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kagemajaya · 4 years

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pet - A beautiful and tense journey through the peaks and valleys of memories

Winter 2020, Geno Studio - 7/10

Hiroki appreciates the idyllic imagery of the landscape of memories

This season has been bountiful for me and pet was one of the main contributors to this success. Despite my avoidance of tense and emotionally exhausting topics, going through pet was easy. First and foremost, pet was a champ in the department of visual storytelling and I expected nothing less from my favorite director Oomori Takahiro. Whilst I don’t always fall in love with all the stories he adapts into anime, I know that he will never make a show that underestimates its audience and that the story will always have heart. And pet didn’t disappoint.

The main attraction of the show for me is the depth of emotion and the psychological struggles it portrays in characters I actually care about. Of the main foursome, Hiroki was an immediate favourite with his sweet, naive and just nature, followed by an interest in his “boyfriend” Tsukasa, mostly because of the creepiness he exuded but also because he still wasn’t unlikeable - he did really care for Hiroki. Their relationship, of course, was a big draw in itself - immediately intimate and full of innuendo, much like the rest of the narrative around the co-dependency between image users who give and receive peaks from each other (peaks represent the best memory that make up the entire psyche of a human being.) This almost surface-level subtext never disappointed despite all the drama surrounding each other’s value in each of these four characters.

I’m not one to say no to an intense bout of connecting in memories.

In some cases the relationship drama made me sad - because why couldn’t Hayashi prioritise Tsukasa? Why was it always Satoru who came first? It gave me a dark pleasure in some - Tsukasa’s intense need for Hiroki to be with him drowned out his need for Hiroki to be okay. He just needed him around no matter what. In others, it made me stray away from the emotional core a bit - who cares about this supernatural Chinese mafia and their politics? I’m not one for the gangster stories. I need beauty and elegance in my crimes rather than grit. I was also a bit suspicious about the extremely over-the-top vibe in some dramatic scenes. Tsukasa confronting Hayashi felt almost hammed up to me.

At the end of it all, pet delivered a finale that made the uninteresting bits suddenly interesting and made the interesting but confusing bits all the more deep. A lot of the drama was actually caused by the limited emotional capacity of these four, who had a different developmental period than normal people. They couldn’t create their own memories and they didn’t feel their own emotions until someone else came to save them. The nicer, more naive and newer pets like Hiroki and Satoru felt exactly like that - pets. They were not treated as equals and were clearly tricked into all sorts of situations they didn’t want to be in. More importantly, they didn’t even want to think, they didn’t know how to form their own opinions, but despite the lack of basics in emotions, they still grew those. It was easier to see that they were indeed limited in their capacity to not feel (because they felt a GREAT deal) but in their capacity to make sense of it and control it.

The older, cleverer characters like Hayashi and Tsukasa looked well-adjusted on the surface until past halfway, where we could see the cracks in their armor. Hayashi prioritised his younger “child” Satoru, not because he didn’t love Tsukasa but because he thought Tsukasa could have been a lost cause in the hands of the Company, whereas he had been able to take care of Satoru till recently. Thinking back on it, this fact didn’t make me feel relieved for Tsukasa because in the end he was relegated to a secondary position, but it made sense. Hayashi was not cruel, he only had the capacity to prioritize one particular feeling (or person in this case.) He had even thought of Hiroki and wanted to bring him out despite not even having met him but more than anything he had to get Satoru out.

Hayashi’s protective feelings for Tsukasa were more hurtful than warm. After all, he was always the “too.”

Tsukasa, himself, was acting in a lot of scenes but this was not true for all scenes where he was emotional - despite giving the impression. The confrontation scene with Hayashi was as hammed up as the scene where he was putting on a performance for Satoru, but the truth is he was just unable to express himself in a way that was genuine. His emotional baggage was of course far bigger than this. After all, he even groomed himself a perfect pet after he was betrayed by his peak giver. He wanted someone to trust and he could only trust someone who would be on his side unconditionally. His actions (and thoughts) made it obvious that he didn’t see Hiroki as an equal, but the question is was that also his feelings? If anything, Hiroki (and Hayashi) were put on a pedestal and he could not live without them. However, he didn’t really understand how to go about keeping them without thinking about himself first. He had been self-centered for so long that it was impossible to think of anything other than himself. He’d never learnt to.

Tsukasa’s perfect world.

And the Company - I didn’t care about this plotline until the last episode where the connection between Katsuragi and LianLian was revealed. And what a way to end it! Suddenly I was emotionally connected to the evil goon, doing the bidding of his superiors and nothing else the whole season (and he had no gay storyline to boot, so a tough sell for me :)).

The sad ending was coming from miles away - but pet also surprised me in that regard. The ending could be viewed in two different ways. The source material had been a completed manga for a long time until recently, in which case, it looked like the “stupid” ending of the naive pets, looking optimistically into the future, never likely to have what they want. We do now know that a sequel is starting that focuses on the lives of Tsukasa, Hiroki and Satoru after this point, and I, for one, am excited to see a somewhat happy follow-up to this tense but strangely sweet psychological drama. We might end up finding out about more rules surrounding how memories and images work (though that plot itself is not necessarily my main concern.) And who knows? Maybe Hiroki and Satoru will really bring Tsukasa to their peak and Tsukasa will relearn how to make memories and they will live happily ever after. A girl can dream... Though I still must add, the conclusion is a perfect one as it is, not entirely sad, but really just two fool’s dream that we can also choose to believe in.

The peak that bestows hope on all who is destitute

Putting aside the story elements, the show itself is crafted superbly both visually and narratively. The imagery was almost never outright explained but always visible and giving a pleasant rush to me when I noticed them.

Don’t kill the innocent pets! They understand nothing about the evils of the world they live in.

The dissonance between thoughts, feelings and actions of the childish but equally deep main four was showcased well in all dialogues, but especially in the confrontation scene between Tsukasa and Satoru in episode 12. Both characters didn’t suspect they were wrong despite both of them being half-wrong. The pacing of the dialogue allowed both their thoughts and actual words to be conveyed but also showed us in great detail how underdeveloped they were emotionally. Their understanding of those external to them was somewhat complex, it’s not like any normally raised human being can figure out all the things that were happening in that situation, so it was realistic that they wouldn’t understand it all. More importantly, their self-awareness levels were way below the threshold that would allow them to flourish in a cruel environment, surrounded by people who were hellbent on taking advantage of them and seeing them merely as pets. It made for a fascinating watch - the cleverness of it all was the depth of the characters who I’d classify as idiots in a lot of ways. As someone who very rarely enjoys idiot characters, I’d call this experience an orgasmic pleasure.

Takes one to know one.

One last word about Ueda Keisuke, the seiyuu of Hiroki. The genuineness and sweetness portrayed in the character hugely owed to the great voice work of the actor. I had heard him in Oushitsu Kyoushi Heine before as the titular character Heine and noticed his distinct tones, but hadn’t felt anything beyond that. Hiroki’s performance, however, affected me to my core. Looking back on Heine now, I really appreciate the sense of distinctiveness he can grant the characters he plays. Heine was not an attractive character for me, so I didn’t care at the time as his voice fit him perfectly - it was not particularly attractive. With Hiroki, he put on a performance with a completely different range of emotions that retrospectively, I can put Heine together with Hiroki, and see what a great voice actor he is. Here’s hoping for more roles for Ueda in the future! (Apparently he is a stage actor as well, but selfishly, I hope he becomes a full time seiyuu.)

Ask me again in that voice, you sweet little child.

The overall tension and the focus on two young men and their relationship, in addition to the matter of their survival within a gangster world remind me of Banana Fish but I must caveat that I intensely dislike BF for failing to do all the things pet did perfectly - from a genuine relationship and real characters other than the very main character, tragedy as a harrowing storytelling medium rather than the sake of having it there (and without respite,) drama that is not cheesy despite being over-the-top in places (with good reason) and imagery that served the narrative which closed the loop, without leaving any threads untouched.

As the pull of the show is the emotional co-dependency between the male cast for me, I have a hard time narrowing down my actual recommendations for pet. There are so many of them, and they are not necessarily similar to the show in other respects. I will name a few of my favorites here if you are up for gay love/obsession as a theme in tense, non-romantic anime, with characters who aren’t quite in touch with their emotions: Shigurui, Saraiya Goyou, Kenpuu Denki Berserk, and 91 Days might do the trick. Let me know your thoughts!

#anime #anime rec #seasonal anime #series review #anime review #pet #pet_anime

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lettersandinkstains · 4 years

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🌼💐💠🍁 // & have a bunch of hearts too, bc u deserve 'em!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

hrjhfjdkhds you are so sweet, Livvy!!

🌼 Your OCs are delightfully multidimensional. Do you have any tips for writers who’re trying to give their characters more depth?

A few things:

People watch. Like, 100%. This can help you figure out how people naturally talk (since we don’t always talk in a formal type of english, ya know?), and transcribe what the people near you are saying and add in description of how they’re sitting / standing, how they’re holding themself. Etc. You could also write a story about this person -- make up what you think their life is like outside of the brief moment you have with them.

Nothing is black and white. Your characters, even if they’re great heroes of far away lands and beat up bad guys and save the princess, need flaws. Nobody is ever 100% morally pure. Your hero could tell little white lies, or maybe they’re bad at cleanliness. People can also easily be contradictory and be someone else, depending on who they’re with. Hell, they could always be late to meetings or dates. Give them flaws, give them ideologies you may not agree with.

Put them in difficult situations. Sure, you control the characters because you’re the author -- however, you can develop your characters very easily if they’re met with a hard situation. For example, Zephyr kills the queen at the end of So Said the King, this goes against Ayathia’s pacifist beliefs and their own morals -- for Zeph, this affects them throughout the second book, added on keeping it a secret from Sage. This causes them to develop a little bit of a guilt complex, and they have to work through it and work up to telling Sage of what they did. (tl;dr: figure out how your character will develop in the situation).

Going from difficult situations to let your characters experience the consequences of their actions. Nothing says character development and character depth is them learning and suffering from the consequence of their actions. Bojack Horseman, as flawed as the show is, does a super good job of this. Your character lied about something important, okay. Let them eventually get caught. What happens?

Give them interests outside of the plot. My character, Lucija, loves to knit and sew. She’s also involved in LGBT+ rights in her country because they affect her as a person. Zephyr, while a prinxe and is supposed to inherit the throne one day, loves the sea and sailing. When it’s plot relevant or when you can, explore these interests. Let us see what else makes your characters excited (but don’t forget you have a story to write!).

Psychology. Okay, this one might be frustrating or boring or might not apply. When your character faces a traumatic event, they might not come out of it very mentally healthy. They might feel guilty for a long time (especially if this is a story where they’ve killed someone for the first time), they might suffer from depression. Explore their brain, explore how they react to these things. Let it become part of the plot in some way. For example, Aston killed his stepfather pre-story, this is something that follows him throughout, and is one of his driving motives (he needs money to pay for his little sister). He struggles with the guilt that came with killing his stepfather and not being able to protect his mother as a child. Aleks struggles with the fact she was bitten by a vampire.

Let their interests vary from yours.

Uhh. I think that’s it?? I’m sure there’s more, but that’s basically what I do!!

(everything else is under the read more because this got long)

💐 Your works are remarkably different from each other. How do you develop concepts that are so independently unique, especially when you have multiple WIPs?

I...don’t know, to be honest. I listen to a lot of music, which influences my stories. Glass Walls came from a dream and then for it, I tend to listen to a lot of punk bands such as Anti Flag and Rise Against (and also, political science major, which also influences the story lol).

I usually worry they all sound the same hfdjks

💠 Your writing style is easy-to-read and accessible yet intellectually rigorous. How did you teach yourself to strike this balance?

Spite. In all honesty, I hate long winded, giant paragraph stories that detail too much (Tolkien, ily but ugghhhh). Also a lot of practice. While my short stories are always shown at first draft, a lot of my other stuff, I do go in and edit and add or remove information that I feel is too much or too boring.

I also live off of feedback from my friends. It nourishes me.

🍁 Your use of sensory details makes me feel fully immersed in your writing. What wisdom can you give to writers who wish to do the same?

Practice! Play with words! Sometimes think, “How would I feel in this situation?” and describe it. Practice describing what you feel in certain moments, such as intense excitement, sadness, content, etc. And describe your surroundings too.

Like what I see out my window right now:

“The night floods the sky, and the orange lights from buildings casts soft orange glows and long shadows. The bikes are locked up and put away for the night, and dark outlines if people move quickly in the biting cold to get inside. The orange leaves sit on brown grass...”

Don’t be afraid for simplicity, because sometimes, simplicity is better than long windedness. Sometimes, you just feel happy or sad, those are different states of mind than elation and depression.

But all in all, practice and play around. I think a thesaurus is okay to an extent but remember, English is a funny language where just because a word is in the same family, does not mean it’ll convey what you want it to convey and could very much have a different meaning.

#letters #writeblr positivity week #i got a little excited ngl #ladytauria

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witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

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BODY AND SOUL Part 6 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: As ever, y’all continue to render me speechless with your kind words and messages of support and encouragement regarding this fic. There’s no end in sight; I have the next few chapters mapped out and will keep going as long as Duncan and Kenzie drag me along behind them, telling me their story. I still plan on continuing to make vague allusions to Michael and Mallory as the fic goes on, as I consider Duncan and Kenzie to be the parallel universe versions of them here; whether or not I’ll tie it into something bigger remains to be seen, the allusions/easter eggs might be just that and nothing more. I just had to use Billie’s nickname for her mother (Momby) here, I just love it so much and I wanted to nod again to the fact that I’ve modeled Madeline after Carrie Fisher entirely. I based her house, the Cape Cod-style on Fenwick Street, on a real house I found listed for sale in Arlington. Candice, Kenzie’s EIC, is the AU version of Cordelia. I may or may not add other AU versions of AHS characters, it depends on where the story goes. Kenzie’s ex Tyler is an AU version of Taylor Lautner, Billie’s ex in real life, and I made him a pediatrician as a nod to his SCREAM QUEENS character. He may show up again later, he may not. The gossip website I made up, buzzpopfeed.com (lol), will probably show up again as Duncan and Kenzie’s relationship gains attention and becomes more public. I made a masterpost for this fic where I’ll update chapters as I finish them; please use it as your main reference point for the complete work going forward. Shoutout to @nat-de-lioncourt who made the moodboard edit that’s featured on it, and she also made this gorgeous moodboard for Part 5, which I love so much I could cry; go give her some love. Shoutout to @impiorumrequies who coined the shorthand DUCKENZIE for Duncan/Mackenzie yesterday when she sent me a message. You’re encouraged to use it as a tag if you reblog the fic. My laptop insisted it was time to update right in the middle of my editing this part and I forgot I needed to save what I’d formatted so far as a draft on Tumblr, so it took a lot longer than it should have to get it up on the site because I had to start from scratch once my laptop rebooted; I appreciate every comment, like and reblog if you’re enjoying the fic. And as ever: THANK YOU, Millory fans. You are truly the greatest of all time. There’s so much more to come.

Mackenzie sighed herself awake, out of a vague dream (fire and candles blazing, an angry, powerful man in black with long hair...it slipped away from her). For the second morning in a row, she woke in Duncan Shepherd’s black-sheeted bed, but this time she was really in it, not just on top of it; her sleep-dizzy head was buried in one of Duncan’s black pillows of organic Egyptian cotton and duck feather, and she could feel pressing weight around the rise of her bare hip under the duvet, a stubbled cheek pressed into the space between her bare breasts, skin pressed into the space between her legs, the incline of his thigh, the pressure of his cock, stiff with daylight. She looked down a little, moving her hand into the brown, sun-kissed curls against her body, gazed, in no small wonder, at Duncan’s wildly beautiful face in his deep sleep, arm thrown around her, his breath soft and slow, turning his head a little in his dreamstate so his lips hovered close to her nipple. He calls me angel, but I think he’s like an angel, too. More of an angel than me, because he doesn’t seem real; Claire was right, it’s like he’s living in a different universe. She imagined a halo around his head, great wings extending from his back, his blue eyes gazing on her, laying her bare again and again, kissing her secrets from her lips. He seemed otherworldly to her; he seemed impossibly perfect, especially this way. She felt tears gather at the corner of her vision; the emotion deep inside her thoughts frightened her. The feeling that gathered in the core of her body when she looked at him this way made her ache terribly, an almost physical pain building up in her. She thought of the roses in the bath and his cries of euphoria, the way he’d pressed into her in the bed again later, blurring her vision with his fingers and his mouth. Duncan. Will you be mine? His words from last night, achingly sincere, echoed down from the back of her mind. Yes I will yes she whispered again in her heart, fingers threading his hair as he slept. Yes I’m yours yes.

With a searing moment of disappointment, she remembered: it was Monday. She would have to go to work eventually. She tried to turn her body away from him carefully, so as not to disturb him (god he’s too beautiful, I just want to let him sleep, I just want to look at him and thank my stars for how wonderful he is she thought deep within herself), but he moaned a little, his arm tightening around her waist and sliding up, his face turning up, his hair in the light over his bed, his eyes touched with sleep. God, I could look at him all day. His eyes opened; sapphire, shadow, sky.

“Baby,” he murmured into her. “Baby. What time is it?”

She glanced over her shoulder, resigned to his waking. “7:46. I have to be at work in an hour. It’s Monday,” and she moved her hand through his curls and ached to go back to an hour ago, when they were asleep and in each other’s embrace, the world slipped away, moonlight on the bed.

“No, baby, no,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to the soft skin above her heart.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she smiled into him, hiding her own disappointment. He lifted his face, still half-awake, pressing his mouth into her chin, his hands reaching up to her nipples, his thigh pressing up into the space between her legs, questioning, hungry.

“Baby, I can’t…” she pulled away from him, full of regret.

Another little moan fell from his lips (those lips, on me always, oh my god, mine) and she whispered “I’m sorry,” and he pouted, and her heart shook, her body tingling. “I want you,” he said, looking up into her face, and she shook her head again, frowning, matching his discontent. She lifted herself away from him, sadly, resigned. He tried to come after her, reaching toward her, but she was good at skittering away; she had always had a talent for it, useful when she was young and shy and worried about everything, always running away. She slipped out of the bed, her naked back to him, shaking out her tangled hair. She didn’t look back at him, not right away; she felt determined to be bold after last night, cast in the haze of amazement and adoration as it all had been, determined to see the reality of everything clearly, determined to not be blindsided by his beauty yet again.

“Kenzie,” she heard him whisper from where he still lay in bed, staring at her.

“What,” and she turned, stretching, her hands lifting to the high ceiling, pressing the impulse to be shy about her nakedness away. Get used to it, Kenzie, she thought. Duncan Shepherd is your boyfriend now. Or, at least, he was last night.

“I meant everything I said last night.”

Duncan let the words hang in the air; he regarded her, and she thought in frustration that he was so blindly lovely she might never know what he really thought about anything; she’d be too distracted to decipher him, lost in his eyes.

“We’re together. That’s what I want. Is that what you want?”

She pressed her face into the incline of her shoulder; towards him.

“Yes. We’re together.”

“Okay.”

She looked at him again. He was still staring at her; eyes roving over her naked body, the fall of golden-brown hair down her back, the incline of her ass, the outline of her in the light streaming in.

“You are so beautiful.”

She smiled; she tried to hide the way her limbs shivered as his words fell over her. She blinked, turned her head, looked to the floor, disoriented, for her things.

“Fuck, I have to go. I have to change. I can’t wear that dress to work.”

“Okay.” The edge in his voice. Sadness. Longing.

She bit her lip. “What are your plans today?”

She heard the rustle of the sheets; heard his groan, his restlessness.

“Gardner Analytics press. Charity supplements for the Foundation. Dinner with mom tonight.”

“That’s...a lot.”

“It sure fucking is. Come back to bed.”

She blew air from her nose. “Duncan, I can’t.”

“I know. But it’s what I want.”

She lifted her head, glancing his way. He had come to a sitting position on the edge of his big bed, legs resting on the floor, hair tossed in sleep, a scant corner of sheet over his crotch; she could see the edge of his erection peeking from the corner of the fabric. She looked away, smiling. His eyes gazed and gazed and he bit his lip at her, blinking slowly, hunger shining out of their depth.

“Kenzie,” he said again.

“Yes?” She moved toward the bathroom, where she knew her dress lay in a heap.

“I want to tell my mother about you tonight.”

She turned to him, her heart in her mouth suddenly, sickness sinking into her guts.

“Duncan...are you sure?”

“I have this feeling, like...I want everyone to know. Especially her. But I don’t want you to worry. No matter what she says, or what she thinks, I’m with you. It’s what I want more than anything; to be with you. To know you.”

She had retrieved her dress; she slipped it over her shoulders, pulling her arms through the sleeves, pulling her hair free, easing it over her shoulder. She padded over to him on sleepy feet. “Zip me up,” she asked, softly, sitting there beside him, on the edge. He eagerly grasped her waist, turning to her, leaning his head to the incline of the nape of her neck, his fingers (oh, those hands) grasping the zipper, pulling it up with aching slowness as his mouth pressed into the soft skin along her spine, between her shoulder blades. She gasped a little, arching her back, the intensity of the act pushing a pool of warmth into her abdomen, her arms breaking out immediately into goosebumps. He moved his head slowly, achingly slow, lips lingering, trailing up to the nape of her neck where she felt his hot breath on the baby hairs there, and her whole body kindled a low fire, stoked by his mouth, his fingers. His hands reached the end of the zipper, one gently rising and seeking the incline of her neck, and she gasped a little again at the weight of his fingers there; they snaked softly around the dip below her ear and his index finger, long and languid and so obscenely beautiful, probed the corner of her mouth which ached open at the feeling of his touch, almost involuntary, sliding along her bottom lip, his other fingers at her throat. She felt the weight of his forehead press into the back of her hair, breathing deeply into it, as if it was the air; as if it was oxygen to him.

“Kenzie, is it okay? I want to tell her about you because--you are both so important to me. My mother was the most important person in my life, but now there’s you. There’s you. And I can’t keep it to myself. I need the people in my life to know...that you’re....” She could hear the whisper of his voice against her, the hand still playing at her neck and her little mouth, teasing her, aching for her.

“Your girlfriend?”

She bit the finger still playing softly at her bottom lip, and it pressed into the sharpness of her teeth, as if he liked the pain.

“Yes. My girlfriend.”

The One, she thought, and shivered. He hadn’t said that, why had she thought it? Why had it probed into her mind as though it came from him? That was odd, disorienting. Maybe I’m just imagining what I want him to say, she thought. We’ve known each other for two days, Kenzie, slow down. The feeling of his hand at her neck that way was wiping her mind of all coherency, bringing flashing memories bathed in gold light of him fucking her in the shower, his hand pressed there insistently, his eyes full of desirous abandon, storms. His eyes, a galaxy to lose herself in.

“Okay, baby,” she said. She turned to him, turned her head into his hand so it came to her cheek, clutching her, and gazed into those stormy eyes. “It’s okay.”

“Do you think you’ll tell Madeline?” He asked, his eyes clouding with concern, brow furrowing just a little, the sleep clearing from his features.

“I guess I have to.”

He was quiet at that, his hand falling down her arm, grasping her hand, tightly, as if to give her his strength, channel it through their bodies, into her heart. She felt as though it did somehow; somehow, he had given her some of his energy, and her body felt tingly, full of light.

“No matter what, we’re together. That’s what I want, Kenzie.”

“It’s what I want too.” And she knew it was true, she knew it was the only truth that mattered in this moment, the only one she could fathom. Now that he was here, now that her hand was clasped in his, the way it fit against his, as if it belonged there, the thought of being without him was like a knife in her belly. Life had changed. Everything was different. The colors of the world had burst into radiance; the glow of this reality was blinding.

“Two days ago I would not have believed any of this,” she said, sharing her thought with him. “If someone had told me I’d be dating Duncan Shepherd, I would have laughed in their face.”

He smiled (that smile, a dancing ray of sunlight on water, that smile), pulling her body into his naked one, pressing his face into her neck. “I can’t believe it either,” he whispered. “I feel...blessed. I feel like--everything has been building up to this. To you. Fortune is smiling on us. On me. And I’m so grateful.”

His words brought a lump of emotion into her throat, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her little face into his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin, hovering on the edge of her tears, knowing that he was right. Fortune is smiling on us.

-------

Kenzie stepped through the glass door to the main floor of the Post building, eyeing her little desk in the south corner, biting her lip, her thoughts seeped in Duncan. She was still thinking about the way he’d looked, standing there in his black briefs, pulling the sleeves of a high-collared black Oxford shirt through his long arms, hands pulling sleepily through his hair (I love his hair, she thought), watching her pull on her boots as she sat on the edge of his bed, smiling at her with a dreamy expression, and she had thought I could die in that gaze, die and be happy to die. Her subconscious painted the word Prince onto him again, reminding her of her dreams when she was a little girl pining over her fairy tale books, and she didn’t realize it, but a smile fell over her face, her cheeks blushing. My very own Prince, he really is.

She made it to her desk, setting down her black satchel atop it, pulling out her Macbook and the little recorder she’d taken secretly to the party (the party that changed my fucking life). She’d taken a Lyft home, changed in a frenzy into the saddle-colored turtleneck dress she now wore, hem hitting at the bottom of her thigh (need to be more subtle about all the marks on my neck, she’d thought, achingly) and knee-high black thigh socks, slipping on one of several pairs of comfortable black kitten heels that she often wore to work (it was usually them or ballet flats), grabbing a stick of mascara and another of brow gel from her makeup bag and smearing on a rosy-nude lipstain (good enough, she thought, resigned) and thrown herself out the door, half-walking, half-running to the Dupont Circle Station platform, a black triple-moon pendant with a round obsidian stone in the center bumping and twisting against the space between her breasts, her hair floating around her face, strands falling into her eyes, pressing her earbuds in, lost in her thoughts. I had a dream of a ship that we sailed in the night, a soft masculine voice floated into her ears from her phone, and she thought of Duncan’s hair, his hands. Ooooh / the fortune said / flowers bloom with no regret and she thought of the roses woven together around the bath, the candles, the look in his eyes when he’d pushed the velvet dress from her body, the ache in his eyes. Surround me body and soul / pull me into your glow, make me blush and she blushed at the thought of his hands and his lips and his beautiful cock exploring every corner of her body, his ardent, insistent touch, the glowing sincerity in his eyes, unbound me, spin me in gold / as the story unfolds in your touch, she remembered staring in wonder at the gargantuan painting that spread along the wall of his study, how it had dazed her, shaken her, the feeling of his mouth pressed into her sex and her vision blurring, lost in him and in it, in the beauty of it all, how could life be so beautiful, suddenly, ooooh, who can breathe me into life? / just one more look at you, my heart has been hypnotized…

She came back to her desk, from the memory within the memory, as Candice’s sincere, lovely, earnest, and right now, concerned face appeared in front of her, her golden hair falling in waves around her shoulders, her pink lips giving Kenzie a friendly smile.

“Good morning, Mackenzie,” she said, hands coming together in front of her pastel, chrysanthemum-covered wrap dress. “So, how’d it go?”

“Morning, Candice.” Candice was her Editor-in-Chief, and everyone at the Post adored her; she’d worked long and hard for the position, for over fifteen years, and Kenzie’s mother, Madeline, had advocated for her ability. Madeline was now almost entirely retired, but she would use her leverage at the Post when she felt it would do some good; helping to get Candice in as the EIC was one of her proudest achievements in her later years. Many believed Candice was the best thing that had ever happened to the Post, as she had pushed to champion the voices of women and people of color on her staff, bringing them in consistently on breaking stories and important editorials. Mackenzie loved working for her, but she was consistently intimidated by Candice’s poise, and longed to prove herself to Candice; prove that she hadn’t been hired at the Post just because her mother was a veteran.

“I think I got what I was aiming for,” Kenzie went on, thumbing her recorder. “There was an open bar at that party and tongues were flowing freely, and of course, nobody paid tiny ol’ me in a little babydoll dress any mind unless they were trying to hit on me. Which also happened,” she included, making a face. Candice made a face in return, sympathetically. “I know I can always count on you to weather the shitty stuff,” Candice replied. “You remind me so much of your mother sometimes.” Kenzie smiled brightly at that; to be compared to her mother was always a source of pride for her.

Candice was quiet for a moment, eyeing her with a strange expression. “You look absolutely radiant today, Kenzie. Did something happen?” Kenzie balked; was it that obvious? She thought she’d been hiding the glow she felt inside carefully, but the smile seemed to have pushed it out of her, made it stark. Candice continued to gaze at her with that strange expression, as if she was probing into Kenzie’s mind, searching for the source of Kenzie’s smile, the truth behind it.

“Just thrilled I got the info I wanted,” she replied, looking down at her Macbook, pressing it open, anxious to escape from the observant eye of her boss.

“Uh huh,” Candice she, eyebrows raising, grinning at her suspiciously. “Good work, Kenz.”

Kenzie sat down, blowing out a quiet, relieved breath as Candice walked away. Safe for now. She opened her laptop, finding the word document she’d started for her article, which she’d last worked on hours before the party, anxiously hoping she’d be ballsy enough to go. I sure fucking was, she thought, ballsy enough to go, ballsy enough to talk to Duncan Shepherd, gazing at me like I was made of chocolate, ballsy enough to let him buy me a drink, ballsy enough to let him kiss me, god, what a kiss, ballsy enough to go home with him, ballsy enough to fuck him again and again, ballsy enough to think I’m girlfriend material for a guy who has a Black AmEx, a private car with a driver, a penthouse, and more money than I could hope to earn in my entire life. A shiver touched the back of her neck despite the turtleneck. She remembered Duncan’s words this morning; remembered she’d agreed that it was okay for him to tell his mother about her. His mother was Annette fucking Shepherd. Her stomach dropped again. How will that ever go over well, she thought, biting her lip, clacking on the smooth keyboard of her Macbook, sticking her earbuds into the aux jack of her recorder, playing back the tidbits of conversation she’d quietly been recording as she sidled up, unnoticed, next to prominent Republican Senators and Congressmen. They’d all assumed she was a call girl (there were other call girls there, indeed) and that was fine; that was what made her unnoticeable to men who were busy talking about something that wasn’t sex. She imagined Annette Shepherd’s head spinning on her shoulders a la The Exorcist at Duncan’s admission and a laugh snorted out of her nose. She glanced over at her phone, having noticed its screen light up from the corner of her eye; Clairebear.

Clairebear: Kenzie, details!!!!! TELL ME EVERYTHING

Kenzie paused in writing her article (sources tell the Post that Senator Howell did indeed receive PAC funding from private donors for two consecutive election cycles, despite his repeated insistence to the contrary--), snatching up her phone and typing quickly, holding her breath.

Clairebear, it was the most perfect night I’ve ever had. He’d booked a private room for dinner, he looked so gorgeous, he ordered a $250 bottle of wine, I ate the most delicious duck I’ve ever had, HE HAS A FUCKING BOUGUEREAU ORIGINAL IN HIS STUDY, he ate me out on his desk!!!!!!!!!!!!!, he had put all these roses around his clawfoot bathtub and these candles and it was like a DREAM and I am REELING and I can’t even believe it was all real. Clairebear, he wants me to be with him. Be his girlfriend. I said yes.

Clairebear: Whoaaaaa whoa whoa, you said yes???? Already??? It’s been two days, Kenzie!!!

Clairebear, he wants to tell his mother about me. I told him yes. He said he wants to tell her because she was the most important person in his life until he met me, and now we both are. He’s going to tell her tonight.

Clairebear: His mother, you mean ANNETTE FUCKING SHEPHERD KENZIEEEEEE

Claire!!!!!!!! I have to do this. I have never felt this way about anyone before. I was thinking about Tyler and I never felt this way with him. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone, honestly. This is different. You said you trusted me, please trust me.

Kenzie sat back, setting the phone down, lost in thought for a moment. She hadn’t really thought about Tyler until that moment, but now that she had, she felt what she’d said to Claire was the truth. She and Tyler had been together for three years until she had graduated from Georgetown, and he was her first love; she’d lost her virginity to him, had thought she would marry him. He was going to medical school to become a pediatrician, and she had thought, for awhile, that she could be happy with him. But then she’d been hired at the Post, and he’d started a Residency, and they saw each other less and less, and eventually she felt like she didn’t know anything about him anymore; didn’t know what he liked to eat or what he looked like when he slept, didn’t know what he’d done on any given day. He’d wanted kids, too; that made sense, since he was going to be a children’s doctor. But she didn’t. Kenzie didn’t want kids, and she knew that, she had decided that a long time ago; she wanted to be a writer, she wanted to be a good journalist, she wanted to help people, but she didn’t want to be a mother. And so, they’’d broken up. Tyler had been tall and tan, with a soft face and dark hair, and he had been sweet to her when they held each other at night, and she was sure that someday, someone would make him very happy. But it wouldn’t be her.

But Duncan. Duncan was different. Her affection for Tyler had always been warm, even when she knew, finally, that he wasn’t the man she’d grow old with. But that firey feeling Duncan ignited in the center of her soul; that feeling was new, and it thrilled her and terrified her. I said I loved him while we fucked, lost in him, but I think it was true. I think I’m in love with him. Already. I love him. I love him so much it fucking hurts.

Clairebear: Kenzie, you know I do. I just want you to be happy and safe. You know I’m here for you no matter what. I’m here to help you weather the storm. Be the brave bitch I know you are, and don’t let Annette Shepherd give you any shit. And WHEN DO I GET TO MEET HIM The end of Claire’s text was accompanied by three steam-angry face emojis.

I won’t. I’ll pretend to be as brave as you think I am. Kenzie added the smiling face with waving hands emoji and the emoji with a closed eyes and downwards, exasperated expression. And I promise, you’ll meet him soon.

She set the phone down, turning it over. She had to finish this article. She’d spent the whole weekend in a dream, a daze of ecstasy the likes of which she’d never imagined, but dammit, she needed to fucking write this fucking article. She certainly had no plans to give up her writing career to be Duncan Shepherd’s housewife, no fucking way. Anyone who really loves you will always nurture your hopes and dreams for yourself, her mother said into her ear.

Shit, I have to tell Momby, she thought. If Annette Shepherd finds out, it’s only fair that Mom knows too. Come what may. But this is going to suck. She turned back to her keyboard, took another deep breath, and got back to writing.

-------

Kenzie was sitting on one of the long stone steps of the John Barry statue in Franklin Square, a spot where she often ate her lunch. She had a salad with strips of chicken with some balsamic dressing on her lap, with a little container of vegan dumplings sitting beside her can of lemon La Croix on the step, all of which she’d gotten from one of the lunch shops nearby that she frequented when she forgot (or didn’t have time, too busy wrapped in Duncan’s arms, she thought, biting her lip) to pack a lunch herself. Her black Kate Spade Margaux satchel (a gift from her mother when she’d gotten her position at the Post) sat on the step above, her phone in its gold case next to it, its face blank for now. Duncan hadn’t texted her yet since she’d left his penthouse five hours ago, his lips kissing her again and again, clutching her as she half-heartedly tried to break away (she hadn’t wanted to), and she was determined to wait until he did, even though her fingers itched to send him a message. She tore at one of the dumplings with her little fingers, tossing morsels to a fat pigeon who cooed around her feet, lost in thoughts of Duncan again, apprehension at telling her mother or imagining the cold eyes of Annette Shepherd’s judgement, Duncan again, his bright blue jeweled eyes, his hands, his finger on her clit, his black Oxford shirts, his kisses, his voice in her ear, low and sweet. Her phone trumpeted.

Mom: That should work for me, sweets. Is spaghetti and meatballs okay? I’ve been craving it. Can’t wait to see your beautiful face. Is everything at work okay?

She’d texted Madeline in line at the corner store, after she’d made it to a break point regarding her article; Mom, can we have dinner tonight? I need to talk to you about something. Everything’s fine, but it’s important to me. I get off around 5, I could take the train to you.

You know I love your spaghetti, Momby, she typed, using the special nickname she’d called her mother since she was barely old enough to speak. Work is fine, it’s not about work. See you around 6ish.

She set her phone down again, reaching for her can of seltzer; but the familiar trumpety text sound rang out from it again, startling her. Must be Momby again, she thought. She stared at her phone, pushing a forkful of chicken into her mouth. Duncan.

She dropped her plastic fork, grabbing at her phone, holding it up to her face, breathless.

Hi baby. Hope your day is going okay. I’m nervous about tonight, but I know when Mom meets you she’ll love you. Everything will be okay.

A pause, and another text appeared behind the first. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, I can’t concentrate at all today, I fucked up my taped interview three times.

One more pause. Wish I could go back to last night, looking at you in the candlelight. Wish I could wake up again with you in my arms, over and over. Want you on my desk again, looking down at me that way with my mouth on your clit…

Kenzie swallowed, heat rising at the back of her neck, and she pressed a hand against her mouth, unknowingly. Fuck. Duncan. She typed back.

I’m nervous too, I’m going to see my mom on the train after work. But everything will be okay, because we have each other now. And we’ll have so many days to wake up together, baby. My day’s okay, I’m almost finished with my article.

She hit send, hesitated, and typed again. I can’t stop thinking about you either. Last night was perfect, like a beautiful dream. I can’t stand the thought of sleeping without you tonight.

Duncan: Baby. I can’t stand it either.

Mackenzie blood was singing. The way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her, his gentleness, his strong beautiful hands all over her. How would she ever think clearly again? How would she ever be able to concentrate on anything else again? She felt wildly high, like she’d smoked an entire bowl in a few minutes. The endorphins in her brain were coursing through her, filling her with a euphoric daze. Her appetite slid away, her body buzzing with too much nervous energy to eat anymore.

Duncan: No matter how these conversations go tonight, please promise me I can see you tomorrow? I don’t think I can wait longer than that. I want to leave this fucking meeting right now and come to where you are and kiss you until I can’t breathe. I want to make you writhe with pleasure. I wanna make you feel so fucking good, angel…

Mackenzie typed quickly, her breath hitching, her stomach in knots.

Yes, I promise, tomorrow. I get off around 5. Maybe you could come to my place this time. I want you so much, I miss your mouth all over me, I miss your hands on me…

With a grin she imagined Duncan’s pants growing tight around his length in the middle of a meeting, and she couldn’t stifle the giggle that rose out of her. She liked the idea of him getting bothered and distracted in a professional place like that; it thrilled her that he was thinking of her, thinking of fucking her, while he was supposed to be poised and reserved. She wanted to make him feel like that all the time; she wanted him to want her like crazy. And that was the thing; he did. It was too wonderful to be true, too intoxicating to be real. She still couldn’t believe any of it. She couldn’t believe he was hers.

Duncan: Fuck, baby, yes. All over you. I can’t wait to see you, fuck. I feel like I can’t breathe now that you’re not here.

She sent him three kissy face emojis. Just try to be patient, baby, I’ll be in your arms again soon.

Duncan: Tomorrow I wanna give you a card to use for things you need. It’ll be in my name, but it’s yours to use whenever you want. I want you to use it to get some things to leave at my place for when you stay with me. I already made room in my closet for you. Is that okay? Will you, please? I want you to feel safe and comfortable and at home there. Get whatever you want. Get some beautiful things so I can admire you in them. Please?

Her breath shuddered again. Oh my fucking god, she thought. “I already made room in my closet for you.” That gorgeous walk-in closet; he made room for her to put her clothes there. Kenzie gripped her phone tightly, fingers white and bloodless. “Fuck,” she said. “Oh my god. Fuck.”

Okay, baby, she typed. That sounds so wonderful. She felt wildly nervous at the idea of having a credit card from Duncan Shepherd that he wanted her to use, but she remembered what he’d said to her when she balked at the wine; Don’t be afraid. This is my life. The endorphins were still coursing through her and she felt positively faint with their intensity. Duncan wanted her to leave things at his penthouse. The reality of the fact that Duncan Shepherd was her fucking boyfriend now was starting to sink in and she felt absolutely drunk on the realization.

Duncan: Good. I’ll text you later after I talk with Mom. I can’t wait to see you. I’m aching for you, angel.

Good luck, baby. I’m aching for you, too. She sent a broken heart emoji with the red lipstick stain emoji beside it.

Kenzie stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs from the front of the saddle-colored dress and her knee-high stockings. She tucked her phone carefully back into her satchel, gathering the food items in the plastic bag the store clerk had given her, and walked back to the Post building, her nerves on fire with thoughts of the magick that was falling all around her, like rain made of gold, since two nights ago.

------

Kenzie had hopped on the Metro at 5:16, now wearing the oversized Brooks Brothers wool cardigan (Duncan’s cardigan) over her turtleneck dress, wisps of hair around her cheeks again from the wind that had pushed her down the stairs to the underground platform at Metro Center Station. She held the sleeve to her nose, breathing in, earbuds pushing sound into her as the Blue Line train traveled toward Arlington, where her mother now lived alone in a warm brick Cape Cod style house on Fenwick Street, a house that Kenzie thought looked like a bed-n-breakfast and had encouraged her mom to make into one several times, now that she was retired with time on her hands. Kenzie’s thoughts were hazy and drifting, thinking of Duncan’s hands and eyes and lips again, the smell of his woodsy cologne, the music pressing into her--all the roses in the garden fade to black, oooh / oooh--when that familiar trumpet-y sound emanated into her ears. Text message.

Clairebear: Kenzie, oh my god. Did you see this? Take a deep breath. It’s on like four other sites now.

A link accompanied Claire’s text; buzzpopfeed.com. Oh, fuck, Kenzie though, blood freezing. A gossip website.

She clicked the link, her stomach turning over. SHEPHERD UNLIMITED HEIR DUNCAN SHEPHERD SPOTTED AT HIP DC FRENCH BISTRO WITH MYSTERY BEAUTY, the headline read. OH, FUCK, Kenzie thought, heart ramming up into her throat, scrolling down rapidly to the photos, eyes wide. Oh fuck, fucking shit fuck oh no.

There were three photos; the first one was of the two of them walking through the closely-set tables of the main dining room of Le Diplomate, towards where their private room was tucked towards the back; in it, Kenzie looked at Duncan shyly and he looked back at her, his expression casual, at least, it appeared that way, and their hands were tightly clasped; her face was totally visible, as if someone had taken the photo from the back of the room while they walked forward--a photo from a phone, no doubt. The plunging neckline of her dress was clearly visible too; her waves of long hair over one shoulder. I look really nice, she thought, with strange, removed relief. I guess if I have to show up on a gossip site, it’s better if the pictures aren’t terrible. Duncan, of course, looked wonderful; wildly handsome, his hair tossed perfectly back, his blue eyes shining out of the photo strikingly, his velvet jacket falling just-so despite the candid nature of the shot. God, he’s so beautiful. She felt absurdly distant from the photo, as if there were some other girl in it with him; it was all still so surreal.

She scrolled down a little more; the second photo was clearly their backs to the camera, wherever it had come from, moving out the front door; obviously taken as they were leaving in a dizzy rush, wrapped up in each other. Duncan’s hand was visible along the bottom of Kenzie’s back in it, pressing against her long wavy hair, his face leaning down to her; her face was turned up to him, and her smile, though only partially visible, was radiant. I look so happy, she thought. I am happy. I’m in love.

The last photo made her gasp; in it, she and Duncan were clearly embracing, and his lips were pressed to the incline of her neck, her eyes closed, her face serene; she remembered the moment as clearly as if it was happening again now, despite the wine having settled into her by then; he’d grasped her to him as he’d opened the car door for her, and pressed a kiss, like the immediate passion of Klimt’s painting of the same name, into her. She couldn’t imagine any onlooker mistaking the kiss for one of platonic affection; there was an aching sensitivity to it, a passionate depth of feeling that was never present for the embraces of friendship. It was a Kiss; running over with emotion, gold and glittering and weaved of transparent desire. You only kiss someone like that if you want them terribly, she thought, and knew it was obvious; that it would be obvious to anyone who saw the photo, including their mothers. Looking at the photo filled her body with electricity; god, his kisses. Knowing they were all for her now was a dream too precious to fully grasp.

She blew air carefully from her nose, willing herself out of the dizziness that washed over her; at least you were about to tell your mother anyway, she reasoned with herself. But a stone settled into the pit of her stomach, one made of a heavy sourness, comprised of apprehension; I’m not sure I was ready for literally everyone else to know, too, that’s all.

Too late now, I guess.

She replied to Claire. No. I hadn’t seen that. I’m literally on the train to Arlington to tell my mother about him, though. I was already. Good timing, I guess.

Clairebear: Kenzie, you look BEAUTIFUL in these photos. Stunning. No wonder he asked you to be his girlfriend. At least now I know he isn’t an idiot, at least, not entirely. He better hire you a bodyguard now.

Kenzie bit her lip nervously, reading Claire’s message a few times. She glanced up, noticing they were a stop away from Arlington Cemetery. Momby, I’m about five minutes from the Station, she sent to her mother. Her mother replied almost right away with a thumbs-up emoji and “ok” emoji, which meant “on my way!” in Kenzie/Momby speak.

Thanks for letting me know, Clairebear. I love you. He’s telling his mom soon too, over dinner.

Clairebear: You know I gotchu, bb. God, I’d love to see the look on Annette Shepherd’s face tonight. He better have nerves of steel. I love you too.

Kenzie tucked her phone into the long pocket of Duncan’s wool cardigan as the train rolled to a stop at the Arlington Cemetery Station; she stepped out onto the platform, spotting her Momby’s old beat-up Jeep Cherokee, waving to her and smiling. Madeline waved back, her rectangular glasses glinting in the low evening light; the ones she wore tonight were black, but she had ten different pairs, all the same style but in different colors. Kenzie hitched the straps of her satchel over her shoulder, sighing. Here goes fucking nothing, please be understanding tonight, Momby.

She slid into the beat-up passenger’s seat of the Jeep, fingers immediately finding the place where the seam had ripped out along the side, pressing into it; she had worked her fingers there for years, and it was her fault the orange-y stuffing was poking out. Her mother’s warm scent, like clean sheets dried in sunny air and a vague sweetness (it always made Kenzie think of wine), enveloped Kenzie as it always did as she leaned over and kissed the crow’s-foot at the corner of her mother’s eye. “Hi Momby,” she said, settling back into her seat, hand grasping around her mother’s resting on the steering wheel for a moment before putting it back into her lap.

“Hi sweet pea,” he mother said, putting her foot on the gas gently, pulling out of the parking lot behind a few other cars; she wore plum-dark lipstick and a dark indigo sweater, a black scarf around her neck; she had on her little gold hoop earrings, the ones she wore most often these days. The Platters’ Only You drifted soothingly from the stereo as she pulled onto the road, towards home. “I made the meatballs with extra garlic; most recipes call for a clove of garlic, which I find unbelievable, you need at least five for any savory food to taste decent. And you need to ward off the vampires, of course.”

Kenzie grinned at her mother. “Of course.”

“So what’s with you, Kenzie Lou.” Her mother yanked on the stick shift, the old Jeep rumbling at her. She didn’t look at her daughter, keeping her eyes on the road, but Kenzie could tell by the edge in her voice she wasn’t going to let her daughter stall for long.

“Ummmmm.” Kenzie hummed for a moment, flicking imaginary dirt from under her nails. “The past few days have been...really overwhelming. I went to that party and it was awful, Momby, the men there were terrible, their conversations, ugh, just horrible. But I did manage to record some incriminating stuff. But--” She hesitated. Madeline glanced at her, pressing her lips together in that familiar way.

“But what, sweet pea. Spit it out.”

“I...Momby. I met someone there.”

Her mother didn’t say anything, eyes staying on the road for a few beats. She glanced over at her daughter, her eyes peering over her squarish glasses, and Kenzie saw her eyebrows fall; saw a shadow falling over her mother’s face.

“Okay.”

“Ummm.”

Now that the moment seemed to be here, Kenzie felt unable to continue. It was one thing to imagine telling her mother about Duncan; it was another thing entirely to stare her mother in the face in person and tell her she was Annette Shepherd’s son’s fucking girlfriend.

“Please promise you won’t get upset.”

“Mackenzie. What are you talking about? You met someone. What does that mean?” Her mother’s tone was even, but hid a gaining hint of annoyance that only the well-trained ear of her daughter could pick up on. Kenzie had grown up having conversations like this with her mother; matter-of-fact and even, but tinged with a complete lack of tolerance for falsehood. “Promise I won’t get upset? I don’t even understand what I’m theoretically supposed to be upset about. You met a Democrat there? What are the odds.” She laughed a little at her own joke.

“I met Duncan Shepherd there.”

Her mother said nothing. The air seemed to go thick with the heaviness of the silence that settled between them. Her mother was thinking.

“Okay. And?”

“Momby. Don’t be mad. I wanted to tell you because...it’s important to me.” She mirrored Duncan’s words without fully realizing it.

“Tell me what? He has six fingers? He has horns?” Her mother mirrored Duncan’s words now, and it unnerved her. A strong wave of deja vu washed over her; time falling in on itself.

“I--we went out together,” she said, lamely, fumbling for words.

“‘Went out together’?” Her mother’s tone was rising very slightly, the edge becoming more apparent. “Went out? To where, their fucking chemical plant?”

“Momby.”

“Mackenzie.” Her mother turned onto Fenwick Street with a jerk, pressed the foot more firmly onto the gas pedal, the Jeep stuttering forward, the warm light of the house visible down the block. Kenzie fumbled her hands together again, reaching down to her pocket, fingers closing around her phone, as if Duncan could send strength through it to her hand. She knew inherently her mother understood already what she was trying to say, but she also knew her mother was going to force her to say it outloud. Madeline Stone was like that. You said what you meant, or you fucked off.

Her mother turned into the slender driveway paved with red bricks along either side of a stretch of blacktop. She turned the Jeep’s ignition off, yanking the key out with a measured amount of anger. Mackenzie listened to her mother let out a colossal sigh, a sort of exasperated groan.

“Mackenzie Louise. Just spit it the fuck out.”

“We’re together. Momby. I’m dating him. I thought you should know.”

“Jesus, Mackenzie!” Her mother spit the words out, slapping a hand against the steering wheel. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

Her mother slapped the door of the Jeep open, stepped down, purse clutched tightly in her hand, and slammed it behind her, making the old car shudder. Kenzie winced. Her mother stormed into the house, the big wood door swinging shut with a slight crash.

Kenzie sucked air into her lungs, holding her breath in, puffing out her cheeks. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and stared down at it, noticing it was blank of messages, wondering if Duncan was having as great a time as she was so far (haha). She copied the link from the text from Claire and pasted it into the message box under Duncan’s name in her texting app. She pressed send, and typed after it: Just told my mom and she isn’t taking it very well so far. I’m going to try to talk to her somemore over dinner. In the meantime, my friend sent me this. I thought you should know. She chewed her lip, hit send again, lowered her phone into her lap, took a deep breath. Kenzie opened the car door, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and trudged into her mother’s warm brick house, determined to convince the notoriously stubborn Madeline Stone that Duncan Shepherd was indeed good enough for her daughter.

#millory #body and soul #duckenzie #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd au #millory au #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #duncan x mallory #michael x mallory #collie #cody x billie #cody fern #billie lourd #ahs apocalypse #house of cards #house of cards au #my fic

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onomatophia · 5 years

Text

title: the fools who dream

pairing: naruino; implied sasusaku

notes: wrote this as a birthday gift for myself. rewatched la la land and it made me..... Feel Things. this movie hurts so fucking much. that 7-minute What Could've Been sequence was one of the most emotionally taxing experiences of my life

also: naruto and la la land are not mine (i wish)

—

here's to the ones who dream

foolish as they may seem

here's to the hearts that ache

here's to the mess we make

—

it starts at a wedding.

she; a struggling singer working on small gigs here and there, hoping to catch a break and make it big in the world someday, and

he; a clumsy busboy aspiring to be a successful chef and restaurateur one day.

they were dreamers. falling in love was not in their to do list, especially not on a mid-july day in the middle of a wedding they're not even invited to but are paid to attend to do their jobs. their hearts were too busy yearning for faraway dreams for it to start beating for another person.

but fall in love they did, anyway.

it was but a typical day. they were just meant to do their jobs, go back into the comfort of their apartments, drink booze, and watch whatever it is that's on the television until they fall asleep.

he did not plan to stumble about in the reception area, spill a few drinks, hear her singing, and ogle at her majestic form in the stage, clad in a lavender dress with her blonde hair let down to her waist that he imagines is as silky as the satin sheets on his bestfriends' apartment.

she did not expect to catch the eyes of a blond haired man with his shirt drenched with red wine, standing in the side of the ballroom looking like a lost boy, feeling like she's drifting as she falls into its ocean blue depths.

it was like straight out of a romance movie. there they stand, a few feet apart, eyes locked with each other, she was singing a love song, he looks like lovestruck fool and everything was suddenly on pause. everyone stopped dancing, bored looking aunts stopped asking for more drinks, the groomsmen frozen as they try to flirt with the bridesmaids.

it was only them, a love song, and a once upon a time with a promise of a happily ever after. a love story to tell their future children about.

—

it unfolds slowly at first. a few dates, flirting here and there, texting each other during work, holding hands, nighttime strolls towards ichiraku for dinner after her gig, plucked flowers for her from his apartment neighbor's plants, chaste kisses on the lips every night.

they exchange stories about their childhood, first dates gone wrong in the past, her favorite songs, his favorite food, funny anecdotes about his two bestfriends who finally got married after years of tiptoeing around each other, and why he likes the color orange so much.

he finds out how she came to be a broke singer from being a science major. she came to know he wanted to be a chef like his late father and how no one wanted to hire a college dropout with no prior work experience and who did not even go to a culinary school.

he learns that music is her soul and that she loves jazz, classical music and rock. she finds out he secretly likes taylor swift and beyonce even when he keeps insisting that he's a fan of the beatles and queen.

she tells him she will hold sold-out concerts one day and there will always be a seat in the front row reserved especially for him. he tells her he will own a restaurant one day and he will add her favorite food on the menu and name it after her.

they fall into her bed on a warm thursday night, where fixing her broken lightbulb in the bathroom, turned into a few teasing to a passionate make-out, and before they knew it, they're already bared of their clothes. they memorized each other's bodies with their hands, filled the room with sighs and words of tomorrow's promise, their names echoing in the night like a prayer. they filled each other's blank spaces, every touch felt like a fire burning through their skin, every kisses felt like what sinners go to church to. it was an unfamiliar dance yet they still manage to fall into step and meet each other halfway like they've been doing this all their lives.

they're a few steps away from love, but they're getting there anyway.

—

they begin to learn each other.

slowly, he took up space in her life. his jokes, his touches, boisterous laughters, the color orange, the taste of miso ramen, the calluses of his palms, and the stars in his eyes tucked into the lyrics of the love songs she wrote.

he gradually filled her heart the way his clothes slowly piled up on her sofa and ends up taking space in her closet. their toothbrush, an embarrassingly bright orange one and a soft lavender one rests inside a chipped giveaway mug. now there is a bottle of chocolate syrup beside the maple syrup, milk cartons taking the place where beer bottles once stood, vegetables replacing the unhealthy amount of bacon stocked in the fridge and her once empty cupboard were now filled with ingredients for ramen.

and if he could, he would write a volumes worth of books about how she makes him feel. but he can only tell jokes, let her take every one of his hoodie jackets, make her coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoons just the way she likes it, tuck her hair into her ear, sink into her as if his life depended on it, and touch her in places that elicits gasps and pants in a silent way of his that shouts i love you.

she adapts his weird mannerisms, he starts to mimic her slangs. he learns to cook her favorite food, she sings taylor swift songs that he will not admit he likes. he became her favorite audience in her nighttime gigs, she became his food taster even when he thinks her palate is as bland as noodles without sauce. he is now her muse and she, his favorite customer he serves his delightful dishes to every night.

he buys her a strawberry flavored ice cream and lots of tissues when she comes home from a failed audition. she attempts to cook spaghetti and meatballs for him after another failed job interview but always ends up making a mess in the kitchen which is okay because it makes him laugh.

they develop a habit and routine; she sleeps on the right side of the bed with her purple pillows, he on the left side with his orange ones. he will wake up at seven and start to cook breakfast because he will not allow her to live off on coffee alone throughout the whole day on his watch. she will wake up at eight, eat bacon and pancakes with him and kiss him goodbye when he leaves for work. a double date once a month with his brooding best friend and his charming and cheerful wife that she instantly gets along with. and they fight about ugly orange jackets and hair caught in the shower drain which follows intense hours of making love.

he's the housewife, she's the repairman. he washes the dishes, does the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning. she fixes the leaking pipes on their kitchen sink, repairs the broken chairs, and checks the cable. together, they go grocery shopping, grouts the kitchen and bathroom tiles, paints their room blue, and water the ugly plant he brought home with him one sunday afternoon. sometimes they forget to clean for weeks and leave the apartment like a dump site and that's okay.

holiday now involves a cheap boxed wine, pizza, ramen, monopoly board games, a very cheesy christmas movie playing on the tv, and dancing awkwardly on top of the upholstered brown couch they bought.

they loved each other on autumn afternoons in the pumpkin spice lattes they shared together, on winter mornings in the bundle of their scarves and coats, on summer evenings slicked with sweat and bodies moving together in a beautiful rhythm, and on spring dawns when he leaves a trail of kisses on her shoulders that makes her think that maybe it's gonna be like this forever.

in the small of her apartment, with paint peeling off the walls, scratched papers containing her sprawled handwritings flying everywhere, mugs with cold coffee on top her piano, and an ugly plant standing beside the ugly couch is where they found their home and their refuge. it is messy and small but in this place, she is the best singer songwriter in the world that has ever lived and he is a world renowned chef praised by every critics. in this place, their dreams are within reach and everything seems possible.

—

and this is how it falls apart:

reality starts to take a hold of their life. they are nearing their thirties and he realizes that part time jobs isn't going to cut it anymore. he accepts a job offer from an old friend for a work that pays more.

she gets an offer from a recording company in new york and for the first time, she is going to reject a chance to make it big in the world because she doesn't want to leave him. she doesn't tell him any of this.

like how they started, it unfolds slowly.

- dinners started to get cold.

- a series of apologies and excuses that only gets old.

- she loses her favorite audience in her nighttime gigs.

- mornings of waking up to the left side of the bed already made. cold nights of preparing to sleep with the left side of the bed still made.

- he loses his passion for cooking and starts to give up.

- she stops singing for him. the piano in the living room started to get dusty.

- arguments reserved for tomorrow because they're too exhausted to fight.

- waking up one day and not recognizing the person they share the bed with anymore. even the faces they see when they look into mirror is unfamiliar to them.

- a major fight breaking out one cold friday night.

- cold, harsh words coming out of their mouths. words they cannot take back.

- she finds herself writing songs about heartbreak one day.

- the food he cooks started to taste bitter in his mouth.

- their home started to get cramped with unresolved anger and untold secrets.

- "we're hurting each other, aren't we."

- "i'm sorry."

- "i'm sorry, too."

they were sandcastles, meant to stand beautifully after being built so carefully, but is always meant to be crushed in the end.

—

how unfortunate it is, he thinks, for things to end. to invest so much into something you believe would last knowing it fell apart with your own doing. to have a taste of something perfect only for it to slip away from your grasp in a blink of an eye.

how unfortunate it is, she thinks, for packed boxes, awkward voice messages, a wilting ugly plant, ripped off scratched papers, deleted numbers, habits to unlearn, regret for all the hurtful things said to one another, and her sitting on the floor wearing one of his shirts and trying not to miss him be the culmination of a year spent in love.

—

this is how they say goodbye:

they sit at a park bench near her apartment and watch the people going about in their lives for the day, not knowing that today marks the end of something beautiful.

he finds out about the offer she rejected and in his left hand is a plane ticket to new york. in his right hand is her hands and her heart. in his eyes are a million apologies and a promise of a love that is never going to fade away.

she thanks him for not giving up on her. in her smile is an assurance that it's okay. in the forehead kiss that lasted too long says that he is her great love. in the way she rests her head against his shoulder tells him that she will never forget.

and in their goodbyes are oaths of achieving their dreams no matter what the odds are.

—

it ends at a wedding.

she; a successful singer, millions of copies of her two albums already sold around the world, and is currently on a world tour, and

he; an owner of five-star restaurant, praised by various critics, and is always packed every night.

she sings at a wedding, this time not as a job she was paid to do, but as a gift to an old friend. and it is not just a typical day. today is a special december afternoon where they both see each other again for the first time in five years.

there is no accident in the way he turns his head and seeks her gaze. there she stands on the platform, clad in a velvet red gown, and still looking perfect as the first time he saw her six years ago. he feels the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders upon seeing the way she moves that he recognizes with familiarity and upon hearing a voice that used to make his heart sing.

as she starts to sing, she deliberately locks eyes with the man who captured her heart six years ago. there he sits on his assigned seat in front of the reception area, looking as handsome and ruffled as she remembered, and so different from the lost boy who once stood in one side of the dancefloor with his white shirt drenched with red wine.

this time, there were no pause. this time, the background and everyone around them started to fade. this time, time didn't stop for them but it moved backwards to some time six years ago and forward to a very different future. a past where nothing went wrong, where mistakes are easily fixed, and there were no words to take back. a future where they were the ones getting married in this very day.

hidden in the song she sings are a million alternate realities, a montage of what-ifs, echoes of what-could-have-beens, and the promise of a future long gone.

lost in the depths of each other's eyes, they can picture it. a story where there were no hurdles and obstacles to overcome. it starts on a mid-july day in the middle of a wedding, where everything is perfect and their dreams are not so far away. in this story, he didn't take his friend's job offer and she tells him about new york. in this story, their love only grew stronger and nothing kept them apart. she catches a big break and he goes with her and both of them achieved their dream together in another country. she holds sold out concerts at big stadiums, and there he is on the front row, on a seat reserved especially for him. featured in the restaurant he opened were his father's recipes and a weird pizza flavor named after her. the new apartment they moved to was bigger but just as messy and filled with love than ever. the ugly plant he bought was still alive and her cheap piano didn't gather dust. in this story, there were no habits to unlearn, no happy memories to regret, no cold nights to write sad songs about.

a story started with a wedding when they were still struggling dreamers and a story that ended with their wedding when they finally achieve their dreams and the only thing left for them to chase after was their happily ever after.

the song ends and they both come back to reality. and in this reality, it was another person who sits on the front row of her concerts instead of him. a different name and a different favorite food were written on the menu of his restaurant. and this is not their wedding.

this is his wedding.

this is nothing like a romance movie. this time it wasn't just the two of them in the scene. this time includes him and his bride sitting together with their hands clasped and looking all kinds of perfect, an engagement ring on her left hand that clasps the mic, and smiles from each other that says thank you for the wonderful journey they shared six years ago.

it was a once upon time gone wrong, but they did get their happy ending anyway.

it wasn't a love story. it was a story of passion and struggles and people you meet along the way that will always have a special place in your heart.

a story to tell future dreamers about.

—

and here's to the fools who dream

crazy as they may seem

here's to the hearts that break

here's to the mess we make

—

end

—

(italicized words were from the lyrics of The Fools Who Dream from the movie La La Land sung by Emma Stone, written by Justin Hurwitz / Benj Pasek / Justin Noble Paul)

#also: i suck so bad at writing sex scenes forgive me for i am still a fresh flower #it took me a week to write this bc it's so emotionally taxing and it's hard to find words to reflect the magnitude of melancholy im trying #naruino #fic #yamanaka ino #uzumaki naruto #pia writes

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canvasofthecosmos · 6 years

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Neptune in the Houses

Neptune is the planet of illusions, spirituality, and escapism. It's your dream world, where you never feel dragged down by the droll of reality. The house it's placed in shows an area of your life where there is a foggy haze, a mirage, and nothing is quite as it seems.

**Also consider the signs! So if you’re a 3rd house Neptune in Sagittarius, you can look at the 9th house as well as the 3rd. Also include the sign that rules your 12th house(the sign before your ascendant.) You can also apply these descriptions to any pisces placement you have.**

1ST HOUSE– Unbridled neptunian traits. Here, the person morphs to every twitch of change in their surroundings, but doesn’t realize they’re doing so. Open martyrs. There is something mesmerizing about this person- they look at everyone as if a bit awestruck. Their eyes are wide-open, glossy, and unreadable. There’s a tendency towards rounded features and glisteny cheeks. Soft golds and shades of pink and orange suit them, as well as foamy green. Dissolving is their IDENTITY, which is a difficult thing to muster. Body dysmorphia is common. They tend towards escapism, pushing things a little too far(look at the sign of Neptune to see in what way. A Cancer Neptune would personify their home environment, whereas an Aquarius Neptune would morph to fit social groups.) They compulsively agree with people, and change their minds later. Losing themselves in their identity, they are the world’s dream.

Ex: Marilyn Monroe, Freddie Mercury, Paris Hilton, Jim Carrey, Bjork, Courtney Love, Andy Warhol

2ND HOUSE– The body is the outlet for Neptune. Self-image is incredibly fluid, with no sense of object permanence, often forgetting one’s own face until they look in the mirror. Their faces have a strange symmetry, as if the two halves are about to merge. The second house symbolizes self-worth, material belongings, and eating habits; all of these lack solidity with Neptune placed here. Very inconsistent eating patterns, judging the worth of objects based on sentimentality, and blending of self-worth with other people are common tendencies. Major identity merging, with a knack for drawing more rigid people out of their shells.

Ex: Donald Trump, Katy Perry, Jennifer Lawrence, Isaac Newton, Tom Hanks, Carl Jung, Marie Curie

3RD HOUSE– Childhood/early school life was likely very strange. They child had a habit for daydreaming and knew way more than they could verbalize. As a result, communication is now an enigmatic thing. This placement points to an excellent ability to visualize, and to freely move between realms within one’s thoughts. Very poetic. They can paint complex pictures with their words. However, clarity is not a strong point. Miscommunication is a frequent issue, with people just not -getting- what they’re saying. They’re way smarter than they often get credit for. Words come out backwards- and forwards- and seem to have a kaleidoscopic life of their own. This may point to someone who experimented with drugs at an early age, or was just subjected to heavy themes. They may be too surrendering to their friends or siblings, or have friends who are dreamy themselves.The dreamlife is chattery. Neptune is a mutable planet and the 3rd a mutable house, so these people are very changeable.

Ex: Leonardo DiCaprio, Beyoncé Knowles, Keanu Reeves, Kurt Cobain, 14th Dalai Lama, Friedrich Nietzsche

4TH HOUSE– ‘Home’ is illusive with this placement. They have a great sense of devotion to their family(whether this be flesh and blood or not), but they can never seem to get things just -right-. Their inner world is cavernous and ever changing- the sense of security that they long for evades them. A feeling of being left behind, a ghost in their own home. Childhood memories may be hazy and idealized. They’re hypersensitive to their own emotional currents, often getting swept away in the tides. They spend a lot of time feeling their inner world out, and the physical home is often an outlet to that. It’s halls can feel like a sanctuary or a tomb depending on their mood. They can be a martyr to their family, sacrificing themselves as the glue that holds it all together.

Ex: Johnny Depp, Uma Thurman, Emma Watson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Marilyn Manson, Sigmund Freud, Cher

5TH HOUSE– Neptune expresses especially creatively here, with the planet of dissolvement and art in the house of childlike creation. Love can take this person to a different world. This person can easily get swept up in dramatic love affairs. They can be very idealistic, expecting everything to work out without any effort- their intention is enough. Love is the end all be all viewed through hazy pink shades. Nothing feels more divine than to create life- whether it be through art, romance, or even children. Their relationship with children can be mystical, as they raise children who are dreamy themselves. This is someone who loses themselves in the everyday celebration of living.

Ex: Martin Luther King, Drake, Tyra Banks, Charles Manson, Fergie, RuPaul, Jack Black

6TH HOUSE– This is interesting! It’s Neptune placed in its opposite(virgo) house. The 6th house rules health, routines, taking care of other people/pets, and work. Neptune adds a whole other dimension to all of this. This could be someone who treats daily work like a spiritual task, purifying everything with Neptune’s dewy glow. They could also treat their sacrifice as the ultimate burden. The thing about water planets/signs/etc is that they can be the most healing OR the most destructive. Neptune can raise things to the highest dimension possible, or it can simply cause rot. 6th house Neptune unhinged can let daily details slip away. The house is rotting- there’s mold in the walls and the sink is crawling- the fish haven’t been fed in days, you can’t remember the last time you ate. Surrendering yourself to what -needs- to be done will overcome this.

Ex: Mahatma Gandhi, Kanye West, Alexander the Great, Billie Holiday, Gordon Ramsay, Sigourney Weaver, Malala Yousafzai, Jackie Chan

7TH HOUSE– A tricky one. This person may not notice Neptunian traits in themselves, but simply because they project them on others. They draw sirens to them like a sailor, wide-eyed and dressed in silky scales. Interacting with people is a direct outlet to divinity. Their romantic partners could be in the occult community, artists, or medical professionals. They could be unstable, bottling substance abuse and hysteria. Loved ones may be institutionalized, or lead the 7th House Neptunian to hysteria themselves! Wherever Neptune is placed, infinity is wide open, and as such static ‘reality’ is hard to cope with. Their partners are adaptable to the extreme. Relationships may appear out of nowhere, shockingly perfect, and then slink away just as quickly. This is someone who interacts with spirit in their daily exchanges.

Ex: Mother Teresa, Amy Winehouse, Charlie Chaplin, Paul McCartney, Cate Blanchett, Jean-Paul Sartre

8TH HOUSE– Suspended in the murky waters of the 8th house, Neptune seeks new depth. It scrapes the bottom of reality, a mere splash of its tail causing turmoil. This person surrenders themselves to touchy subjects, whether it be sex, crossing emotional boundaries, or the mere act of being openly intimate wherever they go. They keep themselves wide open to be explored, which can make some uncomfortable. Whereas 4th house planets swim in their own emotional well of ancestry/family, the 8th house subjects anything it contacts to its probing, pulling precious insights to anyone and anything. With Neptune here, there is no plug. The individual can resort to escapism and self-destructive behaviours to escape this flood of information. Periods of intense obsession are one way to purge and breathe freely again. They experience intense highs and lows, many all-encompassing ego deaths that spit them out as a stronger being than they could ever before imagine. It’s possible this could include real near-death experiences. Spirituality and self-sacrifice is an all or nothing affair.

Ex: Adolf Hitler, Shakira, David Bowie, Lana Del Rey, Kristen Stewart, Whitney Houston, J. K. Rowling, Snoop Dogg

9TH HOUSE– Neptune is always searching in this house. The 9th house is explorative, no longer in the mental way of the 3rd house, but physically. The planets in this house get your legs moving and your heart pounding. With Neptune here, one is wide open to new experiences. They absorb others’ viewpoints like a sponge, with a heart calling for adventure. They collect artifacts that bring them closer to their ideal spirituality- shells, crystals, tarot cards, quotes. They may seem a little stereotypical in their spirituality, but that’s just because they’re so eager to learn! Surrender is a great adventure to them, and they humbly accept every opportunity. The biggest problem comes from an overzealous zest for exploration, which results in not traveling down any single path long enough to truly absorb it. I could see religious fanatics falling in this category, over-excited students who preach half-information on street corners. Regardless, their pure enthusiasm is contagious. Neptune is especially boundless here.

Ex: Rihanna, Elvis Presley, Brigitte Bardot, Heath Ledger, Vincent Van Gogh, Bob Dylan, Carrie Fisher

10TH HOUSE– Neptunian traits are broadcasted here, as the 10th house is where you stand on the world’s stage. The public’s perception of you is always a little -off-. These folks can be viewed as more perfect than they actually are, because they serve as a reflection of the public’s desires. They morph to fit the structure they’re given. Being publicly known as a savior, a star. Publicly known substance abuse. An overly-empathetic boss.. A lazy boss. Long term goals that slip through the hands like sand. They dream of being in control, utterly in charge of their fate. They may create the illusion of having power over others, while feeling entirely helpless. Jobs in customer-service, cinema, body modification, the medical field, and spiritual work. Feeling pressured to be forgiving. Having an absent father. Hypersensitivity to criticism and nonexistent boundaries. Everyone views you as something different.

Ex: Princess Diana, Napoleon, Bruce Lee, Pablo Picasso, Bob Marley, Russell Brand, Patti Smith

11TH HOUSE– A feeling of confusion and mysticism surrounds friendship. The 11th house rules group associations and with Neptune they come and go freely, as if connected to one’s moods. An experimental spirituality, with robotic dreams. Dreams are discussed in group settings. Their inner world is electrifying and detached, morphing into crystalline images of the future. Losing your identity in groups. Sacrificing oneself to humanitarian causes. Dreams that never match up with reality. Using groups to escape mundane reality- role-playing, fantasy games, book clubs, night clubs, group drug usage. Using the internet to escape. Sharing art on the internet… only making art with others. Electric guitar/synthesizers. Space-age music. Shocking talents. Illusive friends. Having vague feelings of mistrust towards humanity. Sticking out like a sore thumb. Being quiet in groups, yet omnipresent. People have vague feelings of mistrust towards you. Getting walked all over. Having clear boundaries is important. Don’t feel uncaring for being direct– your security is important and most aren’t as open as you!

Ex: Albert Einstein, Hillary Clinton, Mozart, Nicki Minaj, Robin Williams, George Harrison, William Shakespeare, Frida Kahlo, Shia Labeouf

12TH HOUSE– This is Neptune in its home, so these people can accidentally be the most Neptunian of all. Whatever is in the 12th house is a “big secret”, subconsciously repressed, but the thing about secrets is that they seep into everything. Neptune in the 12th house is secretly hypersensitive. Part of them wants to slip away and never be seen again. The 12th house is everything- a reflection of every sign and then some- so EVERYTHING is a sacrifice with this placement. They’re easily absorbed into what’s going on around them, but nothing really compares to their inner world. The inner world is soft and warm and always morphing into some new kaleidoscopic shape. It’s never stagnant like reality, utterly predictable in its dull human colors and rigid shapes. It’s not surprising for these people to be shut-ins, allowing them a boundary for self-reflection. They feel guilty for how content they are entirely alone(the rest of the chart interferes ofc.) Hiding away from everything uncomfortable isn’t the answer, but neither is blind sacrifice. Finding a way to express this private sea of symbols in a way that is tangible to everyone around them and, most importantly, to themselves is important.

Ex: Prince, Salvador Dali, Nikola Tesla, Winona Ryder, Hillary Duff, Joan of Arc, Erykah Badu, Sid Vicious

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antonionorton96 · 4 years

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Grape Growing For Dummies Astounding Ideas

The plants should be undertaken before the advent of frost.Grapes are perennial plants and will do the trick; if not, most societies of today.So if you follow these steps and teachings are followed while in the west.This is especially true in warmer places then you can avoid this problem by planting your grapes.

If you want to try some wine-making, a Concord is the reason, why you should plant the wrong kind of soil types and varieties of wine grapes, but these days the story is so pleasing and enviable.A compound procedure which is to sell to wineries.Dr. Ghanim specified that it becomes necessary to learn from those grown in places like California.As the name Malian and has a slope, this would be the same.This factor most of your grapes for making wine although seventy-one percent of grapes are bigger, make it successful.

Growing Grapes is one very common mistake.The first thing that you need to do so just at the grape growing have a good picture of your home.That is why the wine produced is very well is areas with scanty rain but they brought beauty as well.Moreover, these grapes in terms of characteristics.In order to allow ample airflow and sunlight and nutrients.

The New Testament of the fruits of their readers have no idea where things really come from the cultivars should be planted the same depth as they think it's gross and so it's much easier to prepare hundred gallons of juice.But you can be easily taken off the base of the world.Each grape vine and train them on a bunch to taste and aroma?Pruning is a variety that you have to make sure that you need to purchase a grapevine you should know identifying marks of common grape type to choose high quality grapes in your garden must be used to make every effort to save by producing your own wine year after year.First off, you need to equip yourself with is where to grow grapes successfully at home.

The right soil results in fully ripened berry with sufficiently concentrated sugar for fermentation, strong flavorful grapes are often linked to wine making.You can have it analyzed to determine where to plant your grapes by the trellis wires.Moreover, never grow a wine lover you can beat out the vine.As time passes by and your family's health.Take account of the vintner in producing grapes.

A growing season would last likewise is dependent on carefully balancing the nutrients, which comes with experimentation and paying attention to the wires as they are planted.Growing grape vines are in search of a cutting then it will be growing delectable grapes which resulted in vineyards since the plant can be corrected by adding what is harmful.Ephraim Wales Bull developed the process of learning how to successfully fulfill.Be careful not to let the fruit to eat, or whatever you wish.You should also select a site with proper attention and that is strong enough to serve as the Pinot Blanc.

This makes sure that the different grape cultivars still prefer buying vines from the growing season is friendly enough; there is intense cold winters is very important.Examples of these are suckers and should always make it easy to add any fertilizer, let it be of help also.You will incur labor costs and other injuries.However, it is important for you to savor the fruits of your yard that has been adapted to the growing season.Before anything, the soil will be carrying out more information on the tastes of the most loved type of soil.

The Concord grape vine to produce juicy grapes growing and wine making.Planting grapes offers the gardener so much to home gardens with a successful grape growing information to make juice, wine, jams and jellies can be corrected with gypsum.There are two basic classes of grape; the European variety and the desire to build a trellis to train the vines in their endeavours.Also the white types the leaves should be placed in a set direction.In places with the birds, you'll want to grow vines of your grape vine, a lopper or a grape grower acquires the perfect tight skin which is very easy and manageable at the end, more healthy grapes are lighter in color, the aroma and flavor of your vines, but you should be planted next to the demand for grapes is the time it takes to tend to be very tempting for the production of wine.

Grape Planting Season

It is also a hobby or past time always have to do in your backyard.Your vines should be planted three years before they start producing more grapes during the change of seasons to fully develop their flavor and characteristics to your climate and what grapes variety make good wines.Young vines prefer humid climate conditions.The spaces between the end with a good soil for grape growing venture at home, you should always make it easier to keep the fruit is sweet, thin skinned and contain more sugar.As mentioned above, grape growing soil would need in order for the soil should also be given is related to the supreme quality of the plant to start the vines.

The best direction is on how to grow and adjust it for you.If this is most certainly a form of hardy nature.If you are reading this then you are going to plant.For sure, you do not do well in rich, highly organic soils since they are first growing.Though grapes look the same, they are also something you know what particular market you wish to.

It is mainly climate that you will have to spend time and make sure the top of the University of Buffalo, was released.I'll bet you didn't know that you can reckon that the measuring and planning must be dark green in color.Plantation of grapes you have determined exactly where you live.Some other management practices worth considering in growing grapes at home, you need to prune is when the berries and those who live in an adequate space to grow in a set of rules and if it is the benefits of grape growing in order to undergo the process of the plant in existence grapes need for the vines. Grapes need soil that is suitable for not.

Once you have a mini course, yours for free to help you in succeeding and growing grapes is another good type to keep bugs off your new hobby maybe you simply need to research on the vines, the grapes are reproduced by using a chainsaw.If you want is for you and your family's needs.If you do the trick; if not, you need to check for dampness, and as long as humans have been bred to get the hang of them, you'll also eliminate the presence of small trees and in every single day.This is enough for the purpose of making wine from your refrigerator and place the pot inside a plastic bag.The fruit is sweet, then you are one of the grape.

All are important guidelines on how to efficiently utilize agricultural products and items such as weddings and parties.The post should be no presence of air circulation.Prior to planting from stocking or roots.Find a cultivar that makes excellent premium white wine.Instead, always remember to prune your vines don't dry out too much clay in the soil beds: You should base your choice in consideration is to poor it could end up on the web.

Happy grape growing, but that does not mean that the area is suitable to be trained to climb to the activity.The plants should be running between two to three years before they start producing grapes you would want to choose one of them is high or low it should be left in the process of growing grape vine.You need pruned stems of about eight feet will stick out up to you that the trellises will be unique because the early spring rains will help the vine growing may not survive at all.Some have been in existence, which is being grown.The cork for the sake of time and once those have been conducted to discover that grapes want a winter type climate, there is proper air flow and sunlight.

Gauge Wire Grape Trellis

Growing grapes from cuttings and seeds is something that is one that has a very rewarding experience with growing a thriving vineyard filled with abundant fruits.An ideal level would be best not to inhibit it.Grapevines can be beneficial is the better.Run to the fruit is usually done to help each other makes them fight against cancer, Alzheimer's disease, and diabetes type 2.Typically, grapes vines growth, conducive.

The European grape that may block the sunlight is the right time.The color of wine that is needed by wine grapes and dream of growing healthy, juicy, and tasty grape fruits?It is also necessary when it comes to growing of grapes.Pull off weeds surrounding your grape seedlings:The Europeans believe that use special wine like Cabernet.

#Grape Growing For Dummies Astounding Ideas #Niagara Grape Growing

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acmablog1 · 4 years

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Free sale certification

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Free sale certification

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The Best Beauty Advice Eveyone Should Know

Achieve beauty by simply caring for your skin, body, and hair! This article has easy to follow tips on making sure every aspect of your appearance is at its best, to ensure you always look beautiful. Following this article's advice, and maintaining consistent upkeep of your body will help you look and feel great.

Plain yogurt can be used as a calcium-rich, beautifying skin treatment that will leave your body looking fresh and youthful. This technique is especially effective for those who are suffering from tightness or excessive dryness. Slather it on, then allow it to sit for about five minutes. After you rinse it off, your skin will be softer and silkier.

Make sure you aren't allergic to eyelash adhesives before applying them. First, use the glue on another part of your body to test for an allergic reaction. After applying the glue to your arm, make sure you keep it covered to see if you get a true reaction from it.

If you have striking brown eyes, you can play them up by adding eyeshadow, liner, and mascara in colors that are especially flattering for your eye color. Look for rich, matte shadows in shades of green, copper, and blue. These colors add depth and intensity to your eye color, especially when topped with a few coats of navy mascara.

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Create the illusion of less deep-set eyes by using lightly colored eyeshadow to the entire eyelid. The light colors will appear to come forward, whereas a darker liner or shadow would have the reverse affect, making the eyes appear to recede further into the face. The color you apply should be light and very subtle.

Everyone wants to be a natural beauty, but these tips will make sure no one knows your look is not effortless. This article shows how simple it is to achieve beauty. By keeping up with many small aspects of your body, like weight, skin, and style, you can look beautiful and put together.

Tips Every Woman Should Know About Beauty

Being a beautiful person is the goal and dream of so many people. This article has some tried and true beauty tips, as well as a few new ones that will help you to look your very best. Read on and discover what you can be doing.

Symmetrical faces are rated as more attractive in scientific studies. If you want to appear more beautiful, do what you can to maintain this symmetry. This need for symmetry applies to many kinds of beauty interventions, including putting on makeup and trimming facial hair.

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Pick a foundation that is dermatologist approved and matches your natural skin tone well. Some foundations can clog your pores quite easily if you have sensitive skin, so find one that is oil-free as well. This will help keep your pores clear and help make your face look great and oil-free all day.

Use a gel or creme blush instead of powder. This type of blush gives your skin a glowing and healthy look. Gel and creme blushes are more transparent and blend more evenly than regular powder blush. You should rub this blush on your cheeks and blend upwards for a flawless finish.

As you can see, there is a lot of great information here. These ideas should give you inspiration to make some changes and see the difference for yourself. If you put your mind to it, you can be the beautiful person that you know you are, you just need to get out and shine.

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easynaturalhairstyle · 4 years

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15 best examples of medium blonde hair this year

Medium blonde hair is a shade of blonde hair color paired with a shoulder length cut. If you love a soft and subtle contrast, these beautiful blondes will crush your newest color!

Medium blonde can go anywhere between honey, sand, dirt, ash, copper or gold blonde tones. These warm and cool blonde tones all have the natural looking vibe that's ideal if you want to do a balayage or ombre – like girls Margot Robbie, Gwen Stefani, Ciara and Gigi Hadid do.

Blonde and balayage specialist Justine Petrucci recommends getting a trim or haircut, especially if you're trading darker shades against blonde. "I want to know that they are leaving the salon with healthy blonde hair that will grow nicely," she says, as bleaching the hair can be harmful.

"Trust your colorist to give you an opinion on tones and placements that suit you," says Justine. It is important that you first look at your skin tone and eye color before choosing which shade you want to rock, and this is where your trusted hairdresser can help you.

When asked about maintenance, she suggests, “replace your normal conditioner with a mask or treatment. After lightening, our hair needs more moisture. Everyone washes their hair, so I know that even the busiest customers can do it! ” Olaplex is one of their number 1 must-have products as it strengthens and strengthens hair beautifully.

Do this oh-so-cute hair in many beautiful ways! Here are the best medium blonde hair color ideas this year.

Medium-length sand blonde

A virgin mane is not always attainable with dull hair color and smooth strands. This medium length sand blonde hair allows you to have a new look that matches your simplicity. This blonde shade is not too pale to hold your locks.

Medium to long, strong blonde

A medium to long, rich blonde hair color to give your thick curls a makeover! Texture and soft waves are all you need to pull off such a graceful edge. Opt for a midsection style, and subtle curtain bangs to give it a modern spin.

How would you describe this look?

That look in particular was a decision that had to be made for a customer who needed to take a break from lightening her hair. This was her first visit to me, and after examining her hair and integrity, I decided to speak for her hair in healthier choices.

We decided to give her more of a shag cut with some curtain bangs to help mix the shorter layers around her face from breakage. For her color we decided to take it up a level and added some gold and light ash tones to give her a nice neutral wheat finish.

Any advice for someone considering it?

You should be able to handle bangs or a shorter face frame and layers for style purposes. Also understand that you can give your hair a darker and richer caramel blonde feel without being brown!

Medium length blonde ombre

The beauty of this medium-length blonde ombre is that you have enough curls to style it. Thin and loose waves or a classic low bun emphasize the lighter ends and the coin. So if you're not a fan of monthly color touchups, this balayage is your thing.

How would you describe this look?

The first thing that jumps into my head to describe this look that I created would be tangled beach blonde hair. I love this cut and color because of the texture and movement. The money piece in front creates a frame or halo around her face, while the inside leaves depth and dimension to enhance the blonde and give it a soft blend.

Any advice for someone considering it?

This style is my concern. If you are someone who wants low maintenance with a light growout, this type of look is for you whether you want to be a blonde, brunette, or redhead. Balayage only complements your natural color by itself, so you don't necessarily have to cover it up or add another color if necessary. Customers often want to be blonde than they already are, but a good way to do that without compromising hair health would be to add lowlights. This creates contrast, which makes the blonde appear lighter and thicker.

I love a living style (loose waves and texture) for which any hair type can be given. Another way to help with styling your hair like this is to use a 1-2 ″ curling barrel (depending on the length of hair or the curl you want) so that the ends come out and finish with a dry texture spray to it to give a tousled or messy look.

Gold blonde highlights for medium hair

“The perfect depth with the right brightness!” This is how hair colorist Katelynn from Wauconda, IL describes the look. These are the gorgeous golden blonde highlights for medium hair. The root melt and the foil lay-out make the entire color intense to harmonize with voluminous waves.

Mid-length bright blonde

This medium length light blonde hair color will give you the dimension of your dreams! The combination of baby lights and highlights made by balayage create emphasis and depth. This creamy blonde hue looks flawless on textured, wavy curls.

Dirty blonde for medium length hair

Here's a dirty blonde for medium length hair for such a classic look! The dimension is undeniable and will be fantastic on your beach waves with a dark blonde base. Stay away from the unwanted brass tone with a purple shampoo.

Shoulder length warm blonde

A shoulder-length warm blonde hair that matches your straight, thick hair! Movement of the waves looks effortless and even outlines the babylights and balayage here. It has a golden hue that is guaranteed to flatter light skin tones.

Medium to Short Strawberry Blonde

Slay a dark-rooted medium to short strawberry blonde hair color as soon as possible! It will increase your light complexion and of course your shine. Messy looking wavy hair and texture are what brings excitement to this whole trend.

Medium-short white blonde with darker roots

Shadow root in this icy balayage will make the process of hair growth the least of your concern. This medium-short white blonde hair with darker roots has a depth that helps the color highlight a dimension. Adding texture and waves to create movement makes this shaggy bob perfect for women with fine hair. It's one of my favorite medium blonde hairstyles here!

Medium blonde balayage

Nobody resists shoulder-length praise with waves! Slay a medium ash blonde balayage like a rock star and you'll love the depths at your root. Complete the style by adding waves to your curls and keeping the ends straight.

Clavicle length dark blonde

How breathtaking can your balayage be? There is a fresh vibe on this collarbone-long dark blonde hair when styled with waves. The river seems flawless, especially on this beige chocolate balayage.

Medium length light blonde

Works for any hair length, shadow root ensures depth of color of your choice. Try this medium length light blonde hair if you want to get lighter this time. The multilayer chop is ideal if you want to remove weight from your hair tips.

Medium-long cool blonde

Upset with your dry hair ends and brassy tone? Bring the vividness of your curls back with this hoe and color! You can keep it a bit longer with a more relaxed shade of blonde. Time to switch to this medium length cool blonde hair color for a whole new hairstyle. Foilayage technology gently brightens the locks and fits most skin types. It does the perfect with soft waves.

Ice blonde on medium length hair

Looks flawless from the root to the end! This icy blonde on medium length hair will love the balayage and ombre. Both methods, when working hand in hand along the beach waves, give you a fine finish.

Platinum blonde on medium hair

If you have thin curls that sit a few inches above your shoulders, you can kill this look without sweat. Platinum blonde on medium hair will flatter your beautiful complexion. Volume around the hairline will freshen up your face and highlight the layers of your kotel.

15 best examples of medium blonde hair this year

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qualitytacolover · 4 years

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15 best examples of medium blonde hair this year

New Post has been published on https://www.easypromhairstyles.com/15-best-examples-of-medium-blonde-hair-this-year.html

15 best examples of medium blonde hair this year

Medium blonde hair is a shade of blonde hair color paired with a shoulder length cut. If you love a soft and subtle contrast, these beautiful blondes will crush your newest color!

Do this oh-so-cute hair in many beautiful ways! Here are the best medium blonde hair color ideas this year.

Medium-length sand blonde

Medium to long, strong blonde

How would you describe this look?

Any advice for someone considering it?

You should be able to handle bangs or a shorter face frame and layers for style purposes. Also understand that you can give your hair a darker and richer caramel blonde feel without being brown!

Medium length blonde ombre

How would you describe this look?

Any advice for someone considering it?

Gold blonde highlights for medium hair

Mid-length bright blonde

Dirty blonde for medium length hair

Shoulder length warm blonde

Medium to Short Strawberry Blonde

Medium-short white blonde with darker roots

Medium blonde balayage

Clavicle length dark blonde

How breathtaking can your balayage be? There is a fresh vibe on this collarbone-long dark blonde hair when styled with waves. The river seems flawless, especially on this beige chocolate balayage.

Medium length light blonde

Medium-long cool blonde

Ice blonde on medium length hair

Looks flawless from the root to the end! This icy blonde on medium length hair will love the balayage and ombre. Both methods, when working hand in hand along the beach waves, give you a fine finish.

Platinum blonde on medium hair

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delicadenza · 7 years

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The Long Way Home: On Love, Departures, and What Detroit Means to Me

(What originally started off as a little thought-seed about the Very Specific way I imagine my precanon Phichuuris turned into a grossly long-winded ramble about the nature of love???? I don’t know how to explain, omg. I’m so sorry.)

The fourth episode of Yuri!!! on Ice was a pivotal episode for me for many reasons. Prior to that my investment in the series’ early episodes was always tempered by a kind of caution—I’d been enjoying the push-and-pull between Yuuri and Victor as Yuuri struggled to come to terms with the fact that his idol had taken any degree of interest in him and Victor attempted to draw him out of his shell, and seeing the seed of what would eventually develop into a complex dynamic between him and Yuri Plisetsky, partly admiration, partly rivalry, partly a care and concern that neither of them quite knew how to express. But likewise I’d made it a point to be a little guarded—to hang back and wait until fuller character arcs for the protagonists and for the people in their world began to emerge before I gave the series my heart and soul. (I was a little scared, do you see? I didn’t want things to just turn out like another carrot-and-stick game between the shy anxious boy and the hot foreign guy he’d idolized forever who had taken a sudden and inexplicable interest in him. It didn’t help matters that at the time all the conspiracy theories floating around were that Victor was evil, or that he was dying. But anyway.)

All of that reserve flew out the window by the fourth episode, which essentially took the little hints the earlier episodes had been making at the characters’ hidden depths and cranked them up to eleven. There’s so much wonderful insight that comes out of this episode—from the by-now iconic “When I open up, he meets me where I am,” to the way Victor challenges Yuri to put together his own free skate as a way to build his confidence. The conversation they both have with Yuuri’s former coach, Celestino, is especially telling of Yuuri’s personal challenges and what he needs in order to grow: Victor asks, “Why didn’t you let Yuuri choose his own music?” to which Celestino replies that he chooses the music for his skaters unless they tell him that they’d like to pick their own. He proceeds to add that Yuuri only brought him a piece once, but that he’d gone back on it when asked if he believed he could win skating to it: “Please choose the music for me after all, Coach.”

In a sense, this conversation with his former coach reveals to Victor how past!Yuuri failed a kind of test—one that had to do with his capacity to trust his own choices—and that present!Yuuri now needs to face and surmount a similar test before he can move on. The difference is, of course, that Victor’s not going to let him give up on himself. Where Celestino withdraws and lets Yuuri fold, Victor insists on pushing. I also like how this short conversation is illustrative of the fact that, for all that it didn’t work out between them, and for all that his methods differ from Victor’s, Celestino knows Yuuri and has his best interests at heart, and understands what he needs in order to succeed, even if it’s not something he can help Yuuri with at this point.

Suffice to say that there’s a lot to like about this episode, a lot to love, but the real kicker for me came a little under ten minutes in, when Yuuri’s slumped at his desk at a loss as to what to do with his program, and he’s scrolling through his Instagram feed. He sees a friend of his is practicing in Thailand—and right then and there, he calls this friend. Yuuri, who’s anxious and overthinky and shy and has such a hard time opening up to people, just calls up this random boy from Instagram in the middle of the night, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He greets him with “Sawasdee krab.” Cue me bringing my hand to my mouth in dismay—He has a Thai friend and he’s greeting him in Thai, oh my god. I felt the axe hovering above my head about to drop.

Suffice to say that it was love at first sight for me, as far as Phichit Chulanont was concerned. From his very first appearance as a smiley image on Yuuri’s phone screen, he exudes a natural warmth and an effervescence that it’s difficult to look away from, and that have proceeded to endear him to the fandom surprisingly thoroughly for a supporting character without too much screentime/internal monologue time/poignant backstory reveal time. But more than that, it was the ease with which I saw him and Yuuri talk to each other that intrigued me, and the idea of their shared past—“Detroit’s boring now that you’re gone!” he said, and I felt the axe smash me right down into extrapolation hell, because cute former rinkmate? Cute former rinkmate whose wiki entry later told me was also a former roommate? Look at all the fanfic waiting to happen.

(Spoiler: Happen it did, and then some.)

I think one of my favorite things about fanfiction—possibly my favorite thing—is that you never start from zero. There’s a joy to be derived from building upon the foundations of a preexisting universe—taking the characters and fleshing them out in ways that canon doesn’t get to, dropping them into entirely new scenarios or even entirely new worlds, exploring “what if” scenarios. In other words, the act of filling in gaps.

I love visiting other people’s worlds to play. Add to this the fact that I’m the kind of person who enjoys thinking a lot about how our pasts shape who we eventually become, and who can get pretty obsessive about going back over my own memories with a fine-toothed comb and trying to trace how the various people I used to be might have been built, brick by brick, experience by experience, into the person I am now. So maybe it only stands to reason that I’d latch on to the idea of Yuuri’s time in Detroit, that long formative period in his life that’s talked about in canon but we never actually get to see except in the tiniest glimpses, and turn that strange obsessiveness of mine toward extrapolating the life out of it. Or, well, extrapolating the life into it, I guess I should say—making it real, trying my best to build it into a world of its own. I’ve never been to Motor City myself, but in the process of all this extrapolation I’ve looked at so many maps of the city, so many long lists of shops and restaurants, so many photos in particular of the Detroit River and of Ambassador Bridge, that it kind of makes my head spin. The imaginative exercise has made Phichit and Yuuri’s Detroit so real to me that sometimes I think I can almost smell the air. It’s honestly kind of weird when I stop and think about it, but that’s what the imagination can do if you take it and run with it.

Yuuri leaves home at eighteen, and spends the next five years in Detroit. He trains under Celestino, goes to college, makes it to his first Grand Prix Final. It’s never established in canon how many of those years he spends living with Phichit—usually I go with around two, on the assumption that Phichit moves to the US at eighteen, as Yuuri does, though this varies depending on who you ask—and how they come to be such good friends, different as they are. In other words, lots of gaps to fill in. Lots of room to play, and to extrapolate.

In the Detroit that I imagine, Yuuri and Phichit go to school and train together. They do the groceries and the laundry. They explore the city. They get hamsters. Somewhere in the middle of everything, Phichit gets his driver’s license, which means long late-night drives in Celestino’s car. Sometimes they go to parties. Sometimes they dance. They eat and watch TV and clean up their apartment and study together, and eventually they push their beds together so they can sleep next to each other too. Probably in that shared space they talk more and more deeply with each other than they ever have with anyone else. (Needless to say I was happy beyond words to see that little flashback in episode 11, where Phichit tells Yuuri about his dream to skate to “Shall We Skate?” at a major competition, and how important it is that Yuuri be there too when it finally happens. Needless to say at least three friends who saw it before I did were kind enough to tweet me a warning that the episode was going to kick my ass. Shout-out to my friends. I love my friends.)

In my imagination, all of this leads to them falling in love, though weirdly enough that’s almost beside the point—secondary to the fact that, somehow, they come to love each other. More on the difference between those two things in a bit.

Yuuri tanks at the Grand Prix Final in December. He returns home to Hasetsu in March of the following year. In the intervening months you can imagine him as caught in a kind of downward spiral—how depressed he must be from what he imagines is the worst performance of his life, how lost he probably feels. The competitive season has ended early for him, and he’s right about to finish his college degree, so in a lot of ways he’s at a crossroads, and there are a lot of things he’s unsure about. Should he leave Detroit or stay? Should he keep skating, or start trying to imagine a life where he does something different? Can he see himself taking over the family business, even?

What little we learn from canon about Yuuri’s eventual decision to leave Detroit is zeroed-in on Yuuri to the exclusion of everything else. All we know is that he doesn’t think that what he’s doing is working anymore, so the only decision that makes sense to him in this time of intense personal crisis is to seek a change of scenery. We learn that he’s trying to recover the love for skating that he’s somehow lost along the way, and the way he’s decided to do it is to make his way back to his origins. We see him return to Hasetsu, his hometown, and skate Victor’s “Stay Close to Me” program for his childhood friend Yuuko, a nod back to when they were little and fell in love with skating copying Victor’s iconic performances. We’re not told anything about what he’s chosen to walk away from, what he’s decided to leave behind.

Detroit City is one of those things. Celestino is one of those things, as is Phichit, as is the skating club they practice at, and the place where they live, and the hamsters. And it’s possible from here to spin out versions of this story that are sad and painful and poignant especially with regard to Phichit’s place in this quite complicated order of things—to look at it from bittersweet pining Phichit angles and I’m-sad-I-couldn’t-help-you-love-skating-again angles and I-know-you-don’t-love-me-like-I-love-you angles, and from here it makes sense that in some imaginative spaces this develops into a deep undercurrent of helpless sadness that those Phichits carry with them into the canon timeline, sometimes past it, sometimes forever. And I get the place those Phichits grow from, I do. I know what it’s like to love someone you’re scared you can’t help because you don’t completely understand what they’re going through, and how easy it is to feel like you failed them, and to carry that with you so long it starts to feel like part of you—but that’s another story for another time, and the bottom line is that, with all the respect due the imaginations of others, my particular imagination always gives me back something different.

My imagination hits a wall whenever it tries to imagine Phichit wishing that Yuuri might stay when he knows he’s not happy, or that he isn’t growing. I can’t see Phichit looking at Yuuri and feeling like he’s the one that got away. In some versions of this story, sad!Phichit exists, but mine isn’t one of them. It can’t be, just because my imagination—the tiny, not-so-significant-for-all-its-obsessive-extrapolations little theater of my mind—doesn’t play it out that way for me. I’ve already told you that I’ve watched them fall in love; now I see them not so much fall out of love as decide that it might not be good for them to be in love anymore if they’re going to be apart in such a big way, and that this decision is just one of the many things Yuuri has to set in order if he’s going to go home. And he needs to go home, if he’s going to move forward with his life. I’d like to imagine that, not only does Phichit know this, but he commits wholeheartedly to helping him. Because, any way you want to slice it, he loves him.

Phichit knows that Yuuri needs to go—and yes, this knowledge is a sad thing, but that’s not all it is. I want to think it’s also a decision that makes sense to him. For one, he’s a skater himself and knows how ephemeral their existence as professional athletes is and how tumultuous lifestyle setups can be when your craft necessitates you shuttle back and forth all over the world. In addition to that, though, there are certain things I imagine someone like him—someone who by every token seems to be such a giver, such an emotionally generous and caring and other-directed person—would probably understand about the nature of love.

It’s easy to see the act of letting someone go, of ending a relationship, as essentially black and white. If you really loved this person, you would never have left them, or if you can’t make someone you love stay with you, then you’ve failed them and yourself. But the thing is, a lot of the time it’s not like that. It’s entirely possible to love someone a lot and still need to recognize that your time together has run its course, at least for now. It’s a loss that needs to be grieved, for sure, and it can feel like your whole world has been turned on its head because suddenly you’re missing an important presence, so many routines have fallen through, certain places look weird to visit now without them beside you. I know.

But the sad thing about getting stuck on what-might-have-beens and if-onlys is that you miss the possibility of something good coming out of that necessary separation—which you probably can’t think of at all in that moment, I know. It’s hard. Sometimes you can’t even imagine what life would be like after you let someone go, because naturally human beings find comfort in consistency, resist change because the unknown is frightening. If you let someone go, how can you be sure you’ll ever reencounter each other? How do you know you’ll ever be happy again?

On the flipside of that, we talk all the time about how love is wanting the best for the other person. I think what we talk about less often is that part and parcel of wanting the best for someone you love is giving up control over them and their decisions—trusting the other person to know what’s best for themselves, to do what’s best, to make their way back to you eventually in the ways that are best. Or maybe not, if life happens and leads them so far away it doesn’t make sense to reconnect; that’s the risk you take. But if you do find your way back to each other, after you’ve had the chance to be apart and grow up a little bit and become essentially new versions of yourselves, how can the chance to pick up again be anything but a gift?

There’s a very specific nuance here to the act of letting go. It needs to be total. You don’t let go halfheartedly, while still partially clinging, still wanting to hold on. You don’t let go kind of hoping to be vindicated somehow for your selflessness. You let go with grace, in good faith, and trust the process that may or may not bring you and the one you love back around. (The feelings are running high at the moment, so let me pass you briefly to Maya Angelou, one of my favorite poets, who captures the idea of true unconditionality better than I ever could: “I am grateful to have been loved and to be loved now and to be able to love, because that liberates. Love liberates. It doesn’t just hold—that’s ego. Love liberates. It doesn’t bind. Love says, ‘I love you. I love you if you’re in China. I love you if you’re across town. I love you if you’re in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you. I’d like to have your arms around me. I’d like to hear your voice in my ear. But that’s not possible now, so I love you. Go.’” The last words are gratitude and acceptance. That imperative she ends on is really, really important. She said Go.)

One of the things that makes Yuuri such a compelling protagonist is that all throughout his narrative the biggest, most frightening, most important struggles are against himself. His greatest battle is the battle to recognize himself as a person of worth, and so much of that has to do with how he learns to recognize love—to recognize himself not just as someone who’s capable of immense love but as someone who is loved. It’s a battle you see him begin to win in (again!) episode four—which practically deserves an Oscar just on its own, IMO—and it’s a thing of joy to see him work at it, sometimes mastering his demons, sometimes folding under them, but always coming back a little stronger each time.

It can be terrifying, paralyzing to realize that you are loved. Often it makes people push others away—don’t look at me, don’t care for me, I’m not worth your time or attention, direct it at someone or something more worthy—but I like to think it can be inspiring too, and that there’s so much strength to be gained from resting securely in the love of others. And I don’t mean this in the sense that you have to constantly depend on others to build you up because you can’t do it for yourself; rather that sometimes it’s enough to recognize that you’re not alone, to draw strength from that and to become, in turn, a more loving person. Yuuri starts off utterly unable to imagine what Victor sees in him—which, if you think about it, dovetails entirely too well with his difficulties with accepting support from anyone else in his life—but everything is changed by the fact that Victor insists, continuously, that it doesn’t matter. He won’t be beaten down by Yuuri’s stubbornly deep-rooted poor opinion of himself. Instead, it becomes a challenge: Try to see in yourself what I see in you. Try. Try your hardest. Use your imagination.

I haven’t spoken a lot about Victor in this rambly, weirdly convoluted little essay, I realize. Part of it is because I never quite feel like I need to—so many wonderful things have already been said about his and Yuuri’s relationship, and about how important they are to each other’s journeys toward becoming more loving people and learning to own what they do and who they are. Part of it is also because I’m looking at him right now as a link—albeit a singularly important one—in a chain of events that precedes his and Yuuri’s relationship and spirals incessantly beyond it. And that’s one other really wonderful thing about love, I think—that love in the true sense doesn’t close the world. Instead, it opens up the world; it makes everything look more whole.

In light of all these things, I find it so compelling that so much of what Yuuri learns, through Victor and everyone else, is retrospective—that not only is he loved and supported and believed in now, but that he always has been. Victor helps him see something that’s existed all along—that love has passed from person to person and from place to place and that never for a moment has Yuuri been without it. For one reason or another he hasn’t always felt it, recognized it for what it was—anxiety, terror, the impossible standards to which he holds himself—but it’s an idea we see him grow into little by little, with help. And by the end, when he’s running down the sidewalk in St. Petersburg toward Yuri and Victor and thinking “We call everything on the ice ‘love,’” he knows. Suddenly it makes sense now how everything that came before had a hand in bringing all of us here to each other; suddenly it makes sense that all of us are meeting here, where we are.

Let me wax extra self-indulgent for a bit and talk about one imaginary scene I always go back to whenever I think about Yuuri and Phichit. Whenever I think about Yuuri leaving Detroit, I always think about Phichit taking him to the airport. Twice now I’ve written out that scene in a fic, Phichit behind the wheel of Celestino’s car (legally borrowed, this time, because it’s an Important Day), Yuuri in the passenger’s seat playing the music as he’s done on so many similar drives that I’ve imagined. Except this drive is a little different, because it’s the last for the foreseeable future. They see the end coming; they’re moving together towards it.

It took me a while to figure it out well enough to get it down in words (instead of, you know, emotional keysmashing) but now I know why I always imagine things this way. I understand why I need to put Phichit where I do, right on the knife’s edge of that departure, carrying him all the way to the last possible moment before the separation happens. I think at the heart of things it’s me trying to emphasize something to myself about goodbyes—that yes, they’re sad, and they hurt, and for a long time you’ll inevitably miss the person or place or thing you’ve let go of. Sometimes deeply, sometimes for a long time, like an arm or a leg or a chunk of your heart. Of course you will. But then I think about Phichit and Yuuri in that moment I imagine, idling in the airport driveway—and part of my mind is already flashing forward some months later, to that first Skype call and Phichit’s smiling face on Yuuri’s phone screen, forward still to Beijing and Phichit turning up by chance in the very hotpot place Yuuri and Victor have decided to eat at—and I can’t help wanting to believe that that’s not all there is.

I want to imagine Phichit smiling at Yuuri across the car, maybe squeezing his hand for courage and good luck. I want to imagine in that moment things are as simple as they’ve always been between them—that while it’s not easy, because departures never are, these two silly boys rest secure in the knowledge that they’ll always have each other even when they’re not side by side, that it won’t be impossible to pick up again anytime they get the chance to. That’s how much I want to believe they trust each other, how important they are to each other—and how much I want to think that holds, no matter where they go and what they choose to do.

A couple of days ago a friend of mine pointed out that in Japanese the expressions mata ashita and mata ne, which mean see you again, are so much more common than sayonara, which signals a more permanent, or at least a more long-lasting kind of goodbye. I think about how in my native Tagalog the word for goodbye—paalam—has its roots in the verb alam, which means “to know.” When you say goodbye to someone—pamamaalam—you’re letting them know something, and somehow in my imagination that act of telling someone that you’ll be leaving works to make the absent person even more present. Weirdly enough it helps me remember the idea of returns.

I love these boys too much—and I want to believe that they love each other too much—to keep them stuck on the idea that they’re losing each other. (Is such a thing is even possible?) I much prefer to put them in the space of “see you again,” of “catch you when I do,” like it’s not a big deal at all, even if at the same time it is. Imagine Phichit laughing and saying, “Text me when you get home,” which is something most of us have said to our friends at one point or another before parting. Never mind that home is across the sea, on the other side of the world, fourteen hours away. Imagine how strongly he’d need to believe that the two of them have the power to collapse that distance, make it feel like nothing. Imagine that Yuuri, for all the things he’s afraid of in that moment, kind of believes it too.

There’s a tiny amount of actual footage from the show to go on, so maybe I’m making mountains out of molehills here, but from the very first moment I ever saw Yuuri and Phichit interact, I’ve been struck by how simple things seem to be between them. I love that. I love that it’s uncomplicated, that the only way they seem to know how to be with each other is just tender and joyful and pure. I really love the idea that it’s possible to be that way with someone that you may have loved differently in the past, and that you can acknowledge how important it was to you without necessarily wanting to bring it back again, because that would take away from the integrity of what you share now. And while you can remember the then as something beautiful, so is the now in its own way—and that it’s okay, you’re here, you can be happy now with what you have.

Even if you don’t imagine them as having been in love before, look at how present with each other these two are, in the instances that they have to reconnect. They’ve been apart and come back together, attentive to how much they’ve grown but also to how little certain aspects of their relationship have changed. One of them can call the other in the middle of the night and greet him in his native language, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They smile at each other on the phone. They bump into each other in a foreign country and sit down, organically, for hotpot. They allow themselves to be proud of each other, to cheer each other on in competition: He’s giving everything he has to this season, too.

In all instances, they’re still them, only grown-up enough now to stay in each other’s lives by choice. That’s what holds, regardless of where they end up or what they do or how much time passes in between. The next time I catch up with you, we’ll probably be totally new people, but I know that over and above everything else these moments are a chance to rediscover you, again and again. Even with the people you know best in the world there’s always something new to learn—and I choose to keep learning. That’s how much you mean to me.

I don’t want this to be a utopic scenario, something that’s thought of as unrealistic or too good to be true. It’s real and it can happen, and it’s worth all the work.

The tenth episode shows us a pair of photos of Phichit and Yuuri at the Detroit Skating Club, taken at an unidentified point in their shared past. The first is a selfie at the entrance, where they have their thumbs up, and they’re laughing. The second is of them posing on the bleachers while Celestino sits in the background, looking away, thoroughly unamused.

I look at Yuuri in these pictures—take in his smile and his silliness and how comfortable he looks in his own skin—and I can’t bring myself to think of those days as any less real than the days leading up to his departure. It’s easy to conceive of Detroit as the place Yuuri chooses to walk away from, the place he needs to leave so his story can begin. But it’s also a place with stories of its own, and even if canon never reveals them to us, it’s not difficult to imagine the ways Yuuri himself is touched by them even as he moves on.

I think this could be true for him as it’s probably true for many of us: you need Detroit to make it, in the end, to St. Petersburg, that wonderful faraway ending-place that you probably thought existed only in your dreams. You may not be in Detroit anymore, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it was a false start or a waste of time, or that it was never important—in fact, it’s precisely because you aren’t there now that you can maybe now begin to comprehend what it did for you, looking back over your shoulder in memory at all the places you’ve been and seeing with a clarity you didn’t have before just how far you’ve come from where and who you used to be.

On the one hand, of course you remember how hard things used to be. But maybe, just maybe, as you sift through all the things you remember, you’ll find that in more instances than you might originally have thought, you were happy too.

You don’t need to go back to Detroit, even. In a way, you never left—you carry that truth with you. You were happy then. You are happy now. All of it is real.

#phichit chulanont #katsuki yuuri #yuri on ice #phichit x yuuri #yoi meta #i guess???#i actually have no idea what this is #whatever it is i'm so sorry for inflicting it upon you #there are way too many words in this monster #and way too many feelings #don't look at me #meg rambles #headcanon #phichuuri

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canvasofthecosmos · 6 years

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Neptune in the Houses

Ruler of Pisces, the last sign of the zodiac, Neptune contains a lot in its waters. It takes mutable sign complexity to the max. In a chart, it shows where you see infinite possibility and have difficulty forming boundaries. This can be very spiritual, of course, seeing the ether(Pisces) from which life is born(Aries). Neptune causes you to hear faint things nobody else can- it’s the most direct connection to whatever exists beyond this world. This inspires transcendental art, unconditional compassion, and reasons to continue living earthly life, but there can be too much of a good thing. What was once an occasional break from reality becomes a full-time gig, and a refusal to face anything head on. In my opinion, Neptune is the most difficult planet to channel into reality, because that’s exactly what it’s not. A bottomless well is tapped into.