beliefs.

Despite her parting plea, he’d never called her, not once in all the years after, and she’d convinced herself she was just the girl of the month. She’d been angry for a long time, well into college, but bit by bit, she forced herself to shut away her feelings, ball them up into a tiny hollow in her chest where she could at least ignore them, and moved on.

Apparently, somehow, she’d been mistaken.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

He nods stiffly, sitting back in his chair a little, putting a touch more distance between them. He raises his hand for her to continue, his gesture abrupt, and she shrivels inside. She sees she’s offended him, but if she’s in the wrong, then why did he never call?

“Dean, look, I shouldn’t have said conquest. That was insensitive of me, but from my perspective, what was I supposed to think? You say you won’t forget me, then you vanish into the night? What happened? Not even a single call to let me know you made it to your next stop alive?”

There’s another flash of pain, chased quickly from his eyes by what she’s pretty sure now is guilt. Exhaustion finally settles in, and he suddenly shows every one of the twenty-four years since he last saw her.

“Look, we’ve got a more immediate problem here, if the little bit Garth told me is true. Let’s…” he sighs, scrubbing his face tiredly with his hands. He steeples his fingers in front of his lips, coming to some sort of decision.

“We can sit down and talk Memory Lane over some pie and coffee, but let’s get through this first. Now tell me what’s going on.”

As much as she wants to argue, force him to tell her exactly why he never reached out, she can tell he isn’t going to budge.

“I...so...I wasn’t looking for you specifically,” she stumbles, “but I reached out to a former student of mine, Garth Fitzgerald, who I knew had been a hunter at one point and still had contacts. He said he would send someone my way, and then…”

“And then I showed up,” he finishes. His tone is efficient, economical, and all business. “Garth didn’t tell me much except his old professor was having some supernatural stalking issues. Gotta say,” he adds, and she is relieved to her bones to see the tiniest of crinkles by his eyes, “Sure didn’t picture you when Garth said ‘old professor.’ Figured I’d get Indiana Jones or his dad, maybe, but not...yeah.”

His attempt to add a little humor makes the wash of guilt and confusion in Kimber’s stomach even more uncomfortable.

She fills him in on the details, odd accidents happening to the people she’s closest with at work, strange noises around her house at night, the ever increasing sense she’s being watched.

“You talk to the police?” he asks.

She nods, letting her sour expression do most of the talking for her. “Went as well as it usually does. They didn’t even talk to my neighbors to see if anyone had seen anything. I had to do that.”

“Still, though. Doesn’t sound too supernatural to me,” he finally says, eyebrows furrowed. He isn’t dismissive, though; he stares hard at his coffee mug as he considers her story.

“Well, I guess you could explain away Helen’s fall down the stairs as a horrible but mundane accident. She could have tripped, but the people near her said she looked like she was pushed. Except no one was near enough to have done it.”

Now that she's getting over the shock of finding him on her doorstep, she remembers why he's there in the first place, and reality rushes back in. Kimber’s composure falters, but she does her level best to keep her voice steady.

“But Professor Lawrence was by himself in his office when his skin just started...boiling, not burning. I don’t care what the police report says. And Allen Simpson didn’t actually want to staple his hand to his dissertation, I promise you. He had just talked with me about one of his sources over coffee an hour before...before…”

Her throat closes as the whole nasty scene flashes before her eyes. She’d found him in the grad student workroom after following the sounds of his anguished howls, and there was just so much blood. She’d heard stories from the hunters she’d worked with, read her own share of horrific incidents, but to see it first hand…

“And sometimes, when I walk home at night, there’s...I’ve never seen anything, but I hear footsteps. Always behind me, and there’s no one there, but I know there isn’t anywhere for them to hide, whoever they are. I can feel them just...watching me. Even at home, a couple of times, when I should be absolutely alone, all my blinds and drapes closed. Once when I was making dinner, and once when I was...showering, and...Dean, it’s...I don’t understand.”

She takes in a stuttering breath and dashes at her eyes with the back of her wrist. Her hand drops limply to the desk as she stares at the glossy surface, finally allowing herself to feel the full depth of her fears.

“I’ve researched, tried to figure it out on my own. It shows all the classic signs of witches, but there’s been no evidence of a coven in town before now. I suppose a new one could have moved in, but I haven’t found any evidence so far. No one suspicious hanging around that I’ve noticed.”

Breathe, she reminds herself sharply.

“I checked back through as much of my notes as I could find on the hunters I’ve helped with witch cases. I checked in with anyone who had an open case or hadn’t called me back to let me know how their hunts went. Nobody had anything helpful to tell me.”

Silence stretches between them, both waiting for the other to say something, anything. Kimber cracks first.

“Dean, I’m no hunter. I’ve worked it as much as I can from the research end, and I just...I need help. Please.”

Dean’s hand settles atop hers, its warm weight an echo of familiarity, and she swallows hard against the rising bile in her throat. She meets his eyes, and his gaze is malachite.

“We’re gonna figure this out. I know you. You say this sucker’s a witch, I say bring me that bucket of water, Dorothy. We’ll get this fucker, I promise.”

That secret spot in her chest brightens, warms by another degree or two, and she nods her gratitude. “Thank you. So much. Now...it’s been a long day, and I’m kind of beat. Could I invite you over for dinner without it being too weird?”

He squeezes her hand before releasing it with a roll of his eyes. “I can behave myself, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m not feral, Kimber.”

“You’re not exactly tame, either,” she says, softening the words with a half-smile as she stands. She swings her jacket on, and he mirrors her actions. She shuts down her computer while he waits in the hall, looking up and down the corridor.

“I’ll need to do a full sweep of your office and check the scenes of the accidents,” he says as she pulls the door shut behind them and locks it. “Who all has keys to the professors’ offices?”

“Just the cleaning staff and the department secretary, and the professors themselves,” she says. “I can’t think of anyone else who would.”

He nods, pursing his lips. Suddenly, a smile lights his entire face and he sweeps into a ridiculous bow before popping up and offering her his arm. The years dissolve in an instant, and he’s that seventeen-year-old boy again, still too old for his age but trying so desperately to hang on to that carefree spirit, holding his elbow in her direction after slinging her backpack over his shoulder.

“Walk you home, milady?”

“I would be honored, good sir.” ...

Chapter 2

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solarscholarsofmagick · 4 years

Text

7 Feelings that Most Witches Can Relate To

1. Feeling shame when you forget about a holiday (again)

Let’s be honest; it happens to us at least once. Life gets busy and before you know it, you see posts on Twitter, saying, “Blessed Ostara!” while you are in the breakroom, scarfing down bagel bites while simultaneously trying your damnedest to get marinara sauce off your white shirt. What happens next can only be compared to the 5 stages of grief:

Denial: Maybe everyone was just posting stuff early. Maybe they’re in a timezone waaaayyy ahead of yours. You didn’t see anything posted about it yesterday, so there’s no need to look at a calendar, because you didn’t forget about the holiday.

Anger: It’s not your fault, it’s society’s fault. It’s not like there’s tons of advertisements about it in the media. No, everyone is hung up on Easter. The lack of accurate representation pisses you off and you’re prepared to scream from the top of your lungs about your beliefs.

Bargaining: Okay, so maybe you initially forgot about it, but you can totally make up for it. You still have time in the day to go to the store and buy some ingredients to make a quick meal as an offering. Wiping that stain off your shirt can kinda represent creating a clean-slate, can’t it?

Depression: You are legit the worst witch in the world. What kind of witch doesn’t even remember the major holidays. No amount of salvaging the day will erase the fact that you forgot about it in the first place.

Acceptance: Missing the occasional (or every) holiday isn’t something worth beating yourself up for, especially since they traditionally span three days or a week anyways. Even non-witches will forget about mainstream holidays. Besides, there’s always next year if you absolutely can’t do anything this week.

2. Trying not to destroy your bank account on a really cool crystal

For most witches, the fascination with what are essentially pretty rocks predates their official delve into the craft. When we do delve, however, that love (pretty much an obsession at this point) amplifies. So, when we go by that crystal kiosk in the mall, it becomes all too hard to resist buying that $50 bonsai tree with leaves of tiny jade shards. Sometimes it’s a jade tree, sometimes it’s a large amethyst geode, and sometimes it’s a hand-crafted obsidian dagger with an ornate elk-antler handle. However, the little voice in the back of your head desperately screams out that this money can be better used on food or on hoarding toilet paper (excuse our memeing). Who wins the argument? Hell if I know. *tries to sneakily slide card across the counter*

3. Not being sure which *witchy* aesthetic you want to represent

There are so many different aesthetics that you see witches portray on social media such as Instagram, Twitter, and even Tumblr. There are so many, and they’re all so damn cute, so finding one to truly commit to is about as difficult as choosing your starter in the first Pokemon game. (Charmander is the right answer to that decision, by the way). Those aesthetics include, but are not limited to:

The “traditional” witch- This aesthetic is typically described as Goth, witchy, or spooky. It can entail black lipstick, straight pitch-black hair, spider-web stockings, and platform boots that go up to your knees or thighs. There is nothing wrong with following this aesthetic. Go for it and relish in the fact that you can easily crush your enemies under your 5-inch platforms. And the fact that you are able to walk in them while normies just can’t seem to quite grasp the skill.

The plant witch- These witches will wear lots of greens and often have floral or tree tattoos. Their social media is usually saturated with pictures of their green children. Their hands are more often than not coated in a thin layer of dirt, especially under their nails. They yearn for their own greenhouse or maybe just a really nice sunroom.

The bohemian witch- These witches fulfill an aesthetic similar to the hippie movement of the mid-1900’s. You can usually find them wearing comfortable, loose-fitting clothes, and, more often than not, barefoot. Their Instagram is typically full of yoga poses and soap that they just hand-crafted.

The closet witch– Because these witches are not open (or are actively hiding) their craft, it is not easy to spot one. You have to look closer to see the signs. Such signs will usually be in the form of crystal and/or symbolic jewelry.

Pro-tip: You don’t have to fulfill a certain aesthetic. The aesthetic is never what makes a witch a true witch. So go nuts and wear what you want to wear. Your personal style is your aesthetic.

4. Getting Roasted by Your Own Tarot Cards/Runes/Divination Method

We usually consult our cards when we need answers. However, sometimes, we already know the answers and are just in denial. In these times, we consult our trusty tarot cards to find the real answer, since the one in our heads is obviously not the right one. It can feel like a slap in the face whenever we do a reading, hoping/praying for a different answer, and receiving what we already knew or facts we wished we hadn’t discovered. In these situations, it can mean that something unpleasant is the result of our own actions or that we have to do something unpleasant in the near future. The cards do not care about your feelings. The cards care about giving you the answers you need and helping you.

5. Forgetting About the Jar That You Put Outside to Collect Rainwater

It’s supposed to be simple. You wait until it rains, you grab a jar, you put it outside, and, once it finishes raining, you bring it back in. But, no, it never ends up this simple. It all seems to go wrong at step 4. After we put the jar out, more often than not, we go on about our day and the jar leaves our mind… usually for a few days. By that time, however, the water has either been evaporated or it has been contaminated with dirt, pollen, or even bugs. Just like with forgetting holidays, we tell ourselves that we won’t forget next time, but you don’t need to consult your cards in order to know that, unless you set an alarm on your phone, the cycle will only repeat itself.

6. Being Overwhelmed in the Beginning

Witchcraft is such a broad, broad term. When you say that you’re going to “practice witchcraft,” it can mean a multitude of things. You could be performing a spell, praying to your gods, drawing sigils, astral projecting, divining, and much, much more. You quickly discover this when you start your journey into the craft and it becomes overwhelming. We are in an age where vast amounts of information is at our fingertips at any moment. You find yourself asking, “Where do I begin?” We tell ourselves, “Let’s find a guide!” Then, we see that there are hundreds of “beginner” guides to the craft in bookstores and thousands online. It’s stressful and there’s a pressure of picking one that had the “right” version of things. In the end, you just have to make a leap of faith and pick one that feels right to you. Build your craft from things that pique your interest. Or, like me, you can close your eyes and grab one off the shelf and go with that.

7. Being Exasperated with Incorrect Portrayals of Witches/Paganism/Magick

You’re just hanging out with someone or a group, or you’re just chilling by yourself, innocently checking out something claiming to be about witches or paganism or magick- or even those books or movies about Ouija boards and/or malignant spirits- and as you’re watching, you notice some things are wrong. Very wrong. In fact, if the people in this had any knowledge at all of magick or paganism, they wouldn’t be in this unfortunate circumstance to begin wi- hey, don’t go without closing the ritual prope- at least the salt is still lini- hey, don’t do tha– I don’t even care anymore, they had no respect or reason to even do this in the first place. If people look to these things as what practicing magick is like (there are some very ignorant people out there), then they are getting a lot of misinformation and downright insulting stereotypes and stigmas ingrained in their minds. No, not all spirits are bad and trying to kill you, maybe if you’d show some respect, Karen, things wouldn’t try to kill you or possess you or whatever the fuck is going on here.

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#witchblr #witch #witchcraft #witches of color #witches of tumblr #wicca #wiccablr #wiccan #wiccans of color #wiccans of tumblr #pagan #paganism #pagans of color #pagans of tumblr #occult #paranormal #spiritual #spiritualism

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alethiometry · 3 years

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🌠 from deimcs of course and only if you don't have too many ♡

omg hi ari sorry this is so late!!

the first thing i think of when i see your blog is of course your complete and all-encompassing love for the odyssey siblings! particularly alexios who is so often overlooked or written off as either non-canon and therefore irrelevant, or has “bad voice acting”, which is so subjective and imo is simply not true!!! so i really appreciate that you’re out here stanning both siblings (and both iterations of deimos!) because they truly are such wonderful and distictive characters who deserve all the love in the world!

you are so kind and friendly and patient! other fandoms i’ve been in in the past didn’t always have the friendliest content creators, and i think sometimes making edits was treated as kind of a competition to see who could get the most notes/clout for the things they made? which is completely stupid, and i’m so glad that the ac fandom and you in particular are the complete opposite of that. i really appreciate the time you take to answer questions on both your blogs with regards to edit-making, as well as citing other people’s tutorials where you used them. and your tags on my edits are always so sweet, and you are SO patient with me when i message you out of the blue to ask for like 30 different odyssey cutscenes and i really appreciate that

i’m not paying your therapy bill for that kass graphic though. not after all the sibling angst you’ve put me through with your graphics. quid pro quo or whatever hehehehe

speaking of your graphics... i left this one for last because hoooooooly fuck your graphics are absolutely GORGEOUS. every time you post a new edit i find like 5 new things i want to try out, whether that be experimenting with blending modes and negative space, or color palettes, or, my favorite part of all your edits, YOUR TYPOGRAPHY. GIRL HOW????? i truly do not understand how you always manage to nail your fonts, everything just looks so polished and cohesive even if every gif in your post has a different set of fonts. it’s witchcraft, maybe.

send me a 🌠 and i’ll tell you what i associate with your blog

#ask games #deimcs #seance #asked

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getalittleclosey · 4 years

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under 10k larry fic rec

hi! i’m becca and i read...so much fic. these rec lists are an accumulation of fic that i’ve read or reread and extra loved from 2016-now. there’s a wide range of stuff here and i think there’s definitely something for everyone!! i divided them up by length so you can check out all those categories below!

please make sure to read tags and warnings on all these fics!! the only things i think i can guarantee is that these are all larry, there’s no non-con, no age play, no eating disorders, no mentions of bg, they end happy, and they’re mostly aus. oh and they’re all on ao3 and some are locked so you’ll need an account! anyway i hope y’all enjoy!!!

under 5k

under 25k

under 50k

under 100k

100k+

☆ colors of the rainbow (shine so bright) by whisperdlullaby 9k

Louis' a popular skateboarder who's out to ruin Harry's life, and sometimes Harry just likes to wear nail polish and panties. Or alternatively, the one where Harry absolutely does not have a diary.

note: there’s a part 2 that’s 6k

☆ day 3: tossed salad by missandrogyny 5k

Harry sighed. “Lou,” he said, as Louis pressed kisses onto the skin of his neck. He gripped at the edge of the washing machine as Louis nibbled lightly at a spot below his jaw. “I’m doing the laundry."

note: this is part of a series by multiple authors but imo can be read on its own as a pwp

☆ jealous of the moon by objectlesson 10k

This is how he dies, Harry Styles saying I want you in me when Louis can’t possibly fulfill that request in a reasonable or safe way.

☆ string theory by graceana 10k

au. louis buzzes with something and glows with another.

The last few players are trickling off the bus when Louis looks down at his hands to see that he is pretty simply put, glowing gold,” Aww what the fuck is this shit. Is it that noticeable?” He whines, doesn’t even make a big deal out of it like it’s a normal thing that should be happening right now.

aka. a cliche soulmatey-fate thing.

☆ you’re like a sponge (abrasive and colorful) by ladylondonderry 7k

Harry LOML Styles: Hey, can you recommend your fav shoe stores? Heels Abroad is closing and I know you know some good places

Butterflies have erupted in Louis’s stomach. This is the first time Harry has ever texted him. He glances down at the beat up old Adidas he wore for his run this morning. Harry thinks Louis knows some good places? He trusts Louis’s opinion on something?

Louis gulps, and then coughs up toothpaste, hastily spitting into the sink. Everything depends on this. Harry - Harry Styles - has texted him! Louis can’t mess this up. He has to be perfect. He has to have great shoe store recommendations. He feels giddy. This is it! A turn in their friendship! The toothpaste-y grin firmly on his face, he picks up his phone again just as another message comes through.

Harry LOML Styles: Sorry, wrong person

Oh.

Or, Louis's flirts look an awful lot like insults.

☆ rated r by cherrystreet 8k

Louis gifts Harry with a surprise sex tape, and it accidentally makes its way into Harry's family Christmas party. Ridiculousness ensues.

☆ stars and boulevards by cherrystreet 6k

They’d been friends for years, had known each other throughout middle school and into high school, meeting in a music class on a sticky September morning. They hit it off instantly, falling into one another immediately, never looking back. Their friendship was comfortable, genuine, safe, always there, achingly present and solid. Harry never felt uneasy confiding in Louis, their one year age gap making Louis somehow seem more worldly, more experienced, and even when Harry had to look down at Louis, he still looked up to him. They spent the quickly passing school years making each other’s homes their own, Harry’s mom calling Louis her honorary second son, Louis’ mom giving Harry a similar title, and everyone knew that if you wanted to find Harry, you had to find Louis first.

☆ in retrospect by ologist 9k

In retrospect, messing with time travel probably wasn’t the best idea George has ever had, and if that’s not the most ironic thing he doesn’t know what is.

note: this is from george shelley’s perspective so there’s quite a bit of union j!

☆ just you wait and see by orphan_account 7k

In which Harry mistakes Louis' flirting as an attempt to steal his job.

☆ i wanna be yours now by justalittlelouislove 8k

“Look, I’m not saying that it’s for sure a serial killer.” Pressing the end of his cigarette to his lips, Zayn takes a short pull and speaks through the exhale, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth and up towards the sky. “All I’m saying is there’s a good possibility it’s a serial killer.”

Someone is sending Louis flowers. Everyone suffers until Louis gets answers.

☆ come on over tonight by dinosaursmate 6k

As Louis reached Harry’s front path, he spotted something curious on the grass, near to Harry’s wheelie bins. Louis frowned in consternation. Was that…? He crouched down to look at the item a bit closer. It was a snowglobe. Not only was it a snowglobe, it was a Winnie The Pooh snowglobe. A rather large one. A Christmas themed one. - A friends with benefits au where Louis finds out there's a bit more to Harry than an insatiable sexual appetite.

☆ like vines (we intertwine) by turnyourankle 8k

The "Roswell" AU where Harry is an alien, Louis is not, and they've both been pining after each other for far too long.

☆ i was getting kinda used to being someone you loved by werebothstubborn 8k

His hand clamps down over Louis’ mouth as firmly as he can manage. “What do you want? C'mon, you have my full attention now. What. Do. You. Want.”

Louis manages to look apologetic as he licks slobbery circles around Harry's palm until he lets go. “Pretend to be my boyfriend,” he says, dramatically gulping in as much air as he can breathe.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“This bloke just came up to me, said he’d give us fifty quid to be in his music video.”

“And you said what? ��Sure, just let me coerce my friend into it with uncomfortable amounts of PDA and blackmail’?”

Louis has a brilliant idea. Harry begs to differ. Until he doesn't.

☆ can’t you see the glow by supernope 8k

Four times Harry tries and fails to tell Louis he's pregnant, and the one time he (accidentally) succeeds.

☆ i’ll know my name when it’s called again by pukeandcry 9k

Louis wakes up in Harry's body. This is a problem for several reasons.

☆ make you never wanna leave by fairytalelights 9k

“But that's fine?” Now Louis just looks confused. “There are so many ways you can have fun sex. Wetness is helpful but not a requirement.” Harry can feel his face heating up. The way Louis said fun sex, like it's that easy, like he has all the experience. He might be a year older than Harry, but Harry's not quite sure if age is the only factor at play here. He doesn't know why the thought of Louis having sex makes his heart start to race again and he especially doesn't know why the next thing he blurts out is, “You could show me.”

or, Harry is an omega teen who has trouble getting wet even when he's turned on, Louis is his omega best friend who helps him experiment. In a completely platonic way, of course.

☆ i’ll show you magic by kingsofeverything (fullonlarrie) 5k

Louis didn’t mean to go home with a Muggle, and he didn’t mean to sneak out of his flat in the morning. He definitely didn’t mean to wind up in that same flat a month later, attempting to steal a magical object before the Muggle gets home.

☆ streetwise hercules by bottomlinsons 7k

“I said,” Louis’ voice is venomous, “who the fuck is this?”

Right.

This is Harry’s part.

(Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry's boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.)

☆ a fully armed battalion (to remind me of my love) by mediawhore 6k

“He was flirting with you by the way,” Niall says casually once he’s finished saying goodbye to Louis and he’s joined Harry outside.

“No he wasn’t,” Harry replies automatically, feeling his heart clench at the thought. Was he?

Niall simply raises a mocking eyebrow in response before wrapping his scarf twice around his neck.

“Not that it matters!” Harry says quickly, eyes widening. “I wouldn’t care even if he did because he’s awful and the worst.”

Everyone at Hogwarts knows that Professor Styles and Professor Tomlinson absolutely despise each other. It's too bad that they're in love.

☆ we found love (right where we are) by dea_liberty 7k

Harry Styles hadn’t meant to come back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a celebrity. Except, somehow – by accident - he sort of had. Now he can't go anywhere without someone (or a lot of someones) screaming hysterically and or trying to charm him into falling in love with them. To make matters worse, he couldn't even eat anything he found just anywhere because it might be laced with a love potion. The absolute kicker though was the fact that the one person he'd been trying to impress when he'd apparently impressed the whole bloody world was probably the only person whose attention he hadn't managed to catch.

☆ dreaming of you by orphan_account 10k

It’s as he’s smoking on their shitty little balcony that it really dawns on Louis. These thoughts he’s having are about Alex’s boyfriend. His brother’s boyfriend. Louis is an awful person. He’s always been the kind of person to want what he can’t have and while he’s never wanted anything like this, he can’t stop thinking about it now. How small he’d look next to Harry. How he could easily pin Louis to a wall. How good his long, thick fingers would feel on him, in him . He feels his dick twitch and leans against the cold glass door leading back into the house.

[or; Louis falls in love with his brother's boyfriend.]

☆ won’t you love me? by halos_boat 6k

Where Louis is Spider-Man, Harry is oblivious, Liam has a problem with communicating his feelings, Zayn is frustratingly handsome and Niall has a pet turtle.

☆ feels good on my lips by phdmama 8k

When Niall harasses Harry into returning to Vermont for their fifteenth high school reunion, Harry is really not sure he wants to go. High School wasn't the most fun for him, but when it turns out that Louis Tomlinson, his former best friend and current star of the silver screen is going to be there, Harry agrees. The road to reunion is never easy.

☆ like you hate me by krisstylinson 7k

“You have poor taste for someone with the last name Styles,” he says, turning to show the back of his pants to Harry—the pants Harry had just stitched his name across last night to keep this type of thing from happening again.

Of course, he’s accomplished nothing but indirectly making himself pop a stiffy over Louis fucking Tomlinson.

☆ call me a thief by moodlighting 9k

AU. Of all the people on campus, the one person Louis can’t seem to stop running into is Harry fucking Styles. And he keeps stealing all of Louis’ shit.

#bruh there's a george shelley fic in here that's how old this is im SORRY #on the flip side there are also 2019 fics #so i mean #variety #fic rec #one direction #larry stylinson #there are quite a few hp aus in this wow good for me #mine #25 fics in this one #fic masterpost

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millennialincantations · 4 years

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Hexing the Moon is Not a Thing

I have been hesitant to weigh in on the on the controversy surrounding the rumors that witches are out there hexing the Fae and the moon, but as this story is making its way into national news media, I feel that silence is no longer appropriate. I am aware that people reading this are likely to disagree with me, or perhaps even become offended by my take on the situation, but I am willing to take that risk in an attempt to be a voice of reason.

The gist of this story is that allegedly groups of neophyte witches are organizing on the social media platform TikTok and attempting to cast harmful spells on the Fae and the moon, the actual moon orbiting the Earth, and allegedly the sun is next. I was very deliberate in calling this a rumor in my opening statement. After a lot of research, I have been unable to find a lot of evidence that this is really going on. I've managed to find two TikTok users claiming to be hexing the moon, both with only around 1000 followers, and both of them have posted videos that are very clearly jokes and/or trolling. And I'll be honest, they were kind of funny.

I'm open to any contradicting evidence anyone is willing to provide me, but at this point I believe that this alleged group of witches hexing the Fae and the moon is nothing more than a rumor, a prank, or an internet troll scheme that has been blown completely out of proportion. I have seen so many angry reactions to the idea that this may be happening and simply not enough proof to believe it is actually happening. Did the rumor originate from an actual event? Probably. Is there a kernel of truth here? Maybe. Is there a widespread conspiracy of witches hexing mythological creatures and celestial bodies? Doubt it.

The story seemed to explode when a Twitter user claimed that these hexes were occurring and their tweet went viral. I've read the entire tweet, and while it was heavily laden with definitions and dire consequences, what it lacked was a shred of evidence, a single source, or any clue as to where someone might look to see proof of these hexes and this community of young maleficars. However in spite of this, it created a wave of anger and panic that has spread across all social media platforms and inspired many witches to create some very emotional responses.

Here is why I have a problem with all of this. Reactionary emotional responses, especially ones of anger, based on baseless rumors, have a tendency to make us all look foolish. And I sincerely feel that the global witch community is being made to look foolish right now. I will now thoroughly explain why.

I am going to begin with the obvious ageist and anti-novice dialogue this has inspired. I have purposefully avoided using the term “baby witch” until now, because I find it pretty offensive. I probably don't need to tell you that every story about this starts with a headline similar to “baby witches hex the moon.” “Baby witches” are the ones to blame, and “baby witches” are being vilified right now. In general, putting the word “baby” in front of another title serves to be diminutive, to express that while you and this person may share an identity, you are clearly superior to them. Using titles this way is infantilizing and demeaning. It suggests that while this person may be an adult, they are helpless, irrational, naive, stupid, and so on. There is nothing wrong with being a younger witch or a person who is new to the spiritual path of witchcraft. There is absolutely something wrong with taking a rumor as an excuse to release prejudicial venom against young and/or inexperienced people all across the internet.

Few of us were lucky enough to be born into witchcraft families. Many of us found witchcraft as a spiritual solace after escaping religious systems that oppressed us. Engaging in any kind of dialogue that makes witchcraft seem hostile to the young or new people who need it is simply not good form, and in my opinion, unethical. And let me remind any witches reading this that you most likely did or thought some pretty stupid things when you were new to witchcraft. I know I did.

Calling the subjects of this rumor “TikTok witches” serves nearly the same purpose as calling them “baby witches.” It's well known that as a newer and more complicated platform, TikTok is most popular with younger and more tech savvy users. Referring to someone as a “TikTok witch” not only makes an assumption about their age and level of experience, but also serves to denigrate their practice into an aesthetic rather than an identity. I am very active in the Facebook witch community, but I would never describe myself as a “Facebook witch,” because the sum of my spiritual path is much more than what I post and comment. My life as a witch is so much more than anything I do on the internet, and the same is true for most people, period.

Now I'd like to move on the statements I keep seeing regarding the supposed victims of the alleged hex. The Fae are not a large part of my practice, so I will not speak on them as much. My sister used to claim as a teenager that faeries would hide her things and that's why she could never find them. I thought this was just a dumb excuse until one day she dropped her camera memory card on the floor right in front of me, and it just disappeared. We tore her room apart looking for that thing, and I found it days later hidden between the pages of my journal. Let's just say, I've been socially distancing from the Fae ever since.

Hexing the entire Fae is kind of a ridiculous notion because that word has so many different connotations and denotations to so many different people that depending on who you ask you couldn't even really nail down a concrete definition of who and what they are, and some witches don't believe they're real at all. And if I were a Fae, I imagine I'd like it that way. It's a more common belief among witches that casting a spell requires knowledge and focus, and that doesn't really compute with attempting to target an ambiguous crowd of whatever the hell they are who might be, well, somewhere. As Willow Rosenberg (Buffy) would have said, “It's like trying to hit a puppy by throwing a live bee at it.” Anyway, I think the Fae are probably fine.

Now let's talk about the moon. So the moon is real, definitely. I've seen it. And the moon is gonna be fine. I'm less concerned with explaining why the moon will be fine and more concerned with unpacking some of the things I've heard about the moon being in peril. In the case of both the Fae and the moon, I've seen many impassioned pleas for witches to join together and combat this hex by using the magick to bless the Fae and the moon instead. Now, like I've said, I'm not super worried about the Fae, but I'm really really really not worried about the moon. Witches often leave water and objects under moonlight to bless and purify them, but now we're expected to believe that a hex can travel 238,900 miles through that same moonlight and still have the juice to do some damage. Really, its gonna be fine.

What this amounts to is a cry for an online holy war, witches versus witches, duking it out on their altars and cell phones for the fate of the moon. And while that might make for a pretty bitchin D&D campaign, it is an absolutely ludicrous waste of energy given the real world problems we are facing right now. Witches please, if you are feeling compelled to do a spell to help the world right now, hex the secret police in Portland, hex the fascist elements in government, hex the damn coronavirus, bless the protesters, bless election security, BLESS RUTH BADER GINSBURG! But please reconsider spending your effort playing tug of war with a celestial body that is most definitely totally going to be fine.

The three most concerning claims I have seen about how this hex against the moon will affect us are as follows:

1.) “The moon rules emotions, so hexing the moon will have a negative effect on all our emotions.” Yeah, um, that's probably got more to do with the horror survival game that is 2020, which I think we can all agree has not been anyone's year. Placing the state of our emotions under the control of strangers on the internet is a classic case of blame avoidance, in which we feel justified in our reckless actions and emotional outbursts by claiming it is not our fault or out of our control. Contrarily, a common tenet of much of witchcraft is control of the self. Such behavior is very unbecoming of anyone bearing the mantle of the witch.

2.) “Hexing the moon has angered the moon goddess Artemis, and this has angered her brother Apollo—who rules over medicine—and now we will never recover from the coronavirus.” Wow, that's a lot to unpack. First of all, are Artemis and Apollo really that close? Because he totally tricked her into killing her BF Orion that one time. Second, not everyone believes in the same deities, and not everyone believes in gods at all. Telling someone we're all gonna die of COVID-19 because of a god they don't believe in does not make anyone look smart. Third, this argument places the outcome of the pandemic in the hands of religion instead of where it belongs, which is in the hands of science. Witches, please, you can believe in science and faith and magick all at the same time, and it's something we all really need to start doing. Fourth, and most definitely worst, blaming sickness and plague on the spells of witches is something witch hunters did back when it was commonplace to murder people for witchcraft, and now we are actually seeing this claim come from other witches! Gah! I can't even. Please stop.

3.) “This or that moon goddess is mad and is going to retaliate by taking magick away from all witches.” I really just want to drop that GIF of Krysten Ritter rolling her eyes right here. Let's revisit the part where not all witches believe in the same deities and some don't believe in them at all. Now let's remind ourselves that magick comes from within, and while we may draw strength from outside sources, we don't need anything other than ourselves to perform witchcraft. I could never possibly believe that an action taken by another person I've never met could make me less of a witch. That smacks of fundamental insecurity in one's beliefs.

At this point, this story has been picked up by several major media companies, including Buzzfeed, NPR, Cosmopolitan, Rolling Stone, and several others. While I do think it's important for stories about real life witches to be covered in the media, I am not proud of this moment of exposure. Every story I read seems to go back to the original Twitter thread as their primary source, which as I've explained, is not sufficient evidence. This story has become more about the global visceral reactions witches are having online, and while those feelings and interactions are certainly real, it disturbs me that the witch community is making huge news by essentially throwing tantrums based on what is probably a lie.

Witches are not featured in major media very often, and when we are it is typically characterized by gross misinformation. I fear that we are currently fueling a fire that will only serve to make witches look ridiculous to a large number of people outside our community. And while I think we all have a healthy touch of “I don't care what you think about me,” it would be irresponsible to say that this will not have actual consequences for real people. As witchcraft is a practice and not necessarily a religion, it has little in the way anti-discrimination protections for anyone anywhere, and witches are still very much minorities. People who are brave enough to live openly as witches may face discrimination in employment, housing, service, and various other things if this story sways public opinion in a negative way, which would be a real shame considering the story is basically a sham.

This story has unique potential to damage the way witches are perceived in society because, while the story is fueled by backlash from witches are most certainly not hexing the moon, the witches doing the hexing are the headline. In this era, it is more common for people to assume a story from a headline rather than read an entire article, and so I fear the general impression people are getting is that witches are unfathomable children who really want the moon to fall out of the sky. And for those who actually read the articles, their first impression of witches very well may be the frustrated rantings of those of us who are not at our best right now.

In addition, this story subverts the historical meaning of the practice of hexing into a petty malicious act done out of boredom. The actual history of hexing stems from one common theme: the powerless trying to find a way to fight back against the powerful. This is why so many hexes have to do with women seeking revenge on abusive men. This is why witches have recently been discussed in the media for doing mass binding spells on President Trump and a mass hex on Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh—which, controversial as they may be, these are stories I am actually proud of. So witches reading this, if you really wanna put a hex on something, let's target someone who really deserves it.

And if you think I'm referring to Betsy DeVos, well, I can't stop you from coming to that conclusion.

I do have one final remark, which is somewhat unrelated, but still important. If you are a witch who has found yourself deeply offended by the notion of hexing the moon (which you have every right to feel), I would invite you to please consider the feelings of indigenous people who have long been offended by the misappropriations of their culture, by their sacred acts being used and portrayed in ways they do not like or approve of. I think many of them have often felt the same way that you do now, except in their case, there's a lot more evidence the transgression actually occurred.

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witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

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BODY AND SOUL Part 29 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Okay y’all...listen. I meant to get this part up yesterday, but the Met Gala ate my fucking soul. Billie and Cody finally together at an event since MONTHS AGO at Ryan Murphy’s Walk of Fame ceremony is a thing I have been waiting for...since then, which was back in November. NEEDLESS TO SAY I WAS KIND OF DISTRACTED. Cody looked like some kind of cerulean space prince, and Kenzie looked like a goddamn glitter princess barbie, and then they started screaming along to Cher together and I DIED and now I’m speaking to you from heaven. IT’S BEEN A HUNDRED YEARS SINCE WE GOT ANY COLLIE CONTENT. I was on cloud nine, and I still am. It’s the intense, magnetic chemistry between them that birthed Millory in the first place, and Millory, of course, birthed Duckenzie. The two of them so happy together after months of not seeing each other was just so incredibly wonderful, I feel so grateful to Leslie in particular. I still feel like I’m high off of all of it, but especially the two of them, who are just absolute royalty to me. AND NOW ON TO THE CHAPTER: This is a big one. I’ve been waiting for a long time to introduce Rosemary to all of you--who is (did you guess?) my Angela Basset/Marie Laveau AU. I’ve known for awhile that she was going to play an important role in this story, and it was as wonderful for me to meet her as it was for Duckenzie here. She’ll show up one more time before the end; and I might do a little one-shot eventually where they go to visit her in New Orleans. She makes a really mean gumbo. Her top is like this, her skirt like this, her headscarf, her boots, some of her necklaces: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. A reminder that Kenzie’s dress in this part looks like this. The Fates, at least, my version of them (certainly based on the Moirai but also on the many incarnations of Hecate, as she bestows magical powers on Kenzie and Duncan, and on the witches in the AHS universe, and all witches in all universes, at least in my mythology), were always going to be the Triple Goddess, the Goddess many witchcraft practitioners (myself included) pay homage to: once again, the Divine Feminine energy that guides true goodness in the universe. Her mythology is partially my own invention (giving her a Heaven, making her the force of Light that fights against cosmic Darkness/the Devil, rather than a patriarchal god), partially in accordance to many witch beliefs. I loved that “god” appears to Michael in APOCALYPSE as a little girl; if anyone remembers that I put Ariana Grande’s GOD IS A WOMAN way back in Part 4 (cuz y’all, even then I had plans), you get a cookie. Duckenzie’s High Destiny has long been in the works in the grace notes of my story; it’s the cosmic energy of their union bringing a balance into their world. I’d need some weed to deal with the information they’re given, hence they smoke some weed. To finally have a chance to explain the way in which Duncan and Kenzie are Michael and Mallory was a big moment for me and for this fic; and to explain that she will always be his saving grace, too. I didn’t want to focus on sadness or despair regarding Duncan’s fate as Michael; rather the joy of the redemption of Duncan’s universe. I had to put WITCH-QUEEN OF NEW ORLEANS in this part as an homage to Rosemary being Marie Laveau in another life (also, it’s a fucking jam). Had to include a nod to Purity Ring’s BEGIN AGAIN in Duncan’s thoughts when he’s eating Kenzie out in this part, the most Millory song of all time to me. A reminder that this is the Demeter/Persephone illustration. This is the one of Selene looking down on Endymion. The excerpt Kenzie reads is indeed directly from the book. This chapter marks the closure of an important arc of my fic; from here on out, I’m moving forward into the last 1/3 of the story. As ever, your reblogs, comments, asks and edits (moodboards, playlists, aesthetics, everything) mean the world to me. If you’re reading, please take a minute to reblog the masterpost, thank you.

The light was high when he finally woke; the day was half over, Duncan could tell immediately, before he even opened his eyes. We slept all morning. Oh god, that’s so fucking wonderful. I don’t remember the last time I slept all morning. Something had woken him, he knew with a vague knowledge. A loud sound.

His dream drifted off. I was in the woods, dirty, starving, tired, and a little girl was offering me an apple, but I wouldn’t take it for some reason...I was waiting for someone else...and he forgot it, moving up from sleep into the summer daylight. The room was balmy-warm, the golden sunlight past the window, coming from somewhere overhead, the wind drifting on the curtains again, the sound of a crow cawing outside somewhere over the lake. It was at least midday, but Duncan could smell the remnants of the hickory fire wafting through the window. It really was a good fire. And I made it. I pulled it out of my own heart, that fire.

There was a long, low buzzing--the doorbell, Duncan knew. Or rather, the bell for the front gate, the keypad and security feed downstairs beside the walnut-wood front door. Who the fuck could that possibly be. We didn’t tell anyone but Madeline where we were going. Maybe it is Madeline?

He stirred, his arm instinctively coming around Kenzie’s breast, his nose turning down into her hair; it smelled like the grass, the sun, her sweet sweat, and the residue of her rosy-jasmine shampoo. The bed was so wonderfully soft, the feel of her so exquisite--Duncan sent out jabs of resentment towards the sound that had woken him. How fucking dare you.

Kenzie stirred a little against him--he leaned up, brushing the hair from her cheek to kiss it. The buzz rang out again, low and insistent and bracing. Her eyes fluttered and she let out a little moan, turning her face up towards him.

“Dunny, what is that,” she murmured. “Turn it off.”

“It’s the buzzer for the gate, baby,” he replied, his own voice coming out in a groan. “Someone’s at the gate.”

Her eyes came open immediately at that. “What? Who?”

“I have no idea. Did we even tell anyone where the cabin is?”

“I didn’t. Did you?”

“No...I don’t think so…”

The buzzer rang again; Kenzie moaned, turning into him, burying her face in his bare chest. How fucking dare you, he thought again, bringing his face down, kissing beside the dip of her eye. How dare you make me get out of bed, away from her. Who could have possibly found us? He hesitated for a long moment, contemplating staying and letting whoever it was ring the buzzer until they got tired and went away--but no, he thought, with a twinge of precognition. It’s someone important. It’s someone we have to see. Oh god, I hope it isn’t Annette.

Duncan got up, pained to move away from her, sliding over the softness of the bed. He trod naked to his suitcase, feeling Kenzie’s eyes on him, her eyes falling down to the half-hardness of his sleepy cock, a pout around her mouth. We came out here to get away from everyone, and still, someone found us. Somehow. Fuck. He pulled on briefs and another pair of jersey shorts, these in dark black, and one of the plain black tee shirts, ruffling a hand through his hair, and yawned.

The buzzer. Again.

“Fuuuuck,” he breathed. “Who the fuck is that?”

“If it’s Annette, I’m going to freak out,” Kenzie said, and Duncan watched her affectionately as she kicked her legs under the soft covers in frustration. He glanced at an elaborate golden-framed clock, beside one of the laurels. It was 12:17 PM. Fuck, it’s past noon. We slept for a long time. Fuck it. We earned it. We had a perfect day yesterday, full of wonders, and a perfect, long sleep. And now what--now what.

“I’ll be right back, baby.” Duncan hesitated, then winked at her. Fuck it. I’ll move through space again. Why not. He closed his eyes and grinned as he heard Kenzie’s delighted hum towards him, felt her knowledge at what he was about to do. That’s it, Dunny, show me your magic. Then her laugh cut off--he ached at the loss of it--and before he opened his eyes again, he already knew he was downstairs, facing the inside of the front door.

There was a small iPad beside the door here, the intercom below it and remote buttons for opening and closing the gate. Duncan tapped the tablet with a finger, and the security camera feed came up, facing the outward side of the road. There was a red Toyota Camry parked there, and the woman in the front seat was pressing insistently at the buzzer--he heard it ring again through the house, heard the far-away sound of another exasperated groan from Kenzie upstairs. He couldn’t see the woman’s face very well from this angle, but he could see the chocolatey color of her skin as she extended an arm through the car window. Her nails were long and red.

Duncan switched the cameras; now the one on the feed was from straight above the outside buzzer the woman was pressing so incessantly. Now he could see into the driver’s seat clearly. He didn’t recognize the woman at all, but she was stunningly beautiful; she had sharp, slanting cheekbones, pursed in impatience, full lips in deep mauve, a dark silk titian-colored scarf wrapped around her head. Her eyes flashed out at him through the camera; they were dramatically intense and bright, brimming with secret knowledge. Her skin was warm cocoa-brown, and flawless. Duncan shivered.

Who are you?

He pressed the talk button on the program’s interface, puzzled, frowning.

“Can I help you?”

The woman started; Duncan saw her jerk back in her seat, surprised. Her expression shifted from frustration to one that seemed to be relief--it was difficult to tell on the feed, but she seemed tired, as though she’d been waiting for a long time, or had missed sleep, her expression drawn. As he watched her on the iPad screen, she pressed a hand between her eyes, then lifted her palms together skyward, as if in a silent prayer of thanks.Then she leaned over and spoke into the intercom.

“Praise be to Her, is this Duncan Shepherd?”

Duncan balked. Fuck. Shit. They found us. Someone found us.

“May I ask who you are and what your business here is?”

“I know that’s you, I can feel that it’s you, honey--and I can feel Mackenzie Stone here, too. I need you to let me in. I drove almost 17 hours with some very poor sleep in between to get here from New Orleans, pulled by the Will of the Goddess with a forceful hand, because She wants me to speak to you two and tell you what She told me, that the time is upon us. Now, if you would be so kind, I am starving and would appreciate some breakfast, and I need to park this car before I crash it into a tree, blue eyes.”

“How did you find us? We didn’t tell anyone where we were going. We’ve been here for a day--”

“Sugar, honey, listen, I told you. The Goddess. Sent. Me. She came to me and She told me where you were and She told me everything. It’s gonna take awhile to tell you everything, so you best let me in and make me some eggs and some black coffee and roll me a big joint of that strong blue weed I know you got.”

What the fuck.

“Who are you?”

The woman let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes, dipping her chin up, then turned back to the intercom, enunciating with a pointed impatience.

“I am Her Hand, and She sent me, and Her will is to reveal your High Destiny. My name is Rosemary Antigone Delacroix, and you, Duncan Malcolm Shepherd, best let me the fuck in.”

Her words came like a heavy weight against Duncan’s mind, a pressing hand squeezing on his heart. This woman was powerful; he could feel her power from here, surrounding him, pressing against him, running along the edges of his skin, brushing the sleep from his mind, stoking him wide awake. This woman is a seer, a priestess. She can see things that are happening, have happened, will happen. She’s the one who was coming--the thing on the horizon that we felt on its way. And now she’s here. It’s her destiny to come to us, it’s our destiny to receive and hear her. Okay, Fates. I get it. I’m picking it up, loud and clear. Shit.

Duncan double-tapped the button beside the intercom; OPEN GATE.

He watched the beautiful woman through the screen; she smiled, her teeth shining out from her face--he could see her eyes flash, marvelously clear despite the smallness of the iPad screen.

“Blessed be,” she said, pushing a pair of large dark sunglasses over her eyes. Then she laughed, and the laugh sent a shiver up Duncan’s spine; it was lit with a bright joy that seemed to descend from the top of his head down into every part of his body, a tingling, vibrating energy charged with prophecy. It’s here. She’s here. The thing that was coming has arrived.

He turned away from the intercom and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time; his heart was hammering and he felt far too nervous, suddenly, to try to use his still-mysterious power once more.

“Kenz,” he called as he reached the landing, sprinting down the hall. Something was lifting him up now; kindling his excitement, pitching his nerves to a high place. “Baby--” He ran through the bedroom doorway, skidding to a stop, falling onto the bed on his knees. Kenzie was sitting up now, clutching the blanket against her naked torso, her chestnut-light hair tangled around her shoulders, staring at him with an apprehension in her sleepy eyes; then she saw his face, lit with that strange excitement building in his gut, and smiled at him, nervously.

“Dunny, what? Who was it? What is it?”

“Kenzie, it’s--I don’t know who she is, but it’s her. The one that was coming. The one we felt. You know? She’s the one. She’s beautiful, Kenzie. She’s a medium--or something, I can feel it. You know how we were talking about going to see a psychic? Well--I think she came to us. She felt us. Kenzie, she said she just drove here for 17 hours from New Orleans. She said her name is...Rosemary. Something. She said--fuck, Kenzie, she said The Goddess sent me, She told me where you were--”

His words were tumbling out at break-neck speed--he slid over the softness of the bed to grasp Kenzie’s (beautiful, tiny, beloved) hands, and he could see the uncertainty in her gaze bleeding out into the excitement he felt.

“Duncan--really?”

“Really, my love. Oh, fuck. Really.”

Kenzie let the blanket fall away from her, and Duncan couldn’t stop himself--he clutched at her, under the sweet roundness of her little breasts, pulled her against him, immediately devouring her mouth in a kiss that flooded his body with tingling energy. Her divinity washed over him--the tide of her. Mackenzie Stone. We’re here, at the doorway, our Fate is on the other side. I’m not afraid. You’re here with me.

“I found you,” he murmured into her lips. “I found you, I found you, we’re here, we’re here together, I’m ready--”

“Oh, baby--” and Kenzie was kissing him breathlessly, her smell the sweetest thing in all the world, roses crushing into him. Duncan leaned away to look at her; Kenzie’s eyes were gold-flecked and infinitely bright, and her beauty was iridescent in the noon sunlight winking through the curtains. Mackenzie Shepherd, angel of my life, the part of me that was cut away, the fixed, irrevocable light of my soul.

“She said she has a lot to tell us. She’s coming now, she’s probably almost at the door. I’m going to make us all some breakfast. She knew things, Kenz, I don’t fucking know--I feel like she knows everything about us. You’ll see. Even through the screen I could feel her power. It was coppery-purple, like a sheen all over her...come downstairs when you’re ready, okay, baby? Take your time. I can feel it, can you feel it?”

“Yes, baby, yes. I can feel it so much I can hardly breathe.” Tears were in her eyes; he kissed her again, and Kenzie clung to him, her softness overwhelming to him, and for a moment he wished he could throw her down into the bed, kiss every inch of her nakedness, every tiny secret place of her heart. Then they broke apart; Duncan knew as he could feel she did that the time was upon them, and his adorations would have to come later.

The time when we find out who we really are.

Kenzie slid away from him towards the edge of the bed and he grasped her waist, helping her down--she stood there, naked and shivering in some phantom breeze, her golden hair falling down her back in a shimmering wave, then she kneeled to her suitcase, tucking the strands that fell into her eyes behind her ears, looking away from him, determined. Duncan gathered up the bag of weed, the lighter, his grinder and his gold pipe from one of the laurel mantels where they’d left it yesterday, then went to the door, looking back at her again for a moment, trailing a hand through the side of his hair.

“Kenzie, baby--”

“Dunny, I know. I know. Just go downstairs, okay? I’ll be there soon. I know. I feel it too.”

He nodded inside her gold-flecked gaze, then turned away, sniffing back the tears he felt coming, trying to stave them. I feel the hand of destiny, and oh Fate, it’s heavy. It’s fearsome to behold it, to contemplate its weight, this Thing, this knowledge we’re about to be given.

Duncan heard a sharp, determined knock on the door downstairs then, and his breath caught. He ran down the hall, throwing himself down the stairs; he reached the door, flipping the double turning locks in fumbling fingers, yanked at the long handle--as he pulled the door wide a burst of golden sunlight drifted over his eyes, caught in the dappled trees. He lifted a hand to shield his face, and saw the woman standing there, silhouetted in a golden shroud that was like a holy halo around her. A halo, like Kenzie’s, Duncan thought. And then he heard her laugh again--and her laugh was even more beautiful now that he was standing before her. A laugh the angels would sigh to hear.

She reached out for him--Duncan felt frozen inside her dark-bright eyes, intensely focused on him beneath arched, graceful brows, the sharpness of her cheeks glowing dark sienna in the sun. She was immediately imposing; regal, her posture graceful, her poise intimidating and unmistakable. Her mouth smiled that radiantly white smile he’d glimpsed through the iPad screen; his breath caught to see it in the flesh, struck by her majesty, the expression on her staggeringly beautiful features, knowing, wise, and expectant. Her burgundy-colored blouse had long, drifting sleeves that fluttered in the slight wind, and her long black skirt fell to her ankles with an intricate pattern of flowers and vines. On her feet were heeled knee-high boots in dark brown leather. Around her neck were what seemed to be a dozen necklaces, gold and silver chains mixed in with leather cords and multi-colored ropes of beads; a raven skull, the claws of unknown animals, the symbol of the waxing, full, and waning moons (like the one Kenzie has), the voluptuous shape of a woman, a huge pointed obsidian, and countless tiny quartz points.

“I see what she’s done to you, Evening Star,” she said, and Duncan felt his breath gasp, suddenly caught in his throat. That’s what Kenzie called me. Sword of the Evening Star. “Snatched you from the jaws of darkness in this world. And I am moved to see it. As I knew I would be. The time of your High Destiny has come.”

Her hand came around his; her touch was very warm and strong. As she stepped closer Duncan could smell myrrh and resin and musky vanilla. The urge of tears rose in him again--the woman clasped her other hand around his, so she was gripping it in both. Her face was about level to his chin in her heeled boots, and she looked up at him with an approving grace; she seems taller than me, though, he thought. The energy around her is so focused; so carefully, intricately controlled.

“What did you say your name was?” He asked, and heard the trembling in his voice.

“Rosemary Antigone Delacroix. High Priestess of Her Will. The Goddess, from whom all life in this universe flows; from whom the life in every universe flows. Mother of all, three-faced, infinite. Your mother, and mine, and the mother of the High Princess, the Hidden Sphere Herself, whom you are blessed to love. Infinitely blessed, sweet Prince, with whom you will heal this suffering world.”

Goosebumps broke out all over his skin, the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickling instantly, wildly. I knew it. I felt it. That she’s divine. That she’s holy.

“Please, come in.”

Rosemary’s smile lingered as she stepped past him, scattering its light over him; she moved into the house, beyond the staircase, her steps determined, her movements refined, hands clasped together in front of her, through the front room and towards the kitchen. She seemed to know where it was without needing to ask him, and Duncan followed, mesmerized by her. As they reached the kitchen Rosemary sat at the wooden island, reaching out for his hand again--this time, he knew, for the one that held the weed. He passed it all off to her and she sighed; the sound of her voice was deeply lovely, but he could hear the tinge of tiredness.

“Make me some eggs, would you, sugar? I like ‘em a little runny, lots of butter. And some of that turkey bacon I know you have in the fridge there.” Duncan stared for a moment, blinking as she rolled a big bud in her fingers, then began to sprinkle it inside his grinder. She paused, looking up at him expectantly. “And a big-ass coffee. I’ll pack this bowl. All three of us are going to need some fortification for these revelations. Don’t you worry, your seer is here. I know you’ve been waiting, I feel it in this house, you filled it with your hopes and dreams and your confusion as soon as you got here. I feel it on your skin. You two have power unlike any I’ve ever seen, but you haven’t learned how to control it yet, that’s for certain. It’s zooming around in this space like it’s been snorting cocaine.”

Duncan turned as if waking out of a dream to the fridge, pulling out the eggs, bacon, and a stick of butter, retrieving a frying pan from a line of them against the wall, listening to the smooth clarity of her voice. Her energy seemed to be settling into the kitchen--dusky purple, warm, steady. He could almost see it, the way he could see Kenzie’s gold sometimes. She was taking the edge off him--bringing him down to her calmness, her certainty.

“So...Rosemary. Who--what--how--” He went to the Keurig that sat on the counter, starting a cup, then brought a hand absently to his chin, looking back at her again. She was deftly packing the bowl to the brim, the smile still playing at the corners of her mouth. “How did you...what did She...”

The Goddess, triple-faced, infinite.

“Shhh, blue-eyed Prince. You need to take it slow. All of this--” she gestured around the kitchen, but Duncan knew she meant all of it--the cabin, the lake, the forest with the clearing of black oaks, the field open to the stars--”this place is potent, full of your power, like a power outlet for your magicks. It’s why they’ve been so strong since you got here. This is an in-between place, and anyone who has even a little bit of the power you two have can feel it. But for the High Princess and her sweet consort, it’s like being given an electric shock--one that goes on and on. It’s the reason your lusts have been so potent, too.”

Duncan blushed at that. Lately, mine always are.

She smiled at him, knowing, then lit the bowl and breathed deeply from it, blowing out in a satisfied stream, leaning back against the wooden island.

“Hoo, that’s some good rich people shit,” she hummed. “Ooph, that’s good. Just what I needed, Praise be to Her. Thank you, Mother.”

Duncan got to work on the eggs, carefully cracking two into the pan and slipping two sides of the bacon next to them, deftly pressing the edges of the egg whites with a steel spatula. The smell made his stomach immediately begin to rumble; she’s right, we definitely need to eat before we get into all of this. All...of what?

“You two.” He could hear Rosemary laughing a little now from where his back was turned. “You two have burst upon the world like a garden. The media was not prepared. The public was not prepared. The world is not prepared, but they will get prepared--real quick. The current of time has turned towards fortune. And that, my dear Prince, is a beautiful thing. Beautiful beyond words. That I have lived to see this time is a great blessing.”

“Rosemary, what do you mean? How did you find us here?”

“Wait for her. For the Princess. The little golden goddess. Then I’ll begin.”

Duncan pulled down a plate and slipped the eggs onto it, a little runny, glassy with butter as she had asked. He flipped the bacon to let it fry for a bit longer, and brought the plate over to Rosemary, who appraised him with power drifting in her gaze. She took it, her warm hand brushing against his again; he felt the current pass through them, felt her strength, the depths of her knowledge touch his mind.

“You’ve been manifesting powers here, have you? And before you got here, too.”

“Fuck, yes. Non-stop, practically. I’ve been--transporting myself with my mind. Teleporting? I don’t know what to call it.”

“Transmutation. Salire per spatium. The ability to move, magically, instantly, from one space to another, without physically occupying the space between.” Rosemary took another long puff from Duncan’s gold pipe, then sliced into an egg with her fork, dipping it between her very white teeth. “Mm, baby. Perfect. You can fry an egg for certain.”

“Yeah. Yes. And Pyrokinesis. That’s what it’s called, right? The ability to conjure fire.”

“Create, control, manipulate. All of it. You can do all of those, I guarantee it. Try it.” She nodded to the stovetop, which Duncan had turned on manually. The bacon was sizzling, done--Duncan took a deep breath, then drifted his fingers close to the element, concentrated. Go back now. Go back. The fire went low, blue-white, and then died--the stovetop began to cool instantly.

“Mm--mm-mm,” Rosemary hummed. “Lovely. I can do a little myself, but nothing so smooth as that. That’s lovely. And I can only imagine what she’s been doing.”

“It’s so beautiful, Rosemary. She is so beautiful. I can’t even tell you…”

“You’re biased, baby blue, but I’m sure you’re right. Any other things you’ve found out you can do?”

“She can sense my emotions over long distances...I found out something I hadn’t known the other day that really upset me, and she felt my emotions even though we were on opposite sides of the city. And...we can read each other’s thoughts. You’re the first person who knows that, and I don’t even know who you are. But...yeah. It’s like colors--she looks and feels like gold...she says mine is blue. I can kind of see mine, sometimes, if the emotion is really strong. Now that she’s here. I couldn’t...I couldn’t do any of this before. Before we met.”

Duncan brought the bacon over to Rosemary’s plate and slid it down from the pan. She immediately dipped a graceful hand to it, blowing on it, crunching it in her teeth. He brought her coffee over, starting one for Kenzie now. “I can hear little bits of other people’s thoughts now sometimes, when they’re really strong. I think Kenzie can do it almost all the time. And she can heal people--their bodies, their hearts, their anger. It looks like gold when she does that, too. She can sort of...press it into people, like she’s wrapping them in a blanket.”

He started more eggs in the pan, silent for a little while as Rosemary sipped her coffee. Then he went on.

“Two nights ago there was a Gala--”

“The Shepherd Freedom Foundation Gala, everyone knows that, honey,” Rosemary cut him off. “You two are on the front page of a lot of shit since yesterday.”

Duncan winced, plating the other eggs and getting to work on more bacon. “Really? We turned our phones off before we left. We really wanted to just get away for a few days. It’s been...really intense since Kenzie and I found each other. The scrutiny’s been intense.”

“I understand, Duncan. When my task is done--that is, to tell you your destiny--I’ll be gone, for I have many duties, and you will have a little more time to be alone together. But the Goddess told me what to do, so I’m doing it. When She speaks, everyone best listen. Let me give you a warning. When the two of you go back--back to DC, I mean--the world will have changed. As if time opened a new window. You are on the path now, one heading towards a bright future, not just for you and Mackenzie, but for this universe. There are many--universes, I mean. Not all of them are kind, or light, or good, some of them have no light, and some have a depth of both. This universe has much darkness, but like clouds parting from the sun, your union here will bring transcendent light. As there is a balance of greater darkness in other universes, this one will swing to the light. A major obstacle will have passed when you return, but there will be a new onslaught of attention focused on you and Mackenzie. You will need to be her sword at every turn; you will bow to her light and others will follow your example. So gather your strength.”

Duncan’s head was pounding. What does any of that even mean? Other universes?

“Are you talking about...quantum theory? Like, parallel universes?”

At that moment Duncan heard a soft sound in the doorway--he looked up to see Kenzie coming into the kitchen on bare feet. She was tucking her chestnut-golden hair behind her ear, her face nervously turned down, eyes huge, fingers at her mouth; she wore a floor-length white linen dress, covered in a print of pale pinkish roses, with a dipping neck and short, puffed sleeves. The Tiffany moon glinted at her throat; as she moved her arm the Cartier bracelet flashed there in gold and diamond. Rosemary had turned to her, and Kenzie’s eyes were wide on the other woman. God she’s so beautiful so beautiful so powerful I can feel her lovely power like a field of a thousand violets, like the water flowing out from the sea...Duncan could hear Kenzie’s thoughts falling out of her in a long stream.

Rosemary’s face was cast into an immediate affection--a curious wonder. Her mouth dipped open, away from the black coffee cup which had been poised at her mouth a moment before, and she sighed; the sigh of relief that comes after a long, anticipatory wait.

“Child. Sweet child of heaven.”

“Hi,” Kenzie whispered. She stopped in front of Rosemary, and the woman reached out her beautiful dark fingers. Kenzie slipped her small hands against Rosemary’s; Duncan felt speechless, his heart feeling crushed by the moment, his eyes immediately blurred by tears.

“I am Rosemary Delacroix, and I am a mouthpiece for Her, the three-headed, the absolute, the Goddess. She has many names. Time. The universe. God. Goddess. Fate. Destiny. But she is the one who brought all life to be, kindled it, nurtured it, tended to it. She is the one who remakes life, rebuilds it, cycles it through every age, in every place, in every aspect. She made me; she made you and your sweet blue-eyed Prince from the stars burning like these diamonds, many eons ago.” Rosemary’s finger drifted to the bracelet; her dark eyes glanced up at the one on Duncan’s wrist, knowingly, and he shivered. “She made the thread that tethered you together, Mackenzie Stone and Duncan Shepherd, long ago, before she made Time, because you, sweet High Princess, asked her to. You loved him; you asked to be together always. And she granted your wish. Because you were--you are--beloved in the sight of heaven. You are a High Princess of Her Body, and of the Garden. You are the Hidden Sphere.”

Long, aching tears fell from Kenzie’s cheeks--she glanced over to Duncan, biting her trembling lip, her thoughts crushed gold. I do love him. I do love you, Duncan, more than anything. I do love you. I love you. This woman knows--knows I’m divine, the way you said you knew. The way I can feel it, now, and I can’t find the words.

“It’s fine to cry, honey. It’s fine. You cry as much as you want, mmhm? Come sit with me, angel baby. You come sit with me and let me bask in your sweet light. I can feel it now, like taking a bath in a pool of gold. Goddess, praise be. That’s just fucking lovely. Praise be to Her. She made the masterpiece, sweet sugar, in you--that gold, like a waterfall. What a soul.”

“Duncan’s the one who looks like a masterpiece to me,” Kenzie was laughing a little through her tears, settling down on the bench next to Rosemary, who had dipped a long arm under Kenzie’s elbow to steady her. Duncan brought Kenzie’s breakfast over to her, trying to hide the tears on his cheek with a swift hand--she looked up at him, biting her lip, nodding. “Thanks baby,” she whispered. I love you so much, he heard her thought. I’m not afraid.

“What do you mean, asked to be together always?” Duncan said, his voice trembling. “Are you saying there’s a goddess...that controls the universe, and Kenzie is...what, her daughter?”

Rosemary looked at him for a long moment, her eyes staggering with depth. For a time Duncan felt lost, mesmerized inside them; like the whirling gold galaxies he’d seen in Kenzie’s eyes in the dream, or the blue nebulas she said she saw in his, he felt he could see violet supernovas, cascades of cosmic dust in Rosemary’s gaze for a moment. Something infinite and eternal. Something constant, and huge beyond imagining.

“Make yourself some breakfast first, Duncan. You’re going to need something in your stomach before we really begin. I want both of you to know right now--there is much to tell. It will take some time. My heart is full of all of it. I need your strength, my dear one, to help me tell you everything.” Rosemary pulled Kenzie’s hand into her lap again, gripping it with strong fingers. Kenzie was nodding--a silent, secret thought seemed to pass between them, one Duncan could not see or hear in his mind. He felt immediately frustrated to be cut off from them; then he heard Kenzie speak to him alone in gold waves: be patient, baby, beloved, be patient, okay? Take a breath, the kind you showed me after my nightmare, when you held me so sweetly.

Their eyes met; Rosemary’s gaze shifted between them. Okay baby, Duncan thought, breathing in through his nose, holding it, breathing out. He turned back to his eggs, his stomach in knots.

“To be near both of you gives me strength already.” Rosemary’s face clouded with emotion; she seemed close to tears, and raised the coffee cup to her face again to gather her composure. “The Goddess has made all things in perfect balance, the light and dark, the day and night, and both of you--the perfect balance of these things, the great duality of her creations. To be here with you is to behold her Wonders. Eat, child.” Rosemary gestured to Kenzie’s plate, and Kenzie nodded, picking up a piece of the bacon, biting into it. Duncan brought his own breakfast over to the island, and sat carefully, across from her, reaching out his hand. Kenzie took it, her eyes wildly bright.

My heart feels like it’s going to burst, Dunny, she thought.

Mine too, my sweet Kenzie. Oh, god. Goddess. Whoever is listening. The Fates who have been guiding us…

“Rosemary,” Duncan said, looking into the woman’s dark eyes. “Since we met, I keep going back to this one image, of the Fates, you know, like in mythology--Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. I keep seeing them in my mind’s eye, seeing them weaving this thread for us, the one that brought us together. Does that mean something?”

Rosemary finished the food on her plate, sighed a little, contentedly, and brought his gold pipe up to her lips again, breathing deeply. She dipped a hand under her chin, her eyes taking on a serene expression.

“It’s Her. She is the Fates. The Goddess--She has three faces. Many know Her by them, and worship Her in these aspects, She has many names. She is three-headed in that way; She is never totally the same from one moment to the next. When She came to me this time, She was very young and beautiful--Her skin like the tanned sand under a long sun--Her eyes bright in unbroken joy, her body smooth. But She does not always appear this way. Her aspect is ever-changing, the color of Her skin, Her hair, Her eyes, Her face; when I see Her, I feel it is Her, for She never appears the same. Sometimes She is very old, and sometimes She is a mother, her belly swollen, and sometimes She is not a woman at all, not entirely--She is some other great thing, made of stars and strange matter. I’ve seen Her this way, in dreams.”

She passed the pipe to Kenzie, and Kenzie took it in her small hands, head dipping to breathe in from it. Kenzie was still crying--Duncan’s fingers slid over her palm, sending the strongest wave of comfort he could into her. I love you, baby, I love you, everything is okay, everything’s going to be okay, better than okay…

“The Fates are her aspects--all three are Her. You thought of them because you thought of Her--because you knew, you know it was She who brought the two of you together. Your destiny--the High Destiny, as it has been called--was written when the stars were new. Mackenzie Stone, you are the High Princess of her Heaven. You were an Angel, once, Exalted; there is no earthly word for what you were, but an Angel is the closest word to it. You were the most divine of all. You were loved above all by Her in her heaven; and you still are. I know you feel that, child. I know you know you were loved so. And that you are loved--so much. Her eyes have looked down on you from her heaven and thought Beloved, for millions of years.”

“Yes,” and Kenzie was crying earnestly, her lips trembling as she spoke, shoulders shaking, eyes awash in tears. “Yes, Rosemary, I know. I can feel it.” Duncan gripped her hand tightly, aching to hold her; her fingers clutched him, like he was her only tether in a vast ocean.

“Before conceivable time, you fell in love.” Rosemary nodded to Duncan. “You fell in love with him. Listen to me, Duncan: you too were an Exalted being, an Angel, like Mackenzie. They called you the Sword of the Evening Star, as She has told me. You were a Knight--like a Knight, a Prince in the service of Their holy protection--of Her Holy Court; the fairest of all of her Knights, who are very fair indeed, fair beyond earthly eyes. There is a great Darkness in the universe--in the pantheon of universes. It aches to snuff out the light of Her Heaven, the love that dwells there. Some call it the Devil; Satan; Lucifer. He--It--has many names. But It is mostly the Darkness; the energy that must juxtapose her Light. It wishes, eternally, to destroy Her. But her Knights hold it at bay; her fighters, her warriors, her faithful. In that age, you fought for Her Light, and prevailed many times. She loves you very much. She chose you from many to lead the protection of her Sphere; the Heaven she made, long ago. It is Hidden from that Darkness, made safe through the power of her Grace. Get me some water, Duncan, honey.”

Duncan stood, feeling dizzy, going to the fridge. A Knight for a Goddess. A Warrior Prince. He couldn’t even feel incredulous--he was beyond disbelief. Whatever Rosemary is saying is true, he knew. She knows everything--and she has to tell us. My inability to understand doesn’t make any of this impossible. It just makes my ability to conceive it inadequate.

“Each time you are reincarnated--yes, Mackenzie, reincarnated--” Rosemary said, as Kenzie let out a tiny gasp. “The Darkness, in His cunning, tries to get at you. Sometimes, He has succeeded. As there is Feminine energy in the universes, there is also Masculine energy; there is an endless battle of wills, balance of energies. Their duality is not fixed, rather it shifts and changes from universe to universe, age to age. Yes, Duncan, quantum theory, as it’s called--there are many parallel universes next to this one. Infinite universes, in fact, beyond our ability to conceive. A version of you--both of you--exists in each universe. And as there are many universes, there are many lives you have lived before this one, in this universe, as well. There is another life you have glimpsed here, a life you lived in the past--”

“The Mirror,” Kenzie said, softly. Her eyes were staring into Rosemary’s face, but Duncan could see that her thoughts were fixated on the vast golden Mirror he knew was resting silently in the penthouse bedroom, many miles away, a relic to a past that had been unknown to them until this moment. Frederick knew, he thought. He may not have totally understood, but he knew it was special, that it was magical, and that it was always ours.

“Yes, chickadee, sweet honey,” Rosemary sipped her coffee again, cradling it in her graceful red-nailed hands. “That Mirror belonged to you in another life--you were royalty then, a Viscountess, a powerful witch--that is, a seer for Her--at that time too, with many of the skills you are manifesting now. And in that time you found each other as well, but there was an accident; you both were murdered in the Revolution at that time, in the streets of Paris. And so time turned to another place, another page--and your spirits moved on. But the Mirror has magick. It’s no ordinary Mirror. There are strands of the Golden Sphere in it; strands of the divine instrument given to you by the Goddess, Mackenzie, when you were in her Heaven, in her embrace. A gift that symbolized her love, and her Heaven, which will always be your home. When you were cast to earth when the Law of Time was written, the Sphere fell with you, but it was mostly destroyed when the Darkness tried to rend it. What remained--the fragments left over--were made into the Mirror by one of her seers of old; a disciple of her Light, as I am. And so it will always find you in this world, too, for it cannot be destroyed until this world ends.”

Duncan was standing beside the fridge, still holding it open, the water glass poised in his hand, frozen in her words. Kenzie gaped at Rosemary with her mouth dipped open, her golden hair falling around her cheeks. Rosemary glanced between them, then beckoned to Duncan, and said.

“But that is the Law for the two of you. To exist, always, and find each other, always, into eternity, until the Law of Time is over, when you will return to the Sphere of her Grace. No one knows when that will be, or if it will ever be. That I do not know. I only see small bits and pieces of the future, and their shape is always strange to me.”

Duncan’s hand was shaking as he brought the glass he’d filled to Rosemary--but her hand was steady, and she smiled up at him, reassuringly. I think for now I just need to listen, and try to understand, he thought. I can’t even imagine anything to say. Just please hold my hand, baby.

Kenzie reached out again as he sat, twining her fingers through his tightly. She brought another slice of bacon to her lips, eating despite her tears. Duncan moved his fork to his plate, resolved to the same. They ate quietly as Rosemary went on. What else can we do.

“You met, as was meant to happen, in the Garden of All Delights, where the known universes were all born. It’s a very beautiful place--beautiful beyond all conceivable beauty to our pitiful human eyes. It’s made of colors--oh, colors you can’t imagine.”

Those colors I saw in my dreams.

“Like this universe, Duncan, when you laid eyes on Mackenzie there, the first time, you knew she was your love for all time. There you stayed together for eons by our measure of time. The Goddess saw, and She smiled to see your perfect happiness--the selflessness of your love for Her Princess, Her Joy, Her Golden Child, and Her selfless love for you, the perfect embodiment of Her Grace. Your Names, in that perfect state--there aren’t words for them. She didn’t tell them to me, and if She had I could not speak of them. But you know them, in your secret, hidden hearts. They are beyond all human language. I know She’s shown you the forms you had then in a dream--and so you know those forms are beyond human comprehension, nearly beyond description. Please know that those are your true forms. There is more time before you adopt them again, but someday you will return to them again. In some other age.”

Yes, Duncan thought; he knew. Kenzie with her white-gold hair with a thousand flowers, each one a universe. Her eyes like golden galaxies. Her clothing made of impossible geometry. Her wings inconceivable and more delicate than those of any beast on earth. He could feel Kenzie thinking similarly of what she had seen of him in her side of the dream; his long golden hair and eyes like blue nebulas floating in ether, his shining aegis, impossibly slender and delicate, the strange wonder of his own wings.

“When the laws of the universe, of Time, were written, it was dictated that you--you, Mackenzie, and you, Duncan, would always find each other. In every conceivable universe, and every conceivable age. The Goddess, infinite in Her wisdom and mercy, could not spare you from the Great Law--the law of pain, death, and rebirth--but She could ensure that as the cycle of all things goes on, you would find each other in perpetuity. That you would never long be parted from one another. And Her law has been proven true, as it ever was, in Her Grace. I promise you, in every time, in every age, in every universe, you’ve found each other; for the places in which you haven’t yet, you will. And each time either of you dies--for you have both died countless deaths, as I have, as every living soul has--the cycle begins anew. You cannot long be separated. The Old Law of your love--the Great Love, true as dawn--is known and honored for all time.”

“You mean--Rosemary, do you really mean--we’ll always find each other, no matter what?” Duncan clutched at Kenzie’s fingers as he spoke, looking between them.

“No matter what, I promise you. You were the first Soulmates; in your love was written the Law.”

Duncan took the golden pipe from Kenzie’s hands, which were shaking like leaves in caught in a strong wind--he could see his own shaking too, but felt strangely removed from them, lost in the incomprehensibility of Rosemary’s words. He lit the bowl, breathing deeply, holding the smoke inside his lungs for a long moment--it settled into them, and he breathed out, counting. 1, 2, 3, 4...he handed the bowl, still lit, to Kenzie, who breathed from it again. Her tears seemed to dissipate, soften, her shaking fading into calm stillness.

“Rosemary, can we go outside? There’s a gazebo out there--it’s lovely. We can look at the lake. I think Kenzie needs some fresh air.” Kenzie glanced at Duncan with eyes filled with overwhelming affection as he said this. Rosemary nodded, her aspect calming, soothing, and seemingly unbothered by the weight of her words. This is truly a woman of exquisite power. “You bring that bowl, honey.” She reached for Kenzie’s hand and helped her up.

They all made their way out onto the deck and down the stone path, to where the gazebo lay in the pleasing solitude of the early afternoon. Duncan could see a flock of ducks swimming on the surface of the middle of the lake, beyond where the canoe creaked with a pleasant rhythm; there were more clouds in the sky today than yesterday, but it was still bright and warm, the breeze present again. Rosemary helped Kenzie onto one end of the long couch; Kenzie’s face was pale and her hands still seemed to be trembling. Rosemary moved to the other end, and Duncan knew innately she was leaving them space. Space to be together; to hold each other. He felt a wave of gratitude wash out from him towards the beautiful seer, this woman who had appeared as if out of thin air, by magic, in a car that had driven for an entire day, from thousands of miles away, to tell them impossible truths. He felt Rosemary’s drifting indigo-violet energy come against his, and knew she acknowledged his secret power, and his gratitude, as he acknowledged hers.

He slid next to Kenzie, his arms coming around her tightly, his nose falling against her hair to breathe her in. Roses, vetiver, geranium. Her own underlying musk, the heady scent of her and her alone. Kenzie’s head fell against his chest, her arms gripping him at the waist. Kenzie, we’ll always find each other, no matter what. I could die, I could shout into the sky, I could cry and never stop crying. My heart is full of you. My happiness in this knowledge is absolute. Kenzie seemed beyond words, but the drift of her gold against him was so staggeringly lovely, so intense, he fought to breathe. My Persephone. Flower of the universe.

“Now. There’s a lot more She told me to tell you. Listen carefully, my sweet moon children,” and Duncan heard Kenzie’s thought, like a memory, two moon children in love--

“As I told you a little bit ago--there is a great Darkness in the universe, in the pantheon of universes. As She is older than Time, so is the Darkness. He--It--has a far-reaching hand. You know that Darkness in this world; but this world, unlike others, does not have the depth of power that allows it full sway. The magic in this universe is not as vast as it is in others; here it exists in the hidden aspects. Your coming together has brought some of that magic to life here, but it is finite, and it has limits. There are other universes where your power is stronger, but the Darkness is stronger in those universes, too.”

“We’ve been having these dreams...” Kenzie said in a small voice. The air seemed to be soothing her; the breeze ruffled her hair as Duncan’s hands drifted against its softness.

Rosemary was nodding. “The Darkness had you in its grip here, Duncan, and it was attempting to tighten that grip. Your family in this world, its notoriety, its intentions--they have long been conspiring with the Darkness, long been courting its gifts. Your adopted mother, your uncle; they have done terrible things in the name of their own desires, and they wished to drag you into the shadows with them. They almost succeeded; you were almost fooled. But the Old Law prevailed, as it always does, one way or another. That Law is Love; that Law is Mackenzie; that Law is your High Destiny. The Goddess knew that your love would defeat that Darkness every time. And it always will. The Law she wrote is strong and it will hold. But the means by which it holds is never clear until you meet.”

Rosemary had brought her water glass out with them, and sipped at it for a moment, pausing. Her face turned to the lake; as she gazed at it, she smiled, but her smile had some sadness threaded into it. It was a smile that knew the bittersweet taste of life--knew the balance was impregnable.

“There are universes where your ending is not a happy one, I’m afraid. Despite finding each other, you don’t always get to be together this way. You suffer acutely in some; you die. But the death is written too--the death comes at your own hands, or you die together. It’s the Law; if you cannot be together, you must begin again, which means you first must be taken out of that time, the obstacle therefore removed. Duncan, I must tell you; there are universes where the Darkness claims you. And in some of them, in some of those lives, you cannot be saved but through death.”

Duncan felt a heavy hand settle on his heart--felt the breath drift out of his body as he gasped for air. Kenzie held him closer, and he heard the tiny sound of her sob against him. Oh baby, sweet Kenzie, please don’t cry so. Don’t cry for me that way. I love you. Here, we’re together. Please don’t cry. It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.

“Is that what the dreams mean?” he asked, cradling Kenzie’s shivering body against his. He felt the terrible heat of her tears soaking through his shirt, her face turned into him, hidden, overcome.

“Yes. They are another life. Another universe. One where your ending is not a happy one. One where Kenzie’s love saves you; as it did here, as it ever does; but not to such happy ends, I’m afraid. It’s just one example of the window of infinite lives you have lived, lives you are living as we speak, in other places, in other universes. That life, that universe, is particularly potent. The magick there is much stronger than the magick here. It encircles that world like a dense fog; it surrounds it and seeps into everything. There you have powers beyond imagining, both of you. The power to raise the dead. The power to turn time backwards. The power to change the shape of things; things that should otherwise be immutable. Or destroy them entirely, completely--utterly.”

“Blue butterflies out of rose petals,” Kenzie whispered. “You making snow, Duncan.”

“Yes,” he whispered against her hair. You, Kenzie, blood on your mouth, turning back time.

“The power to travel to Hell, even, Descensum; to the pit of Darkness. Because there, Duncan, you are a being of Darkness. In that world, you are Michael, the Son of Darkness--in that world, the Darkness claimed you when you were born into it, and the Goddess cannot reach you. There, you are a powerful conjurer, a warlock, and Kenzie--Mallory, as you are called there--you are a powerful witch, in fact, the most powerful of all witches in that world, more powerful than the witches of any other world. A Supreme. Kenzie does not save you in life in that world, however; but through your death. So it is written.”

Duncan felt unable to speak; I think I knew that. I think I knew, when I had that dream on the beach, the dream where I was dying, and grandma told me to go to Hell. And Kenzie was there, her hair dark on her shoulders, she was that other version of herself, the Mallory self, and she held me, and I died.

“My nightmare,” Kenzie burst into a sob again, the wail in her voice making Duncan bury his face, his eyes closing, against her hair, making his heart clench until he felt as though he would suffocate in the agony of her sadness. “My nightmare. That man with your face, Duncan--that man was you in that place, that man was you, consumed, that was real, oh, no, oh no, no--”

Duncan couldn’t think, couldn’t speak; could only hold her, his heart pressed down with the depth of her sadness, determined to hold her as long as she needed him to. Even for that other me, the depth of her grace is staggering. The immensity of her love. I feel lost inside it; it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever felt. Whatever darkness is in me, no matter where I am, who I am, it’s nothing next to her light. I know that. Absolutely. I’d die a thousand times for you, Mackenzie Stone, High Princess of Heaven. A million times. I’ll die for eternity to be with you for just a moment. That, I promise you. I swear it. I will worship and love you endlessly, as I promised to, when we were Exalted--as we will be again one day. I know I will always recognize your soul.

“Sweet golden child of Her Grace,” Rosemary said, staring at Kenzie with violet, soothing warmth. “Do not despair--there is no need for it. You save him in every world. Your love is what saves him. Reach out with your heart into every hidden place. You know it’s true. There is no place your love cannot reach him. And death is not the end. In her Will, it is never really the end. And here--” Rosemary gestured out onto the lake, to the sky beyond. “Here, in this world, in this life, you’ve been infinitely blessed. In this world, you get to be together; truly together. And not only that. Not only have you found each other, basked in each other, found a haven hidden from the eyes of the world in which to feed each other in power and affection. In this world you have been given even more, for the Goddess does not take away in one world what she doesn’t bestow again in another. Here, you have worldly riches, too, is that not so?”

Yes.

“Fuck,” Duncan whispered. “That was our destiny all along, too, wasn’t it?”

Rosemary gazed at him, and her expression was omniscient in the stretch of this moment; it kindled his spirit up, thrilling his nerves, achingly beautiful against his soul. Yes. That was the plan all along. That not only would you heal each other infinitely, here; you would, together, heal this world, and that, too, would be your happiness.

Kenzie had begun to quiet against him; she turned her tear-stained face up to him, and her eyes glittered unbearably in the afternoon light: gold, russet forest, green like growing leaves.

“The High Destiny,” she whispered. Duncan brought his hand up, wiping under her eyes, pressing the dampness into his shirt, cradling her face.

“Yes, sweet golden honey.” Rosemary was grinning; her face was effervescent in its beauty. She reached for the golden pipe again from where Duncan had set it on the low table beside the lantern, raising it languidly to her chin. “Praise be to Her, in whose eyes all is made clear and wondrous, three-faced, sweet as blessed wine. Your High Destiny is to bring a long peace into this world. And when others in this world behold you together, that is what they see. Your divinity, your goodness, and their redemption.” Duncan continued to look down at Kenzie--she stared at him with a dawning happiness spreading over her face that made him clutch her cheek, dip his mouth to kiss her, uncaring that Rosemary watched--Kenzie, my Kenzie, oh my Kenzie--

Rosemary breathed in another long drag of the gold pipe. Then she continued to speak, her legs crossed with ease, her hand drifting against her many necklaces, thumb trailing at the obsidian, the raven skull.

“I know what’s coming, what’s at the door; by the time you return to the Capital City, Bill Shepherd will have been dead for a day. Yesterday, he signed his Will, at Annette Shepherd’s behest. Duncan: you are now the sole heir of Shepherd Unlimited and all its holdings. Bill Shepherd, as is his way, has over $15 billion dollars in overseas assets that he hasn’t been filing with his taxes. Those assets will be yours in a few hours’ time. With Shepherd Unlimited LLC and the tools at its disposal, it is your High Destiny, Duncan and Mackenzie, to heal this world.”

“Fuck,” Duncan whispered.

“Holy shit,” he felt Kenzie grip his shirt with her little tear-stained hands. “Duncan, oh my goddess. We knew. We felt it all along. We felt our destiny.”

“And Praise be to Her,” Rosemary said, and then she laughed; she laughed long and low, and her voice was like honey, and it seemed to fall into Duncan’s mind like a crashing, heady wine. Her laugh rang out onto the lake, stirring the ducks to flight; as they flapped up from the water, the sun dappled in their water-flecked wings, turning to patterns of gold.

-------

It was late now, the light growing low as it had the night before, gradually then all at once, and Duncan had conjured another fire in the copper pit. This one, if anything, was even brighter and more beautiful than the one before; it was almost transparent, burning wildly high and hot, kindled in the euphoria of his mood. Now that he knew the powers they had were real, not only real, but destined, he felt confident in the ability to strengthen them; felt confident in their reality. I’ve been blessed, and so I’ll use my blessings. I can see the shape of these powers now, their outline like a lingering vision after a bright burst of light. I was destined to have them, and so I’ll use them as wisely as I can.

They had all smoked so much of the weed through the rest of the afternoon he had begun to feel untethered from his body, lost in the softness of Kenzie’s touch, the sweet smell of the space under her ear and along her neck. Rosemary didn’t seem to mind, skillfully ignoring them as they kissed again and again, drifted their hands along each other lazily through the rest of the afternoon. Duncan felt split between his gratitude towards Rosemary and the intensity of his desire for Kenzie--he had been fighting off the urge to slide his hand up her bare leg under the dress for hours, and as he sat in one of the wicker chairs by the fire, watching Kenzie and Rosemary dance a few paces away on the lawn amid the fireflies, the strains of Redbone’s Witch-queen of New Orleans pumping through the outdoor speakers, he sent out drifts of his deep need towards her. She was spinning in the long rosy dress, her chin tilted up and the diamond moon flashing on her neck, his black cardigan falling off one of her shoulders--her hair was tossed by wind and sweat glinted at her temples, and all he could think of was how radiantly lovely she was; High Princess of Heaven, Goddess of the Golden Bower, Angel of the Hidden Sphere, my High Destiny, forevermore, everlong, no worship is ever enough. And now you’re going to marry me. And I know what kind of ring I’m going to give you. A moonstone. My moon, everlasting.

She’ll put a spell on you, she’ll put a spell on you

He tried to contemplate the wonder of everything that had happened in the past two days; of the past few weeks. It’s truly only been a few weeks? It felt like years, and also like no time at all, like hours. He tried to contemplate the immensity of time they’d loved each other, and the smallness of the time they’d been able to love each other in this present--felt too lost in it, had to move his thoughts away. He tried to conjure up the image of the Fates in his mind, knowing now that it was Her, aspects of Her, the spectrum of Her face. Too stoned, sorry. Just wanna fuck my baby. So fucking much. Forgive me, Goddess. He grinned to himself, into his hand. I know you do. I can feel that you forgive me.

Tho' she'll never return all the Cajuns knew, a witch-queen never dies

Kenzie and Rosemary were gripping each other’s arms now, whirling in a circle, both laughing uproariously. Kenzie tumbled to the ground, throwing her head back and laughing up into the sky, bleeding out into blue darkness. Rosemary clutched her belly and laughed up at the sky too.

“Oh Goddess, to be alive,” she crowed. Duncan looked up to her from his seat, grinning. Rosemary had told them the story that afternoon of how she had found the Goddess when she was young--had gone into a cave in the swamps of New Orleans as a young girl, finding a bower of strange golden flowers growing there, had had a vision of Her, as an old woman, wizened with the ages and also inconceivable, told her of her power to conjure and to incite light in others, kindle their dreams and hopes, their destinies. Another Thin Place, he thought, like that balcony, or our circle of oaks. They had made more of the chicken and other vegetables in the cooker, a charcuterie spread out on the deck table, and had been nibbling at it for a hours between the weed and glasses of wine--now the day was hazy and drifting away, and Duncan felt lost in the happiness of it; absolutely found in it. Rosemary tumbled herself into one of the wicker chairs across from him, her feet dipping up over one of the arms. She gazed into the fire, a serene expression in her eyes.

“Evening Star, you sure can make one hell of a fire,” she murmured, her eyes drifting closed. “It smells so sweet and feels so nice on my poor aching bones, thank you very much. The Goddess knows I put the work in since yesterday to find y’all, now she’s giving me a break, and Blessed Be.”

“Thank you, Rosemary. Thank you for everything. Thank you for coming all this way--for telling us everything. Who we are. What we’re meant to do.” Kenzie had heaved herself up from the ground and was skipping over to him, throwing herself into his lap and lifting her mouth up to kiss him as he spoke. He cradled her little body against him; her eyes glittered, her thoughts achingly sweet. To be held by you, baby, is the sweetest and most beautiful of anything. My Evening Star. My Hades who I plucked from darkness. You owe me so many kisses.

Oh I do, do I-- He dipped his mouth down onto hers again; he could feel Rosemary’s eyes on them, slitted, an adoration and pride in her aspect that he could feel as though it were visible. He knew she thought they were infinitely beautiful--the thought was a feeling of warm violet that emanated out from her; and I agree, if only because being loved and loving her so much has made me beautiful from within, he thought. I can feel the beauty in everything because of her.

“Rosemary,” and Kenzie turned her face away, looking over at the other woman’s beautiful cocoa skin, shimmering like soft copper in the firelight.

“Yes, golden honey,” Rosemary murmured, turning her face up a little, her eyes closed from tiredness, peaceful in the quiet of the crackling fire.

“What do the thin places mean?”

“Thin places?” Rosemary’s eyes opened a little, meeting her eyes.

“In the woods there’s a clearing. It’s surrounded by these huge black oak trees, and they’re all growing together, in a weird, tight circle. Inside it are so many wildflowers,” Kenzie laid her head on Duncan’s chest, under his chin, “and they’re growing in a spiral, like, I dunno, like they mean something, time or the universe, something like that. We were there yesterday, and…”

Kenzie blushed, trailing off.

“You fucked there.”

“Yeah. And it was strange--I mean, it felt like--Dunny, how would you describe it--”

“Like we were untethered from the earth for a little while,” Duncan said, his hand drifting against Kenzie’s thigh, under her breast, holding her against him, gazing into the fire. “Like we were in some kind of between place. Between this world and another one.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose the Thin Places, as you say, have many names. I call them The Veil, because they aren’t really places as much as doorways, gateways, the between of one place and another. The Goddess has tethered every universe together with threads--energy that passes from one place to another, acting as a bridge--and sometimes the threads wear thin; I suppose Thin Place is a well-suited name. As you are so close to your divinity still, these places are more obvious to you than to other people.”

“The night we met, we were on this balcony, with all these roses, and I think it was one of those places,” Kenzie was murmuring, eyes glittering on him, close to tears again. “It was thin--I could see him, Rosemary. I could see into his soul. I knew how beautiful he was inside. It was like a lamp shining out of a lighthouse. He said hi and he was looking at me like he knew me, like he hadn’t seen me in a long time and had missed me. And my heart just--stopped. I felt like he had set me on fire, wonderful fire, like this.” She looked at the fire Duncan had made--made with my mind, my senses, my will, for you. His heart twinged, reached out for her.

“The heart knows what nothing else can tell you,” Rosemary murmured, her voice growing soft again in her sleepiness. “It was only a matter of time before you found each other again.”

“Sometimes I think I see a golden thread between us,” Duncan said softly.

“The Goddess has tethered you this way. Since you are so close to her--because she loves you both so dearly--you can see the innerworkings of her magicks sometimes. They are not conceivable to human eyes. You’re feeling them. For all her works speak to the inner self, the hidden senses.”

“Rosemary,” Kenzie started again, and then Duncan heard the tears in her voice, cutting her words off. Her face turned into the crook of his arm--he felt her cheek shuddering there.

“Shh, Kenz, it’s okay, Kenzie,” he whispered into her. She nodded.

“Rosemary, thank you.”

But Rosemary didn’t reply--she was sleeping softly now, her chest rising and falling slowly, her hand dipped under her jaw. She was magnificently beautiful in the glossy sheen of the firelight, her dark skin illuminated, her sunset-colored scarf glowing, her obsidian and quartz stones shimmering, feet bare now, and grass-stained; she looks like a painting, Duncan thought, oh that Waterhouse had painted her, Rosemary Antigone Delacroix, who has given us so much joy in so little time. Thank you, Rosemary. Thank you. Now, we’ll let you sleep. I only hope I can give you something in return--and soon. You and everyone who has surrounded us, helped us, comforted us, shielded us.

“Princess Kenzie, let’s go upstairs,” he murmured into her ear. Kenzie’s eyes turned up to him, her mouth dipping open. Her hair fell down behind his arm, a sheet of gold. He felt wildly awake; acutely aware of the softness and the scent of her. He pressed his mouth against her ear. “I want you so much. Take a bath with me, angel. Please?”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, a laugh playing at her mouth. “Okay, but I wanna read stories to each other after we fuck. You have to promise we can read stories after.”

“We can read stories for as long as you want, Mrs. Shepherd.”

“What should we do, baby--about everything? We already know what’s going to happen. Rosemary told us. When we go back--”

“Shhh,” and he pressed his mouth, shivering, aching, against hers, intent to worship her, pulling her chin up insistently to reach her, his hands falling against the sweet softness of the dress over her breast. “Tonight, let’s just think about how divine we are, and how lucky we are, and how beautiful the night is, and how beautiful everything is, the stars, the lake, and you--” and she was nodding into him, climbing up to straddle him, the firelight licking its shadows against her hair, over her skin. “And you, baby,” she whispered. “My Evening Star. Goddess, I love that--”

“I’m gonna find you the most beautiful garden house on earth, Princess Kenzie,” he was whispering into her throat, his tongue licking out to the sweet saltiness of her sun-kissed sweat there, and he knew he meant it, knew he wouldn’t stop until he found it, “and together we’re gonna plant the most beautiful garden and so many flowers you can use them for a bed, and I’ll get you as many horses as you want, and I’ll read to you every night, kiss you a thousand times every day in our bed of a hundred of the softest blankets on earth, Kenzie, my golden goddess--”

“I want so many flowers for our wedding, baby,” she was murmuring against his mouth, the supple feeling of her skin driving unbearable waves of heat into his cock now. “I want a hundred dark red roses to hang over our bed between all the wildflowers, flowers in our hair, please, baby, please?”

“Fuck, baby, a thousand flowers, as many as your heart desires, I love you, anything you want, my flower of the universe, my Princess of the Garden of All Delights--fuck, baby, I wanna see it, I wanna see that garden in heaven, where we used to love each other, for eons, Rosemary said, eons--”

Kenzie was laughing against the tickle of his mouth as he groaned into her, standing and gripping her to him under her thighs, his hands finally (fuck, finally, no offense Rosemary) on her bare skin there under the long dress. Kenzie wrapped her arms around his neck and he carried her up to the deck, eagerly turning his chin up to her where her face hovered above him, needy for her kisses.

“I never wanna leave,” Kenzie whispered into him, and he shuddered, pulling her closer, so close the pattering of her heartbeat was flush against his chest, her hair falling against his cheeks. “I wanna run away into the woods with you, into our secret circle of oaks, baby, let’s just stay here and fuck in the field and in the trees and throw away our clothes and worship the Goddess under the starlight until the world ends--”

“But She has shit for us to do, angel, we gotta save the world--” and he was laughing against her as he stumbled with her near the stairs. Kenzie slipped out of his arms (how does she do that) and ran up the stairs away from him before he could grab her wrist--”we gotta save the world, Miss Stone--”

The weed was sweet inside him still, and he thought, The Fates are the Goddess and the Goddess is the Fates, and even if I have darkness in me, so does everything, so does everyone--I know I’ve chosen the light now, and that’s all that matters, I know it was my choice all along--I’ve found my sweet Kenzie, and nothing can fucking hurt me, nothing, nothing can fuck with us, baby--I can’t wait to kiss you with a thousand roses around us and the evening light and the sweet sound of music, slip your moonstone on your little finger and kiss your sweet hands with the tattoo of all my love--

He ran through the bedroom, seeing the little slip of her shoulder, the wave of her hair, the flick of the hem of her long linen dress disappearing through the bathroom door. Kenzie slammed it behind her and he heard the lock click into place. He fell against it, groaning, jiggling the handle to no avail.

“Baby, fuck, ughhh, lemme in, please.”

He could hear her giggling, hear the copper tub’s faucet turn on, its sweet low drift and the sound of her little movements, her tiny laughter kindling a needle of heat into his groin. My angel of heaven. Have mercy.

“I just realized something, Kenzie.”

She fell silent behind the door, as if pausing--for a little while he only heard the faucet running. The bedroom was bathed in low, golden light, and his eyes fell on Cupid’s flower crown in the painting, the tenderness with which he kissed Psyche’s cheek.

“I’ve loved you for thousands of years.”

There was another long pause. He pressed his head against the door, closed his eyes. I have, haven’t I. I really have, When I saw you on the balcony that night, I felt the immensity of time. I knew that it had always been you.

The door opened suddenly and he stumbled through it; Kenzie was throwing her arms around him, making him stumble further, against her this time (oh thank Goddess), and then she was pressing him harshly into the bathroom wall, her hands insistent, demanding. He was leaning down to her, trying to wrap his arms around her, but she pressed them down, her hand drifting to his jaw, clenching there.

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you.”

“Yes.”

“You’d die for me.”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Would you assassinate someone for me?” She laughed at this, her words hovering between facetiousness and seriousness, and her smile melted at his heart, made him desperate for her.

“If I had to, yes.” Duncan’s answer was serious, and they both knew it; he stared at her, his eyes unwavering, and saw her lips fall from the smile, saw that she could see the ache of him, insatiable, unending, for her.

“Look at the bruises you left on me.”

Kenzie lifted the linen dress up over her head, edging out of his reach as he tried to grip her. He realized she was naked underneath it and heard the tiny reverberation of his moan, following after her. She turned, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and Duncan groaned to see the dark bruises he’d left on her asscheeks, the product of his own hands. He kneeled, aching regret pressing on him, and cupped her at the top of her thighs, drifting his mouth down to the bruises, whispering against her.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry, I love you so much--”

“I love them,” she whispered. “I love the marks you leave on me. I asked for them and I love them and I want more. I don’t care how long we’ve been together in the past, it still only feels like it’s been a few weeks now and I want more. The marks from your hands and your lips, your attention, your love--I want more, more, more--” Kenzie was leaning back into his hands now, against the wet, open dip of his mouth, her hair brushing along his head. She turned and his face hovered right over her cunt--Duncan dragged her against him, opening his lips further, cupping them into the lips of her sex, turning her hips under his hands and pressing her into the wall. Kenzie’s arms drifted above her, up the wall’s incline, hands reaching heavenward, her back arching, leaning into him; Duncan pulled her thigh up so her knee rested against his shoulder, and held his tongue to her shivering clit, eliciting a long, drifting moan from her mouth turned upward.

The scent of her was rich with summery sweat and the salty gathering of her arousal, and it made Duncan feel as though he were drifting out into some ether, unchained from the earth, as if they were back in the black oak circle, between worlds.

“Baby,” she was humming, “how are we gonna know what to do? To change the world? What are we supposed to do with the company? Like--how--unnnh--” her words bled out as he drifted his tongue back and forth between her clit and the opening of her cunt, urgent and concentrated. No more worrying tonight, Kenzie, just be here with me, let me worship you…

“Mmhmm, baby, uhhuh,” she whined, and he knew she’d heard him, felt the bluish drift of his comforting thought. I’ve missed tasting your sweetness here, angel, I wanna build an altar to your sweet cunt alone, its secret places, curves, hidden clefts, the rich singularity of its scent. I’m gonna eat you out every fucking day for the rest of our lives. He pulled his tongue back, pressing his lips around her clit, sucking carefully, strongly, looking up with languid patience to the shadow over her face as her head fell down, her hands drifting from where they had stretched along the wall to his cheeks, his forehead, the curves of his eyelids, through the sides of his hair, and Duncan had to close them now, for fear he would die inside her eyes--that his heart would simply stop with the glorious weight of her (you Kenzie you my universe and I turn around you, I am your moon spinning around your earth, and when we end we begin again, when we die, we are reborn to each other--).

“Fuck, Duncan,” and Kenzie was biting into her lip, eyes falling closed, her body smooth and hot and terribly soft under his long hands, the wetness at his mouth an insistent undoing, the telltale trembling beginning in her thighs, “I think I’m gonna come already, sorry, baby, I can’t, god, that feels so fucking good, you’re too beautiful, annhh--” and he was shaking his head, rebounding his tongue against her, hands clutching at the bruises along her ass, fingers digging against them so she gasped in the half-patina of pleasure and pain--come for me, come as soon as you want to, as much as you want, as constant, for I will worship you always and my devotion will not end, Mackenzie Stone, High Princess of Heaven, yours is the one true beauty, the gold that you hold in the center of your soul--then, with a pilling satisfaction that urged heat into his groin, he heard the high, lilting sound of her voice crying up in her ecstasy (“Dunny, fu-u-uck-k, my Pri-ince, Evening Star, my fucking baby, unnnnh--”), the sound of the water filling the copper tub crashing against her and drowning out her drawn whimpers, and he thought of Sirens, singing on rocks in the sea, mesmerizing to sailors, causing them to plunge to the depths with desire. My Kenzie, sing to me. Sing your pleasure out for my ears alone.

She quieted, her breath heaving, her legs shaking against him, her cunt twinging--he pressed another long, adoring lick between the lips, shivering with wetness from his mouth and her deep orgasm, then he stood, her hands drifting from his hair to his shoulders to his stomach, his height enveloping her, as it ever was. He brought his arms down around her and Kenzie began to work at his shirt, pushing his pants and briefs to the floor, his mouth, damp with her sex, tasting at hers with lazy need. He lowered his arms, reluctantly, letting his shirt drop to the floor, then swung them down around her shoulders and the back of her thighs, lifting her into his arms. Duncan carried her to the copper tub, the steaming water within almost having reached the rim--he lowered her into it and Kenzie sighed deeply, her eyes fluttering closed in an expression of deep, contented loveliness.

Duncan lifted away from her, turning off the faucet, balancing on the edge of it for a moment, naked; Kenzie’s hair had immediately begun to drift around her, and he thought again of Sirens in the sea, calling out to Odysseus.

“You look like a mermaid, Kenz,” he said, smiling down at her. She grinned, dipping her face under the water, blowing bubbles up to the surface, eyeing him coyly.

“Come, come to me, come to the sea and be drowned, wah-haha,” she laughed.

“By you, gladly.” Duncan stepped over the rim and settled down into the serenely hot water. The tub was quite large--larger than the claw-footed one in the penthouse, large enough that he could stretch his legs out entirely and crook them around her, drawing her into him, his cock, hardening, straining, brushing against the inside of her leg and stomach. She shivered and he moved his mouth down to her cheek, her jaw, pressing tiny kisses there.

“Remember when you put all those roses in the bathtub, baby,” Kenzie was whispering, lifting herself up to him, her nose nuzzling against his. The water felt almost unbearably warm now with her against him this way, and Duncan wanted to cry out against her hair, on her bare, flushed, damp skin. I fucking love you, my love is ever-hungry, ever-urgent, as if it wants to tear me into pieces so I can feed myself to you.

“How could I ever forget that,” he whispered. “You were so fucking beautiful that night. That dress, the half-moon around your neck. I think that’s the first time I knew--really knew--that you were divine.”

“I’m gonna ride you again like that now,” she murmured against his chin, her eyes glowing, and her little slender hand was grasping his cock, now terribly hard in her fingers, easing up and down its thickness with her hips under his fingers, her little tongue dipping out along his lower lip--Kenzie eased herself down onto him, a shuddering, high gasp falling out of her mouth into his, and he cried against her, the pitiful need in his voice ringing in his ears. She moved, slowly at first, then more pressingly, her hands coming up to dampen his hair with water that fell through it in a glistening trail.

“It feels like we woke up from another dream today,” she was whimpering into him, and Duncan was kissing her neck, his mouth tingling with her, lost in the tightness, the clenching, devouring space of her cunt around him, the water’s steam rising around them in droves. “Now we know, baby.”

“That you saved me--” he whined into the dip of her throat now, his voice shuddering as his orgasm inched closer, through his thighs and his groin. “You saved me, angel, you saved my soul from darkness here--that you save me, over and over--you are my miracle, fuck, Kenzie--”

“I am, aren’t I--” she laughed against him, then her laugh bled into a moan as she ground down onto him in the glorious heat of the water, her little hands drifting along his neck, through his curls, her head falling back, and his mouth was around her nipple, sucking with deep hunger, his heart already breaking for the moment he’d have to stop--then he felt himself, eyes blurring with heat and tears, his voice crying wordlessly to heaven (thank you Fates, who are Her), coming harshly up into the golden space of her, the depth of her, the absence of void--she was fullness, truth, reality, the essence of life, she was the beginning and end of all, the solace of his existence. My angel, my miracle, my savior, my Kenzie, for all time.

And for awhile after, they held each other in the blessed quiet and the wonderful heat of the water and the soothing feeling of one another, and he kissed the tiny tears from her eyes, and everything in all of that stretch of moments, small, brief, and somehow also infinite, was sublime.

-------

Kenzie was laying with her face towards the ceiling in the center of the golden bed, the delicate, hanging golden lamp there bowing down on her, kissing at the waves of her chestnut hair. She wore the little silken pink pyjamas and the silk black kimono, gifts from me, I want to shower you with gifts for the rest of our lives, my delight, my sweet love, and one of the downy pillows was propped under her head as she held D’aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths up to her face with her little hands. The other books were in a pile beside her on the silky spread; the ghost story books, Jane Eyre, The Golden Compass and the stargazing book from Duncan’s penthouse library. Duncan was propped up with a pillow on the headboard, facing her, wearing just a pair of black briefs, one of her tiny feet in his large hand; he rubbed it carefully, tenderly, fingers drifting back and forth along its graceful curve, over the rise of her little bones, eyes on her face as she read. The curtain was floating against the wall, and Duncan could smell the fire from the pit downstairs rising up. He wondered if he should go wake Rosemary so she could sleep in one of the guest rooms, but was loathe to move away from the bed, out of Kenzie’s warm sphere. In a little while, he thought. The night is warm and beautiful, besides, as beautiful as last night. It’s like we’re in our own little world here.

“I just love this picture so much,” Kenzie whispered, turning the book to him. The picture was the one of Persephone and Demeter rushing into each other’s arms in a golden field of flowers. “It really makes me think of me and Momby. She’s going to be so happy when we tell her. I keep imagining her face when you call her Momby,” and Kenzie’s grin clenched at his heart.

She turned the book back to herself, resting its edge on her belly, flipping through the pages. Duncan could hear the peepers out on the lake, the drift of the water obscured by them, the low crackle of the fire pit below. Kenzie stopped on a certain page, gazing at it intently, her little mouth pouting, eyes concentrated.

“What’s that page, baby,” Duncan murmured, switching to her other foot, kneading at her toes.

“Selene and Endymion,” she murmured.

“Read it to me?” he asked. I love your voice in the soft night. Singing, speaking, breathing sighs, the gasp of you when you come, the little crying sounds in your sleep.

Kenzie smiled, eyes whirling dark green at him, cleared her throat a little, and read in a clear, measured voice. Journalism major, he thought, brimming with happiness so full it was like a golden cup running over through his body.

“Selene, the moon, came out at night to light up the sky while her brother, Helios, was resting. Slowly she drove her milk-white horses across the sky, and her pale moonbeams fell gently on the sleeping earth where all was peace and quiet.”

Duncan tried to imagine what it must have been like to meet Kenzie for the first time--not on the balcony, he thought, but in that other place, the real first time, after I saw her on her throne, like that dream we had, the throne where she held the sceptre--the Hidden Sphere, the one Rosemary talked about. We met in the Garden, Rosemary said, the Garden of All Delights. Kenzie’s hair, white and shimmering, was full of galaxy-flowers. Her eyes were a golden universe. And her wings were like the vastness of heaven in an unbroken sunset.

“One night Selene’s soft light fell on Endymion, a young shepherd, who was sleeping beside his flock. She stopped to look at him. He was smiling in his sleep and was so young and handsome that she completely lost her heart to him,” and here Kenzie glanced up at Duncan, her face cast in a soft corona of light, her eyes held in the aureate bow of her lashes, and he felt her thought--that’s how I felt when I saw your smile, baby. “She drove through the night, but she could not get him out of her mind.”

Duncan was sliding down over the coverlet to her, his hands drifting up her thighs. Oh you did, did you. She smiled at him nervously, then her eyes fell back to the page and she read again.

“When her duties were over, she went to Zeus and asked him to grant Endymion eternal sleep so he would stay forever young and handsome...Zeus granted Selene’s wish and Endymion slept on and on, smiling in his sleep. He dreamed that he held the moon in his arms. But it was not a dream after all…”

Duncan was pulling her up to him, into his mouth, easily lifting her small weight against him, and the book fell from her fingers to the soft spread and her hair fell back, her eyes fluttering closed against him, the silken feeling of her all too much, and Duncan thought of her as the moon shining against him; as the goddess she once was, of what had felt like a dream, had seemed to be one in the nimbus of sleep, but hadn’t been, her, so wondrously, soul-shakingly real now, in his arms--

No, no. Not a dream after all.

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sabrinaprotectionsquad-blog · 6 years

Text

AU Yea August Day 1 - Soulmate

@auyeahaugust

A semi-long sweet fluff story about Sabrina and FtM Nathaniel going on a kind of sort of date. Also there’s a bit of teenage witchcraft that Chloé found on the internet, some coming out stuff and some general sweetness.

This Au Yea August thing is quickly turning into 20 or so stories about Sabrina for me (to the surprise of no one), and I find it both funny and a little sad that I think I may double the number of fics focused specifically on the sweet ginger child if I manage to post all the way through August.

You can find the fic here on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526593

Or read it here, fair warning though, it’s a little long for the tumblr format.

A match struck through the darkness, lighting two large candles for the seventh day. The candles stood, side by side, close enough for their sides to touch. Every day, they had been meticulously moved 10 centimeters closer to one another, and now their pairing was complete.

An image of Chloé was fastened to the left candle, a picture unlike any she would allow to see the light of day. In this image, her hair was down and uncombed, her lips, eyes and skin devoid of any trace of makeup, and she made no attempt to flirt with the camera. It was simply a natural expression on an all natural girl, except for her hair color, but Sabrina had made sure to not point that out.

The other candle was adorned with a wooden heart which Chloé had painstakingly carved herself, refusing both Sabrina and Jean her butler. She’d barely even complained about how tedious it was, not until she cut herself anyway, but she went back and finished the task the next day anyway, showing a kind of devotion Sabrina couldn’t remember having ever seen from her. The heart was pretty easily discernible as a heart, at least when you knew what it was. It was good for a first try.

The candle flames lit up the complete darkness of the room, just enough that the two girls could see one another, just enough that they could read the letters and words on the wooden board before them. It wasn’t called a spirit board. It had been branded and sold as an “angel guidance board”, but aside from the imagery, it was very evident what it was.

Sabrina looked over at Chloé, she couldn’t help but smile seeing the intense stare in her best friend’s eyes. She was looking into the fire of the heart locket candle, as though the boy of her dreams would actually emerge from its light and proclaim his undying ‘burning’ devotion to her. It was really sweet that Chloé believed in these things.

Sabrina looked at her watch. “That’s almost seven minutes now, Chloé. Are you ready?”

Chloé swallowed, her entire body tense like a loaded spring. She nodded, taking Sabrina’s hand firmly.

The two girls spoke in unison for the seventh and final time to complete the ritual. The first time had been a bit rocky, but now their voices chimed together perfectly uniform.

I am here, find me, in the entire world, there is only one me. I am perfect for you. Find me, there is only one you, you are perfect for me, I will find you. I am worthy of your perfect love, you are worthy of my perfect love, we will find one another.

I am here, come to me, you are there, I am coming to you… Make yourself known to me, and I will make myself known to you!

The two girls held their breath and both placed their hands on the angel board. Chloé’s lips were pressed into a thin line, a small line of sweat beading down the side of her cheek, Sabrina could almost hear her thoughts going ‘please work’ over and over again. She knew better than to ask her friend if she was ready, or to break her concentration.

There was nothing more she could really do, except move the Planchette softly along the board to ‘build up the energy’. They allowed it to find the four corners and the four sides, and then let it rest, at the center of the board.

Sabrina waited patiently, looking at Chloé whose face was bathed in sweat, her eyes staring at the board with enough intensity to burn a hole through it. Sabrina could see her friend’s hands tremble slightly, her lips moving as she tried to find the words.

“Is there… someone here?” She asked hesitantly, hopefully.

The silence of the room was deafening. Sabrina swore she could practically hear Chloé’s heart beating. She waited until the moment Chloé’s eyes lost focus, the moment she lost faith that this would work for just a second, and then Sabrina moved the planchette, slowly over to the ‘yes’ indicated on the board.

Chloé practically shrieked with a mix of emotions, she looked up at Sabrina who was doing her absolute best to look just as shocked as the blonde girl, which wouldn’t be possible. Chloé truly looked like she’d seen a ghost, which she thought she’d had.

Sabrina looked at Chloé wordlessly, her eyes guiding Chloé’s down to the board again. Chloé had let go, but Sabrina hadn’t, which was good cause according to the website at least one person always had to be holding onto it, or the energies were lost or whatever.

Chloé took a deep breath through her nose and once again placed her hands on the wooden puck. She swallowed and looked into Sabrina’s eyes. She looked at her with such hope, she really trusted that Sabrina would never lie to her. Sabrina felt a twinge of guilt for faking the ritual, but she couldn’t let her find out it was fake, not after all the pain and effort Chloé had put into it, it would break her heart!

Chloé wet her lips, staring down onto the wooden board, holding her breath between every question, as though breathing or blinking would make the magic disappear.

“Are… are you an angel?”

‘Y E S’

“Do you know me?”

‘Y E S’

“Do I have a soulmate?”

‘Y E S’

“What is his name!?”

Chloé bit her lower lip; she glared up at Sabrina for a second, as if warning her against moving a muscle and ruining the angel’s answer. Sabrina swallowed. She barely had to pretend to be as nervous as Chloé, though she was more nervous about being caught than about if the ‘angel’ would confirm Chloé’s crush.

Sabrina allowed the board to stand still again for a few moments, letting Chloé once again to get to the brink of her patience before she moved it to the A, causing Chloé to gasp audibly, smiling up at Sabrina and down at the board, wordlessly saying “You see!? You see!?”.

A small mischievous urge tickled at the back of Sabrina’s head as she moved the planchette past the D without resting on it. She savored the look of utter disbelief in Chloé’s eyes as it came to rest on the G. She let it painfully slowly dance across the board, R, E, S, T and finally E.

“AGRESTE! That’s Adrikinses last name! He IS my soulmate, Sabrina! I knew it, I knew it!”

“That’s so great, Chloé! I never had any doubt!”

“Well, of course, it’s like, obvious that we’re perfect together, but it’s nice to know that it’s totally meant to be!”

Chloé laughed, the relief and worry leaving her quickly. The tension she’d been building up to this moment for an entire week had finally been released and she couldn’t be happier. Sabrina was surprised to notice Chloé’s hands still firmly planted on the plachette, it looked like it had taken all of Chloé’s self-control to not jump up to run a victory lap.

Sabrina braced herself for what was bound to be an hour of her coming up with answers about their first date, how many children they would have and what flavor their wedding cake should be. She tried hiding her sigh from Chloé.

She knew that all the answers had to be correct, and knew some of the more immediate answers given would possibly require her to pull some stunts. Like the time she stole a letter from the mailman and put it with Chloé’s mail so she’d think a letter was brought to her accidentally and gave her a chance to talk to her crush. She wondered if everyone who truly believed in destiny and higher powers actually just had a great friend like her working behind the scenes.

Chloé looked dreamily at the board, the intense stare having been washed away by satisfaction, leaving only curiosity. Sabrina could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure out what about her destiny she wanted to know. To Sabrina’s surprise, Chloé looked up at her with a soft smile.

“What about Sabrina? What’s the name of her soulmate?”

Sabrina felt a cold knot gripping her stomach. She was not prepared for that question and she did NOT know what to answer. If she gave a name, Chloé would spend the rest of eternity chasing away any guy who didn’t happen to have that name! Sabrina didn’t even like anyone like that, what was she supposed to say!?

She swallowed, realizing it had already been a while without an answer. She had to come up with something. Maybe if she just spelled out ‘none’ Chloé would believe that she wasn’t destined to be with anyone. That might be for the best. The thought of saying she wasn’t supposed to be with anyone made her a bit sad though.

Sabrina suddenly felt the wooden instrument moving under her fingers, she immediately yanked it back to the middle.

“Quit it Chloé!” she said, looking up at Chloé with a panicked expression. Chloé looked up at her, confused and a bit worried.

“I didn’t move it, did you?”

“Uh… not before of course, but… just now I panicked.” Sabrina swallowed. She’d messed up. If Chloé found out she’d faked the whole thing there would be hell to pay. Chloé’s eyes weren’t accusatory though, they were playful and happy.

“Aww, you’re nervous about knowing who you’re going to date? I understand, we can’t always end up with someone amazing like Adrikins, but I’m sure you’ll be happy, even if you’re destined to end up with someone who is fat or has glasses or whatever.”

Sabrina shrugged, letting Chloé think that she’d hit the nail on the head. She decided to ignore people with glasses being pitted with fat people, for the sake of her glasses-wearing sanity.

She concluded that Chloé must have never taken it as seriously as she thought. She was messing with her, she must have known the whole time. Well, whatever answer she was going to come up with was fine. Maybe Chloé was trying to set her up on another date. It couldn’t go worse than last time, but it was nice that she tried.

The two girls returned their focus to the planchette, which began moving in the same direction as before. Sabrina definitely wasn’t moving it, but it worried her that it had started moving while Chloé looked like she was about to say something. It really seemed neither of them had been paying attention to the board until it moved. Chloé might be a better actress than Sabrina usually gave her credit for.

N A T H A N I E L was spelled out on the board as the two girls watched it wordlessly.

“Nathaniel! Your future husband’s name is Nathaniel!” Chloé beamed at her. Sabrina couldn’t remember ever having seen Chloé so enthusiastic about something that didn’t have to do with herself. It was hard to imagine she wasn’t scheming something.

“Haha… great! So, um… do you know anyone named Nathaniel?” She asked, expecting Chloé to pull out a photo of her next blind date. Instead, Chloé shook her head.

“No one comes to mind. It must be someone we haven’t met yet. You seem like the type who would meet your future husband in college.” Chloé said matter-of-factly. Sabrina tried not to equate that with Chloé saying she was undesirable right now.

“Maybe,” she smiled “let’s talk about something else, ok?”

“Oh! How many babies will Adrikins and me have?” Chloé’s attention shot back to the board as she asked with eyes that gleamed with excitement. Sabrina sighed, smiled at her friend, and began answering question after question, from the theme of Chloé’s wedding to the number of vacations she’d have to Hawaii.

After Chloé’s barrage of questions finally ended and Sabrina had a moment alone, she meticulously wrote down every answer she gave Chloé in order to make sure nothing proved them wrong.

She got all questions down except one, which she deemed unimportant because it wasn’t about Chloé. She later half forgot the answer but remembered that Chloé had for one moment thought of Sabrina instead of herself, which was an amazing feeling.

It was almost a year later when Chloé called Sabrina in the middle of the night, practically shrieking excitedly into her ear.

“You’re a lesbian!” Chloé shouted excitedly.

“I’m… what…?” Sabrina sat up in bed, still half asleep, her ears ringing from Chloé’s shrill voice. She squinted through her half-blind eyes at the time, little past 2. What kind of game was Chloé playing?

“You’re a lesbo!” she said again. Sabrina was trying to comprehend what Chloé could mean. Maybe her outfit or haircut had suddenly been claimed by Ellen or something like that. Sabrina didn’t really like anyone, but she was pretty sure she was straight.

“Why am I a lesbo, Chloé? And why can’t it wait until morning?” She asked exhaustedly. They’d done fitness during the day so her body was sore, and she’d spend the rest of the day working out two separate science reports, one for Chloé, one for herself, so her mind was sore too. She was very much not in the mood for Chloé’s mind games or teasing.

“Check Facebook! Laura from class just made a post that you HAVE to see!”

“Does it have to be right now…?” Sabrina rubbed her eyes, already putting her phone on speaker and opened facebook, knowing there was no arguing with Chloé when she was like this. Heck, there was no real arguing with Chloé regardless of what mood she was in.

Sabrina found the post Chloé must be talking about. She sighed, it was pretty long. It had a picture attached. At a glance, it looked like it was a long post explaining her new shorter haircut and profile pic. She did look a lot like a lesbian. Black hoodie, t-shirt, and boyish haircut.

Was this a coming out post? Could be. Laura had always been a bit… queer. She always changed by herself for gym class for some reason. Maybe this was why, though Sabrina would think a lesbian would LIKE being in the shower with her classmates. But what would Chloé think that Laura being gay had to do with Sabrina? Oh god, she’d better not proclaim her undying love for her or something in this post. They’d never even spoken more than a few lines!

“So, did you read it!?” Chloé asked excitedly.

“Not yet, my glasses are in the bathroom so I have to squint.” She’s also gotten distracted, but as far as lies go, at least this was half true.

“Why wouldn’t you have them next to your bed?”

“It’s… a long story” Sabrina would occasionally flail in her sleep. She’d lost a few things from her nightstand which she’d apparently picked up and thrown violently while asleep. She only had to lose one pair of glasses like that to stop keeping them near her bed.

“Whatever! Just read it!”

Sabrina sighed and started reading the small text on her phone so close to her face her nose occasionally pressed against the glass.

Hey everyone!

This will be a surprise to some, some of you already know. You might be surprised by the name of this profile, I used to be named Laura. I hope no one will be too surprised though. Big things out of the way first. I’m a boy, I’ve known it for a while and I’m finally ready to say it out loud to everyone. My name is Nathaniel, but you can call me Nate. I’m what they call Transgender (not transvestite grandma) and that’s pretty much it.

So I’d really appreciate it (especially @chloébourgeois ) if you respect my pronouns (he/him) and called me Nate from now on.

Anyway, I love all of you and I hope you’ll all love me!

Sabrina squinted. She realized the profile name had been changed to Nathaniel as well. She hadn’t noticed that before. It was a lot to take in during her still drowsy state. With all of her questions, one was much more dominant in her mind than any other.

“What does all of this have to do with me, Chloé?” She asked exasperated, wishing desperately to fall back on her pillow and catch the last few sweet hours of rest before tomorrow’s German quiz.

“Uh, hello!? Don’t you remember! Your Soulmate! Laura is totally the love of your life! Nate, I mean!”

Sabrina remembered the night of their little séance and simply groaned. She couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow…?”

“Of course! I’ll get things ready!” Chloé’s voice was replaced with a beep and then silence. Sabrina looked at her phone for a moment, worried about what she could mean by that, but then decided to not worry about it now.

She checked to make sure her alarm was still set and slid the phone back under her bed, where hopefully Sleepybrina wouldn’t be able to get to it, then fell mercifully quickly back to sleep.

Chloé looked a bit messy the next morning. Not messy the same way Sabrina did on her bad hair days or days off, but still less on point than usual. She was noticeably excited as she pulled up in the morning next to Sabrina.

“Morning!” She greeted Sabrina.

“Morning, Chloé.” She smiled back.

“So, I stayed up late and looked stuff up! I’m sorry about what I said last night. It turns out you’re not a lesbo.” She tapped her phone and found an image which she showed Sabrina of a hunky looking model. He looked rugged and handsome and probably late 20’s, not at all Chloé’s usual boyish type.

“Who’s this?”

“This is Aydian Dowling! He’s like Nate, FtM they call it. Female to Male. This guy used to be a girl too, or… you’re not supposed to say that, he was… mistaken for a girl? Something like that. Point is, Nathaniel will probably look like him one day! He just needs to start hormones and stuff.”

Sabrina looked at the pictures of the shirtless man. He looked like a total hunk like he was sculpted in marble. The kind of guy who could play a superhero. “No way.” She scoffed up at Chloé, she had to be playing something. There was no way a girl could ever end up looking like that.

“Way! So, I totally understand why you like him. You can get to him before he starts looking like a hunk, that way no one else will snatch him up! It’s like an early investment!” She smiled.

Sabrina felt like her head was spinning, trying to keep up with Chloé’s train of thought.

“Why do you insist that I need to love him?” She said defensively.

Chloé gave her a sly smile. “Well, anyone could say that Adrien was my soulmate. AND anyone could have made it up! I know you wouldn’t cheat, but I’ve heard that sometimes if you want it enough, you can actually write out what you want. Subconsciously or whatever! BUT! None of us could have known this would happen, let alone the name he’d choose, so if you and Nate are meant for one another…!” Sabrina felt her stomach sink, Chloé really believed that it was likelier that she cheated herself than that Sabrina cheated.

“… then that would prove that you and Adrien were too…” Amazing, Chloé had somehow managed to make Sabrina’s love life about herself. Just great. It almost erased the feeling of guilt she had for having actually cheated that night. She couldn’t believe Chloé trusted her that much.

Chloé smiled at her and winked.

“I don’t know about this… I haven’t ever even really talked to Laura-“

“-Nate”

“to Nate… What if I don’t like him?”

Chloé shrugged. “I’m sure you will! But if you don’t then you don’t. Just please promise me to give him a chance? For me? Just go on a date with him! Just one date!” Chloé looked at Sabrina with pleading eyes usually reserved for Adrien and asking her dad for ludicrous sums of money.

Sabrina was so used to just doing what Chloé said that she wasn’t used to actually being asked. It was really nice.

She sighed. “Of course, I’ll go on a date with him. But I doubt he’d wanna go with me anyway.”

Chloé smiled smugly. “You just leave that to me.”

Chloé skipped towards the school entrance, practically walking on air. Sabrina scratched her neck worriedly. This could only end badly.

“NATHANIEL!” Chloé burst into the classroom where everyone was already surrounding the red-headed artist, on his first day of school as a boy. Everyone turned to Chloé and Sabrina and everyone’s faces were painted with worry, the worry of what Chloé might do or say to Nate, who was clearly still not completely confident about his new identity.

“Um… morning, Chloé.” He said hesitantly. Sabrina noted that he was trying to make his voice deeper and smoother sounding. It was kind of working, kind of. He wore a baggy hoodie, but the curve of his chest was still mildly visible under his clothes. Still, he looked quite good. Not much had changed except the hair and the clothes, but somehow he felt completely different.

“Frankly I’m hurt, Nathaniel! That you felt the need to call me out specifically on Facebook like I wouldn’t be supportive!”

Nate stood stunned, scratching the back of his head nervously, trying to think of an answer.

“Well, can you really blame him?” Alya came in from the side. “You don’t have a great track record with supporting your classmates.”

Sabrina swallowed, whenever Alya and Chloé talked it always seemed to end in high tempers, and often with Sabrina having to listen to a rant about how right Chloé was, she wondered if maybe Chloé would be better at admitting when she was wrong if she wasn’t always called out by the journalistic hothead.

She wondered if maybe she should step in to defuse the situation but she didn’t know what to say and she felt like stepping between them would be like jumping in between a lion and a tiger.

“I am SO supportive! Right!?” She looked at Rose and Juleka expectantly, catching the two girls off guard.

“Uh, well…” Rose started, thinking over her interactions with Chloé. “I guess you’ve never been UNsupportive of our relationship?” she shrugged.

“That’s right! We might not always get along, but that doesn’t make me a monster! I’m none of the phobes, homo or trans!” Chloé crossed her arms and looked accusingly at Alya.

Alya sighed. “I guess that’s true… but you don’t get points in my book for not being THAT much of a monster. Being supportive is not the same as simply not attacking people for being themselves.”

Chloé nodded. “Of course! And I think we could all stand to be more supportive. That’s why I’m taking Nate shopping for a binder after class.”

“That’s nice of you Chloé, but I can’t afford one right now.”

“Nonsense! I’ll pay for it of course! It’s the least I can do!” Chloé gave Alya an obvious look which conveyed something like ‘how’s that for supportive’.

“You don’t have to do that-” Nate started, but Chloé made it clear that she would hear nothing of it. It took Nate less time to come around than Sabrina had expected.

It seemed like getting a binder was like a big transgender ritual. It was rare for Sabrina to be in a situation where Chloé apparently knew a ton about something she knew nothing about. She hadn’t felt that way since Chloé first showed her how to do makeup.

The school day felt like it was over quickly. Only one of the day’s four teachers apparently hadn’t gotten the notice about Nathaniel and called out the wrong name, which Chloé immediately pointed out and berated.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The German test was a breeze and Nate, Chloé and Sabrina soon found themselves on their way to shop for binders.

“Oh, I just remembered I have to go!” Chloé suddenly chimed up as they neared the outdoor mall.

Nate looked a bit disappointed. “That’s alright, we can postpone.”

“Nonsense! Here!” Chloé handed Sabrina one of her credit cards and winked at her. “You guys just go without me. Buy yourself a new wardrobe while you’re at it! You look like you’re wearing your grandfather’s clothes!”

With that Chloé ran off, leaving Nate and Sabrina awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“So, um… should we go buy some binders?” Sabrina asked, giving him a nervous smile.

“I guess?” He smiled back just as awkwardly.

The two of them made it to the mall. Sabrina looked around for what store to visit first.

“Can I ask you something?” Sabrina asked.

“Of course.” He said nervously, clearly guarded and expecting something terrible, which Sabrina hoped her question wasn’t.

“What does getting a new binder have to do with being trans?”

“Oh… well isn’t it pretty obvious?”

“I mean, I guess there’s gotta be a lot of paperwork involved, changing your name and such?”

“What do you mean..?”

“You know, so you’d put your trans-papers in… your new binder…?” Nate’s eyes grew wide and he soon let out a soft chuckle. It occurred to Sabrina that she’d said something dumb. She could only stand and watch with an increasingly red face as Nate laughed at her.

“It’s not that funny!” She said defensively, trying to save her pride. “I don’t know anything about this stuff!”

Nate finished laughing, looking at her with a wide grin. “It’s ok, honestly I’m just glad you didn’t ask me about my…” He gestured at his crotch area.

“Ew! Why would I!?”

“I don’t know! But it seems like everyone has questions about it!”

“Ew! Well, I can assure you I couldn’t care less about your… stuff!” She gave him a disgusted look. “Wait… does that make me a homophobe? If I don’t ask?”

“God no! Maybe the opposite actually. And it’s transphobia if it has to do with trans people. I’m not gay, I like girls.” He smiled at her.

Sabrina had to turn the sentence over in her head a few times.

“That makes sense, I guess. So ok, teach my apparently ignorant self, what pray tell IS the binder for?”

He chuckled again for a moment, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll show you.” He smiled.

A few moments later the world made a bit more sense as Sabrina was watching Nate try on t-shirts equipped with a new binder. Turns out it was a special bra that smushed his chest area completely flat.

Seeing him in a t-shirt, now completely flat chested it made a huge difference. She could see why it was important to him. She wouldn’t be able to pick him out as the transguy amongst the guys in her class, not when he was wearing that. It was kind of amazing.

“Does it hurt?”

“It squeezes the area a tiny bit, but it’s nothing really. It’ll lessen when it expands a bit. I can only wear it for like eight hours at a time though, tops. So I don’t expose my chest to too much strain, ykno?”

“I don’t, but I can imagine.” She smiled, picturing the pain of mashing her breasts into nothingness.

“I’m really glad to start out with a proper one of these… A lot of guys like me start by compressing their chest with various types of bandages and sports bras that are too small and it’s supposed to be super unhealthy for your ribs and back.”

“Why wouldn’t they just get binders too?”

“Price for one thing and they aren’t available everywhere. We’re lucky to live in a big and open-minded city like Paris where they’ve started having them in normal stores, but you used to have to order them online. Some people still have to.”

“Well, it suits you a lot better than that hoodie.” She smiled at him, which he didn’t see. He was completely caught up in looking at his chest from every direction in the mirror, looking over the new him. He looked completely enthralled, so she gave him a moment to get used to it.

“What do you think?” He finally asked her, motioning down at the clothes he was trying, clearly not very confident in it.

Sabrina shook her head. “Gray on gray on black? Come on, you’re an artist, right? You know that’s just boring.”

He scratched the back of his head apologetically. “Haha… I just… every colorful thing I see, I can’t help asking myself ‘is this a girly color?’”

Sabrina scoffed. “Please! Boy and girl colors are for baby showers, everything else is context. Besides, there’s nothing manlier than…” She looked around the store, picking out a t-shirt, “fire red”. She held the shirt up against him, gauging if it would look good on him. “It matches your hair.”

“I don’t know… isn’t red kinda girly?”

Sabrina scoffed again. “Just put it on macho man, just to try it, for my sake at least.” She did her best pleading Chloé impression. It felt forced and unnatural, apparently to Nate as well.

“Ok ok, sure I’ll put it on, just stop making that creepy face!” He chuckled.

“Shut up!” She laughed as well, punching his arm softly.

Nate got changed and emerged wearing the red shirt.

“I don’t know about this, I feel kind of exposed.” He looked in the mirror, checking to see if any curves bulged through.

“Just don’t go on the Enterprise, you should be alright.” Sabrina chuckled, then bit her lip. She’d buried Geekbrina a long time ago and she hated when she dug herself out.

Nathan gasped. “You like Star Trek!?” He asked, eyes practically sparkling.

Sabrina looked away defensively scoffing. “As if! Not even, like… I just watched like one episode! What even is Star Trek!?”

Nathaniel excitedly walked to his bag, Sabrina was about to tell him not to dare write anyone about her being a huge geek, but instead of his phone, he pulled out a sketchbook.

He flipped through to an amazing pencil sketch of the Enterprise. The next sketch was the deck with all the characters drawn. Kirk and Picard were having an argument around the captain’s chair. It made Sabrina giggle.

“Admit it, you’ve watched more than one episode.” He smiled broadly at her.

“Ok, maybe a little more than one episode! My dad loves it so…”

“So you love it too?” He asked teasingly.

“Alright, yes! It’s great! It’s so dumb and I love it!”

Nate laughed. “Yes! Kirk or Picard?”

“Picard obviously! The real question is USS Enterprise or USS Enterprise-A?"

“How can I possibly choose?!”

Sabrina chuckled “well that’s the point of asking questions like this right?” Anyway, the shirt looks good on you. Way better than the plain gray one. The symbol is cool too.”

He looked in the mirror again, contemplating. “I still feel kind of exposed…”

“You look great! But if you feel exposed, wear the jacket from before?”

He grabbed the gray jacket and threw it on. He looked into the mirror, checking himself out. He looked pretty happy, but then a melancholy look came over his face.

“Oh no, you don’t like it after all?”

“No, it’s just… I was so scared to come out… Heck, I was the most scared of Chloé and my parents and Chloé’s funding my binder and my parents are really supportive. It just… It feels so dumb! I should have come out two years ago when I first knew for sure…” He looked sadly at his reflection. “I could have been this guy instead of being completely miserable… Seriously, what’s wrong with me?”

He tried laughing it off but it was clear that he was upset.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what to do, part of her wanted to hug him, but that might be really awkward.

“I think I know what you mean…”

“No, you don’t… How could you?”

Sabrina looked around, making sure Chloé wasn’t spying on them from somewhere. She sighed. “I’ve been doing everything Chloé told me to do for almost 5 years now. My entire life revolves around it. I think this is the first time pretty much ever that I’ve been out with someone who wasn’t Chloé.

I didn’t have any friends before her, and I’m so terrified of telling her how I really feel that I never even try. Everyone’s afraid of what Chloé might do, but I don’t think anyone’s more scared of her than me, because if she decided I wasn’t worthy of her friendship anymore I’d be all alone again.

So, I think I get living in fear of not being able to be the way you want because of what others will do or say… Unlike you, I just haven’t had the courage to be myself yet. I gave up everything I liked so Chloé would like me. Video games, Star Trek…” She looked up at Nate, unsure if she could bring herself to say the last one. His sympathetic eyes made her feel comfortable, she wanted to tell him. “… fanfiction…” she whispered.

Nate walked over and sat down next to her. He tapped his fingers together contemplatively. “Maybe you do understand a little. I think I understand you a little too. I’ll tell you this though, if our situations are alike, then you’ll feel a hundred times better if you ‘come out’. It’s never worth it to live a lie because you think that’s what other people want.”

Sabrina brushed her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, holding back tears. “What if she hates me?”

He put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Then you’ll have me. And everyone else in class will love you too. You might have to say sorry to a few people, but I’ll help you.” His smile made her believe him, believe that he really would help her stand on her own two legs. She became intimately aware that the two of them were sitting very close. She could feel her heart beginning to beat faster as she looked into his eyes. She realized she was close enough to lean in to kiss him.

Sabrina flew up from the seat, taking a few steps away from Nathaniel, feeling the redness beaming off of her face. At least she could blame the almost crying. She stood with her back to him, hiding her face, unsure how she was feeling.

“Is everything alright?” He asked concerned.

“Yes! Yea, I’m great! I just realized this was supposed to be your day and I made it my personal pity party!”

He chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ve gotten a lot of pity since I started coming out to my close friends. You don’t treat me like a porcelain doll, it’s really nice.”

“I guess, ‘cause I’m a porcelain doll myself.”

“That’s alright, you just need someone strong to protect you then.”

“You?”

“I don’t see anyone else around.”

Sabrina scoffed. “Not with those noodle arms of yours.”

“Hey, I’m training! I’ll get real buff, real fast!”

“I’ll need to see it to believe it.”

“At least I’m stronger than you.”

“Doubt it.”

“Oh yea!?”

Way to deal with your feelings Sabrina, now you’re arm wrestling the guy you probably like. Correction, she was beating the guy she almost certainly liked in arm wrestling, 5 times in a row.

“How are you so strong!?” Nate asked bewildered, looking at Sabrina as though looking for the place where her super-strong-robot-arm began.

She smiled. “My dad’s made me take a few self-defense classes since I was 8. It's a dangerous world for a small girl and as a cop, he’s seen some of the worst. I could probably kick anyone in class in hand to hand. Not that I’d ever want to, I know that’s weird…” She smiled apologetically.

She expected Nate to look at her like Chloé did when she first saw Sabrina without her layers, disgusted and confused. Instead, Nate was looking at her in awe, like he’d seen Wonder Woman.

“That’s so cool!”

“I don’t know, Chloé says guys hate girls that are stronger than them.” She shrank.

“Are you kidding!? I think it’s amazing! And super hot!” Nate put a hand over his mouth, a strong blush appearing quickly on his face to match Sabrina’s own.

The two of them wordlessly went looking for a few other things for Nate to try. They met moments later at the same sofa, mutual silent agreement to reset the conversation, smiling sheepishly at one another.

“I’m surprised at the way Chloé reacted though,” Nathaniel noted, trying on a flannel shirt and deciding against it.

“Yea…” Sabrina looked away, unsure what to say.

“For real, is she trying to pull something? Is this going to come back to bite me in the ass?”

“No no, nothing like that,” Sabrina assured him.

“It’s just… it feels like a scheme.” He showed off a black leather jacket to Sabrina who shook her head. He looked like he was trying to join a gang.

“I mean… it’s not… not a scheme. In a strange sort of way.” She admitted.

“Should I be worried?” He asked, half-jokingly.

“Maybe.” She chuckled “I should probably be too.”

“Come on, I’m not gonna be able to sleep if you say that!”

She chuckled. “Alright, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, ok?”

He nodded, sitting down next to her again, smiling with anticipation. Sabrina ran her fingers through her hair, figuring out where to begin, and decided to start with Chloé asking her to look up spells that would find your soul mate, and then she told Nate everything from then on.

When she finished Nate was stunned with emotions, his hand covering his mouth and his eyes amused.

“And, yea, that’s pretty much it…” She said, waiting for him to berate her or something.

Nate sat barely containing his laughter. “So, Chloé thinks I’m your soulmate?” He asked amused. Sabrina nodded, smiling. “And the whole reason behind this is so she could get us on a date and prove that she’s meant to be with her Adrikins?” She nodded again. “But you cheated to get her Adrien’s name?” He burst out laughing.

“Shush! Chloé can NEVER find out about that part! I shouldn’t even have told you!”

“But you just couldn’t help it. Must be because I’m your soulmate.” He smiled cockily.

“Shut up!” She smiled, punching him in the arm again.

“For real though, do you think I’m your soulmate?” He asked. He sounded like he was joking, but his eyes were genuinely curious.

“You wish lover-boy! We make our own destiny!”

“Well…” He went quiet, rubbing his hands together and swallowing a lump. “Can you make a destiny where we go on a date?” He asked, his eyes were hopeful for just a moment as he looked up at her surprised face. Meeting her eyes it was clear that he immediately regretted asking her out like that. “I mean… like… um… more of a friend type… um…”

Sabrina blushed, but his nervousness somehow made it easier for her. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Depends, how do you plan to woe me?” She asked jokingly, but his eyes darted back to hers with more seriousness than she’d expected.

“A pretty girl like you? You deserve only the most high class of dates! We’ll meet at my house, make popcorn, and watch the episodes of Star Trek you are missing because of Chloé. Then we can talk about our favorite pairings.” He smiled.

Sabrina could feel her heart melt. She half-heartedly punched his arm again, accidentally using more force than she wanted. He rubbed the sore area. “That… sounds alright…” She said, trying to make sure to keep away from kissing distance.

She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to manage a whole date on a couch if they sat even a little close. But ending up kissing this dumb dork might not be the worst thing.

#au yeah august #sabrina raincomprix #nathaniel kurtzberg #FtM trans #fluff fanfiction #miraculous fanfiction

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