#an absolute iconic look. now give us a full head of pink hair

[seo-changbinnies]

my favorite binnie looks (199/∞)

[bubblyhoney]

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

-

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

-

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

[in-ky]

An Old Scent [2] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: Eventual smut, A/B/O dynamics, cheating, angst, age gap, Negan, a bit of gore if you squint

A/N: ok so everything is written i'm just gonna stagger posting a little bit :') 2.7k words

The first thing I woke up to in the morning was a dull ache in my lower abdomen. Great. My heat was starting up again. Growing up, Bee always asked why I never went on suppressants. I always got a bad vibe from them. Then, a few years ago, a large brand got recalled because it was shown to cause cancer in a lot of different patients. Now suppressants were harder to come by, more regulated, and needed a doctor's prescription. A lot of omegas took the hit hard, but out of it came an influx of at-home ways to take care of your heats by yourself. Super helpful for a single girl like me. When my heats started to get really bad around my junior year of high school, Bee took me out on a shopping spree and got me a bunch of toys to try and satisfy myself. It worked for a while, but they got worse as the years passed. By my age, a lot of omegas were already claimed and had an alpha to help them through their heats. I was still relying on the toys Bee had bought me. The box was tucked neatly under my bed, waiting for me. I rolled over with a small groan and sighed. The heat wouldn't be in full swing for another few days or so, so I could still go to the courthouse with my dad. Speaking of, I heard Rick shuffling down the hall and slid out of bed, gathering my bathroom stuff and walking out of my room into the small tiled room to start the day.

~~~

"So you weren't at the garage on the night of the eight?" Negan hummed, leaning against the railing in front of the tv. His eyes were glued to the face of the man sitting on the stand. The poor guy was drenched in a nervous sweat, tight blue shirt sucking at his chubby neck. He swallowed thickly and leaned forward to the microphone.

"That's correct," he croaked.

"Oh, Jeremy," Negan chuckled, shaking his head and looking at his feet. "Don't you know perjury is a criminal offense?"

"I-I'm not lying!"

"Is that so?" The alpha held up the remote to the TV "I have some footage here that directly contradicts your story, man. One last chance." He wiggled the remote teasingly and raised his eyebrows. Jeremy held his ground. "Alrighty then, let's see what we have here." He took a step back and furrowed his brow at the remote and pressed a button. The screen in front of him came to life. I had to lean forward in order to see the video, but in reality it wasn't the security tape I was watching. It was him. I couldn't look away. He had dominated the room for the past hour and a half. His deep voice was never raised, but it still carried a commanding tone that had every person sitting on the stand shaking in their boots. My eyes trailed down his body. His suit clung to him in every perfect way. His hair was slicked back in its iconic style and the way his glasses perched on his face made my insides burn. Part of me regretted seeing him like this so close to my heat, but another part couldn't imagine if I hadn't. Rick leaned over and tapped my elbow.

"We've got him now for sure." He whispered in my ear. A smile formed on my lips as I nodded to him. There was a child-like joy on his face. He really did appreciate my presence. I turned my attention back to the video screen. The footage was fuzzy, but there was a clear figure of a woman standing still hunched over what I presumed was her phone. She was texting away, fingers flying over her screen. Suddenly a large figure, who had the same height and build as Jeremy, slunk out from the shadows. He slowly approached the woman from behind and raised a crowbar high above his head. He swung it down with brutal force. There were small gasps of horror from the jury and the crowd as the crowbar connected solidly with the woman's head. She collapsed in a heap, but Jeremy didn't stop beating her until she was a pile of mush. Negan clicked the TV off.

"Well, shit, Jeremy," He boomed "I do in fact think you are lyin' to me." He tossed the remote down on his table top and gave a grim scoff. "Everyone just saw you turn poor Miss Parker's head into your personal punching bag. You still wanna claim you were no where near there?" All of the color had drained from Jeremy's round face. He swallowed again, tugging at his restricting collar. But soon, his face turned a deep shade of pink and he slammed his beefy palms on the flat surface of the box he was sitting in.

"That bitch deserved it!" He howled, gasping for air. "She had no business-" He stopped when Negan raised his hand silently.

"I really don't care," He sighed, turning around and grinning broadly when he saw the defense team resting their heads in their hands in defeat. "I'll let the jury do the rest, your honor."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Smith." The judge said, voice prickling with annoyance. Negan returned to his bench and pulled out his seat. But before he sat down he gave Rick a small thumbs up. And I could have sworn that he flashed me a little smile as well.

~~~

"You were incredible in there!" I cheered, giving Negan a high five. The contact made my skin tingle, but I passed it off as the consequences of the impact. "You really made that guy tremble like a kid!"

"It's what I do," Negan chuckled deeply. He looked around me and furrowed his brow. "Where's your dad?"

"He's pulling the car around," I said "I just figured I should let you know how good you did before I leave." He was so close. He smelled so good. The same combination of whiskey and campfire that could get me drunk in a few breaths. I was so focused on his intoxicating musk that I didn't notice the group of alphas that were headed our way. Negan did, though. I heard a rumbling from his chest and felt a hand clasp around my shoulder. Confusion clouded my mind and I looked up to him for some answers.

"The next case is starting soon," He said smoothly "Let's go wait for your dad outside." I agreed and he steered me out onto the steps of the courthouse. The short skirt and heels I was wearing weren't exactly comfortable for walking down stairs, so I held onto Negan's forearm as he guided me down to street level. There was a small breeze and I saw his jaw tense as a soft gust of wind swirled up from behind me and into his body. It no doubt carried my scent on it, and an alpha like Negan could probably tell what state I was in.

"So," I sighed, looking to engage him further "What's next?"

"Well," He tilted his head and ran a hand over his bear-covered chin. "Jeremy goes to jail. Your dad and the department get praise. And I get to go to the bar for a celebratory drink." He paused for a moment, looking me up and down quickly. "You want to join me?" I opened my mouth to say something. To be honest, I wasn't sure what I was going to say. I didn't really drink, but I was willing to do absolutely anything that Negan wanted. But it was then that Rick rounded the corner and gave the horn a little honk.

"I would love to," I settled on "But dad has a full day of father-daughter fun times planned, and I don't really want to keep him waiting." I gestured awkwardly to where Rick was sitting in the car, bopping his head gently to incoherent music.

"Totally understand, doll." He grinned.

"Maybe another time, though?"

"For sure."

"See you around, Negan."

"Bye, doll, have fun. And be safe"

~~~

Negan was pleasantly buzzed, as per usual. He got off his motorcycle and hung his helmet on the handlebar before lightly stumbling into the house from the dark garage. The sight he saw he did not expect. There sat his fiancé in the living room, arms crossed over her chest with a pissed expression on her face. And beside her was a woman he knew all too well.

"The hell is goin' on here?" He asked, slurring his words slightly.

"I could ask you the same thing, Negan."

"Lucille, what the fuck is she doing in our house?"

"Oh, so you know her?" Lucille growled. Negan just licked his lips and flicked his gaze between the two women sitting in front of him. "Of course you do. You have been fucking her after all." Negan groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"Baby, please-" He started, but Lucille cut him off.

"Don't you dare," She hissed, jumping to her feet and balling her hands into fists "You don't get to call me that after what you've done, Negan. You slept with another woman. Hell, maybe more than one. You ruined our relationship." Negan took a step forward but Lucille raised her hand and pointed to the kitchen table. "Don't take another step. Your stuff is in that box." Negan looked to see a cardboard box sitting alone in the dark kitchen, his belongings poking out of the top. "I never want to see you in my house again."

"Lucille, can't we just talk about this? You don't understand." He pleased, extending a hand to her. She batted it away.

"There's nothing to talk about." She spat "You cheated on me, Negan! What is there to understand? How can you expect me to forgive you for that?" A moment of silence passed between them. The other woman shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Negan glared at her before turning his eyes back to his now ex-fiancé.

"I have no where to stay." He whispered.

"That's not my problem." Lucille said boldly "Take your shit and leave. Don't come back. We're done."

~~~

I stirred the pot of spaghetti while humming a song I heard on a radio earlier. The father-daughter activities had consisted of driving around town and revisiting old spots we used to go to when I was younger. We got ice cream at the shop down the street and then watched the sun set at the park that we used to picnic at. It was nice. College did really fix our relationship. The TV in the next room hummed quietly and Rick was talking on the phone with someone. I heard him hang up and walk into the kitchen.

"Think there's enough in there for three?" He asks with a sigh, looking over my shoulder.

"Should be, why?" I return, meeting his gaze. He takes a deep breath and scratches his neck.

"Um, well, Negan's fiancé kicked him out of the house. Apparently she found out he was cheating on her. He doesn't have anywhere to stay." He mumbled "He's gonna be sleeping here for a bit." I stopped stirring. The water started to bubble too close to the top, but I blew a gust of air to push it down.

"Why here?" was all I could muster.

"He really helped me with your mom. It's the least I can do."

I just hummed in acknowledgement and returned to my cooking. So Negan was engaged. And he CHEATED on his fiancé? Maybe I didn't know Negan as well as I thought I did...

~~~

"I just can't believe she kicked me out!" Negan seethed, shoveling a spoonful of spaghetti into his mouth. He was still chewing when he continued. "She didn't even give me a chance to explain myself!"

"I hate to say it, but you did cheat on her, buddy," Rick said carefully, not wanting to poke the angry alpha in the wrong way "She's upset."

"I was in a rut." Negan growled.

"For four months?"

I was making a plate for myself, listening to the conversation from across the room. Rick's phone buzzed on the kitchen table and he picked it up.

"Sorry, I have to take this." He sighed, shaking his head and standing to his feet. He left the room and suddenly it was just me and Negan. I took my plate to the opposite head of the table, watching Negan wolf down his dinner.

"This shit is really good, sweetheart," He groaned. Normally, the noise would have sent me over the moon. But there were so many other emotions clouding my mind. "You ever consider changing your major to culinary arts?" I didn't say anything, just twirled my fork in my serving of pasta.

"Why'd you do it?" I said quietly, almost in a whisper. Negan paused instantly.

"What?"

"Why'd you cheat on her?" My eyes never left my plate but I could hear him shifting in his seat, rubbing his face while trying to answer my question.

"I don't know," He said. His voice was soft, sincere. Something I had never heard from him before. My eyes drifted up and met his. They were the same tawny color, but there was something else behind them. Something I couldn't distinguish. "I thought...Something was off in our relationship. I guess I thought that I could fix it by trying something different. I ran into Tanya at a bar a few months ago. She's a beta, just like Lucille. Wanted to be with an alpha. I gave in. Just for a quick fuck, didn't mean anything. I didn't like her. I told her that but...she...she wanted more, I guess. She fucking threatened me. Threatened to ruin my life unless I kept seeing her. I chose to do it. I don't know if that decision was the right one or not but it's the one I made. I texted her last night to tell her it was over. Never fucking thought she would come to my home." I was chewing the inside of my cheek the whole time he was speaking. I didn't know how much of his story was true, but he sounded like he was hurting.

"Why did you break it off?" I whispered.

"That's your damn question?" He scoffed, giving a short smile. He looked in my eyes. I knew the answer. Or at least I thought I did. He opened his mouth, but Rick reentered the room before he could say anything.

"Alright, sorry about that guys," He said, slipping back into his seat. "What did I miss?"

~~~

Negan was set up in the bedroom next door to mine. Our doors faced each other from across the hall. We would have to share a bathroom. Rick didn't seem to have a problem with it, but with my heat starting I wasn't too sure about the whole arrangement. I felt more cramps riddle my body. I was ready to bed, ready to curl up in a ball and go to sleep, but something called me across the hall. Curiosity got me and I turned slightly, walking up and leaning on the doorframe. There was Negan, clad in grey sweatpants and a black tank top, unpacking his things.

"Hey," I said quietly, not wanting to startle him. He turned around. He looked older like this, hair unkempt and his glasses on. When he saw me his lips curled in a smile. Any trace of vulnerability I had seen earlier was now gone.

"Hey to you."

"I just want to apologize for earlier," I said "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm also sorry that you have to be subjected to me and my dad for the foreseeable future." He let out a snicker and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, doll. And you're not that bad. I appreciate Rick; he's a good man." He scratched his beard and looked over at the clock next to the bed. "It's late, you should get some rest." He took a deep breath and I nodded. I turned to leave but he called my name softly. "You know I meant what I said last night, you are looking good." I smiled but didn't say anything and crossed the hall, shutting my door and hopping into bed.

[dehydratedpool]

hello again!! it’s the beginning of a new month, meaning a new fic rec post!! here are some fics that i read this month that are just... exquisite and deserve all the love and attention <3 

there aren’t as many as last time unfortunately, since i was quite busy this past month, but i promise next month won’t fall short! ((fics that i’ve reread this month are indicated with a **))

Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table [11k] by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or; The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

--> this is a new comfort fic for me tbh. i got rec’d this after louis tweeted about getting his wisdom teeth removed, and i’m so SO glad i decided to give it a read. it’s so precious and lovely and personally, i found it to be a quick read. it’s the kind of fic that makes me both warm and fuzzy inside but also highly upset that i’m single and will surely be alone forever

Just Let Me [14k] by HelloAmHere 

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

--> ok LISTEN. as some of you know, i just recently got into reading a/b/o fics and this one is definitely at the top of my fave a/b/o fics out there. it’s an interesting take on the trope, almost a bit more realistic in my opinion, and to quote the author’s note, “’what if a/b/o but less biological determinism?’”. i believe i found this one through a masterpost of “touch-deprivation fics”, so if that’s your thing, give this one a chance!

my ugly mouth kept running [4k] by theankletattoo @hadestyles

Another seed, another try except they know what caused the first wilt. They will be careful, they will be kind and together they will nurture it to life.

sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

--> rori, the author, never fails to disappoint when it comes to all of her works. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, she’s so incredibly fucking talented it’s unreal. her imagery is so vivid and real it leaves simultaneously everything and nothing to the imagination. as usual, h and l’s dynamic in this is an addicting portion to this fic that has you anticipating how their dynamic will shift and grow up until the end. if you’ve yet to read any of rori’s work, i suggest you add that to your to-do list for the month, and get a head start to her collection with this one!

**As Wicked As Anything Could Be [21k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter

It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

--> i discovered this fic a while ago on a whim and i have zero regrets. this is absolutely on my top ten fave fics list (that has yet to exist but perhaps i’ll post it one day). whoknows is a well known author within the fandom, so i’m sure i don’t have to say much about their immense talent, but SERIOUSLY, their plot progression, even their use of dialogue is wonderful in every way. as a writer, i envy them lmao. this fic takes me on a rollercoaster every time i read it, it’s yet another comfort fic of mine and never fails to disappoint every time i pick it up again. please, do yourselves a favor this april and read this.

Keeping The Flame Alive [19k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter 

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

--> yes, for the first time in dehydratedpoolfics history of fic recs even tho i’ve only been doing this for a month i am rec’ing the same author twice, but seriously, how could i not??? this fic took me on a literal journey like... wtf. i have no words. seriously, i have none, i’m just that blown away, go read it for yourself .

**a trail of honey through it all [27k] by bruisedhoney @yvesaintlourent 

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

--> okay look. i may or may not have a slight obsession with this fic. i reread it constantly, mostly for the iconic line, “are we fuckin’ or fightin’?”, because how can i not scream over that?? ((also patiently waiting for the sequel)) this is a literary masterpiece, one that defines an entire generation of this fandom i stg. but in all seriousness, hayley, the author, does such a wonderful job of giving the reader a vivid look into “nowhere, georgia”, and as a southern gal myself, i absolutely adore the itty bitty pieces of southern culture embedded into this, the tiny quirks that make this fic authentic. i could probably go on forever on why this fic is so iconic, but perhaps you should read it for yourself instead *wink* *wink*

SO. that’s all for this month!! if you read any of these, first of all, be sure to read the tags and author’s note (if any) before starting, AND please don’t forget to leave a quick kudos or comment, it means more than you may ever know <3

[writingsfromhome]

Lookalike

Request: Can you do another cone song? Maybe lookalike or maniac? [Can you do it like harry dates a lookalike of you?]

A/N: I know this is way later than I said, I honestly wrote four version of this and deleted them before settling on this one and it’s still not the best. I’m just posting it so I can move on to my other ideas. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Soz it ends kinda on a cliffhanger, I didn’t want to make it super long. It already feels really long.

———————————

It was a humid summer evening, not the kind of evening you wanted to step out in. But here I was, in line with my best friend Jules who’d somehow gotten word of this pop-up club that was recently getting more popular with social media. The location would be dropped in code somewhere online for a limited time and then the rest was just word of mouth. Jules worked as a makeup artist so she usually knew what the “in crowd” was doing. This time, she knew where the club was going to be.

Myself, I was just a recent masters-graduate with low job prospects and big time loans. Always tired, single, and at the moment, very, very sweaty. The humidity was really damaging the effort I’d put in for this night out.

“Do you think we’ll spot Ed Sheeran?” Jules asks, her one true desire. “Then I can finally tell him how much he means to me.”

“Don’t know if this is Ed’s scene,” I tease her. “He seems more like a laid-back pub sort of guy.”

“You’re so right,” she still peers around us. “You hoping to see any celebs here? This one’s the biggest so far I’ve heard.”

His face pops into my head but I slam my guard down. “I’ll be lucky just to find a cute guy.”

“Two of you?” The bouncer asks Jules as we make our way to the front-she looked twelve, and we finally head inside. We’d stepped into a storybook.

Vines and tiny lights covered the ceiling and floors, rays of green and pink lights flash around us and the ground was littered with flower petals.

“Oh my god the seats are trees,” Jules whispers in my ear. This was insane.

“They probably have themed drinks,” I grab Jules’ hand and pull her to where I see the bar. We loved a good themed drink.

“This is amazing,” Jules shouts. “I think I just saw Adele!”

On a second look, we decide it was Adele’s doppleganger but we’re soon preoccupied by drinks. I order a Cosmic Boom and take another look around the open space. It was getting pretty full, people dancing but a lot of people hanging about talking.

Jules and I take our drinks to the dancefloor and enjoy ourselves. This was new all over-enjoying myself. I’d spent the last five months working hard at school, job searching, and then a bit of travel. But I was so busy convincing myself that if I worked hard enough I’d forget about the awful year I’d had. Would forget about Harry and the way he left me.

Nobody would believe it, but Harry Styles was my boyfriend for a solid year. We’d met when I was visiting Jules on set of some talk show. He’d been there, after his interview, and mistakened me for backstage crew. He asked me to show him where his room was. He’d been so embarassed when I told him I didn’t work there, but I volunteered to help him find it anyway. I was just killing time ‘til Jules was done.

We had gotten lost and ended up in this storage space where it was clear stage props were stored. We’d found half a car-cut clear through the middle and ended up sitting inside and talking. It was weird, just an hour before that, Harry Styles was this iconic and unattainable person who lived in the fantasy part of my brain. Sitting in the semi-dark with him, in a half-car, and being only a foot away, he was just another person. A regular bloke who was gorgeous, talking to me about his recent mother’s day disaster while I laughed and told him about something similar that had happened when I was a child.

It was quite silly to think we were going to leave that room the same way we walked into it.

He’d leaned in once quiet had settled down around us, both of us just watching the other, afraid that speaking would ruin the moment. His finger had ghosted my face, hesitating, asking me without really asking me. I’d leaned in the rest of the way to tell him it was okay. That’s when I knew I was a goner.

He was gentle with me, but also entirely self assured, leading the way. I couldn’t keep track of his lips or his hands but every part of my body was alive and I lived entirely in the moment for him.

He’d called me later that night asking if I wanted to have dinner at his place. We knew we had something good going. So we kept at it.

Until five months ago.

“Y/N?” Jules says in my ear. I snap out of my memories and look to where she’s pointing. And then back to her ecstatic face. There, sitting near the DJ was actually Ed Sheeran.

“Jules,” I say, lost for words. We had to do this now. We had to approach him, now or never.

“I can’t,” she says close to me. “I’m going to vom right now.”

“Come on!” I grab her and try to move her stiff body one step at a time until we’re only a couple feet away. That’s when the group he’s talking to shifts and I see Harry. Harry with a girl on his arm. My Harry.

“What’s wrong?” Jules halts as my own body goes rigid. “Don’t tell me you’ve got nerves now...oh hey isn’t that Harry?”

“Yeah...” my mouth was dry and I couldn’t believe it. He was here, I really didn’t think I’d see him ever again.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry says as I pour my morning coffee. It was the first week of my final semester so I was actually in a good mood, optimistic before all the deadlines hit. I never saw it coming.

“What’s up?” i was so innocent, drinking my coffee with no idea what else was brewing.

He takes the coffee cup from my hands and puts it down, gathering my hands in his. I notice his hands are slightly clammy, that was the first red flag.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again, the anxiety spiking up.

“No-nothing. I was just thinking about how I have to on tour for the next year. You’ve still got school to finish and a great big career ahead of you. I feel like I’m just going to hold you back and I-“

“That’s silly,” I interrupt. “You’d never...”

“I might. I’ll have tour and you’ll have school-“

“Hold on. Are you just trying to say...is it you who’ll hold me back or me who’s going to hold you back?” I asked, confused. How would Harry ever hold me back? I offered to go on legs of his tour with him when I could. I could do my work on the road. Nobody was going to hold anybody back

Harry opens his mouth to explain but I don’t let him get a word in. How dare he try to twist the situation. He should just say what he felt!

“Is that really it? I’m just a regular girl-next-door who’s run out of her luck with the famous superstar? She could never understand your fame, you could never want her in the public’s eye? Is that it? You’re too good for me? You can’t even think about going public with our rel-“

“Trust me you don’t want tha-“

“Don’t tell me what I want!” The coffee had curdled in my stomach and I felt like dry-heaving but I hold it together. I was so in love with this man, to think about living without him was painful beyond comprehension. But all he saw me as was deadweight. The realisation is crushing. “Just leave Harry. Just bloody leave then, I don’t want to see you! After all we had together I’m just deadweight to you? I’m going to hold you back? And yoy can’t eve be a man and say what you really want!”

He’d ruffled his hair, given some explanation, tried to tell me he loved me but I was somewhere else. My life felt like it was falling apart, and I had a lab to teach in a few hours. He was so bloody selfish. I decided I hated him.

“-show him who cares. Go right up and pretend you don’t even know who he is...” I wasn’t sure how long Jules was talking but she was right. I didn’t care about him. This was my night out.

Jules walks ahead and uses her charm to wriggle her way into the small conversation, inserting me right beside her. She knew the business, taking her time to talk to Ed Sheeran so as not to overwhelm him. In the meantime, my eyes catch Harry’s, and it’s like a movie line. Time slows down, I hear the breath I take and see the surprise register on his face. But I let my eyes skim past his, he meant nothing to me. Instead, they land on his girlfriend and that’s where I fight to hide the surprise.

There’s these photos I see online sometimes, you take a picture and draw it in your own style. His new girlfriend was kind of like that. She looked just like me, except slightly off. More like how I looked last year. Since then, I’d grown out my hair and let its natural colour grow in. But I nudge Jules and use my hair as a curtain, trying to tell her to look. She speaks my language so she sees right away and her eyes widen. She mouths oh my god.

I watch from the corner of my eye while pretending to be engaged by Jules introducing what she does to Ed Sheeran. Harry says something to his girl and she laughs. Jesus, even her smile was reminiscent of mine. I try not to stare, using my drink as a distraction but some small part of me-most of me is upset-but a small part of me feels like I’d won. Harry had told me I wasn’t good enough for him, and then gone out to find someone who looked just like me. That gives me the confidence I need to finally look him in the eye. It’s like he was tracking my moves because he looks at me too. He smiles and I just raise my eyebrows.

“Y/N,” he says in that deep silky voice of his. It carries across despite the noise. My heart squeezes.

“Harry,” I say. I let my eyes slide to his girlfriend and she raises a hand.

“Hi, I’m Katy.”

“Hi,” I smile, she’d done nothing wrong except look like me I guess. She looks up at Harry, waiting for him to introduce us. Ugh.

“And this is Y/N, she’s my best friend but she always says she never understands my absolute obsession with your music.” Jules from the right of me catches my attention. She was introducing me to Ed Sheeran-and exposing me.

“Okay. Ouch.” I give her a look which makes her laugh and shake Ed’s hand. Oh my god. “I’m definitely a fan, just not as big as Jules.”

“She’s more of an indie rock girl,” Harry’s deep voice comes from behind me and I’m surprised to find him standing right behind me.

Jules raises her eyebrow at him, glances at me while Harry and Ed talk before interjecting and resuming her conversation.

“I’d say I’m more of a pop girl.” I turn to Harry. I look for his girlfriend but she’d disappeared.

“But that’s not your guilty pleasure,” Harry says and I avoid the tingle in my stomach as he says it. “And Kat’s gone off with her friend, they saw Adele they want to get a picture.” I don’t bother to say it wasn’t Adele. “How’s it going with you?”

He has to lean in close to be heard and I find myself drawing closer to his orbit. I had to be careful here. I remind myself that I hated him.

“Same old,” I say. “I’ve graduated, now looking for full time work. Travelled a bit too.”

“You finally see those tourist traps you wanted to?”

I forgot how intimately Harry knew me, I wanted to forget how much history we shared. But it’s so painfully obvious now that that would be impossible. Even holding onto my hate was proving slippery.

“The Great Pyramids were better than the Eiffel Tower,” I reference an old conversation we’d had. “So I was right.”

This makes Harry laugh and the club narrows down to just us as he steps to the side with me to a quieter area.

We stand in silence for a moment, just watching each other, memorizing the details about each that time had blurred. Like the laugh lines around his eyes, or the depth to his eyes. It feels like he’s cheating with me, with how fiery and focused his gaze is on me. The unspoken words in his eyes.

“Harry I-“ I raise my hand to tell him I should go, I didn’t want anything to happen we would regret. But he takes my hand and puts it to his warm chest. The words leave my mouth as I look at him again. Really look at him. From afar he looked like he was doing better than he ever was but up close I notice the tired bags and the lost look in his eyes. It was the same one I saw in my own after we’d broken up.

This was ridiculous, I tell myself. He left me, I shouldn’t feel bad for him. I’d won. But I want to ask him about Katy, when he looked in her eyes, did he think of mine? And when he looked at her smile, did I cross his mind? I already knew that he saw me instead ‘cause she looks a lot like I did back then. I wanted to ask him and tell him not to lie.

“How are you doing?” I finally break and ask even though I want to ask, is she just a lookalike?

He looks away, his hand letting go of mine. His fake smile is back on his face as he performs for me once again. “Not too bad. I’ve got a break from tour right now so just layin’ low.”

I look around and point to the club around us. “Laying low?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughs at being caught. “My girlf-Katy-she really wanted to come out to one of these with her girlfriends. She convinced me to come along.”

I didn’t know what to say to that so I just smile. My phone buzzed and I see a text from Jules. I look for her in the crowd and she’s staring at me with a raised eyebrow. I give her the everything is okay smile and she looks relieved.

“Jules is overprotective as usual,” Harry notices. What did he expect, I think, when he’s the selfish arse who broke my heart. The small flame of anger reignites as I watch Jules smile at me with caring eyes.

“She just wanted me to hook up with a cute guy tonight,” I say to Harry. “Spending it with my ex kind of kills the vibe.”

There, I’d addressed the elephant in the room. And just as I suspected, Harry gets uncomfortable.

“So I take it you’ve not got a boyfriend?”

“Nope,” I cross my arms. “Was busy travelling...” and feeling depressed at home I don’t add.

“Right,” Harry straightens up. “Well don’t let me keep you Y/N. Sorry to...”

I look up at him, his pause. His apology seems to be about something bigger than keeping me from the rest of the club. But I don’t mention it. I don’t push it. Yes, I wanted to stay here in this corner of the club with him but I don’t want to make it a big deal. I give him a squeeze on the arm to tell him it was alright. He paints a smile on and I walk away even though I want to just stay.

I walk to Jules, tell her I’d get another drink for us. At the bar, waiting for our drinks, I notice Harry with Katy again, they’re dancing with her friends, she laughs, he pulls her closer.

That was us not long ago, before that morning chat. God. I really did hope, in his head, he saw me instead. Cause...he’d been in mine every day since then. I admit it, some nights, no almost every night...I still though about him. I tried to hide it, I did an amazing job at hiding it, but I couldn’t erase him from my mind. The thought almost makes me laugh as I get my drinks...maybe I just needed to find a lookalike.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #480

“the doomsday clock was made by mankind”

Do you support PETA? No, because they are WAY too extreme. Have you ever lied about your gender? No. Have you ever had escargot? NOOOOOOOO. You couldn't pay me to try that shit. Have you played Breath of the Wild? No; Zelda games aren't my thing. I've watched Game Grumps play it, though. At what venue was the last concert you attended? Idr, somewhere in Raleigh. Who was playing at the last concert you attended? Alice Cooper. Maybe one day I'll have a new answer, lol. Do you have any anniversaries coming up? No. Would you try grapes on a pizza? Holy fuck, ew. Have you ever tried an oyster? How would you describe the experience? Oysters look fucking disgusting. Never. Has anyone ever specifically painted you a painting? Not a painting, no, but I've had drawings made for me. Would you ever want to try pole dancing? Nah. Have you ever had any sort of paranormal experience? Yes. Have you ever gotten something stuck in your skin? (ie: glass shard, gravel) Yeah, like splinters. And graphite. Do any of your grandparents live a nursing home? They're all deceased, but none did. Do you have a USB drive that is shaped like anything unique? No; mine is just a solid hot pink. What country would you like to visit most? South Africa. Whose birthday is closest to today’s date? (someone you know) Girt's birthday is the 10th! Do you know anyone in another country? I have Australian and European friends, yes. Have you ever wanted to be on a game show? Not seriously. Do you believe taking a picture of someone is taking a piece of their soul? Ha, this question makes me think of the quote from SOMA. Anyway, no. Do you have any friends with the same first name as you? No. How many states have you lived in? One. Pancakes or waffles? Waffles, so I can spread peanut butter on them. :') What is the saddest book you’ve ever read? Johnny Got His Gun. ZERO competition. What political cause are you most passionate about? Probably LGBTQ+ rights. Really just equality in general. Have you ever considered having children? The only time I've ever in my life thought I wanted kids was when I was with Jason. Hell, I wanted two or three. Now I'm just like... nah man no thank you. Have you ever considered acting? No. Who was the last person you slept next to? Sara. Do you think you can be in love and still cheat on your S.O.? Ha, no. What is the most embarrassing thing anyone has on video of you? I dunno. Did you ever get lost as a child? Once at the grocery store. A sweet old lady helped me find Mom. Do you know how to play any card games? The very basic ones, and Magic: The Gathering. What are you currently most looking forward to? Mom to feel better so Girt can come over. What is the best television show you’ve ever watched? Hm... Fullmetal Alchemist has a pretty bangin' story. What color are your parents’ eyes? Brown. Are you more dependent or independent? I've very dependent, honestly. Are there any stuffed animals in the room you’re in? Yeah, loads. I have a shelf full of my meerkat collection. Do you love animals? I adore them. I quite frankly don't like anyone who doesn't, because... how. How many people have you kissed in a car? One or two? Who made you mad last? My mom. She said something that just really hurt my feelings. How long was your last shower? It was longer than usual because standing, taking steps to turn, propping my legs up, etc. was fucking excruciating because my feet, ankles, and calves were so swollen. It's so fucking infuriating; in a previous survey I mentioned "oh it's because my body isn't used to getting up and down so much! it's improvement! :D", but no. The swelling was from sitting too long at the desk. My legs are so used to being propped up from being in bed that it caused edema when I was finally sitting. I went back to my fucking bed now because Mom mentioned that it could get extremely dangerous if the fluid buildup got too severe. And of course now that I'm back in bed, the swelling is receding. I can't fucking win. Have you ever had a really bad haircut? Looking back, I think the haircut I had before this current one was pretty bad, but at least it showed me I'd like short hair on myself. What’s your favorite DIY crafts YouTube channel? I don't watch DIY. What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? At this moment, just give me the magic answer to losing all this fucking weight and getting in shape and being happy. Do you usually forgive when someone hurts your or try to get revenge? I forgive too much. Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? English and most science. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? No. Was your first car used or new? I haven't had my own car yet. How often do you watch the news? Never. Do you have a fan in your room? I have two. Have you ever hatched an egg? In elementary school, as a class. It was a chick. :') I think it was in kindergarten? Would you like to go to a fortune teller? No, because I wouldn't support them spouting bullshit and lying to people. Do you chew gum on a daily basis? No. I've actually been craving gum for a long time now... For each person you’ve kissed, describe your feelings in one word: My feelings towards them? Jason: Remorseful. Tyler: Eye roll. Sara: thankful. Girt: love. Do you have “friends” that you actually hate? That's some juvenile shit. No. Would you rather get [another] tattoo or piercing? Gimme both, but if I had to pick, a tattoo. If you’re dating someone, how long has it been? It's been just shy of a month Feels a lot longer. If you’re a girl, have you ever had the urge shave your hair? Not shave my entire head, no. Do you live by a forest? Not anymore. :/ Do your parents drink? My dad is a recovered alcoholic, so he doesn't touch it anymore. Mom only drinks lightly for special occasions. Does downloading music without paying make you feel guilty? Yes, and yet I do it anyway. :x Does your house have air conditioning? Yes. What do you believe in more: Ghosts or demons? Ghosts. I don't believe in demons. Do you think they’re making too big of a deal over Michael Jackson’s death? Old survey is old, but no, not really. He was an absolute pop icon that was deeply loved by millions and millions and inspired the genre deeply. I wasn't even a big fan and yet I felt for those who were. French fries or onion rings? The former. I don't like onion rings. Favorite healthy snack? Um. I suppose apple slices w/ peanut butter, especially lately. Or strawberries. ]If you see a bee in your house... are you going to kill it? Bees honestly scare me, so I'm not touching it. Mom will have to get it, and I know she would kill it. Would you feel funny if you kissed somebody of the same sex? Done it before, and it didn't feel weird. If your best friend grabs your hand, what do you automatically do? I'd look at her and ask what's wrong. What’s something you can cook or bake like a pro? Nothing. Do you tend to flirt a lot, even when the person isn’t single? No, especially if the person is taken. Can grills be sexy on a guy? Grills are unattractive on everyone. Have you ever flown first class? Ha, yeah right. Are you the type of person who can shake insults off easily, or do they tend to stick around in your brain & bother you? They stick around for years upon years. Some I think I'll never forget.

[okarawrites]

Hello dear one. Here is my request, Reno x possible my OC Kesta? (reno calls her Kes) (for reference see my icon. If you don't want use an OC use reader of course) Reno suggest using Ropes for the first time in their love making abs she's up for it. Have fun 😉

Hey!! I absolutely love this OC so more than happy to write this! Hope I do your lovely oc justice. (For anyone who hasn’t: go check out The Turks Thief)

 "Hey Kes?" Reno called over from 'his' sofa in the office. Kesta was sat at the desk, pondering over some folders. She looked over to the redhead who, over time had managed to capture her heart. "Hmm?" She hummed waiting for him to continue.

"Do you ever see somethin' and think 'I wonder if it's as fun as it looks?'?" He was looking up at the ceiling as he spoke, but turned to you, awaiting your response.

Kesta pursed her lips "Well yeah, doesn't everyone?"

"Yeah exactly!" He sat up to face you fully. "Where are you going with this Reno?" Kesta asked, eyebrow raised. "Ok, so you can totally say no but I was wondering if you would consider experimenting a little in the bedroom?" He wiggled his eyebrows a little.

Kesta eyed him curiously. Sensing her hesitation, he continued "Like nothing too freaky, just maybe a bit of light rope bondage?" He shrugged his shoulders as if to emphasise that is was just a suggestion.

Kes paused for a moment "yeah ok" she did her best to not show the butterflies fluttering in her chest at the mere mention of it. Reno’s eyes lit up. He was about to say something but was interrupted by Tseng entering the office.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful but Kesta had constant butterflied in her stomach. 6pm rolled around quickly and soon enough you were in the car with Reno on your way to his place. The two of you chatted when Reno spoke up “Kes, you know we don’t have to do the rope thing. You’ve been acting strange since I brought it up.”

“No!” Kesta answered a bit too quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from her partner. “I want to, I’ve just…not been able to stop thinking about it” her voice got quiet toward the end and she stared at her lap. A wide grin spread across the red-heads face “Well, better get home quick” he said, pressing his foot down onto the acceleration.

As soon as they got into the apartment Reno’s mouth and hands were all over Kesta, pushing her against the wall. He pulled back from the kiss, eyes full of passion “Go into the bedroom and get naked for me. I’ll be there in a minute” Kesta gave Reno a silent nod and made her way to the bedroom.

She could hear rummaging around in the other room as she quickly discarded her uniform before removing her underwear. He had seen her naked so many times before, but she could help but feel a little shy at the thought of waiting for him naked. She pushed those thoughts aside and did as she was told.

She was completely naked, sitting on the edge of the bed when she finally heard the door open. “I will never get tired of seeing you like this” his voice was low. He had taken off his suit jacket, gloves and shoes, but still wore his shirt and trousers. A few long, thin, bright red ropes were wrapped around both his fists and he was pulling them taught. Kes swallowed hard. “Lay back for me.” He said moving closer to her. She shimmied onto the bed and laid down, bright pink hair falling onto the soft pillows. “Now lift your hands above your head.”

She followed his command. Once her hands were in place Reno wrapped the red rope around her wrists, pulling it tight “Is that too tight?” he asked “No, it’s fine” Kesta’s voice came out as a whisper. Satisfied with the knot keeping her wrists together, Reno proceeded to tie another rope from her wrists to the headboard. Once he knew she couldn’t move her arms, he made his way down her body. Gently dragging his fingers over her skin as he went.

Kesta shivered at the contact, earning a chuckle from Reno. He continued his slow journey down her body until he got to her ankles. He then tied each ankle to the bed frame, meaning that she couldn’t close her legs or even bend her knees. Happy with his handiwork Reno stood back to admire the view. “Fuck, I’m hard already from just looking at you like that.” He wasn’t lying. Kesta could see the tenting of his trousers. She bit her lip at the sight of it before locking eyes with Reno. “Is this what you want babe?” his hand gripped his fabric-covered length maintaining eye contact. Kesta felt her throat go dry as she nodded. “Soon, but not yet. For now, I’m gonna just enjoy having you at my mercy.”

He got onto the bed, kneeling in between Kesta spread legs. He gripped her thighs, massaging his thumbs into them for a moment before sliding them up to her hips. Hands laid flat on her hip bones, his thumbs moved to her pussy, delicately separating her lips so she was even more exposed to his gaze. He let out a low hum of approval “Already wet for me” in a flash he had swiped his tongue over her wetness as back sitting back on his heels. Kesta’s breathing was heavy and Reno smirked at her as he slowly slipped a finger into her wetness. Kesta’s back arched at the feeling. Soon enough Reno inserted another finger. He could tell she was getting close as she pulled against the rope on her wrists and ankles. Just before she reached her peak he removed his hands. “what gives?!” Kes demanded. Reno chuckled “Told you I’d enjoy having you at my mercy sweetheart. Besides, I wanna try something else.”

“Just let me know if you want me to change it back ok?” Kes just eyed him curiously as he began undoing the rope around her ankle. He rubbed over the slightly redden skin before he bent her knee before wrapping the rope around her thigh and calf to keep it bent. He then repeated his actions on the other leg. Once both legs were secured he wrapped another piece of rope around her legs and torso, keeping them pressed to her chest. “Not too uncomfortable?” Reno asked. “Other than feeling like a chicken about to be roasted, I’m good” Kes replied.

Reno let out a little laugh. His eyes could help but drift to her core, now so easily accessible. “More like about to be stuffed” He muttered, trying not to laugh at his own joke. Kesta wasn’t expecting that and let out a loud laugh “You just could help yourself, could you?” Kesta had a wide smile after hearing Reno’s terrible joke.

Kesta’s smile turned rapidly into a gasp as Reno buried his face in her, lapping hungrily at her hole. Not wanting her to cum yet, he moved back and planted a hard smack on her ass cheek. He knew she liked it when he did that, and it was confirmed by the moan that escaped her lips.

Reno stood up from the bed and got undressed. He climbed back onto the bed and lent over Kesta, lining his cock up to her pussy. He was done teasing and pushed in his whole length with one thrust. The position that she was in meant that he felt deeper than ever. The deep intrusion caused her to feel it high up in her abdomen, each thrust feeling like he was rearranging her insides in the best possible way. Reno gripped her ass cheeks as he began pounding into her. Feeling her twitch around him, he knew she was close, and this time he wanted her to cum.

He moved a hand so that he could flick over her clit as he fucked her. Kesta cried out in pleasure “That’s it Kes, I wanna see you cum over my cock” His voice was raspy, indicating that he too was close. That was enough to tip her over the edge. Her arms pulled against the rope as she came hard. The angle that he was hitting it from forced her into a second orgasm just as she began to come down from the first. The unexpected tightness around Reno caused him to spill into her with a loud groan.

Reno took a moment to catch his breath “Shiit” he groaned as he pulled out of her. He took a moment to watch his cum spill out of her before he flopped down on the bed. “Definitely as fun as it looks. Actually, more so.” He let out a laugh. Kesta shook herself out of her sex induced haze. “hmm” she nodded in agreement “Though, could you let me out now?” she asked, motioning to the ropes.

“Oh shit, yeah.” Reno sat up and began undoing the knots. “Would you be up for it again some time?” He asked, whilst freeing her. “Oh definitely! But, next time I’m using the ropes on you.”

[heedra]

Exalted Secret Santa Journal: 2020

Apologies for the slight delay! My journal this year is going to be pretty much the same one as last year; I was working on an additional reference but it absolutely got away from me, so I’ll give it more time and save it for next year. Without further ado:

Daia Shan- Serenity Caste Sidereal

Once just a troublesome junior bureaucrat in the halls of Yu-Shan, Daia truly gained infamy upon her selection to accompany a strike team of Exalted heroes on a mission into the depths of the worldbody of the Yozi Oramus, and her subsequent escape and return from that impossible prison, nearly a thousand years later. The experience left her profoundly changed; even now, the spite of Oramus hangs like a mantle around Daia, ensuring that the waking world she fought so hard to return to will never feel like anything more than a dream. And then, of course, there is the matter of the power she took from the Sevenfold Peacock willingly… and how that power might be changing her still.

Daia is a somewhat petite woman, belying an athletic build. She is ethnically from the Blessed Isle, with dark grey hair that she prefers to wear up, usually in a bun or a knot. Her face, which she tries but fails to keep free of stress and worry lines, is usually found bearing a smirk or an expression of dangerous faux-politeness. Her eyes bear the iconic starry blue of the Serenities caste, but are also shot through with bands of a strange prismatic iridescence. She bears a large pair of bull horns atop her head, a mutation received during her time inside the Worldbody. The nature of the power bequeathed to her by Oramus is such, though, that her very nature is beginning to blur around the edges, and it is not unusual for her day-to-day appearance to fluctuate strangely as mutations come and go like glitches. She is a bit of a fashionista, favoring blues, dramatic and sharp femme looks (she avoids ruffles and prefers sleeker outfits), and jewelry of all sorts (a lot of it). She rarely wears the same exact outfit twice, so do not feel obligated to stick to the reference- you can get creative! She wears makeup, but prefers cool colors and an understated application.

Daia’s most important accessory is her longfang, the Sevenfold Peacock’s Tailfeather. Forged from starmetal, orichalcum, and a crystalline shard of Oramic essence, the weapon contains knowledge of every martial arts technique known by every user to have ever wielded it, and seems to hunger for more to the point where its obsession has bled over into Daia herself. Even more potently, it bears deep within its core the secret to a martial art concocted by the Dragon of Not himself, whose charms grant the power to ignore the limits of impossibility at the cost of making the wielder more and more alien to the waking world. It is a temptation that Daia has drunk deep of, despite all signs pointing to that being a very bad idea. Daia sees the spear as a trophy stolen from her greatest nemesis, but it’s very possible the Yozi himself sees it as a clever snare for hubristic Sidereals. The blade of the weapon is prismatic crystal that resembles a jagged bird’s beak, the pole is jet black starmetal shot through with an orichalcum starmap of constellations, and the orichalcum pommel is fashioned to look like seven golden peacock feathers woven together into a sphere.

While her exaltation may brand Daia a chosen of the Maidens, the elder Sid is a loose cannon, an agent of Heaven in only the most general of terms. She is mercurial, theatrical, fond of causing petty chaos, and utterly disinterested in the politics of the Bureau, unless there is way for her to stir up drama. She has tendency to get ahead of herself with her schemes, and the vast majority of her ‘downfalls’ can be traced back to her own hubris. Beneath all that, she is a lonely woman who feels adrift in a world that no longer feels real to her. She’s a terrible flirt, a huge showoff (especially where martial arts are involved) and has a weak spot for dangerous women. She’s Creation’s wildest and worst gay aunt.

Side Note: Daia is partially deaf, due to an old and potent supernatural injury. She employs the use of what magic/technology she can to aid her, but relies as well on sign language and interpreters. She’s very used to it at this point.

here’s the link to a better-resolution version of this image bc tumblr kinda fuckt it

and here’s the link to her toyhouse page, which has further images and info!

________________________________________________________________

Avenging Phoenix- Dawn Caste Solar (Formerly Ravenous Vulture Picks Clean the Bones of Creation, Dusk Caste Abyssal)

Orphaned at an early age, Phoenix was adopted by a Guild mercenary and raised as such. He spent his later mortal life as a city guard captain in Thorns, where he exalted during the fateful siege itself, disillusionment and rage at the circumstances of his death making him an easy recruit for the Mask. His path has weaved far and wide since then, a slow painful crawl from rebellion to eventual redemption; a journey that ultimately gave him a place among the saviors of Creation. Along the way, he played a role in liberating a group of orphaned children from the clutches of the Dowager, and now finds himself settling into the role of an adoptive dad to them, hanging up his metaphorical (and literal) axe and trying to live a gentler life. It’s not always easy. Violence and trauma etched in that deep doesn’t just smooth out perfectly over time. On top of that, he has impostor’s syndrome when it comes to his redemption by the Sun, and still feels uncomfortable thinking of himself as a peer to the other members of the Solar Host. Still, as long as his soul is on this side of Lethe, he is determined to fight against the Void- not because he considers himself antithesis to it, but because he has known it and survived it. And while some days it’s hard, other days it feels like, maybe, fighting against the void can be planting sunflowers for your children on a sunny spring afternoon.

Phoenix is of Western descent, very short, fat, and beefy, with warm brown skin and a round, open face.  He keeps his burgundy hair closely shaved, not fond of dealing with the mess of wavy curls it becomes when allowed to grow out. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, the outside of the iris rimmed with the faintest edge of golden yellow. His nose looks like it has been broken multiple times in the past, and never properly healed. Due to unfortunate wyld misadventures his tongue has been mutated to resemble and function like that of a frog’s, though this is only really apparent when he opens his mouth to use the damn thing. Frogs and toads are a definite motif for him in general- small, grumpy-looking, and round as they are.

Phoenix’s casual clothes tend to be simple, comfortable, loose, and in sharp contrast to his prickly combat garb. He enjoys floral patterns, and the color pink. He’s got a very ‘open hawaiian shirt and flip flops dad’ vibe, basically. He does not dress fancily unless pressed to for big occasions, and in those cases usually grudgingly follows the fashion direction of the one twisting his arm. When he’s on actual exalt business, he’s most frequently found wearing his armor; black jade full plate embellished with cruel-looking spikes, and occasionally a shaggy grey fur cloak made from the pelt of some hunting trophy. A horned skull helm, made from the skull of a nephwrack’s war-body, often completes this ensemble. The helmet is a minor artifact: when worn, it causes his eyes to glow balefully behind its sockets and makes his voice gravelly with deathly menace. He is reluctant to take it off unless he feels at ease in a situation.

Phoenix is somewhat bumbling and gruffly soft-spoken, with tendency to look more tired than he feels. Beneath this is a talent for strategic leadership and a determination that gets fiercer as the going gets tougher. On the battlefield, he is utterly terrifying when he needs to be, but would much prefer to be at home in his garden than on a battlefield these days.

His anima banner starts as burst of gold-and crimson fire that solidifies into the form of a fierce and predatory-looking phoenix, with aspects of a garda bird and a lammergeier both. It moves as he does across the battlefield, swooping and rising with each swing of his axe, its fierce eyes focused on his opponent. Additional refs:

link to his toyhouse page, which has a TON more reference images

what he looked like as an abyssal | his grand grimcleaver looks like this except made outta fiery golden light | rough sketch of his skull helmet

[ilguna]

Ethereal - Chapter Three (f.o)

Summary: Five years of watching your trainees die, you’re sick of it. She will prevail, she will win.

Word Count; 5.4k

Warnings; swearing, DEATH MENTION

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Finnick had split just like you told him to. Before he had gone, you told him to meet you back where the chariots would leave from. He promised to be back in time, but here you are, ten minutes until they’re sent off, and he’s still not here. For a moment, you had blamed yourself, thinking that you should have followed after him.

And then you remembered that there is no way in hell you should have. You wouldn’t be here for the tributes, there would be two missing mentors. Laurel and Pleurisy would be sending them off, and sometimes they’re not the best. Laurel is serious, very straight-faced. She doesn’t smile or laugh often, and she shows her appreciation in small ways.

Pleurisy is a different story. Everything she does is grand. She’s not for the black, gold and silver that Laurel is into. Pleurisy is into colors, dying her skin–it’s a bubblegum pink right now–wearing huge costumes that show off her favorite parts of her body. The giant heels, the long nails, the wacky hair styles. When you had first met her, it wasn’t this bad. But she’s sunk completely, she’s in on the trends now.

Polar opposites, that manage to be friends. Annie and Paslee would have absolutely no idea how to handle them like you do. They’ll need your support, and so Finnick being missing, that’s fine. You just can’t be the one that’s gone.

While you’re all waiting to send the tributes off, you excuse yourself from your own, and find yourself heading over to your friends. There, Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Brutus are waiting.

“(Y/n)!” Cashmere squeals almost, reaching over and giving you a tight squeeze, “How are you?”

“To be honest, frazzled.” You tell her, she raises her eyebrows, the others lean in. Except for Brutus, he’s not interested in these types of things. He thinks he’s so much better than the other district victors, which includes you, but not Gloss, Cashmere or Enobaria. It’s a little irritating.

You ‘earned’ your title just as much as they did. You killed, you loved, you won. You went around and collecting the gifts that none of the districts actually want to give you. You faced the families of those you killed with a pained smile on your face. And you mentor a new set of kids each year. Just the same as them.

The only difference–which might be why he thinks like this–is that they get winning tributes. However, if their own murderous monsters were killed off in the beginning, you can almost guarantee that yours would have won. Especially the older ones, but that’s besides the point.

“What’s happened?” Gloss asks.

“Finnick.” you tell them, Cashmere and Enobaria are most interested now. Gloss seems like he would rather talk about something else. You don’t mention Finnick much, you have another inkling that it might be because Gloss likes you. And if that’s true, he is the only man you’ll ever consider getting with.

“What about him? Stop making me ask.” Cashmere shakes you slightly, “Spit it out!”

“He’s here.” you motion to the chariots, “Well, not here, here–”

“No, he’s there.” Enobaria says, you look over to see Finnick talking to Annie and Paslee. He hands them something, and then pats their shoulders.

The sound of the anthem makes you jump, “Shit!” you turn to point at them, and they’re laughing slightly, “I’ll bring Finnick over after, okay? Introduce our kids?”

“Us partnering up with district four?” the boy from one asks, his face is all twisted, “Good luck.”

Cashmere glares, it looks odd on her pretty face, “Making friends for the arena isn’t a bad idea.”

“I’ve got my friends right here.” he motions to his district partner, and then the other two from two.

“Four is technically a career.” the girl from two says, turning away from the boy. The boy glares slightly.

You turn to look at Cashmere and she shrugs, “I’ll see you after. Spare the kids, just you and Finn–”

“Shut up,” you shove her, she laughs and you roll your eyes. You head back over to your own chariot.

When you get there, Annie and Paslee are looking more comfortable than they were when you had originally left. Finnick must have said some things to them. You make a few adjustments to make them look nice, and when you’re done, you can almost hear the list of sponsor names that will be after them.

“Smile, wave, blow kisses.” you remind, “Paslee, chin up, Annie, slouch a little more. You’re going to be perfect.”

“Good luck!” Finnick’s voice is behind you, you wave to the kids and watch as they turn around to face where they’re leaving. The horses hesitate, and then they take off after district three.

Grabbing on to Finnick, you pull him with you to the nearest tv’s to watch what’s going on. You’re districted, trying to make sure that they’re moving right. For the most part, they’ve got the footing right and all of that. Paslee waves big, while Annie is smaller.

“Sugar cube?” Finnick asks, you look over to see he’s holding a square, “I know you want it.”

You take it, and pop it into your mouth, “Thanks.”

“Stop stressing, they’ll be fine.” Finnick tells you, his arms wrap around you slightly, and you’re too focused to brush him off. Annie seems to be leaning into Paslee. She’ll readjust like him, but they end up against each other in the end.

They stop in the circle, Snow appears. This is when you notice Finnick’s arms truly, because they tighten. You pull him into you, not knowing if this is because of a fear thing or not. Snow makes his speech, then there’s the anthem, which allows the cameras to pan around them one last time. After that is the final lap around the circle, then they’re gone.

Brought right back to you.

Finnick pulls away after that, and the both of you head over to the tributes.

Annie is the first off of the chariot. She spins slightly in the dress, it spreads out around her. She looks genuinely happy about the dress. You wonder if you’ll be able to pull some strings and let her have the dress if she wins. Or Snow will want to take it and put it in some hall of fame.

It’s an orange dress, the top is almost like a vest and a tank top combined. It hugs around the bottom of her neck to keep it in place. As for the bottom, it’s just a dress made out of silk. To make sure that it follows the district four theme, the top also has netting. The type you use to catch things. Along with that is the regular accessories. You’re sure that you don’t have to explain.

“You guys did so good!” You tell them, “Elysia and the stylists will help you to your rooms to change. We’ll see you in a few.”

You push them off slightly, eager to talk to Cashmere and them again. It’s been too long, and they’ve been dying to actually meet Finnick. Rather than hear about him in the little snot bits you do mention. You’re not sure how all of this will go down with Gloss. Jealousy is a mighty thing.

You take Finnick’s arm, “At this point I just think you should handcuff me to you.”

Looking at him, he has his eyebrows raised, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“It would be easier than you grabbing me all the time.” Finnick laughs, but then he thinks, “Actually, maybe I like the grabbing part.”

“I think you should shut up now.” You tell him once you’re stopping in front of your friends.

“Wow, The Finnick Odair?” Cashmere looks him over, “Got any love poems in mind?”

“They’re all reserved for (Y/n), sorry.” Finnick laughs, you and Cashmere share a look.

“I’m sure you know already, but this is Cashmere and Gloss, district one, brother and sister.” You start, Gloss pitches in with something about being back to back victors, you roll your eyes, “The arrogant one is Brutus and the tiger is Enobaria.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Enobaria flips her hair, but sputters out a laugh a few seconds later.

And just like that, you guys drop into banter. From the outside it would look like you guys were old friends, when in reality you’ve known them a year or two. Finnick practically just met them. You know he’s at least heard of them, but as far as talking goes, this will be the first time.

Gloss seems to ease into the conversation, seeing that you’re keeping Finnick at an arm’s distance—metaphorically—and you don’t acknowledge the flirty attempts. Every now and then you’ll give s look to Finnick to satisfy whatever he’s after.

They get along with him well, but Brutus and Enobaria act a little stuck up. You’re used to it, sometimes they even act like that with you. It’s hard to get mad at it anymore, you choose to ignore it all the same. It’s funny how they’re the ones that are so full of themselves, when Cashmere and Gloss are the most favored by the Capitol.

The only thing that Enobaria has is the fact that people see her as a fashion icon for sharpening her teeth after she won her games. You bet there was a small trend of it after. A couple dozen people probably have the same sharpened teeth.

You wonder what you and Finnick sparked. Something with rope, no doubt. Finnick and his trident, you can imagine a bunch of kids running around with their new toy. You and a spear, too. Little boys with tridents and girls with spears.

Soon, the conversation has to drop off, since it’s nearing dinner time. You bid goodbyes to them, and Gloss sends you off with a wink. As soon as you and Finnick have rounded the corner, he doesn’t look too happy.

“You and Gloss?” He finally asks.

“Nothing but friends.” You tell him, however if Finnick hadn’t shown up, you’re sure that it would have turned into more this year, “Can’t promise he looks at it that way, though.”

Finnick nods, still not convinced. You’re not going to stand here and reassure him, he just needs to trust your word. It’s not like you have any reason to lie. As if you’d ever go behind his back and date Gloss or anything. Even if that would be a not-so-subtle way of telling him you’re over him.

“So what of you think of them?” You ask, looking to Finnick, “What’s wrong?”

“How long have you been friends with them?”

“A year or two now. I only see them for the games.” You tell him, “And whenever they win the games.”

“You’re making friends with them?” He asks, “Why not the other districts?”

He doesn’t like them.

“Because, as I found out, they can hold grudges longer than districts one and two can. I’ve tried with three, but it was short lived. He appreciated my efforts to keep Blaire alive, and that was it. But all the other districts?” You laugh, “Haymitch is truly the only one who didn’t care that I killed the twelve year old boy. Making friends with them is hard.”

“It can’t be—“

“Then go right ahead. Try to make those friends and get back to me on it. I’m sorry that you’re jealous of Gloss, or Brutus or whatever, but they were here for me when you weren’t.” And there you go, throwing this in his face. You hadn’t wanted to do that.

You continue to the elevator, your boots make heel-like sounds. When you stop by the or, you turn back to see Finnick standing there, “Are you coming?”

He shakes his head slightly, “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Finnick—“ you begin, taking a step. He’s going to leave, you can feel it. It’s not selfish for you to want him to stay, it’s for the kids. You’re doing this for the kids, “Please?”

You want to tell him to stop being ridiculous, but you hold your tongue. Saying that will set him off, and he’ll definitely go. No matter how true it is, you need him to stay.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” The apology is too late, you wonder if he’ll see that.

A moment of silence, you know he’s not going to stay, “I’m going to take a walk. Don’t wait on me.”

He disappears around the same corner you came around. You take a moment, trying to calm yourself down for fucking this up. But you swing your arm anyway, and it leaves a nice, fist-shaped hole in the wall.

The elevator door opens, and you go inside of it. The ride up is quiet, and the longer it takes, the more upset you seem to get with yourself. The moment that the door has opened, you’re met with Laurel and Pleurisy, you step out.

“Where’s Finnick?” Pleurisy asks.

“I pissed him off, he’s taking a walk.” You tell them, not stopping to talk to them.

When you reach the apartment, you go inside. A few feet in front of you, Elysia is still sat down with Annie and Paslee, eating dinner. You take another deep breath, this time to steady and truly calm, and then you sit down with them.

“For the next three days, it’s training.” You tell them, “I probably won’t see you guys tomorrow so I’ll tell you this now. If you’re going to make friends, perfect time to do it. Steer clear of the other careers unless you know for sure that you’ll be able to get them into an alliance. They don’t seem too fond of us.

“When you do get inside of the training center.” You turn towards them, they listen a little harder, “Don’t show off the skills I’ve taught you. Go around to places you don’t know. Talk to people that are already there, keep moving around. Don’t know how to use a bow and arrow? Good time to learn.”

“They’ll have classes?” Annie asks, you nod.

“Instructors will be at each station. They’ll help you learn what they’re specialized in.” Honestly, they should put actual victors in there. It’s funny to you that they call them professionals when they’ve never had to actually deal with the circumstances.

Do they come from the districts? No. They don’t have to deal with hunger. They don’t know how to make a fire effectively. Or how to throw knives, use spears, make nets and fishing line. They think they’re professional because the Capitol has trained. The only thing they might be good at is medical, but even then, where are you going to find morphine in the middle of the games?

They’re good for if you have the backpacks in the games. With the plastic, the backpacks, sleeping bags, and iodine. You can survive without all of those, and for the Capitol to put the idea that they need them to survive is ridiculous.

Boil water, find shelter, hunt for food, know your leaves and berries for remedies. Don’t count that you team up with the careers. Or that you’ll be able to get those backpacks, or those weapons.

Expect the worst. Never the better.

You continue eating, answering some of their questions. They want to know when the interview is, and what they’re wearing. You haven’t seen their outfits just yet, so you can’t answer that for them, neither would you. Laurel and Pleurisy would want it to be a surprise.

As for the interviews, you can tell them when that is. They ask who they should make friends of, and you ask who they thought stood out more in the reapings.

To you it’s always the careers, and district seven. The careers are obvious, district seven is because they know how to wield axes, they’ll be very good if they get their hands on some. They might be very good with fires too. District three is an always. They know how to make weapons, just the same as their sister district, two.

They say nearly the same, and you tell them to make friends out of the smart ones. They’ll be useful later on. If they want to run straight to the middle then their stupid. Which sparks an argument with Paslee, saying that getting there first has its advantages. You tell him it doesn’t.

He brings up the fact that you ran to the middle. And for just a second you forget that they were both ten or eleven when you had won your games. You very calmly remind Paslee that you had an alliance with the careers. That there were seven of you, rather than the casual four.

You got to the middle because you’re quick. You didn’t even know you could run that fast until you were running. With Lennox too far behind, trailing. You got lucky in the middle when the sword was in your hands. That had you not swung the sword, then you would have died to the girl from ten. If Trink wasn’t near you, she wouldn’t have killed the boy from five, or whoever it was.

You never truly acknowledged it, but he was coming to kill you. That’s why she threw the sword, to make sure that he wouldn’t come after any of you. Offering that protection that all of you had agreed on.

You tell Paslee that if he runs to the middle when the gong sounds, that he needs to be quick. He needs to be ready to grab the nearest weapon and swing. No matter who it is, but watch out for that alliance he might have with the careers if that’s what he chooses.

He shouldn’t choose that. Either he should stick to Annie, or find someone else to enjoy. Keep a group smaller than four, and split up when there’s a final ten. You don’t tell them this, though.

They both leave the table when they’re tired of asking questions. Elysia had long since disappeared. You eat quietly, making yourself sick when you continue eating, even though you’re full. When you feel like you’re done, you stand and tell them that Finnick won’t be eating.

If he does show, tough shit. He should have been there earlier.

And then, you trudge back to your room. Ripping off the clothes, skipping the second shower as you sit by the window, knees to your chest. You don’t have to sit in here like a caged prisoner. You can go out there and enjoy yourself with your friends. But leaving feels like you’re asking too much, and it’s almost like a chore.

You shouldn’t have said that to Finnick but you were tired of it. If you were dating Gloss, it would be none of his business. You don’t have to justify yourself. You can miss Finnick and love Gloss.

You don’t love Gloss for the record. You’d rather he’d save it for later, a different girl that might show her interest. Someone like Enobaria. That would be a killer couple. Or Enobaria with Brutus. Same district and both hella freaky looking. Brutus has to take some drugs to stay that big, right?

This is so unfair.

You find yourself still sleeping on the floor in the morning. You remember pulling down a pillow and blanket just before you passed out. You didn’t want to sleep on the bed—much less use the blanket and pillows but you had no choice, use them or freeze—because the favoritism is still something you’re not too excited about.

Just looking out the window, you can see it’s about noon. The tributes are in the training center, you hope that Annie and Paslee remember what you told them last night. And you should have probably given them a reason why as well. So they have more of a motivation to keep it to themselves.

The reason would obviously be because of the private session that’ll end up happening after the three days. They’ll need to show off a certain skill. And if they use anything that you had taught them on the train, specifically the knife throwing, or anything to do with the spears, swords, axes…

They seemed skilled with the regular stuff, they should get at least an eight to ten. You still can’t believe you only got a ten on that knife trick. It should have been an eleven. And it’s too bad that you never really got to show it off.

Not that you would ever want to kill two people at once. But could you imagine? Knife throwing would have been so goddamn popular after. People would be dying to learn how, since you did it with one hand.

You get off the floor, tossing the pillow and the blanket back onto the bed. You dig through the dresser for a white shirt, but all they’ve provided you with is tank top after tank top. You settle, but you’ll have to talk to Laurel about it, because there’s no way in hell you’ll wear one every single time you’re on air.

A pair of black shorts is fine, you toss it onto the bed for when you come out of the shower. It’s quick, nothing like you had when you were on the train. You change quickly, pulling on the same pair of boots. You let your hair free, since it feels better that way, but keep a band around just in case you get tired of moving it from your face.

The avoxes seem to have been waiting by your door. You motion to the room, letting them know they can have at it, and then you show up at the table. Food is already sitting there. It’s just you. Everyone else is gone.

Elysia is probably out with Laurel and Pleurisy deciding outfit things. Sorting out the minor details. Probably talking up your tributes like she’s done every single year. She has to, you want as many sponsors as you can wrangle in.

The tribute parade or whatever it’s called–the chariot rides, they give you guys a head start. The reapings and the stations are basically nothing, not focused on unless they win the games. Then they’ll go back and feature it during the recap. Telling it from start to finish.

The chariot ride, the scoring, interviews and the bloodbath. Those are the events that you need to make sure that they know what they’re doing. They did very well during the chariot ride, you’re sure Elysia will come back with compliments from the others. The scoring will be up to Annie and Paslee, you’ll be sure to mention it tonight. And then you’ll have them training for the interviews with every chance you get.

Annie will be able to walk in heels so well, that her ankles and the soles of her feet will be aching. She’ll get a day to recover, and then she’ll have to do it all again. It’s no bother, she’ll be able to sit down during the interview, if she asks. Caesar likes to make sure that his interviewees are comfortable. He makes everything seem natural, he’ll bring out the better in her.

As for the bloodbath, easy. Annie has it down, you’ll just have to worry about Paslee. You’re beginning to think the cocky act isn’t just an act. He might be adapting it as his actual personality. It might bring on sponsors for a little bit, but they’ll get tired of it quickly. They love a strong tribute with a soft heart. If Paslee doesn’t show that, then he’s screwed.

Same for Annie. She can act all kind, but she’ll need to be deadly in the arena. It’ll give the sponsors a twist they weren’t expecting. The games is a show, and if they can provide the unexpected, they’ll be sure to win. Again, you have a good feeling this year. Something is going to be different.

And it’s not because of Finnick.

You get up from the table when you feel like you’re done, but turn to one of the avoxes. You’ve always felt sorry for them, imagine being a servant for a bunch of assholes. They’re degraded to get rid of the attitude, so their self-esteem is gone. You can’t imagine what other mental damage the Capitol does while they’re at it.

“Did Finnick come back at all last night or this morning?” you ask, and the girl nods. She then holds up her finger, and disappears for a second. When she returns, she has a pad of paper in hand.

Of course, Finnick and his paper.

She holds it out to you, you thank her, before turning and heading for the elevator. When you step in, you read over the names. All the last names are ridiculous, all their ancestors had taken up unique last names to differ themselves from the people in the districts. Trying to get rid of all relations they previously had with you guys.

You wonder if your last name would be considered different. Gallows, hanging. You didn’t inherit it from your father, it was more of your mom. Passed down from generation to generation. You, your mom, her mom, and you’re pretty sure your great-grandma had gotten it from the war between the Capitol and the districts.

Changed it. It’s a pretty cool thought to think that the hanging was your legacy. This is what you were meant to do. All a bunch of murderous hanging monsters. Women in your family must be strong. It’s a shame your mom died when she did, she had so much more time.

Had she not died, then there wouldn’t have been as must change as there was in the house. You wouldn’t have learned those valuable skills as quickly and easily. There would have been someone to provide the food, so you wouldn’t have to hop on the boat with your brothers early in the morning. It would take away so many memories.

You wouldn’t change the past, no matter what.

The elevator stops, you look up to see that it’s not the bottom floor. When the doors open, you’re met with Cashmere and Gloss. You flip the top empty pages back on top of the written one to hide what you were looking at, clicking the pen a couple of times.

“What’re you up to?” she asks, looking over.

You show her the empty slip of paper, and then you turn, “What do you think would look good on Annie? Red again or should we go with something different?”

“Actually taking my vote?” she asks, raising her eyebrows, Gloss laughs.

“A light color.” Gloss says.

“Something to bring out her hair!” Cashmere nods, “And you should braid it really cool. Mine won’t listen to me. She doesn’t want to look girly one bit.”

“But she’s fierce, it’s what we need.” Gloss reminds her almost, and she huffs out a laugh.

“As if that’ll bring in sponsors. I hope during the interview she plays pretend at least for a couple of minutes.”

You shake your head, “Don’t have to worry about that. It’s the perks of not being a career district.”

“But you are.” Gloss says, the elevator dings.

You spin your back toward it, beginning to walk out backward, “Not entirely. Four is more exotic than you are.”

“Oh whatever!” Cashmere laughs, following you, “Where are you heading off to?”

“The betting area.” you tell them, Gloss looks to Cashmere.

“I could go there now, you head down to the stylists?” he suggests, “You know I’m not good with fashion.”

“Obviously not.” she motions to his outfit, but then she does the same to you, “Twinsies, I guess.”

“Shut up.” you tell her, laughing.

“I’ll see you two later.” she waves, and then stalks off. It’s a wonder how she’s so nice, yet she can also be so… mean-girl like.

You hadn’t encountered many bullies before the games–because after no one would bother to get within ten feet as if you’d snap and break their neck or something–but the few that had shown. Well, let’s just say that they liked to make fun of the fact that you were parentless. It was ironic, because the girls that would come around, one of two of their own parents were missing.

The pot calling the tea kettle black, huh?

“So how do you feel about Finnick being back?” Gloss asks after some walking in silence.

“Haven’t seen much of him.” you smile at Gloss, “I said a few things to him last night, tried to apologize but he left. Only thing he’s said–or given–to me is a list of potential sponsors.”

When you hold up the paper, he laughs, “It’s empty?”

“Not quite. But I don’t want you to steal them away. I know how sneaky you careers are.” you push him a little bit, laughing.

“Oh really? Says you!” he goes to catch up with you, but you begin to run out of grasp, making it a challenge. The both of you are running down the hall, giggling, squealing messes as you avoid him each time he makes a grab.

You try to fly through the door, since Gloss is catching up on you. You might be fast, but he has long legs. And also looks like he exercises regularly, Gloss is huge whether you like it or not.

Anyway, a pair of arms wrap around you, just before you smack into the door. It’s not Gloss, because the person is chest to heat with you. You have the pleasure of looking up to see Finnick.

And your heart seems to jump to your throat and stay there, “Sorry—“

“I need a word with (Y/n),” Finnick tells Gloss kindly.

You look to Gloss, and he shrugs, “Don’t be long. I might just have to take those sponsors.”

“You don’t have the list!” You hold up, but pass it to Finnick. He takes it for safekeeping. The grin passed between you two is mischievous.

Gloss waves, and then goes inside of the courtyard. Finnick lets the door free, and it shuts quietly. You go to move so Finnick can let you go, but he pulls you closer.

“Not jealous.” He tells you, “and you shouldn’t have apologized last night. You were right, the other districts aren’t interested, not as forgiving.”

“I know.” You say, finally hugging him back, “have you seen them today?”

“Yeah, they were excited to get into the training center. I warned them about not showing their special skill until the private session.”

“And the sponsors?”

“Clearly beat you to it.” He laughed, and you pull away from him, “I’m thinking Annie is our best bet. I’m having them focus on her, but they know to look after Paslee too.”

“So then there’s nothing to do, you’ve taken all of it from me.” You tell him, it’s true. He’s done all of your work. The sponsors, talking to the tributes before they went in. You wouldn’t doubt it if he had also gone to Laurel and Pleurisy to check out their outfits.

“Wouldn‘t say that.” Finnick opens the door up again, and lets you go in first.

You go in slowly, looking around the yard. Taking in your surroundings, how many people are here. You’ve come in here a couple of times before. But normally you wait until the games have started to organize sponsors. Being out here with the others, the most prestigious sponsors makes you feel sick.

Finnick takes your hand, probably feeling the anxiety radiating off of you in waves. He then pulls you along to a specific corner, you watch the people then turn to you. You’re not too fond of them in the first place, but the second that you realize that Finnick was sold to these people, that they have bought him and used him for their pleasures, makes you want to go.

You don’t want them on your side. To think that if either Annie or Paslee were to win, they might think they have an automatic right to them.

You turn your eyes to Finnick, “I change my mind.”

“It’s too late. I don’t hold grudges against them.”

“And yet you should.”

“I stayed at the Capitol on my own free will.” He reminds you, but it’s not sweet, it’s bitter.

Yes, he did. All because of you.

[mariisseething]

Analyzing Hero Costumes: Girls of Class 1-A

My obsession has spiraled out of control. Let me roast analyze these babes. I’m dumb. I’m tired. I’m gay. Let’s do this.

Warning: I’m a cynical, lazy-ass critic with no consistent taste. Don’t expect a fair analysis.

(This is just for fun, please don’t get mad at me for being an undereducated weeb! I went into writing this with only the knowledge I’ve obtained through watching the show and reading the manga. I don’t know everything about the costumes, and I don’t want to either)!

Ashido Mina (Pinky)

Babe, imma be frank here.

I love her, but—

that shit ugly.

Funcionality: Mina’s quirk (Acid) comes from her hands and feet. If I remember correctly, she has passages in her shoes that her...foot..acid.....can pass through, and her hands are fully exposed. So her costume is “practical”, and works with her quirk.

Design: As I said before, that shit ugly. The body suit has the worst pattern and color combination I’ve ever seen. (Like if Sully from Monster’s Inc. was turned into a cow and hated it). Her tiddies should be popping out any second now, which isn’t great. Her weird armpit vest with it’s stupid fluffy collar is quite reminiscent of Hawks’ jacket, which leads me to believe that their costumes were made by the same designer. (Many of the designers in the BNHA universe put calling-cards in their costumes). Her white mask is pointless, but at least it matches the fluff on her collar. Her boots, though they have a purpose, are ugly as sin. The pale yellow doesn’t match any other piece in the ensemble, and the Dabi-scar colored purple makes me sad. Hate that.

Total Score: 2/10

Her costume does almost nothing to enhance her quirk, and it’s hideous. The only reason it got two points was because of the shoe holes, and the possibility that it’s connected to my boy Hawks.

Seriously, this is some Seasame Street lookin-ass bullshit.

No hate on Mina, she’s lovely, but her taste is atrocious. (see: her bedroom).

Asui Tsuyu (Froppy)

Okay, okay bitch I see you.

I’m here for this.

Funcionality: Tsu’s quirk (Frog) requires a decent amount of flexibility from clothing. Spandex works for that I guess. Normally, I would automatically fail this costume for having goddamn toe “socks”, but for Tsuyu they’re nessecary. Having her individual toes chiseled out helps her grip onto shit when she’s kicking ass. It looks like her gloves are attached to her body suit, which is rad, but I’m not sure what the purpose of that waist belt-thing is. If anything, the chunky pieces of her costume would make it harder for her to swim. I also have no fucking clue what that head piece is. I once thought they were like binoculars or something, but she’s never put them on her face so...they wouldn’t fit....on her face..huh.....I’m so stupid bro.

Design: Lets start with a positive, the color scheme slaps. Everything goes together, and the dark green even matches her hair. The bodysuit has a cool structure, and I can definitely appreciate the slight turtleneck and boot-esq feature; however, the chunky wrist pieces, belt, neck/chest-thing, and head piece confuse me. I guess they’re there for fashion, gutter fashion. Shitty crap face fashion. Ugly butthole fashion. FILTH! I need to calm down holy shit—

Total Score: 6/10

The look honestly only lost points for the random ass statement pieces. Water terrains are Tsuyu’s specialty, and a clunky outfit would certainly slow her down underwater.

The toe shit, turtleneck, thigh-high “boots”, and color scheme are pretty dope though.

(Also, she only has three toes but frogs have four).

(My Hero Academia: Cancelled).

Hagakure Toru (Invisible Girl)

So, here’s the real question.

Is she naked?

Short answer: I dunno.

Funcionality: So she’s invisible, right? A good costume would emphasize that. I can only assume she wears the boots and gloves for comfort and so her allies can see where she is. If she wants to go full invisible, she just has to take them off. At one point, it was confirmed that she was topless during the sports festival, but we’ve had no further updates on her costume. A few people have theorized that her costume is made of her hair (assuming she has hair). We know that this is possible, as Mirio’s costume is made of his hair so he can remain clothed while his quirk is activated. The only issue would be making an outfit out of something you can’t see. If I were Toru, I would choose to fight nude because, I-uh...hmm, I-I can do what I want SHUT UP!

Design: There’s not much to critique here. The shade of blue on her gloves is cute, and the pink stripes don’t make much of an impact. The shoes are just about the most boring thing I’ve ever seen, like why are they beige??? What are they supposed to match? I just—ugh, beige??? What the fuck Horikoshi...smh.

Total Score: 5/10

Since we don’t know if the “hair-costume” thing is canon, I can’t rate it any higher. If that is true, it would be an 7/10. The outfit does its job, but I’m bored and beige sucks.

(Btw I don’t trust her...)

(Sketchy chick right here).

(Sketchy chick with some ugly-ass beige shoes).

Jirou Kyouka (Earphone Jack)

Aww.

She’s cute!

Look at her little face, d’awwwweeeeee!

Funcionality: The lovely Kyouka’s quirk (Earphone Jack), makes absolutely no sense to me. Like, I get that she can hear better and can eavesdrop really well, but how does she...make loud noises??? With the speakers??? Plugging earbuds into a speaker doesn’t make............noise, and the speakers aren’t part of her body. Whatever, back to the analysis. The speakers on her hands and calves amplify sound somehow, and her earlobes are exposed. It’s works.

Design: The speaker boots are basic, but acceptable. She’s got some comfy looking black pants, and a trendy salmon-colored top. Her jacket is iconic, and she’s wearing a choker. (+1,000,000 points for that). The white gloves don’t match shit, but they’re fingerless so I’ll let it slide. Her headphones almost match....meh. I don’t care. (+10 for the face paint).

Total Score: 8/10

Listen, I’d give her a 10 but this costume just isn’t....gimmicky, enough for me? She’s a superhero for fucksake! Now’s the time to dress your goddamn best! The look is practical, and seems to be her taste, I just disagree with her choices. Sue me. I’d either wanna fight in the wackiest most dangerous getup you’ve ever seen, or completely naked. Either way, I’m getting arrested. Jirou needs to get on my fucking level.

Uraraka Ochaco (Uravity)

I don’t know boys,

it seems like she might be...

round.

Fuck sharp angles!

Funcionality: Ochaco’s quirk (Zero Gravity) only requires her hands to work. More specifically, her fingertips. Uh, yeah those are some nude fingertips. *Ahem* moving on. Actually wait, since she often uses her quirk on herself it would be helpful for her to eliminate as much extra weight as possible, so I’m hoping that all of the accessories are hollow. They better be, or I’m gonna start throwing hands with Kohei Horikoshi.

Design: When Ochaco first got her hero costume she was surprised by how tight it was, even saying that it wasn’t supposed to be that tight. Bitch, how could it have been loose? I don’t...fuck it. I like the colors, I like the boots a lot actually, but who cares about that, I wanna talk about her fucking chastity belt. Who she keepin out? (Jesus Christ she’s a child, tone it down Mari). Do you think it’s comfortable to walk around with a chunk of plastic on your crotch?! I don’t know, seriously, is it? Maybe she’s trying to hide something...a hip dip perhaps?! Jk hip dips are stupid, that’s how bones work, don’t be ashamed. Her wrist...spheres... have handles on them, no comment, and whereas I usually LOVE chokers—that one is stupid and I hate it. Curvy little shit.

Total Score: 8/10

I like it overall, but some things are just too strange to overlook. (i.e. the chastity belt, wrist cuff handles, and the ugly choker). This costume doesn’t really scream Uraraka to me either. It’s a bit unoriginal to me.

I just don’t love it.

(Why are her fists clenched? Is she trying to fight? I could snap her like the twig she is and steal her girlfriend).

(Assuming she has one).

Yaoyorozu Momo (Creati)

Oohooohohohoho

hooohohoho

hoooooo mAN do I have some WORDS for this one!

Funcionality: Momo’s quirk (Creation) does require quite a bit of skin to be exposed, but I’m not sure why that skin HAS to be her boobs. She’s got thighs, a stomach, a back, an upper chest, and arms. Why do her Russian nesting dolls have to come out of her tiddies??? Okay, actually, she doesn’t make that many things with her tits. So....why’re they out? This costume definitely lets her quirk run wild, maybe too much.

Design: The red is pretty, and I can tolerate the sandy yellow. Her shoes are unimportant, so let’s just gloss over those. Now, WHAT is that thing? A makeshift, tan colored, plastic tube mini...skirt? I know she has a shelf on her ass that she carries books on, but doesn’t she have a cellphone? Google? Can’t she just remember the molecular make-up of a cannon? (Because she only makes cannons now for some reason). Have we ever even seen her reading those books? Can she read? A large portion of her midsection/chest is exposed up to another one of those weird chest pieces and a neck jacket. Maybe she should cut the neck coat off and glue it to her tiddies.

Total Score: 1/10

Listen, Horikoshi clearly understands what Momo’s costume needs, but he has no idea how to make that. This outfit IS inappropriate, no matter how you look at it. She’s a minor, and I don’t like the idea that she’s running around 75% naked. The only part of this that I like is the shade of red. That’s not good.

I really like Momo, she’s a good character, it’s unfortunate that we have to sexualize her so much. Can’t girls just be smart without also being eye candy for creepy 30 year old weebs?

——————

That’s it for this analysis. I plan on posting more stuff like this since I enjoy writing it so much! You should totally follow me so you don’t miss my future ramblings! 💖

Unless you hated it.

I wouldn’t blame you.

[bellamygateoldblog]

​The 100 Aesthetic/Preferences Tag

Tagged by: @blodreina-noumou ty babe!!

This is a tag game about AESTHETICS, not content, plot, characterization, etc. Just keep that in mind.

Rank the seasons from favorite to least favorite:

2 > 1 > 3 > 5 > 4 (me, petty: *won’t even put 6 on the ranking*)

2 - I think 2 has Octavia’s best look, very ‘Grounder In Training’ which was really really cute lol. Then there was the beginning of Clarke’s desent into grime, from pristine princess to getting weighed down with the dirt of her own emotions and percieved obligations and I liked to see it.

1 - everyone is clean and baby-faced and it reminds me of a simpler time. Was a fan of guard!Bellamy hair gel and all, it really brought out the douche in him. This season has my favourite Raven (she GLOWS) and Clarke Sky Babe looks. Jasper’s goggles. Dropship site was iconic.

3 - I appreciated the grimy aesthetic of season three because they really committed to the Goin’ Thru It.

The drastic shift in Jasper’s look was something I really liked. His boyish features are gone and now merely a ghost of innocence remains, in it’s place we have a more mature, hardened demeanor in the form of facial hair and a lack of cute, floppy hairstyle.

5 - we got the spacekru ‘clan’ look! In previous seasons we’ve seen clans have markers indicating who they belong to, Trikru with their earthy colours and wearing leaves, Azgeda with their furs and white paints, and Floukru with their ocean imagery, and now we see the survivors of apocalypse in their bluish-grey space tones styled in a way that makes it absolutely clear they’re all apart of the same group. We see a new headscarf for Emori, still very much herself but refashioned. And no glove! She’s completely comfortable with her new family. The scarf was very unique to her character so someone tell me why after all this they completely threw it out for season 6? Oh yeah it’s because season 6 isn’t real, it didn’t happen, I do Not See It.

All the boys glo-ed up. Loved that. All the girls started wearing their hair looser, Raven has her two strands sneaking out of her signature ponytail- she still very much looks like ‘Raven’ but everyone just in general looks more relaxed, like they’ve had a breather. In terms of the world, I loved the stark differences in the three main locations, and every one of them felt haunting but in different ways. Ghost lands. The wasteland of 5 was almost reminicent of the desert back in season 2, now devistated. The bunker was suffocating and chilling. The valley felt weirdly sinister in all it’s colours.

4 - eventually everyone looked peak skaikru, no longer delinquents in their various multi-coloured bomber jackets, marking their youth, but fully-fledged members of their group. I liked the way s4 almost paralleled s1 in look, they’re all wearing the same colours, but while they are all technically clean, they still look less presentable and exhausted compared to S1. Bellamy, again, like in season 1, is in his guard uniform but it’s more an upgraded and more mature version. In a way it looked like we came full circle. And Clarke and Octavia both going back to a more skaigirl hairstyle was the cherry on top. Luna’s costumes are probably my favourites on the entire show. I have no idea how we went from costumes of such intricasy and consistency to...’what in the name of halloween store clearance sale is that?’ in season 6.

6 - sanctum’s costumes were literally so ugly i don’t even wanna talk about it please don’t make me do it...

ok i go

1) Controversial ik but Emori’s Prime dress missed the mark. I liked the addition of the cape, but, again, it was so bare otherwise. There was no embroidery, no jewels, and the accessories they did give her were clunky and looked cheap. It looked too prom night. She was supposed to be royalty. And she didn’t look like it at all.

2) Absolutely hated the fact they put a pound of makeup on each of the space sisters’ faces. And the fact they gave them all unnaturally curled hair. Meanwhile Clarke and Octavia still somewhat look natural and ordinary so...what’s going on? And why?

Rank Clarke’s hair each season from best to worst:

1 > 6 > 2 > 4 > 5 > 3

some thoughts;

Not a fan of her season 4 hair, and i can’t articulate my dislike very well but why’d her roots get so dark? She never had dark roots in season 1, this character is a natural blonde, and yet over the seasons they became progressively darker and tbh? It started to irritated me. Also I don’t think the cut framed her face quite right? SOMETHING okay? Something about it......

Rank Bellamy’s hair/beard each season from best to worst:

3 > 1,2,4,6 < 5

The real debate: Bellamy in the blue shirt or the tan?

They both look the same to me. lol. Blue.

Clarke’s blue dress or pink dress?

Neither. Both weren’t very good looking. If you were holding me at gun point I’d say blue, but the cut did the opposite of help. And if they were gonna have a moment where Clarke, oblivious to her own *ethereal beauty* and not like the other girls, walks down the stairs ready to throw her hair into a messy bun and get sold to One Direction, they could’ve at least put her in a more suitable dress. Something a bit more glamourous, sophisticated, something to justify the 10 people in the room staring up at her in awe. It’s such a casual, tasteless dress? And she isn’t even wearing shoes? She isn’t wearing anything shiny, she didn’t do anything to her hair. We saw what other dresses and accessories Delilah had in her closet, the yellow and pink soft-flowing, feminine classy dresses and the pretty headwear she wore in her own short time in the season. But you give Clarke, your protagonist, that unflattering one? One that she so clearly hastily threw on and headed out in? She got two outfit changes, while none of the other main girls got any at all, and they were both ugly LIKE what was even the point?

Favorite Raven season: Her season 1 baby face just cannot be beat, she looks beautiful. And I only use that word very particularly.

Raven’s ark vest or red bomber jacket?

how about that red popper shirt from season 4

Raven’s ponytail or her s6 look?

Ponytail. It’s Raven. S6 look betrayed what her character was about.

Favorite Octavia season: 2! I love the baby grounder look.

Octavia’s hair in s2 (the braids) or s4 (the ponytail)?

The braids just because they were more interesting to look at.

Blodreina or Skairipa?

Blodreina. Like I said somewhere up there ^ that whole costume was a breath of fresh air.

Favorite Murphy season: S5!

Murphy with long hair or short hair?

I appreciated the rat boy look while it lasted, but the short hair makes him look good, while his other hairstyles pretty much were just there to contribute to the climate of his character.

Favorite Monty season: 5. Bout time they made him look grown. He’s actually a pretty ruthless and passive aggressive kid, the fact he looked so sweet in previous seasons really tricked a lot of the fanbase into believing he was some tiny cinnamon roll.

Favorite overall episode: I’m awful at seperating episodes. I just can’t do it lol

Favorite scene of all time: I just don’t have the best memory for these things. I quite liked the reveal of Blodreina, the transition is takes from Cooper in the very first arena fight to current day, and it switches from blue to red, and slowly reveals Blodreina. The music change gave me chills. Everything about the scene just felt really dark and eery. I was uncomfortable. And I loved it.

Biggest wish for s7: Visually/aesthetically, decide which style you’re going for. I’ve said this before somewhere but Sanctum was a confusing mess of sci-fi, royal, prom night, and divergent amity. Pick one and get back to me.

I want a better designed world. I want all the set and costume designers to actually communicate and work together to make the world look like something professional and not a cosplay convention on a cheap set with a big paper mache castle.

Also I’d love for all the girls to not be all dolled-up. Give Raven her ponytail back, I’ll even settle for the low pony. Give Emori her headscarf back. And go get them all some face wipes. Maybe give someone other than Clarke an oppurtunity to wear something besides their murder gear. And maybe make that something actually good looking. Put some effort in. Sheesh.

I don’t follow many people and most of the ones I do are hibernating lol. I fully encourage someone to steal this. But in the meantime: @johnmurphysreddit​ @awesomenell65​

[shealwaysreads]

Writing’s On the Wall

A little something inspired by THIS pic that @jeldenil shared on the Drarry Discord Server - hilarious lines contributed by her and @hogwartsfemme 🙌

Betaed by the lovely @malenkayacherepakha and cheered by the sweet @drarryruinedme7 ❤️

Drarry | 2586 words | Harry POV, Auror cadets Harry & Draco, graffiti, gratuitous use of the ‘just out the shower’ image

Summary: In which the Auror department is surprisingly artistic, Draco is still an overdramatic shit, Harry still makes the most of any trouble that finds him, and getting horizontal is the solution to everyone's problems.

Also available on AO3

The first time Harry ever noticed graffiti that referenced him had been in the Quidditch locker rooms at Hogwarts. He had been pretty sure it was Draco or one of his cronies that had slipped into the Gryffindor area and spelled miniature Dementors to appear whenever someone walked past the blank game-play board. Oliver Wood had cursed and spluttered when he realised they had erased his intricate diagrams and game-plans, fiercely complaining to McGonagall.

Some of the highlights while he was at Hogwarts had been during the Triwizard Tournament - there had suddenly been loads of graffiti about him. None of it complimentary until he’d completed the first challenge, admittedly. “POTTER STINKS” had flashed across every toilet door in the castle in a lurid, flashing green for three weeks before Filch managed to convince Professor Flitwick to help him remove the charms.

Then a tiny doodle of him and a dragon appeared in an alcove on the way to the History of Magic classroom. Complete with glowing dragon flames it showed Harry and the Horntail flying a wild and cartoonish circuit around a sketchy Hogwarts, their endless chase looping every minute or so. It was probably Dean’s handiwork, the lines confident and skillful even though it was charmed onto rough stone walls - and his practice with art charms had come a long way since his first Quidditch banner. Within a week it had been scratched through though, a proud ‘CEDRIC’S THE BEST’ scrawled over it.

After the war, he saw it more regularly. The mark of the Deathly Hallows spelled onto walls, scratched into bar tables. Sometimes a cheeky ‘If HP sees this and wants a good time, Floo me!’ with addresses charmed underneath. It made trips to pub bathrooms, usually home of the more lurid examples of graffiti, an embarrassing trial sometimes - his friends always welcomed ammunition for their endless teasing.

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one targeted by renegade artists and overzealous fans. Ron had flushed beetroot red (clashing horribly with his hair) for a full half hour after seeing a particularly explicit suggestion about himself scrawled in muggle pen across the wall in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had cackled all the way back to their tabled and regaled Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and Dean with the details while Ron hid behind his pint.

He was pleased when he joined the Auror Cadets and nobody seemed to be star-struck. Their tutors were strict but fair. Even Draco Malfoy wasn’t up to his old schoolboy tricks. It appeared that his attitude had matured just as well as the rest of him.

On too many occasions to count Harry caught himself appreciating just how well Draco filled out his cadet uniform, especially the clinging material of their work-out gear which left less to the imagination than he thought he should be subjected to at work...while still desperately wanting to see more.

The only issue Harry had with his cohort of fellow cadets, and even some of the wider Auror staff, was the giggling. He knew it wasn't to do with his ‘man who lived twice’ reputation because they’d made a point of pairing him with an Auror in his sixties for sparring classes during his first month of training. He’d had his arse absolutely handed to him during class after class for four solid weeks, and that had quelled any potential hero worship before it could start.

No. This was the kind of giggling that made you think people were talking about you. He walked into the break room and was immediately on edge as three fellow cadets started sniggering into their tea cups, going silent as soon as he turned around and made eye contact. And it happened when Draco joined sessions too. Not to mention the sly looks and excited mutterings that broke out whenever he and Draco were paired together in classes or for fieldwork.

It was driving Harry mad. That morning in duelling practice he had been partnered with Draco to fight against another pair of cadets, learning how to effectively work offensive and defensive spells while working in a pair - just like they would once they were full Aurors. He had been surprised earlier in the year at how well he and Draco worked together when fighting, but on reflection realised they knew each other’s duelling style so well from attacking each other that it sort of made sense.

Thankfully it was Friday, and the day was done. He and Draco had been on clear-up duty, packing away the cushioned mats and returning the sparring room back to its blank slate, ready for the first class on Monday. So it was just the two of them in the changing rooms, showering before heading home.

Ordinarily Harry would have just skipped out and headed home for a shower in the comfort of his own place, but he’d promised to meet his friends at the Leaky and only had half an hour before he was due to get the first round in.

With just him and Draco in the shower rooms it was actually peaceful, no sounds but the rush of water, no laughing cadets making Harry feel like he must have something on his face. Other than the obvious of course.

Just as he was drying off, thoughts of beer and a big basket of chips filling his mind, Harry’s peace was rudely interrupted.

“POTTER!” Draco barked. “ Explain yourself!”

Harry hurried to wrap his towel around his waist, and padded out to the main changing area to see what he was being accused of. Even the sight of Draco, his own towel riding low on slim hips, his hair still dripping water onto his surprisingly broad chest, didn't distract Harry from the sheer horror induced by the entire wall of graffiti he found.

There was the usual house pride slogans, the Hufflepuffs perhaps not so surprisingly prolific taggers given their famous loyalty. There was even a Deathly Hallows icon - a remnant from those first months post-war when Harry saw them everywhere. Some clever bugger had even charmed a big marker quill to stick to the wall - so anyone wanting to add their own touch to the wall wouldn't find themselves without a writing implement.

But the pièce de résistance was the two feet tall portrait someone had drawn of him and Draco together. As in. Carnally. It didn’t have quite the artistic flair of Dean’s magical moving paintings, but mini-Harry and mini-Draco didn’t seem to let that hold them back - both of them looking over their shoulders with surprised expressions while they continued rocking and thrusting together. With gusto.

Harry felt a hot flush creeping up his neck, and it was only half from embarrassment. His fellow cadets’ laughter and meaningful glances between him and Draco suddenly made sense. Clearly the whole bloody lot of them were in on it - given the number of different handwriting styles decorating the wall.

Draco was similarly pink, points of colour high on his cheekbones giving away his emotional state - just like when he got angry at school. If Harry wasn't sure Draco was about to launch into a full blown rant he might even have taken a moment to admire the way his rage made his eyes so bright. But an angry Draco was a long-winded Draco, and the pub was calling Harry.

“Clearly I didn’t bloody do this, Malfoy.” He gestured at the layers of writing and doodles. “This is the whole fucking team at it. Look! I’m not a Hufflepuff am I?!”

A scoff was his only response. Then Draco pointed out the ‘I need HP like a grindylow needs water’ tag, and raised one pointed eyebrow meaningfully at Harry.

“I think this smacks of your usual ego actually, even if you did seem to have gotten over that recently. And look - isn’t that your abysmal handwriting?!”

Harry peered at the word Draco was pointing at.

“What the fuck is ‘drarry’ though? I definitely didn’t write that. I don’t even know that spell.”

Draco rolled his eyes so hard Harry was surprised they didn’t fall out of his head. So overdramatic.

“It’s clearly a fucking portmanteau, Potter, you absolute idiot. Anyway. Aren’t we ignoring the elephant in the room here? They’ve drawn us fucking for Merlin’s sake - in our place of work! ”

Draco was working himself up to high dudgeon now, and Harry couldn’t exactly blame him. It was inappropriate. But it was also pretty funny. And frankly, from his perspective, he couldn’t blame the rest of their class for getting a bit carried away. He knew he must have contributed to whatever idea they had of the two of them together, with the way his eyes lingered on Draco’s arse so regularly. Even so, they should probably talk to the head of the Cadet teaching team, get this all sorted out before it spilled into a more public forum.

But winding Draco up had been one of Harry’s specialty subjects up to this point in his life, and far more fun than resisting Imperio or defeating Dark Lords, so he decided to indulge himself. Even if he ended up late for pub night. Or with a black eye.

“You’re right, you know. This is wrong.” He paused for a moment, taking in Draco’s approving nod before gleefully marching on to turn it into a thunderous glare. “Who said you get to top?”

A strangled noise escaped Draco’s open mouth, his brows twisted with frustration. Harry tried to keep his soaring satisfaction hidden, loving the play of emotions over Draco’s usually calm face. There was just something about seeing him get all flustered that made Harry feel the same way he did when he reached out to grab the snitch. Elated.

“ That’s what you take issue with?”

He was even gesturing with his hands now. Elegant fingers pointed angrily at their twins on the wall - still merrily copulating - while the other hand gripped the knot holding his towel up. Harry couldn’t help but drop his gaze for a moment, imagining what he might see if he annoyed Draco enough for him to let go of that towel for a moment.

Ever the hopeful Gryffindor, Harry leant forward and grabbed the marker quill. He grinned at Draco before drawing a big arrow pointing at their doodled likenesses, then wrote in bold letters ‘OK BUT HARRY TOPS’. He drew back and watched as Draco read his addition to the wall, waiting for the inevitable bomb to go off. This was better than sparring.

“There. I fixed it.”

But instead of an explosion of the poshest invective he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing - Draco’s command of archaic swear words was genuinely one of the highlights of their working together - Harry watched as Draco fell silent. His eyes were wide as he stared at what Harry had written, the spots of pink high on his cheekbones blooming into a flush that travelled down his neck and even onto his chest.

And now Harry was looking at his nipples. Fuck.

When he managed to drag his treacherous eyes away from those pert, pink, perfectly lickable buds he found Draco’s sharp gaze trained fully on his face. This didn’t bode well.

“You...fixed it? ‘Okay but Harry tops’ is you fixing it? That was the only part of this whole thing-” he gestured wildly at the wall. “That’s the only bit you have an issue with? Not the whole. Drarry thing. Seriously?”

He actually sounded almost plaintive. Harry suddenly regretted taking the piss, even if he hadn’t exactly lied at any point in this little melodrama.

“Um. Well. Obviously we should talk to Auror Lessing about it, it’s not fair that they’re doing this just to us. But. Well. I’m not offended people might think of us together I guess?” He shrugged his shoulders and nodded at their graffiti counterparts. “They look like they’re enjoying it anyway!”

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he watched Harry huff a nervous laugh. He advanced one step toward Harry, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the way his body still glittered with droplets of water from his shower. Couldn’t help thinking about what a pleasant way to spend some time it would be to lick each one of them. He hauled his thoughts back from that treacherous direction; his towel didn’t hide much and it definitely wouldn’t hide a very work-inappropriate stiffy.

“They do look like they’re having fun, don’t they.” Draco murmured.

Harry swallowed hard at the deep timbre of his voice.

“ That Harry doesn’t seem to be too disappointed to be on the receiving end. Shame it’s not an accurate reflection of reality.”

All thoughts of propriety flew out of Harry’s mind at that. Draco sodding Malfoy was flirting with him. Undeniably. Could a bit of embarrassing graffiti really be the thing that pushed them beyond the weird tension they’d had since eighth year?

“Well. Um.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just the assumption really. Probably because I’m shorter than you. But I’m pretty, um, versatile. And, ah, height difference doesn’t matter much in bed, I find.”

For the span of a heartbeat Harry feared he’d misread the situation, overstepped the mark. But then a wicked grin grew on Draco’s face and he knew he’d hit just the right spot. He stepped closer still, making Harry tilt his head up slightly to maintain their eye contact.

The small space between them filled with heat, and Harry felt like if he breathed in deeply enough their chests might even touch. He wondered if Draco was still holding his towel so tightly, but didn’t dare look down, didn’t want to break this moment stretching between them.

“I agree Potter. Very unfair of them to pigeon-hole you. They should know better by now.” He raised an eyebrow, challenge in every line of his face. “I was thinking of skipping pub night this evening in favour of a hot bath and a curry. But, as you’re feeling so versatile I’m happy to be flexible too. How about I join you and the rest of the motley crew for the obligatory Friday night pint, and then you join me for food?”

Harry felt his mouth drop open, shocked Draco had been the one of them to finally come out and say it so boldly. Draco just leaned closer still, his breath hot against Harry’s ear as he whispered, sending a corresponding shiver of excitement down his spine.

“I reckon we can test out your height difference theory, I’m sure my sofa would do the trick too - if you want to demonstrate for me?”

The image that conjured in Harry’s mind was enough to make him snap his mouth shut and stifle a groan of desire. He reached out to finally touch Draco, and closed the tiny distance between them to kiss him fully on the mouth. A broad palm at his waist, gripping tightly, pulled a gasp out of him. He dragged himself away from Draco’s mouth with difficulty, already panting slightly.

“Fuck pub night, get dressed. Last one to the apparition point is paying for the curry.”

With that Harry dashed across the room to pull his trousers on, grinning as he watched Draco wrangle his own on over still damp legs. He couldn’t wait to see what this mutual competitive spirit would create outside of the quidditch pitch or duelling ring, but he was sure it would be absolutely worth the tongue-lashing he’d get from Ron for ditching the sacred Friday night drinks for Draco.

Tagging @tedahfromtayla @maesterchill @tomoewantsdolls

[zankivich]

Dad!Shawn x Black Reader x Black Daughter: A Blurb

a/n: I don't have a title for this yet. it’s just a blurb for right now, but someone submitted this idea and I couldn’t NOT write it. Omg this is so cute and I love it. I think it could be read as a companion piece to Coco Butter Kisses, but it’s not necessary at all. I just love writing for black women is all. It’s kinda iconic. K. bye. (Please reblog and comment If ya like?)

*Masterlist in bio*

The relationship between a Black Woman and her hair is not one to be fucked with. He had learned that super early on when they first started going out. His girlfriend would show up to their date with braids in one day and then a sleek ponytail only for him to show up to her apartment late night to find her sitting on her floor while her best friend would sew new tracks in for her. Her hair styles were as versatile as her outfits, and he loved every minute of it. She was beautiful to him no matter what her head looked like, and he found that the more she played around with her styles the happier she was. That was all that he cared about.

When they had gotten married, he had thought aimlessly about what their kids might be like. With his pastiness and portuguese and her Southern Tennessee roots and molten chocolate skin. It wasn’t until she actually got pregnant that she schooled him all about how mixed children were usually perceived; the problematic notions of only loving black children if they were mixed with something else. They spent hours talking about it at night when the baby wouldn’t stop kicking and she couldn’t sleep, so he couldn’t either.

The day he has a daughter changes his life forever. He thought it was impossible to be more obsessed with someone then his wife, had never loved anyone like he loved her, until the day they placed that little girl in his hands. He was suddenly tethered completely to her. From that day on he’d done anything for her, would be anything for her, if it meant she would smile and be happy.

So, it should come to no surprise to anyone that when it came time, and his baby girl needed her hair done, he immediately stepped up to the plate. She had been born with chocolate curls like her daddy’s, but the second she turned five her texture had quickly become like her mother’s, turning into these beautiful ringlets that needed attention and care.

It starts with just watching.

“Ella, sweetheart, go get the hair basket. Mommy’s gonna do your hair before bed!” Y/n asked.

“Daddy will you help?” She asked smiling up at him with a smile that was so much like her mother’s it never ceased to amaze him.

“Of course I will baby.” He grinned scooping her up off the ground and onto his hip.

His wife rolled her eyes playfully. “Didn’t I tell you to go get it and not Daddy?”

She was a Daddy’s girl through and through. It probably had something to do with the fact that he’d been wrapped around her finger since the day she was born.

“Daddy likes to help though.” Ella explained tiny hands squeezing her father’s cheeks for emphasis.

He beamed at his wife. “Yea, daddy likes to help.”

They go and get the basket together that holds all of her hair accessories, brushes, creams, and anything else y/n liked to use. He hands the basket to his wife while his daughters goes and grabs a pillow to plop down on the floor between her mother’s legs. It’s their nightly ritual and he loves it endlessly. When Ella gets tired and cranky, y/n and her often have heated discussions during hair time, but for the most part his daughter loves getting her hair done and Shawn loves to watch.

He pops a squat on couch beside his wife watching as she grabs a spray bottle and starts to wetten Ella’s hair.

“Babe, what’s in the spray bottle?” He asked.

Her hands don’t slow down at all as she grabs a different mist to go on top of the other spray and slowly begins to detangle Ella’s hair.

“It’s olive oil and water. It just makes her hair a little easier to work with and detangle.” She explained.

“And what’s that you’re adding now?”

“It’s just a little detangler.”

“But I thought that’s what the olive oil and water was for.” He asked, confused.

She snorted. “The olive oil just sort of penetrates the hair shafts and helps moisturize and with the water her hair is naturally easier to work with, but the detangler helps actually work to make it hurt less when I go in with the come, babe.”

“Oh wow. It’s so complicated.” He hummed.

Ella attempted to peer back at her father only to pushed back around by her mother.

“Do I look pretty daddy?” She called anyway.

“Oh of course! You’re the prettiest girl in the whole entire world, elly belly.”

He tries his hardest to pay attention but it really is harder than it looks. His wife has a way of braiding so quickly that sometimes if he blinks he misses it. Her hands are skilled like that. So that night after Ella goes to bed with her special pink bonnet that she picked out all by herself, and y/n comes into their room he can’t help but pull her into his lap.

“Baby can I ask you something?” He murmured gripping her thighs tightly in his hands.

She hums softly. “Of course.”

“Can I braid your hair?”

She chuckled. “Well that’s a first.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ain’t no white boy ever tried to touch my hair before. They usually know better by the time they get to me.”

His hands reached to grab at her ass the way that he knows she’s likes and gives her a bit of a pout for good measure.

“Guess I never learned my lesson. Please, babe?”

“Why would you even want to braid my hair anyway?”

He shrugged. “Wanna practice for Ella.”

Her eyes widened at that and he thought that maybe she might find it cute. He certainly thought it was cute. Not so much.

“Excuse me? Don’t you think you should be practicing on Ella’s hair before you touch my grown ass head, instead of the reverse”

He chuckled softly giving her hips a gentle, affirming squeeze.

“I love both my ladies; I just want Ella to know that her dad cares about her hair and her culture. I--I want you to know that too. I want to be there for both of you in every way that I can.”

He sees it work its way through her system, and he know that he’s got her when she runs her fingers through his a hair, a telltale sign that she can’t say no to him.

“Ugh. You’re annoying. Fine. But if you fuck my hair my up, I fuck you up. And not in the way that you like, understand?”

He nods aggressively giving her the scouts honor despite the fact that he was never even in boy scouts.

It’s a learning curve for sure. She has to show him how to hold the hair and the best way to create sections with hair that isn’t so thin and easy to part. The good news is he asks her about her day while they sit there. She tells him about work and he even makes her laugh a couple of times. He loves his wife with his whole entire being and they both know he’d do anything in the world to make her happy. The nights spent in their bedroom, not even when they’re being intimate, are what make him the happiest. It’s those moments that reiterate that she’s his best friend, that she’s everything to him, besides Ella, which she is. When she throws her head back to laugh and he gets an eye full of her teeth and her smile and her whole chest shaking, he falls in love all over again. She has that effect on him.

***

He doesn’t get to try out his skills until y/n leaves to go visit her mom in Tennessee when she’s sick. It’s short notice, and she doesn’t wanna bring Ella, so Shawn stays behind with their daughter. He cancels some promo and jam sessions, but it’s worth it to be with Ella. His daughter is one of the funniest people in the world and so they have an absolute blast. He let’s her skip school and they build pillow forts in the middle of the living room, rearranging furniture to his baby girl’s liking, and playing music on the speakers louder than mommy would ever allow because she asks.

When she asks for ice cream and there’s none in the freezer, they really don’t have a truth but to take a trip. But, it only takes one look at his daughter’s head to know that his wife would never have her walk out the house in the manner that she’s currently in.

“Sweetheart if you wanna go get ice cream we’ll have to do your hair.” He tells her.

She scrunches up her face and once again she’s so much like her mother it’s ridiculous.

“But only mommy knows how to do my hair.”

“Well, maybe we let daddy have a try. I promise we won’t leave the house if you don’t like it okay? We’ll get uncle Geoff to bring us some.”

She’s more willing than he could have expected and he has a feeling it’s only because she loves him so much.

Ella sits between her father’s thighs bouncing up and down and playing with his legs. Shawn learns very quickly that when his wife would get frustrated and tell Ella over and over to sit still that there was such validity to that statement. He’s sitting there with the iPad trying to figure out how the hell to do a “Goddess Braid” and his daughter is jumping like a wild banshee. Everytime he thinks he might be on the brink of doing it correctly she turns her head to ask a question and he has to start all over again. His wife was a much stronger human being than he. She was able to get Ella to do what she asked off sheer authority alone. Shawn; however, was much softer and much more Canadian. He worked off bribes.

“Hey baby girl,” Shawn sighed trying to mask the fluttering irritation in his gut.

“Yesss daddy?”

“Do you wanna go out to a big girl dinner? Just you and me? We can go somewhere to sit down, wherever you want.”

Her eyes light up and she bounces again between his legs.

“Yea! Can we really?!”

“Yes, of course. But, you gotta be a good girl for Daddy okay? We can’t go anywhere until your hair is done. As soon as I finish your hair we can go eat, and get ice-cream.”

It’s like magic. Suddenly her legs are crossed. She keeps her head straight and holds the rubberbands in her hand until he needs them. It’s actually much easier to do on Ella’s head then it is on y/n’s. She’s tiny and when he looks down he can see her entire head. He puts a part down the middle of her head the way y/n did. He uses the spray bottle to get the hair wet, and he dentagles it just the way he knows how. His long fingers work over the strands of hair braiding them tightly against her scalp. When the braids are in place he cross them in the opposite direction along the top of her head and slots two bobby pins against the braids to make sure they stay. When he’s done, his hands are a little greasy and he swears he broken out into a sweat, but it doesn’t look bad at all and he kinda wants to call his wife and cry a little bit.

“Sweetheart can we take a picture for Mommy to show her how pretty your hair looks?”

She poses like the adorable little diva that she is and runs of to grab her shoes for dinner while he texts his wife.

Shawn: Baby I think I may have upstaged you a little bit.

Y/n: Awww it’s looks really good babes. I can’t believe you did it. How difficult was she?

Shawn: Very. I’m never gonna get upset with you for yelling again. I might have promised I’d take her to dinner and ice-cream to get her to sit still

Y/n: Oh wonderful. When do I get dinner and ice-cream?

Shawn: You can have dinner and ice-cream whenever you want baby. I miss you so much.

Y/n: I miss you too. Call me before Ella goes to bed so I can say goodnight.

Shawn: K. You gonna say goodnight to me too? ;)

Y/n: Boy get off my phone.

A man can try.

[solecize]

REPLY 2009 ⠀ ⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀(OR: 2009, YEAR OF US) — 004.

now playing: y.o.u (year of us) by shinee

summary: ten years ago, we found ourselves at a turning point in pop culture as the decade began to close. this was the year that brought the world obama, the death of michael jackson, and the highest grossing film of all time, avatar. however, in south korea, something big was brewing as well and it started off with infectious lyrics, colourful costumes, and sensational dance moves: kpop. the korean wave that started to build several years ago begins to find its footing in the international limelight in 2009. this was the golden era of kpop. this was the time of sorry, sorry. the debut of quite possibly the most different and groundbreaking girl group in korean entertainment, 2NE1. the rise of shinee, one of the most consistent boy bands of this era and beyond. the throne of bigbang would remain steady with their ventures into japan. and of course. . . snsd's gee that would solidify their place as the nation’s girl group and overtake their male counterparts. nothing can touch this legendary age.meanwhile, in the very city that milled and churned out these stars, eight teenagers were also coming to a certain close in 2009. youth was suddenly running out like grains of a darkened hourglass, as everything and everyone brought tension into their lives. where was the next step on their path? high school is nothing more than a cruel halfway point between childhood and adulthood, but this group of friends made the most out of it. after all, this is the youngest that they'll ever be. this age is the time where hopes rise higher than ever, where love burns the most passionately, and the desire for freedom expands the furthest. in 2009, we follow these teenagers' stories to the background music of the opening chapters of kpop's greatest legacies.but, ten years later at their high school reunion, where do we find them.

or: highschool!got7, dancecrew!got7, coming of age, school reunion angst, reader x ?

PRESENT DAY (08)

“Hey, what song is this?” Bambam was in the middle of drowning a champagne glass as soon as it was offered to him by red bow tied waiters with trays. The stereo system had been blasting the ever iconic ‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga before switching abruptly to a much more mellow tune led by a heavy drum and piano. The sound of the song filled the old gymnasium all around and generated many different reactions from attendees, from sighs to cheers.

Faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, began to slowly trickle into Haerin’s varnished gymnasium. Bambam and I remained at our assigned table in the back, but many rushed there, mostly for the attention of the famous actor. Half of these people didn’t even talk to either of us during high school, while the others were faces unrecognizable due to age or plastic. I bit back a smile upon encountering some that used to make my blood boil—I needed to let past prejudice die.

One of those faces happened to be Bae Suji, strutting in with as much poise as she had all those years ago.

I looked away, hoping that she wouldn’t notice me. “Sounds like SHINee. . .?” I said, unsure of myself.

“It’s Year of Us, isn’t it?”

Jinyoung appeared from behind me, settling into a seat at the table. He slid a shimmering CD case across the table towards us. I raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he went back to the car for it, but then, I took a closer glance at the item. Scribbled with eight different signatures, I realized that it was one of the many mixes that the dance crew used over the course of senior year. I slipped it into my purse for later on, catching the look in his eyes.

Bambam snapped a finger. “Yeah! Hey,” he tilted his head at my brother, “how’d you know that?”

“They played it at our graduation. You guys don’t remember?” he said. The melody felt familiar, but the memory was so fuzzy that I couldn’t place my finger on it. Graduation was a day full of whirlwind experiences that it was hard to even pinpoint a singular one.

At that moment, the lights in the gym began to darken. The party was really about to get started and a round of cheers flared up, as the attendees raised their glasses. I felt a little bit out of place, watching others greet their old friends and exchange pleasantries. Maybe it was the inner hatred I had for other people, but I had yet to go out of my way to say hello to anyone.

Bambam seemed to notice this, as he nudged my side. “Oh, look who’s right there. Call her over!” He was referring to Suji and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to fling myself into the sun.

“No!”

“Come on!” The Thailand native began to whine.

Jinyoung seemed to agree with him on this one. “Yeah, just this once. It’s not going to hurt.”

I wanted to retort a yes it will, but then she suddenly turned around. Our eyes met and it took a second for her face to contour into what I believed was faux enthusiasm, eyes wide and mouth formed into an ‘O’. I did the same, only my smile was spread thinner. I could hear her heels clicking even through the belting out of Lee Jinki.

It was as if she naturally drew attention like it was nothing. I noticed how people started to squint through the flashing neon lights from above, trying to make out everyone’s favourite Prom Queen. At her side towered a man with fair skin and blonde hair, sunglasses perched upon his face. The material of his all black suit shone under the light and seeing the way Suji dug her long fingernails into his sleeve, he appeared to be her date for the night.

“Suji! I can’t believe it’s really you!” I exclaimed, mustering up as much fervor that my body had.

Looking at her up close, it was evident that she had no ability to age. She still looked the same way she did when I first met her at the end of middle school, minus some baby fat in her cheeks. Suji’s face was fresh and glowing, free of makeup sans a swipe of peach lip gloss, and her light brown hair flowed in a curl to below her shoulders. Gorgeous, as she’d always been.

She squealed my name in response, pulling me in an all-too-tight embrace. “Wow, look at you! Oh. My. Gosh.” Suji started to shrill again and I attempted to echo her. People were beginning to stare.

“You look so much different! Did you lose weight?” Suji took my wrist and raised up my arm. “And your hair! I love the long bob, it’s so chic. You’ve gotten so much prettier since high school!” At the last statement, I was sure that I was going to lose it with her.

I looked around for help from my brother and Bambam, noticing the way Jinyoung was trying to hold in his laugh. “It’s nice to see you again, Suji.”

“Oh!” she said. “Right, it’s so wonderful you see you, too, Jaehyung—”

“—Jinyoung.”

The former cheerleader walked right past him and up to Bambam. Jinyoung and I exchanged looks, as I smirked at him. He polished off a glass of whatever drink he could get his hands on immediately.

“Bambam! Wow!” Suji pulled him into a similar hug, only it seemed like he actually didn’t mind. This was, after all, his senior year crush. “Noah and I absolutely adored you in The Shuttle!”

It took him a second to process that, looking between Suji and the tall man waiting behind her. “Noah?”

She giggled, as if she were waiting for that. “Guys—” she pulled the man closer by the wrist, “—this is Noah! My husband.”

There it was, her gloating point for the night. I couldn’t help but stare at the enormous rock that sat on her left hand, wrapped around the equally enormous bicep of her husband. A princess cut diamond ring with a rose gold band and smaller pink diamonds adorning the sides. No matter what she did, even the slightest bit of movement allowed for a beautiful luminescence.

“Noah. . .are you Noah Ward? The director?” Bambam gaped when the man removed his sunglasses. His face was tight and his body went completely frozen, as he was trying his very hardest to contain his emotions.

The other man nodded in response, a pearly white smile playing on his lips. “That’s me alright.” He held out his hand.

“I’M A HUGE FAN!” Bambam finally sputtered out and immediately took his hand in for a shake—or, several rapid shakes.

Showing no interest in watching him fangirl, I returned to my seat at our table, where Jinyoung already retreated to. He held his cellphone to his ear, appearing to be giving instructions to get through traffic to the person on the other line. I hoped it was who I thought it was, as our table of eight was barely full. As the evening progressed, I found myself growing anxious for the appearance of my old friends.

Suji followed me, sitting across with a glass of wine suddenly appearing at her hand.

“Oh, how adorable are they?” she cooed, looking over at Bambam and her husband talk about their careers.

“Just so sweet,” I murmured, not bothering to look as I rummaged through my purse for my phone. For whatever reason, that elected a gasp out of Suji and she squealed my name. “What? What is it?”

She grabbed my hand and brought it closer to her face for inspection. “How could you not mention it?”

My engagement ring wasn’t as colossal as Suji’s and it didn’t twinkle as easily as hers did, but the light glint couldn’t be missed. Sometimes, I even forgot that I wore it, since I never bothered taking it off when sleeping or showering. I didn’t plan on announcing it to anyone outside of the seven, so I remained nonchalant for the most part.

“Oh, well, yeah. . “ I trailed off. “We’ve been engaged for a while, but none of the wedding plans have really started. Busy lives.” The first part was true, while the latter bit I tried to exaggerate so that she wouldn’t feel bad about not hearing any word about it.

The story was that the two of us got engaged on a whim last summer without any idea of where and when it was going to happen. I explained that carefully to Suji, who thought it was just so cute how I was so spontaenous. It was just like us to do something like that. As of late, people were starting to bug us about the wedding, so we were trying to at least settle on a date. However, things were hard with our careers and especially with the news I was going to deliver tonight.

“Ooh, a ruby ring! It looks so, um, vintage.” She began to inspect my yellow gold ring, highlighted by a not-too-big, not-too-small blood stone.

“It was my fiancee’s mother’s ring.”

“Oh.” Suji cleared her throat at that and clapped her hands together. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Here.”

“Here?!” she exclaimed so loud that even Jinyoung’s eyes cut towards us in curiosity. “Wait! Do I know him? Is he coming tonight?”

Suji was surprisingly excited once hearing of the news, considering how little we got along in high school. I was taken aback by the fact that she even bothered with a conversation longer than a simple greeting, but she seemed genuinely interested in what was currently going on in my life.

A chair screeched and I looked over to see Jinyoung standing up.

“Guess who’s here?” he said.

MARCH 2009 (09)

Dad was almost always working the night patrol, so Jinyoung and I couldn’t see him during the day when he would be catching up on his sleep. This week, his entire shift schedule was temporarily changed, so the family had him during regular hours. We were sitting at our mahogany dining table one day with Infinite Challenge on in the background, while Jinyoung and I did our school work. Our father was tending to our dinner and mother was going through the bills that came in the mail earlier that day.

“Honey, where did you put the soy sauce?” he called out. He never got to make dinner for us and jumped at the chance to do so this week.

My mother replied, eyes fixated on the envelopes, “On the top shelf of the counter above the dish rack!”

With a sudden slam, Jinyoung shut his Korean textbook closed. He started to collect his notes and other books. I looked at my own sprawled out work, then back to him. We both started working at the same time, as soon as we got home, and yet, he managed to finish miles ahead of me.

“You’re done?” I gawked.

Jinyoung responded casually, “Yeah. So?” He noticed that I was still on the second question of my Calculus homework.

“You’re a whole freak of nature with that brain of yours, you know that?” I scoffed at him, not believing that we could possibly be related. Perhaps I should have been used to it by that point, considering his far more pristine report. There was also the fact that he was too many ranks ahead of me in school than I was willing to admit.

He pointed his black pen towards me. “Maybe it has to do with you taking, like, six breaks since we started.” I should’ve been used to it by now, considering in school, Jinyoung was too many ranks ahead of me than I was willing to say out loud.

“Like four, stop exaggerating! I needed to use the bathroom and check up on Facebook,” I quickly riposted and sent him a glare. Dad suddenly seemed to snap out of the trance that was watching his stew cook and poked his head out of the kitchen. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact.

“I had to use the bathroom!” I countered.

“And check up on Facebook?”

The ruckus captured the attention of my father, pulling him away from his stew. He exited the kitchen, ladle at hand. A groan left my mouth. I could already feel the reprimand coming, something always being nitpicked at by my parents. I learned to tune them out, but it only backfired against me when they would realize that I wasn’t listening.

He narrowed his eyes at the two of us. “What are you two bickering about?” Dad noticed the way my school stuff was still messily spread out. “Are you having trouble with your work?”

“No,” I replied, a little too quickly.

Jinyoung cut in, “She takes a break every time she can’t figure something out to avoid it.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I continued to make sounds of disagreement. I could never figure out calculus no matter what I did. Math was never my strong suit and I knew that, so attempting the work felt extra discouraging because I knew failure was more likely. That, and my fan group on Facebook depended on my activity.

My mother peered at me through her circle glasses from across the table. “Cram school hasn’t ever helped you,” she said, “maybe you need a tutor, sweetheart.”

It took a lot of willpower to not slam my head onto the dining table. My bad, Jinyoung mouthed to me. This sparked a quieted discussion between our parents, while I watched the Ha & Su segment on the television. While it was true that cram school did nothing for my grades—most likely attributed to the fact that I often skipped or flat out didn’t pay attention—the idea of a tutor was not a fun one.

“It’s fine, I don’t need a tutor! I have Jinyoung,” I insisted.

“You’d sooner rake his eyes out than manage to learn something,” Mom scoffed.

Jinyoung and I did get along, as well as any siblings would, especially twins. However, we’d gone through this route before and quickly realized that my attention span was the same size as his patience, which led to arguments and insults galore. We were one in the same, except when it came to school.

Both of our parents looked at me, then at each other, then to Jinyoung as if he held the answers to the universe’s mysteries.

He started, “Well. . .” Jinyoung slumped in his seat and a ran a hand through his immaculate hair. “I know a few people. Hyoseop?”

“Ew.” I scrunched my nose at the name of the school playboy. Sure, he was quite smart, but there was no way I was putting myself in a closed space with just himself and I for any longer than twenty minutes.

“Jihyo?”

“She’s in my calc class and is definitely worse than me!”

Jinyoung didn’t look convinced, but continued on. “What about Yugyeom?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

That made my face curl up in distaste. “Yugyeom? Like, your friend Yugyeom?” I scoffed. “He’s a whole year younger than me!” Asking for help from a second year was nothing less than embarrassing and my pride weighed more than my need to pass my test.

He countered, “Yugyeom is also ranked second in his year! Even I ask him for help sometimes. He’s a genius and he’s a relatively nice guy.” If I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed that Jinyoung was just praising him because they were friends, but I’ve heard the same things said about him from other people.

That seemed to catch the attention of Dad. “Kim Yugyeom, right?” He chuckled. “The really tall kid from the dance academy?”

The memories of the dance academy were so blurry after leaving, but it wasn’t too long ago that it was completely forgotten. Mom heard about the academy from a client and immediately enrolled the two of us in after realizing that neither of us had a gift for the piano. I was convinced that she would do anything to keep us out of her hair.

We were probably around twelve at the time, when I was still taller than Jinyoung and wearing jeans underneath a skirt was considered fashionable.

OCTOBER 2003 (10)

Beyonce repeating over and over again about just how crazy in love she is was getting old. For the most part, I had no trouble keeping up with the choreography, but I didn’t want to be here at all. When the dance teacher called for a five minute break, I let out the biggest sigh of my life. That meant just another thirty minutes after and soon, I could go home.

Jinyoung quickly made friends with other participants in class and I saw how he interacted with one of them so easily in one corner. I made small talk with some other girls, too, but I didn’t particularly care enough to get to know them.

“I get that our class got cancelled and we got put in the beginner’s lessons, but stop looking so grouchy.” My brother tossed me a water bottle when he saw me approaching.

The male beside him flashed his pearly whites. “Hey! You were really great out there.”

It took me a while to search my memory, trying to figuring out if I’d seen this guy before. He was around our age and was taller than Jinyoung, but shorter than me, and wore all Nike on his body. Shaggy hair in the boyish and purposefully messy kind of way, he was cute. Cute enough for me to take note of him if he were in the intermediate dance class with Jinyoung and I, but I couldn’t recognize him at all.

“Thanks. Are you a beginner dancer?” I asked.

That seemed to make my brother burst out loud into laughter, while the other male just awkwardly chuckled.

Jinyoung replied, “Yugyeom’s in the advanced class with the teenagers.” He gave me the are you an idiot face, so I responded swiftly with a punch to the shoulder.

The assistant choreographer, Yeeun, announced from across the room that we had two minutes left to relax and catch our breaths. I took a swig of my water bottle. Yugyeom must’ve been dancing in the back, as I didn’t even notice him during the session.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” he said bashfully and swiped at sweat on his eyebrow. “I just started at the school early.”

“And Kyesang said that I can join the class soon, too,” Jinyoung added with a smug smile on his face.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “He didn’t say anything to me.” Kyesang was the head of the advanced class and constantly praised both Jinyoung and I. There was no way that Jinyoung got the offer to move up in levels before I did.

Yugyeom said, “You’re a great dancer, too. I bet you’d be able to join with a little bit more confidence!”

Before, I was rummaging through my backpack to find my second water bottle. My head slowly moved, my eyes raised to meet his. Did he really just say that? I wasn’t sure what exactly that was supposed to mean, but I saw the smile on his face and it seemed like he wasn’t joking at all.

“What, I don’t dance confidently?” Something about my stare seemed to wipe the grins from both of their expressions.

Yugyeom was beginning to stammer, then finally spit out, “No! I mean, yes! You dance fine!”

“Alright, back to your places everyone!”

Shoes began to squeak, signalling that the others were walking back onto the main floor. I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for further explanation, but Jinyoung just dragged him away. That was Kim Yugyeom at age eleven, happy-go-lucky and playful like he was meant to be. Jinyoung lacked the stress placed upon his shoulders because of school. And, for me? I felt on top of the world, actually being able to be good at something.

MARCH 2009 (11)

Tracking down someone like Yugyeom at school proved to be more difficult than expected. For someone who was said to possess an abundance of brainpower, he was not in the library. He wasn’t normally found with the rest of Jinyoung’s dance crew for whatever reason. I didn’t have any classes with him, so that was out of the question. After needing to use Jinyoung as a middle man to get to the younger male, I figured out that Yugyeom came to school extremely early in the morning and that was the only time before the end of the day that he could be found easily.

I tended to be early myself, since I left home whenever Jinyoung did. However, the fact that Kim Yugyeom arrived an hour earlier than that was mind boggling to me. I didn’t even realize that the school gates opened at such an hour.

Jinyoung came with me, claiming that he needed to check up on some things for the upcoming Spring Festival as apart of his student council duties. That was code for ‘I guess I’ll be a good brother and not let you walk alone in the dark morning.’ He also probably felt bad for me, since he was the one who redirected me to Yugyeom in the first place, knowing full well how difficult it was to locate him.

Entering the school’s main foyer, I took notice of how it looked when it was so empty. The main administrative office was darkened and nobody was inside. There were no loud students blocking off the entrance, no nagging teachers—not counting the two first years off to the side playing on their Ninento DSis. They probably got dropped off by their parents on their way to work. Other than that, the floor was absolutely sparkling and the air felt peaceful without so many bodies.

Each time I ran into a teacher and wished them a good morning, they appeared startled at my appearance.

“Oh my goodness, I thought you were a ghost! Nobody is here this early!” My homeroom teacher exclaimed when I bowed to her out of nowhere.

Yugyeom was sitting cross legged on the floor in between blocks of lockers. I could hear the Chris Brown blasting from his headphones and he was bopping along to the rhythm. There was a chemistry textbook opened up in front of him and on his lap was a notebook that he was scrawling information onto. It seemed awkward having to just suddenly appear in front of him and I didn’t want to scare him like I had with the teachers.

I tentatively called out his name at first, but to no avail. I said it louder at least two more times, before his eyes flickered my way. A small, polite smile formed on his face and he took off his headphones promptly.

“Oh, hey there. Jinyoung said that you’d meet me.” Yugyeom gave a wave.

Approaching him, it felt odd having to talk and look down at him, so I leaned against the wall opposite from him and slid down until my bottom hit the ground. “Does that mean that you’re willing to help me out?” I crossed my fingers behind my back; if he rejected me, that meant I’d have to go to Hyoseop and I really did not want to do that.

“Yeah, of course I would!” That allowed for a relieved sigh. “But, uh, when’s this test?”

“. . . Three days.”

He widened his eyes. “Three days? That’s not a lot of time.”

I responded, “Oh, yeah. I totally understand! I’ll just find someone else—” He cut me off and I’d never felt so happy in my entire life.

“—No, no, no! Don’t worry about it. It’s just a little surprising that’s all.” Yugyeom scratched the back of his nape. “I’m just a little busy this week—but, not that busy. I, I mean not busy enough to help you.”

I nodded slowly, watching him flip through his notebook. He stopped on an empty page and ripped out a piece of the paper. I wondered what he was doing, but then he handed the paper to me after scribbling something down on it.

“Are you free today after school? I can help you out then.”

That was what changed everything.

[slothgiirl]

FOREVER ISN’T FOR EVERYONE (IS FOREVER FOR YOU?) PART 4

Somehow we make it to Auckland. 

And then it's a whirlwind of press and concerts and trying to remember to eat and breathe and sleep all the way through Sydney and what do I do with my one day off. 

Sleep.

I sleep like the dead, curtains pulled over the big window until past six and feel very much like a grumpy cat when I wake up. Stomach rumbling. The group chat reveals much of the same. 

Sleeping people and lounging by the pool. The opening bands gone out for sight seeing. 

It's a fight with myself to even get up and get food, pizza sounding amazing to my still sleepy head. A good cheesy pizza. A cold coke. It all sounded perfect. I order an entire pizza for myself and check on my texts. 

My mum asking how I am. My roommates sending me updates on our plants. I finish a slice and start to feel like an actual human being. I check my email. 

Answer a few things about what to do for the last few free hours I'll have until I get back home.

A walk around town needs to happen. I couldn't be all the way here in Audmstralia and take no pictures. I finish the pizza all by myself and resolve to go walk it off. It'll be nice to have some me time. 

Alex is in the lobby, heading out, looking better in jeans and a white t shirt than some people do in all dressed up to go Out. 

Unbidden, I start to smile. "Heading out too?"

He smiles back at me, waiting for me to catch up to him. "Yeah I wanted to go see the opera house. I've never seen it before and who knows when I'll be back here." He runs a hand through his soft hair and adds, "I'm a bit of a homebody."

"I can understand that. Though the main reason I took this job was to avoid that really." 

"Do you want to come with me El?"

"Okay," I answer, following him into the back of a taxi.

"So why this job then?"

I shrug. "I didn't want the whole desk job thing. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I mean I love what I learned at uni. Economics is fun for me but I took an internship and thought about how that could be the rest of my life and felt there'd be nothing worse than that. It felt. . .it felt like a death sentence for me."

Alex snorts. "I understand that. Though schooling was never my thing. I was good at writing, but a terrible pupil. I love music but am not a gifted pianist, or a gifted guitarist either. I'm all practice and no innate talent." 

"But you've done all right musically. I mean you wrote a bunch of stuff with Miles." 

He brightens at the mention of Miles, slumped in his seat, eyes resting on me, "yeah. You just meet some people and-and it's like they understand you. Like they're minds are tuned to the same key you're in."

"So why aren't you out there playing with them?" Or just jamming? I think, from the way Miles speaks about him, he could probably have his own band or his own music. 

Alex shrugs, "I'm a bit too shy to get up on stages, but also I write music because I can't not write. All these tunes and words swirling about me head until I get them out and down on a piece of paper."

"Bet the validations still nice though," I smirk. 

"It is."

The opera house is all lit up, magestic white against the dark background, smell of salt and water thick in the air, sounds of waves breaking. We get another tourist to take a picture of us both, his arm around my waist and a thrill shoots through me. 

The thin fabric of my shirt doing little against the feel of Alex's cool solid arm against me. He pulls out a cigarette, lighting up as we walk around, aimlessly in the night. 

"Is this your first time out of the country too," I ask. The sea breeze is cool. The first night I've spent here that won't have me sweating. 

He shakes his head. "No. 've been around. Lived in New York for a time. Before the war. Los Angeles. Paris, at the turn of the century. But nothings ever felt as right as London for me."

"You must have a good memory too remember Paris and New York." Before the whole mess in Iraq and the protests in London. I have a picture of me at them with my parents, but I don't remember it clearly, too young. "It must've been cool to travel a lot with your parents. Get to live in different places." 

His brow furrows, confusion written on his features. Alex takes his time, taking a long puff of his cigarette before responding, "y-yes. My parents." He swallows, getting one last look out at the dark ocean before we cross the street, into the heart of the city, shoulders tense.

"I'm sorry," I quickly add. "You don't have to talk about them if you don't want." The thing about meeting new people was never knowing what to say, if it was to much or the wrong thing, tripping up and wincing and wanting the pavement to crack open and swallow me whole. 

"It's okay El." He lets the cigarette fall, crushing it with the toe of his boot, "It's just-they died. . .they died a long time ago now."

It's crushing. I can't imagine not having my parents around. not having their support. One phone call away whenever I'm feeling down. A bus ride away from curling up in my childhood home.

"Were you scared about all this," Alex asks, changing the subject, all forgiven, "about your job?"

"Yeah. A lot. I was scared I wouldn't have anyone to talk to. That I'd be lonely in a foreign country. But it's what I wanted. Sounded a lot better than sitting in a cubical, even if my econ degree seems a bit much now."

"Loneliness is a state of mind. You can be lonely surrounded by people, by friends."

"You just described uni for me." 

Alex frowns, looking over at me, studying me carefully. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Of course. It's just making friends was never easy for me and I thought uni would be different but it wasn't. And I kept telling myself it was fine because I was too busy revising but it wasn't. I mean I’m fine now but I guess I was just imagining the whole skins experience of partying and friends and drama." 

I let out a breath, glad to have told someone about all that, having hung heavy on my shoulders as I pretended to do fine and be fine because I didn't want anyone to worry.  Not even the few friends I did have. We'd go out and then as soon as it was over I was back to feeling lonely. 

"I don't know what skins is," Alex responds slowly, "but if you're ever feeling lonely I want you to tell me. You don't deserve to ever feel lonely El." 

I blush, staring down at my shoes as we duck into a second hand shop. "Alex-"

"I mean it," he says with an blunt honesty that has me wanting to curl up into a ball. "You're funny and kind and you know what you want and I won't hold the fact that you haven't read Frankenstein against you." 

I laugh, letting him lead us to the corner stuffed full of old records. His warm brown eyes look over the records expertly, delicate hands flipping through the stacks and I don't know enough about music to stay by his side like a puppy for long. 

I wander off. Into the old clothes. Thick coats all wrong for the current weather. A sequined schiaparelli pink dress. Kitten heeled mary janes that are my size which feels very much like they're meant for me and and more white shirts that make me feel like an extra in Marie Antoinette than I can count. 

I toss on a hat and glasses and try things over my shirt. One good thing about summer weather was avoiding having to shed twenty layers to try something on. 

There's a velvet bolero jacket, oversized and with beautiful embroidery on the sleeves and I need it. It even has pockets. I purchase the jacket, shoes, and a blouse and try not to think about how I'm going to fit everything into my suitcase. 

Souvenirs taking up more spaces than I'd like to think they would. Maybe I could toss my flip flops?

Alex grins like an absolute loon, cradling a record in his arms, "they've got a copy of jazz at massey hall!"

"I'm glad," I offer, at a loss. "

When we get back to london," he says very seriously, looking down at me, eyes crinkled in amusement as he smiles, "you’re coming over and giving this a good listen."

"Must be a pretty good album then?"

"Oh it is," he grins, excitement leaking into his voice. "I don't think anyone that night knew how special it was. It was just a great musical performance and only time revealed the momentary alignment of jazz legends."

I giggle, his excitement contagious as we walk out and I tell him about my purchases. "Marie antoinette was obviously a style icon having invented the whole milk maid aesthetic," I ramble on as we walk the streets and wander about, going down any interesting alley. 

In those hours, anything that isn't Alex is blotted out. His smiles and laughter and the way he listens so deeply. It's more than a swarm of butterflies, it's a warmth in my chest, as tangible and constant as my heartbeat. 

It's real. 

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 21 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Moved several things to Part 22 to make this chapter more concise (table fucking included, but you get fucking in the beginning, so don’t complain!). The album they’re listening to after Thai food is obviously Jefferson Airplane’s absolutely iconic SURREALISTIC PILLOW; the songs are two of my favorites, which indeed play adjacent to each other on the record: TODAY (one of the most beautiful love songs of all time) and COMIN’ BACK TO ME. Please note how careful Duncan is about waking Kenzie up before they fuck; autonomy, people, consent is hot! Their Exalted Selves (which is what I’m gonna refer to their angelic divine other selves as now) are based very vaguely on the Princess Serenity and Prince Endymion versions of Usagi and Mamoru in Sailor Moon, which I’ve loved since I was a child, but they’re far more ethereal and obtuse--it would be impossible for a human artist to draw Kenzie and Duncan’s Exalted Selves, for instance, as their beauty is too incredible and intense for human eyes. Kenzie’s makeup look for the photoshoot is based on Billie’s look here. A reminder that this is her red dress. The Cartier LOVE bracelets Duncan orders are here (for him) and here (for her, with diamonds). Duncan’s Givenchy star shirt. Duncan’s watch. This is his silver Cartier he’s wearing in Part 1. Here’s ANNIE’S SONG (another absolutely iconic love song I’ve loved forever). I found multiple meanings for the name Mackenzie, but in Gaelic it apparently means “comely”, which I used the synonym “lovely” in place of. The Rose Garden at the Botanical Gardens is real, but there’s no gate akin to the one I created, and I added a lot more roses than I think there usually are (there is a fountain)--MY STORY, MY STUFF. Annette’s dress. I’m seeing Fleetwood Mac tomorrow (it’s been two years since the last time I saw Stevie and I’ve missed her more than I can describe), I work on Saturday mornings, and it’s one of my best friends’ birthday party on Saturday evening, so Part 22 is going to take a bit; it’s also going to be the chapter where my!Duncan finds out from Claire Underwood that he was adopted, though the way I navigate that scene is going to be slightly different than the way Beau Willimon’s Season 6 did it; a reminder that my fic is a House of Cards AU in addition to being a Millory AU, and I’m throwing out canon HoC stuff that doesn’t fit into my narrative (such as @montenegro-style noticing I threw out Duncan’s super-Modernist apartment from the show and replaced it with a Romantic one), so don’t expect things to unfold the same way--I said this before too, but Duncan’s definitely not going to jail in my story, so forget about that. I may be borrowing characters and some vague plot elements from Ryan and Beau, but this story is mine. Love to the Millorys, as ever, and especially my Duckenzies.

Duncan stared up at the ceiling far above them, his fingers in Kenzie’s hair, his own hair tossed against the black pillow as music pumped quietly from the hidden stereo in the bedroom wall. To be living for you, is all that I want to do, to be loving you, it’ll all be there when my dreams come true...Kenzie was tucked under his arm, her head against his shoulder, the softness of her breasts and stomach pressing into his side, her body naked now--they’d ordered a mountain of Thai food, and she’d kept the tulle lingerie on while they ate, a linen spread on the floor in front of the picture window in the penthouse living room as the night fell, Dike, Nike and Athena gazing down on them on either side, Kenzie facing the Bouguereau prints, her little legs stretched out in the silky sheer stockings, bowl in her lap. The picture of her eating so hungrily in the delicate attire would forever be seared on his brain from this day on--my Kenzie, her essence, her goodness, her sweetness, her staggering beauty, not just her body, but her soul. Her wide-eyed gaze skirted up now and then to admire the prints (Duncan noticed she looked at Evening Mood the most), then fell back into his to give him coy looks, languidly licking curry from her spoon.

“I think they all look like you,” he’d murmured to her, the sincerity in his heart making him dizzy. “I can only see your face in them now, you in the evening, you at night, you waking up in the morning…” He reached for a spring roll but forgot about it halfway to his mouth as Kenzie had come up on her knees, her breasts pressing together in the elegant criss-crossing design of the black bra, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder in the fading light, her (sweet budding leaves and chocolate and the saffron light of autumn mornings) eyes laying him bare. Her beauty in this moment struck him dumb--Kenzie set her bowl down and crawled over to him on the linen, languid, knowing. Duncan had put on a pair of black gym shorts and a fitted black tee shirt to retrieve their takeout from downstairs a few minutes before, and as she reached him Kenzie tugged the hem of the shirt up, little hand soothing over his bare skin underneath.

“Call me your moonlight again,” she whispered against him, her eyes trembling open and closed, her little pink lips shining with the residue of spice and saliva. Her hair brushed against his neck and cheek, the sweet smell of rose and vetiver and jasmine, and Duncan had set the spring roll down uneaten, brushing his hand against the napkin in front of him, then bringing it up to press the cascade of her hair into his nose. She is my favorite smell. I’m at peace inside the scent of her.

“Moonlight. My moon princess. My moonbeam.” He kissed her hair--let his lips slip down its waves, intoxicated. “You know the full moon is on the night of the Gala, baby? A full moon just for you. It’ll shine down on you and everyone will be struck with longing for you. But you’re my baby, aren’t you? You’re my moonlight. They’ll pine for you because you’re mine.” He blushed at his need, his desire to have her all to himself--but as he said it, Duncan knew it was true. We belong to each other.

“Yes, Dunny, I’m your moonlight, I’m yours, my love. I belong to you.” Kenzie climbed into his lap, sliding against him in the achingly soft tulle, her ass settling down on his calves crossed together, and she was so small and felt so delicate and she smelled so lovely, he could feel himself growing hard again--her little arms came around his neck and he lifted her up into his mouth to kiss her, his mind awash in a cloud of gold. He was struck with a vision of her as Artemis, naked and white in the reflection of the moon, bathing in a midnight pool, her bow and arrow made of the gossamer strands of stars sitting on the bank of the water, singing moon hymns in her sweet voice to the owls and the deer and the foxes flitting through the undergrowth. Too beautiful for any ordinary man’s eyes. How am I so blessed. Their kisses extended for a long while--Kenzie went to lift away but Duncan needily brought her back against him and she let him, she fell into him again, she arched into him and he could feel the way she was giving herself to him, coaxing him back into arousal to do what she asked him for later tonight--his nerves were alight at the prospect of bringing her body out of achingly lovely sleep with insistence, enticing her under his continuous touch to give herself over to him in the dark with only the moon to see their desirous tangle.

Now they lay in bed (our bed, the bed of our adoration, our love, my favorite place now that she lays beside me in it), sleepy and full and naked and ready for bed, the duvet pushed down to their feet, speech seeming a very dull and faraway impulse. I can hear you this way, can feel you better this way, he thought into her, and she nodded against his skin, her cheek against his nipple as the music drifted around them. Please, please, listen to me, it’s taken so long to come true, it’s all for you, all for you...Duncan gazed down at her--her eyes had fallen closed and she had begun to breathe slow against him, her leg crooked over his thigh, her little mouth open just a touch. He could see there were still lingering red marks at her neck from his ardency, a tattoo that told the story of their nights. He thought of how she’d looked that morning, still stuck inside her sleep, stuck in her nightmare--her face had been creased with fear, and it had clenched an icy hand around his heart, rattling a panic into his lungs--he’d run to the bed and gripped her and shook her, his desperation strange and immediate. Wake her up, his mind had urged. Don’t let her see it, don’t let her suffer it. What it was still didn’t seem clear, but Duncan remembered what she’d said upon waking, that in her dream there had been a man with his face, a man who was like a black hole in the void.

It was like he had eaten you.

Duncan shivered against her and slid his arm out from underneath her head--Kenzie stirred, her head turning, her body shifting with aching loveliness--Duncan’s heart and the heat in the pit of him clenched as he watched the incline of her ribs shift, the refracted light on her breasts, heard the a tiny sigh fall from her mouth--but her eyes remained closed. He carefully moved from the bed and pulled the switch on the nightstand, his eyes still lingering on her (exalted), and the room plunged into blue-and-white darkness, Jefferson Airplane still quietly drifting into the room: you came to stay and live my way, scatter my love like leaves in the wind, you always say you won't go away, but I know what it always has been, it always has been...Duncan moved through the living room, stepping to the reading lamps to switch them off, bathing himself in darkness, his eyes falling over the expanse of the city through the picture window that encompassed the entire west end of the room. The night was very clear and the sun was gone--the only indication it had been there was a line of mauve and dahlia color lingering at the horizon before the sky bled into darkness pinpricked with stars, hazy in the reflection of the city.

Strolling the hills overlooking the shore, I realized I've been there before...the shadow in the mist could have been anyone...I saw you…

What do the dreams mean? At first Duncan had been sure they’d been brought on by the mad mix of emotion inside both of them lately--just dopamine, seratonin, oxytocin and endorphins, just our brains in a mad rush of ecstatic happiness, and the residue is our minds going haywire at night. He moved on to his study, the carefully controlled temperature of the penthouse cool on his bare skin, an oasis in the hot June night. This one seems to have been the clearest for her, and the most frightening. Is it fear that I’ll betray her that would make her dream of an evil version of me? His heart ached at that. I never will, baby. I never fucking will. I’d die first.

I saw you, I saw you, comin' back to me

Duncan glanced at the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus as he moved towards his turntable, the song’s final longing guitar and melancholy hum bleeding out into silence. The woman in the center, her arms thrown back ecstatically, her head tilted towards the consort at her feet, collapsed in revelry--Duncan had studied her many long nights, studied her abandon and her achingly white, almost translucent beauty, but now, like the prints in the room beside this one, he could see only Kenzie in her form--Kenzie dancing in the living room, singing in drunken joy (I’ll never live to match the beauty again), Kenzie running away from him into the ocean waves, Kenzie’s glittering eyes on him as he tied her to the chain. The whole of the world turned around her; she was the sun, and also the moon, and also every other star, and everything that encompassed the universe was because of and according to her--for me, that’s the end of it.

Duncan pressed the button at the side of the record player and the needle lifted away, settling back into its resting place. He turned to look at the painting again--the painting Annette had gotten him as a moving gift, and over time the painting that had begun to feel as though it were an irrevocable part of him, an extension of him, a friend to him as he stared at it long on lonely nights. He thought of the mesmerized way Kenzie stared at it, as she had since that first night when he pressed his mouth to her clit as she hovered on the edge of his desk, her head thrown back; as if she sees me in it, when now I see her in it. It’s almost too much to look at it for too long now; because it reminds me of the one I love most in all the world and she is blinding in her loveliness. It was always beautiful. But now it’s exalted to me because she loves it, and anything she loves is beloved to me.

He thought again of Ariadne, the painting he knew would be for her now, too; the auction was in a few weeks’ time, just before the beginning of July when their birthdays would be coming, and he smiled, his hand coming up to his jaw, his thumb pressing against his bottom lip, though he didn’t realize it, eager to have it hanging on the wall beside their bed, eager to see her face when she saw it and knew it was for her. When she died Dionysus took a crown he had given her and placed it among the stars. The idea of her dying someday was one he couldn’t begin to fathom; the despair of it was beyond words in its agony. But Duncan felt a drifting calm fall over him after the stab of pain--we found each other in this life, didn’t we. We finally found each other. I think we would find each other again. I think we’ll always find each other. I really fucking do. I think that’s what the Fates wrote for us. That we’re meant to be together--really, truly fated to be together. Like two stars in a constellation that endures until time no longer has any meaning. And there can’t be one of us without the other--not for long.

Duncan switched off the Tiffany lamp--now the penthouse was truly in darkness but for the light that came from the night outside. O Fates, I wish you could tell me what the dreams mean. They don’t feel like they’re just dreams. I know I said that to Kenzie--but I said it because I wanted to believe it myself. Lately, everything seems to mean something. Everything seems to have a hidden clockwork of purpose behind it. When we met I think we kicked something into motion, something ground out of a long sleep into a great predetermination. Now everything is vibrating with destiny--our destiny. Our love. Whatever she and I are meant to do with our lives, we are meant to do it together. Whatever I’m meant to do, I can’t do it without her. And I wouldn’t want to. I ache for her every moment--she has pierced the deepest part of my soul.

He carefully moved back to the bedroom in the dark--his eyes glanced up at Pallas Athena as he passed her, and he couldn’t help but send a prayer out to her (gray-eyed maiden, in whose wise gaze all truths are laid bare--give us wisdom, my sweet lover and I, to give to those who need it most, to move the pathways toward the greatest good--I’ve wasted time, Athena, I know it, but I swear I won’t again, I swear I’ll cherish every moment with her); he’d had the goddess statues for over five years now (they’d come from Stapleton’s, Frederick had found them for Duncan carefully when he’d asked for Greek goddess motifs), but never had he so often had the impulse to pray to them--I never prayed to anyone before, he remembered, and now I’d pray to anyone if it meant she would always be safe and happy. He thought of the Fates again (Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos), spinning the threads of their two destinies together many ages ago--most deep and unfathomable love, a love for all of time, he thought, and did not question where the certainty had come from, only felt acutely that it was not misplaced.

Duncan saw that moonlight now fell on the bed as he re-entered--the moon was waxing strongly now, and his breath felt caught in his throat as he looked at Kenzie in the throes of sleep, turned towards the door, the duvet still pushed down around her feet, so her body was bare to him. The silvery wave of the low light fell over her cheek and the tawny-gold of her hair, making it seem almost white, giving it a sheen that seemed otherworldly. But she is, he thought, emotion clouding into his mind, stunning him with her again (and again and again) as he watched her sleeping form, her silvery nakedness, the dip of her waist and one arm crooked around her hip, hand dipping down in front of her sex, the other pressed against her mouth, sweetly--she was more profound to him than anything, more breathtaking than any art of any age. It’s like she is from another world--it’s like she was snatched from heaven and fell down into my arms, into my bed, fell down onto that balcony where I beheld her, trapped here on earth, for the first time. I felt that I knew she was more than what she might have seemed to an untrained eye. And I still feel that I know it. She has an effect on other people that they don’t seem to really recognize or understand. But I see it. And I think I understand. My Kenzie isn’t just lovely and kind; she has real power to heal, to alter the pain others feel and alleviate their suffering. Kenzie has a healing touch, one that can knit together and remedy a distressed soul. It’s almost like she really could bring something back from the dead. It’s like she could sew back together, using only her hands, her energy, something that had been ripped apart, reverse fucking time--it’s like she somehow willed me onto that balcony, so I could find her, so I could touch her and in that touch know her immediately as I always have, and know she was the half of me that had been lost, but no longer. Because she had willed us back together. She had willed us to find each other again, and so we did--she attached a golden string to me long ago when time began, whispered to me that it would help me find her if we got lost, if we got separated from each other--and I finally saw it glimmering between us, and followed it to where she was. Saint Mackenzie, goddess of lost things, goddess of binding, of rebirth, of transcendent healing, of perfect love. My moonlight, my sunlight, my starry sky, beloved.

He could feel himself growing hard again, thinking of her sliding onto his lap in the tulle lingerie, the demanding croon of her voice (call me your moonlight again, I want you to wake me up with kisses and fuck me in the dark with your lips pressed into my shadows, I want you to kiss my shadows, and touch them with aching hands), and Duncan knew it was the right time--that it was time to press his mouth into the soft space of her in the darkness. His eyes had begun to adjust to the dark now and he eased down onto the bed, its cool sheets shivering up his thighs, urging him toward her--Duncan reached down to where her arm crooked over her hip and slid his fingers up her torso to the sweet roundness of her breasts, achingly slow, willing himself into tenuous control, overwhelmed with the relief of touching her without any constraints, without his hands tied or the lingerie covering her or anything in the way of her, Kenzie, my solace, the home of my heart. He eased his body down next to hers, his hands still cosseting around her, fingers drifting back and forth on her nipples, and he felt a surge of blood into his cock as he felt them grow hard under his touch, though she didn’t stir yet (wake me up with kisses) and Duncan leaned his face to her across the pillow and pressed a soft, aching kiss into her forehead, her temple, each eyelid, shivering in sleep, the dip of each cheek, over her nose and the incline of her jaw, and then he pressed down, sliding against the coolness of the sheet again, to bury his face against her neck, his kisses becoming more insistent, more exacting of her--wake up my love, Duncan pressed into her mind, feeling her head lift as she stirred, slowly beginning to register him, wake up baby, and he felt strange for a moment, caught up in her unconscious mind, as if he was brushing up against another self, another Kenzie--then the feeling cleared, and he could feel her golden waves of energy. And he said again, into her: wake up my love, wake up baby love, wake up so I can fuck you, wake up so I can press my kisses into your shadows, wake up so we can be together.

Then--Duncan was stunned with the feeling that surged into him in that moment. It was almost painful, the brilliancy and power of her energy as he lingered inside her in that in-between place that wasn’t waking and wasn’t sleep for her, and he felt minute inside it, wildly small to behold her this way; fucking goddess. Oh fuck, Kenzie. You really are a goddess. You have all of this inside you and I am staggered by you. I can’t begin to fathom this. Is this where you go when you sleep? Back to the secret expanse of everything you keep hidden, this place of resplendent power that has colors I’ve never seen, colors I could never describe? Is this where you came from? And even more unbelievably, he heard her voice inside that in-between place, calling out to him, and her voice was full of so much joy it immediately made him want to sob against her, and she said yes baby, Duncan, exalted, beloved, this is where I came from, and where you came from, and you come here too in your dreams, but you never remember, but you will. Soon, you’ll start to remember. What we were before, what we are, and what we will be again. Soon we’ll both start to remember, for our destinies were written when the stars were just dreams themselves, and our destinies will live on when they’ve burned out.

Duncan’s mind felt like it was on fire with the feeling of her, the words she spoke that made no sense to him, and yet made every sense, a deeper sense, their hidden meaning touching against the shadowed hidden heart of him, and he lifted his mouth up to the space under her ear, one hand cradling up under the back of her head to pull her more firmly against him and the other sliding down the intoxicating softness of her rib cage and her belly to hover at her abdomen, hover above the mouth of her sex, waiting for her eyes to open to him, to give him the yes he longed for, and he felt the intensity of the in-between place begin to fade--felt reality seep back in, like milk stirred into dark coffee, and Kenzie was stirring more strongly against him, leaning into his mouth tasting at her skin, and a moan escaped from her that stirred the building heat in his groin and he spoke into her skin, his own words bleeding into a moan, a reply of need for her--”wake up baby, wake up all the way for me, wake up and tell me to touch you, tell me to fuck you, Kenzie, uhh--” and despite the darkness, he felt her eyes open, their golden depth unnerving him for a moment (how can they be glowing like that, like a ripe harvest moon), focusing on him as though he were the one pinprick of light in a long darkness, and then they seemed to fade back, fade to the forest-and-burnt-acorn he recognized--he had leaned back to look at her, his lips lifting away from her skin, and he gasped as her little hand came down, exacting, and slid from the dusting of hair at the top of his groin, closing around the length of his stiffening cock and dragging her achingly soft grip to the head of him.

“I’m here, baby,” she whispered, and he felt his need kindle up like someone had thrown gas onto a bonfire, felt his cock jump inside her grip, and then she said “touch me,” and he slid his fingers, middle first, down between the lips of her cunt and pressed, harshly, into her clit, so warm and so wet and sending a spasm of want through his body--Kenzie lifted up, almost involuntarily, and her moan was longer now, focusing on him, inside the sensation of his touch, beseeching him for more. “Yes, baby, fuck yes,” Kenzie moaned, “more, more,” and Duncan pressed the lips of her sex outward with his other fingers, his long middle finger still working down into her clit, strictly, then finally, he kissed her, open-mouthed, and her sweet little tongue laved out against his, her slender hand still gripping his cock with a strength that addled his senses. In the shadows, with only the moon to light their bed, Duncan felt he could feel the way she was sending little pinpricks her power, that terrible gold energy, too beautiful to behold in this world, into his body through her grip, as if she were sending it into his spirit, giving him strength, kindling his desire to a high place he had never imagined, residue from that in-between place, residue from another world where such things were commonplace, so much power was the natural order.

But Duncan knew what she wanted then, and he broke their aching kisses apart, moving his hand up from his attentions at her sex, pushing her little body down forcefully so she was on her back, pressing her legs wide apart and coming up between them on his knees, and Kenzie lifted her hips so she was poised against the head of his cock, her hair falling down in the moonlight, her hands coming up to his arms and then sliding down to his wrists to clutch him against her. Duncan gripped her carefully at the small of her back, his thumbs pressing across her hip bones (god I want to kiss them)--then he thrust into her with an ecstatic groan, marveling at how wet she was, how perfect it felt to be inside her in the dark this way. Kenzie shuddered into him, a little cry falling from her lips, and in the dark he could see her mouth lingering open, her eyes rolling back for him, “that’s it, baby,” he couldn’t stop himself, needed to speak his desire aloud to her, in the dark, where no one else belonged but the two of them in this moment, “give yourself to me, everything, the shadows too, I’ll kiss them, I love you--” and he felt her nails dig into the skin of his arms as he pounded into her, wondering at the intensity of his hardness, the lightness of her body against him--god baby, I don’t want to crush you and she said “fuck, keep going, do not fucking stop, god you feel so fucking good, fucking fuck me Duncan--”

Her little hand reached up to him, lifting from his arm and he leaned down to her, pressed down into her, easing her back down onto the bed and fucking her achingly close now, their stomachs pressing against each other, her hand coming under his jaw to pull his mouth into her, tasting him breathlessly as he drove his length into her again and again, and her scent was rose and vetiver and her sweet, heady sex, and her yielding mouth was almost too wonderful, too much to bear, and his hands came around to cup her breast and against her neck to press there softly and she wrapped her little feet around his back and her fingers twined into his hair at the nape and Kenzie whispered “my sweet baby, my beautiful Prince, fuck me--” between their kisses and Duncan felt faint with her realness again, faint with the feeling of her cunt clenching around him, faint in her arms, her loveliness, her silken skin, the slight, achingly sublime sounds she was making overwhelming his senses.

His hand came down between her legs again and his fingers pressed ardent circles against her and he said “baby, do you want me to suck on you, do you want me to kiss your clit--” and Kenzie shook her head against his lips and said “no, baby, no, don’t stop fucking me, just touch me like that, touch me in the dark, I love you, Duncan, I love you with every part of me--” and he was nodding against her--”I love you too baby, Kenzie, I love you, oh god I love you, I can’t describe--”, his memory drifting against the power he’d felt from her as she floated out of sleep, absolutely in awe of her again, absolutely at her mercy, inside her grace, and she shushed him as his fingers flicked back down to the wetness that coated her cunt and his cock as he thrust his whole length into her, then out, then back again, and redoubled his effort with his fingers at her clit as their mouths came together again and she began to shake in his arms, a shaking that began at her shoulders and cascaded down her body into where his cock was buried inside her and she moaned into his mouth, a moan that became a prolonged wail into him, her words muddling into incomprehensible murmurs that Duncan could almost see, like colors, floating around them--”Dunny, oh, fuck--oh fucking fuck baby oh ohhhhh beloved baby my sweet fucking babyfuck love you I love you--” and Duncan breathed in carefully, deeply, keeping the rhythm of his movement into her steady and concentrated as she came, her little hands clutching his head down to her, twisting into his hair and pulling it harshly as she cried out, and he thought oh Kenzie, you’re bathed in moonlight, you look like an angel, you’re too beautiful for words--

Suddenly, inexplicably, inside her release, Duncan’s mind was jerked back into wherever it had been before Kenzie woke up--into where he’d hovered inside her psyche, in that in-between place, and he remembered her words again, still locked against her, inside her, the rhythm he’d built unceasing, words that she seemed to speak from another self floating back into his mind, a version of her that had immense power, an energy that seemed too great for reality, too beautiful for human eyes--soon, you’ll start to remember, what we were before, what we are, and what we will be again--and Duncan saw a version of them in his mind, as though in a memory, where they were both in that place that seemed to be made of those inexplicable colors that he’d felt inside Kenzie, colors that felt like emotions, like the love he felt for her, like the love he could feel coming into him from her. Kenzie’s hair was longer than it was now, it was so long it fell to her knees, and it sheen was indescribably lovely, paler than the tawny-gold he had begun to know so well, a white-gold that was almost silvery, in magnificent waves, and he saw tiny flowers woven through the strands, their color indescribable to him, their shape unlike any flower he could think of--each one seemed to have a hundred tiny petals. Around her forehead was a circlet of gold so thin and fine it seemed an impossible thing to exist at all. Her dress was unlike anything he’d ever seen, either--it seemed to be made of the gossamer strands of a thousand spider webs, a hundred intricate honeycombs of some vast, beautifully geometric design that was simply too complex to ever create, and yet she wore it, and it fit her as though it were her second skin--intricately woven, rose-golden embroidery fell over the dress--its pattern was like a language he could not comprehend. And her eyes--inside her eyes in that place he felt he really could see a universe turning, so magnificent and so golden that they threatened to rend his heart into a thousand fragments. He realized he was inside some other self in this moment--he couldn’t see his own face, but could see his own clothing, the intricately woven sleeves over his arms, in a similar incomprehensible gold embroidery and geometry that made him dizzy to even attempt to contemplate--he wore a kind of thin, woven gold breastplate that was akin to the aegis on likenesses of Athena, but its quality also seemed incomprehensible to him, a weave that seemed to shift and change under his gaze, and he could feel weight at his shoulders--a strange weight that felt familiar, but also heavy beyond all understanding.

And in the memory, or the imagining, or whatever the vision was that he had tumbled into, he noticed with a wild, fierce surprise that Kenzie, this other Kenzie, this Kenzie wrapped in intricate golden lovely things that were not of earth, with shimmering hair twined with tiny universe flowers, had wings extending from her back--wings that were gold and silver and iridescent rose and other colors that he didn’t know the names for, wings that were unlike any wings he’d ever seen on a bird or a bat or any earth-bound winged creature, but he knew they were wings just the same, knew they were wings for a certain kind of being--a divine being.

And then he resurfaced back into the dark of the bedroom, their bedroom, and he was still moving with an intense rhythm against her and he was coming deep inside her now and Kenzie was clutching at his torso between his hips, her cries quiet but her mouth hovering open, and her eyes had that strange glow again, intensely focused on him, the one he’d seen when he woke her from her sleep, and then it faded as he emptied himself into her, his moans extending into deep silence, and he pulled out of her and collapsed beside her, his head falling into the pillow, and clutched her desperately against him and felt her mouth come against his chest and her little hands clasp against his ribs, and Duncan remembered nothing else until he woke the next morning at sunrise in the same position, with her still clutched in his arms, her little breath having left a damp pool against his skin, her face cherubic and far away in her sleep in the dim morning light, and he wondered upon his waking if it had all been a dream. And then he fell back into sleep, his hand coming up to bury in her hair.

-------

“Babyyyy, Dunny…” Duncan felt her little mouth pressed into his ear and his eyes opened--full sunlight was streaming into the room now and Kenzie was leaning down to him, kneeling on the bed, wearing her satin kimono, her eyes (your earthly eyes, baby, not your divine eyes, you keep those hidden most of the time but sometimes I can see a little bit of them, that gold whirling around, and last night I saw all of them and they were beyond words, they were ethereal as the first dawn--) open and awake to him, a little smile playing around her mouth.

“I brought you coffee, baby,” and Kenzie’s hair fell against his collarbone as she dipped down to kiss him, and Duncan’s hand immediately came up, needy, to the space under her ear.

“Kenzie, baby, do you remember that? Last night?” His eyes searched hers--please tell me if that was real, beloved angel. Please tell me that wasn’t a dream. Did you see the vision? Kenzie stared at him, and her mouth dipped open, and Duncan was suddenly hazy with her loveliness again, hazy with longing. I love you more than the morning sunlight, wondrous Kenzie. “You said something to me--that I’d start to remember something, about who we were, who we’re going to be--”

Kenzie eyes lost some of their clarity, and she handed him one of his glass coffee mugs, carefully. He sat up, leaning into the shape of her hand--she dipped her head down and her hair fell over her shoulder again, the strap of her top falling down onto her arm. Duncan wanted to press his lips to the bare skin there--wanted to press his mouth against her heart, the delicate space between her breasts. There is never a moment where I wouldn’t rather be kissing you. He knew she heard him--her face became even more radiant in the daylight, her hand coming up to brush shyly against her cheek at his thoughts.

“I...I don’t know...sort of, baby,” she said finally, eyes flitting up into his and then away, towards the great mirror, towards the window, its curtains partially drawn but the sliver of day visible beyond. “It was like a dream, wasn’t it? Like we both slipped into a dream.”

“Yes, baby, it was, but I don’t think it was a dream.” Duncan brought the coffee to his lips and drank, the hot, bitter liquid coursing down his throat, immediately stirring his senses more sharply. “I think it was like...a memory.”

“How can that be,” Kenzie laughed a little, inside her words. “Dunny, baby, the way you looked to me--you were so radiant, so beautiful, it was too much to bear. You were...you were a real angel, you had wings, but they were--” Duncan was putting the coffee down on the nightstand, his heart suddenly rattling inside him, and he reached out and grasped her hands tightly, pulling her closer. “--they were not like any wings I’ve ever imagined, they were in colors I’ve never seen--” “Kenzie, baby, I saw you that way too--” “And your clothing, it was like, gold and had this design to it, but I couldn’t figure out the--the design, it was like, it was made of something that doesn’t exist in this world--” “Fuck, Kenzie, you looked that way too, baby, your hair had a hundred tiny flowers in it and each flower was made of its own universe, and your eyes were like a gold galaxy spinning--” “Fuck, Dunny, that’s lovely, how can you say that to me, that’s too lovely--but--but you looked so amazing too, your hair was longer and more golden and your eyes were like a blue nebula, but the blue was not any blue I’ve ever seen before, it was--”

Their lips were rushing together again, and he was pulling her against him, sliding towards her, and her little hands came up to twine inside his where they clutched her face tenderly and he thought I love you Kenzie I love you fuck I love you I’m yours I’m yours and when I die my spirit will call out to you through time I’ll still be yours forever never doubt that I am yours my beloved my exalted beloved most hallowed of all most unearthly and divine love and he knew the dream had not been a dream, knew they’d seen something that seemed impossible but was not, something that was hidden deep in time that somehow they had glimpsed, that their love had uncovered the great secret of it, that finding each other here had opened the door on that other place, and he was overwhelmed inside the knowledge, and it was all he could do to hold her against him and taste her, her little face lifted up to him, her eyes closed, her face ecstatic (saintly, her pleasure in this moment sacred), the feeling of her under his hands so intensely real he wanted to cry.

“I--Kenzie, I want--”

Her eyes opened to him--hazel, depth of green--his hands still clutched her and their mouths hovered over each other, pulled back for a moment. I want to marry you. I want to be tied to you in the eyes of all, your most loyal, most faithful, most devoted husband.

He knew she’d heard, despite the words un-escaped from his lips. She looked down, suddenly shy again--her cheeks dusted with color immediately, and she felt achingly warm under his fingers. She was so lovely here, in reality, in his arms, to try to contemplate her in that other place was like trying to contemplate the mathematics of the universe in the face of the glory of one star; there was too much, and she was too great, and her multitudes were staggering, and he felt his breath hitch--felt the tears come against his eyelids. Neither of them said anything, but he could see the emotion gathering in her face towards him; he knew Kenzie could see how close to tears he was, and saw that it was moving her to tears, too.

“After the Gala, when we go to the cabin,” she whispered to him. “We’ll have time and space--to, to think about all of this. To figure it out. To figure out what all of this means. Okay? Duncan. I love you. I love you so much. You are beloved to me. You are the only one for me. Just be patient, okay? Be patient with me, baby. I’m here and we’re together. We just have to get through this first. We’ll be alone so soon. Alone to--alone to--to see each other. To really see.”

Duncan dipped his head away from her--he felt utterly overcome, and tried to gather the many threads of himself that had scattered and dispersed, as if in a gust of wind. He nodded--he knew she was right, knew that his patience was required, knew the rush he felt wasn’t a true need, rather his own deep desires. But he couldn’t help it--he wanted their life to begin so much. I want everything to fall into place, I want us to move the company forward to help others and the wheel of fate to grind toward the greatest good, I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed about, Kenzie, angel, I want the sweetness of you in the quietness of the woods, under the starry night sky where there is no one but us.

Baby, she thought into him. Dunny. I love you so much I can’t speak it. I can’t tell you. You have to feel it from me, just feel me, feel that I love you more than life, more than every flower, every living breathing thing, know that you’re the angel of my heart, the light of my body and my soul. And he did--he could. He could feel the golden wave she pushed down into him, the inexplicable touch of her so fine that it felt as though she were wrapping a second skin around him, this one radiant and impenetrable, this one the skin that would protect him from the outside world, invisible but inviolable, his hidden armor, woven by her little slender hands, all her love whispered into each strand, all her divinity blessing him. And my love shall protect thee, guide thee, and keep thee always, for thou art exalted in the light of my adoration, my divinity I give to thee, my sanctity I have divided unto thee, my soul I have split with the aid of the three-headed goddess, my golden thread I have tied to thee, and so thou and I art the same. And Duncan knew these words weren’t really Kenzie’s words--they were the words of the other Kenzie, the one with the silvery hair and the eyes like planets made of gold, the words that winged, ethereal creature had spoken to the other Duncan he had hovered inside last night, the one who wore the golden aegis, the other him with the colossal weight of his own wings.

Then the spell seemed to break, and he felt the tears drift away from him--he gently let go of her, and she slid away from him off the bed, and he felt the peaceful gold she’d borne down on him wafting inside his chest and his belly, in the core of his body. Duncan reached for his coffee again, watching her step into the walk-in, glancing at him over her shoulder with a peaceful, knowing smile. “Time to go see your mother, Duncan.” He groaned a little, smiling back at her--reality seeped back in strongly, and he reached for his phone on the nightstand, turning it over.

There was a text from Annette, confirming that the Vanity Fair interview and photoshoot would be at the Botanic Gardens in a few hours, the one for Forbes at The Lafayette after that, a restaurant inside the Hays-Adams hotel that he’d been to for several interviews in the past, most of them for Gardner Analytics. He had ignored her text from yesterday, wherein she’d called him ludicrously naive, their moving in together preposterous and claimed Kenzie was a greedy little social climber, a phrase that had made him want to hurl his phone across the room despite the heights of his mood with Kenzie in the kitchen only moments before--he looked them over again, scrolling up, fighting the anger seething back into his mind, urging himself to calm. I refuse to let her get a rise out of me today, he thought, and answered his mother today with nothing more than a clipped “Okay.” You can’t make me turn on her, Mom. It’s not going to happen. Never in a million years. You might as well try to make the sky fall down or stop the tides or keep the sun from rising and setting. You will never break us apart. Not only do I love her more than I love my own life--I know, I feel like I know that we’re actual fucking Soulmates, we can hear each other’s fucking thoughts, and I think these dreams and visions we’ve been having are the future, the past, or some strange parallel present. You really don’t fucking get it, but I think eventually you will, because you won’t have any other choice. Eventually everyone will get it. We’re together and I think...I think we always will be, if there are other lives after this one. I think...we always have been.

“I can’t believe we have a fan club now, baby.” He heard Kenzie’s voice drift towards him from where she was hidden from view in the closet, and he came out of the soft gold of the thoughts he’d begun to delve down into.

“You were so sweet to those girls, Kenz. The paps noticed right away. You handled that like a pro, I was so proud of you. I bet Claire’s texted you a BPF post about it already.”

“Check my phone, baby, it’s on my side. My password’s 0717.” Her birthday.

Duncan reached for Kenzie’s white iPhone in its iridescent gold case--he smiled down at the black inverted moon sticker, beginning to rub away into white, running his finger over it, then turned the phone over. Clairebear had indeed texted her (how did I know), a telltale BPF link visible in it, and behind the text Duncan could see her lock screen was ones of the Esquire shots of him--the one where he had a thin circlet of silver around his forehead, his eyes skirting to the left of the camera, their blue emphasized to striking brilliancy by the filter used on the shot, his hand adjusting his cuff facetiously. He thought of his own lock screen, with the shot of her smiling down at the breakfast he’d made her, sunlight on her cheek, grapefruit juice and Adelaide’s silver spoon in her hands--wait until we do a photoshoot together, baby, he thought. God, you’re going to look so beautiful. You always do. I should commission someone to paint you. Fuck, I should fucking do that. I’d die to have a painting of you. A huge one, colossal as The Youth of Bacchus, of you with flowers in your hair, you in wild moonlight, you as the goddess you are, you--

Duncan got up from the bed, glancing up at his naked reflection in the mirror (no wings, no aegis, no long gold hair, that’s for damn sure), then back down at the phone, slowly moving towards the closet doorway with her phone still clutched in his hand, thumbing her password into the surface, reading Claire’s text.

Clairebear: Kenzie Lou, look at this. They LOVE you. You knew exactly what you were doing with this. You wily little lady! I can’t believe you have a fan club now. You have to look at the website these girls have created. I’m just screaming over it, it’s insanely cute. They have like 15,000 members already. It’s insane!!! Also, is Harris single? He’s so hot, oh my FUCKING GOD.

He grinned at her message--I love how Claire texts Kenzie, he thought, and clicked on the BPF link. DUCKENZIE GREET FANS WARMLY OUTSIDE ONE FRANKLIN SQUARE, POSE FOR PHOTOS--the first shot was Lindy passing the roses to Duncan in his sunglasses, the second was a lovely shot of Kenzie smiling at Gabby (god look at her, an angel), then one of her leaning over the newspaper, writing, one of her tucking her hair behind her ear, face still dipped down, Duncan’s hand pressed against her back, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses (I was worried as fuck), her smile still apparent--how could anyone look at these and not fall in love with her, Duncan thought, his hand coming up against his jaw, trailing there, lost in the photos. There were a few more: side-angles of them posing with each of the girls, then Duncan pulling Kenzie away from them, Harris close behind, glancing darkly into the camera. Duncan turned into the closet, his eyes still on the phone--he tapped one of the photos of her looking up at the girls over the newspaper, the sharpie poised in her hand, enlarging it.

“Baby, look at this--” Duncan held her phone up to where he knew she would be standing, eyes rising to look at her, and then he stopped dead--Kenzie had slipped on the red dress, the lacy red bodice hugging her tiny waist and her round breasts (I fucking love them, I love her), the full lace of the skirt fanning out beautifully down her hips, and she was throwing her chestnut hair over her shoulder, her head still tilted to the side, away from him--she turned and met his eyes, and she smiled at him, her eyes roving up and down his nakedness. “Hey baby,” she murmured, her voice husky.

“God, I love that fucking dress.” His thoughts immediately drifted to when she’d been wearing it as she eased onto his lap in that makeshift dressing room, his fingers coming between her legs and coaxing her into a secret euphoria, the way he’d wiped his fingers after on a tissue and brought it to his nose, the heady scent of her sex making him wildly dizzy. “My mother’s going to flip her shit, baby, and I honestly can’t wait to see it.”

Kenzie stepped toward him, hands coming out to take her phone, her fingers brushing along his as she did, making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up--she stared up at him for a moment longer, the depth of green hovering behind her corneas--and I love looking at you naked, baby, was the thought she pushed into him, and Duncan bit into his lip, goosebumps breaking out on his skin--then she looked down at her phone and he was staggered again by the loveliness of the smile that fell over her face as she saw the photo.

“I look nice, don’t I?” She said, looking up at him again. “I mean...I look kind, I mean.” She blushed--Duncan melted at the sight of her shyness.

“Baby. You are kind. You’re kind to everyone. And you look fucking beautiful in these. Everyone is in love with you now. I have to admit…” Duncan stepped closer to reach her, his hands falling down her bare arms and the sides of the lacy red dress--Kenzie wore no makeup yet, but her eyes were so wide and so beautifully colored they seemed illuminated somehow--”It makes me a little jealous. I selfishly want you all to myself sometimes. I don’t want to share you.” Kenzie’s eyes fell into his again, and her little hand was falling down his bare torso to trail over his hip bones, needling with her thumbs and forefingers, her mouth opening to him.

“I was thinking, later...” and Kenzie was reaching up to him, tiptoed, her mouth pressing into his jaw as he leaned his head down to her, his hands at her shoulder blades, pressed into her hair. “You could throw me down onto that big, beautiful cherrywood table--” and her mouth was edging along to his chin and to the other side of his jaw, and Duncan couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her, moaning against her, his cock stiffening--”and fuck me on it, baby, fuck me standing while I wear this dress--” and Duncan was nodding against her, his eyes closing with the sensation of her, her little hand flicking down to play over his length, then teasingly away. “--I was thinking I’d really love it if you’d do that…”

“Yes, Princess. Yes, I will--” Duncan’s mind thrilled, imagining her body prostrate against the beautiful antique table, her golden hair tossed onto it, the sound of its creaking as he thrust into her, his mouth on her body. We can finally use that table regularly, he thought. We have to fuck on every surface of this penthouse, baby, every square inch, I need to fuck you as often as you’ll permit me, as often as you’ll desire my attentions--

“Good.” Kenzie moved back from him, eyes intense in his, her mouth and hands sliding away from him, and Duncan groaned desperately at the loss of her touch. “Now, get dressed, baby. Do as I say.” Her eyes skirted down to his cock and Duncan shivered at her eyes--look longer, baby, look at me, I’m yours, my aching sex is all for you, my body, my desires, all for you. But her eyes lingered for only a moment, as if to tease him, then she moved past him on her fast little feet, towards the kitchen. Later, baby. You know later I’ll be yours. Later I’m gonna tell you to fuck me good and you’re going to do it, aren’t you, baby.

Yes, Kenzie. Duncan had half a mind to go after her, to grab her wrists and press his mouth against her, but he knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t--Kenzie told me to obey. Her desires come first. He let out a long, shuddering breath, then turned to where his shirts hung in their quiet, pressed, dark row. He pulled down a black cotton Givenchy shirt with stars embroidered along the collar--all the stars in the sky are for her, he thought, drifting inside his desires as he began to dress, thinking of tiny flowers with a thousand petals, each one containing a universe.

---------

“Kenz, Samuel and Harris are downstairs,” Duncan looked up from the text on his phone to where Kenzie was sitting across from him at the island, about an hour later. She clutched a little bottle of Pellegrino in her hand, a piece of half-eaten sprouted grain toast with unsalted peanut butter in front of her (Duncan had made it for her alongside a sliced, skinned kiwi and a carefully squared mango, which she’d already devoured), hair falling over her shoulder, the Tiffany moon necklace at her throat, glinting at him--she’d applied a little makeup now, though he knew undoubtedly the stylists would want to put more on her for the photos they’d be forced to take today (not that I mind sitting around staring at you, baby, that’s all I ever want to do now)--and she’d been looking at her phone too, grinning at something unseen to him, some secret pleasure on the little screen.

“Baby, look. Look at this. I can’t believe it.”

She pushed her phone across to him--with a little jolt of nerves Duncan realized Kenzie had gone to DUCKENZIEFANS.COM. Holy fuck.

Duncan was used to fans--that is, a certain type of fan. They tended to be women, many of them middle-aged and as questionably-mannered as the two women in the coffee shop who’d taken photos of him and Kenzie without asking, or DC socialites with a desire to climb (that is, fuck) their way up the social ladder of the capital city. Duncan couldn’t deny he’d slept with several such socialites, but they all seemed to be part of a distant past he could barely see now--part of another life, another Duncan, a man who hadn’t understood himself at all, hadn’t bothered to pay closer attention to his real desires, his hopes, or the sources of real happiness he had encountered. Kenzie has awakened my senses to the world that is always hovering just outside our eyesight--the hidden world that is seeped in delicate beauty, the world that comes out when one looks at art, or hears beautiful music, or is present in nature. Love is, I think, all of these things--and all of these things remind me of love. Of the one I love. Of her.

The website had clearly been made by someone with graphic design experience--the interface was lovely and easy to follow, and the aesthetics were pleasing. The home page was tasteful and minimal, gold and soft cream with black lettering--he thought of the two teenage girls who had greeted them--those girls made this website? The headings were in Lobster script, and the text in soft Playfair Display. WEBSITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION, thanks for your patience, read a header near the top. Above it was the photo of the two of them at Le Diplomate taken by some random iPhone camera, but sharpened and filtered to be maximally flattering. A bar down the side had directives neatly listed: DUCKENZIE FAQ, HOW TO JOIN THE FANCLUB, DUNCAN SHEPHERD PRESS RELEASES, MACKENZIE STONE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE MERCH & FAN CLUB EXCLUSIVES, COMBINED GALLERY, CONTACT INFO, FAN MAIL INFO, MEMBER FORUM. He marveled at the page for a moment, lost in it--Duncan knew he had had fan sites before now, but he’d never looked at any of them beyond Instagram, the site he tended to frequent the most when he had bothered with social media at all in the past. But this website was exceptionally ordered, clearly by someone who was interested in design and who also had developed a serious fascination with the two of them. He clicked on the link titled DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES--sure enough, the topmost result was the series of photos from the article posted today on BPF, with Kenzie smiling at Gabby and Lindy, the camera facing her. Under it was a link to the gossip site and a long series of paragraphs, clearly written by the two girls, about how friendly and warm Kenzie had been to them. Duckenzies, you wouldn’t believe how lovely she is in person! It’s like she’s surrounded by a warm ring of sunlight and being near her makes your whole body tingle. She smelled like roses and flowers, like a goddess of spring. Just being close to her was so incredible. Below a few paragraphs was another photo, this one a close-up of Kenzie’s signature and the message she’d written out on the newspaper. A special message to us and all of you from Kenzie herself. Below that was the iPhone shots of the girls posing with them. They were so kind and gracious to us! Everything we hoped and knew they would be!

“That’s just insane to me,” Kenzie said as Duncan continued to click through the site. “‘Duckenzie Merch’,” and she lifted her fingers up on either side of her head, feigning quotations. “Stickers with my face on them for everyone!”

“I want stickers with your face on them, too, they better send me some.”

Kenzie made a face at him and Duncan grinned. I mean it, though. I’ll put them on everything I own, I don’t care. I’ll buy every fucking sticker they’ve made. He glanced away from Kenzie’s phone reluctantly, at the face of the black Ballon Bleu Cartier he’d chosen for the inevitable photos that would be taken of him today--different from the silver one he’d worn the night he met Kenzie on the balcony. This one was framed in rose-gold (and the gold reminds me of her). He noted it was a quarter till noon. “We gotta go, baby. They’re expecting us at 12:30. In the Rose Garden, can you believe that?” He smiled at her; roses for my Kenzie. He looked at his Cartier again, thoughtfully, as Kenzie finished her toast and stood to put her plate in the long steel sink, washing her hands, staring at her succulents along the windowsill. He admired her tawny blonde hair, falling down her back from the crown of her head in soft waves. I’m going to get her something to adorn her lovely little wrists. I want to give her more tokens of my love, one for each part of her body. He thought of the rose choker, coiled in one of the drawers in their closet--I’ll strap it to your soft little throat tonight, baby love, I’ll kiss you all along its smooth leather as I plunge into your sweet rosy cunt. He looked up to see she’d turned and was staring at him, and knew she’d heard the thought--the color of her gaze shivered with hidden arousal, that hidden, golden power he knew she had over him. “Anything in my teeth, baby,” was all she said, though, baring them at him. He laughed, delighted at the feigned ferocity in her gaze. “Just your sweet smile.” Kenzie rolled her eyes at him, coming around the side of the island, languidly leaning down on its smooth surface to dip her face towards him, the red lace dress hugging her waist and floating around her beautifully, sending warm waves of tingling longing down his spine. “Mr. Shepherd, you’re infatuated.”

“I love you.” And Duncan pulled her arms insistently into him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her smell in deeply. How I feel, baby. How I feel with you. Like I can’t help but be sincere. My heart is so full of you there’s no room for anything else.

“Can’t wait for your mother’s head to spin when she sees my dress,” Kenzie’s tone was playful and her hand fell down the side of his hair, her cheek at his temple. He closed his eyes, still pressed against her neck, lost for a moment in the feeling of her little fingers, the pressure of her skin under his eyelashes.

“It’s a Kenzie dress,” he murmured against her. “Not like the other one. This one has you all over it. I love it so much. I think it’s perfect. And whoever’s doing the shoot is going to love it too, I bet.” He leaned up to look at her and her face was suddenly hovering very close to his, her lips whispering over his, her eyes half-lidded, looking down into him.

“I love you, Duncan Shepherd.”

“What did I do to deserve the love of an angel?” He couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth, falling against her lips, hovering so close to him. Her leg was crooked into his thigh, her little stomach breathing against his, his hands pressed insistently into her hair along her back--you fit so sweet and small into my arms, my beloved. I could hold you this way all day, drunk on the scent of you, drunk with your softness. She was wearing the golden-strap heels again, and his hand came around to her foot, trailing over the laces.

“Oh stoppit.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s time for us to go, baby,” Kenzie tried to extract herself from his arms, but Duncan held fast to her, pressing his lips, then the tip of his tongue to the bare skin under her ear. She softened in the tenderness of his mouth; he heard her moans against him and wished the day would fade back into night for them, wished they were in the woods, under a night sky in a hidden forest, wished the world would just leave them be, let him kiss her, turn the sun away from them and bathe them in the shadows of their bed. But no, the world was waiting (Duckenzie, here they come, quick, take a picture), and so was Annette Shepherd. When Kenzie tried to pull away this time, Duncan let go of her, heart bruising at the sudden coldness of his lap. Kenzie slipped her convertible bag over her shoulder from where she’d left it by the penthouse door. “Pass me my phone, baby,” she said, her eyes bright on him. “Let’s go. The sooner we leave the sooner it’s over with.”

Duncan clutched her little gold iPhone, sighing deeply. “Don’t let Annette give you any shit today, baby,” he said, standing and handing it to her, fingers brushing down her wrist, her little face looking up at him, her expression one of aching trust, as he leaned protectively over her. “You’re a Shepherd now too, as far as I’m concerned. If she wants to insist you belong there, we’ll show her that you really do.”

Kenzie’s eyes flashed at him, and she lifted her chin in that defiant way--his throat clenched, head suddenly hazy with adoration. You got it, baby. Duncan barely had time to slip his wallet into the tailored pocket of his slacks before Kenzie clasped his hand in an iron grip, pulling him out the door and down the hallway. You got it, baby.

---------

Duncan remembered his meeting with Claire Underwood tomorrow as Samuel drove them towards the Botanical Gardens--a meeting he had no real idea of how to navigate, considering Annette’s insistence that the President was, in fact, her enemy, therefore the enemy of the company. What can I say to convince her I’m not, he wondered. Especially being unable to disclose that I’m gaining majority share once BIll dies? Nervously, he wondered if it was indeed possible without making her suspicious of him. Maybe meeting with her before Bill’s death wasn’t such a good idea after all. Too late now, Duncan. You’ll have to play like the old Duncan. The one who was ruthlessly loyal to Annette, and Claire Underwood knew it.

Kenzie’s hand was tucked under his thigh, and he glanced at her; she was staring out the window, seemingly admiring the historic Georgetown colonials they drifted past, her little lips mouthing the words to the John Denver Samuel had playing low--you fill up my senses, like a night in a forest, like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain--the lovely dip of her collarbones lifting in her quiet breath against the fitted lace bodice and her diamond moon necklace, the lacy folds of the crimson skirt fanning out around her legs. Her phone was in her lap and he could see the outline of her Instagram profile open on it--2 million followers now. He could see she’d made a new post, featuring the photos of them posing with the two girls from DUCKENZIEFANS. My sweet Kenzie. Duncan made sure she was still distracted by the music and the scene outside her window, then angled his phone up to snap a discreet photo of her--her hair fell beautifully across her shoulder in the sunlight, and her mouth was open a little, mouthing the song, her cheek turned to the side and her eyes lifted away from the shot. On our way to talk to @vanityfair, did you know my @kenzielouwho has a beautiful singing voice? #comeletmeloveyou #letmegivemylifetoyou

Kenzie still hadn’t noticed anything--he could feel the drifting cascade of her thoughts falling against him every few moments, and knew; you really love this song, baby. It’s making you think of me. It’s making me think of you, too. Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms. He opened the browser app and typed cartier.com, highlighting Jewelry, then under COLLECTIONS, he double-tapped LOVE. He chose two bracelets--one band of 18k yellow gold, and another band, also yellow gold, smaller, with 4 brilliant diamonds. He tried to keep his mind quiet as he did, tried to think of his mother and his meeting with Claire Underwood. He finished the order and closed out of the Cartier website--there. All done.

“All done with what, baby?” Kenzie turned to him, blinking. Annie’s Song had ended, and she seemed to resurface from a dream. Duncan noticed that they were a few yards back from pulling up to the Botanical Gardens; he lifted his thigh a little to grasp her hand. “Nothing, baby, just something I had to take care of for work.”

“Hmmmmmm,” Kenzie replied, giving him a suspicious look. “It doesn’t seem like that’s quite right.”

“It’s a surprise, baby.” Get out of my head, let me surprise you, my love.

“Stop buying me things.” He could see she was trying to hide the smile that wanted to fall over her mouth--she pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I won’t.”

“Duncan Shepherd.” She crossed her arms.

“I want to, baby. Please let me.”

She gave him another long look, pouting her lips a little.

“Please, Miss Stone. Let me bring you tribute for your altar.”

Kenzie blushed deeply at that, turning away from him. Duncan leaned down to her little cheek, bringing the hand that wasn’t holding hers tightly up to the dip under her chin, turning her jaw towards him.

“It’s a way I can worship you,” he spoke down to her ear. “Let me worship you, Kenzie.” He felt her shiver under his touch; he dipped his lips down to her skin and let them linger there, closing his eyes, savoring her softness and the sweet scent of her perfume (rose, vetiver, geranium, no, I’ll never tire of it).

“What’s your middle name, baby?” He heard her ask softly. “So I can use it when I’m annoyed with you.” He laughed into her cheek at that and felt it rise as she smiled under his fingers.

“It’s Malcolm. Follower of the Saint. Mom told me it was going to be my first name for awhile, but she decided she wanted it to be Duncan after all. The Warrior. Fearless.”

Kenzie gazed at him for a long moment as the BMW drifted to a stop on the curb. Then she mouthed his name, quietly. “Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. Warrior, follower of the Saint.”

“And what does Mackenzie mean?”

She smiled at him, winsome, charming him, teasing.

“Guess.”

“Fast as a falling star.”

She grinned. “No.”

“Lover of horses.”

She laughed at that. “No.”

“Beautiful as a rose kissed by spring dew at dawn.” He dipped his head to her, breathing along the delicate space between of her neck.

Kenzie looked away from him at that; he saw the shyness fall into her, felt it; the gossamer wave of her affection, the demure tinge of her longing for him.

“Kenzie.”

“It means lovely.” Harris was coming out of the front passenger door, buttoning his jacket, wearing dark sunglasses, stepping to open Kenzie’s door. The partition was floating down. Duncan could see several people walking on the sidewalk outside; some of them were turning, curious, to look at the BMW. He turned back to her, and he and Kenzie stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment; hers with gold discs floating behind the hazel--Duncan thought for an instant he could see his own eyes in her mind, you pierce my spirit with them, she thought, blue like the sky after a storm, the storm you’ve stirred in my soul, the wild love you’ve given me, every kiss and every touch too beautiful for words, every instance of your love a miracle.

“Of course it does,” he breathed.

Kenzie smiled at him. In time I’ll memorize every tiny detail of your face--I’ll remember everything, he thought. Beloved.

Harris opened the door and she slipped away from him, her little golden iPhone clutched in her hand, her hair falling back, the red lace of her skirt sliding off the leather seat. Duncan followed her out, squinting into the summer sunlight. He glanced to where several pedestrians had stopped to watch the car (two middle-aged companions, a man and a woman in professional attire; a younger woman in jogging clothes with a German Shepherd on a leash); there was dawning recognition in their eyes and the jogging girl immediately lifted her phone up. Duncan turned away, annoyed, certain she’d snapped the picture anyway. He reached for Kenzie’s hand as she slipped her round sunglasses over her eyes, and Harris moved in front of her, blocking her from view from the people watching. There were a few more people inside the front gardens to the southwest, and they stared after Duncan and Kenzie with obvious interest, but Duncan was relieved to see that the Rose Garden had a sign on the gate saying it would be closed for maintenance for the day--the “maintenance” in this case being their interview and photocall with Vanity Fair. As they approached they saw a tall Asian woman with very long, straight black hair and razor-cut bangs, in a smart short-sleeved navy blazer, a black v-neck blouse and a pencil skirt, standing at the gate from the other side. She waved to them a little, giving them a small smile, using a key to unlock it; she pulled the gate open and Kenzie and Duncan stepped through, Harris tight on their heels, and the woman locked it securely behind they moved further in, shielded by tall arborvitae bushes.

“River Tsukamoto, staff writer for Vanity Fair.” She reached out a hand first to Duncan, then to Kenzie, who grinned at her. She had a coy, small smile, and very dark eyeshadow and lipstick, almost black, and no accent. “So wonderful to meet you both. Annette arrived a few minutes ago--she’s in hair and makeup. We don’t always do it this way, but she said you have another interview later today--is it okay if we conduct this one as we shoot?”

“That’s fine,” Duncan replied. “Whatever’s easiest for you.”

He gave her a small, close-mouthed smile, and still saw the telltale sag in her features that his smile tended to cause with people. River’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Kenzie; down the length of Kenzie’s lacy red summer dress, the fall of her tawny hair, up his tall form and the smart cut of his clothing, lingering in his blue eyes and flitting over to Kenzie’s, their depth of green and gold making the other woman blink rapidly. River’s eyes fell to Kenzie’s moon diamond necklace--she seemed to recognize it. We must have an Instagram follower here.

“God, I have to say, you’re both just stunning in person.” The woman’s cheeks turned a deep crimson almost instantly, and she crooked an arm around her stomach. “I have to admit I started following both of your Instas since your relationship became public, they’re just--ugh, I love them.”

Duncan hesitated and Kenzie immediately stepped towards the woman--”What’s yours? I’ll follow you back.” Kenzie was holding her phone up, opening the app.

“Oh, oh my god, yes. It’s just @rivertsukamoto. Ugh, that would be so great.” River smiled again, this time dipping her body down and clenching her fists a little, bouncing in the black open-toed boots she wore--her toes were painted black. “I just loved those photos of you guys at the beach, so gorgeous.” Kenzie grinned up at her. “Thank you, that was a really wonderful day. There, now we’re Insta friends.”

“Right this way--” and River extended her arm, the blush still on her pale cheeks, leading them towards the center of the rose garden, where several stone benches surrounded a fountain, with dozens of rose bushes in different colors and varieties circling all around the courtyard, deep damask red, rosy-white bourbon, burgundy-colored hybrids, creamy york, sunny yellow--a tall sandy-stone building rose ahead of them with pointed turrets and art-deco glass windows. Duncan’s eyes skirted to where there were two trailers set up along one side of the bushes--River ushered them towards the one at the right, opening the door and beckoning them inside, wherein a very large, hairy man in suspenders and combat boots with a very curly mustache, long hair tied in a messy bun, and very glittery eyeshadow greeted them with a screech of delight.

“Alister at your behest, dumplings,” he said, gasping in a high voice. “Duncan Shepherd and Mackenzie Stone, sit down. God, you two are like sweet pastries, Duncan, you’re a chocolate eclair, Miss Kenzie, you’re a little pink macaron. You’re first, prince of the piercing blue eyes. Sit.”

Duncan settled down into the nearest styling chair, and Kenzie settled into one beside him, two circular mirrors mounted against the trailer’s back wall wherein Duncan could see her nervous expression across from him. Alister was washing his hands at a basin sink in the corner, and Duncan saw Kenzie take her phone out, snapping a picture of their two reflections, him side-eyeing her with a bemused expression, the phone angled over her mouth, her eyes skirting back to him. Then Alister was gripping his jaw carefully and pressing a pencil onto his eyelid.

“God, you don’t even really need anything, do you,” the big man spoke down to him in his high, lilting voice. “Your skin is gorgeous. This jaw could cut someone in half. Your eyes are out of control. Your lips are like fucking pillows. Just kill me, honey.” Kenzie was laughing into her hand, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Honey, you don’t even get to laugh, you’re fucking him, that’s not even fair,” Alister pointed the brush in his hand at her in mock-severity, rolling his eyes, turning back to Duncan--this just made Kenzie laugh harder. “God, you smell like a fucking Tom Ford runway, too. And what are you wearing, it fits you like a second skin, oh my fucking god, who does your tailoring?”

“A gentleman never reveals his tailor,” Duncan was trying not to laugh himself; Kenzie’s wild amusement was making him want to jump out of the chair and tackle her with kisses.

“Is he a gentleman?” Alister glanced over at Kenzie, using the brush to swish powder across Duncan’s cheekbone. “I bet he is to you, honey, you little sugar plum.”

Kenzie was coming down from her laughter, brushing tears from the corners of her eyes.

“He is. He’s an angel.”

“Oh shut up. You’re both stupidly beautiful and wildly in love. Sickening. Your Instas are the hottest thing online right now, I saw you taking that photo honey, make sure you tag me, @alisterrichardsstyle.” “I promise I will, thank you, Alister.” Kenzie snorted into her hand again. Seeing her laugh this way made Duncan feel absolutely dazzled. I’m your biggest fan, baby love.

“There.” Alister hadn’t done more than add some dark eyeliner and very light contour to Duncan’s face; Duncan had had this reaction from stylists before, and was used to light “touch-ups” versus any kind of lengthy makeup for shoots. “You honestly didn’t even need that, but keeping up appearances and all that. You might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, baby. And I’ve seen some boys.” Alister moved over to where Kenzie sat, glancing up at him nervously.

“Now, you, little baby angel. Let’s give you some lips to go with that dress, mama.” As Alister worked on Kenzie’s face Duncan couldn’t help but stare--her eyelashes darkened and became longer under his hands, her eyelids painted a iridescent pink, her cheek rosied, her lips dark crimson red to match the lacy dress. Duncan was struck by the romanticism of her hair over her shoulder, the glance she gave him as Alister finished on her--suddenly, my dark fiery goddess of blood-red wine.

“I guess you’re more like a little red box of Valentine’s Day chocolate now, baby,” Alister said to her as he moved the lipstain wand from her mouth. “Stay still while I document.” Alister pulled his phone out of his large pocket and took several snaps of her face from all angles, then moved over to Duncan and did the same thing to him. “Gonna pretend like I created all this beauty myself,” Alister smirked. “You are free to go, my angelic darlings. I shall wave to you from your place in the heavens.” Alister gave them a little bow just as River pulled the door open. “Alister, are you done on them?” Duncan was going over to Kenzie and grasping her hand--they thanked Alister, Kenzie still giggling into her palm.

“Oooooo, gorgeous,” River cooed, staring at them openly. “Annette’s over here.” Duncan’s heart rammed up into his mouth as he saw his mother, her beauty clouded with annoyance (as was her usual with him lately--Duncan remembered how he’d brushed her off the last time he saw her, and her angry texts regarding their living together), staring down at the large screen of her phone, typing quickly. She looked up at them and Duncan saw her clouded gaze darken further at Kenzie’s appearance.

“Mackenzie, what are you wearing.” It wasn’t a question as much as a demand--an angry demand for a satisfying answer.

“Mom, please, lay off her.”

“Duncan, don’t take that fucking condescending tone with me. And you’re living together now, what a fucking joke. Absolutely thoughtless.” Annette stood and her eyes flashed--she wore an asymmetrical black crepe dress with a draped neck, and pointed black stilettos. Today she also wore a gold necklace with three round diamond stones in addition to her customary diamond earrings--more jewelry than Duncan had seen on her since the last photoshoot they’d had, which was several months ago. Her look was undoubtedly, undeviatingly Annette. But what you don’t seem to understand is Kenzie is not going to dress like you. She’s going to dress like her.

“Annette, the paparazzi swarmed my apartment building--” Duncan looked down at Kenzie to see her face creased with anxiety, her little voice distraught, floating up to his ear towards Annette. He could see how much she was trying to keep her temper, and it made him want to shield her from Annette’s cruelly dark eyes.

“Then you find another fucking apartment, sweetie,” Annette snapped at her, and he felt Kenzie flinch in his hand, as if she wanted to run away from the scene. No, baby, no, remember what I said. Show her who’s boss. You’re the boss now, Kenzie. You’re in charge. You belong here. Show her.

Annette was openly sneering at Kenzie now, her eyes taking on that unnerving, deeply dark sheen they’d had over dinner at Plume. River was standing by nervously, not speaking, seemingly afraid to butt into the sudden vehemency of Annette’s manner--a photographer, camera in hand, a woman with boxy glasses and salt-and-pepper hair, had come up to her and whispered in her ear, and she was hurriedly whispering back, head turned towards the encounter. Clouds had drifted over the sun while they were in the trailer, and it suddenly seemed as though it might rain--yeah, really fucking rain, Duncan thought. Kenzie suddenly gripped his hand so hard it hurt, and he flinched, looking down at her--her eyes were staring into Annette’s, and they were swirling with the gold sheen usually saved for him alone--a sheen so bright it almost hurt him to look into them. Her other hand had come around to grip at the diamond moon around her neck, tightly, so tight he could see her fingers turning red. His head snapped up to his mother’s face; she seemed caught inside Kenzie’s whirling gaze, and her own took on a dazed expression, as though she were trying to remember something she’d forgotten.

“Duncan and I are together now. You can’t tear us apart.” Kenzie’s voice was trembling at first--then, it evened and soothed, and became very clear. “Please accept my presence in his life, Annette. He’s told you this before: your disapproval will not end our attachment. But it will bring him sadness. And it will bring you sadness, too.” Kenzie’s voice was mesmerizing in this moment; Duncan remembered flashes of the vision of her last night, a vision that seemed to be slowly fading from his understanding in the fabric of reality; the Kenzie with white hair that had flowers like little universes, eyes like whirling cosmic vistas, a gown made of the intricate geometries of some unknown intergalactic fiber, wings of some unfathomable divinity. This voice is like the voice of that Kenzie. That Kenzie is afraid of no earthly being. The air suddenly felt very heavy, as though a thunderstorm were about to begin.

“Please, don’t direct your anger on us anymore.” Duncan felt Kenzie’s hand grow strangely cold for a moment--cold, then surge back into warmth, like hot water dumped over ice. Her grip on him relaxed--the heavy feeling in the air seemed to dissipate, and he took a deep breath.

The clouds moved a little from their place over the sun, slowly allowing it to peek out again. Annette was strangely quiet--her expression had changed from one of anger to the dazed expression of confusion to one that now seemed to have forgotten her anger entirely; her annoyance remained, but it was less pointed towards Kenzie, now directed at River and the photographer standing to the sidelines. They didn’t seem to really understand or recall what had just happened--River was blinking rapidly, as though disoriented from a loud sound.

“What are we all standing around for?” Annette barked at her. “Are we doing this or not? I have a full schedule today, Ms. Tsukamoto.”

“Kenzie,” Duncan leaned down to her, his lips to her ear. “What did you do?”

“I--I don’t know,” she whispered, looking at Annette. Duncan’s mother was moving away from them, talking to River with a clipped voice. The photographer was interjecting, pointing to the fountain and gesturing. “I think...I just told her to stop. Stop being the way she’s being to us, to me and you, to us being together. I think it was like...a kind of command. Baby, I don’t know.” Kenzie was pressing a hand against her forehead, breathing slowly through her nose, out through her mouth, her red lips shining in the afternoon sun.

“Okay, baby. Okay. Let’s get through this, okay? We can do this.” He soothed his thumb over her hand. Kenzie nodded, weakly. He led her over to where Annette was now sitting by the fountain.

“Hey, I’m Anna Peterson.” The photographer approached them, peering at them over her glasses, pushing a hand through her hair. She seemed either unfazed by what had just happened, or seemed to have forgotten it entirely. Kenzie was still pressing her hand on her forehead, but Duncan nodded to her. 

“You two are...really something. I have to get some shots of the two of you alone, I think. We’ll do something with Annette while River’s conducting the interview, but I’d love for you to pose for me a few times together without her. If that’s alright with you.”

“Is that okay, Kenz?” Duncan looked down at her. She nodded a little. He turned to Anna. “Do you have any water bottles?” Anna trotted over to one of the trailers and emerged a few moments later with an unopened plastic water bottle, handing it out to Kenzie. Kenzie reached for it with shaking hands; Duncan grasped it, opening it for her. “Thanks baby,” she whispered, sipping at it carefully. River was already asking Annette questions--Duncan felt weary at the prospect of trying to lie about his intentions for the company, and the longer he could put it off today, probably for the better. Anna eyed them both again--Duncan noted how impatient she seemed to start with the camera on them, fiddling her fingers over its black-and-silver surface, hopping from side to side--and said “How about we do a couple shots right now? Just some warm-up stuff. How about over here?” She gestured with one hand to where groups of blushing bourbon roses were clustered in two adjacent bushes, about a yard away from where River and Annette were going back and forth, Annette’s clipped voice carrying over to them.

Duncan nodded, gently pulling Kenzie in front of one of the bushes, to a spot of partial shade under an oak tree that grew beside them--she still clutched the water bottle in one hand, and Duncan could see the moisture gathering along the outside trembling as the bottle shook in her unsteady grip. Anna was already snapping away, having started as soon as he and Kenzie began to move; Duncan kept his hand threaded through hers, thinking soft waves of love towards her. I don’t know what you did to Mom, Kenz, but it worked. It’s like she forgot we’re even here. It was like the power we pushed over her at dinner, but even stronger. I think the powers we can use, whatever the fuck they are, whatever they mean--I think they’re getting stronger. I think we can direct them better, control them better. Kenzie set the water bottle down in the crook of the oak tree’s roots, and came close to him, her hands reaching out for him. Duncan couldn’t stop himself; he pressed his palm against her jaw, heard the furious clicking of Anna’s camera.

I still don’t really know what I did though, baby. Kenzie was looking up at him, her hazel eyes drifting into different colors as the clouds partially obscured the sun again--Anna paused for a moment, and said “God, that’s lovely, just keep doing that, the way you’re looking at each other, Duncan, keep touching her that way,” towards them. Their bodies were leaning close; the roses framed behind them. Gladly, he thought. I’ll gaze at you and hold you all day, angel baby. Kenzie seemed to be calming, the trembling running down from her limbs. Duncan moved his hands down to hold Kenzie at the waist--she pressed into him, sighing, her chin angling up. Gaze away, her gold thought drifted against him. I love you so. In your eyes I am content. They’re home.

“Mackenzie, look over here.” The camera was snapping rapidly, repeatedly. Kenzie glanced to Anna--almost involuntarily, it seemed, she laid her temple against Duncan’s chest, and his hand came up against her hair--he gazed down at the aureate crown of her golden-chestnut hair and pressed his lips against it as she glanced over at Anna, her little red lips parted just slightly, her eyes shining with the damp residue of her emotions. Duncan savored the warmth of her despite the hotness of the day, the feeling of the lace of her dress under his fingers, the dip of her waist, the cascade of her hair, the heady scent of her. You’re my home too, baby. You’re the resting place of my soul.

“Wow,” Anna said. She seemed to have forgot about them, in a sense; seemed to be thinking about the photos rather than their physical presence. “That’s going to be a final shot for absolute certain.” Kenzie turned her face into him now, her eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed; Duncan looked to Anna’s camera now, and couldn’t stop the protective wave that fell over him, his resentment towards the world around them that didn’t seem to grasp how extraordinary Kenzie was, how luminously beautiful within, brighter than a hundred other souls combined, how desperately she had to be protected from anyone who would wish her harm, how divine it was that her spirit was on earth at all. “Gorgeous, gorgeous, fuck, perfect,” Anna was murmuring, coming around their right side. “Like a fairy tale. Your eyes, Duncan, they’re like sharp little polished sapphires. Hold that pose for me, please.” Kenzie looked up at him; they really are, she thought to him. They are like sapphires. I love your eyes, baby.

And your eyes are like autumn leaves dusted with golden evening lights. She pulled away from him, grinning in embarrassment--Duncan clutched at her arms, pulling her back to him, pressing his lips into the bottom of her jaw as he lifted her little body up to him, Anna clicking her camera all the while. No baby, let me. Let me tell you how beautiful you are, Kenzie. Let me tell you and know how sincerely I mean it, my body and soul aching for you, hungry for you every minute. Please know how much I love you.

I know baby, I know. And I love you--so much. So fucking much. So much it’s almost hard to look at you, to feel all that love from you, because I feel like the love I feel for you and the love I feel coming from you is so great--together, it’s like they’re going to burst my heart into a thousand pieces.

Let it burst, then. Mine will too. The fragments of both of us will still find each other again. I’d find you if you were at the opposite end of the universe, baby. I’d search for you until I found you. I swear on everything. On my life, on my death, on every star. I promise. I would fucking find you. His hands were threading through her hair, their lips not quite touching but their mouths hovering near each other; Duncan resurfaced from the intoxicating nexus of her, glancing over at Anna again; the older woman was gaping openly at them, her camera hovering in her hands, forgotten. Then she shook her head as if to clear it, and nodded at him, mouthing the word again. Perfect.

------

The interview, so far as it concerned him and Kenzie, went surprisingly smoothly--whatever influence Kenzie had had on Annette seemed to extend through the remainder of their time with River and Anna; the photographer took several shots of them around the fountain, Duncan standing behind his mother in one with Kenzie sitting in the opposite direction, and another with Kenzie and Duncan sitting together and Annette standing, her gaze off to the side. Duncan wondered with mounting impatience what the photos would look like when the article was released; wondered if by the time it was published it wouldn’t already be obsolete in context. Annette had already given answers to several questions from River regarding the company that Duncan knew were not entirely accurate or truthful--and answers he knew would not coincide with the new model for the company when he gained majority share. Duncan knew Kenzie was getting glimpses of his inner frustration as the afternoon wore on; she would glance at him with concern deep in her eyes, and reach for his hand, her lips pressing together. Better not to talk much anyway, baby, she said to him, secretly; that way you won’t be branded a liar later. And Annette can’t pretend like you went along with all of this just to turn on her. I’m with you, baby. We should talk to Momby soon about the board of directors. I’m sure she’ll say yes. We’re going to make it through all of this--and then we’ll have our whole lives ahead of us.

Her voice inside his head had soothed him as the afternoon wore on, and by the time River was turning off her recorder and closing her notes, Annette seemed to be in a mood that could almost approach good for once. She was glancing down at her phone with a neutral expression; then, it seemed to cloud again as she received a text. Kenzie had been whispering into his ear, giggling over Claire asking if Harris was single, trailing kisses along his skin there. Annette looked up at him, and he knew something was wrong.

“Your uncle’s been taken to the hospital again.” She was standing, her lips pressing in a thin line, the clouds having returned strongly overhead--this time they seemed to be here to stay, having multiplied and extended over the sky, so the day was no longer bright or as hot. Annette’s hand was coming up to brush her hair off her shoulder, and her expression became unreadable, dark, hidden. “I have to meet him there. We’ll have to postpone the Forbes interview.”

“Mom, I could do it without you--”

“No. I don’t think so.” She seemed to falter for a moment, her eyes skirting over to Kenzie beside him, who was staring back at her solemnly, sympathy in her hazel eyes. Kenzie forgives you for everything, I know she does. She always does. She wants to be your friend. She wants to be a daughter to you. I know that, even if she won’t say it, won’t really say it, not yet, not even to me. Annette’s tone wasn’t angry and incredulous, as it had been--now, it was tinged with a sort of weary resignation, and a hidden sadness that she refused to show outwardly. “I think perhaps it’s better to cancel it entirely. There’s too much happening in the company right now to give a business-forward interview, anyway. With the company itself soon to be in such flux--it seems unwise. This one is done, besides.” Annette suddenly looked very tired. Duncan reached out to his mother--she gripped under his arms, and he knew in a rush how badly she had wanted to touch him, then. Knew that she was mourning his uncle already, in her heart of hearts, a heart she never showed to anyone but him, and then only in rare flashes that seemed to disappear right after the instant they emerged.

“Mom. I love you.”

“My sweet Duncan.” River and Anna had gone away, back to one of the trailers, and Harris stood with his mother’s bodyguard, Becket, a huge, menacing man who rarely spoke, at the far edge of the garden by the gate, too far away to hear any conversation from the distance; the Rose Garden had grown oddly quiet, the only sounds the drift of the summer wind and the trickle of the water, and Kenzie was sitting on the fountain beside where he and his mother stood, staring at the ground, her hair falling down her shoulders, her hand clutching at the moon pendant at her throat. As he glanced at her he could see that she had tears gathered in the corners of her eyes--he glanced back at his mother, caught between their emotions.

“You were always such a perceptive, sensitive child.” Annette was loosening her grip on his arms, stepping back from him. “I fought to steel your nerves for the world outside. It’s cruel and unkind and ruthlessly hard, and I knew it would crush you if I didn’t prepare you for it. I’m sorry if I...I’m sorry if I have sometimes been cold to you. I tried to...I tried to protect you. I have tried to. You had to be fearless to survive this world, and I knew it, and I became obsessed with my need to prepare you. I wonder if I--” she turned her face to look over his shoulder, into Kenzie’s eyes--seemed to notice the tears there. “I wonder if I’ve been too stubborn regarding certain...things. As your uncle worsens, I...”

Annette’s eyes grew misty--she smiled, but the smile was achingly sad to him.

“I wonder if I haven’t confused the things that truly matter with what seemed to for so long.”

Duncan watched, his body going stiff with shock, as Annette went around him and reached down to Kenzie with one shaking hand. I’ve never seen Mom shake like that. It’s my uncle. Bill’s dying. He’s really dying. And I think she just realized that. Really realized it, and began to accept it. He’s going to die very soon.

Kenzie reached up to her--as their fingers grasped each other, Duncan watched (felt) the golden wave of Kenzie’s energy (her attention, her kindness, her goodness, her love) fall down over his mother in its quiet, cascading swell. Annette sighed--the sigh seemed to be tinged with surprise, as though whatever she was receiving from Kenzie was moving beyond words, tinged with too much feeling to resist. Duncan couldn’t quite glimpse it in its entirety--it seemed to be a secret of some kind that Kenzie passed into his mother, something for her and her alone. Duncan felt another sharp wave of shock as he watched Annette lean down to Kenzie’s little cheek and kiss it, a tiny, short peck of her lips to the soft skin of his beloved’s sweet face. The kiss, he knew instantly, was sincere.

And then the moment passed, and Annette walked away from them, towards Becket and the gate, slipping her dark sunglasses over her eyes, shielding him and Kenzie from her emotions entirely. The big man ushered her through the gate, and they were lost from view.

“Dunny,” Duncan heard Kenzie’s little voice before he turned to her, heard the tears in it, and they weren’t tears of sadness, not really--they’d become tears of relief, he saw as he looked into her eyes, their whirling gold telling him clearly, and he rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms, and she was so small and her body shook against him, and Duncan touched her cheek where his mother had kissed her, and it seemed to burn under his fingers, burn like it had been held close to a flame, and he held her among the quiet roses, the sweet-scented summer wind falling against them, and the moment soothed and dissolved, and they lingered in it for a long while.