#givenchy play intense

[dirtysvthoughts]

WE NEED SCOUPS FUCKING THE READER IN OBLIVION! RAW! CUM PLAY! ROUGH! CHOKING! THEN BUYING THEM GIVENCHY, YVES SAINT LAURENT, AND HERMES! Like ughhhhhhh my life would be complete🤧😭

the way i melted at this ask?! 😮‍💨 anon this is so hot!

a/n: this is my test y’all! i’m gonna make this as concise yet detailed as possible lol! 😗

imagine you and seungcheol engaged in some super intense sex, like this is your second or third round and he STILL has the same stamina as when he hit it the first time. it’s so rough, but it feels so great.

he relentlessly pushes in and out of you this round, and you’re practically screaming his name, clutching on to whatever is close to you for dear life. it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten a noise complaint yet.

seungcheol finds the position you’re in incredibly sexy, but what would make it even sexier? his hand around your throat. he slowly wraps his hand around your neck, and gently tightens his grip. he groans at the sight, and you begin to get teary eyed at all of the pleasure.

“fuck baby, you look so hot underneath me… and you’re so close too - your pussy is practically begging me to cum on my cock? you wanna do that don’t you? you wanna cum all over me, pretty girl?”

your breathing gets faster and faster as his words send you over the edge, and you do exactly as he asks - you squirt all over the bed and his lower half. he swipes some of your cum onto his finger and licks it clean, internally melting at how good you taste in his mouth.

“you taste so good baby, you’re so amazing..” he says as he lies on top of you, softly laughing in your ear, kissing you slowly. “you’re the best..”

——

the next day, the both of you decided to go out and he treats you to something special.

“how does this look, cheol?” you turn around from a mirror and model a beautiful cross-body givenchy bag for him.

“it looks perfect, baby!” he smiles at you appreciatively, holding other bags from ysl, gucci, and versace. “i’m taking you to hermes next, remember- anything you want, it’s yours.”

he comes up to you, embracing you from behind as he holds your waist and kisses your cheek.

“you’re perfect.”

-kenny, who has now achieved serious cheolrot thanks to you guys

[scentsperfumes]

SCENTS The Perfume Specialists offering Featured Perfumes 

Odours have a power of persuasion stronger than that of words, appearances, emotions, or will. The persuasive power of an odour cannot be fended off; it enters into us like breath into our lungs, fills us up, imbues us totally. There is no remedy for it." 

― From the movie, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (Spoiler Alert – Does not end on a fragrant note, watch it at your own risk!) 

The quote means, "He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of all mankind." Although a little bit dramatic, the saying is not wrong. 

Your perfume might be invisible, but it is the chief accessory you carry. As per a few psychologists, the smell is the sense closely connected to memories, which indicates your perfume can help you leave an everlasting impression when you require it the most. There's no reason to smell less than exquisite with a wide variety of luxurious, designer scents available.   

At Scents the perfume specialists Perth, we believe that having a signature scent is crucial for your outfit. It can leave a memorable impact just as a designer suit, elegant heels, or diamonds would on those around you. And so, we did some extensive research on the most sensual and exclusive perfume brands available.  

We have the most comprehensive stock of rare, designer, and niche scents from across the globe, which means you too can now indulge yourself in the exquisite aroma of your favorite designer. We have a wide range of beautiful perfumes for men and women in our conveniently located stores across Perth. 

Now, you ought to understand that every event and time of the day demands you to wear a different fragrance differently. You cannot wish to work wonders for your style with just one scent. You need to take your fragrance game to the next level, and these suggestions will help you accomplish that. 

Perfumes we offer 

Perfumes for different occasions 

Office: This is the place where you need to unleash your inner elegance and not just another person. You should avoid wearing poor-quality scents or ones with a too strong smell. You need to wear a fragrance with fresh, fruity, and slightly floral notes with a bit of zest.  

The aroma should be striking yet subtle. The best choice for you would be Prada Candy, a composition exuding elegance right from the start, with notes of diverse musky accords. The middle note contains benzoin and balsamic vanilla, while the base has a caramel scent. 

Date night: You need something more personal and sensual for romantic meetings and those special date nights. Wearing perfumes with pleasant notes and subtle touches of oriental notes will make your special one feel more relaxed and comfortable around you, not on their toes ready to run out.  

Avoid intense and strong perfumes for these special occasions. Try CK one on your next date; top notes of crisp Bergamot, juicy pineapple, and fleshy papaya melt into a floral middle note, heavy in romantic rose, jasmine, and violet. A touch of nutmeg gives way to a base of erotic musk and dewy amber. This aromatic chypre creates a fragrance that complements them. 

For parties: Parties are when we all desire to capture the attention of every individual present over there with our class, character, and elegance. Your perfume plays a vital role in making you the center of the party. It would be best to have a fragrance with a solid and striking scent yet comforting.  

Give Eau De Givenchy a try; the scent combines fresh citrus, melons, peaches, plums, and a floral bouquet. The top notes are Bergamot, mandarin, and bitter almond that mixes with the middle notes of orange blossoms, neroli, and petitgrain. The base includes Musk's and cedarwood. 

Perfumes for different personalities 

Citrus lovers lead the group. 

Do you always take the lead in a group situation? Would your companions and family describe you as an alpha man or woman? If so, we bet you are attracted to citrus-based perfumes like Giorgio Armani Acqua di and Juicy Couture Viva La Juicy. These are strong-minded, enterprising, genuine leaders.  

Rose wearers are reflective. 

These people are introspective and considerate of the needs of others. They manage to weigh all possibilities before making a choice, taking the time to contemplate their decisions instead of merely diving right into the action. While most people may have a lot of memories they'd preferably forget and wipe away from their past, they have very few. Their rosy history (women’s perfume like Daisy Eau So Fresh and Chloe Rose Tangerine) is clean because they think before acting. 

Lavender wearers make great friends. 

If you love wearing lavender aromatic perfumes like Colonia Futura Eau de Cologne, you are expected to have a vast, close circle of friends. Everyone considers you comfortable to be around right from the start, which is why you get ahead so well with just about everyone. 

Linen lovers are achievers. 

If you smell linen or fresh laundry, common in perfumes like Estee Lauder White Linen, you're somebody who'd run marathons for fun. People are stunned that you're constantly looking for something extraordinary. You enjoy pushing your perseverance to every limit, and you have an "anything is possible with hard work" mindset. 

Featured perfumes offering 

A few beautiful aromas have a way of sending us back into our most profound, most joyful memories. And with time, your signature scent gets recognized. Each of us has a special note of fragrances that make us connect with who we are. Time periods have aromas of their own too. For example, the first few months of the pandemic smelled a lot like alcohol sanitizers. 

We've fetched three featured perfumes that are the most loved fragrances of the year. From spring florals and winter in a bottle to intense alluring notes of love, the most-bought perfumes are a mix of classics to scents that stole our hearts. 

Valentino Uomo Roma 100ml 3pc 

Valentino Uomo Roma 100ml 3pc was Launched in 2020, born in Rome and given the name, which means "man" in men’s perfume. A rejuvenating mineral salt aspect and spicy ginger give the fragrance an edge, celebrating men’s cologne "who-I-am-as-a-person."  

The top notes are the violet leaf, ginger essence, and cedar essence. In the middle are Sage essence, Lavender essence, salty harmony, and base notes Vetiver essence, Akigalawood, Gaiatic Wood. 

Mont Blanc Explorer 100ml 3pc 

Mont Blanc Explorer 100 ml 3pc was launched in 2017 as an intense aromatic amber fragrance.  

The top notes combine spicy pink pepper, crisp Bergamot, and scented French sage. The base notes combine akigalawood, patchouli, ambrofix, and cocoa for a woody, fragrance finish. 

Spicebomb Infared 90ml EDT M 

Spicebomb Infrared, recently launched in 2021 by Viktor&Rolf, is an Amber Spicy men’s perfume. 

The top notes are Red Fruits, Pink Pepper and Saffron; the middle notes are Cinnamon and Red Pepper; the base notes are Tobacco and Benzoin, making it the best option in fragrances for men. 

Perfume of the month 

Scents The perfume Specialists  

Address: Unit 176, 4 Collier Rd, Morley, WA - 6062 

Phone: (04) 19 835 945 

best mens perfume    best perfumes for womens   

Location: 176/4 Collier Rd, Morley WA 6062, Australia 

[harrybrook1]

Best Givenchy Perfumes

Givenchy perfume is a French perfume brand named after Hubert De Givenchy. Givenchy is a floral, fruity, spicy,  and sensual perfume for men and women. this Longevity is excellent at 12+ hours; will last for days on your clothes. this brand is known for its high-end and high-quality clothing designs and perfumes. Its top notes of magnificent fruity pear add a floral heart and a touch of musk at the base.  Below is a Name of some of Givenchy's best perfumes celebrated internationally with some very famous names as their brand ambassadors. 

Top 8 Best Givenchy Perfumes That Smell Good

Givenchy Ange Ou Démon Le Secret Elixir.

Givenchy L'inerdit.

Givenchy Live Irrésistible 

Givenchy HOT COUTURE Eau De Parfum.

Jardin d'Interdit by Givenchy.

Givenchy Dahlia Divin.

Givenchy Eaudemoiselle.

Givenchy Play Intense.

[ddarker-dreams]

Bride in White. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

When you had fantasized about this day in your youth, this is not what you had desired.

In those days, you pictured how you would count down the days until your wedding. Mulling over a dress you wanted to wear, one that was within your budget but pretty nonetheless. Maybe an outdoor venue, friends and family alike joining together to witness your union. There’d be butterflies in your stomach as you held onto your bouquet, breath hitched. Most important of all, the one who would be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. 

A person you truly loved. 

Eerily, certain lavish elements align with what you would’ve wanted. Almost as if he peeked in your mind and stole it for himself. The venue you were to be wed reminded you of a whimsical fairy tale, indulging you in its architectural beauty. A cathedral with warm, earth tone colors with tall ceilings that reached to the heavens. Colored sunlight shone through broad, mosaic windows, illuminating aisles of wooden pews. 

“I’m not a pious man,” Giorno had claimed, as he monitored you with his eyes. He must have mistaken your wide eye look for acceptance of the situation. “But it feels right.” 

But it feels right.

Those four words haunted you the moment they left his roseate lips. He couldn’t have expressed the gravity of your situation, the living nightmare of your life more perfectly if he had tried. Every freedom he readily plucked from you like a flower petal, all the undesirable parts of you that he trimmed away, planting you wherever he saw fit to soak in your beauty. The single difference you can find is a flower will eventually wither away to nothing and wilt. 

Whereas Giorno, your ever dutiful lover, cruelly refuses to let you meet the same fate. 

All of this was thrusted upon you because it felt right to him. He’s assured that this is what love is and you’d be a fool to think otherwise. What happened in his past to delude him into believing this sick parody of love is right? Questions like this will remain unanswered, Giorno skillfully dodging them with ease when presented with your numerous concerns. 

Freedoms you were generously given did little for you. Giorno took care of a majority of the planning, considering what minuscule input you offered. Whether it’s because he envisioned your union in a particular way -- or he was tired of your lackadaisical responses to wedding detail questions -- he stopped asking. The illusion of choice he presented you with was insulting in your eyes.

You don’t want to choose the flavor of cake, what orchestral arrangements are to be played during the reception, or what kind of veil you’ll wear. It’s as macabre as preparing for your own funeral down to the letter, you concluded. No, none of those frivolous things will bring you the true desire of your heart. 

Living your life as you did before meeting the Don of Passione.

“I-is it to your liking?” 

A young woman around your age asks, pulling back to allow you to see your own reflection. The person working on your hair continues in silence, the pair only speaking to you when absolutely necessary. It’s not like you can blame them, you think bitterly. Treading carefully and minding your mannerisms is an all too familiar dance. 

“Yes, thank you.” you offer in response after brief deliberation, to which she lets out a shaky sigh of relief. A fluffy brush dances across your face as she continues her work, blending together your foundation or making small touch ups when necessary. Seeing your own somber reflection being dolled up stirs unknown emotions within you, almost prompting you to laugh humorlessly. 

Your hair has been pulled back into a loose braid. Woven into your hair are flowers, likely created by Gold Experience. From light pink juliet roses to white hydrangeas, all stunningly beautiful despite your inner hatred for what they represent. It’s not that Giorno can’t afford to obtain flowers from other sources. The act of claiming you is what this represents. 

Highlight that compliments your skin color is set upon your cheekbones and lightly dusted onto your nose, cheeks subtly rosy from blush. The color of your eyes is brought out by smokey eye shadow, eyelids covered in flecks of gold then finished with dark winged eyeliner. Lastly, in the color that Giorno had picked out himself, your lips plump and covered in a deep pink.

As for the dress, Giorno considered your minimal input when deciding on it. Weeks of fittings and measurements in his private villa come flooding back to your mind, the irritating experience bestowing upon you an extravagant dress. A sweetheart neckline, with a mermaid silhouette that extended past your feet. It has a bare back, with a long cathedral chain behind you. The fabric clings to your curves beautifully, made of lace and tulle. 

It’s hard to justify messing up their work, as much as you’d love to. As innocent bystanders in this entangling mess, you loathe the thought of them getting in trouble for your tantrum. Knuckles tightening by your sides until your nails press painfully to your skin, you stop only to realize how it’d displeasure Giorno to see your beautiful skin tainted by crimson. 

A door opens behind you, the sound of fine orchestral accompaniments growing louder. In the mirror, you’re able to see one of your bodyguards, Fugo. His normal outfit riddled with holes replaced by a coal black tux, gaze serious as ever. 

“She walks out in five minutes. Is everything done by now?” he asks in a way that leaves room for little argument. Fugo has always been a no nonsense type of man, the stress from keeping a monumental event like this safe and moving along weighing down on him. Your hairdresser doesn’t look back while she responds, adding final flourishes while time allows.

“It will be. We’re just wrapping up now.” 

Fugo runs a hand through his hair, sighing but nodding his head. For privacy he closes the door, likely standing by it for added security. The comfort of this room will soon be left behind you, as much as you want to stay hidden away forever. All you can think is this aspect will be over after today, though a much crueler fate awaits you with open arms. 

After what feels like a too short amount of time, they begin prompting you to stand, handing you your bouquet of expensive and vibrant flowers. Your grip on which is weak, hands shaking too much to gain a proper grasp. Taking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you do everything within your power to quench this stifling anxiety. 

With no rest for the weary, Fugo once again opens the door. He meets your gaze, lips set in a tight frown but not commenting on your aghast expression; likely in an act of mercy towards you. He silently offers you his arm to steady your teetering figure, to which you shake your head. You’ve made it this far on your lonesome, the rest of the world failing you at every opportunity. 

It’s more of a symbolic act now since you’ll have to take his arm later, Fugo being the one to give you away in the stead of your father. This is one of the conditions you presented to Giorno in return for your full compliance, that he leaves your family alone from all mafia related circumstances, this included. He seemed more than pleased at the time to accept his beloved’s request.

Wedding veil gingerly placed atop you, all the preparations steps have been completed. There’s no other acceptable excuses you can present at this moment, the calling before you beckoning. Fugo prompts you to walk out with him, a hallway not long enough for your liking in front of you. 

Each step takes every ounce of your willpower. All you can hear, like a mantra within your own mind, is that you need to get yourself together. That’s the deal you made with him, the one that you need to stick by in spite of yourself. For the safety of those you care about, you must present yourself as a perfect and overjoyed bride. 

Two intimidating looking men dressed for the occasion stand on either side of the large doors, ready to open the gates of your own personal hell. Fugo nods to them, his authority within the organization prompting them to open the doors to the chapel. At the very second of doing so, the orchestra changes their song to the bridal chorus.

Rich sounds of the organ flood your ears, lips quivering at the crushing sound reverberating within these tightly packed walls. The sensation of hundreds of faceless strangers staring at you makes your knees go weak, all of them now standing out of respect for your soon-to-be husband. None of them mean anything to you, but you’d be a fool to not acknowledge their importance. From politicians to fellow mafiosos, all eyes are on you. 

Sensing your hesitation to continue walking, Fugo gently nudges you forward. The act breaks you from your momentary stupor, allowing you to continue down the aisle with faux grace. Running out of other sights to look at, your gaze hesitantly falls onto Giorno, who grows closer by the second. 

He’s composed, as you’ve come to expect from him. There’s an image of rigidness that needs to be maintained with being a Don. His lips curl into a content smile when your eyes meet. Every ounce of your being screaming, pleading, for you to look away. To run away. Yet you can’t, the logical side of your brain being won over by the intensity of his presence. 

Your body moves in a trance-like state towards him, drawn to his serene expression and loving eyes. Otherworldly is how you describe him in this moment, sunlight shining against his golden hair which is loose from the normal braid. No expenses were cut on his own outfit, wearing a luxurious navy blue Givenchy suit. 

There’s no denying that the devil incarnate is nothing short of beautiful. 

Fugo goes to shake Giorno’s hand, instead of your real father. He gives you one last look before descending down the stairs and taking his seat in the front row. Now feeling all on your own, you feel the anxiety from before returning in full force. What frightens you the most now is how gentle Giorno’s emerald eyes are, how much heartfelt love shines within them for you. It feels like his gaze pierces through your being, capable of reading every thought. 

Offering him a smile that you pray he finds satisfactory, Giorno lifts the veil over your face. 

“I’ve never seen someone so breathtaking.” he mutters under his breath, only for you to hear. Goosebumps dot your skin at his affectionate proclamation. 

He then turns to look to the altar. You mirror this action, seeing an eldery man who must be the priest. Seeing his lips move, you faintly process that he’s addressing the two of you. All the world slows down as your fate is sealed, head growing dizzier by the second. This stifling atmosphere all but grabs you by the neck, suffocating you. Body on autopilot, you respond only when prompted to do so. 

Now time for rings to be exchanged, Giorno grabs your hand with utmost care. He smiles at you, one that’s different than normal. One that doesn’t have hidden intentions behind it, an agenda to manipulate your feelings. No, this comes from the depths of his soul. From his overflowing love for you, that drowns out any other sensations.

He places the ring on your finger, expensive diamonds and gold band sliding on with shackles. “With this ring I, Giorno Giovanna, take you, [First], to be my own. To have you by side and support you until I draw my final breath, to love you with everything that I am and more. Let this be a symbol of our union that will last until the end of time itself.”

Words flow from his mouth with practiced ease, silver tongue threatening to draw you in. Your heart rate hammers away as you realize it’s your turn to speak your own vows, no longer protected by having to repeat someone else’s words. Giorno required of you to write it yourself, one of the cruelest things he could’ve had you do. 

To speak of an abundance of love for someone you have nothing but deep abhorrence for. 

Giorno’s eyes flicker at your lack of response, muscles of his jaw taut. A darkness momentarily seeps within his expression, one that you recognize all too well. This is the Giorno that you know. Lightly clearing your throat in mock sentiment, you pass it off as being choked up. Placing Giorno’s ring onto his ring finger, you shiver as your skin brushes against his. 

Recalling the dishonest words, you speak them through a forced smile. “With this ring I, [First], take you, my dearest Giorno, to stand by you through the trials of life. The joys of my life are brought to me by you, and now I wish to return the favor. Allow me to repay you by being yours, and may nothing stand between us.” 

Any signs of malice have melted away, a beaming expression taking their place on his countenance. Every word brought bile to your throat, numerous lies spilling from you like sweet venom. Your impeccable acting goes unnoticed, as he draws closer to you. Or maybe he does notice it but wants to delude himself into believing you’re being honest. 

“By the power vested in me by God and man, I pronounce you wife and husband. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.” 

Warm hands on both sides of your face caress you, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. What’s meant to be a tender moment causes your blood to run cold, hairs on the back of your neck standing at the realization of what this next action means. Giorno leans forward, long eyelashes fluttering shut. Soft lips mold against your own in a chaste kiss, your body tingling and scent of his rich cologne enveloping you. 

He lingers for a second longer, before pulling back a few inches. Golden locks tickle your skin, his warm breath fanning against your flustered face. Giorno greedily drinks in the unfolding events in front of him, wordlessly portraying to you the depths of his obsession. You can only imagine what he’s thinking, and what it means for you. He feels like he’s won, that this victory will cement your place with him. 

Closing his eyes once more, he offers you his arm. Understanding the gesture, you take it without protest. The smile never leaves his face as he turns around to face those who have gathered to the ceremony with you at his side. 

Meaningless cheers erupt behind you, a once in a lifetime event of witnessing the union of Passione’s Don filling the air with palpable electricity. As you assume he wants, you follow Giorno’s lead by walking out towards the large wooden doors. His grip on you is tight, both physically steadying and emotionally unsettling you. 

Going through the motions, is what you decide this detached state of existence is. Pushing through the numbness that threatens to take hold, you smile your best dazzling smile. It all happens in a flurry, crowds parting to allow for your safe passage. Once you walk out the Cathedral doors, you’re met with grains of rice fluttering onto you from either side and more delight. 

All the faces that go by you like a blur appear overjoyed, paling in comparison only to Giorno. In the time you’ve had to share with him, you’re incapable of recalling seeing him this thrilled. The day is long from over, an outdoor reception already set up for you to sludge through. At least for this aspect, you doubt anyone will speak to you directly. Or if they do, it’ll be a predictable conversation that you already have designated answers to give. 

Their attention will mostly remain on Giorno, congratulating him on the union. You wonder if some poor soul learned through experience that it’s unwise to have their eyes linger on you for too long. Giorno is a walking contradiction, wanting to both present his beautiful lover yet setting boundaries to prevent people from getting too close for his liking. 

As you predicted, congratulatory words are shared hundreds of times. Hours pass of the same, monotonous routine. The one aspect that causes you to subtly stiffen every time is when an individual addresses you as Mrs. Giovanna. It feels like a part of your identity has been stolen, among all the other things he has taken from you. 

“Do you need to rest? We’ve been standing for some time.” Giorno whispers into your ear, after a mafioso expressed his regards to his Don. You shake your head, not wanting to be alone with him. With all these people around, you oddly feel safer. Though none of them would stand up for you as it’s a certified death wish. 

“I’ll be alright,” you respond to him with a sigh, lowering your head to look at the tile underneath you. “It’s just been a lot.” 

Giorno considers your words, searching for emotions that aren’t there. You distract yourself by looking around, feeling content that these people are having fun even if you’re not. Families speaking amongst themselves enjoying the fine catering, partners dancing and almost everyone holding a wine glass. Asking him never felt like a priority, but you do wonder how much this spectacle cost. 

As the evening progresses, the sun lowers into the sky. Beams of orange and yellow mixing together enrapture everything in sight, the scent of delicacies and wine mixing together. Milan is an enrapturing city. All day you’ve had no appetite, Giorno having to convince you to eat something. Looking down at the plate that he brought you, a slice of buttered focaccia is what you settle on.

Speaking of Giorno, he left your side for the first time in hours to speak to some security. You feel like it’s easier to breathe outside of his presence, though the respite won’t last much longer. As expected, he returns to you and extends his hand. You hesitate before grabbing it, to which he helps you up.

“We’ll be heading to our hotel now.” he instructs you, leading you to the curb where a limousine awaits. Ever the gentleman, Giorno opens the door for you to take your seat before sitting next to you himself. A final group of cheers for the new couple break out, before the crowd is behind you. 

Only the low drum of the engine fills your ears, your lap holding your interest. Feeling emotionally drained to the core, you don’t offer any resistance when Giorno lays his hand over your own. Working up the courage to look at him, you’re met with a serene expression. He loosens his tie some, upward curl of his lips never faltering.

“Cara… you looked troubled,” he squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Is something bothering you?” 

“Ah. I’m not used to all that attention and socializing.” you admit in truth, a sheepish smile of your own creeping up. Giorno is the only person who you have contact with on a regular basis. You forgot what it was like to converse with strangers, even in passing. Giorno seems to understand, bright green eyes softening.

He reaches to a pen in his jacket, and before your very eyes, it turns into an impressive burgundy rose. Giorno’s ability is a mystifying one, no matter how many times you witness it. He quietly laughs at your wide eye look, before tucking it behind your ear. 

“We’ll be alone soon enough.” 

It’s a phrase meant to soothe you, yet it has the opposite effect. A hidden meaning glimmers underneath the surface, one that you anticipate. 

Still in a dreamlike state, you eventually arrive in a luxurious suite. This is one of the finest hotels in Milan, with a vast view of the historic city. Placing your hand to the glass of the window, you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. Not feeling the need to turn around to greet your husband, Giorno makes up for it by wrapping his arms around your torso. 

He presses himself against you, head lowering to the crux of your neck to take in your scent. A perfume that he chose for you. His lips ghost over your pulse, appreciating how it gains speed at his teasing touch. He knows this body well. This is a culmination of all he’s desired, the payoff of you before him. Giorno’s hands hover up to your shoulder, where he plays with the straps of your dress. 

You close your eyes.

Lifting his head to your ears, you shiver at his low declaration. “Now, give all of yourself to me, mio bellissimo amore.” 

[crispycrimebrulee]

🎄25 Days of HXH: Day 22: Illumi x Tradition🎄

The suspense that comes around, just days before Christmas is always special for you. Suspense, mixed with Christmas cheer, a feeling like the one you had as a child, anticipating the arrival of Santa and all the things you’d wished for were fast approaching. Now, being older, it still applied, but it had now gotten the excitement of spending a day with loved ones, in a romantic atmosphere that only the Christmas season could offer you. Hallelujah by Pentatonix

Taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow , @lifescreams27, @twistedsmth​, @dukinaxael​, @weeb-chick-181920​

With Christmas comes traditions, like most families or couples or friend groups have. Be it ice skating, an annual snow ball fight turning to a snowy royale, a gingerbread competition, or a most epic Christmas party, all in the name of the holidays do they make the season that much brighter. Illumi’s family had a tradition as well, it seemed, yet he hadn’t told you what it was. You’d only heard of it in bits and pieces, whispers behind closed doors and knowing looks from his siblings that it would most certainly involve you. Knowing how his family is and how they function, you’d been hoping the whole time it wasn’t anything awful.

A week prior, Illumi had taken you shopping, telling you to pick out something red or gold, with matching shoes. Not just anything, though. Givenchy, YSL, Gucci, Prada, you name it. He brought you to every designer store you could imagine for you to pick out something stunning to wear. Upon asking him why he was intent on spoiling you for seemingly no reason, or at least a secret one (which, to be fair, he does quite often, seeing as he doesn’t know “how else should he spend his money”, besides spending it on you) this time, it was shrouded in secrecy, answering with “just pick something” whenever you asked if there was a special occasion. The both of you know you have your wits about you, and that you’d been picking up pieces of hints about this special tradition he his family has, so naturally you suspected it was for the previously mentioned event, and he knew you’d put two and two together, despite treating you like you had no clue about an event beyond your own nose. You did pick something out eventually, something both red and gold, with accessories and shoes to match, making you look quite festive yet effortlessly classy. It’d been sitting in your closet, separated from everything else you owned, and glaringly obvious that it was very much out of your usual price range. The days passed slowly, and the outfit, sitting in your closet and sticking out like a sore thumb almost began to bother you. Clearly you knew where you were supposed to wear this too, but you also didn’t. Illumi was always very keen about no secrets in the relationship you two had, with the exception of the gory details of his work. If he had somewhere to take you, he always told you where and when, seeing as there was no reason to hide it from you. The desire to know just what this was for was eating at you slowly, again, like the anticipation of Christmas day for young children. 

Siting in your kitchen, the thoughts of the poorly shrouded secret and the outfit managed to slither into your thoughts again, making you roll your eyes in frustration. You might as well call Illumi and ask him just what the hell is going on.

However, as if sensing your thoughts (which, who knows, that ability may very well be something he has), your front door swung open, producing a slightly snow covered Illumi. 

As a note, the snow covered Illumi is quite the precious sight. He was bundled up quite nicely, his dark hair poking out just a bit between his beanie and his scarf, as well as the tip of his nose and his cheeks peeped out, flushed red from the cold air. He looked soft, and in need of warmth. 

Over time he’d gotten used to being up front about wanting certain things from you, so, stretching his arms out (rather stiffly, though) he opened them a bit, signalling you hug him. 

Smiling, you made your way over to him and took him up on the offer, burying your face in his chest. He hummed a little at your warmth, and patted your head gently, his trademark show of affection. 

“Hello y/n.” he said, now gently caressing your hair. 

“Hi! What brings you here?” you replied, looking up at him and beaming. 

He blushed a little, knowing what your smile does to him, and he knew that you knew as well.

Stepping inside, he unzipped his jacket and pulled out a small envelope with a silver wax seal, and cracked it, allowing the small envelope to flap open. Handing it to you, he put his hands to work, removing the scarf and hat, along with his jacket. 

Inspecting the letter, it was more an invitation than anything else. Seemingly expensive, thick paper with delicate gold engravings outlined the border of the invitation, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers over the design. The invitation seemed to be entirely hand written, nothing was printed, and the calligraphy on its own was stunning. 

You glanced up at Illumi and almost caught a look of nervous anticipation from him, like this was the biggest moment of his life. Very rarely was he like that, so the weight of whatever your response was to this paper seemed to be causing him tension. 

Looking back down at the invitation, you couldn’t help but smile. 

It was an invitation to a ball of sorts, a very elevated Christmas party held by Illumi’s family. A seasonal Christmas garden would be in show, as well as a small dance and a dinner. 

Smiling at Illumi, you walked up to him, placing a few gentle kisses on his face. Pulling away, his face was flushed red, and he had a gentle look of awe about him as you watched him, smiling ear to ear.

“Of course I’ll go with you for this…” you trailed off, because sure, it was a party of sorts, but with his family it couldn’t just be any old party.

“Tradition, y/n. This is a tradition. And..thank you.” He finished for you, staring at you, studying your face as he always does.

“Tradition? A ball? This is essentially what it is…” you said, looking over the letter again.

Illumi nodded, tracing a finger over your facial features. 

You slipped on the outfit that Illumi had been so intent on buying for you a week ago, studying yourself in the mirror. Giving yourself a little spin, you watched the fabric flutter in the air, the gold detailing sparkling in the low lighting of your room. Illumi had said he’d be picking you up at 5pm, and it was already 4:50pm. Gathering your belongings, you made your way downstairs and out the front door.

Standing there, looking as sharp as ever in a black suit, with a deep red jacket to match your own outfit, stood Illumi, waiting beside a limousene, and glancing at his watch every 5 seconds. Glancing up from his watch, he did a double take, his eyes resting upon you. You smiled and waved, and you panicked a little, because he looked like he might fall over where he stood. The tips of his ears were red, and his cheeks were as red as his jacket, and his eyes were looking you over with burning intensity. 

Approaching him, he continued to look you over, in an even more intense gaze, running his fingers over the slope of your shoulder, the curve of your jaw, placing his hand on your waist. Smiling up at him, you gave him a little spin, even if he probably wouldn’t react to it. He simply smiled back gently, and stepped aside to open the limo door for you. Taking the lead, you stepped inside and made yourself comfortable as he shut the door and walked around, getting in the limo himself. 

“You look good, y/n.” he said, looking you over once more.

“Thank you, Lumi! You look wonderful too…” you returned, gently taking his hand and playing with it.

After some time, you arrived at the Zoldyck estate, and you almost gasped. Behind those steel dark doors was a lush, winter wonderland, with small lights decorating the trees. The snow itself looked magical and ethereal, and you were taken aback with how gentle such a place could look. Upon getting closer to where the ball would be held, you finally let that gasp slip from your lips, letting it glide into a nostalgic smile. The gardens and the outside in general was magical in every sense of the word, like a small glimpse of a Christmas town tucked away in the mountains. 

After a few more minutes, the limo stopped and you were escorted out, Illumi meeting you on your side, extending his arm to you, so that you may slip your arm in his. Doing so, you walked with him indoors, greeted by the gentle scent of pine needles and peppermint, a cozy atmosphere floating around like gentle hazy smoke from a fireplace. 

You greeted Illumi’s family and the other guests, which included Killua’s close friends, seeing as he had no date. 

For some time, Illumi took you to explore the estate, watching you bubble about the Christmas decorations and how wonderful everything looked, answering your questions about how long it took to this, and how many years back the tradition went back. After some time, he walked you over to the dining hall, where a lavish display of food was set out, and everyone was seating themselves while being served. 

Dinner was eventful but not bustling, light conversation about work and Christmas, family traditions and how wonderful you looked, and how you’d make a lovely in-law, causing Illumi to flush scarlet. 

After dinner, there was a moment to dance a little, but Illumi declined, saying he’d rather not make you uncomfortable in this situation. 

In a move much unlike him, Illumi snuck you outside into the gardens, beautifully decorated and gently lit, with a circular center clear of snow. Looking at him, you searched for whatever motivated him to whisk you outside into the December air.

Standing in the middle of the circle, he realized he was holding both of your hands and looking at them calmly, feeling over your knuckles with soft movements. Finally having a chance alone with him, you took in his features; soft, pink tinted cheeks from the cold, his hair in a low bun, with small wisps framing his face, his lashes catching small snowflakes as they’d begun to fall down. His eyes were always soft around you, his entire demeanor relaxed and became vulnerable around you, an aspect of your relationship and his personality that you cherished deeply. 

“YN.” he said, his gaze finding yours, soft and full of earnestness.

“Mmm?” you replied, gently smiling up at him, returning the gentle touches on his hands.

“Dance with me. Here.” he (sort of) asked, pulling you closer, fixing one of your hands on his shoulder, the other slightly raised with his own. Music from the house was playing just loud enough for you to hear; Hallelujah but almost an acapella version, heavenly and bold, but with a lightness to it. You nodded, accepting his request.

He stepped back, and you stepped forward as he brought you into a waltz, slowly at first. A gentle, rotational dance, slowly helping you find your rhythm as he leads you along.

I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord.

Gently rubbing his thumb against your back, you could feel his heart falling in sync with yours as he spun you a little, his eyes never leaving yours, and you couldn’t smile.

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah. Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

He kept his pace, yet he widened his steps, allowing you to cover more of the circle in the garden. You followed suit, the rhythm flowing nicely between the two of you, hearts in sync. You let your head fall against his chest, and he hugged your waist a little tighter, holding you closer to him silently.

And love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…

And surprisingly, a waltz is not dizzying, as one may suspect from watching a pair dance a waltz. However, a waltz is not dizzying for lovers, for it can also be described as hypnotic. Gentle yet strong, a gentle spin, a chaste dip, the feeling of hands in another's, hearts in sync, nothing else to exist but lovers and music, a waltz combining two hearts into a hypnotic tangle, steps not matter, they fall away. 

And maybe there’s a God above, but all I’ve ever learned from love… 

On the edge of what the future holds bold, untold, the folds of the universe, that balance between reality and unimaginable dreams of dancing, of harmony, of romance, feelings of not feeling anything and feeling the earth's tremors beneath your feet, feeling as you move with a lover, a forever, a walking home, a someone you cherish. 

It’s not somebody who’s seen the light…

And what do we dance for? Lovers in the midst of a waltz, where everything’s fallen away? love? For love? With love? By love? 

It doesn’t matter, really.

It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…

Nothing matters in a moment of a waltz, in the chorus of a song, in a tangle of hearts mixing with a hypnotic movement of feet, falling into trance, into step, while two lovers fall in love.

Hallelujah…

Hallelujah…

Hallelujah…

Illumi was just as lost as you were, in a blur of a waltz, picking up a startling pace, yet it felt light and beautiful, the blur of snowflakes dancing and falling around you, like small blessings in the dimly lit surroundings of the garden. Holding you as close as he could, falling deeper into the dance that, in reality, had lasted for 3 minutes so far. 

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! 

You could stay like this forever, dancing in his garden, the wintery atmosphere blessing you both with love and spirit and feverish desires for forever to be found between the two of you.

Illumi slowed down with the low, fading out hum of voices from the song, feeling the December cold reach back to you, bringing you down from a gentle euphoria. 

You couldn’t be bothered to speak, you felt as though feeling your heart beat with his, his hands still in yours, minimal space between you was loud enough of a response.

[amphtaminedreams]

Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 1/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

Oh my god. I completely forgot there was also 2 haute couture weeks. I FEEL SO OVERWHELMED. Here I was getting all geared up for the F/W 2020 shows and suddenly it’s Jean Paul Gaultier’s last show and everybody’s (predictably) buzzing about the Jacquemus collection. I can’t keep up. But Haute Couture week is a lot less intense than the RTW shows so I suppose I should be enjoying this relative peace whilst I can. 

I remember my last post about Haute Couture week opened with me defending Maria Grazia from the wrath of the internet; if Jacquemus is social media’s Lord and Saviour, this woman is the Antichrist. She’s Michael Langdon minus the dramatic flair. But the thing is, I genuinely really liked the Dior collection last time. Maybe because I was newer to the discipline of scouring Vogue Runway, but the lack of originality didn’t bother me; it was still something I’d die to wear, gothic yet delicate and relevant for 2019. 

That being said, this time round, I have to open by doing the exact opposite and concurring: this time round, Dior was in fact, utter shit.

I feel mean saying it but...really? These were the slightly more salvageable outfits and my favourite of the bunch, and to be honest they don’t really capture the full extent of how outdated this collection was to me. I know that the concept behind the show was this idea of the divine feminine but Greek Goddess has been done SO many times. If you’re gonna go down that route, you have to bring something new, elevate it in some way. It can’t be THIS generic.

I can’t believe that in 2020 we’re really seeing plaited hairbands. The individual dresses are basic, but not so much the problem as the styling; they look like outfits I would’ve put together back in 2012. That’s not an exaggeration. I think even 2013 me would appreciate that you need to make things a little twisty. 

The colour scheme is pretty, don’t get me wrong, and I like the cowl necks-the white dresses are the highlights. I think the concept of this collection was conceived with all the best intentions. But as a designer you need to take risks and I don’t see one single risk here; there isn’t anything that wouldn’t already be sold in your local H&M. Dior is such an established brand, Maria Grazia has room to do whatever she wants. And yet it just comes across like she’s out of ideas. 

You’ve got to look at a designer like Ulyana Sergeenko:

When I say elevated (but still in the vein of wearable), I mean something like this. To be completely honest, I hadn’t heard of Ulyana Sergeenko until I saw shots of this show on Twitter. But what a perfect mix of kitsch and glamour. The influences are clear: Priscilla Presley, Barbie, Jackie O, Valley of the Dolls, the rich stay-at-home wife of the 60s, the Alessandra Rich/Scream Queens-esque sorority girl, Paris fucking Hilton. It’s exaggerated and it’s tongue in cheek with total grounds to call it trashy-there’s a corset resembling a Benjamin Franklin, ffs-but it’s all done with a wink and a nudge. And in all honesty, I just think it’s beautiful. Can you imagine Frances O’Sullivan (@Beautyspock on IG) in one of these looks? It would be worthy of the Rose McGowan cultural reset meme ten times over.

Everything is feline, from the very literal cat silhouettes and cat headed boa, to the makeup and the hair clips. It reminds me of the last RTW Ralph and Russo show but with even more attention to detail. And look at the STAGE. If this collection were a song, it’d be Disco Tits by Tove Lo. And no, I’m not just saying that because one of the dresses actually does feature a (cat shaped) disco tit. Like these are the clothes I dreamed of putting my Bratz dolls, and for null I’m sure, myself in. Absolute perfection. Plus, I’ve loved Coco Rocha since she was on The Face with Naomi Campbell; she is, after all, to thank for the iconic “check your lipstick before you come for me” line. Girl is really the martyr for all purple lipstick lovers, cut down in her prime by a pissed-off Naomi. 

Onto Alexandre Vauthier, which I also really liked. An interesting yet effortless blend of the old and the new, the masculine and the feminine, if I could sum this collection up in one word, it would be cool. I know, it’s not the most descriptive, but it pretty much sums up how I feel; I’m not AS gassed about it as I am about Ulyana Sergeenko or this season’s Elie Saab (wait for it), but it’s a fresh offering, even if the styles aren’t the most groundbreaking. Stand outs for me are the almost petticoat like, debutante dresses which have Elle Fanning’s name written all over them.

I was hard pressed to find favourites in the Armani Privé collection if I’m honest. I’m not saying it was awful, all I know is that it just isn’t my style. It’s all a bit TOO tailored for my liking, and kinda reminds me of the Zara pantsuits my Spanish teacher used to wear. In other words, I find it to be a bit dowdy. On a positive note, the colours, fabrics, and beading are all stunning, so I see that a lot of craftsmanship clearly went into it; I think my biggest issue is the styling and the shapes (or lack of) on show. I’m very much getting a 20s, flapper vibe and whilst that’s an era that fascinates me and that I appreciate was cutting-edge at the time, I’ve yet to see it be bought into the 21st century in a way that doesn’t look stiff or costume-y. 

Then there’s Azzaro. At the complete opposite end of the scale to Armani, it doesn’t look expensive, which I’m sure isn’t something any designer previewing their collection at haute couture week is striving for. BUT that being said, I’d be much more likely to wear something from this collection than I would from Armani Privé. I mean, I have no shot at ever wearing either but ya get me. 

Whilst I’m sure it or something similar has been done before, the mesh diamanté dress is exquisite and I’m a huge fan of the stacked gem chokers and belts. The whole collection looks like something a London socialite who parties by night but (deep breath in) plays in a shitty band so fancies herself a bit of a rockstar by day would wear (exhale) and as much as that doesn’t sound like a compliment, I mean it as one. I’m talking about the kind of person you’d see smoking outside a bar and think “I wish I was them but I am potato lol”. I mean, as far as faux fur and fedoras are concerned, I’m gonna find it hard to completely slate a collection so this is pretty up my alley.

Chanel was a huge step up from their last RTW collection, imo, and probably on par with their last haute couture offering. It’s that same blend of preppy Chanel detailing (i.e the exaggerated collars, the checks and the lace) and practicality, only even more austere this time round.

It’s funny because when I looked back on original notes on this collection, before I’d even done any research into the context, I saw that one of the things I’d written was “giving me Victorian orphanage madame” as well as “something something Amish” and I wasn’t THAT far off base. The collection is, after all, supposed to be a tribute to the nuns who raised Coco Chanel at the beginning of the century in an Abbey-cum-orphanage. This makes me really happy; I know not everyone’s a fan of Virginie Viard’s nods back to the past and the brand’s origins but as a history nerd, I definitely am. 

There’s also definitely a lot of things that can be translated into high street trends here: the combination of decorative white socks and black shoes is something I’ve seen making a comeback already, tulle is always a winner (I actually don’t mind it as an overlay, I think it’s pretty, sue me) and I have no doubt we’ll be seeing these dramatic collars creeping back onto tops and jumpers throughout the year. It’s been a while since they were a thing anyway and we all know how cyclical fashion is.

Another high note for Elie Saab this haute couture season; if I was an expressive person, I probably would’ve audibly gasped as I looked through this collection. It is SO FUCKING MAGNIFICENT. The colour scheme, the baroque prints, the floral sequinned embroidery, these are Cinderella style ballgowns taken to the next level. Elie Saab really is the definition of opulence and I’m not at all mad about it. Please, somebody put Lana Del Rey in one of these, PLEASE. Remind her how much of a princess she is and get her out of those “soccer mom” looks.

I’m so stuck between this collection and Ulyana Sergeenko as my favourite, and the latter might just pip the other to the post, purely because of the staging and extravagance of the presentation itself. 

Georges Hobeika was predictably phenomenal. Like, I’m not going to lie, I am easily won over by some sequins and tulle, I’ve never claimed any different, and if you can expect that from anyone, it’s this guy (ignore that phrasing making me sound like his proud mother). The colour scheme is very spring appropriate and so is the 3D flower detailing, and if there’s anything good to take from Ascot and English royal weddings, Georges Hobeika knows it’s the hats.

It was another strong year for Givenchy too:

Though Claire Waight Keller is also fond of the extravagant details along the lines of feather and tulle, it’s always done in a more organic way; the details are always more reminiscent of nature, something created by accident, than they are suggestive of painstaking attention to detail, the image of someone hunched over a dress beading for hours on end à la Georges Hobeika or Elie Saab. That is not a bad thing at all; if anything, it makes Givenchy more interesting to study and gives you more to think about. Sometimes a dress takes you a bit longer to fully appreciate, but I’d say that only lends to its memorability. This year’s willowy, billowing, and at times coral-esque structures  remind me of something I can see being worn down an Iris Van Herpen runway, set apart by that delicate Givenchy finesse. And side not: I know this post is to talk about the clothes, not the models, but I got super excited over seeing Sora Choi and Adut Akech walk too. 

Guo Pei is always fun to look at. I mean, this collection is giving me half Matryoshka dolls, half It’s A Small World Christmas edition and I can’t hate on that. 

And then there’s Iris Van Herpen, who knocked it out of the park once again. At this point, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Every outfit looks like something that could be exhibited in the Tate Modern (I know, it’s a basic opinion, but it’s true: TATE MODERN IS THE BEST MUSEUM IN LONDON), or honestly, the Design Museum, just for the genius that must go into the way these dresses move. Honestly, if I can see a goddess wearing anything, it’s more one of these looks than anything in the Dior collection. Like wife of Poseidon or something; I know it’s not very feminist of me to not know the Greek Goddess of the sea’s name but I only know who Poseidon is because I was a Percy Jackson fan back in the day so let me live.

It’s not like the whole under-the-sea theme is particularly new, Zimmerman did something similar last RTW (I think? Correct me if I’m wrong), but these constructions could’ve grown out of the sea bed themselves, which is more of an original take than “oo, blue and white and frothy hemlines!”. Additionally, we’ve got these dresses with the overlapping almost plaited fabric that are-we’re sticking with the goddess references here-fit for Persephone ruling over hell. As for the Grudge-looking dress (fourth down, far left), I could be reaching, but is anyone else seeing that as a nod to the oil spills polluting our oceans? Because that would just add yet another layer to this collection. 

Regardless, it’s all impeccable and I’m in love. Iris Van Herpen as a MET Gala theme. Make it happen.

Anyway, to end on a high note, that’s it for this post! 

Sorry it’s such a sudden cut-off but Jean Paul Gaultier was due to be my second to last to review and due to it being the final show, there’s an onslaught of photos that would not fit with what’s already in this post. Plus, I’d rather start a post with Jacquemus then end it as I feel like there’s a lot of hype around his collections online right now so 1). it’s clickbait (for what, I do not know, as I’m not exactly making any money off this blog, just losing my sanity as it transpires when Tumblr accidentally terminated it earlier today and I had a minor breakdown) and 2). this Steve Buscemi meme is the most accurate representation of only 21 year old me to grace the internet:

I will aim to post part 2/2 in the next week, including JPG, as I just mentioned, the Jacquemus co-ed show, Margiela, Valentino and more, and as always, thank you for anyone who read until the end! You are an angel:-)

Lauren x

[sinagrace]

Iceman’s been back on my mind lately. It started with the internet rumor that Shia Labeouf was being considered to play the role of Bobby Drake in a Marvel Cinematic Universe version of the X-Men. My DMs and @Mentions on social media were a mixture of intense reaction and then asking my take on who would make a great Bobby Drake (for the record: in my head I always saw him as a younger Antoni Porowski with a theater background, ‘cuz playing the funny guy with a vulnerable streak requires serious acting shops). My mind went back to the time of BC, when I was doing a lot of touring, and answering this very question because of my work on the Iceman book at Marvel. One thing led to another, and I decided to take a trip further down memory lane to look at my favorite volume of the series: Amazing Friends. Now, I know I’ve spent equal amounts of time publicly stating what a gift working on Iceman was, while also calling out the challenges that came with the experience, but the third volume really was a pure blessing. I was able to take every valuable lesson I learned as a writer, and apply it to telling a story that would be interesting to one person: Me. I’ve been a lifelong X-Men fan, I live and breathe comics, so my own expectations for a return to the series seemed like the only ones to really worry about meeting/ surpassing. The first two volumes had been so bogged down by rotating editors, complex continuity, company-wide events, multiple artists… The third volume was my chance to focus on what an Iceman series was outside of so much context. All that mattered was challenging myself to do an X-Men story that focused on the aspects of the franchise I felt were valuable and relevant, meaning: excuses to have Emma Frost be an asshole and finding an opportunity to make fun of Kitty Pryde’s haircut. Before moving on from Marvel, Axel Alonso made time to call me for a pep talk about the series. I wanted to get the series extended, and he wanted to help me succeed with the ten issues he could commit to. First, he offered an eleventh issue to give me more time on the stands. He took a look at everything I had planned, and basically told me to restructure with an eye for ramping up the pace. My writing background comes from prose and essays/ think pieces… both of which are methodical and provide some allowance from the reader to really take your time and set up the world before diving into the meat. That’s not the case with comics. You gotta work fast. Especially in today’s market, there is less and less room for a retailer to say, “give it two volumes, because shit starts really coming together by the third trade.” That was literally my speech for hooking people on such iconic series as Invincible, Fables, and Strangers in Paradise. Nowadays, every single issue is not a brick to be laid down as foundation so much as a bullet in your gun. Conflicting imagery, but that’s the point. Axel told me to think about the Big Moments in my life and sort out how to inject the mutant metaphor into it and make the most compelling comic book story I could. This was epic advice that I took with me into the new arc, but I struggled a bit with what could be bigger than the “coming out” storyline in volume one. Love was off the table because I wanted to keep Bobby single and ready to mingle. Death was off the table too, because my editor felt like we’d done enough with Bobby’s parents in the first two volumes. Upon looking at my own life, and considering the stuff me and my friends were dealing with, I landed on something a bit more reflective than LIFE or DEATH. I wanted to focus on that moment when a gay guy looks outside of himself and realizes the folks around him may not have it so easy. After everything we’ve been dealing with this summer, Iceman’s “big issue” of the arc feels oddly prescient. Bobby Drake had to reconcile his accidental complicit role in keeping the Morlocks down, and he has to investigate new approaches to being a better ally to those who don’t want to or can’t live under the protection of the X-Men. I used the Morlocks to allegorically speak to the issues that the trans/ NB community face today. Considering that trans folks are facing higher rates of homelessness and murder than other members of the LGBTQIA+ community, all I needed to do was find a perfect villain to treat the Morlocks as “lesser-than.” Cue Mister Sinister, who I wrote as particularly Darwinist with a major flair for interactive theater. While Amazing Friends definitely is the most fun I’ve had working on the book, it was also full of the heaviest shit I’ve written about. I’m so grateful that my editor let me use Emma Frost for a story about the trauma of gay conversion therapy with her brother Christian, but I’m still annoyed he wouldn’t let me put her in a sickening Givenchy outfit for her reveal. Similarly, creating the Madin character required that I chat with several mental healthcare professionals and members of the NB community to respectfully portray them as a resilient and fleshed out hero. I included personal lessons that I learned from years of the therapy (the sandcastle / sea image, a Jay Edidin fave moment). My editor and I weren’t always aligned, but we definitely were on each other’s side. He understood what I was trying to do and asked questions when something flew over his head, and he even had the good instincts to stop me from going too heavy handed with the ending. My original idea for the arc’s finale was to have Bobby become permanently scarred in his fight with Sinister, where he’d have a cool ice gash running across his face or something, a la Squall from Final Fantasy 8. The goal was to show Iceman stripping himself of his ability to pass as non-mutant to save the Morlocks, but the Mutant Pride fight scene being a stand-in for the Stonewall Riots kind of already made enough of a statement. Plus, no one in editorial wanted to deal with remembering to track his scar in other books. At first I tried to balk at his point of view, but when I looked over my original notes for the series, the point was to focus on optimism and hope. Giving Bobby a permanent scar and emphasizing the notion of sacrifice was too bleak a message for a series wherein the hero carbo-loads hoagies while riding an ice scooter and mutant drag queens emcee local festivals. Of course, the crowning achievement of the series… my mutant drag queen :) I’ve witnessed a lot when it comes to the world of pop culture and myth-making, and I 100% believe that you can’t plan the success of something. I’ve seen bands forced into breaking up because labels spend six figures failing at making listeners connect with an album. I witnessed firsthand how The Walking Dead was built from relatively humble beginnings as a buzzy cable drama into a literal international phenomenon over the course of its first three seasons. Everyone hopes for the best, but you never know how something will land with audiences. When the Shade character took off, I was truly astounded. Things I posted on Instagram while half-asleep became official quotes on major news sites. Queens and cosplayers were interpreting her like Margot Robbie had unveiled a new Harley Quinn lewk. The impact was so legit and immediate that we had to jump in and give Shade a proper Marvel hero alias, to truly welcome her into the X-Men canon. Hence the name change to Darkveil. (Funny story: I tried to fight hard for Madame X as an alias, but CB didn’t want another Agent X / “X-Name” character. Three months later, Madonna announced the Madame X album. Phew!) There was a time where I felt uncertain that the folks in charge at Marvel would bring Darkveil into any stories outside of the ones I wrote. My understanding was that Hickman was like the Cylons and had A Plan-- one that didn’t include her character. I made peace with my contribution to the Marvel Universe being contained, but then someone on social media pointed out that Darkveil showed up in an issue of Marvel Voices. After breaking down and reading Hickman’s House of X, I saw that his Plan was one of endless possibilities, and that he was moving EVERY character into new and dynamic places. I have hope now that he sees the possibilities with Darkveil, and takes advantage of her and all of her many body pouches. Amazing Friends really is my favorite thing I’ve done for the Big Two. I made a lifelong friend out of artist Nate Stockman (DC, please hire us for a Plasticman book), and I got to run a victory lap with the most encouraging and supportive readers out there. It was worth every dreadful conversation, every shitty thing a person said to me online, and all of the fun nonsense that goes into being creative for a living. Being stuck at home in quarantine has given me a lot of time to reflect on the gift that my career to date has been, and I feel so grateful to be where I am today. Other people may groan when they have to talk about something they’ve moved on from, but not me. I made people happier, I got to work with my favorite characters at Marvel, and and I'll say it again: it’s a frickin’ gift to make people move from your work. So, I will engage every tweet or message asking me my thoughts about who should play Bobby Drake in the Marvel Cinematic Universe… I’ll just never have a good answer.

[privatshop]

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[wifelinkmtg]

momlink

hi. this one’s gonna be a bit weird.

WAR OF THE SPARK is a set that i have strong opinions about in terms of flavor (it’s shockingly bad) but fortunately, I don’t have to care about that for wifelink. unfortunately, every time i try to write my normal thirst list about this set i keep getting sidetracked by the overwhelming mom energy coming off these characters, and yeah okay there are ways in which that could be sexy, but none of those are the case here. so, considering the day, i figured we should lean into it and ask, how would it be if any of these characters were your mother?

in another break from the usual, i will be situating these characters on a rigorous, scientific trio of axes: PRESENCE, which measures how involved a mom is in your life, ranging from 0, meaning absconded entirely, to 10, meaning a full squadron of helicopters and your life planned out until the funeral; COMPOSURE, which measures how put-together and competent a mom is, ranging from 0, meaning frazzled, stressed, incapable of taking care of herself let alone you, to 10, meaning immaculately-coiffed and a life of almost machine-like perfection; and WARMTH, which measures emotional temperature and intensity, ranging from 0, an ice-cold absence of empathy, to 10, white-hot rage.

you will notice that these scales do not measure any sort of linear goodness -  rather, both extremes are pretty undesirable, and there is no optimal spot in the middle. this is by design: i aim to evaluate these characters qualitatively, not rank them numerically. there is no One Best Way to be a mother, but some ways are certainly worse than others. all set? off we go.

Arlinn, Voice of the Pack (art by Ryan Pancoast)

Arlinn is decidedly on the “fun mom” end of the spectrum. You will never, ever have to beg her for a puppy - she has already brought home at least a dozen. And while it’s theoretically virtuous, I guess, that she doesn’t play favorites with her children, the fact that you have to share her attention equally with several wolves means Quality Time with Arlinn is pretty hard to come by. No, she’s not going to pay more attention to you just because you’re human - what are you, specist?

Presence: about a 7 or 8...divided by 15. 0.5/10 Composure: astonishingly put-together, for someone with that many animals to take care of. 4/10 Warmth: If she weren’t overflowing with affection, she wouldn’t have so many dang dogs. 8/10

Kaya, Bane of the Dead (art by Magali Villeneuve)

Hey, on the plus side, everyone at school is jealous and a little scared of you - your mom is a ghost assassin-turned-criminal empress. On the minus side, how are you supposed to have any sense of privacy when Mom can literally walk through walls? You are absolutely going to grow up with paranoid hang-ups about masturbation, sorry.

Presence: Mom is so in your head you won’t be able to get off until you’re twenty-eight. 9/10 Composure: technically both the head of a criminal syndicate AND an entire organized religion. Doesn’t get more together than Crime Pope. 10/10 Warmth: neither “ghost assassin” nor “mafia prelate” are super empathy-building resume lines. 2/10

The Wanderer (art by Wesley Burt)

You used to believe Dad when he said it’s not her fault, that she can’t control when she planeswalks, but now you’re pretty sure that’s bullshit and she just can’t stand to be around you for more than an hour at a time. You’ve got a whole cabinet of souvenirs she’s brought back from her sojourns - wind-up toys from Kaladesh, haunted doll from Innistrad, darksteel box from Mirrodin you are not to open under any circumstances - you’ve covered the whole thing with a dustcloth. It makes you sick to look at.

Presence: you’re pretty sure she forgot your name and has been covering by calling you “kid” and “sport” for years. 0/10. Composure: yeah, mother, “uncontrollable planehopping syndrome” somehow always waits for you to get your broody ronin aesthetic on in the mornings. Sure. 8/10 Warmth: at least she pretends to care about you. 1/10

Liliana, Dreadhorde General (art by Ryan Pancoast)

Look, sweetie, sometimes even adults make mistakes - sometimes really, really bad ones. That’s what Mommy did - she made a really bad mistake, and now she has to go away for a little bit, and you’re going to go live with Daddy. Promise - promise me you won’t forget about Mommy, okay? I’ll write to you. I’ll be thinking about you every day. Be brave, okay? Be good.

Presence: she does write, pretty consistently, from either prison or rehab, you’re not sure which, and your dad won’t talk about it. 2/10 Composure: absolutely not in control of her life anymore. 2/10 Warmth: many years later, you learn that this whole time she was actually off committing war crimes due to contractual obligations, which doesn’t help her attempts to rebuild your relationship. 2/10

Vraska, Swarm’s Eminence (art by Anna Steinbauer)

Mother absolutely will not accept you bringing home grades lower than A. Neither will she tolerate second-place finishes in swim meets, piano competitions, or fencing tournaments. She wears Givenchy to her salons, and you are required to be there in order to show off your breeding, good graces, and knowledge of French and Kraul - which is all suspiciously aristocratic for a waste management union boss. Some Azorius senator got too into the madeira one time at one of her soirees, called her nouveau bitch. He’s a lovely statue in the foyer, now.

Presence: incredibly controlling, but through intermediaries: tutors, private coaches, carefully-vetted friends. 9/10 Composure: you will never even come close to living up to her. 10/10 Warmth: who knows, maybe she’s got a secret softer side! Maybe her ever-expanding sculpture garden says otherwise. 1/10

Nahiri, Storm of Stone (art by Aleksi Briclot)

If Mom even thinks you’re not fully on her side in this divorce, she is going to start throwing things. And you are, you absolutely are! Dad is, by all accounts, a lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch, and you don’t want to have anything to do with him, but you are also totally exhausted from listening to Mom’s snarling, jaw-clenched rants about how she’s going to punish him for his betrayal. You’re ashamed that you don’t say anything about her nascent drinking habit, but at least when she’s having a mid-afternoon wine nap she’s not stomping around the house slamming doors and muttering to herself.

Presence: She’s got her own shit going on, and if she didn’t keep making it your shit as well you’d probably be left entirely to your own devices. 4/10 Composure: Any act of personal maintenance she performs is entirely out of spite. 3/10 Warmth: all-consuming, undying rage. 10/10

Saheeli, Sublime Artificer (art by Wesley Burt)

Okay, granted, you’ve been taking way more of an interest in STEM than you otherwise would just so you’ll have something to talk to Mom about, but you have been having a really good time working with her on your science fair projects, and you’ve been learning a lot! You and your other mom have plenty of time to talk about your primary interests (dance and theater) while Mom’s putting yet more overtime into her engineering job, but when she is home, she makes time to talk to you.

Presence: you’re not happy with how little you see her, but you get that she has a demanding job which she loves. 3/10 Composure: she has gotten much, much better about not just taking over your science fair projects. Even though she could make them far more efficient. 8/10 Warmth: you and your other mom agree that it’s so hard to stay upset with her when she’s got so much genuine joy for you both in her smile. 6/10

Ashiok, Dream Render (art by Cynthia Sheppard)

Ashiok is genderless but will accept being called “Mom” because it gives them power over you. They exist in order to feed off your nightmares, and where you might expect to find any spark of humanity or empathy, there is only smoke and void. Ashiok does not and will never care about you, no matter how many chances you give them. On an unrelated note, Happy Mother’s Day to my actual, real-life mom!

Presence: will literally haunt your dreams your entire life. 10/10 Composure: intends to make you feel awful about yourself, succeeds. 10/10 Warmth: hahahahaha 0/10

[lickrustdavid]

Should I Walk By Again A hockey game, a slowly-failing business, talks of skin care, and a mutual crush.  Rated E  3.2k AO3

+ + +

David only comes to these stupid hockey games for Alexis. She’s been to almost every single game since she and Ted started dating, and once they got engaged she started inviting David. He’s really not into sports at all and doesn’t understand how anyone can find that much physical endurance fun. This is only his fifth week coming, wrapped in his warm sweater as he sits on the cold bleachers, hot chocolate warming his hands. 

“Remind me again why I’m here?” David huffs, glaring at Alexis, who’s got Ted's other jersey on. She looks cute, he has to admit, wearing her fiancés too-big jersey in support, her blond hair curled and falling down past her shoulders. 

“Uhm, because David, I told you- Ted told me he wished you’d come because then it could be a family thing,” she looks at him with her eyebrows raised. “He’s told me like twenty times the past month how hes always excited to see you here. You’re going to be brother in laws soon, he just wants to be part of the family.” 

“Right,” David frowns. “But couldn't we do something else together? Like...I bet he’d like manicures! Or I could shop with him for new clothes?” 

“Da-vid!” 

“Fine! I’ve been here the past month haven’t I? I even watched that one guy break his arm? That was traumatizing Alexis!” 

Alexis rolls her eyes. “Whatever David. Just…” her expression softens a little, going kind of shy. “I just want him to feel like there’s more than one person rooting for him in the family. I know Mom and Dad like him, but I also know Mom will never come to a game, and Dad’s so busy with the motel…” she trails off, eyes darting all over the large ice house. 

“I suppose,” David sighs, looking like he’s about to regret his next words. “I suppose that there could be worse things to be doing. We’re at least in the city, and there’s food here, so…” 

“Thank you David,” Alexis brightens up, watching the game. He grumbles about being hungry and gets up to go find a pretzel. He’s not been paying attention to the game, too busy texting Stevie and browsing Instagram. Looking at the scoreboard, he sees their team is up four points to Lancaster. That’s good right? Promising? Maybe? He stands in line, deciding next time he’s inviting Stevie too. After getting his pretzel and making it back to the stands, he tries to actually watch the game, begrudgingly letting Alexis take a pinch of the pretzel, too. 

Because they’re in Elm Glenn (which is where Ted and Jake both play, because it’s the closest minor league hockey team), their team is in their home jerseys, dark blue. David watches most of the team start going towards the opposite goal, Lancaster in all white jerseys. Ted, number 12, is speeding down the rink along side another guy, who hits the puck into the goal, completely missing the goalie, going straight into the net on the upper right corner. 

“...and newcomer Brewer makes the shot! The Guardian’s win!!” The commentator says into the mic. Everyone on their side of the rink yells and claps and hollers. David claps a little, but not too much, because that would mean possibly dropping his pretzel, and that’s absolutely not happening. Alexis is bouncing up and down on her heels, grinning widely. Ted is good for her, David thinks. He’s known this for a long time, but it’s reaffirmed now, seeing how happy she is. He tries not to think about his own love life, or lack thereof, and takes another bite. 

A good twenty minutes later, Ted is walking up to them, sweaty and red faced, but happy. He’s got shoes on now, instead of his skates. “You did so good, babe! Like...so good!” 

“Yeah...you did great,” David offers, wishing half heartedly that he knew more about hockey so he could at least seem like he knew what he was talking about. 

Ted leans in close to Alexis for a quick kiss and then beams at David. 

“Thanks bud! I’m glad you enjoyed it. Oh, hey, hold on…” Ted walks a few paces over to where a guy that looks a little out of place is standing. He has on an Elm Glenn jersey too, but David’s not sure he’s ever seen him before. True, he rarely pays attention to the players, but this man is beautiful, he knows he would have noticed him before.

“Guys, this is Patrick. He’s been on the team since Tuesday, since Mark broke his arm. He was great though wasn’t he? That last shot was golden!” 

Alexis shakes his hand and compliments him, but David’s barely aware of it all, as he stares at the guy- Patrick. As he stares at Patrick. He’s smaller than Ted, but still muscular, his brown hair wavy, like maybe if he grew it out, he’d have curls. His eyes are a warm brown, and when David meets them he has to look away, the intensity too much. 

“Hi, I’m David...Alexis’s brother,” David is suddenly very aware of the older Givenchy sweater he’s wearing, sure he probably looks more dingy than he’d like. “You uhm...you played great!” Played great? Come on Rose. Jesus. 

“David...nice to meet you,” Patrick’s smile is more of a smirk, kind of cocky. “Thank you. I was nervous to start on the team, but everyone’s been great. I live in Schitt’s Creek too, just moved here. Ted and Jake have been great.” 

“Oh! You should totally come have dinner with us then,” Alexis pipes up, looking at David with a knowing smile. “We’d love to get to talk more, wouldn't we David?” 

David shoots her a withering glare. “Yeah. You should come.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to intr-“ 

“It’s a tradition! Seriously, it’ll be fun. I insist,” Ted speaks up, his golden retriever attitude coming out. David snorts as Patrick looks a little overwhelmed. 

“Sure, I’ll come.” 

“Great!! We’ll meet you at the cafe?” Alexis wraps an arm around Ted. After a nod from Patrick, both men go back to the locker room to change. 

“What the fuck, Alexis?” 

Alexis has the audacity to just shrug. David is going to kill her, and her weird ability to seem to be able to read his mind. 

“Look, Ted told me he’s single, just broke up with his like...high school on again off again girlfriend or something. And he’s super nice, and kind of hot, in a weird, cute way. All I’m saying, is it might be good for you to put yourself out there.” 

David rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to shake her. “One problem- you said girlfriend. Clearly he’s not into guys.” 

“Wow, okay, you of all people should know not to judge. From what Ted’s told me, he’s bi. They were talking about celebrity crushes or something while practicing and Patrick said he’d die to kiss Sebastian Stan, sooo….” 

At least his taste in celebrities isn’t awful, David thinks. “He’s not going to be into me. I’m like, the furthest thing away from Sebastian Stan. But whatever. We’re getting dinner with him. Let’s go.” 

The forty five minute drive is filled with 90’s pop music and Alexis talking about Jared Leto’s apparent new yacht. They get to the cafe and sit in their usual booth, but when Twyla sits the usual three menus down, Alexis grins. “Actually, Twy, we need another tonight. One of Ted’s teammates is coming too.” 

“Oh! Okay! That’s really nice of you guys, I know when Jake tried to-“ 

“Jake’s different from this guy, we have a...history,” David grimaces, trying to push the weird thruple memory out of his head. A few moments after Twyla’s put the other menu down and headed back to the kitchen, Ted walks in, followed shortly after by Patrick, and oh...okay. Wow. Patrick looks amazing in his deep blue sweater and khakis. Usually not the type of thing David’s into (he tried dating that one jcrew model back in his early twenties but…), but it suits Patrick, and he looks especially...cozy. 

Alexis kisses Ted’s cheek when he sits, and David scoots down on his side to let Patrick have room. He smells like cedar, citrus and...oak moss, maybe? David’s mind flashes to one of the Burberry colognes he’d sampled a while back while at the mall with Stevie. 

“When did you move here?” Alexis asks Patrick, as they all browse over the menu. He looks up and smiles. 

“Two weeks ago.” 

“Oh wow, so you’re like...really new,” she laughs a little.

“Yeah, uhm,” Patrick clears his throat. “I uh...needed a change. So I came here. I work for Ray Butani?” 

Both Alexis and David groan, making Patrick and Ted laugh. 

“He’s not that bad,” Patrick tries to defend his boss. “I mean...he’s a talker, that’s for sure, but...what do you guys do?” 

Alexis starts rambling about Interflix and her PR stuff, and David tunes her out, thinking about what she’d said earlier about Patrick being single. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when a hand touches his shoulder. Patrick’s looking at him, a mix of amusement and worry on his face

“What?”

“I asked what you did,” he laughs a little, lips quirking up. David blushes and sees Alexis talking to Ted. 

“Oh...oh, uhm. I own Rose Apothecary, across the street.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows raise. “Wow, that’s...amazing. I haven’t been in yet, but I’ve walked by, it seems really nice. I’ll have to stop in,” he assures, and David feels his heart stutter. 

“Oh..you don’t...you don’t have to. It’s a lot of face care and candles and…” he trails off, thinking Patrick wouldn’t be interested in anything his store has to offer. 

“And what makes you think I’m not into that kind of stuff? I mean...I know my skin could use some work but...maybe you could recommend some stuff…” Patrick looks hesitant. 

“Your skin is good, especially if you don’t do anything to it,” David frowns. “But...yes, I’d be happy to help. Your t-zone could use work.” He watches pink blossom on Patrick’s neck and cheeks. Cute. 

“You should stop in before it’s closed,” Alexis pipes in, and David kicks her under the table, glaring. “What? I’m being realistic David. I don’t want it to close either, but..” 

Patrick is looking at him, frowning. “Why would it be closing?” 

“Uhm….well...I don’t,” David groans, wishing he could smack Alexis. Of course he now has to explain to this cute stranger why his business is failing. “I’m not great with numbers? And my dad...he’s trying to help. He co-owns the motel with my best friend Stevie. But…” he trails off, feeling his whole face heat up. 

“Oh,” Patrick suddenly looks much more worried. “I went to school for business...I’m really good at forecasting numbers, I can take a look if you want?”

David isn’t sure whether to be amazed or insulted or embarrassed. He’s maybe all three. “As nice as that is, I think I can handle it on my own, but thank you,” he clears his throat, then gives Patrick a small smile, hoping he’s not offended him. 

“Of course David, sorry for overstepping.” 

At that moment, they’re interrupted by Twyla, who takes their orders. David expects Patrick to order a beer, but is surprised to hear him order mint tea. It’s a pleasant change from every other guy he’s met here. The dinner is easy with Patrick there, the dynamic hasn’t changed. If anything, now David has someone to talk to while Alexis and Ted have little private moments. It’s nice. By the time they’re all outside in the cool autumn air, David’s surprised to find he doesn’t really want the night to end, happy that the slight awkwardness about his business hasn’t actually deterred the nice company. 

“It was great meeting you,” Patrick looks at the Rose’s, then turns to look at just David. “I might stop in soon, see about some new face care,” he winks, and David tries to stop from smiling. After saying by to Ted, Patrick gets in his silver Kia and drives off. Tonight has been a surprisingly good one, and with that, David goes to text Stevie. 

++++

“So, Alexis just told this guy all about your business having issues?” Stevie’s eyebrows are knitted together, eyes a little wide. “I mean...I knew she was stupid, but-“ 

“She just fucking trashed my whole store. In front of him!” 

“And what did he say?” Stevie leans over the front desk, watching As David paces around the small check in. He feels antsy, like if he doesn’t keep moving he’s going to fall into the pit of despair he always falls into when something isn’t going the way he’s planned. 

“He offered to help? Which, who does that?! Who offers to help a complete and total stranger with their financial issues? It was mortifying,” he huffs, shaking his head. “He works for Ray, apparently. Just moved here two weeks ago,” David adds, chewing on his lip. 

“Well...I don’t know David. I know it’s a little sketchy, but. If your dads not even having luck, maybe it couldn’t hurt? You said he went to school for business?” 

David widens his eyes, mouth open. “Are you siding with him?!” His hands fly upwards. 

“No! No...I just,” Stevie looks away. “You’ve worked so hard, and the store is amazing. I don’t want to see you fail.” 

Feeling a lump in his throat, David blinks rapidly, then rubs his eyes. “...I guess it couldn’t hurt...to at least see what he has to say,” he decides. “Thank you...for believing in me.” 

“Of course, I’m your best friend. What else am I going to do? You need to talk to him,” Stevie gives him another small smile. “Okay, too much emotion. Go work.” 

“Thanks Stevie,” David calls as he leaves and heads over to the Apothecary for another day of what he’s sure will be slow business. He has to tamper down the smallest bit of hope that maybe, Patrick Brewer can help him. 

++++

As expected, business is slow, but not slower than normal. There’s been the few stragglers, but also a handful of people buying body milk or new candles. The bell chimes while David is eating a sandwich, and it takes a moment for him to swallow and go out. If it’s Jocelyn, he swears he’s going to tell her they’re closed. Stepping out from behind the curtain, he freezes. Patrick is standing at the middle table, a bottle of the body milk in his hand, reading the label. 

“What can I help you with?” David walks over, smiling. Patrick’s eyes find his own, the man's face lighting up. He’s wearing Levi jeans and a light blue sweater today, and while usually that kind of mid range denim and sweater would make him cringe, seeing it on Patrick isn’t bad- it suits him. 

“David! It’s so different from what I pictured, but better,” Patrick assures. “It’s calming...an oasis in the desert of Schitt’s Creek.” 

“How philosophical of you,” David shakes his head a little. “But thank you, it...it’s something that helps living here, I guess,” he shrugs. Patrick nods, then looks around. 

“So...are you still willing to show me the skin care products you were raving about?” 

David nods and flits around, in his element now. He’s happy Patrick’s going to see him here, instead of a hockey game. He picks up a couple different glass jars and a tube. He can tell, as he shows everything to Patrick, that he’s out of his element, so David takes a breath and starts again. 

“This,” he holds up the first bottle. “This is for washing your face. It’s like the baseline of good skin care. Literally just use it twice a day, it’s easy, I promise. You can’t go wrong.” Patrick nods, which makes David laugh. “I know it’s overwhelming, but it gets easier.” 

“Next is your toner. All you have to do is put some on a cotton ball and swipe it all over your face. There’s a spray too, but the cotton ball lets you make sure you get it evenly everywhere. It takes off any left over face wash, balances oils, and evens skin tone. Lastly,” David holds up the little tube. “This is moisturizer. This one specifically is good for combination skin types. You probably get oily on your t-zone but dry out everywhere else. It’s also got spf 50 sunscreen in it, which will help protect your pale skin.” 

Patrick seems to actually be understanding this time, smiling along. “So face wash, toner, moisturizer. Got it. That’s pretty easy,” he says, and David nods. 

“Just remember not to wipe your face like...ever. Pat it dry. That’ll help not clog your pores. And cold water to rinse the face wash off.” David puts the three items up on the counter, watching as Patrick continues to look around. He stops at the scarves hanging on the back wall, touching the black one. 

“This is soft.” 

“100 percent cat hair,” David admits, making Patrick instantly drop it. “Allergic?” 

“Yeah, don’t really feel like going into a Benadryl induced coma right now,” Patrick laughs, scrunching his nose up. It should be illegal to be as cute as he is. 

“So, uhm,” David wrings his hands together as Patrick turns to look at him. His eyes are trained on David, making him feel exposed. “After talking with Stevie...I think...does your offer still stand on looking at some of the store’s numbers?” He’s nervous and embarrassed, staring at the floor, and then Patrick’s closer. 

“Of course, David. I’d be happy to. Just let me know a good time that works for you, and I’ll come over. It can be whenever, during store hours or not, I’d just be in the back anyway.” 

David lets out a sigh of relief. “I uhm...We could do Thursday, if you’re free?” He needs some time to tell his dad that he’s found someone to help, so he’s not blindsided and offended. 

“Sounds perfect to me,” Patrick looks at the tea at the front of the middle table and grabs a bag of the mint, setting it on the counter too. 

“Good choice. It’s popular,” David nods at the paper bag with the loose leaves in it. 

“Have you not had it?” 

“I am...not a fan of tea, I’d rather have coffee, like, injected into my blood,” David talks as he rings the items up. He glares a little at the laugh that comes from the other man's mouth. “Coffee is an essential way of getting my energy, I’ll have you know.” 

“Of course, David,” Patrick smirks, and okay, it should be illegal to be that cute, especially when he’s in a boring button down and Levi’s. “Thank you for the lesson on skin care, and I guess I’ll see you Thursday?” He looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself at the last second. Watching him walk out the door, and down the sidewalk, his breath catches when Patrick stops mid step, turn around, then pause. As if he’s talking to himself, Patrick bites his lip and then turns back around, decidedly walking away this time. David can’t help but let his mind wander to all the possibilities of what Patrick might have said, or why he would have come back, for the rest of the day. 

[naoyancha-blog1]

結局この匂いに戻りました💋 #GIVENCHY #PLAY #INTENSE https://www.instagram.com/p/BoWOwKdnvnA/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=w0ioz8qbzvnb

[skippyv20]

💜💜🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

This late afternoon when l finally got moving l read incredulous things. I think we are finding things never thought and by an unforced on HRC’s behalf. Why come out of the shadows and tweet unveiling herself?? Thank you MM ANON and LG for your never ending work on behalf of HMTQ and British solidarity. I sense as Brexit gets closer more bizarre unexpected names will rise from the depths of the mire. God bless and keep you 🙏🏻🙏🏻💜 GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

MM Anon MM ANON … Bumbling along …… “( no Ice in my coke”)…… embrace the crowd …… they love me…… TV ‘ it’s a cake walk …… I’m not a royal pawn…… that’s what nanny is for …… the coverage darling,the coverage. …… F#@£ those small minded Brits…… while I’m in control ……… “ But! Nobody knew …… tell SS to put out a denial …… Di knew we’re the bodies were buried ‘ and so do I!! ……🎼 welcome to the Hotel… 🎼

Bumbling along Bumbling is acting in a confused or ineffectual way; incompetent manner. Is this how they want us to see Harry? Certainly there has been a very domineering intense effort to role switch, she as the royal , he as the plus one. Let’s be certain, Harry is not bumbling, he is in , quite literally the fight of his life, the fight for the Monarchy. The bumble dating app has aligned with Smart Works. $$$$£££££€€€for who?..

“( no Ice in my coke”) Flying first class commercial, can’t use any substances. Playing on words to flight attendant. Poor pet, that was one major reasyfor flying private but was never given publicly as an excuse. But we’re dumb Brits/Commonwealth we would never think that!WRONG😡 not only do l think it, l know and believe it!

embrace the crowd Oh embrace the millions of Americans who adore her and will be lining the streets to welcome her home and praise her for all her hard work! 🦗 crickets do l hear 🦗 crickets? Yep no cheers only 🦗 crickets.

they love me She is so delusional, she really truly believes she is loved and adored in America. Most people there don’t have a clue who she is. Nor do the care.

TV ‘ it’s a cake walk Oh my, l hope this isn’t a reference to the interview with Ellen rumour. Maybe hoping to meet with her team tonight. Now which team OS that hmmm??? HRC lives in Westchester, NY.

I’m not a royal pawn She feels that doing anything royal, which was her chosen duty when she married , she is being used. She wants nothing to do with royalty except the fun parts with diamonds, private jets, Givenchy etc.

that’s what nanny is for Any questions leaving amw, as he is too young and fragile to fly to Balmoral, the nanny can look after him while she is in America.

the coverage darling,the coverage. The coverage she will get, tv camera will be on her not Serena. Tennis players as are stage actors, notoriously superstitious! I think since Serena lost the last time madam was present, l would assume the last thing she wants is a repeat of that. She has also made a very public concerted effort to remove herself from the friendship. Ie when asked what baby advice she had…you remember that if you saw that. It would not surprise me at all, if madam did this without any consultation with her ‘bestie’ or her managers.

F#@£ those small minded Brits Her, AND HER BACKERS!!!! Have exactly that attitude about each and every British citizen and by extension Commonwealth citizen. Folks, this is way way deeper of a plot and goes to levels once thought implausible, but that tweet today, that sent it over the edge.

while I’m in control She seems to think she has the power and control. LG is giving her a few more inches of wiggle room, let her show , l do think the tweet today brought out in public a backer no one could ever have thought. What is going on? If a foreign national marries and tries to undermine the politics of the country she is not a citizen, that is tantamount to treason.

“ But! Nobody knew Here l shall say, nobody knew HRC was a backer. I have a strong hunch HMTQ and LG and his team know every backer. But as far as l know, nobody had even mentioned her as a possible, her husband involved with JE. Something always thought odd, how such a woman of power stood by a man who so publicly humiliated her. I still can’t, but their mutual lust for power and control supersedes anything.

tell SS to put out a denial Is this the whole anti-nanny thing? Have them deny that? Why? When there are a zillion other issues , PR lies, just in the last week!

Di knew we’re the bodies were buried ‘ and so do I!! She still feels she has secret info on the royal family, and maybe she does, but whatever, she is wielding it like a hammer to get her way. Let’s reassure ourselves, this is LG, working with the worlds elite services, they do not suffers fools lightly, HMTQ as well.

🎼 welcome to the Hotel… 🎼 From The Eagles Hotel California, where you can never leave, like the mob, it’s for life. The ship she has tethered herself to, is a lifetime deal, and she has been so blinded by desire for fame, she has become infamous and she will have to answer to her backers because she changed the agenda!! For selfish reasons!!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you so much PG!  Fantastic!  And the bubbling app and Smartworks.? Wow!  🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

I’m going to say it...I am...a dating app?  I’m guessing goes deep into all kinds of things...

[unfolded73]

Even the Orchestra in Beautiful (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

Alexis and Patrick friendship, with a little bit of David x Patrick at the end. Set the day after the events of “Life is a Cabaret.” Rated Gen, 1900 words.

(ao3 link)

___________________________________________________

He was humming, an almost-bounce to his step as he let himself into the theater. Patrick Brewer was not a bouncy person as a rule, but right now his life felt like it was going so well that he could barely contain himself. The store was thriving, the man he loved was going to marry him, and opening night of the play had gone fantastically. Most of the customers in the store that afternoon had heard the engagement news and were effusive in their well-wishes for him and David, or told him they had tickets for the play on one of its remaining nights. By now, Patrick’s cheeks ached from smiling so much.

He’d arrived at the theater well before call, planning to do a quick run-through of his lines; the giddy buzzing in his brain was so intense that he was a little bit terrified he’d walk out on stage tonight and forget everything he was supposed to say. He knew the lines, the choreography, the blocking -- it was all in there, but he feared he wouldn’t be able to summon it when the time came. A quiet moment to take some deep breaths and get into character was what he needed.

“Oh my God!” A feminine voice shouted, and Patrick skidded to a halt in the door of the dressing room.

“Alexis!” He tried not to sound too disappointed that anyone had beaten him to the theater. “What are you doing here so early?”

She shrugged, clearly as put out by not being alone as he was, and flopped down at the makeup table. “I needed some extra time to put on my face,” she said, picking up a bottle of foundation and shaking it. Alexis had her skimpy costume for the opening number on already, but the dramatic eye makeup had yet to make an appearance.

“How’s your mom?” he asked, pulling his costume off the rack and stepping behind the dressing screen set up in the room. He hadn’t seen Moira since her meltdown in the motel, the news that her movie had been shelved cutting short his and David’s engagement celebration.

Alexis didn’t answer, but Patrick didn’t really need her to. David and Alexis had been texting while he was at the store that day, so he already knew the histrionics to which Moira had been subjecting her husband and daughter. David was back at the motel even now, taking over babysitting their mother so that Alexis could get away. He suspected that was the true explanation for Alexis escaping to the theater early.

“David said you had a tough day,” Patrick prodded while he pulled his jeans off.

He heard Alexis snort. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you think she’ll be here tonight?” The director didn’t really need to be at the theater once the show was in production, especially since they had Jocelyn to lead them in vocal warm-ups and give them a pep talk. But it would still be weird, Moira not being backstage.

“She hasn’t gotten out of bed all day, so I doubt it.”

He finished getting dressed in silence. The first time Patrick had put on this costume, he’d felt a bit ridiculous. There had been a reason, after all, that he’d auditioned for Cliff and not the Emcee; Patrick felt like a Cliff, not like someone who could pull off this kind of creepy, hyper-sexualized character in a costume that was at least gently suggestive of bondage gear. But Moira Rose (his future mother-in-law! he remembered with a grimace) was not to be argued with, and he let himself get swept up in her whirlwind of compliments. He’d had a lot of doubts between then and now, but those doubts had been largely allayed. David wasn’t embarrassed by his performance at least, which was high praise.

Smiling to himself, Patrick emerged from behind the screen and sat down next to Alexis in front of the lighted mirrors. He watched as she expertly applied thick liner around her eyes, fascinated in the way that watching anyone performing a skill is fascinating.

It was while studying her reflection that he noticed her bloodshot eyes.

“Alexis, are you all right?”

She stopped and shot him a simpering smile. “I’m fine.”

“Because if there’s anything I can do to help--”

“No. Nope! I’m cool… good. I’m good.”

He knew Alexis well enough now to know what it looked like when she was covering up how miserable she felt. He was already starting to feel like a protective older brother to her, as if he and David were already married and she was truly his sister-in-law. But if she didn’t want to talk to him, he couldn’t force it.

Patrick started working on his own makeup, letting the silence between them stretch out and fill the room.

Alexis finally smacked her eyeliner pen down on the table. “It’s just, no matter what I do I’m going to be letting someone down!”

Inclining his head to one side, Patrick met Alexis’ eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“If I go on the trip with Ted, then I’m leaving my mom and my family behind like I always used to do when I was a kid. And my family really needs me right now! But if I don’t meet Ted in the Galapagos like we planned, then he’ll think I’m just flaking out on him again.” She flopped her hands around in the air in front of her before picking up a mascara tube. “Either way, I’m irresponsible and unreliable.” Those two words carried the weight of every time Alexis must have heard them said about herself.

“If you want to go, then David and your parents will understand that this trip is important for you and Ted.”

“David will just remind me of all the other times that he had to take care of Mom because I wasn’t around.”

“And if you don’t want to go, then Ted will understand that you feel the need to put your family first right now.”

“Yeah, maybe Ted would understand because he’s the most patient, understanding person on the planet, except that I’ve dumped him before! Twice!”

Patrick winced. “Oh yeah.”

“So if he’s thousands of miles away, living in some tent and eating, I don’t know, goji berries and granola or whatever, and he gets a text from me saying that I’m not coming, is he really going to think logically about my priorities? Or is he just going to assume I bailed on him?”

Ted might think that, Patrick thought, especially since he couldn’t really imagine Alexis in a tent eating goji berries or whatever. Also he wasn’t sure Ted would have access to text messages. Patrick tried to give her a reassuring smile. “Ted loves you. Your family loves you.”

“Ugh!” She leaned close to the mirror and went back to her makeup, apparently unsatisfied with Patrick’s performance as a confidante.

Not for the first time, Patrick felt frustration with Moira that her adult children had to plan their lives around whether they were giving their mother enough attention. While he was sure she was legitimately gutted by what had happened with her movie, he also knew Moira was probably reveling in the focus she was getting from her husband and kids, and she was likely milking it for all it was worth. While Mrs. Rose often showed affection for her family, more now than when Patrick had first gotten to know David, she was still a fundamentally selfish person.

“I think you should go on the trip,” he said finally, focusing on his own eyeliner and pointedly not looking at Alexis.

She didn’t respond at first, which made Patrick think she was still mad at him, but then finally she said in a small voice. “What if I don’t want to go?”

“Then… I think you need to ask yourself why not.”

Alexis reached over and pawed at his arm until he moved the eyeliner away from his face. “Here, let me do that, you’re hopeless,” she said, turning his chair to face her.

“I’m not hopeless,” Patrick grumbled, but he submitted to Alexis anyway, admitting at least to himself that she’d be better at applying his eyeliner than he was.

“I need to be here to help plan your wedding,” she said with a tiny smile.

“We haven’t even set a date yet. You’ll be back in plenty of time to help plan the wedding.” Patrick was suddenly struck by how different it felt, talking about his wedding with David than it had been when he was engaged to Rachel, when any mention of his eventual wedding sent him spiraling into a near panic attack. Now he was excited. Happy.

“Look at the ceiling,” Alexis murmured, and Patrick let her work in silence for a bit. Finally she said, “I’m afraid. About the trip.”

“I’m sure you can outrun those giant turtles, Alexis, even in high heels.”

“Ha ha,” she said, giving Patrick the same sneer she often gave her brother, and it oddly warmed his heart. “No, I’m afraid that a trip like this is just going to show Ted that I’m not… that we’re not right for each other.”

“How so?”

“Because I’m not good at that stuff! Outdoorsy stuff. Animal stuff. I’m afraid I’m gonna get there and I’m going to do something stupid, or I’ll be unable to hide the fact that I hate it, and Ted is going to decide that I’m not worth it.”

“Alexis, I don’t know who Givenchy is or why it matters. David thinks a double play is a sex thing.”

“Eww.”

He rolled his eyes. “My point is, you can be very different people and still make it work. Ted knows who you are. If he truly loves you, then seeing you roughing it is not going to change that. Neither is a few months of separation, if it comes to that.”

Alexis looked down at her lap. “Thanks, Patrick.”

~*~

“Hey,” he said into the phone. “How’s your mother?”

“Ugh, don’t ask.” David blew out a breath. “I thought you’d be warming up your voice by now.”

“Yeah, Jocelyn is rounding everyone up.” Patrick glanced around at the chaos of the dressing room. “I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

“You didn’t need to call me just to say that.”

“I know. I wanted to.” Patrick stepped out into the hallway. “I wanted to make sure that you knew that I love everything about you, even the stuff that you think makes you difficult. I love that you’re difficult.”

“What brought this on?” David’s voice broke a little bit on the question.

“Nothing,” he said. There was no time to get into Alexis’ issues right now, and it was her story to tell anyway. “Just don’t ever doubt my love for you. Okay?”

“Okay.” David sniffled. “I wish I was there to see you tonight.”

“You don’t need to come to every performance, David; it’s perfectly fine.”

“I know, but I like watching you.”

“Oh, you like watching me,” Patrick said with a grin.

“On stage. But, okay, yes, also in other places.” David exhaled loudly, like he was shaking the conversation off before it got too intimate. Neither of them had the time for that. “Anyway, good luck.”

“It’s ‘break a leg’.”

“Break a leg, honey.”

[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.

[amatooni]

Lily Collins attending BAFTA in a gorgeous Givenchy gawn. This is a personal project I’m working on where I decided to depict my favorite celebrities at popular ceremonies. 

At first I was not happy with the intensity of the colors so I used a helpful trick. It is very important for colors to be in harmony with each other, however, sometimes it is hard to pick the correct ones. Thus, to unify the colors that I have already applied, I’ve set a new gradient layer on top of everything and changed the blending mode to lighten and played around with opacity.

Software used: Adobe Photoshop CC 2018

Time spent: 4 hours

[brendalawrence1978]

The Summer Abs Workout

Khloe Kardashian has been hitting the gym hard and has not been letting herself slack, no matter what is going on in her life, as well as making sure that she sticks to a very strict diet. Khloe has since gone on to lose around 35lbs.

“Khloe gives as much to the gym as the gym gives to her”

Gunnar Peterson has praised Kardashian for her dedication. Her Beverly Hills-based trainer explains why Khloe’s physical transformation has been so major: “We keep her mind challenged and her body guessing, and the focus is on building strength. She never cancels! Some days it’s more heart-rate intensive, some days it’s more lower-extremities intensive, some days the upper extremities get a little extra love.”

Khloe Kardashian

He added: “As the changes have come, the diet has tightened up … She’s made better choices when she eats. She’s been more conscious about working on sleep habits. She hydrates better. She keeps getting after it and she keeps getting better. We’re always playing with our workouts. We’re always making it that much more challenging. “And that hard work and intense focus has helped our September cover star score what some might call a post-breakup revenge body.

“Yeah, it’s a revenge body”

Khloe says, but it’s just as much for all my critics who called me ‘the fat one’ for my entire existance.” Her workout consists of a complete routine, two or three times a week, on nonconsecutive days. You can try it yourself!

Starting with the first exercise, do the prescribed number of reps, then rest 10 to 30 seconds. Do two to five sets of each move, then continue to the next move and repeat until you’ve done the entire routine. The biggest obstacle most people face when trying to add exercise into their day is time. Many also (mistakenly) think that the only way to stay fit is to hit the gym or spend at least an hour doing aerobic exercise. While it’s true that you increase your fitness level when you increase the intensity, frequency and duration of your program, it’s possible to gain moderate fitness benefits from making small, consistent changes to your daily life.

Khloe Kardashian

The latest and probably one of the most common sense ways to get fit and lose excess body fat is by making painless additions of exercise to your day, combined with small diet modifications. For example, current research has shown that by consuming just 100 fewer calories per day, a woman can avoid the 1-2 pound gain most of us take on each year.

If you want to lose weight, you need to increase your daily caloric deduction by 500 calories, but you can do this by cutting 200 calories out of your daily diet and burning 300 calories more through exercise. Add that up over a week and you’ll have nearly a pound of fat loss with very little pain or diet deprivation. It’s the little things you do everyday that can make the difference between keeping fit or packing on!

Here are a few tips to help you find painless ways to stay fit:

All rise! The average person burns 100 calories per hour while sitting and 140 per hour while standing. Get on your feet two hours a day while you work and you could drop 6 pounds over the course of a year. Stand while you talk on the phone and set up an area where you can work in a standing position (great for people with back pain!).

Take the stairs, not the elevator A 130-pound woman will burn nearly 20 calories each time she goes up and down the stairs. Do it all day watch how quickly those add up!

Dust while you talk on the phone. Get on your feet two hours a day while you work and you could drop 6 pounds over the course of a year.

Lose the remote. Get up to change the channel! And while you’re up grab some weights for a set of bicep curls or shoulder presses. You can work through a full strength training routine in an hour if you do a set during each commercial.

Park so you have to walk. Don’t park your car in the closest spot to where you have to go, try and park as far as possible so you have to move your body as much as you can.

Walk and talk! Catch up on phone calls while your take a walk.

Be creative! Instead of thinking of all the ways you don’t have time to exercise, make it a game to see how many ways you can carve out time for little bouts of exercise. Lose your all or nothing mindset and look at exercise as a daily accumulation of activity.

Khloe Kardashian

Remember, to lose weight you still need to take a look at your diet and try to eliminate excess calories, especially those that come from junk. Your goal isn’t difficult cutting 200-300 calories from your daily diet can be easy if you choose foods that you won’t miss too much. Think about switching from a can a soda every afternoon to unsweetened iced tea or a flavored sparkling water. But remember, don’t cut something that you look forward to everyday (for me cutting cream in my coffee would be a deal breaker), instead look for little changes you can make that won’t make a big difference in the foods your enjoy.

“We’re always playing with our workouts”

Hot on the heels of her steamy spread in Complex magazine, Khloe Kardashian has revealed she’s lost about 35 pounds from hitting the gym. The 31-year-old told Australian radio show “Fitzy & Wippa” on Friday about her weight loss journey. “I’ve lost like, 35 pounds. I don’t really weigh myself … but I know how I want to feel in clothes and it does become addicting once you start losing weight and seeing results. I want to see more,” she said.

Khloe Kardashian

Kardashian recently slammed critics who accused her sexy shoot of being digitally altered, posting an un retouched photo alongside the one that appeared in the magazine.

loe Kardashian channeled her inner Beyonce by doing a booty pop on Instagram after her recent 13-pound weight loss. Khloe said Beyonce, who wowed fans with her sexy Met Gala ball gown, is her fitness inspiration.

“I just got my motivation for the year!” Kardashian gushed after seeing Beyonce’s super-fit body in a nude Givenchy dress. Beyonce has maintained her 65-pound post-baby weight loss with a vegan diet, according to her longtime trainer, Marco Borges.

Khloe posted several Instagram photos May 12, where she proudly showed off her tiny waist and toned booty. Kardashian previously revealed on Instagram that her weight loss secrets are a dairy-free diet, waist training and intense workouts with celebrity trainer Gunnar Peterson.

Peterson, who helped Khloe’s sister, Kim Kardashian, lose 56 pounds just six months after childbirth, said Khloe is extremely dedicated to diet and exercise. Peterson said Khloe has never looked better following her recent weight loss.

“Khloe’s a full-on animal in the gym”

“The changes she’s made to her body are incredible. She’s done it the right way. Nothing fast, just hard work. Her body is bangin’ right now.”

Khloe gets laser treatments to zap the cellulite off her butt and thighs, but said the rest of her body is all-natural, not due to plastic surgery. Kardashian feels great after losing 13 pounds recently by following a dairy-free diet and exercising five days a week.

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