#there's definitely a rusted crown of some sort....

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I, too, am a Barnaby B Beagle enthusiast, he does get my bones a rattling

concerned Hm

[agonzovi]

[2] Dawn in the Rest

Previous:

holy shit yellow gets to meet blue now haha i sure hope it doesn't end in a self indulgent wreck that I didn't suffer writing through oh golly.

(---)

Yannick glared at the steed with such ferocity it would have converted it to glue if she tried hard enough.

But she didn't want to, and she didn't need to give Mrs. Davis another reason to behead her. Right now, she was tipsy and really needed atleast some sort of civilization hospitable enough to take her in for now, but even that was proving to be frugal in barren sandscape.

Wine bottle in one hand and hat in the other, Yannick slicks her dirt-blonde hair back before dusting off her hat and readjusting it to her crown in manner so that it doesn't fall off as easily.

The white mare snorts at Yannick's misfortune, its velvet halter overlayed with the shades of dim under the blanket of the rising night. The horse noise was met with a withering glare that could only come from somebody who's ass came in impact with the ground at gravitational force.

And, as if the mount was challenging her, its head dropped to Yannick's eye level, tilting in a manner that said, ‘what will you do about it?’

“You’re funny thing aren't you? letting me ride you off as an escape and then proving you have your owner's personality. Just so you know, we're going to suffer the night’s cold if keep throwing me off.”

See, if talking to an animal you stole whilst slightly drunk was odd enough, it had quite the personality. The horse then proceeded to shove her and walk off idly.

“You little—”

Her grip on the lead rope tightened, but instead of halting the equine, she was dragged by the arm she was holding its lead with, like some cursed folktale where some horse carries around a dead body with a winebottle in its hand. Its actually impressive how the alcohol hasn't spilled a drop yet.

This horse and her is proving to be equally challenged in being stubborn, but in this state where she's not as sharp she'd usually be, the horse was winning this battle of wits because she was letting it drag her resigned figure.

Well she was resigned, until the surface beneath her transitioned from dusty fine sand into small sharp-

“ROCKS! FUCK!”

okay, now that woke her up, she sprang up from the ground and had let go of the lead, seeing in the dim night she was intentionally led into a small patch of rigid pebbles that was so proportioned to be avoidable and now she resents losing Jasper.

back hurting, and hat disheveled, she feels her spine in an attempt to soothe the stings, and then sees the horse staring at her blankly as if it was amused, “You smart little shit.”, she spat, the mare breaks eye contact and flips her mane at her and Yannick REALLY, really regrets losing Jasper.

At this point, the tipsiness wears off, and then Yannick still downs the rest of the wine anyway. Which—really wasn't much, as she had discovered that yes, the wine had infact spilled many times in her predicament; Maybe she might've been slightly more than tipsy.

Well shit, now we really need to find a town now.

Preferably with a bar.

The moon was full. Enough light for Yannick to survey the inventory in her leather sling. She picks up a lamp, the frame rusting but otherwise usable.

“I can't believe I'm negotiating with a fucking horse.”

‘Shithead’, as she had named the horse, was looking at her with the most doe eyes a horse could do. Well— more like looking at the apple in her hand; which she definitely didn't steal a few hours before her altercation with Mrs. Davis and forgot about in her bag. Shithead tilted it's shit little head, a horse so majestically big it was dwarfing Yannicks height and yet it was still staring at Yannick like a sat puppy.

“Okay, here's a deal, you take us to a town where we can settle down for a bit, and I give you the apple, okay?” un—fucking—believable. She wasn't even under the influence of alcohol anymore and she's still talking to an animal that has further anthrmorphised itself with proven intelligence and a name. It wasn't a very good name, but It still applies.

The mare sprung up so fast Yannick was suprised she didn't get shoved and die; because well, look at that thing, its full height is a few heads taller than Yannick's full height.

It's tail was carried high, with a posture that giddily anticipated for her to saddle up and sHITHEAD EVEN LEANED DOWN AND PUT THE LEAD ROPE INBETWEEN ITS TEETH TO OFFER. WHAT THE FUCK MRS. DAVIS.

“Holy shit, uh— thank.. you..?”

Just as she had only just gained a firm grip on the reins, Shithead immediately went off to gallop, sprinting off so fast Yannick's hair escaped her hat and it was trying to attack her eyes.

With the speed of this Mare, Yannick swore her soul couldn't catch up with her body and got left behind. Strong equine legs moving so fast across the night horizon in a .. strangely controlled manner. Did this horse know where it was going?

Yannick couldn't confirm anyway, her front hair was still trying to find real estate property within her eyelids, and focusing on not losing your hat and being blinded simultaneously is pretty hard.

Soon the galloping pace decreased to a rate where Yannick could control her wild hair, ripping off her hat to her chest and letting her short locks flow behind her and not in her face.

She immediately sees a blur of warm light in the distance, and sees a very sizable town she hasn't ever seen or drifted through before. A glimmer of hope.

(---)

When she means glimmer of hope, she means walking into a loud warm-lit bar and seeing cheap brandy immediately displayed. And who was she to reject not obliterating her liver?

She left, uh, shithead to a local stable that immediately took her in because the stable master was in awe of how majestic and beautiful and gorgeous her horse was and— ‘really hope the news of a stolen horse doesn't reach them.’,

“And what's the name of this absolute gem? Look at her! she adores apples!”

Yannick was never good at social situations, nor was she good at making shit up.

“Uh, Shi— Horse. Yeah. Horse loves apples alot.”

The stable master just looked at her strangely before moving on back to marvel at shithea— Horse? Then he insisted that he'd take care of her in the meantime for free because ohh what an honor to have such a beauty like her to end up in his care—

Alright enough kissing horse-ass. Yannick did not need or care to remember the awkward encounter fully and frankly she just wants to purge it from her memories with alcohol.

As she walks through the rows of shabby tables, She adjusts her hat so her eyes are caught underneath its shadow, a precaution to avoid any stares of drunken rowdy men whose attention she'll catch. She sets her eyes on the cracked brick floor until she reaches the counter.

There's nobody there yet, but she sees a gold bell near the side and presses it, She slides over the cool surface of the wooden barstool and settles her hat in her lap, untying her bandana and flattening her collar.

“Well, you're new here.” a soft but smooth voice says behind the varnished wood pub table.

Yannick makes eye contact.

It is instant regret as her face heats up so fast she feels like a walking bomb fuse.

A pretty lady staring right at her with blue piercing eyes hiding away behind ebony hair, locks frame her face perfectly and holyfuckingshit her plump lips are stained maroon and freckles pepper her dark skin generously.

Alright, calm the fuck down.

“Name, dear?”

Yannick steels her fluster, and refocuses on her main objective to abuse her liver, opening her mouth to answer and realizing ‘huh, revealing my identity would be pretty fucking stupid.’

“Ya—uh—Yani.”

good fucking job, if news ever arrives of a short-cut blonde lady with a hat who's named “Yannick”, she definitely won't notice. idiot.

“Charming name. What would you like?”

Yannick thinks this is the first and only time so far she's ever liked having her name asked for.

“..Brandy.”

The lady hums in response, Yannick glues her sight and tries tto trace the wood grain under the varnish, but she can't help but have her gaze wander,

The Lady grabs a bottle from underneath the pub, expertly grabbing a glass from a holder simultaneously. Moving with swift familiarity, she places the bottle down and grabs a cloth that was apparently on her and starts wiping the glass in fast motions, clearing away beads of water with one long swipe around its surface, her slender fingers move up to hold the glass carefully by the mouth to also, tediously wipe its short stem. Using two fingers controlling the cloth, the lady skillfully dips it into the inside of the glass and “FUCK.”

The barmaid stops what she was doing halfway, she looks concerningly at Yannick— whose forehead had kissed the pub table passionately— with a small upturn of lips and furrowed brows. “..Are you alright dear?”

“YES! I mean—yes, very alright don't worry.”

‘FUUUCK.’

Well, at least it was said silently this time, That was Yannick's fault, she observed and let herself wander,

Now her heart's racing and she's embarrassing herself in front of the pretty gal whose name she doesn't know. Already beet-red and hadn’t even drank the brandy yet.

She feels the barmaid's gaze linger unto her crown for a period of time and she's kinda glad she slammed her head into the countertop so she doesn't have to see that. After an extended amount of time, she can hear the barmaid resume in doing her job—which she got stupidly flustered about.— and Yannick drones out, focusing in the gruff laughter of men behind her and the drunken ranting of other people.

“Here's your drink, Yani.”

‘fuuuuck.’

the barmaid settles her glass in front of Yannick gently, it lands with a soft clink and Yannick holds it with a grip that has the intention of fully forgetting everything dumb she’s done for the rest of the night.

Yannick says thank you and pays— way more than the price the alcohol was up for and way more she'd usually spend. She's not sure if it's because the lady's so gorgeous it's making her tip this generously or if she's trying to compensate to her for being a fool.

“So, what has you visiting around here, Dear?”

Yannick doesn't want to admit, but she's been consciously counting how many times she's been called ‘dear’ in that sweet honey tone tonight. and she's been way more conscious than what's supposed to be not embarrassing.

“I'm just a drifter, miss.”

“You can call me Bonnie.”

“Bonnie?”

“Mhm.”

“It's a pretty name.”

“It sounds pretty good coming out of your mouth.”

Remember when Yannick was destroying her liver? Well, she's also destroying her lungs now too, who knew inhaling alcohol burns.

And also she's coughing vigorously.

“Oh dear, you poor thing, let me get you some tissues.”

Strike 4.

Bonnie moves swiftly as Yannick is busy expelling the insides of her lungs into her hands, how fun.

She takes the tissues when they are offered in front of her (with a very conscious effort to not grab Bonnie roughly; and also memorising the feeling when both of their hands slightly brush.)

Her lungs burn, her throat burns, And she forces her spluttering into a stop, Yannick really doesn't want to embarrass herself further at this point. and just mumbles a shy thanks, AGAIN.

Now, she doesn't want to assume—she’s never talked to a woman. Because there's really no time for that when you're a habitual crime-doer, But for her own sake she'll force herself to think that that exchange of words was completely normal between two women.

completely normal, between two women.

another soft clink.

“Oh, what's this for?” Yannick stares at the newly refilled glass of brandy.

Well, she did technically inhale her first drink instead of actually ingesting it like a normal person, but still.

“On the house, darling.”

‘FUUUUCK.’

similarly with her ‘dear’ talley, that's her 4th exasperated totally non-homosexual ‘fuck ‘from Bonnie today. Wait— Let's reword that.

That's her 4th completely homosexual absolutely gay fuck from Bonnie today.

much better.

There's a lot of things Yannick notices as she downs her 3nd glass.

Bonnie speaks like her tongue is covered in melted sugar, her voice is smooth like ivory and her eyes are narrowed like a hawk sifting below the landscape for prey. Perhaps, Yannick is just on the verge of being drunk and she gets weirdly poetic, or perhaps Bonnie is just, really, extremely, absolutely gorgeous.

When Bonnie talks to her about the history of this town, How she's explored every alley and backside, How she's familiar with the locals and the places little know about, it feels like Yannick's being spoiled with divine information; or was that just Bonnie's voice? She's not sure.

Another thing she's also noticed, is that she’s getting bolder the more she drinks. Her usual personality that doesn't mirror the reserved display Bonnie had seen earlier starts to really show when she nearly barks out clever retorts to Bonnie and is further encouraged when she hears the angelic song of Bonnie's laugh.

the melody is cut short when a group looms beside Yannick.

It's a group of men.

They posture like they demand Bonnie's attention, chuckles like gravel among eachother. Bonnie idly stands infront of them, the wooden countertop dividing beauty and asshole.

“5 glasses, the usual.” A Man with dark hair leans on the counter, there's smoke escaping his lips as he speaks, And his face is way too close to Bonnie's to be comfortable.

“I don't know your usual.”

Bonnie replies, deadpan.

The group howls like a pack of rabid wolves, they're laughing at the man, who was really trying to make it seem like he was impressionable.

“Nice jokin’, Missus. I've been here lots of times before, ya’ really can't remember what I usually ask for? I'll give you an extra dime if you get it right. But looking at that pretty face, I bet you get lot's of those already..”

brazen laughter rings above the bar’s loud ambience, Bonni’s expression remains cool as ice and monotone. Yannick has realized how hard her own hand is gripping the glass of little brandy left, It might shatter.

“Mister, It’s not that hard to say what you'd like.”

Bonnie says, flat.

“C’mon dollface, no need to get so mad. What gotten you so pricked? Before we arrived you were giggling to goldie over here.”

“her corsets probably too tight.” somebody behind the group blurted. The laughter is even louder this time— Yannick’s eyebrows hurt from how much tension is in them. Bonnie still looks unfazed.

“I know somebody who could loosen it for her.”

They all guffaw cockily this time, and Yannick decides; the glass WILL shatter.

dogfight.

She got kicked out and landed on her ass. Again.

theres a nick in her cheekbone she's sure will bruise, and she has alot of aching ribs. But that's not what's making her feel bad, it's the fact she embarrassed herself infront of the pretty lady again, to a much more severe extent.

She beat the shit out of all them, yes. But a one person fight versus five jacked men doesn't mean she comes out unscathed.

She forgot her bandana too, and she shattered the glass Bonnie gave her into some guys temple. Yay property damage.

Luckily, she has the hat and the sling. And before some guys dragged and threw her out, her hands managed to snag an alcohol beverage from a random table. Hasn't been opened either, Jackpot.

She's staring at the brand on the bottle, her bruised fingers wrapping around its neck, it's too dark to read.

After getting kicked out, Yannick did some loitering (writhing in pain) around the front of the bar, she never saw those douchebags get kicked out. Which means Bonnie probably had to serve them; or worse, deal with them bugging her about some man-looking gal beating the piss out of all of them and Bonnie apologizing for something she did

‘Yeah, I was never really good with people.’

Bonnie was nice, but Yannick would rather hide away into this town's crevices now; She really doesn't want to get into an altercation for walking around freely in public.

in a few hours, Morning will rise and she'll have to go and collect shithead to get resources.

[nihilnovisubsole]

really excited to watch your ffxiv journey! i have picked it up semi-recently myself, late last year. also started as DRG (on Bryn, we're practically neighbors!). i definitely feel like it's one of the best classes for the protagonist story. the class story just really adds to the main questline IMO. kinda unsurprised to see that Raubahn is part of your backstory already. :3 when i was going through the story, i had an errant thought like 'hmm i bet if AK Fedeau played FF she'd like him' XD

he's tall and he has a gladiator aesthetic, it's not a difficult sell lmao. i mean, i did write dangerous crowns. i'm sure they've had some argument going for over a decade about whether strength or agility is more important for beast-slaying. [can you imagine the back slaps that guy gives? RIP your shoulder blades.]

more from the replies:

@araceil replied:

Don't be shy about your character's appearance, there's no such thing as a mistake in character gen. I'm sure she's super amazing regardless of the aspects you're not so keen on.

i agree! she just looks shorter and younger than i intended her to. it's nothing a few tweaks won't sort out. i've heard you can replay story cutscenes at inns and they'll match to your current appearance, so i can always grab screenshots later.

i will say this, though: i have performed some hilarious outfit crimes in service of keeping my armor up-to-date. i got a little off-sync level-wise because i did the lancer hunting log quests, so my gear is all over the place. last night i went crystal scrounging in a pink-and-rust-red shirt, ivory sarouel pants, and blue-and-white ren faire boots. before that, i'd been running around in the same caramel-brown toadskin jacket for like twenty levels. i look a fright. it's amazing. there's a really nice set of armor that i've got my eye on, but it's a level... 80 gearset, i think? so it'll have to wait!

[imagine-loki]

Everyone's Problem

TITLE: Everyone’s Problem CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her. + Imagine HYDRA has been quietly watching Loki living a quiet life on Earth. They decide it’s finally time to bring him into the fold. It doesn’t exactly work out the way they intended. RATING: T

NOTES/WARNING: Hi, y'all! I haven’t written in a fair while, so I did a quick little one-shot with Charlie to get myself back into shape. It’s probably rough, but cut me some slack! If you’re interested in reading other Charlie stories (there’s a bunch!), you can find them on my masterlist here. Language, mentions of violence, attacks and blood, one v angry human, and typos probably.

XX

“Loki, it’s a stomach ache. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” Charlie remarked for the fiftieth time that morning as she gently shoved the darling Asgardian she called a boyfriend away from her.

Loki huffed for about the same number time. “According to your interweb healers, it could be an autoimmune disorder, an ulcer or gastric cancer! Forgive me if I’m a little worried about–”

“WebMD is not a qualified physician, Loki Odinson! Settle. The fuck. Down!”

Though her tone was no-nonsense, a smile was tugging at the left corner of her plump lips, evidence that she was not nearly as cross as she portrayed herself to be. When she brushed past him, Loki circled his arms around her waist and tugged her into his body, peppering her face with kisses as she made noises of weak protest. Despite his best advances (and really, he was doing his best work here) her laughter began to trickle down and out of existence.

“Loki, stop,” she said firmly, though he was only half listening.

“Stop!” The Prince froze, holding her loosely in his arms. Her tone wasn’t exactly what had caused her to stop his affectionate attack, though. It was the fact that her whole frame had stilled, and her eyes danced from spot to spot as she concentrated on something. “Can you hear that?”

Loki tilted his head and focused. It took a moment, as out of practice in paranoia as he was, but eventually he heard the very distinct pounding of military-grade rubber on linoleum. “Boots.” Quietly, he righted himself, taking silent, measured steps around the furniture, leading Charlie along with him. “Come on. Bedroom. Quickly.”

No sooner had he gotten those words out, the front door slammed open, leaving Charlie to yelp behind him, a handful of his gray heather t-shirt keeping her anchored to his frame. As Loki saw it, there were three men in the immediate vicinity, waving odd-looking guns that bore the signature of the Chitauri. These were not aliens, though. They were humans, who somehow found a way to retrofit the technology to make more powerful weapons. Many had been foolish enough to try it throughout the years, but only one entity bore the skull and tentacled monster on their insignia.

HYDRA.

This was definitely not a great time to still be without magic.

At once, he tried to school the rhythm of his heart, knowing that Charlie was distinctly in tune with the beat and would worry if it seemed like he was in a panic. With delicate fingers, he stroked at her curls, intending to burrow into his side. “Put your arm around me, tuck your head in, don’t let go. Got it?”

She offered little resistance to the order, humming her consent and wrapping her arm tightly around his torso. The feeling gave him comfort, funnily enough, that he was still the warrior that he had trained to be in his youth, despite having lived like a spoiled house cat for the last couple of years. Where in his youth there was glory and blood to be won, today there was only one objective–keep Charlie safe. Loki moved the second the intruders set their scopes on him. Reaching to his left, he grabbed a handful of kitchen knives which would have to do in this pinch and engaged with a growl.

Charlie whimpered, her legs struggled to keep up with his. She could not anticipate his movement and was mostly just being pushed and pulled around the floor while Loki seemed to be skillfully weaving like he was dancing. It also didn’t help that with every jerk of her body and awkward moment, there was the sickening sound of injury filling her ears. In one very distinct occasion, she could feel the breaking of some sort of bone reverberate through her own hand as Loki delivered a blow. Surely, it would be a lot easier for Loki to fight if he didn’t have to worry about Charlie behind him, and the awkward shuffle he had to do to make sure she was never exposed to any of these intruders took significant mental acuity.

When the three in the room had been dealt with, Loki reached for one of their weapons and Charlie’s mobile. He wasted to no time in moving them back through the bedroom door and locking it. Surely, more men would come.

“Stark!”

“Loki, I am, er, dealing with something right now!” The sound of bullets and flying mortar filled the line along with FRIDAY’s voice in the suit. “I’ll need to call you back!”

“Loki.” Charlie’s voice was small and trembling beside him.

Sighing, Loki wrapped his free arm around her and pulled Charlie into his chest. “I have you, love. Don’t worry.”

His lips pressed into her crown. A little bit of battle had shaken away the rust of his instincts and he could feel the distinctive prickle of enemies closing in. He prayed quietly to any entity that would bear to hear his prayers that they would be left alone. There was more noise beyond the door and Loki was left to coo Charlie into silence. He understood her fear, everything to her was a surprise, doubly so when she was scared and couldn’t bring herself to concentrate on her surroundings.

“I’m going to need you to run to the bathroom and lock yourself there, dove.”

Her hazel eyes zeroed in on him with rage-filled acuity. “You’re insane if you think I’m leaving you.”

“Darling, I cannot protect you if I’m busy minding you from getting hurt!”

Her eyes widened. There was panic in her empty gaze if the fidgeting of her fisted hands was anything to go by and it pained him to think that he could not even offer her an empty promise. “No, please! Please, don’t leave me. I–I can’t deal with it if you’re not with me.”

Loki smiled, sighing at the sweet ache of her words on his heart, and cupped her cheeks, dusting them with speckles of others’ blood. “You are braver than this, Charlotte Camden.” His thumbs brushed over her bronzed cheekbones affectionately. “I know you are. So you go and keep yourself safe and I will–”

The bedroom door rammed open with a deafening crash of cracked wood and rained splinters over the couple.

“Go! Go now!”

Charlie reluctantly disengaged, taking a running leap towards the bathroom door and slammed it behind her. Her ear pressed up against the wood to hear the scuffling. It sounded like a bigger force had come in and Charlie swallowed the panicked yelp threatening to bubble up her throat. Loki was a great fighter, but without his magic there was little for him to do if he was incapacitated. All she could do was hope that he was faster, stronger, better than these intruders.

And that’s when she heard it.

His voice.

Screaming.

Screaming like he did when he had a nightmare.

Screaming like when he remembered the blood and gore that he caused and the damage he had done.

Screaming like when he discovered that the extent of his monstrosity went beyond a lineage he had been lied about and the fickle lies he had been fed by a tyrant.

And then she heard it again.

And again.

And again…

And just when she thought her heart could take no more, she heard a body thud onto the ground and the shuffling stop and she feared the worst.

And then her bracelets activated.

Nearly a year of having the damn things on her and she had forgotten that they served any purpose other than setting off the metal detectors everywhere she went. The nanites built up around her in one swift wave. It took Charlie a moment to orient herself back to the seeing world. The colors on the screen still gave her a headache, her eyes still were unfocused, but that was due to her nearsightedness more than anything else, but it was still usable. And the updates Tony had made to the AI over the years made it easy to navigate through the controls.

She kicked the door open at once. Five figures turned back to her while another three were trying to get Loki’s annoyingly heavy body onto a cot to wheel him away. There was blood on his shirt, wounds seeping the dark treacly liquid from stab wounds used to subdue him, he looked pale, but his chest was still moving air and he was muttering deliriously under his breath.

He was alive.

So every one of them now had to die.

The gauntlets whined as the blasters charged and knocked them clean out of their boots. She supposed Tony didn’t think she would ever try to blast anything at full power, but lo and behold her rage was transcendental. They tried to restructure, protect the ones trying to take Loki away while fighting her off. Bullets ricocheted off her armor, letting her forge forward, blasters pumping out energy and leaving a trail of crumpled bodies. Taking a run, her body propelled off the ground, landing with a loud thud just in front of the door and cutting off their escape.

“Put. Him. Down.”

Rifles came up to point at her. Seven in total. They fired in unison, and she raised her arms, flinching instinctually from the projectiles that were intent on ripping into her armor. Charlie’s teeth grit tightly as she waited for the jolt of bullets to knock her backwards. They never came.

I thought it might be helpful to unlock Loki’s magic from the bracelets, the AI spoke into her ear.

When she blinked up, a blanket of green held the bullets in place, swirling in the ether of his magic. Her breath caught. This was definitely not something Tony had mentioned the last time she went in for a tune-up. He had failed to mention that the dampener Loki wore, implanted just under the skin of his bicep was feeding directly into the nanites or that there was any way to access the power. What was stranger was that the magic even listened to her, in the first place. By Loki’s tales, it was untamable force and most sorcerers never got very far without proper instruction. This was most odd.

Guns cocked and reloaded, breaking her out of her reverie. With a flick of her fingers, the bullets turned and resumed their trajectory, delivered back to sender. Another flourish, she disposed of the ones carrying the medical backboard with Loki in it and he fell to the carpeted ground with a groan.

Headache in full swing, she ran to his side, pushing away bodies to fall to her knees beside him. Nanites receded from her hands to touch his cheek.

“Loki. Babe, look at me.”

A wry smile curled his lips. “I am. I’m just very tired.” He chuckled, ending it with a cough and a groan. “Well, that answers the question where has my magic gone all this time?” He blinked a little longer each time as the darkness threatened to drag him down.

“Don’t close your eyes. Please. I need to get you to Tony’s.”

He giggled a little deliriously. “Magic suits you, petal.”

“Jesus, I really do need to get you to Tony’s.” Nanites back over her hands, she pulled his long frame into her arms and heaved. Even with the armor, he was decidedly heavier than any human she had ever met. For a second, she debated going out the front door, but seeing as her apartment was pretty much totaled, anyway, she burst through a window and into the New York skyline.

X

Loki blinked awake to the sounds of Charlie berating someone to within an inch of their life. He smiled, settling back into the covers with a grin despite the obvious pain radiating from just under his ribs and the dull ache in his skull. He peeked an eye open to see Stark, actively cowering backwards, away from her tone, narrowly avoiding her walking cane whenever she gestured wildly.

“It would have been nice to know how to activate the damn thing before Loki got fucking stabbed or I felt absolutely sure that he was dead because you put in a life or death trigger on the damn suit! And don’t get me fucking started on the fact that I’ve been carrying Loki’s magic for the last year and had no fucking clue about it!”

“I’m sorry! I was trying to keep you from playing with the suit for funsies instead of–”

“WE ALMOST DIED AND YOU WERE BUSY WITH YOUR OWN HYDRA ASSHOLES! WHAT WERE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? WAIT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR ASS KICKED BEFORE–”

“Charlie, love,” Loki hoarsed, and the tirade immediately quieted. Charlie rushed over to the bedside, briefly tripping over a chair leg before clambering onto his cot and covering his face with kisses. “Dove, I’m bound to be disgusting at the moment,” he protested weakly, but still pulled her closer by the waist.

“I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you, too. My savior.” He cupped her face in his hands, absorbing the warmth from her beaming smile. “Glorious. Truly glorious.” He ran his fingers through her curls, bringing them back into shape from their crumpled form. Clearly she had been sleeping here with him and not necessarily keeping up with brushing–that was usually his task, anyway–but her crumpled clothes and dark circles under her eyes belied the worry she felt for him. It made his stomach warm several times over.

“I found your magic.”

He chuckled. “I recall. You can keep it safe for me.” He looked briefly at Tony who was pretending not to smile in the corner. “Do we know what happened?”

“Looking for you, buddy boy. They were a little disappointed you couldn’t do the hocus pocus stuff, but they caught onto the problem pretty quick.”

“I’m the problem,” Charlie muttered, snuggling into his side.

“Mmm, what a lovely problem to have,” he whispered before kissing her crown.

“Look, I’ll talk to your old man and see if we can’t get your sparkles and pixie dust ban lifted–”

“Don’t bother. I can teach Charlie how to use magic if you give her access. He said I couldn’t use seidr, not that I couldn’t teach someone else to wield it.”

Tony looked apprehensive, wincing slightly at the suggestion. “You sure you want to give Live Wire there that kind of ammunition?”

“Oh, if they don’t want to allow me to use my power, that is fine. But I am making her everyone’s problem. Aren’t I, sweet?”

Charlie simply snickered, leaving Tony to groan loudly as he stepped out of the hospital room.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 26

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Something went wrong. Very wrong.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Torture, violence, psychological abuse, brainwashing, demon slavery, implied past noncon, no actual noncon in this chapter (but it gets close)

AO3

You whipped around, heart in your throat, unable to breathe from the shock of the scream. It was strained, agonizing, and arrested the blood in your veins.

Bucky was sitting in a chair, his arms strapped down as a metal contraption encircled his head. Electricity sparked against his skin, and he continued to scream.

“Bucky!”

You tried to run but couldn’t move, your feet glued to the floor, and you were forced to remain where you were as Bucky howled in agony.

There were other people in the room, soldiers dressed in uniforms and men wearing lab coats. Catwalks stretched above your head, grey stone at your feet, and in the back of the room an iron chamber of some sort. Smoke or fog curled from the opening, strange glyphs written across its surface.

You ignored it all, your entire attention focused on Bucky.

What was going on? What were they doing to him?

The torment finally stopped. It must have, because Bucky slumped in the chair, chest heaving as hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, the metal device lifting from his crown. A man spoke a language you didn’t know, but the longer he spoke the more you understood the words.

The words themselves didn’t make much sense, but he chanted them like an incantation. Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak. With each one uttered, Bucky grew more calm, his twitching snarl smoothing into a neutral stare.

Only then did your eyes drop downward to truly take in his appearance. He wasn’t clothed in the jacket and jeans he’d been wearing a moment ago. A tactical harness covered his chest, combat pants and boots on his legs. His very human legs.

That was different. His guise was dropped, and everything else looked the same. The wings, the horns, his tail looped tightly around his leg. The armored arm with the pentagram carved into the stony flesh.

But why were his legs human?

Because, you realized, this was a different time. One where he wasn’t fully the demon you knew.

I’m trapped in his memory. The wrong memory.

“Bucky…”

Your pained whisper went unnoticed. Of course it would. You were just a passive observer over something that had already happened. But when had this happened? What exactly were you witnessing?

Seeking the answers, you paid attention to the man who was addressing Bucky. He carried a strange red tome with a pentagram on the cover, and it was from here he’d recited the nonsensical words. He closed the book shut with a definitive snap and set it aside, turning his cold gaze on the demon in the chair.

“Good morning, Soldier,” he spoke in the language you didn’t know but could somehow understand. It sounded Slavic, possibly Russian.

Bucky answered in a low growl you barely recognized.

“Ready to comply.”

You wanted to run to him. Scream at him. Shake him awake from this nightmare. But it had already happened, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

“I have a mission for you.” The man held out a folder to Bucky, fully expecting his cooperation. “Sanction and extract. No witnesses.”

Bucky lowered his gaze… and looked up. Directly at you.

You’d encountered many things that had terrified you. Alpen. Heigore. A cursed flesh-book that communicated with your own blood. All those things couldn’t have prepared you for the existential terror that gripped your body in a vice.

Bucky took the folder without glancing at it, his dead, empty gaze still focused on you. He rose from the chair and walked forward. You flinched and braced yourself, but he walked past, close enough you could feel the displacement of air.

You were just a ghost to him. That fact didn’t erase the chill that clung to your skin like dread.

The scene blurred and shifted, and you nearly lost your balance. But of course, you couldn’t fall. You couldn’t tell what was different at first—the room looked exactly the same, though there were less people in it. Bucky and the uniformed officer were standing near the chair.

The man opened a silver briefcase while Bucky stood at his side, also gazing down at the contents. IV bags full of blue liquid. You didn’t understand the significance, didn’t even know what year it was, but it felt horribly important.

“Well done, Soldier.”

Bucky said nothing, eyes just as hollow and empty as before. This wasn’t truly Bucky. The looming, dark figure that wore his face was the infamous Winter Soldier.

“Would you like your reward now?”

“Yes, Colonel,” Bucky responded in that same low growl, the one devoid of personality and humanity.

You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, but nothing came out except a shaky breath. Hopefully that meant you couldn’t vomit in a memory, because you were dangerously close to doing so. After what Bucky had told you, it wasn’t difficult to guess what “reward” this man planned for him.

Being unable to move did not spare you from avoiding the next scene. The air around you shifted again, and this time it truly did change. You sensed it was in the same research facility or bunker—the place had that heavy, underground feel to it—but it was in a smaller, warmer space. Dotted with furniture made of dark wood, electric lamps flickering on the walls, and to the side a large bed draped in a thick green blanket.

A bedroom.

Your stomach roiled violently, but the two occupants were ignorant of your presence and distress.

Bucky stood in the center of the room, his hands placed behind his back. His guise was back in place, his demonic features gone, but it did nothing to make him appear any more human.

“At first, I found this method of feeding to be… inconvenient.”

Your head turned unwillingly toward the source of the voice. Colonel. That’s what Bucky had called him.

“But as time moves on, and you continue to be a faithful soldier…” The Colonel traced a pale finger down Bucky’s jaw, the man’s stare no longer cold. It was interested, predatory. Simmering. “…I can see the benefits of partaking in such a meal.”

Bile rose in your throat, and you curled your hands into tight fists at your side. Your eyes stung so badly you had to blink to keep your vision clear.

Were you really going to have to watch this? This horrible thing that Bucky would never have wanted to show you of his own free will? Where was he? Why wasn’t he with you? Surely he would be just another observer of his own memories, not forced to be a participant.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

“I live to serve you, Master.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The man slapped Bucky across the face, open-handed.

Bucky did nothing but slowly turn his head forward again.

“Do not use such barbaric language,” the man hissed. “It does not become you.”

Bucky dropped his gaze, but there was nothing contrite in his deadened tone.

“My apologies, sir.”

Raising a hand, the man softly patted the cheek he’d just slapped.

“All is forgiven. You are the relic of a bygone era. It is not in your nature to adapt, only to obey and to feed. Isn’t that right?”

Bucky’s downcast eyes focused on the man’s belt buckle as he unlatched it. The hunger was the first sign of life that you’d seen in them so far.

This can’t be happening, you thought. Prayed. Please, no.

“On your knees, Soldier.”

Bucky obeyed without hesitation, dropping into a kneeling position as he stared up at the Colonel expectantly. The man finished unbuckling his belt and opened his pants, pushing them and his underwear down far enough to pull himself out.

You wanted to look away. Turn your head and pretend it wasn’t happening. But it had happened, to Bucky. He’d actually lived this while all you had to do was watch. Witnessing what he’d had to endure was the least you could do, and it wasn’t as if you had a choice, either way.

“Tell me,” the man said as he began to stroke his half-hard cock. “What was it like?”

Bucky said nothing but slightly tilted his head in an unspoken question. The Colonel huffed, a hint of impatience.

“What was it like to kill him?” he clarified. “The great Howard Stark?”

Howard Stark? you wondered, the name fresh on your mind from your recent search on Bucky’s past.

In your confusion, you almost missed it. The flutter of his eyelashes, the flash of tension in Bucky’s jaw. It was a sign you’d seen many times before when Bucky was irritated. Irritated and about to say something scathing.

The motion was quick, subtle, and the man didn’t notice. But you did.

Bucky remained silent, but the man above him, still stroking himself to hardness, kept speaking.

“I wish I could have been there to see it. America’s most brilliant industrialist. The Icon of America’s Strength. Butchered by nothing more than a Soviet ghost.”

The man’s smirk grew and Bucky’s frown deepened. His eyes were no longer staring hungrily at the Colonel’s exposed cock, but past him, far away. Growing darker with every word the man spoke.

“It is almost a shame no one will know the truth. That the boogieman they all fear is quite real and far worse than their deepest nightmares.” The man sighed wistfully, then blinked, seeming to remember what he was doing as he gazed down at Bucky.

“Either way, you served your purpose well. Now… open.”

Bucky stayed motionless. He didn’t seem to even hear the command, staring forward as the corners of his lips tightened.

The Colonel frowned, more perturbed than angry.

“Were you damaged during the mission?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, open.”

Bucky did not. The man scowled, finally noticing the Winter Soldier was no longer willing to take orders.

“Open, Soldier.”

Bucky winced, favoring his left shoulder. A painful punishment, you realized, for disobeying. The mark was compelling him to listen, and yet… he didn’t. He remained on his knees, posture rigid even as blood trickled from the pentagram carved into his skin.

Fingers wrapped in Bucky’s unkempt hair and yanked backwards, forcing him to look up. The Colonel gave him a cruel shake, eyes blazing with the aggression of a dominant figure being ignored.

“Obey me!”

Bucky stared at him. Truly. There was no vacant emptiness in his eyes now. There was only quiet fury.

“No.”

With Bucky’s answer, the air shimmered around him. Wings unfurled, horns swept backwards, tail angrily lashing against the floor.

The Colonel scrambled backwards as Bucky rose to his feet. The man clumsily stuffed himself into his pants, tripping over his feet as he grasped at something on his desk.

Bucky descended on him, raising his right arm and flexing his fingers to extend his dark claws.

The man spun around and fired. The sound was deafening in the small space, but you could still hear Bucky’s howl of pain

Bucky grabbed his shoulder, bleeding profusely from where he’d been shot at the exposed part of his arm. He stomped forward, determination twisting his features, but the man fired again, this time into Bucky’s chest.

A klaxon blared above and you covered your ears the same moment Bucky covered his, and he snarled miserably before stumbling out of the room. He fled down the hall, the tips of his wings brushing against the concrete walls on either side, but there were already soldiers coming after him. From many of the terrified, shocked expressions on their faces, many of them had no idea what Bucky truly was.

They gunned him down, all the same.

Up until that moment, you’d been so enraptured by the memory that you’d nearly faded into it, forgetting yourself and beginning to experience Bucky’s emotions as if they were your own.

Watching Bucky fall, bleeding profusely from multiple bullet holes, changed that. You were very aware of your own mind, of the horror and grief that gripped it as you sank to your knees beside him.

He gasped for breath, eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep them open. And then he looked at you. He looked right at you and saw you.

Blood bubbled up from his mouth, but his expression was… calm. No, more than that. Relieved. The nightmare was over. They would never use him again.

You reached out, tears burning your eyes as your fingertips brushed against his cheek. But he vanished under your fingertips; Bucky’s body collapsed and fluttered away as if dust.

Or ashes.

The latter felt more accurate to you, because the next breath you took was searing. The cold of the bunker was replaced by a barren landscape of red rock and burning, sulfuric air.

The pull you’d experienced earlier, the tug toward something deeper in Bucky’s memory, it was too strong to refuse this time.

When you opened your mouth to cry out, you coughed and gagged instead, and the next breath you took was not your own.

Next Chapter

[writingbakery]

“an andorian, a bezoid, & a tessian walk into a bar”

another one of my favorite works is here! i originally wrote this for a different fandom, & rewrote it to fit here. i’m in love with this story, it’s one of my absolute favorites; please leave me feedback about it! a second part is in the works ✨ taglist; @secondhand-trash @redbeanteax @togasknifes

[some notes: denki is an andorian, a very tall race of aliens who are very nimble, skilled silent warriors when needed. hitoshi is a bezoid, from a mining planet, broad, tough, good with any sort of weapon but mainly guns, & you are a rare species called tessian, lil shapeshifting aliens that were often sold as slaves way back in the day on illegal black markets due to their skill! ULC means universal language chip, & the fleet is my version of the interspace police! ]

[pairing; poly!shinkami x reader]

[warnings; space jokes, cussing, dangerous scenarios, extremely Buff Aliens, violence, angst, fluff]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

if you asked hitoshi shinsou what he would describe as a perfect day, he would tell you this: waking up in his quarters on the isla bella, the smooth glide of their ship through space flowing uninterrupted. there are no parts that need replacing, no angry merchants on their tail for undelivered merchandise, nothing but the clean quiet of the stars & the faint glow of space flitting through the small window by his bed, denki fast asleep against his chest. he’d card his fingers through the andorian’s glimmering gold hair, kiss along the slope of his nose & bask in his quiet beauty. that would be a perfect day for him; lounging in bed with his freakishly tall, giggly lover without a care in the world.

the last thing he’d consider to be a perfect day is running across the burning - literally in flames burning - sand of a deserted planet with two grogorians firing photon lasers at his skinny ass, skidding between the roaring flames of the ground beneath him & the sting of the lasers with denki screaming unintelligible commands & curses in his ear via comm. he’d consider that a bottom of the barrel kind of day.

you can probably guess which kind of day he’s having.

cursing under his breath as he slips between the burning flames, he does a cursory peek around the open desert, eyes searching for the opening that denki was furiously insisting “was right there, hitoshi shinsou for the love of god open those damn sultry bezoid eyes and LOOK” - he refuses to acknowledge the compliment, focused on the seven million fucking grains of sand & his boyfriends panicked voice in his ear when he finally spots it. a haze in the heavy heated air, almost like a mirage, a split in the vast landscape that led down somewhere dark, hidden. he lets out a sigh of relief loud enough for denki to hear, a sign that he’d found the entrance, before a photon blast skims just past his ear, leaving a three inch skidded burn across his cheek.

oh right. the grogorians.

stealing from the grogorians was the stupidest goddamn idea denki had ever come up with, which was saying a lot; once, he’d thought the seven suns on Naboor all rose & fell at the same time, shrieking in hitoshi’s ear about “planetary instability” & “socio-economic collapse” for a full ten minutes before he saw the suns rising & falling one after the other, in turns. that had been a field day, not one hitoshi was eager to repeat. the grogorians were fiercely territorial, completely tucked away from modern civilization & technology, & were at least seven feet tall. you could fit two shinsous in one of their chests; he wasn’t quite ready to see that up close.

ducking & weaving across the barren landscape, he slides through the slit in the ground with practiced ease; he’s run for his miserable life far too many times at this point. he can hear the grogorians shouting above the hole in the ground, too big for them to pass through, & he winces as his ULC - universal language chip, something kaminari had insisted he get implanted- deciphers the strangled words into curses he can understand. he’s really glad his parents are dead, because whatever blood curses the grogorians are spitting at his family tree sound awful.

the cavernous tunnels he’s slid down into are cool, spacious; coned lights illuminate the rocky path deeper & deeper into the planet. its all but deserted, the only inhabitants the two grogorian guards he’d narrowly escaped from. denki’s voice filters in through the comm again, calmer now that hitoshi was safely inside.

“we’ve got twenty minutes max before their distress signal goes through,” the andorian warns him, tracking the surrounding space around the planet from the isla bella. “follow the main tunnel straight through. the crown should be there. ten minutes to get there, i phase you straight out, we fucking book it into warp drive & we’ll be seven million credits richer by tomorrow morning. and you can finally treat me to dajang.”

hitoshi rolls his eyes despite the fact that denki can’t actually see him, trudging through the tunnels a little wearily. “remind me again why i always have to be the one getting shot to hell & back?” he grumbles as he walks, no real heat to his voice.

“you love my ass too much to risk it getting shot at, baby you know that,” denki laughs through the comm, ever poking fun at hitoshi’s expense & he’s sure to give the andorian a long, drawn out sigh before switching off the comm & pushing further into the darkness.

denki’s right though, hitoshi muses as he moves, his eyes glinting violet in the lamplight. the bezoid would rather die than see denki in any veritable danger, keeps him up on the ship to guide him & yank his ass out at the first inkling of a problem.

he’d been protecting the stupidly tall, wildly cheery andorian from the first day they’d met, cooped up in some stuffy bar off V-7. he’d had absolutely zero self-preservation skills even then, picking a fight with a damned Dervisian of all people, just because the man had insulted his shirt. hitoshi, not overly fond of watching handsome morons get punched in the face by meatsacks twice their size - & maybe he appreciates the long, toned legs & pretty face a little more than he lets on - steps in with ease, no matter how short he feels between the two of them. the dervisian cracks a height joke, because he’s an asshole, denki stabs him in the shoulder with a four inch dagger he pulls out of his too tight pants - & of course hitoshi spends far too long wondering just how he managed to fit it in the first place, mind all fuzzy - & they somehow manage to kick off an interspace bar fight. wonderful.

once the dust has settled & the chaos calmed, hitoshi finds himself with three new bruises, a cut cheek, & an armful of very grateful andorian.

“i hear the fleets coming. wanna get married?” denki wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, & hitoshi chokes on his own spit.

“what for? they’re keepers of the peace, not wedding officials,” he manages, glaring up at the - stupidly tall, stupidly pretty - andorian that’s managed to wrap himself into his arms.

“if you’re married they can’t deport you. i’d really like to avoid interspace jail,” denki winces, & hitoshi snorts.

“or we could run, like normal deviants of the law,” he points out, much to denki’s chagrin.

“and where is the fun in that?” the andorian pouts, & hitoshi knows he’s screwed.

four years, seven interspace incidents, four run ins with the fleet, & one rusting junktrap of nuts & bolts they called a ship later, they were inseparable. one complete idiot with a penchant for charming the pants off everyone around them & simultaneously launching them into trouble, & his over exasperated, eternally exhausted boyfriend, who was consistently saving his ass. they were an unlikely duo, but they worked like magic, & despite the fact that he had to risk his ass every damn day, hitoshi was pretty happy. him & denki made a little solar system all their own, a shining sun & its orbiting planet, & he likes that. he’s happy.

as happy as a thief for hire could be, really.

the problem with their particular profession, however, is that denki is basically one big ass radar for trouble. if something can go wrong, it will go wrong, disastrously so, & hitoshi is always caught in the middle of it, fleeing for his life with someone shooting at his ass (it’s always his ass, & he can never understand why. )

it’s for that reason, & that reason only, that hitoshi is the one creeping down the dark, deep tunnel, his nerves frayed as he keeps his eyes trained on every nook & cranny surrounding him. he can see the faint glow of an upcoming room ahead & hurries his pace, eager to grab the crown & escape, maybe finally treat denki to that dajang he’d been whining about - he’d never been fond of the strangely shimmery, horned fish, but if it made denki happy, he wasn’t going to complain.

the tunnel opens up into a small, brightly lit room, warm & pulsing with energy. the grogorians kept the crown here for good reason, the sheer amount of dead souls crafted into the metal & jewels enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. hitoshi gingerly steps closer, hands twitching at his sides as he moves into the light and - wait a minute.

wait a goddamn minute.

there’s a person on the raised pillar, small & decidedly not threatening. your little body is curled loosely around the crown, shivering gently, & hitoshi realizes several things all at once:

one, the tiny body is a tessian, and a young one at that, a couple years younger than himself.

two, the grogorians have definitely arrived earlier than scheduled. fuck. he clicks on his comm to hear denki screaming incoherently about danger, & winces heavily.

great.

third, the booming, heavy rumbles of the grogorian ship - & denki’s frantic yelling - has woken you up, the little tessian, arms still caging the crown close to your chest as though seeking out its warmth.

up close, hitoshi can see a smattering of pink freckles dusted across your honey gold cheeks, bright, messy hair falling into big, bright eyes. you yawn, then blink, eyes flashing & settling into a light, rosy pink at the same time your little fluffy ears twitch atop your head, a matching color to your eyes. your tail twitches slightly, four light gold rings wrapped around it, & it’s obvious you’re about young adult age. you yawn again, a tiny, unfiltered squeak escaping you at the sight of hitoshi in front of you.

you’re absolutely adorable. hitoshi is absolutely fucked.

dimly, he registers denki’s panicked shouts & the shaking of the tunnel walls, can feel the ground trembling beneath him, & he snaps out of his reverie to glance at the crown again. said crown is tucked up against your torn shirt, tessian hands - so delicate, so cute - keeping it close.

“hey, hey! don’t touch that! there’s like, eight thousand dead people in there,” hitoshi scolds before he can think, & you simply cock your head, confusion written all over your face.

“no, don’t squeeze it tighter - stop it! hey! are you even listening?” he seethes, reaching out a hand to snatch the crown away. you shift back quickly, frowning just as deep as hitoshi as you hug the crown even closer. it’s clear you can’t understand a word hitoshi is saying, & the grogorians have started some sort of blasting contest right outside the caverns.

great.

hitoshi swears under his breath, racking his brain for any sort of solution. “hitoshi shinsou, you are ASKING to die, they’re blowing the fucking cave open! can i phase you out yet? you too busy admiring that handsome face of yours in the stupid crown’s fucking reflection?” denki sounds hysterical, voice on the verge of near meltdown & hitoshi knows he’s out of time.

he’s got two options: stay & deal with the grogorians, or run.

he runs.

leaning forward, he tucks both hands under your armpits & yanks you forward, tosses you over his shoulder, & books it out of the tunnel.

he can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears, your tessian wails, & one denki kaminari screeching like the world’s ending.

“phase me out phase me out PHASE ME OUT-“ he’s shouting above the din, phaser blasts surrounding him on all sides, & he doesn’t stop running until he feels the familiar pins & needles of the transporter, turning them into a mess of glittering gold dots that wink out just as a grogorian fires right where hitoshi’s head had been.

he slams into the floor of the isla bella with a groan, denki immediately in front of him. he sits up slow, careful not to shift too abruptly & disrupt the reanimation process, when denki snatches you right out of his arms.

“hitoshi what the fuck, you were only supposed to grab the crown, not adorable little tessians! and what were you doing down there, young alien?” denki has gone into full andorian mode, pinching your little tessian cheeks as he sits you in his lap - hitoshi’s just glad he’s got the sense not to do that to him.

you still can’t seem to understand, tilting your fluffy bright head of hair as you stare up at denki. you chirp, then hum, one hand reaching up to pet denki’s head, before smiling brightly.

denki coos. hitoshi snorts.

“i found them sleeping on the crown. they can’t understand us, they don’t have a ULC, so i just grabbed ‘em & ran,” hitoshi explains, getting up to ensure that they were in hyperspace, blasting millions of lightyears away from the grogorians. he chances another glance at the tessian sat comfortably in denki’s lap; you’re a little dirty, clearly having been stranded in the caverns a few days.

denki frowns at hitoshi’s back, brushing over the phaser burn on the ass of his pants with one hand as he speaks.

“the poor thing must be terrified, being surrounded by all that. switch your ULC to interpret mode, at least we’ll be able to understand them, & talk to them,” denki says quietly; looking down at the fluffy bundle of tessian in his arms. hitoshi can already see the gears turning in his head.

once they’ve switched settings, denki speaks.

“what’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks softly, clearly trying to make you comfortable.

the series of chirps & coos you let out shift almost in midair, turning themselves into words that hitoshi can actually understand.

“[y/n]? [y/n l/n]? oh that’s so cute! tell us, [y/n], why were you down there all by yourself?” denki prods, voice still soothing & calm. you, the tessian - [y/n], hitoshi thinks, too precious - sit up a bit, animatedly speaking now that they can understand you better. the squeaks & chirps are downright adorable, & hitoshi has to look away from flailing hands & a sunbeam smile to center himself again.

“and what were the lot of you thinking, sneaking down there? your whole little tribe, just gone, huh? i’m so sorry, sweetheart,” denki winces, & hitoshi can sympathize - tessian tribes were tight-knit little groups, & losing them meant a death sentence for whoever was left behind. they were pack creatures, always in need of others. hitoshi can see the gears turning, & he speaks before the andorian can.

“no, denki.”

“toshi! look at them, aren’t they the cutest thing you’ve ever seen! we have to keep them!” denki all but wails, pulling you so close to his chest that your cheeks squish together. you don’t seem concerned in the slightest, just giggle against denki’s face. hitoshi’s resolve weakens a little.

“we’ve got no space, denks, not to mention we’re not exactly the safest group for them to latch onto,” hitoshi protests weakly, even as the andorian pouts at him.

“we can’t just leave them alone, they’re so small, & no one will protect them!” denki is dangerously close to tears, & hitoshi never does well with a crying denki. he opens his mouth to protest again, try & make his point, but just then you yawn again, slow & long, the tiniest of squeaks escaping you & when you open your eyes again, they’re gold just like denki’s hair, your ears matching.

hitoshi’s determination evaporates.

“fine, fine, we can keep them. but if anything happens to them, it's your fault,” he grumbles, settling into the pilot's chair to monitor their progress.

denki cheers. you chirp happily.

hitoshi bangs his head on the control panel.

what have i gotten myself into this time, he thinks dully, but deep down, he knows he doesn’t mind. not too much.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

after finally managing to pry the crown out of your hands & delivering it to the client - hitoshi doesn’t even wanna know what the creepy old Lavastian wanted with it, he’d had to take three showers under the hydrospray to get the itch off his skin - they’ve set a course for the driard system, to rest before their next assignment. being that their work schedule is so…flexible, it gives the trio a little time to get adjusted. and by adjusted, hitoshi means getting used to having you, a fluffy little alien, hanging off him at all hours of the day.

he’d thought that denki was clingy, the andorian typically seeking out hitoshi’s hands to hold or shoulders to rest his head. his people were affectionate that way, much different than hitoshi’s bezoid counterparts. he’d adjusted though, sacrificed personal space & eventually, had grown both used to & comfortable with having denki draped over him like a blanket at all times.

[y/n l/n] is an entirely different species - literally & figuratively.

firstly, you’re a clinger. where denki lounges, you squeeze with - surprisingly - strong arms & legs, wrapped around hitoshi’s frame like a verealis vine.

you’re so touchy you’ve got denki beat, & the pair of you seem stuck in some sort of exceedingly needy, relentless cuddle war. hitoshi’s got his money on you, even if he doesn’t admit it.

secondly, you’re scarily helpful. you seem to turn up right when hitoshi needs something adjusted deep in the ship, or when denki can’t seem to locate something correctly on their navigational screen. you’ll shapeshift into a teeny, tiny ragran rat to scurry through chambers & fix a wire, or tap on the control panel just so to show the correct star system, & its quite frankly impressive.

hitoshi’s starting to think you were made for them, just a little.

normally he leaves the sappy shit to denki, the andorian’s well flowered language easily explaining all his emotions & thoughts. but there’s something about the little tessian that shakes him up a little, changes the dynamic. denki doesn’t mind one bit.

he relishes in hitoshi’s newfound sweetness, even if it’s just a “that wasn’t completely awful, great job, babe,” or “you know, that shirt isn’t as hideous as i thought. brings out your eyes.” he knows hitoshi is simply trying his best, knows that words never got very far on his home planet.

you like that he’s quiet though, for some reason. you chirp & chatter enough for the both of you whenever you’re together, silly stories of whatever disasters you & denki had gotten into on the ship - hitoshi’s suspicious you’re both responsible for the six broken panels along the corridors, impromptu games of touch & go be damned - or telling him memories of your time on Tessero, your home planet. you’ve got an easy way of speaking, soft & languid & it calms him down like no other, settling into his bones & dimming the chaos in his mind for a little while.

your cuddliness extends even to when you’re asleep, tucked up neatly between denki & hitoshi in the big bed of their quarters. you’re a calm sleeper, curl up tight into a little ball with the pair of them draped over you, like a tiny tessian heater. it’s sweet & soft & so fucking domestic that hitoshi has a hard time believing it sometimes. he’d even started pressing kisses into the top of your head as he moved along the ship, much like the gentle ones he presses to denki’s lips. he’s not scared by it, per say, but he is a little surprised; he’d always been a little closed off, reserved. you had snuck up on him swiftly, without him even realizing. he finds he rather likes it.

the few days of travel before you reach the driard system are calm, simple evenings of dinner & talking together as you all soak up the simplicity of space. somehow, it’s comforting. you’re a twinkling, bright little star amidst their solar system, & hitoshi likes that. a shining sun, its orbiting planet, & the brightest little star.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

everything goes to shit once they step foot on Ovalia 7.

the leisure planet is tucked at the edge of the star system, a quiet haven for those always on the move. it’s denki’s favorite place to go after a successful deal, & they serve the best dajang this side of the galaxy. hitoshi likes that no one ever speaks to them there, everyone wrapped up in their own little vacations.

denki books them a room at their usual spot, ignoring the innkeepers curious glance at the request - one big bed, a nice tub, window view, & hitoshi’s certain he thinks you’re all a couple. the thought doesn’t bother him, & he realizes with a jolt that they act like one, all three of them. they cuddle & hug & kiss, & hitoshi sits on that a moment before shrugging it away. if denki didn’t mind it, neither did he, & he focuses once more on relaxing.

they’ve just settled into a local restaurant, plates full of dajang & ocuro & everything else that tickle their fancy when hitoshi hears it. heavy steps, familiar ones, although he can’t quite place it in the haze of relaxation. he ignores it in favor of feeding you some of his mulrag, the spiced meat a clear favorite with your tessian palate & he can’t help his grin. he lets denki feed him a warm bite of dajang, rolling his eyes at the andorian’s little smile & affectionate pinch of hitoshi’s cheek. everything is nice, sweet & lazy in the warm air.

and then all hell breaks loose.

eight of the biggest fucking grogorians hitoshi’s ever seen in his life burst through the door, weapons armed & faces set in such hostile expressions that everyone is scattering. denki hauls you up & to his side, dragging hitoshi by the collar until you’re all crouched behind the bar, hidden from view. “i should’ve known they’d track us,” he all but whines, peeking over the wooden edge of the bar. a photon shot quickly makes him duck down again, cursing lightly. “plan?” he asks behind clenched teeth, tugging you closer.

hitoshi pauses, weighs his options.

“the two of you book it to the ship. i’m going to distract them,” he says quickly, thinking back to the conversations he’d been eavesdropping on earlier - thieves never took a real vacation, always on the lookout for something new to snatch.

two very drunk, loud Avarians had been seated just behind them, rambling on about the very expensive, very valuable statue hidden deep in the recesses of the abandoned temple just off the main road. many had tried to steal it, but had always gotten stuck deep in the underground channels trying to escape. the elders guarding it weren’t exactly friendly either.

a plan starts to form in his head, one that would both enrich them & save their asses from this absolute mess. he’s quite proud of himself, if he’s honest.

then a bottle explodes just above his head, & he jolts into action.

he fires a few warning shots at the wall behind the grogorians, turning & racing out the door in a clear attempt to lead them out. the grogorians take the bait easily, & he races down the road towards the temple as you and denki sneak out the back of the restaurant.

the temple is huge, dusty & a little worn around the edges. the priests guarding the door take one look at hitoshi shinsou, panting & shooting over his shoulder at several grogorians & lose it, screeching & running for cover just as he’d expected. he pushes through the open door with the hostile aliens right at his footsteps, racing through the dark corridors deeper & deeper into the bowels of the temple. halfway down denki clicks onto the comm, hastily spitting directions & instructions as the grogorians start shooting again. “this is all your fucking fault! i told you stealing from them was an awful idea!” hitoshi shrieks as a laser just misses his shoulder, ducking as he runs.

“oh sure, blame me for making sure we stay employed!” denki shrieks right back, your chirping frantically frantically filling the background.

hitoshi feels the heat of another photon bullet just barely graze against his ass as he books it down the narrow hallway, cursing every single god & denki kaminari for the absolute mess he’s been roped into. over the comm link he can hear the andorian yelling muted commands as he leads hitoshi through the vast hallways, the relic just within arms reach.

“i’ll phase you out once you have it!” denki starts, before hitoshi starts shouting again.

“i’m not gonna PHASE through solid rock, denki! just hold off, i’m coming!” he yells through the comm, feet skidding across the rough terrain as he snatches the little gold statue right off the podium. concerned little chirps & squeaks flood the comm, & hitoshi halts all his movements to swear loudly.

“[y/n l/n], you keep your adorable little ass on the ship, you hear me? don't even THINK about it-“ the ground shakes with another blast, the heavy yelling creeping from the farthest corridor.

hitoshi curses every single god & denki kaminari twice. and then he runs.

the maze of corridors gets more & more confusing as he bolts through them, solely relying on denki’s guidance in his ear & the gunfire right on his heels. finally, finally he can see sunlight again, pushing through the open door & stumbling into the street again - right into the waiting trap of about ten grogorian soldiers.

great.

they’d cornered him on both ends, trapping him in their space. denki’s shouting frantically, something about shield interference & blocking & hitoshi’s stomach sinks; they’ve got him.

“go to warp drive.” his voice is so sharp it shocks denki right out of his panicked rambling, the comm quiet.

then a furious “what the fuck did you just say hitoshi shinsou? we’re not leaving you-“

“take [y/n], & go to warp, denki! go, i can hold them off for a little while! the verlo sector, it’s rural enough that they can’t track you!” he bites out, eternally grateful that the grogorians don’t have ULC’s. he eyes them for a moment, takes a breath.

“i love you, denki kaminari, you crazy motherfucker. i love you. i love you too, [y/n]. take care of him for me,” he says softly, lets himself choke up a little, grants himself that one weakness. then he clicks his comm off, draws both his guns, & snarls. “let’s go, assholes! i don’t have damn day!” he shouts, keeps his voice level & confident.

and then he starts firing.

left, right, over his shoulder, he’s never shot so many times in his life, & its still not enough. there’s grogorians on every side, dodging every blast & hitoshi’s resigned himself to dying on this shithole lesiure planet, never seeing denki’s stupid bright smile again, or hearing your laugh.

and then he hears it, loud & wild & it makes both his heart soar & stomach sink.

“STOP SHOOTING MY BOYFRIEND YOU FUCKING JACKASSES!”

there stands denki kaminari in all his andorian glory, six foot six of anger & pent up chaotic energy standing just off the side of the gunfire. he gives hitoshi one big, blinding smile before he’s shooting right alongside him, the pair of them back to back as they fire.

“where’s [y/n]?” hitoshi calls over the sounds of the blasters, too emotional & charged up to address the fact that denki came to save him, denki who always, always stayed on the ship.

“i told them to monitor us from up there! once we take out these shields i can phase us up, i brought the control sleeve!” denki yells back, twisting & ducking as the grogorians rain fire on them.

the pair of them are deadly, lethal even, taking down one hostile alien after another until their guns run out. hitoshi curses at the dead weapon, tossing it to the side as he prepares to fight the remaining six grogorians hand to hand. beside him, denki gets into a similar stance, eyes narrowed sharply in defense.

“enough!” a voice bellows, harsh & loud, ringing out across the entirety of the street. hitoshi pauses, dread building up in the pit of his stomach. the grogorians part, & he hears denki gasp beside him.

the grogorian leader steps out slowly, every step sending a thundering rumble across the land. “you steal from us, fight us at every turn. your intolerance is shameful,” the alien snarls, fury written all over his face. hitoshi doesn’t point out that the grogorians stole that particular relic from the Astonians, & the fact that they’d been chased, not chasing. he has a feeling the man wouldn’t appreciate his sentiments.

“i will kill you myself ! your arrogance knows no bounds!” the alien thunders, hands reaching for the sword tucked into his belt. its easily the size of hitoshi’s entire body, & his blood runs cold.

“since we’re about to die, it’s time i fess up. i’m the one who broke your music box,” denki whispers behind him, hands clinging tight to the back of hitoshi’s shirt.

“oh for god's sake you idiot, we’re about to die & that’s what you tell me?”

“i’ve always loved your ass in these pants. skinny or not, they give you shape,” denki says tearily, & hitoshi nearly screams.

“denki shut up, for the love of space - stop fondling my ass, we’re about to die-“

a set of angry, loud chirps interrupt them all, the grogorian leader turning & snarling. hitoshi stops breathing.

there, in all your tiny tessian glory, stands you, [y/n l/n], clad in hitoshi’s favorite leather pants & denki’s too big sweater. your eyes are narrowed, an expression of pure fury on your face that hitoshi’s never seen before.

it’s a little hot. denki seems to agree, if the gasp he lets out is any indication.

the alien laughs, staring down at you almost in amusement. “come to watch them die, little one? i could probably get a hefty price for you, couldnt i? maybe pleasure slave, the markets always up for those.” you chirp angrily. hitoshi sees red.

“don’t you fucking touch them-“ he snarls, all traces of fear gone as he shoves the grogorian back, fists clenched. behind him, denki spits, eyes lit up with that special kind of rage hitoshi only sees when he's really caught up, the anger boiling in his blood. the grogorian shoves the pair of them back so hard they go sprawling in the dirt, his voice a growl as he steps towards them. “you dare touch me?” he bellows.

behind him, you let out a sound somewhere between a screech & a growl. and then you start shifting.

hitoshi knows that you can shift into any number of things, he’s not stupid. but they’d all been limited to small, cute things, adorable & easy to hold.

the form you take on is neither adorable or small.

a sixteen foot, scaly dragon stands before them, with the face & claws of a lion & the fiery rage of a bat out of hell.

hitoshi screams. denki nearly pisses himself.

the grogorians scatter, shouting & running & you pick them off easily, picking one up between your claws & tearing him clean in half. the rest die in a similar fashion, tossed against buildings & burned alive when they get too close to your flaming breath. the leader dies last, your sharp fangs tearing him limb from limb until he’s a tattered pile of mush at their feet. its singlehandedly the most horrifying, yet gratifying thing hitoshi’s seen in his life.

you shift back to your original form easily, small hands & cheeks covered in blood. there’s a bit of grogorian in your hair. you smile up at them like nothing happened, let out little chirps & squeaks & hitoshi is stunned, really.

denki pulls the bit of grogorian away from your fluffy ears, before wiping the blood off your cheeks & tugging you into a kiss. it’d be cute, if there wasn’t so much carnage around them. you smile up at hitoshi, chirps out something about love and tribe and home.

hitoshi pulls you into a hug, kisses the faintly bloody fluffy hair, & laughs.

“let’s go home,” he agrees easily, takes denki’s hand & thinks, for a moment, that he’s complete.

denki smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame, & you giggle into his chest, cheery as a star.

all the bits align just right, he thinks, & leads his little solar system home.

[theangrycomet]

D-Crew AU Tangled Timeline: Eugene and Lance were almost adopted by Quirin and Ulla when they were around 14-15. 

Details below Cut

Ulla (picture above) found them hiding out in one of the barn when getting Admiral (their trail horse). Eugene and Lance were on the run from a successful mark when Lance ran over an old, rusted out trap. 

This may or may not have been where Varian got his hemophobia, because when Eugene finally managed to get that thing off there was blood EVERY where. 

The Ritter’s got Lance to the hospital, but between the mangled state of his leg and how long he’d had the thing stuck around it, he had to get it removed. 

Between Quirin, Eugene, and Ulla’s magic touch he healed pretty quickly. 

Ulla was surprisingly knowledgeable on the innerworkings of prosthetics and nerve ports, but Quirin simply raised a brow and let her do her thing.

After a couple of months, Ulla suggests an idea to her husband when their making dinner. Since it seems Varian has already gotten attatched to the boys and that they’ve been doing so great with Quirin, that maybe it’d be a good idea to start looking at some adoption papers. 

Quirin, knowing what it’s like to be on the streets at 15, and was trying to firgure out a way to broach this to his wife, agrees, much to Varian’s delight (and the eaves dropping teens) delight. 

Ulla goes missing three days later. 

Corona police are convinced Quirin had something to do with it, despite every person in Old Corona vouching that he didn’t. Because of this, the adoption is denied despite Quirin’s efforts (as that’s what Ulla would’ve wanted). 

At some point the Corona police connect the Thefts from a few months ago to the teens staying at the Ritter’s Farm, and Eugene and Lance flee the scene. 

Eugene and Lance are welcomed at the Ritter’s place any time; it serves as a kind of safe haven. They never stay for more than a few weeks at a time, but it’s the closest thing the two have to a definition of Home. 

Varian always gets excited at their visits, wanting to hear their stories or show off his latest inventions. They teach him theiving tips and trick (borrowing phones, running along fence railings, going around unseen) Occasionally Varian can be seen making adjustments to Lance’s leg, though with how Ulla built it, it seems to be growing with him. (He and Eugene realized pretty quickly that this thing is well beyond the current technology, Varian confirming)

Quirin does what he can for the two, having no idea that Eugene’s his old boss’s son. 

Varian and Quirin are the only ones allowed to call Flynn and Lance Eugene and Arnwaldo, but they tend to respect that they what they want to be called.

Part of why Eugene stole the Crown was to help pay for Varian’s SFIT Tuition, because a) there was no way in heck he wasn’t going to make it in and b) SFIT’s expensive with out a bunch of scholarships. 

So IMAGINE with me, Eugene’s flat out offense that CASSANDRA was the one to introduce Varian to Rapunzel, as some sort of evil mad scientist. 

(The people of Old Corona seems to see him more as an oddity than a menace, so I believe it’s just New Corona that has a problem with Varian even before the whole rock thing)

[willowstream-hp]

hehe I did another one

I DID ANOTHER ONE I AM ON FIRE WOW. 

This time, however, no weapons. Well, I guess weapons against dust and rust and damages done to the ship? These are Cleo’s SpiderBots! I read of the concepts in one of @martuzzio​ ‘s asks and I just. It was mine. I wanted to design it.

Now, as always, these designs are for the Space Outlaws AU by Marzo. So idk, you can use it for stuff and headcanons if you like, but please do tag and credit me!

Now let’s get on with it ;3

SpiderBot Functionality

These bots were designed by Cleo herself to help out around the ship with repairs, cleaning and who knows, they could probably help Beef in the kitchen. They are designed to be able to get around basically anywhere and in any conditions. For this reason they are occasionally used as scouter bots, though those types are usually smaller than the main ones. There are sensors on the bot’s “head” that pick up signals sent from the control device (more on the Crown later) and then these send the signal to the main body of the spider where it is quickly processed and sent to the corresponding limbs, similar to how the brain works. The bots get their power from high-tech energy capsules (referred to as batteries in the diagram), and the bulk of the processing technology for commands is underneath the battery capsule in the abdomen and inside the main body. There is also a small coil of wire that functions as a safety rope for spiderbots to drop from the ceiling, and also to latch onto metal surfaces using a magnet, and other surfaces with the suction cup on top of the magnet. More specific info on how grappling hooks work can be found in the shock collar grappling hook gun (wow a mouthful) that I designed for Ren The Control Crown

This crown is VERY high technology here. It reads and processes brainwaves, encoding clear commands and broadcasting the signal in a special code only the spiderbots can unscramble and act upon. These brainwave encoding devices are VERY sensitive to variations in the command, and so one must think the command as hard as they possibly can. The Crown is engineered to only pick up loud thoughts, so if Cleo was in danger and her brain sent out a distress call, the spiderbots would automatically come to her aid. This also sets the problem that the command has to be clear and purposeful. However, it was the best course of action in order to avoid every thought being processed by the bots, which would be a catastrophe. When the crown is not attached to the forehead, then the bots default to their basic code, which is to patrol the ship and search for irregularities and damages done to the ship. They can withstand all conditions, and some can even be found crawling along the outside of the ship in search for damages to the hull.

Extra Notes:

- The bots DO have their own will of sorts. Their default code is still what they will follow because it is their purpose, but they do have the ability to help one another and can occasionally be seen just hanging around when they don’t have anything to do. Essentially, they do what they were made to do, but they do infact have the ability to ignore this code for something more important, say one of their fellows is injured, or one of the Hermits seems to be in trouble. They are, however, perfectly happy to be the cleaning and maintenance crew, and the Hermits like to give them a helpful hand in reaching tight spaces or tricky ledges.

- To be clear, they do not have concrete emotions. They can recognize emotions, but they themselves aren't, how do I put it. They aren’t exactly alive. They have a sense of care for the Hermits, and as the Hermits help them do their job, they help the Hermits with their “job”. So yes they can respond to a panicked call for help or if one if their fellows gets in a sticky situation.

- Jevin cannot, in fact, digest them if he absorbs them. The metal they are made of is highly durable and around the same quality of that which contains the end crystal engines, so it can resist extreme temperatures, energy waves, plasma and, well, digestive slime. So they do occasionally hitch a ride. Jevin claims it tickles, as the spiderbots like to try and swim around in his body by flailing their little legs.

- They come in two different sizes, the maintenance and the scout bots. There are more maintenance bots (around 10-15 no one is really sure other than Cleo herself), while there are only around 3-5 of the scout bots. Their original purpose was not for scouting, but Cleo made some extra small ones as an experiment and realized they would make great little spies or scouts.

thank you for being a great person and sticking to the end. That was long. And boring. I know. I cant really make descriptions interesting I appologize. Now THIS ONE was definitely a very long one, as the technology in moving and active and technically thinking metal spider like creatures is very different from load pull trigger pew pew but kinda cool guns. It’s very different and this was QUITE a bit harder to figure out as well.

AHHHH EDIT EDIT EDIT: I FORGOT TO MENTION SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT OOPSIES. The scout bots are hooked up to cameras inside Cleo’s visor so she can see where they go. They do not talk. As always: Questions about this design, my other designs, or even advice/requests for weapons, tech, and more sci-fi related designs are MORE THAN WELCOME in my ask blog. Do not be shy I’d love to help someone out with a design. That’s how I got into doing this, after all.

HOPE YOU LIKE IT MARZO. This one was w H A C K 🕷 🕷 🤖 🤖 

[fvaleraye]

Echoes

Well well well, would you look at that, we got another chapter :> This one is the long awaited return to the gals- Leona, Velda, and Artemis This one is definitely longer than my other chapters, coming to around five pages worth of words. But I’m very happy with how it turned out... and I hope y’all like reading it ;w;

The hour was early, the sun was peeking shyly over the horizon. Pale orange and yellow hues bathed the earth, the colors highlighting the light brown paths among greenery of the wide open plains. It was all very vibrant, like something out of a painting. Beautiful. Not very many people were up early enough to see it, of course, but travelers got to see it all quite often. Though, the sight usually lost its luster after the first few dozen times. Especially when many of said travelers would prefer to not be awake- let alone travelling- at such an early hour. But such were the sacrifices of those who wanted to explore the expansive lands of Magna Terra.

The trip to Crystalbarrow was much the same as the one to Springford. Leona riding on the back of Artemis- not just because there were very few carriage drivers willing to transport a greatwolf from Springford- but because they were all taken. The carriages were all so busy, as they usually are during spring, and they were just too anxious to get going to wait any longer. So, the old fashioned way it was. Just a roadtrip with a girl and her giant wolf. The one difference from the last trip was the extra passenger. While Leona was- quite begrudgingly- awake, Velda was sound asleep behind her, resting her head on her back, arms around her waist. Her presence definitely made the long trip much more bearable than the last. Artemis was beginning to get a bit tired- a rare sight- but she pressed on, because she knew as well as her charges that Crystalbarrow was not far. Not too close, but certainly not far. She had been trotting along for ages… she could manage a bit further. It was just on the edge of the Outlands, bordering the sea.

Just a bit further.

After about an hour or so more of walking, the sleepy archer managed to rouse herself from her slumber, making her consciousness known with a big yawn, startling the tired warrior. She glanced at her from over her shoulder, and the two quietly exchanged a look. A moment later, she was back to resting her head, arms around her a little more tightly now.

“I’m shocked you’re so comfortable resting your head on my metal armor.” Leona mumbled tiredly, idly glancing at the road ahead.

“I’m never not comfortable around you…” Velda replied, her voice just dripping with lovey-dovey tones.

If it was a mystery whether or not a wolf could roll their eyes, Artemis would have solved it just then.

Eventually, as swaying grass and fertile land turned to grey, still earth, the sounds of waves started to echo out from the horizon. The coast was nearing. Their destination was nearing. Finally. The two had started to sit a bit straighter, look a bit more presentable. They weren’t trying to impress anyone, but Leona was going to visit a family friend. She needed to wake up a bit. Hopefully he still lives here...

The town climbed into view soon after, a fair portion the old wooden buildings nestled snugly in a sizable crater in the ground, the rest extending into the horizon. The ocean was in full view, a small dock off in the distance, sails being raised and lowered as sailors were either bringing in hauls or setting out for more. The town was a rather simple one, but not a small one. Still, its humble appearances hid its less humble origins.

After all, the town got its name from producing loads and loads of gems and crystals, whether found in the bountiful sea or mined from its expansive crystalline cave networks. It was the single largest producer of gemstones across the entire continent. But you wouldn’t tell just by looking at it. Well, unless you caught a glimpse of people pushing around wheelbarrows full of the stuff, of which there were a few right now. Just loading them onto carriages or into buildings. For now, though, the only thing on the girls minds was getting to the local inn- The Diamond in the Rough. A rather… on the nose name, but it fit, what with the town itself being in the middle of one of the more hostile environments on Magna Terra. 

Not the most hostile, but still. 

As usual, Artemis sat down outside while Leona went in to talk with the innkeeper for a room. Though this time she had the company of her lovely girlfriend Velda, who, unlike her, had actually got a decent amount of sleep the prior night. The two stepped up to the counter, and the kindly old lady there gave them a warm smile.

“Hello there.” She said, sounding a bit tired, but still welcoming. “Welcome to the Diamond in the Rough. Would you like a room?” The practiced ease in her voice was pretty comforting, especially compared to the last inn.

Leona just nodded, pulling up a barstool for a second. “Yeah, we’d like a room…” She replied, rooting around in her pockets for her money. “Us two, and a greatwolf, Artemis, if that’s okay.”

The woman leaned to her side to peek past her guest and out the window. Sure enough, there was a greatwolf out there. Big. But not the biggest she had ever seen. She let out a tired sigh. “Can you wait another half hour or so before letting your pooch in?” She asked, fidgeting a bit. “We’re sort of at capacity for the big fellas at the moment, but a few are about to leave…”

“Oh-! Of course!” After a moment, she produced a small pouch of silver and gold coins from her pocket. “How much? For the room, I mean.”

“Thirty-five silver a night.”

She breathed a sigh of relief at the quite frankly reasonable price. She was expecting to have to pick up odd jobs to make ends meet at this point. But no… her current savings should be just fine for now, thank the gods. She set a handful of silver coins onto the counter, and very quickly stepped back outside.

“Hey Arte…” She mumbled, giving the wolf a few pats on the head. “You’re gonna have to chill out here for an hour or so, but you can come right in afterwards, okay?” The wolf gave a tired little nod, clearly just thankful she’s getting any rest at all. “Okay, good… love ya, big gal. I’ll tell Velda to grab you when you can come in, I just… need a bed…”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t long before Artemis could come into the building, and it wasn’t much longer after that before the duo fell soundly asleep, leaving Velda to her own devices. As much as she wanted to stay in the room and go to bed with her lovely girlfriend, she just… wasn’t tired. Not that that usually stopped her, but… she had a few things she wanted to do. Look around, mostly. This wasn’t a small town. While it wasn’t near the size of the cities, it was still one of the biggest towns she’d ever been in. There was a fair amount of ground to cover. And a lot of people to talk to. She had to start sometime, and there was no time like the present. Carefully tip-toeing out of the room, she stepped into the inn’s lobby. It was a bit empty, which was fair. It was still early. Most sane people were asleep. She gave the little old lady at the counter a wave as she wandered out into the streets of the Crystalbarrow.

It was a nice enough town, it generally had that rough, stocky look that most coastal towns had. All the buildings were of wooden make, with stone foundations lifting them a good seven or so feet off the ground for when the tides came in. A few of the older buildings here and there had barnacles growing from the sides, while others had plenty of scrape marks on the wood from barnacle removal. Everything had a vibe to it that could only be described as vaguely damp, salted, and well-worn, but still lovingly upkept; like a ship that had seen its fair share of the tides- and had its fair share of repairs as a result. It was surprisingly homey, even among the dreary and slightly depressing gray earth of the Outlands. Velda took a breath, the salty sea air making her pull a face, and started to wander the streets.

Most of the people out at this hour were workers. The workers in question were miners about to go to the mines, though there were a few idle early birds on the streets as well. Everyone was dressed in what you would expect, cotton shirts, pants, knee-high mud-covered boots… nothing really out of the ordinary.

At least, until a… figure, approached her.

They stepped up to her from the side, just barely catching a glimpse of them from her peripheral vision before turning to face them. They were tall, just under seven feet. An old, slightly rusted iron breastplate covered their chest, brown robes flowing from underneath it. It parted in the middle, showing the leather armor that covered their lower half. Their face was concealed beneath a hood, the top of which held a strange crown, and an ornate, but featureless, gold encrusted mask. Gaunt hands, covered in bronze gauntlets ending in sharpened claws, emerged from long brown sleeves, and in them a simple plate, which they held out to the woman.

After the shock of their appearance abated, she let out a sigh. They were a church missionary, and they were asking for a tithe. Of course. She shoved a hand into a pocket, and dropped a few pieces of silver into the plate. The missionary gave a slight bow, and left wordlessly. Her gaze followed them for a time, and she shivered. Gods damned were some of the people the church employed unnerving sometimes. There were always at least a few of the silent missionaries in towns this far out, to help keep the townspeople on the “right path” and away from religions that the church would consider unsavory. Which was most any religion that wasn’t theirs.

Kind of dick-ish, when you thought about it, but considering that most other religions nowadays were apocalypse cults, it was hard to blame them. Hard. Not impossible. They do overstep their bounds occasionally.

She continued to wander for a bit, looking for someone who wasn’t busy or currently under an oath of silence. Her search eventually led her to the docks. Of course the docks were busy, but there were a few workers who were just resting, evidently not having much to do. She nervously stepped up to the least intimidating one, a tired looking young man, probably barely over eighteen. His face seemed to lighten up at her approach, and he started standing a bit straighter. He gave a grin, showing off a few missing teeth.

“H-hello there.” She greeted, fidgeting with her stowed bow.

“Hey there, ma’am!” He greeted right back, running a calloused hand through his messy, damp hair. “What can ah do for ya?”

She was a bit caught off guard by the youth’s enthusiasm, but it wasn’t unwelcome. “Uh… d-do you know anything about the- uh- caves. A-around here?”

His smile dropped for a second, his expression shifting to a more confused one. “Uh… well, ah mean, ah got an idea…” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Unc’s a miner, so’re my cousins. Ah know the names at least, if tha’s helpful.”

She gave a small sigh. Okay, that’s better than nothing. “Do you know where a cave called… uh, called Echo Cavern is?”

He flinched a bit at the name. “E-Echo Cavern, ma’am?” He parroted, tilting his head. “Y-yer probably not from around here, otherwise ya’d know that nobody- ain’t nobody- allowed in there.”

“Please. I really need to find it. It’s the whole reason I c-came out here.”

The boy cringed, and took a sharp inhale, glancing around at the other workers. He grimaced as he turned back to her, eyes still darting around. “Ya sure ‘bout this…?” He asked, his tone making it empathetically clear that he was already sure he was going to regret this.

“... y-yes.”

“Ya don’t sound very sure, ma’am.”

“Th-that’s just how I sound.”

“... I’ll take yer word for it.” He leaned a bit closer. “It’s on the north-east side, further inland. You’ll know it when ya see it, ‘s got lotsa crystals around it. And bugs.”

She blinked at the last bit. “B-bugs?”

“Ye, bugs. Bigguns, too.”

“Well… th-thanks.”

She stepped away from the dock, not wanting to sour the poor lads mood any more than she already had. Hopefully he wouldn’t get in any trouble. He seemed like a nice kid. From there, she just idly paced through the town for a bit. She should probably wait for Leona and Artemis to wake up, so they can all go together.

… but also, she really wanted to get to the cave. She really, really wanted to get to the cave. It was the only lead she had right now. And she really wanted to follow it. But it was probably dangerous- what wasn’t nowadays- and a bow wasn’t exactly the go-to weapon for spelunking in… bug-caves. Eugh. The thought of it made her skin crawl. She really didn’t like bugs. Bugs just made her… viscerally uncomfortable. Especially big ones. But she’s faced scarier… probably…

… I’ll just take a peek, and then go back and wait for Leona and Arte.

The Outlands were dreadfully oppressing, especially when walking on foot. She didn’t quite imagine the cave being this far out from the kid’s description. But who knows, maybe she had already passed it. The town was already getting kind of far away… and she really didn’t want to lose where it was. The Outlands were very same-y- gray rock and dirt as far as the eye can see. At least Crystalbarrow was a coast town, so she can just follow the coast and get there eventually. That is, if she hadn’t lost where the coast was already. Her sense of direction definitely could have been better... but it also could have been worse. She could figure out a way back, she could… she just had to push the anxiety down for the time being. If she didn’t find the cave within the next ten or so minutes, she was heading back.

Of course, it only took about two more minutes of looking to find it.

When the lad said that she would know it when she saw it, he wasn’t joking. It was… a big cave. Even from a distance, it was intimidating. An enormous, yawning maw of an opening, lined with crystals, giving the impression of the giant, toothy mouth of a hungry monster. It wasn’t exactly welcoming. But there were no bugs… at least, not visible ones. Not yet. Slowly, carefully, she stepped closer. The closer she stepped… the louder… something became. It wasn’t clear what it was. It was… deep. Bassy. Cacophonous. Like a choir of some sort. But it definitely wasn’t a choir. Not out here. That became more obvious the closer she came.

She peeked into the vast opening, the glittering crystals providing light a far distance down… but that just made it even more obvious how it just kept going. There was no end in sight to the tunnel, and she could swear it branched off at several points. The sight made her stomach drop. No. No way, no way was she going in there without Leona and Artemis. The noise was near unbearable this close… and it still wasn’t any more distinct. Just. Gibbering and jabbering, echoing out of the cave. She decided now was probably a good time to just turn around and head back. No way. Nuh-uh. She could not get back to town fast enough.

In fact, Velda was in such a hurry, she tripped right over something and fell flat on her face, a cry and ‘oof’ pushed from her.

She picked herself up off the ground, a hand reaching up to her eye. Yeah, that was definitely going to be a black eye for her troubles. And her arrows spilled all over the ground. Fuck off. She brushed the dirt and dust off her clothes, and started to pick up the arrows. At least she didn’t accidentally stab herself on any of them. That was nice.

The only thing that broke her bit of misery was the little chirping noise she heard behind her.

It was a little hard to hear over the cave, but it was… different. Enough to notice. She turned around, arrows clutched in shaky hands, and didn’t see anything at first… left, right… nothing. Then she turned down, and she saw it.

It was a bug. A big one, about the size of a small dog. But it was… different. She jumped back at first glance, but as she looked closer, she was almost immediately disarmed. It was… very round. Almost spherical. Its back was covered in a shining, sparkling, deep purple carapace. A small horn protruded from its forehead, sharp, but short. It had rounded legs, and what seemed to be a pair of small arms, ending in three little fingers. Its stomach, strangely, was not covered in a similar carapace, rather it was a bright, near-pristine white coat of fur, coating its belly, neck, and the lower half of its face. It was knocked on its back, chirping and squealing, struggling to right itself. The sight was a little sad. Her heart getting the better of her, she inched closer to the little creature, and gingerly picked it up. It seemed to panic very briefly, but seemed to take to it after a moment. She set it back down on its legs, and it looked up to her, making a little chirping sound.

“Uh… y-you’re welcome…?” She said, hesitantly giving it a little pat on the head. It trilled in response. “... you uh. Y-you have a good day, I guess.” She added, before turning on her heels and hoofing it back to town.

While she didn’t notice it immediately, the little creature started to follow her after a moment. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was attachment. Gratefulness. Who knew. But she had a little tagalong, whether she knew it or not.

[paperanddice]

Tears of the Crocodile God Part 11

Now we get to the brass tacks of the adventure conversion: building the encounters. This will be split into two parts, covering the encounters in 5e and 13th Age in different posts.

For this part, I’ll go through and provide my version of each encounter using 5e rules and stats, with some notes on each encounter once it’s been fully put together if necessary. After a lot of playing around with the math of encounter building and similar setups, I remembered how much I don’t like 5e’s encounter builder math and went back to doing things more by feel. Some encounters will be given one version to run with, while others will have a few variations provided depending on party size. In general larger parties will probably have a bit of an easier time than smaller ones, but the trade off there is the use of the crocodile fonts. Five charges per font goes farther with a smaller group. For smaller groups it would definitely be beneficial to grant the additional benefits from the fonts, letting their more limited resources stretch further. There’s also the factor of the sacrifices, who can participate and add extra damage to the enemies, helping battles go a bit more easily.

Drowning Vaults (Monsters, Hazard)

One manticore per party member creates a reasonable threat. This is one of the most straightforward conversions, there’s nothing more to discuss on this encounter once you combine the trap and monsters.

Howling Hunt (Monsters, Hazard)

If you’re going to convert this right as written in the adventure, a reasonable setup is two tanarukk riding howler dread mounts, and 4 howlers. For larger or particularly well optimized parties consider adding another 2-4 howlers to add to the chaos and pin down vulnerable characters. Keep the shatterspell shields arranged just like they are in the original adventure, with the same number of each type. The encounter does require entirely changing the established shield equipping rules to allow a character to remove their old shield and equip the new one as a single bonus action, because without that you’ll never get anyone making use of them.

If you’d prefer to use my alternate version of this room’s encounter, listed below as Statues in Stasis, the Howling Hunt can still be used as a different kind of encounter. If the characters take too long in the Labyrinth, such as attempting to bunker down and take a long rest, have the howling hunt released into the halls and they track the party down to attack them wherever they stop to rest. Have the tanarukk come in from different directions if possible, they’ll know where the party are if they have any sacrifices with them and can easily plan their path to corner the group. Split the howlers between the two tanarukk.

Statues in Stasis (Monsters, Hazard)

For this encounter, my method was to equip the constructs with some of the more deadly shields to them, and then have the additional shields remain and let the constructs equip them if they get a moment of freedom after the first one activates. My combined setup is 2 helmed horrors and 8 animated armors, each equipped with a spellshatter shield. Equip the helmed horrors with the Fool shield and one of the Dungeon Doors, while the animated armors have two each of the Black Dragon, Carrion Crawler, and Rust Monster shields, and one each of the Mind Flayer and Umber Hulk. For larger groups you can add 2-4 more animated armors, putting them in with some of the other shields scattered around the room. A construct that has its shield activated will attempt to claim another if it can do so without provoking opportunity attacks.

Hag’s Lair (Monsters, Hazard)

Old Beshebra herself attacks alongside her filth hag son. For groups of 6+ players, add another son in. Make sure the hag waits to act when the characters have gotten into the room and try to lure them into moving so that someone has a higher chance of falling into the mud pits.

Mold King’s Crown (Monsters, Hazards)

This encounter is one of the most difficult to frame up. With the constant addition of river crocodiles, the conversion of them to death mold crocodiles, the death mold clumps, it all adds up to a quite complex battle encounter. Parties that take advantage of the death mold zombies’ weaknesses can clear them out incredibly fast, clever tactics and movement can get them in and out much quicker, good use of spells can trivialize parts of the fight, or they could get bogged down in crocodile zombies and dragged to their deaths. The setup I used for it is apparently an exceptionally deadly encounter, but both groups that went through it for me won with only moderate damage, so it’s hard to say. If you want to be on the safer side, use 2 death mold zombies, if you think your players can handle quite the challenge go with 4. No matter how many players, keep the pattern of 4 river crocodiles per round, and any that die while poisoned by the death mold become death mold crocodiles. Just make sure that the living crocodiles throw themselves into the nearest creature, attacking the zombies often and getting caught in bursts of death mold spores.

Chained Hydra (Monster)

Simply use the modified hydra for this. No matter how many players there are, the bars, the more limited space, and the hydra’s ability to duck under water and give itself loads of cover will let the combat play out fine.

Mimic’s Parlor (Monster, the brand)

Another one with high variation. I used the impersonator mimic and 8 regular mimics against 4 characters, which is another very deadly encounter, but the lower level mimics break that expected math by a little bit. For a party of 6 or more, drop at least half of regular mimics a bit and put in a cloaker instead.

I do have another note for this encounter though. It provides a very useful item for the sacrifices to get their hands on, but as written it doesn’t have a way for them to actually get their hands on it. While a few of the encounters don’t have an easy way out (Old Beshebra really hits on that), this one doesn’t have any workaround options when it feels like it should. So for my own amusement, I put together an idea for this room’s purpose in the challenges. When someone enters, the mimic is more than happy to invite them to sit down to a game. The mimic will roll a 6 sided die and add the number of garlands that the sacrifice has on them. If the total of the roll is 7 or higher, the sacrifice gets the brand and can leave. Otherwise their life is forfeit. Of course, the chairs around the table are mimics, meaning that whoever sits down gets stuck and will be devoured the moment the dice don’t give the number they want. Each person plays the game independently, so if all four sacrifices go in its 4 different 1/6 chances, encouraging them to take the garlands from each other and give the remaining member the best odds possible. And of course, anyone who enters without a garland isn’t supposed to be allowed to leave, though the impersonator will absolutely do its best to lure the intruder into sitting down and talking before killing them.

Guardian’s Run (Monster)

Another simple encounter. No matter how many party members there are, there’s only one mummified cyclops running around.

Crocodile Tears (Monsters, Hazard)

If the players set off the trap, two mummified crocodiles crawl out to confront them. There’s an interesting idea for what to do if the players successfully solve the trap though. Theoretically the mummies are still present in the passage way once it opens up normally, which could be a really intimidating sight if nothing else. This leaves you a choice; for a group that’s doing incredibly well and has plenty of resources left, you could have the mummies attack any creature that lacks a garland of lotus flowers, while a group that’s struggling a bit may just get a scare before the mummified crocodiles take up a sort of honor guard position and just sit there.

Crocodile God’s Lair (Monster, Hazards)

As with a few other locations, this encounter is the same regardless of anything else. The Crocodile God. For a very small group maybe cut the Crocodile God’s lair actions.

Nephalot’s Quarters (Monster, Hazard)

Nephalot is meant to be a fight that either ends super quickly when the party successfully ambush and wipe out the cult leader, or a deadly, overwhelming fight as unending streams of reinforcements show up. Entering the room finds Nephalot on his own, but he calls for help right away. During the first round, the door bursts open for a crocodile priest and a tanarukk to join in and try to protect him, then every round after that adds four crocodile cult acolytes to swarm the battlefield. For larger groups, if the fight lasts that long bump it to eight acolytes per round, as the goal of the fight is to kill Nephalot and any group that lets themselves get distracted from that needs an alert that this is not a fight they’re here to slog through and defeat everyone. Kill Nephalot and get the hell back out.

And that’s my 5e conversion of Tears of the Crocodile God. This is an outline, so if you want to customize some of the encounters to fit your specific group a little better you definitely should. This setup with mostly these stat blocks functioned perfectly well in both my own runs through the adventure.

[fuckheadwitha]

Listening to Rolling Stone's Top 500 Albums of All Time

Rolling Stone released an updated list of their top 500 albums of all time and being trapped in the purgatory of covid quarantine this seems like the perfect moment to tackle what an almost completely irrelevant former counter-culture institution has to say about music (we can’t actually blame Rolling Stone for this list, a huge number of musicians and critics voted to make it). I am going to listen to every single one of these, all the way through, with a level of attention that's not super intense but I'm definitely not having them on in the background as simple aural wallpaper. Two caveats though: I can make an executive decision to skip any album if I feel the experience is sufficiently miserable, and I'm also going to be skipping the compilation albums that I feel aren't really worth slots (best ofs, etc.). In addition, I will be ordering them as I go, creating a top 500 of the top 500 (it will be less than 500 since we've already established I'm skipping some of these).

Here are 500-490:

#500 Arcade Fire - Funeral

I can already tell I'm going to be at odds with this list if one of the most important albums of my high school years is at the bottom. That being said, I haven't actually given this whole thing a listen since probably the early 2010s, before Arcade Fire fatigue set in and the hipsterati appointed band of a generation just kinda seemed to fade from popular consciousness. I actually dreaded re-experiencing it, since the synthesis of anthemic rock and quirky folk instrumentation which Arcade Fire brought mainstream has now become the common shorthand of insufferable spotify friendly folk pop. Blessedly, the first half of the album easily holds up, largely propelled by dirty fast rhythm guitar, orchestration that's tuneful rather than obnoxious, and lyrics which come off as earnest rather than pretentious. The middle gets a little sappy and “Crown of Love”, a song I definitely used to like, really starts the grate. And then we get to “Wake Up”, whose cultural saturation spawned thousands of dorky indie rock outfits that confused layered strings and horns with power and meaning. This song definitely hasn't survived the film trailers and commercials which it so ubiquitously overlayed, but the line about "a million little gods causing rainstorms, turning every good thing to rust" still attacks the part of my brain capable of sincere emotion. This album is probably going to hold the top spot for a while, because although so many elements of Funeral that made it feel so meaningful, that made it stand out so much in 2004, have been seamlessly assimilated into an intellectually and emotionally bankrupt indie pop industrial complex, the album itself still has a genuine vulnerability and bangers that still manage to rip.

#499

Rufus, Chaka Khan - Ask Rufus

Before she became a name in her own right, Chaka Khan was the voice of the band Rufus, and it’s definitely her voice that shines amongst some spritely vibey funk. That’s not to say that these aren’t some jams on their own. “At Midnight” is a banging opener with a sprint to the finish, and although the explicitly named but kinda boring “Slow Screw Against the Wall” feels weak, this wasn’t really supposed to be an album of barn burners. This was something people put on their vinyl record players while they chilled on vinyl furniture after a night of doing cocaine. “Everlasting Love” is a bop with a bassline like a Sega Genesis game, and the twinkling piano on “Hollywood” adds a playful levity to lyrics that are supposed to be both tackily optimistic about making it big out in LA and subtly realistic about the kind of nightmare world showbiz can be. “Better Days” is another track that manages to be a bittersweet jam with a catchy sour saxophone and playful synths under Chaka Khan’s vamping. This album definitely belongs on a ‘chill funk to study and relax to’ playlist.

#498

Suicide - Suicide

We’ve hit the first album that could be rightly called a progenitor for multiple genres that followed it. Someone could say there’s a self-serving element of this being on a Rolling Stone list (the band was one of the first to adopt the label ‘Punk’ after seeing it in a Lester Bangs article) but the album’s legacy is basically indisputable. EBM, industrial, punk, post-punk, new wave, new whatever all have a genealogy that connects to Suicide, and it’s easy to hear the band in everything that followed. But what the band actually is is two guys, one with an electric organ and one with a spooky voice, doing spooky simple riffs and saying spooky simple things. Simplicity is definitely not a dis here. The opener “Ghost Rider” makes a banger out of four notes and one instrument, and the refrain ‘America America is killing its youth’ is really all the lyrical complexity you need to fucking get it. “Cheree” and “Girl” have almost identical lyrics (‘oh baby’ vs ‘oh girl’) but “Cheree” is more like a fairy tale and “Girl” is more like a sonic handjob. “Frankie Teardrop” has the audacity to tell a ten minute story with its lyrics, but of course there is intermittent, actually way too loud screaming breaking up the narrative of a guy who loses everything then kills his family and himself. The song is basically a novelty, and I think you can probably say the whole album is a novelty between its brevity and character. But for a bite sized snack this album casts a huge shadow.

#497

Various Artists - The Indestructible Beat of Soweto

The fact that this particular compilation always ends up in the canon has a lot to do with the cultural context it existed in, being America’s first encounter with South African contemporary music during the decline of apartheid (it wouldn’t end until a decade later in 1994 with the country’s first multi-racial elections). Music journos often bring up the fact Ladysmith Black Mambazo, the all male choir singing on the album ender “Nansi Imali”, sang on Paul Simon’s Graceland like their virtue is they helped Paul Simon get over his depression and not, like, the actual music. But also like, how is the actual music? Jams. Ubiquitous, hooky guitars propel the songs along with bright choruses over low lead vocals, but I didn’t expect the synthesizer on the bop “Qhude Manikiniki”, nor the discordant hoedown violin on “Sobabamba”. “Holotelani” is a groove to walk into the sunset to.

#496

Shakira - Donde Estan los Ladrones

So this is the first head scratcher on the list. It’s not like it sucks. And I think I prefer this 90s guitar pop driven spanish language Shakira to modern superstar Shakira. But I mean, it’s an album of late nineties latin pop minivan music, with a thick syrupy middle that doesn’t do anything for me. The opener and closer stand out though.  ‘Ciega, Sordomuda’, one of the biggest pop songs of the 90s (it was #1 on the charts of literally every country in Latin America), has a galloping acoustic guitar and horn hits with Shakira’s vocals at their most percussive.

#495

Boyz II Men - II

So, if you were alive in the 90s you know Boyz II Men were fucking huge, and the worst song on the album is the second track “All Around the World”, basically a love song to their own success, and also the women they’ve banged. You can tell it was written specifically so that the crowd could go fucking wild when they heard their state/city/country mentioned in the song, and I’m not gonna double check but I’m sure they hit all fifty states. Once you’re over that hump though you basically have an hour of songs to fuck to. “U Know” keeps it catchy with propulsive midi guitar and synth horns, “Jezzebel” starts with a skit and ends with a richly layered jazz tune about falling in love on a train, and “On Bended Knee” has a Ragnarok Online type beat. Honestly this album can drag, but you’re not supposed to be listening to it alone in a state of analysis, you’re supposed to have it on during a date that’s going really, really well.

#494

The Ronettes - Presenting the Fabulous Ronettes

A singles compilation of the Ronettes, the only ones I immediately recognized were ‘Be My Baby’ and ‘Going to the Chapel of Love’, the latter of which I didn’t know existed since the version of the song I knew was by the Dixie Cups, which was apparently a source of drama since the Ronettes did it first but producer Phil Spector refused to release it. I feel like as a retro trip to sixties girl groups it’s full of enough songs about breaking up (for example “Breaking Up”) getting back together (for example “Breaking Up”) and wanting to get married but you can’t, because you’re a teenager (“So Young”).

#493

Marvin Gaye - Here, My Dear

This album only exists because Marvin was required by his divorce settlement to make it and provide all of the royalties to his ex-wife and motown executive Anna Gordy Gaye. It’s absolutely bizarre, phoned in mid tempo funk whose lyrics range from the passive aggressive (“This is what you wanted right?”) to the petulant (“Why do I have to pay attorney’s fees?”). There is a seething realness here that crosses well past the border of uncomfortable. I don’t think it’s an amazing album to listen to, but it’s an amazing album to exist: Marvin Gaye is legally obligated to throw his own divorce pity party, and everyone's invited.

#492

Bonnie Raitt - Nick of Time

I have never heard of Bonnie Raitt before but apparently this album won several grammys including album of the year in 1989 and sold 5 million copies, which I guess goes to show that no award provides less long term relevance than the grammys. The story around the album is pretty heartwarming, it was her first massive hit after a career of whiffs, and Bonnie Raitt herself is apparently a social activist and neat human being. I say all this because this sort of 80s country blues rock doesn't really connect with me, but the artist obviously deserves more than that. I unequivocally like the title track though, a hand-clap backed winding electric piano groove about literally finding love before your eggs dry up.

#491

Harry Styles - Fine Line

I do not think I have ever heard a one direction song because I am an adult who only listens to public radio. I’m totally open to pop bands or boy bands or boy band refugee solo artists, but I don’t like anything here. It’s like a mixtape of the worst pop trends of the decade, from glam rock that sounds like it belongs in a car commercial to folky bullshit that sounds like it belongs in a more family focused car commercial. This gets my first DNP (Does Not Place).

#490

Linda Ronstadt - Heart Like a Wheel

Another soft-rock blues and country album which just doesn’t land with me. But the opener “You’re No Good” is like a soul/country hybrid which still goes hard and the title track hits with the lyrics “And it's only love and it's only love / That can wreck a human being and turn him inside out”.

Current Ranking, which is weirdly almost like an inverse of the rolling stones list so far;

[rayveewrites]

So as a simultaneous end of the year/ completion of Golden Echoes/ launch of Buried Gold celebration, I thought it would be neat to go through every chapter and post my favourite line/phrase/sentence/paragraph/etc from each. Why? Is this a genuine celebration? Do I think I’m funny and laugh at my own jokes? Am I actually just procrastinating? Yes. (Very obviously spoilers for the entire fic.)

Prologue: Lost  Darkness, pierced by the faint glow of sunlight through the holes in the ceiling. The sound of dripping water, pooling in the centre of the room.

Prologue: Found It remembered a time of life and colour, when it danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off its happiness and energy and gave him their own. Would it ever experience that again?

Prologue: Name  Old, brittle bones grinded. Rusted metal sounded against the tiled floor. Colourless eyes softly glowed silver.

Returned ...whoever thought it was a good idea to create a horror attraction out of the actual murders of actual children needed to have their heads readjusted. Forcefully. With a mask full of crossbeams and wires.

Exploration ...servos and circuits, they had been at this location for an hour and Freddy was already having a terrible day. Also it was 10 AM. The location operated at night. Why.

Darkness  So young, and left without a voice. I ask you now to make your choice. Clean the tiles of blood and tears? Or let them suffer with their fears?

Void He called up a memory, of turquoise eyes and golden fur, of whispers in the night that meant nothing and everything, of a feeling of happiness, that nothing would ever change, because the world was already perfect. 

Balloons Of course this place has wonky physics.

JJ “So let me get this straight. A potentially dangerous supernatural rabbit wants me to take a cryptic message to a potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit, and then somehow convince the other potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit and his potentially dangerous animatronic friends that the first potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit is not, in fact, the definitely dangerous child-murdering serial killer who’s...somewhere else. Have I got all that?”

Rabbit Part of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to make a facial expression, but couldn't. 

Arcade The Void was not cooperating.

Parts Things had always seemed much brighter when they were two.

Guard Whatever came to one or the other's mind, in the breaks between people coming through and Sam playing creepy sounds over the speakers because 'a couple of teenagers are smooching on cam six, do they you realize I can see you, jesus christ, why are you even snogging in a horror attraction anyway, I really don't get the appeal, I swear to god-' or something along those lines, anyway.

Adventure Peace wasn't a feeling the ghost had had for a very long time.

Notes ...it had been a handful of wild yellow daisies a little girl had found, and he’d woven them into a ‘flower crown’ (actually more of a flower bracelet- the girl had picked as many as she could hold, but children had small hands) and put it on Fredbear’s hat when his partner wasn’t looking. Fredbear had promptly worn it all that night and the next day, daisies and all. Spring hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed or not, but either way, it had been very cute.

Cupcakes If the kid wanted a dinosaur, the kid should get a dinosaur, as far as he was concerned. Clothes were clothes. Why did people kick up such a stink about it sometimes?

Tapes “Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there’s been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don’t.” “Oh gee,” JJ muttered, “imagine. It’s almost as if they were giant metal deathtraps.”

Talk ...she didn’t need to understand every aspect of Springtrap's life. That was Springtrap’s job, and he was apparently terrible at it.

Performance “It smells like something crawled in there and died.” 

Gold Fredbear had been Springtrap’s heart and soul; as much as he loved the children and gave each performance his all, his real reason for living was in the bear who sang beside him. Springtrap remembered singing on stage, a guitar in his hands and love in his soul. He remembered stolen kisses in the night, waltzing on cool tiles with music nobody else could hear. He remembered stealing Fredbear’s hat dozens of times, running off wearing it and giggling like a small child himself. He remembered quiet nights, when the only sounds were his guitar and Fred’s soft humming, sometimes the same tune, sometimes not, but neither of them ever cared. He remembered curling up together, watching stars twinkle in the night sky beyond the walls of the little diner, and truly believing that the time they had together was infinite. 

Stage He was holding something. He looked down, opened his hand and saw a gleaming purple microphone, accented with gold. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen it, but he recognized it. He knew what it meant. "Even after everything, I’m still with you." 

[Note: this is also the chapter that contained Springtrap’s poem. I’m quite proud of that one, despite how much of a pain it was to write. So, honourable mention]

Notes [Note: wait, crud, there’s two chapters named Notes? I’m gonna have to change one of those later.]

Maybe she just needed to hit something.

Knife [Note: I forgot to actually title this one in AO3. Welp. Better fix that later]

It was slightly strange, a Freddy’s-related crime that was just… basic burglary. It was always the unusual crimes that happened- murder, manslaughter, OSHA violations (so many OSHA violations). But theft? That was new.

Shadows

They lapsed back into silence for a moment. “So, this place… is it real?” In a fashion. It was created from your memories of what is gone. “So… if Fredbear isn’t here…” He is unreachable. “Where?” I cannot tell you. “You don’t know, do you.” The Shadow-Bear was silent, telling Springtrap all he needed to know. 

Puppet RWQ… Yes? Stop tormenting the rabbit. You’re no fun. Puppet? She hissed at the purple bear. Stop tormenting the rabbit. “And why would I listen to you?” Because, Shadow Freddy said as the Puppet was slowly levitated up into the air, all four limbs flailing, he’s needed. And also, you are being, as Springtrap so eloquently called RWQ earlier, an asshole.

Voice Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head.  [Or] Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.

Ghosts “No. The thing is, I’ve never had a name I felt truly fit before it. I can’t be Bonnie any more; the Classic model has taken that name, and he is welcome to have it. Spring Bonnie was the name the Man Behind the Slaughter used; I never truly referred to myself with it. Some employees called me Golden Bonnie, to fit with the whispers of a Golden Freddy, but that was never truly a name either, although I suppose I could have gotten used to it eventually. But Springtrap? It lets me keep my past, and it lets me have a future. Sure, it’s a little odd, but I don’t mind. I kind of like it. It’s unique.”

Humans Oh, Spring has a key. That explains where the spare went! When did he get that? Jake’s been looking for it for ages. Not that it’s my business. He says he technically works here, so it’s not stealing. Cheeky. He’s right though.

Henry “I’m not sure whether I should be pissed about the weird way he’s been constructed, or impressed he hasn’t collapsed yet. What the hell is holding him togeth- wait what the hell is that.” Springtrap winced. He knew he should’ve warned them beforehand, but he still tended to hide the rotting corpse. It was instinctive, a sort of habit- born from the fear he would be scrapped is the workers found out, and increased by the fact he was being blamed for murder.

Sound No matter how bad Springtrap’s eyesight could get, no matter how often his joints locked up, Springtrap had always had his rabbit hearing. It had saved his life several times, back when the Classics were hunting him. He had figured out a basic method of echolocation for when his eyes were useless. He relied on his ears, and now they were letting him down for the first time in his life. It scared him.

Doors “Freddy! We have a problem!”

Attack He did. He needed a hand. God, it hurt. Where was his arm? Was that his arm? No, it couldn’t be. He was gold. Not green. Or maybe it was. It was hard to think. Thinking. What a strange concept. The Greeks had invented thinking, hadn't they? Why would they do that?

Rest There were voices. Voices. His voicebox had lungs. His lungs were in his spine. His spine was being held together by lungs. His spine attached to his legs. He had no legs. He heard voices. He couldn’t hear. The grass was nice. Cool. Soft. Green. Like his eyes. Not like his eyes. Like his fur. He had no fur. Like his plush. His plush was green. Or gold. Or red. Or brown. He couldn’t remember which. Maybe it was all of them There was a breeze. It was nice. Warm. Hot. It was sunny. The sun was a star. He liked stars.  Stars meant Fredbear. And dancing. Where were his legs? He wanted to dance with the stars. Or with Fredbear. Fredbear. His Fredbear. He missed Fredbear.

Epilogue: Box Smeared down the plaster, it started about six feet up, and grew thicker toward the ground. It looked like Springtrap, or the Purple Guy, had slid down the wall until they were sitting. The tile beneath was stained heavily, and Freddy marvelled at how much blood was in a human body.

Epilogue: Opening ... no killing. That was the new rule. It was a strange one, for Master, but he supposed Master knew what he was talking about. He had changed, too; he had scratched behind his ears a couple days ago and it had felt so good.

Epilogue: Spark He remembered a time of life and colour, when he danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off his happiness and energy and gave him their own. He would experience that again.

[jae-bummer]

Immortal (Jay Park Fae!AU)

Request: I really love your writing, especially the scenarios/ imagines you’ve done for Jay Park😍 I was wondering if I could request a Jay Park fluff? The story is up to you❤️             

Pairing: Jay Park x Reader

Genre: Fluff

.

“Damnit, damnit, damnit,” he whispered beneath his breath. 

You stirred in the passenger seat, unable to keep your eyes open for long

“You can’t afford one of those dumb ass, little pine tree air fresheners? The scent of rotting iron and rust is fucking up my sinuses. I feel like I’m going to burst into flame,” he complained. “Remind me why I’m doing this? Remind me why this shit-” 

“I’m sorry,” you coughed, hardly even conscious enough to follow his one sided argument. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” he gasped, looking at you with wide eyes. “If I were you, I would offer some sort of thanks before questioning who the hell I am.” 

“Thanks?” you coughed, easing up in the seat. You rubbed a hand through your hair, noting how greasy it felt. Your whole body hurt, and you were uncertain of what exactly was wrong. “Why are you driving my car?” 

“Good question!” he gasped. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s going to kill me.” 

“The question, or my car?” you winced. Was he a kidnapper? A carjacker? You couldn’t remember meeting him or how exactly you had even ended up here. 

“The car,” he huffed. “Iron kills people like me.” 

“People like you?” you questioned. Your head pounded too loudly for you to be fearful. You knew if you were completely of sound mind, you would be terrified in this moment, but you just couldn’t manage the energy for it. 

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Like me.”

.

.

You weren’t sure if you were carsick, hungover, or had the flu. It could have been a mix of the three. It was tough to figure out considering the sound of the blood pumping in your ears had become thunderous.

Clinging tightly to the man who was previously driving, you felt as if you were a ship stranded in rough waters as he walked you toward your apartment.

“Am I too heavy?” you squeaked, resting your forehead on his neck. Still moderately unsure of his identity, you were ashamed as a thought crossed your mind.

He smelled wonderful.

Calming. Like earth; fresh dirt and berries. You hadn’t smelled anything like it before.

“Too heavy?” he scoffed. “Mortals, always worried about their damn weight.”

“M-mortal?” you stuttered. “You mean like human? Aren’t you-”

“It’d be best to keep the questions to a minimum for now,” he sighed, hauling the two of you up the stairwell. “Belinda has her hearing aids in.”

“Belinda?” you choked, recognizing the name of your elderly neighbor. “How do you-”

“I can hear it,” he grumbled. “The crackling and static. She really needs to get that shit fixed if she plans on keeping the gossip game on lock around here.”

“You can hear it?” you said quietly. At this point, you had begun to believe you were experiencing a very vivid hallucination. Maybe it was something you had eaten at that party last night.

The party.

You groaned as fragments of the night began to piece themselves together. Starting off at a seedy bar with your friends, it didn’t take long for you to become mildly intoxicated. It took even less time for you to begin dancing with a man so good looking, that you became even more drunk on his aura alone. Throwing your inhibitions to the wind, you allowed yourself to leave the bar with him, his breath in your ear and his hands roaming your body.

Much like the man you were currently dealing with, he was an otherworldly type of beautiful. High cheekbones and slim features, you had never seen anything like him.

And he wanted you.

You should have known better as he coerced you into the park, as he pulled you toward a circle of trees. Before you could even realize, you had stumbled upon another party, but this one more strange. People just like him, just as crushingly beautiful, danced and drank to music you had never heard before. You danced beside them. You stared in wonder as they laughed at you. They cackled as you filled your stomach with their liquor and food. It was incredible. Every bite was better than the one that proceeded it. But people kept laughing, and you kept trying to blend in. The simple memory was haunting, so you weren’t sure how you managed to stomach the actuality.

But you couldn’t remember much after that.

Which was fine because your current reality was confusing enough.

You attempted to hide your wonder as the strange man carrying you made easy work of your apartment door and shouldered it open.

“I...I didn’t give you my apartment number,” you said quietly. “And where are my keys?”

“Those aren’t the important details, babygirl,” the man chuckled, striding through your living area and toward your bedroom.

He gently placed you on the bed before backing up and leveling you with a curious gaze.

“Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll ask an important question then...who are you?”

You bit your tongue before you let the next question cross your lips. “What are you?”

“I’m fae,” he said casually. “And I saved your ass last night.”

“Fae?” you questioned, easing up in your bed. “Like...like a fairy?”

“No, like fae,” he grumbled.

You glanced up and down the man’s tattooed frame. Plenty of muscles, but no iridescent wings or flower crowns.

You had to have been going insane...to even consider this man was something...something so unlike you?

“Excuse my ignorance, but what is the difference?” you sighed, attempting not to entertain the idea.

The man rolled his eyes before plopping on the edge of your bed himself. “If we’re getting technical, fairies as a whole are known as the fae. I never liked the term. When people picture fairies, they picture wings and sparkle and laughter that sounds like bells. When people picture fae, they picture something to be feared. Which they should.”

“Oh?” you coughed, lifting your brows.

“We’re kind of like the magical mafia,” he sighed. “We have a lot of rules, quite a few of which your broke last night-”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Of course you didn’t,” he muttered. “No one intends on being the lunch of a high fae warrior, it just happens, and the rest of us have to deal with the screaming later. You’re just lucky I’m a softie.” 

A cold shiver ran down your spine at how easily he said the words.

“Lunch?” you croaked, thinking back to the devilishly handsome man you had danced with. “He...he...?”

“Fairies don’t seem so cute and kind now, do they?” he smirked. “He would have tore you apart, just because he felt like it.”

Your mind was reeling. Certainly he had to be screwing with you. He was just a friend of the guy you were dancing with. That was it, he was a friend tasked with taking your hungover self home, and scaring you into never contacting any of them again.

You could play the game.

“So...so...” you trailed, furrowing your brows. You were uncertain how you should continue. “He was a high fae warrior? So what does that make you? If you were allowed to-”

“Let’s get this straight, doll face,” he grinned. “I’m not worried about what I am allowed to do, and I do as I please. I know my place in my court. Luckily, you do not.”

“You won’t tell me your name, you won’t tell me what you are,” you sighed, trying to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “I thank you for your help, but if you want to be shrouded in mystery, you can feel free to leave.”

And more importantly, leave behind this weird situation.

“You thank me?” he chuckled. “Damn, that’s considerate of you, but I’m comfortable right here.”

“Like hell,” you grumbled. “I’m not afraid to call the police.”

It was time to end this. Time for the charade to come to a close.

“We’ll be gone by then,” he sighed. “With that thanks, not only do you admit to me that you are in my debt, but all of that wine and food from last night? You ate that in the land of the fae, baby.”

“Meaning?” you sighed, sick of his riddles already.

“Meaning, just try to eat something around here,” he nodded. “Human food will make you sicker than shit. You’d have to ask that hottie from last night to release you of your bonds in order to eat a slice of pizza again, and I don’t think he’s looking to do that anytime soon.”

The feeling of being doused in cold water hit you again. Your mind attempted to scream at you, he was a lunatic.

But in your gut, you felt a pang of truth.

“So...so what’s the point in bringing me home?” you whispered, unsure if you even wanted to hear any more. Certainly this had to be a bad dream.

“Figured it was humane,” he murmured. “This way you could pick up some personal items, tie up any loose ends.”

“And then?” you asked, unsure if you were ready for the answer.

“We go back to the ring of trees,” he said, unabashed. He glanced down to his cuticles before looking up at you. “Under the oak. Back to my lands, kickin’ it in my court.”

“In...in your...” you trailed, looking at him in earnest. His smile was growing more mischievous by the second, just as his ears seemed to elongate into pointed ends. The tattoos covering his body also began to grow with every stretch of his muscles, their previous black sheen turning into something more iridescent. 

While he was gorgeous before, he slowly turned into something impossibly striking. It was clear that he was as far from human as your neighbor’s cat.

“Mine,” he said slowly. “We’re going to have to be homies down there, so I’ll fill you in. I was allowed to take you because I am the prince of the damned realm, and I plan to keep you. Why? Because I like you. I’m not sure why, and it’s definitely not because you threw up on my shoes when I carried you above ground, but I like you. And I hope you learn to like me too.”

“It’s that simple to you?” you winced. “You’re plucking me from my life because you like me?”

“Nah mami,” he chuckled. “I’m plucking you from your life for your own safety. Please do a mental rewind and listen to the part about the food again. If you don’t come back, you’ll die of starvation. I mean...that is if my warrior doesn’t find you first. This is my protection, and my way of driving him a little crazy in the process. It’s a win, win.”

You opened your mouth to speak, only to shut it again. 

“So you ready?” he grinned.

“You’re crazy,” you managed.

“You think this is crazy? We’re just getting started,” he laughed. “But it’s okay, you can admit it. You’re scared.”

He wasn’t wrong.

You stayed deathly still as he stood and took a few steps toward where you were sitting up in bed. He slowly sat down again beside you, placing his hand lightly on your knee. “It’s okay, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“How do I know that?” you whispered, feeling the tears already fluttering to your lashes. You didn’t want to cry. You couldn’t cry. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be.

“My name is Jay,” he said softly. “My name is my word. Fellas in the fae world don’t just offer up their name to a human. We know the consequences.”

You nodded slowly, the reality slamming into you with little poise. It was all true. “What are the consequences?”

“I suppose that’s for me to know and you to abuse,” he smirked. “Under my watch, I promise you, you are safe.”

“You promise?” you choked. From your little knowledge of the fae world, you knew they didn’t make promises lightly.

He nodded with a small smirk. “On my immortal ass.”

[skepticalcatfrog]

Shattered Crown Chapter 4

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter Masterpost

Summary: After disaster strikes in Prince Roman's kingdom, he must go on a quest in order to take back the crown that is rightfully his. He will travel with three companions on an epic adventure, gaining many friends and enemies along the way. Those three companions are an intelligent inventor With a mysterious past, a cheerful wizard With a dark secret, and.. the assassin who was sent to kill him two years prior.

Pairings: (Eventual) Prinxiety and Logicality

Word count: 2,770

Author's Notes: This chapter is the last one that I have totally done, so the next couple chapters will probably be posted a bit slower.

“No… That's not possible… I mean, he talked about it, but I never thought he actually would…” Virgil shook his head, burying his face in his hands.

“Well, he also had people throw me out a window, so you might have to change your thinking a bit.” Roman crossed his arms.

“Oh my gods… he's worse than I thought.” Virgil lifted his head to look Roman in the eyes. “I'm so sorry for what he put you through. And that's really hard for me to say, because I thought that I'd defend him, no matter what. But he's really crossed a line.”

“Well… I'm glad you agree.” Roman looked slightly surprised. “Does this mean we could maybe not hate each other anymore?”

“We'll see. I still don't even know you that well.” Virgil pointed out.

“Okay then. Make sure to get back to me when you have a definitive answer.” Roman picked up the book he'd put down. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

~~~

A couple hours later, after the sun rose, Patton woke up as well. Lavender had gotten into the room at some point while he was sleeping, and was curled up on the side of his head, purring loudly right into his ear. He held in a sneeze, so that he didn't wake up the small cat. Or Logan, who was still asleep on the floor.

Patton carefully lifted Lavender off of his head and sat up, letting her sit on the chair next to him. He turned around to look at his friend, wondering if he'd ended up fixing his hand after all.

A couple minutes later, Logan woke up as well. Patton had picked up one of his journals from the desk, and was reading notes that Logan had taken about trips he'd gone on.

"Oh, hello Patton." Logan stood up and went to sit next to him, making sure to move Lavender before he sat down. She immediately hopped back up and curled up on Logan's lap. "What are you still doing in here? I'd think that Roman and Virgil would be awake by now."

"I was waiting for you." Patton explained.

"Why?" Logan began absentmindedly petting the peach-colored kitten.

"I don't know, I just thought that I should." Patton shrugged. "I was reading your notes while I was waiting, I hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind, but I am a bit surprised. No one's ever found them interesting before."

"Really?" Patton looked up from the book. "I think they're awesome. When do you have time to get to all these places?"

"Well I… don't have very much family." Logan answered. "I'd prefer to leave it at that, if that's alright."

"Of course." Patton nodded. "I get it, don't really have the best family history either. But… if you ever did want to talk about it, I'm always available. I know you're a good person."

"How are you so sure?" Logan narrowed his eyes skeptically. "We've just met."

"I can just tell." Patton smiled.

Logan didn't want to admit it, but being called a good person made him happy. He hadn't heard those words associated with his name in a while.

He was so caught up in his thinking that he didn't realize Patton was still talking. He shook his head to clear it of thoughts.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if you got your arm to work again." Patton repeated.

"Yes, I did." Logan moved his fingers to demonstrate. "I realize that you were already asleep by then."

"How did you make it?" Patton asked, staring at the arm curiously.

"I used materials that I found, along with things I bought with whatever money I had." Logan pointed out a spring that looked slightly older than the others. "For example, this I found on a river bank. It took forever to remove the rust from it."

Patton nodded to show he understood, looking genuinely fascinated by what Logan had to say. That was also new to him.

"Wow… I can do magic, but I'm not smart enough to do something like that." Patton said sheepishly.

"I'm sure you're very intelligent." Logan assured him. "Doing magic requires a strong brain, and great focus. Botany, as well. The fact that you have managed to single handedly maintain an entire greenhouse full of healthy plants while also studying magic is very impressive."

Patton blushed faintly. "Thanks, Logan."

"You are very welcome, Patton." He picked up Lavender and put her back on the floor. "So, should we see how Roman and Virgil are doing?"

"Yeah, probably." Patton agreed. "If I'm being honest, I don't know how long we can leave them alone out there before they start arguing."

Logan nodded and they both went out to the living room, where they were surprised to find Virgil and Roman sitting silently in the same room, not bothered at all by the other's presence.

"Oh, hey guys." At the sound of Virgil's voice, Lavender immediately darted over to him and curled up on his chest, purring loudly. He was clearly her favorite already, even though she'd just met him yesterday.

"So, how did the work go?" Roman asked, putting the book he'd been reading on the table next to him.

"It was very successful." Logan answered.

"How long have you guys been up?" Patton sat on the couch next to Virgil.

"For a couple hours." Virgil moved over a bit to make room for him.

"What were you doing that whole time?" Logan sat in the chair in the other corner of the room.

Virgil and Roman quickly filled the other two in on what had happened.

"Oh my gods…" Patton's eyes widened.

"What are we supposed to do?" Logan furrowed his brow.

"There's nothing we can do at this point." Patton grimaced, recovering from his momentary shock. "I've… I've heard stories about Ethan. He has unlimited power, and once he decides that he wants something, he gets it. I heard that he used to have… a brother. He shunned him and ended up chasing him away from their kingdom, just because they didn't agree. It happened… a little less than one year ago. I think."

"How do you know so much about Ethan?" Virgil asked. "I didn't even know he had a brother, and I lived with him for about seven or eight years."

"People talk about him a lot. I listen, and remember." Patton brushed it off as if it was nothing.

"Back to the task at hand." Logan reminded them. "Is there really no way to fight him?"

"There has to be something we can do." Roman gripped the arm of the chair. "I need to get my kingdom back."

"Well… I think there might be one thing." Patton looked deep in thought. He stood up and walked over to the bookshelf. He scanned it for a moment before pulling on a book, which seemed to be some sort of lever. The bookshelf moved aside to reveal another bookshelf in the wall behind it, with only a few books on it. Patton grabbed a dusty book from the shelf, that looked like it hadn't been moved in a while. He handed the book to Roman and sat back on the couch. "I made that notebook a while ago. It's got information on all the most powerful and dangerous spells, as well as how to reverse them."

"Really?" Roman opened the book to see a map of all the area surrounding Patton's house, and began flipping through the pages. "Virgil, if you don't mind, could you please help me find the spell? You're the only one who's witnessed it first-hand."

"I guess that would be the best way to find it…" Virgil sighed and held out his hand. "Give me the book."

Roman handed it over and Virgil began reading the pages. After a couple minutes, he pointed to a page and showed it to Roman. "This is it."

Roman took the notebook and began reading.

'Name of spell: Unknown.

Description of use: The user must save power by not using any other spells over a varying amount of time (time varies based on power stored to begin with). The user creates a mass of pure energy, and must make contact with it in order to use the spell. It can be either direct or indirect, but results will change. The color of the spell also changes, depending on the color of the user's soul.

Power Needed: 100%

Mortality Rate (Direct Contact): 90%

Mortality Rate (Indirect Contact): 50%

Effects: Powers of persuasion, heightened magical ability, mind control capabilities, shape shifting, mind reading, among many others.

Spell Reversal: There isn't a reversal in the sense that the spell can be completely undone, so to speak, but there are a few objects that can be used to dull or cancel out the power of the spell/the user.

Option 1: The shadow blades. They are under very high security, but if you can get to them, they will be very useful. They functions as real daggers, as well as weakening magic of any kind. They are kept in the kingdom of Shadowbrook, which was named after the blades.

Option 2: 'Verum'. (Translation: 'Truth' in Latin) Verum can be used to reveal things such as hidden passages, or for these purposes, shapeshifters. This relic is located in the kingdom of Aurum (Translation: 'Gold' in Latin).

Option 3: The ruby crown. It prevents mind control very well. Although, this one is a more difficult one to find, since no one knows exactly where it is, but it is very recognizable.

Option 4: The sapphire necklace. This necklace protects the brain from mind reading, so you can prevent an opponent from knowing your thoughts. It is kept somewhere in the Caeruleum (Translation: 'Blue' in Latin) kingdom.'

"So… which relic are we going to go after?" Roman closed the book, but held the page with his finger.

"All of them." Virgil shrugged. "Might as well. I mean, what's the use of just one if he has all of the powers they fight against?"

"That would take a very long time, but I suppose that would be the most logical solution…" Logan narrowed his eyes in thought.

"Okay then, where do we go first?" Patton asked.

Roman looked back at the map in the front of the journal, seeing which place was the closest. He held up the book for the others to see and pointed out each place as he spoke.

"So, it looks like Shadowbrook is the closest, it'll probably only take a day walking to get there, then Caeruleum, then Aurum, but it's still a long way from Caeruleum to Aurum."

"So it's settled. We go to Shadowbrook first." Virgil nodded. "We should probably leave now, since it's so early. We'll want as much daylight as possible."

Patton glanced at Roman, who was wearing all white. "You probably wouldn't want to go to Shadowbrook wearing that..."

"Why? What's wrong with it?" Roman looked at his own clothes.

"A town like Shadowbrook is shrouded in darkness, as the name implies. If you go there wearing that, you'll stand out quite a bit." Logan explained.

"He's right. And standing out is probably not the best idea for you, since everyone thinks you're dead." Patton pointed out. "If word gets out that you're alive, Ethan could send people to look for you."

"So… what should I do?" Roman asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"I could probably find a cloak for you to use to hide your face. And…" Patton snapped his fingers and Roman's clothes turned black, fading into red near the wrists. "I can do magic, too."

"Cool." Roman admired the slight change in wardrobe. "But what about you, Patton? Your clothes aren't exactly dark, either."

Patton snapped his fingers again, and his normally pastel colored jacket and wizard's hat became different shades of black and gray, with silver details.

"Okay, well that's kind of all we have to do, right?" Virgil asked.

"Yes, I believe so." Logan nodded. "We don't have anything to pack, so I believe that is all."

"Hang on, before we go, Roman could you come with me for a second?" Patton stood up and beckoned Roman to follow him to the greenhouse.

They stepped into the greenhouse and Roman immediately knew why they were there. Roman's armor stood in the corner, good as new.

He immediately rushed over to it and put it on, smiling like he was five years old again.

"Thank you so much, Patton." He turned back to the shorter boy. "This really means a lot to me."

"You're welcome!" Patton smiled brightly.

A couple minutes later, all four of the boys were standing outside Patton's house. It was in the middle of a big open field, which was surrounded by the mountains. Patton had put a protective spell in the house that would keep intruders out, and help take care of Lavender. And with that, plus checking to make sure they had everything they needed a couple of times, they were on their way.

Luckily, they made it out of the mountain range unharmed. Roman assumed that it was because the dragons were bored of them.

"So, how exactly do we get to Shadowbrook?" Roman asked.

"Well, I have the map from my journal." Patton handed him the notebook.

"Why does Shadowbrook have a question mark next to it?" Roman pointed it out, showing Patton the page.

"Well… the entrance to Shadowbrook is hidden. Under some sort of magical protection. It took me a while to figure something out, but I'm pretty sure that's where it is." He explained.

They walked on a clear path for a while before reaching a dark, ominous forest. The trees reached up so high that they seemed to pierce the clouds, which hung like smoke in the sky. The shadows that came from the trees looked like hands with long sharp fingers.

"Well this place isn't unsettling at all." Virgil said sarcastically, raising his eyebrow.

"This is it." Patton said. "I think this is how we'll get into the kingdom."

"There doesn't appear to be a secret entrance." Logan stepped forward to touch a tree.

"How do we even know that this is the right place?" Roman tried to look into the dark forest, but it was nearly pitch black past the first couple layers of trees.

"We don't, but this can't be just a forest. Not if it looks like this." Patton said determinedly.

"I don't know. It just seems like a regular creepy forest." Virgil observed.

"Well we have to keep moving, secret entrance or not." Roman was the first to walk into the darkness. The closer he got to the forest, the colder the air got.

"Roman, you can't just-" Virgil's voice was cut off as soon as the prince stepped past the first tree.

The whole world fell into darkness, and he felt the temperature drop. It felt like he was suspended in midair. For a moment, he was reminded of his fall from the window, but the feeling soon faded.

He fell onto cold grass, and when he looked it was completely gray and covered in frost. Everything seemed drained of color, even his own skin. Snow was falling all around him, and a thin layer covered the ground. He stood up and brushed the snow and dirt off of himself. In front of him was a large black gate, seemingly made of obsidian or something similar. Behind the gate stood a tall, imposing castle, made of the same material as the gate. It looked like a shadow, except for stained glass windows being the only color. The castle was surrounded by houses. This was a kingdom, he knew it. If anyone could spot a kingdom, it was him.

A couple seconds later, the other three stumbled through what seemed to be a portal. Virgil immediately stomped over to Roman, scowling.

"What were you thinking?" Virgil shivered slightly, clearly not having anticipated the cold, since his arms were exposed. "We don't know what could've been in that forest! It might not have been the secret entrance! You could've been hurt, or worse!"

"Trust me, I wasn't thinking at all." Roman responded. He gestured to the gate. "But look! We're somewhere, right?"

"Yeah, we are." Patton's eyes widened. He approached the gate and places his hand on one of the bars. He muttered something under his breath and his hand glowed light blue. With a loud creak, the gate swung open. He turned back to the rest of the group. "I was right. This is the entrance. Logan, Roman, Virgil, welcome to Shadowbrook."

[witchqueenofthemoon]

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

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try to move the other one, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me first.”

“Hey, I thought I said--”

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

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

“I love you.”

“I know you do.”

“I love you, Kenzie.”

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

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

“Promise?”

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

-------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said I was gonna help drive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duncan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy fuck, Duncan,” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunny. I love it so much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gerbiloftriumph]

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

3/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

“Your Majesty, we’re sorry about earlier,” Royal Guard Number Three called through the door. The others stood clustered behind her, looking apprehensive.

(“He’s going to throw something at us.”)

(“He isn’t.”)

(“You didn’t see the look on his face. He absolutely will.”)

“We brought hot chocolate,” she persisted, knocking again. “After walking in the rain, we thought you might need to warm up.” Still no response. “King Graham, are you in there?” She shifted the tray from one hand to both hands and bumped the door open with her hip. Everyone huddled around her, peeking through the gap.

“He’s not there,” No4 sighed, relieved.

No3 pushed the door open all the way. The throne room was littered with socks and acorns, as they’d left it. “But it’s getting dark.” She thought about the monsoon gray sky and amended, “Late. Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Maybe he’s staying in town. He used to do that a lot.”

“Yes, but that was before we crowned him.” No2 hesitated. “Is that allowed now?”

“It’s not like he’s a proper king, is it? I expect he can do whatever he likes.” No1 made some dismissive hand flapping gesture. “I suppose we should get this cleaned up or something. Hardly looks civilized. Doesn’t keep a very neat throne room, does he.”

“Does that mean we can drink the hot cocoa?” No2 asked hopefully.

No3 tapped her finger against the tray, not sure at all if she should—or even could—make a suggestion. She was the newest rank and file, just hired by the king. But he’d given her a job when she’d desperately wanted it, and…well, she felt wrong about all this. Like an unpleasant itch beneath her armor. Graham had looked so miserable when he’d left (fair enough—she’d heard the shouting even from the entrance hall), and he hadn’t come back hours later, and….

“What if I go to town and make sure?” she offered.

“Sure about what?” No1 said distractedly. He picked up one of the abandoned socks, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it once he had it, and he let it drop again.

“That he’s safe?”

“Safe? We’re in Daventry. It’s no Serenia or Llewdor. We haven’t had anything worse than a wedzel around for years.”

And that dragon that killed that knight, she thought, a touch rebelliously. And leprechauns and goblins and giants and…oh, never mind. “Still, sir, I think a spot of rust on the helmet will do me good. Get some practice marching in.”

“Ah, go on then. We’ll keep some cocoa warm for you.” He took the tray from her and wandered back toward the kitchens, trying to bat No2 away with his elbow without spilling anything. “Later, later. Let’s reheat it and get the rest of the lads in, make it fair.”

She looked at the empty room, remembered how distressed Graham had seemed when he pushed off into the rain alone, and she spun on her heel. She’d go to town. He’d mentioned Wente earlier; may as well start there.

No3 meandered along the road, that eternal Daventry monsoon rain drumming on her umbrella. She practiced what she might say to him, what would convince him to come back, to not give up on them, on her and her beginning career. If she could get Wente or Amaya or Muriel (not Chester) on her side, surely combined they could whip up an argument as solid as Wente’s brownie frosting.

But when she got to the town, and when she found half a broken flute, and empty houses, and a ton of churned mud, and shards of glass and splintered wood, and broken pies and cracked alchemical vials, and a complete lack of any king or villagers whatsoever, she flung the umbrella into the shattered bakery, sprinted back to the castle, and managed to completely ruin hot cocoa night in three words: “King Graham’s gone!”

*~*~*

Someone tapped on his hand, gently. “No, go ‘way,” he mumbled. “Ten more minutes.” The tapping persisted. He withdrew his hand and pulled it close under the blankets. “Five minutes,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly shut, though to his disappointment he could feel himself waking up. Something licked his nose, and he sat bolt upright. “Triumph?”

The glowing salamander on his pillow flicked its tail. Graham gaped at it for a split second before the pain hit in a horrible wave and he huddled forward, clutching the back of his head. The blanket (no, his own cloak) bunched around his waist. His probing fingers found the aching lump on the back of his head from where he’d hit it on the cobblestones yesterday. Yesterday?

Oh. Right.

He was sure he’d dreamed it. Prayed he’d dreamed it. But in the cold light of salamander glow it was undeniable. No point in pinching himself to make sure—everything already hurt.

Graham shifted, leaning against the stone wall behind him. It felt like he’d rolled down the side of a mountain (ha, again). His leg was uncomfortably stiff. Cautiously, he rolled back the fabric and found a horrible bruise on his hip, mottled purple and black and ugly in the gloomy light. The slightest pressure made him hiss. Sore, finger shaped bruises also marked the back of his legs and calves and even his arms from where they—the goblins, right—had gripped and pulled and thrown him into this cell. Stars.

Gingerly, he eased himself off the mattress, putting weight on his good leg before equalizing himself. His stiff leg shuddered, and he staggered forward, catching himself on the stone block that suited for a table. Newton chirped at him, and Graham breathed deep before pushing himself upright. Every bone seemed to creak and groan and pop as he did.  

For the next undeterminable amount of time, he limped in agonized circles around the room, half hunched over for most of it, stretching out aching muscles and trying to focus, to think. His steps sloshed—much of the water from the night (or whenever—how much time had passed, anyway?) had drained away, but the lower stones puddled. He guessed it was rainwater collecting in the caves. As long as it was raining on the surface, his little prison would be damp.

The worst part about this, he decided (other than the sharp bite in his hip every few steps), was the not knowing. Not knowing why they’d taken him, and not knowing what they wanted to do with him. The goblins’ faces (masks?) revealed nothing. He couldn’t ask without an interpreter—not that there was anyone around to ask, anyway.

It wasn’t like the kingdom had enemies, at least none that he could definitively name. Or, to be fairer, there were some, but he wasn’t certain who, or if there even was a who, to blame, and guesses were just guesses. But it felt so…drastic. Unnecessary.

Sure, he’d only just been crowned and perhaps someone was upset about not being chosen (fair enough; who crowns a royal knight with no proper training or, truly, all that much warning), but so what? He upheld an open court. They could have walked in and laid out their frustration, maybe even made a claim to the crown. Stars, after that debacle in the castle earlier, he might have simply given them the throne had they asked politely enough.

It could be a ransom demand, he supposed, but the kingdom was dealing with rotten budget problems brought on by Edward’s illnesses and badly implemented addendums in his final months, and neither Graham nor any of the guards had sorted out how the unlimited treasure chest worked yet. (If, indeed, it even was unlimited. It had the mark of the Merchant of Miracles printed on the bottom, so, not much hope there.) If someone planned on getting a ransom for him, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Hopefully send-him-home disappointed, not cut-his-throat disappointed.

Oh, shining stars. He ran his hands through his tangled hair.

To avoid losing Graham to the knife, the royal guards would have to strike up deals with the neighboring kingdoms. They’d have to relinquish the lavender fields to the highest bidder. Trade their goats and livestock. Open the King’s Forests for hunting. Daventry would be ruined economically and politically, just to scrape together a pitiful ransom for their stupid king.

It might just be best to forget the ransom, crown someone new (a King’s Tournament instead of a Knight’s Tournament? A tournament of speed could be the first to sign a ream of addendums) and forget Graham had ever existed. They hadn’t even had more than two sessions for the new royal portrait to be added to the Hall of Faces. It would be easy enough to hide him, a pathetic little footnote in the history books.

Which would make for a happy, thriving Daventry, but a not so happy pack of goblins, and, consequently, a less than thriving Graham.

He pressed his face against the barred window. No one was around. He looked down, trying to see what sort of lock held the door—a very large padlock, by the look of it. He wriggled a hand through the bars and twisted his arm until he had it in his grasp. Sturdy. Heavy. He tried to angle it to see the lock itself, but he couldn’t quite manage from here.

With a flash of delighted inspiration, he unpinned his brooch from his cowl. He flipped it over and studied it, but he felt his burst of excitement drain away again. The metal pin was far too small for the weighty lock. He’d just break the brooch off, and then the goblins would have to break down the door to let him out or just not bother to open it again.

He wandered toward the cracked mirror, to reaffix the pin straight against his chest, and stared at himself. With the dark rings under his eyes, he looked like he’d been punched in the face. Twice.

“Ahh.” Graham sank onto the mattress, the only properly dry thing in the whole cell, and wrapped his cloak tight. An opportunity would come, surely. He just had to be ready for it. Whenever it came. Whatever it looked like. He curled on his side, favoring his bruised hip, and tried to think of sunshine.

*~*~*

Graham fell into a sort of routine as time crept past on soft salamander feet. He couldn’t know how much time was passing, and he was reluctant to make a guess at it for fear of making the situation feel all the more helpless. Hopeless.

He took to reciting what addenda he could remember—he thought he might be mixing up some of the numbers (was it Addendum 78934 that was about pasta in royal guard diets, or 86752, or maybe he’d forgotten a decimal point), but he knew he had the content right. He’d been memorizing facts and sheets for weeks. It helped keep him grounded after he’d counted all Newton’s spots and every facet of every rock dozens of times over.

Every now and again, when his nauseous hunger felt overwhelming, he stumbled toward the pipes and gathered up a small amount of porridge. Stringy to the eyes, slimy to the touch, and rubbery to the teeth, he bit back on his gag reflex and swallowed handfuls of it as quick as he could with his eyes screwed shut. It didn’t seem to have much of a smell to it, but that was most likely because he’d gotten used to the wet-dog reek of his damp, lizard-infested cell.

But one day (the third day, had he been able to accurately number the hours—a proper fairy tale amount of time, which might have given him a hint as to who had done this), the horrible porridge stopped coming. Nothing oozed out of the pipes at all. Graham almost laughed. No more porridge! Ha! No more…oh, hang on. No more porridge means no more food means…his stomach snarled. Or was it the goblins outside his door snarling at each other?

Then, because the goblins didn’t want to do their own chores, he was freed. Or, at least, he wasn’t locked in his cell constantly. Every evening they unlocked the door and let him out to do their literal dirty work. This first night, they thrust an oily rag in his face and ordered him to clear spiderwebs. Well, fine. Chores would break up the monotony of his own thoughts, and anyway, it was a great excuse to explore every corner of this prison without getting tackled.

But his cleaning came to a screeching halt when he discovered, to his utter horror, that he wasn’t alone. All his friends were trapped in the shadows and the slime, too. Wente and his new wife, Bramble. Amaya. The Hobblepots. The Merchant. Even, bafflingly, Mr. Fancycakes. They were starving, bedraggled, as pathetic as he was. Worse than he was. And they were depending on him for survival.

He straightened his crown.

It’s a puzzle, Graham. Find a way out.