#to let gretchen come along with them and i had to read them interacting with each other bc that would be annoying and eugh

[toytulini]

the correlation between my caffeine consumption and hitting tag limit repeatedly, uwu

[kittyprincessofcats]

RWBY Volume 8, Episodes 8-12

All caught up with RWBY now! (Except for the premium only episode.)

So, two things first: 1. From now on, my blog will no longer be spoiler free for RWBY! I don’t have premium access, so no spoilers for that, but beyond that, I might now reblog spoilers for everything that’s been released to the public. Blacklist “#RWBY spoilers” if you don’t want to see them.

2. I was going to ask what the spoiler policy in this fandom in general is when it comes to premium access. From what I’ve seen, Youtubers usually wait a week before uploading their reaction videos, which I appreciate – but here on tumblr almost no one seems to hold back. I saw a spoiler for “Creation” before it was released publicly. The day episode 13 was released for premium access, I had to unfollow people for posting untagged spoilers for it. And when I went into a RWBY-related tag for one second, I saw a really big spoiler that put me in a very sour mood because it also happened to be very aggressively worded against fans of a certain character (basically, along the lines of “I’m glad X bad thing happened to Y character because I hate them and their fans”). So, that scared the shit out of me and I ended up looking up more specific spoilers about what exactly happened because I wouldn’t have been able to sleep otherwise. So, from what I’ve seen, this fandom’s spoiler policy is just “fuck anyone who doesn’t have premium access” 😒. Always nice to see people being so considerate.

With that said, let’s get into my thoughts on episodes 8-12. Under the cut, because unlike some people, I try to be considerate of others who might want to avoid spoilers.

- So, the Hound really was a person. Specifically, a person with silver eyes and that’s probably what happened to Summer. THANKS, I HATE IT. This is exactly what I feared it would be and what I didn’t want it to be. (I don’t want Ruby and Yang to have to fight and kill their grimm-ified mom, that’s too sad, okay?)

- I love that Whitley really came through and came up with a plan for evacuating everyone! He’s a good bean after all! And that he managed to press that button on the computer before running from the Hound? Amazing.

- Willow Schnee being one hell of a mama bear and summoning a thing to protect Whitley was epic. She was so close to breaking down before that, but then her child was in danger and she just jumped into action right away. Protective mom instincts ftw!

- Blake’s talk about how she looks up to Ruby and how she herself lost the youthful optimism Ruby still has was SO sweet! (Also, Ladybug is an underrated ship/friendship and I really don’t get why people say they never interact? Have you all just forgotten volume 1 and how Bumbleby’s first meeting happened because Yang was trying to wingman Ruby who was trying to befriend Blake??)

- Penny fighting the virus from the inside was amazing, she did so well! I also loved seeing Nora encourage her (and echo Blake’s earlier words back to her).

- Unrelated to these episodes specifically, but I tried to think about who my favourite RWBY charactes even are right now, and I find it super hard to narrow down because I love so many of them, but if I tried to somewhat narrow it down, then (in no specific order because don’t ask me to also come up with an order): all of Team RWBY (though Blake is a personal favourite), Ilia, Penny, Salem, Cinder. (But then again, I also love Winter and Qrow and Robyn and... you get it, it’s hard to narrow down. Oh, and of course Pyrrha, but... you know.)

- “Witch” was honestly my favourite episode of the bunch. That one was just so full of epic stuff. (And now I’m wondering if Salem being one of my favourite characters has anything to do with my love for witches. I used to be obsessed with witches as a kid. In every story I read that had a witch, the witch was always my favourite character.)

- Yang and her team sure found a way inside that whale fast! Also, really handy that Ren’s semblance evolved just in time for when they needed it. But hey, I don’t want to complain about convenient plot stuff too much. Sometimes the heroes are allowed to have a little bit of good luck.

- Hazel listening to Oscar and deciding to get both him AND Emerald out of there was amazing! He really does have a soft spot for kids and wasn’t kidding about not wanting more kids to die – we love to see it! I also think it makes for an interesting parallel that Hazel decided to do this right as Ironwood was sending students to fight on the front lines and Marrow was calling it out.

- I really liked Ren telling Yang she doesn’t have to hide her fear behind jokes. Ren being able to see emotions is going to bring about so many more good moments, I just know it!

- Emerald and “Hazel’s” talk with Salem gets so much better when you know “Hazel” is actually Oscar – Emerald has gotten so much better at illusions and fooled Salem herself! That’s impressive!

- It’s really practical that Ren could sense Emerald’s fear. But also, the group really didn’t have the time to discuss if Emerald was trustworthy – they needed to get out of there asap.

- The way Salem spits out the word “semblance” when she talks to Emerald shows again that she not only underestimates these “new humans” and their powers, but also considers them inferior. It’s a nice little detail how just her tone when she says that word says so much about her worldview.

- Yang straight-up running up to Salem and blowing her up was epic. It didn’t last of course, but it was still a super bold and epic move. I’ve talked before about how cool Yang is and she just keeps getting cooler.

- Yang calling Salem out was amazing and epic, too! And when she referred to Summer Rose as “my mom” that made me tear up just a bit 😢. (I really don’t like Salem’s smile when she says “her again”, though. I don’t want grimm-ified Summer, I really don’t want it, okay? keep it far away from me where I won’t have to see it.)

- I’m a bit sad about Hazel’s death, but it was a really fitting end for his character and a really cool way to go out. The way he looked at all of those kids in danger (proving again that that’s what it’s about for him), whispered “No more Gretchens” to Oscar, punched Salem in the face as she was about to hurt Emerald, injected all of those crystals into his skin (which looked epic, by the way), told Emerald to go, fought an epic fight against Salem and then grabbed her and set himself and her on fire, burning her like a witch – it was epic stuff! RIP Hazel, you died as a hero and went out in an incredibly epic way!

- Hazel’s sacrifice must have been super tough on Emerald. He died protecting her (and JOYR) and it worked. She got away from Salem, but only because someone else, a friend, died for her. Not only must it be awful for her to lose Hazel, she probably also blames herself. (And, as I’ve seen others point out, it was probably the first time in her life an adult did something to protect her. Wow. Someone get this girl therapy, please.)

- The whale getting blown up was an absolutely epic moment. From the music to the cinematography, I loved everything about it. (That said, I will miss the whale. RIP coolest villain lair ever.)

- I loved Watts’ speech to Cinder – and I’m saying this as someone who became a huge fan of Cinder this volume. I love her, but I also love roasting her, and a lot of what Watts said was stuff she desperately needed to hear. I honestly didn’t even like Watts before that moment, but that speech might have made me like him just a tiny bit. The way he just laughed when she dangled him from a building, the way he spelled it out for her that her methods haven’t been working and threw her failures in her face, the ending with calling her “a bloody migraine” – Like I said, I’m a fan of Cinder, but that was glorious and cathartic and beautiful to witness. But what makes it really perfect is Cinder’s reaction: The fact that you’d expect her to kill him or at least scream at him, but instead she spares him and just sits down and cries. I really love what they’ve been doing with Cinder this volume and that they’re finally showing her as someone way deeper than just a power-hungry villain.

- In general, let me quickly talk about Cinder, because even without having seen the last two episodes I can already tell you that she’s my standout character / favourite character of the season. (It was Ilia for Volume 5, Salem for Volume 6, Penny for Volume 7 – and now it’s Cinder.) I said back in my post about Volume 5 that I wish they’d do more with her because after becoming rather interesting in Volume 4 they just went back to making her a pretty flat villain – and I officially have to eat my words and apologize to RoosterTeeth right now! This volume proved to me that they know what they’re doing with Cinder and explained so much about her. I’m sorry for ever doubting the writing. I now want to go back and rewatch the whole show while paying more attention to Cinder and I can’t wait to see where her arc goes from here (yes, I want an eventual redemption, and what about it?). This volume is obviously setting up something big for her – I just have no idea what it is. And at the end of the day, she’s still the Maiden of Choice. She’s the key to the Beacon relic, and that’s going to become important eventually.

- Oh, and can I mention, just by the way, that I think Cinder looks amazing? I don’t understand all the people who say they miss her red outfits when this is clearly her best look yet. The black eyepatch, the cape, the earrings, the short hair, the high boots, the shorts instead of a dress, all the black – this is her absolute best look, period.

- I’ve also noticed that the scene between her and Watts is the first time Cinder has referred to Penny by name. She’s always referred to her with phrases like “some toy” or “Polendina’s creation” before, but this time she just called her “Penny Polendina”, then “Penny” again, and asked Watts how she’s supposed to take Penny’s power “if she’s dead” (not “destroyed”, which is what Watts said, but “dead” – something you say about a person, not a machine). I think somewhere down the line, Cinder has started to see Penny as a person and respect her as the Winter Maiden. Maybe it’s because of how Penny won the fight at Amity, or maybe (though this might be wishful thinking on my part) it’s because Penny questioned why Cinder serves Salem and showed her and Emerald mercy.

- Also, side-note: While I loved Watts’ speech, it sure is bold of him to call Cinder entitled when his own villain origin story is getting overlooked for a science project.

- Neo is an amazing little troll and I love her. From stealing the lamp and skipping along the ruins of the whale happily to those texts to Cinder, all of her moments were brilliant and hilarious.

- Some characters not just forgiving Emerald is totally fair and realistic. But, as I said before (and as Oscar also points out), they don’t have to. People think a “redemption” – or let’s just call it switching sides instead of using such a loaded term – has to include everyone’s forgiveness, but it doesn’t. If Yang and Jaune never want to personally forgive Emerald, that’s okay. They don’t need to forgive her to recognize that she’s changed and work with her. And, as Oscar and Ren point out, Emerald’s abilities would be very useful to have on their side. So, personal feelings are fine and all, but right now they don’t have the luxury to dismiss a potentially very useful ally. (And same for Oz, by the way. It’s fine if they’re still mad at him, but they also need his help.)

- Also, have I already said that I’m very happy for Emerald? Because I’m very happy for Emerald for getting out of there! (Mercury’s and then Cinder’s redemption next, please!)

- F*ck Harriet for trying to get Winter in trouble for letting JYR go. I’m hating her more every second. And then she seriously said “Who cares?” about Ironwood’s plan to nuke Mantle? She’s the most unlikable of them all.

- Everyone’s reunions were so sweet! I loved Ruby and Yang hugging 😭. And Yang cupping Blake’s cheek and their forehead touch had me all 🥰 🥰 🥰.

- After he threatened to nuke Mantle, I hope we can all agree that Ironwood is a straight-up villain now. The most infuriating part is that he didn’t even have to do anything! Whitley and Weiss had figured out a way to save everyone in Mantle and the SDC ships to evacuate people were already there. All Ironwood had to do was let them evacuate everyone to Atlas, and then Penny would have opened the vault willingly and Ironwood could have used the staff to raise Atlas as planned. Problem solved! He should have just sat there and ate his food – but he was so pissed about things not going his way (or maybe he just genuinely hates Mantle that much) that he thought sabotaging the rescue plan and threatening genocide was a better option.

- I loved Marrow’s arc in these episodes and how you could tell more and more that his conscience was making him turn against Ironwood. First he questioned Winter when she was going to nuke the whale before JOYR were back, then he seemed shocked when he thought they were dead, then he tried to talk sense into the other Ace Ops after Ironwood’s ultimatum, and then he straight-up called out Ironwood himself. That last one was dangerous though, and he was lucky Winter was quick enough to jump in and pretend to arrest him, because Ironwood was going to just shoot him in the back.

- Speaking of, I wonder how long Winter has been planning to double-cross Ironwood. How long was she already disagreeing with him, but waiting for the right moment to make a move? Either way, I’m glad she was there to save Marrow.

- The Renora confession scene was so sweet and got me a little choked up 😢. I’m glad they sorted out their issues and told each other how they feel. But like I said before, I think Nora’s arc of trying to find out who she is without Ren is really good and important and Ren respecting that was really good and important as well. It was just a very wholesome scene. Also, I like that we got a little bit more backstory for Nora (her mom abandoned her? that’s awful), and Jaune awkwardly leaving the room was hilarious.

- Robyn telling Qrow he’s a better Huntsman than Clover because he chose to do the right thing was a really important moment for Qrow, imo. (And just a side-note: I’m sure most Fair Game shippers are pretty chill – and I’m a strong believer in ‘ship and let ship’ – but a certain subset of them is starting to get on my nerves with how they ignore Clover’s canon character and story (acting like he would have rebelled against Ironwood if he were alive as if the whole reason he’s dead wasn’t precisely because he cared more about Ironwood’s orders than doing the right thing) and how they make every new plot point about their ship somehow (Oscar’s semblance? Better be a time-travel thing so Clover can come back. Staff of Creation? Better be able to bring people back from the dead so Clover can come back.) It’s so annoying.)

- Yang and Ruby’s talk about their mom was really intense. Ruby’s been holding all of these feelings in for so long, so seeing her say out loud what we’re all fearing (that Summer was turned into a Grimm) and seeing both her and Yang break down over it – that was a lot. I loved seeing Yang comfort Ruby and tell her that her plan for Amity wasn’t useless. Their sisterly bond is so sweet.

- Penny asking Ruby to kill her was another really intense moment. The look on Ruby’s face in that moment really said it all. Ruby has been through so much, has lost Penny before, so hearing that request – even though they fortunately didn’t have to go through with it – must have still been a lot for her.

- I really loved Emerald’s cute “newly reformed villain” moments. (“You guys have been getting your asses kicked… some of that my fault” & “I’m just going to be super pissed if you all finally decide to give up the moment I switch sides.”) I’ve said before (in my She-Ra posts) that my favourite part of any redemption arc is the “former enemies, now awkward around each other” stuff, so this was right up my alley!

- “The girl who fell through the world” was referenced twice now. Between that, the image of everyone falling in the opening, and the lyrics “sometimes it’s worth it all to risk the fall”, I’m going to predict that someone – most likely all of Team RWBY – will fall into that void and potentially end up in a different world.

- The group’s plan to defeat Ironwood, stop the bomb, and get to the vault was amazing all-around. I love the parts Emerald and Winter got to play in it, I love how we saw the plan’s execution before seeing how they came up with it and I love how everyone got to help, even the Schnees and Klein. I also love that the hole Oscar blasted through the ground of Atlas became relevant again.

- The design of the vault and the door are really nice and now I wonder what the other two are going to look like.

- Saving Penny like that was super risky, but they really were out of options. Just the fact that Ruby had to be quick enough to use her semblance and get to the staff before the virus kills Penny… jeesh, that was close.

- Ambrosius is a super fun character! I love that he looked at Penny and said “I’d love to meet whoever did this.” Also, the staff seems more useful than the lamp. The lamp only lets you ask three questions per century, while the staff can be used as often as you want – as long as you’re okay with whatever it previously created disappearing.

- I honestly still don’t completely understand what Penny is now. Is she meant to be human now? Or is she just a being made up of pure aura? How does this work? Ambrosius only created the copy that destroyed herself, so what’s left is Penny’s aura – but she somehow also has a body now? I guess we’ll find out more about what exactly this means later.

- Also, while I wasn’t sure how I feel about this decision re:Penny at first, now that I’ve thought about it for a bit, I think it works. It fits with the Pinocchio story, and I like that they didn’t phrase it as “she’s a real girl now”, but as “this is the girl who’s been in there all along”. Also, Penny saying “wow” after hugging Ruby and then going on a hugging spree was adorable.

- Watching “herself” self-terminate must have been really traumatic, though. Even if that copy was just a robot, it was still a disturbing scene.

- Who shut down communications in the middle of Jaune’s broadcast? I’m assuming it was Cinder, Watts and Neo.

- The whole dimension with the doorways that Ambrosius created looks amazing. (A while before watching this episode, I wondered if Raven could theoretically save Atlas by getting everyone to safety with her portals. It might not have been Raven, but I’m glad I was at least onto something.)

- “Do not fall.” So, about that… they’re all falling in the opening, (and we referenced “the girl who fell through the world” twice now), so I don’t have a good feeling about that. Also, Watts has been dangled from somewhere high twice now, so the third time has to be when he actually falls down.

- And Cinder is there to ruin the plan because of course she is.

[stusbunker]

Below the Surface and In the Wild

For Better or Worst: Chapter Three

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC

OCs: Bandit (their dog), Sam’s coworkers Gretchen, Lourdes and Cady. Neighbors: Trudy and Jason Schneider and their dogs Mox and Sho.

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 2481

Summary: Sam is a doll. A sneak peek into what life was like those rough, first, few weeks. Then the newlyweds unknowingly start to understand just what being bound on a soul-level means.

Warnings: Mixed reality, magical persuasion.

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

One morning, inside the library building and down two flights of stairs, Sam approached his cubby, which housed notes for his current project, a small wireless speaker and a picture of Emery and Bandit, taken when he was a puppy. This trek toward work only reminded Sam how old he actually was, relative to his coworkers, at least. Gretchen was helping Lourdes fill out her taxes with an online program, as this was the first time the young woman had held a job. They were two of many graduate students that made up most of the labor for the archive department, though Sam worked full time. A position, though he had been teased for nepotism, he quite enjoyed. At this point in the term, he had given up reminding the twenty-somethings that Emery had just started with the school as well. He had started drowning out the phrase “trophy husband”, however, as they not so quietly gossiped.

               Luckily, Sam was almost positive to be left in peace, as he was transferring video footage from guest lecturers from the 80s and 90s into digital files for the school’s preservation society, in one of the soundproof rooms due to the availability of the allotted equipment. He didn’t need it to be silent, but it wouldn’t stop him from taking advantage of the location. Somewhere between fall ’84 and spring ’85, Cady knocked on the heavy door. Sam had very little interaction with the former volleyball player, but it wasn’t for her lack of trying. She smiled until he removed the headphones he wore, teeth pristine against spray tanned skin. Even post spring break, no one was that shade naturally.

               “Hey, we’re going to the union for lunch, did you want to join us?” Cady cocked her head to the side with a hand on her hip, toe twisting at the end of her oh so long legs.

               “I’m good, thanks,” Sam nodded and turned back to checking volume levels on what had transferred so far. He felt her linger behind him, but he didn’t look back until the door clicked shut. Sam closed his eyes in relief.

               Once he heard voices in the common area, Sam ducked out for his own late lunch walk. He hated being stagnant for hours on end, even if he didn’t remember it, his body was used to roller coastering between seated research and quick intensive work outs. It was a Tuesday, a day that always sat wrong with him. He found himself wandering towards Owens Hall, following the steady flow of traffic into the massive building. Just as the doors were closing to Lecture Room B, Sam slipped inside and found the last aisle seat, near the middle of the auditorium. As soon as Emery stood and offered a cordial good afternoon, the hall fell silence. Sam didn’t notice the small grin that had seated itself on his face as he watched her pace in front of her projected bullet points as she spoke. She wove her lecture like a narrative, intriguing and informative, it was almost a performance to hear her speak of the Crusades instead of course work.

               Halfway through the allotted time, Sam remembered he was supposed to be back to work, and he stood at an angle to duck out of the hall unnoticed.

               “Excuse me, but the lecture isn’t finished,” a stern voice called to him from the stage. The students whispered in both mockery and annoyance as Sam got called out for interrupting.

               “Sorry, I was just stopping by—my lunch break is over.” Sam nodded, frowning in chagrin.

               “So, you’re rude AND decided to waste my students’ time, the same people who are paying to be here?” Emery raised her eyebrows at Sam, a sinister tilt to her painted lips.

               “I guess so– Sorry, about that. I just wanted to see the hot new History professor I heard about,” Sam spat back, putting some humiliation on her plate as well. The crowd erupted.

“I’ll be going though, don’t want to waste anymore of y’all’s time,” he called over the fuss.

               She bit her lip as he turned to go, cursing under her breath. As soon as the door closed behind his flanneled back, Emery was back in professor mode.

               “Alright, that’s enough, he’s my husband—don’t get too excited.”

               Come six o’clock, Sam beat Emery to their crossover, though he could have kept working. It was tedious and any of the grad students could have taken the project, it was just nice to have a reason to stop for the day. Sam hadn’t allowed himself this kind romance in what felt like lifetimes and without the ability to pinpoint why, he was holding fast to his marriage, his partnership. Leaning on someone he respected was natural to Sam and he felt doubly blessed to have a woman like Emery to be there to support him, day in and day out. It was a small, simple life, but it is was theirs.

They had plans with their neighbors Trudy and Jason, which they had rescheduled once already because Bandit had a go with a skunk. They were nice people, but Sam was still adjusting to the social expectations of living nearby other couples in their thirties. New town meant new friends, right? That’s what Emery had kept telling him, trying to brush off some of his awkwardness. As he waited, he caught up with the news on his phone, preferring to lean against the car than inside it. Though it had the headspace, not a lot of vehicles had the leg space for him to sit comfortably and it felt less creepy of him, somehow. It’s not like he was on a stakeout, why would he sit inside the car?

Emery clicked the unlock button on her keys, intentionally startling Sam from his latest article.

“Crash any good lectures today?” She taunted, leaning up for a quick kiss.

“Ha-ha,” was his only reply. She tossed her bags in the backseat before sliding into the driver’s spot. They drove home easily, flirty glances and light banter, the sounds of NPR in the background. Sam took the dog for a walk while Emery changed, and she prepped the dessert she bought while he did.

Cheesecake and wine in hand, they strolled out the back door, over the sidewalk a whopping sixty feet and were then promptly greeted by Jason and Trudy’s two rottweilers, all by seven o’clock sharp. Jason kneed his way to the door before taking Mox and Sho by the collar to allow their guests inside. Sam, handed Emery the wine before leaning down to greet the dogs, letting Emery present their gifts. Jason, both burly and gregarious, nodded to the back of the house to the kitchen where Trudy was finishing up. The conversation flowed easily over the dogs as everyone calmed down with the company.

“Now, I know you can’t partake, but I figured–,” Emery was nearly apologizing to the very pregnant Trudy over the passing of the bottle of wine. The somehow still lanky redhead waved off Emery’s concern.

“My doctor says a half a glass at this point won’t do anything besides let me relax and with those boys eating through the latest diaper bag—I could use it,” Trudy shrugged. “How’s your week been?”

The two couples ate al fresco, enjoying the Schneider’s large deck, on the back of their house built when they moved in four years before, along with the matching eight-foot fence. Emery kept her free hand on Sam’s thigh while they got settled, but after a few glasses of wine, they were all chuckling easily. Trudy had grilled steaks and asparagus that rivaled celery stalks in size. Jason had tried a couscous recipe which everyone politely and silently agreed to never speak of it again.

“Man, I gotta say, I’m glad we did this,” Jason handed out mushy bear hugs at the door.

“Anytime,” Sam replied, patting Jason on the back as he grabbed Emery.

“Yeah? Nice! Didn’t scare you off,” Jason teased. “Seriously though, after those first couple’a weeks I thought you were a douche.”

“And now?” Sam swallowed, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Jury’s still out,” Trudy dropped out of left field, causing everyone to break away with their own laughter. “Don’t be strangers just because my husband can’t cook.”

Perhaps they hadn’t all agreed to leave it be. With a signature awkward wave and a tugging at his elbow, Sam turned toward home. On his arm, Emery was humming from the gentle buzz of her share of the bottles of wine. Sam struggled to remember what would have made Jason say what he had.

Sam hadn’t been paying attention, but a passing glance at the date stamped on the sub/reddit he was reading made his blood run cold. It was Dean’s birthday, his fortieth. They needed answers, a timeframe, something. He deserved to know that this was all worth it, that it was working. Emery came home an hour later to find Sam sitting in the dining room, that they had yet to use. A third of a bottle of Johnny Walker gone.

“Hey, everything okay?” She held her stomach as uncertainty and alarm battled to creep out of her cool demeanor as accusations. She didn’t know much about Sam yet, but that much alcohol that quickly wasn’t good for anyone.

Sam turned and his lip curled in spite. “What’s it matter? It’s all in their hands now isn’t? We just play house and wait on the angels. Like that ever really worked before.”

“Sam, we both, we need this—" Emery looked to her feet as her throat thickened.

“Save it. I know. I’ll play the part. It doesn’t mean I am going to be quiet about them leaving us in the dark,” Sam snapped at the ceiling.

“So, what, you’re just gonna get drunk and scream at the sky? Really?” Emery huffed and walked away. “Classy.”

He dried out in time to go to church with Emery on Sunday morning, the sanctuary feeling much smaller than it had during their private ceremony the week before. The reverend commented on his change of facial hair and Sam smiled at the implication that he didn’t need to impress Emery anymore. He had already landed her. Sam cocked his head and took a few deep breaths, his shoulders and lungs straining as if in a vice, desperate he excused himself from the coffee hour crowd and into the stark gray morning.

That night Emery went to bed alone again, leaving Sam to pass out on the couch as he pretended to watch something in the den. She fell asleep with tears in her eyes and a lamenting prayer on her lips.

The more Sam thought about it, the more it felt like he was chasing smoke. Nothing stuck and his mind felt blank. All of the sudden, he was upstairs, watching Emery peel off her clothes. When his ass hit the bed, she sauntered over to stand between his legs, nimble fingers threading through his hair. That was enough of a distraction to leave the concern for another day.

April 23, 2019

               There are days and there are dates, some days suck, while some dates are entombed in the psyche. Birthdays, anniversaries, heartbreaks and deaths: dates that could be forgotten, but usually aren’t. Some that should be forgotten, but refuse to leave the confines of memory, seeping into the very soul. It is a date as such that pierced through, causing Emery to wake up at 3:26 in a cold sweat, arms heavy with emptiness and head throbbing with unshed tears. She slipped out of bed and down to the den, the moment her foot moved from the last step to the hardwood floor, Bandit was at her knee, knowing something was the matter.

               Dogs are some of the greatest blessings in the lives of humans, even when those humans don’t deserve their unconditional comfort, perhaps especially then. Emery sank down on the staircase, all-consuming grief over taking her as she held Bandit to her chest, burying her face against the thick strands covering his neck. The hollowness inside ruptured into the stillness of the predawn quiet, reverberating in the large empty rooms of their playhouse. As needed as Bandit was, he was still a portion of her life before, signifying what she had lost and how far she had yet to go. He was reality incarnate, a touchstone even. There they sat, one mystified, one overrun with sorrow until Sam broke their trance as he called from the landing.

“Baby? What is it? What happened?” Heavy yet agile foot falls announced his progress until he slipped behind her, wiping her hair from her face where it stuck in sweat and tears. His eyes searched for injury, for entry, for any disturbance at all. The room and her body were as right as rain, yet she cried, and Sam let her. Feeling not lost at her inexplicable melancholy, but awash with it. He clung to her, and Emery leaned into him; life rafts and castaways in the same storm.

Moments or minutes later, they stood and stretched, no less in pain, but slaves to their bodies’ needs; they broke apart. Slowly they began their day, quiet and uncertain of what it would bring. If this storm would pass as quickly as it came or, if it was a hovering sort. As the hours floated by, each in their respective autopilot politeness at work and in the neighborhood.  During an unenthused walk with Bandit, Sam realized just how much he had been empathizing with Emery. It was at the forefront of his every thought, this drilling sadness. Buildings or miles apart, he still felt it in the hidden corners of his very being. Whatever this was, he wasn’t sure he could stand such unfounded torture for long.

               Back home, up the dark stairs and through the closed door of their bedroom, Emery sat on her side of the bed. Once Sam came out from brushing his teeth, she tried to give him a grateful smile. “Sorry about today, it sort of hit me out of nowhere.”

               Sam inhaled and nodded, pulling back the covers and holding his arms open for her to crawl into. “Can I ask what had you so upset?”

               “Today is— just a tough day for me. It was once a beautiful memory, but–,” her voice cracking once more. Sam shushed her as she once again started to cry.

               “It’s okay, we’re in this together. I got you,” Sam whispered into her hair.

               “For better or worse?” The first time it was a question more than a promise.

               “For better or worse,” Sam sealed their goodnight ritual. They fell asleep, emotionally depleted and awoke as if the day before had been like any other.

^*^*^

Read On: In Heaven Lies

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 11 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: AHHH I CAN’T STOP WRITINGGGGG okay, so, the Tiffany moon necklace is real, you can find it on their website here (now I want it for myself, but it’s almost $3000 sob). I debated over whether or not Duncan and Melody should have had an awkward rendezvous in the past and ultimately decided that if I were working in close proximity with Duncan Shepherd as a 21-year-old intern I too would have tried to put my hand drunkenly on his crotch at some point, so my point of view towards her is one of empathy and solidarity and honestly it just made sense to my story (lolol). Bill Shepherd is going to show up at some point, but the impression I got from the show is that he and Duncan only interact when they absolutely have to as they don’t get along; Duncan gravitates to his mother and she acts as a mediator, so Bill will have a very minor role in this story. Not sure if Beau Willimon ever came up with a middle name for Duncan, but I couldn’t find one and made one up (Malcolm). At this point I’m sort of trying to follow the timeline of the show in a VERY loose sense (and I guess this is a spoiler, but I am going to bring in the fact that Duncan finds out Annette is not his real mother into my fic soon, mostly so Kenzie can comfort him and stroke his hair and give him soft, sweet, sympathetic kisses cuz I am a sucker for that sweet comforting shit); the upcoming show Duncan, Melody and Seth go over in this chapter is meant to be the one where Melody talks about Claire Underwood’s “public breakdown” in episode 5; I’m not going to include Duncan getting arrested in this fic though, because it’s my fic and I can do whatever I want and I hated the fact that they chose to end Duncan’s character that way. Had to add that line from O Fortuna...because the Duncan/Michael parallels will never end. “She walks in beauty like the night...” is Lord Byron, a poem I was obsessed with when I was younger and have always wanted to put in a story. Kenzie making chicken and dumplings is a reference to the fact that Billie Lourd is fucking obsessed with chicken. Most people know Hades was the God of the Underworld; few people know he was also the god of gold and riches, which is very Duncan. It was important for me to imply Duncan had extensive cooking wares in his penthouse; that he cooks for himself. Dudes who can’t cook are a turn-off. Kenzie cooked for him because it made her happy to do it; it’s a way she’s showing him how much she loves him, not something she felt like she had to do, and I plan on them cooking together in future chapters. That moment Duncan leans against the wall across from Kenzie as they look out the window is my homage to the Cody lean. The prayer to Nike is a real one. Full-disclosure, the passing-out after really great sex is something that happens to me pretty often; I go into post-coital daze pretty hard, so Kenzie doing that is literally based on my own experiences, haha! Duncan will finally meet Madeline in the next part, but we’ll be seeing it all through Kenzie’s eyes.

Duncan had left the interview with Gretchen Friedrichs with his mind buzzing; he stepped out of the elevator with a vague pressure humming between his temples, rubbing his thumb into the palm of his other hand, trying to calm the simmering anger that was still hovering over him. He wondered, with some alarm, when the gossip website was planning on publishing Kenzie’s name and occupation. He wrestled with the idea of telling her; no, he thought, I have to do everything I can to ease her into this world carefully. God, I know she’s afraid and that kills me; I have to do everything I can to soothe her fear, not exacerbate it. One thing at a time.

He pulled his phone out, opening the Uber app and ordering a Black car; then, he opened his texts and sent one out to Kenzie; telling her about the Gala, about his mother’s stylist, about the theme (the theme is you, angel).

Kenzie: That’s beautiful, baby. I can’t believe you did that.

Since you’re the only thing I can think about, it seemed natural. And he knew it was true. She was filling this thoughts and his heart and his senses; nothing else seemed to matter, not the show or the company or the app or his mother, not Uncle Bill (who would I will likely hear from soon, he thought, hand coming up to his jaw, and he won’t like this at all). The emptiness and shallowness of the work his mother had enveloped him in since he was barely out of high school suddenly overwhelmed him; beside the luminous, boundless, sublime emotion of Mackenzie, her glittering, effulgent reality, the rest of the world had lost its brightness; it was black and white, and she was made of colors he had never seen and couldn’t begin to describe.

He looked back down at his phone. Kenzie had replied.

Kenzie: I think those women from the coffee shop posted something on Instagram already. My coworker said something to me as soon as I got into the office.

Fuck, he thought, rapidly typing. She’s going to need a bodyguard. I don’t want to scare her, but that’s going to have to happen very soon. He sent her Samuel’s contact; he’d given Samuel hers earlier that day after they’d dropped her off at One Franklin Square. “Please help me keep her safe,” he’d asked Samuel, his eyes meeting the warm brown gaze of his chauffeur in the mirror; as they always did.

“You have my word, Mr. Shepherd.”

Kenzie: Okay, baby. I feel overwhelmed.

Duncan’s heart resounded painfully in his chest; oh god, baby, he thought. I want to hold you so much right now. I want to shield you from all of this. He thought of the tender, aching way she’d brought her little hand down to his cock that morning, her little moans as she stirred awake under his kisses. He longed to soothe her in his arms; the anticipation of waiting for tonight felt like a thousand tiny, sharp knives were pressing into his skin, jarring and disconcerting. He wanted to be alone with her; he wanted the world to melt away, turn its eyes from them. I’m here. Anything you need or want from me, tell me right away. This will get easier in time, baby. I promise. I’m already dreaming about how hard I’m gonna make you come tonight. At home.

Kenzie: I’m dreaming about you too, baby. She’d left a lipstick-stain emoji at the end; he shivered, looking down at it, his mind drifting back to her mouth around his length that morning, the kisses she’d pressed against him outside One Franklin Square, in view of two dozen people, and how he’d gripped her against him, unable to care; lost in her, immediately aching as she ran away from him.

He walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the Ritz-Carlton (“Have a pleasant day, Mr. Shepherd,” the doorman said cordially; holding it open for him, and Duncan gave him a nod, trying to maintain his mask of calm) and stepped into the car waiting for him in front of the hotel. He had a meeting with Melody and Seth that would take a few hours; he winced at the withering look he knew was coming from Melody in particular. Oh well. It all had to come out; it was coming out, and he’d just have to weather the anger and annoyance that was coming his way, weather the disapproval and disbelief. Kenzie deserved that from it; she deserved everything. His patience, his courage, his resolve, and his love.

He opened the Instagram app; he glanced at his mentions, wincing. There was one of the photos the woman had snapped; I look fucking pissed, he thought. Kenzie looks like an angel. He loved the way she was tucked under his arm in the photo; loved the fall of her hair against his leather jacket, her little hand around her necklace. She fits there as though that’s where she was always meant to be. The piece of me once cut away, and now reunited. And me; the piece of her, now wrapped around her again, as if some fateful prophecy has finally been fulfilled. I'm not going to let anything tear us apart now.

Duncan saw her handle in his mentions; @kenzielouwho. He smiled, gazing down at his phone screen. I love that. Her sweetness. He hit the follow button, scrolled through her pictures, goggling at them, his face alight. He double-tapped again and again; here she was, her lovely taste and her coordinated little outfits and plants and the moons and stars of her world, her hair falling like a cascade of gold, laughing at the camera, smiling next to Claire, grinning over plates of food, snapshots of sunsets and evening lights and cute animals she met, books she was reading, songs she was listening to. He felt overcome again; overcome with the affection he felt for her, overcome with how much her happiness affected him, how much he wanted to bring her the joy he saw in her face in the photos, how much he wanted to be the source of her comfort and her love. He couldn’t help it; I’d do anything for this woman. I’d do anything. He found the photo of her looking out from the table at the coffee shop, a little moon at her throat, her sweater falling off her shoulder; he left the pierced hearts at the bottom with a feeling of wild abandon. You’ve pierced not just my heart, but my soul, and your happiness is my happiness, your comfort my comfort, your joy my greatest joy. He wished she was here so he could press the words against her skin with his lips; press into her and breathe deep, breathe her into him. To be away from her was such sweet torture. Looking through her pictures made him feel like there were flowers blooming and closing in quick succession in the center of his chest. He felt completely overwhelmed by them; again, he felt overwhelmed by her realness, her reality; the fact that she existed was astonishing again and again. I never want to wake up from this dream.

He found the video that had been taken of them (oh god, that went up fast) and blushed at the ardency with which he clutched her in them. And I thought the other picture was obvious, he thought sheepishly. But in that moment it had felt like no one else was there. He’d forgotten the world entirely, lost in her eyes and the waist of her skirt on her hips and her bare arms and the way she’d looked up into his eyes, the way she fit against him. There hadn’t been anyone else there, he thought. Not really. It was only us. It was only Kenzie.

-----

Duncan stepped into Shepherd Hall towards the upstairs offices and the Beltway studio where he was supposed to meet Melody and Seth, glancing down as his phone echoed out its soft text chime; Mom.

Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. You’ve exacerbated this situation considerably. What the fuck were you thinking? Clearly you are infatuated and it’s making you behave like a drunk frat boy. I understand that public encounters are somewhat inevitable, but kissing this girl in front of a crowd is absolutely unacceptable. Your uncle is furious. I can only control him if you control yourself. Get yourself under fucking control, Duncan. Focus on our objectives.

Shit, he thought. Shit, meet fan. Fuck Uncle Bill. He’s dying and he’s bitter about it and he wants to make someone else suffer before he kicks it. And I’m not going to play into it. He didn’t reply. You know we’re together, Mom, he thought. I told you I love her. What else do you want from me? I’m not a fucking child. I’ll do what you want when it comes to the company, but not when it comes to her.

He took the back staircase up a floor to where the offices were; the studio was set up at the end of the hall. As he came through the doorway, he was met with the very annoyed gaze of Melody Cruz; his eyes glanced over to where Seth sat beside her, nervously focusing on the memo pad in front of him, eyes skirting between the two of them, then back down.

“Oh, hello, Duncan,” Melody simpered, plastering a painful-looking smile on her face. Murder, her eyes shot out at him. Stone cold murder. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, I know how busy you are lately.”

“Melody. Seth.” Duncan ignored her tone, pulling the chair at the head of the rectangular table in the far corner of the studio out, sitting in it neatly, putting his phone face-down on the table in front of him, crossing one leg over the other, using all his will to keep his expression neutral; cool, calm, collected, impenetrable Duncan Shepherd. Everyone seemed hellbent on getting a rise out of him this morning; of all the people in his life he considered close, it seemed only Samuel was happy for his good fortune. Fine. Perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to reevaluate the roles of others in his life in the first place. “Let’s go over everything for the taping tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re just going to pretend like you haven’t been making a total mockery lately of all the work we’ve done, then?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what the fuck you mean, Melody.”

Seth’s eyes fluttered between them again, licking his lips, clicking a pen nervously in one hand. “Um, everything’s fine, Melody, I’m...I’m sure there won’t be any effect on the show.”

“Are you fucking dense, Seth? Of course it will fucking affect the fucking show! Madeline Stone’s fuck-ing daugh-ter!” She slapped her hand against the edge of the table, enunciating sharply. “You think our audience is primarily comprised of intersectional feminists and people who buy cage-free eggs?”

“Melody, you’re out of line.” Duncan felt his temper rising; a temper that hadn’t really settled since Gretchen Friedrichs tried to blackmail him half an hour ago.

Melody went quiet, her eyes burning, her expression infuriated.

“I understand the reasons my relationship may be a shock to you--”

“You better fucking believe it’s a fucking shock. I’ve never known you to be one to even call back for a second date, let alone whatever it going on with you right now. What, you fucking love her?”

Duncan gazed at her; her dark eyes met his icy blue stare evenly. He felt his tendency towards manipulation and coercion begin to try to float to the surface of his composure; for a moment, he considered firing her. It’s what last week’s Duncan would have done, he thought, and strangely, he felt a nervous edge creep into his composure; he was rubbing a hand along his bottom lip before realized he was doing it, looking away from her. This Duncan had been unutterably shaken by a little gold angel in a black dress. This Duncan was not the same man who had last sat in this studio, last plotted out the trajectory of how best to unseat the sitting President of the United States, last given Melody sheets of propaganda to read on air. I’m not totally sure who this Duncan is, he thought; Melody still stared, her expression seeping into confusion at his metamorphosing reaction. I just know I don’t want the same things I wanted a few days ago. I want her. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of it. I care what she thinks first and how she feels first and I don’t care who her mother is and I don’t care how many times people see us kiss on the street and I don’t want to be away from her, not for all the money in the world, not for all the power, not for the world itself or a hundred worlds. And nothing any of you say is going to make me leave her.

“Yes. Melody. I love her.”

Melody scoffed, leaning her head back into the headrest of her swivel chair, crossing her arms under her chest, turning away from him. Once, long ago, when Melody had been an intern for Shepherd Unlimited, they’d slept together. It was a hasty, short-lived event; neither of them had even really undressed for it, and Duncan hadn’t been able to come; they’d both been drunk and she had pressed a hand suggestively against his crotch and the scotch in his blood had convinced him that it was a good idea and it wouldn’t matter the next day, the way the scotch in his blood had decided halfway through that his cock was ready to go to sleep. Neither of them had ever really mentioned it again; but Duncan knew that Melody had never really let it go. Not in words; it was always in looks. But he wasn’t sure if her anger really had all that much to do with who Kenzie’s mother was as it had to do with the fact that this girl, whoever she was, was the girl Duncan Shepherd had decided was the one for him, kissing her openly in the street, standing in line with her in coffee shops with his arm around her, holding her hand on the way to private rooms in posh French bistros, cameras be damned.

“I guess this is why you fucked up your interview so many times the other day,” she said icily. “Thinking about her perfect little pink pussy.”

“Melody.”

“Seth, give him the fucking outline.”

“Melody. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that time.”

Melody’s eyes fell on him, shining; shocked.

“I’m truly sorry about that night. I appreciate you and the work you do immensely; I see the long hours you put into the show and Gardner Analytics. I haven’t told you that enough. I know that happened a long time ago, but it was stupid, and we should have talked about it after it happened, and we didn’t. I should have said something to you, apologized, and I didn’t. This apology is far too late, and my timing is terrible. But I am sorry.”

Seth was carefully drawing circles on his memo pad; he pretended to look at his phone, as if engrossed in whatever he saw there, but Duncan could see how rigid his body was.

Melody continued to stare at him, not speaking. He uncrossed his legs and sat up; sat with his arms resting on his knees. He cleared his throat a little.

“I know it’s not convenient. But the truth is, I love Mackenzie Stone. It wasn’t expected; it wasn’t planned. It happened. Annette knows, and she knew before the video and the photo from today. I understand your hesitation and your concern for the future of Gardner Analytics and the show. But the reality is, my relationship will continue regardless of whether or not you approve of it; whether or not anyone approves of it who isn’t Mackenzie or me. But I am sorry, Melody. I respect you deeply as a friend and as a coworker. And I’m sorry my apology took so long.”

Melody bit her bottom lip, and he could see her arms clenching against her torso where she had them crossed. Then, she looked down at the folder in front of her, opened it, and passed him the sheet of paper on top.

“Outline for Episode 153.”

Duncan nodded, reaching for the paper, pulling it toward him, as Melody blew out a long breath, and began her overview.

--------

It was after 6 by the time Duncan left Shepherd Hall; he looked down at his phone (he hadn’t for hours as they went over the episode--as this one was supposed to be about President Underwood’s thus far very public breakdown, it had to be flawless) as Seth and Melody walked away from him. Melody had looked over her shoulder, giving him a strange look that he couldn’t decipher, then waved shortly, turning away--it gave him the feeling that something minute and ever-present had been vaguely fixed between them, though. Kenzie and Samuel had texted him; Samuel’s was at the top, more recent, so he saw it first: Mr. Shepherd, Miss Mackenzie is safely at home. If you need my services, I am now available to you.

Yes, please, Samuel. I’m at Shepherd Hall. I need to go to Tiffany’s.

Samuel responded right away. Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I will be there in ten minutes.

He scrolled down to the text from baby, angel, beloved

Kenzie: There were a bunch of reporters waiting outside the building when I tried to leave work. My boss helped me through the back door, but two of them still found me. Thankfully Samuel was there, but I think they got me on camera. I don’t know who they were with. I’m okay. Samuel was wonderful. I’ll be so relieved to see you, baby.

Oh, no, he thought, his heart sinking. Someone beat buzzpopfeed to their info. He knew how clever people could be online; they found the tiniest clues and used them to sleuth vast swaths of information (once, a fan on Instagram had zoomed in on every toiletry behind him in a selfie he’d drunkenly taken in his bathroom and made a list of “Duncan Shepherd’s Go-To Grooming Must Haves”, which was published by a gossip site soon after). Seeing Kenzie run into One Franklin Square on camera was a dead giveaway, and he raked a hand through the curls at the side of his face in frustration. That was so fucking stupid of me. I should never have gotten out of the car after her. I should have controlled myself. And now people are trying to molest her at work. That’s my fucking fault. He wondered if it was buzzpopfeed that had found Kenzie on the opposite side of her building; they were notorious for breaking into private residences and crossing police lines, inventing elaborate scenarios to get onto upper hotel floors where they knew celebrities were staying, and wearing hidden cameras. That’s just the sort of shit they’d do, he thought. And if they got her on camera I don’t doubt it’ll be on their site soon.

He thought about going to the site to check, but stopped himself. I’m sure I’ll get another angry text soon enough from Mom if there’s something new, he told himself. And what, she’ll be angry at Kenzie for trying to leave work. As if there was an alternative.

But Mom: she’s easy to love. She’s so lovely. When you meet her, how could you not see it? Mom, I love her. You’ll see why; and then, you can’t tell me what I’m doing is wrong. Then you won’t be able to say I’m making a mistake.

The thought was like one he would have had when he was a child; lost in the orb of his mother, always admiring her, always certain with an unshakable conviction that she was right. Always sure that she knew what was best. The innocence of the thought struck him; even if he knew now that his mother was far from perfect, and that her intentions were often underhanded, he couldn’t shake the hope that she would warm to Kenzie in time. The alternative was unthinkable.

Samuel pulled up, Ella drifting quietly from the interior: your daddy’s rich, and your mamma’s good-lookin’...so hush little baby...baby, don’t you cry...Duncan pulled the door open, letting the warm evening air drift over him and push his hair back, a strange wave of nostalgia washing over him; a mixture of sadness and hopeful longing. If such a wonderful, fateful thing could happen to him; meeting her at all, finding her at all, in a world of so many people walking past each other every day without a second glance, surely the miracle of his mother accepting and loving her could, too, come to pass. O Fortune, like the Moon of ever-changing fate, ever waxing, ever waning...where had he heard that before? The line echoed in his mind as Samuel pulled away from the curb, and they were both silent, a quiet understanding passing between them; Duncan nodded to Samuel through the mirror; thank you. Thank you for taking care of my Kenzie today. Samuel’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light; seemed to him like twin moons in a black sky.

I’m so glad you’re okay, baby, he texted Kenzie. I’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.

------

An hour later, Duncan stepped out of the BMW in front of his high-rise with a very distinct blue box tucked carefully under his arm; his eyes glided up to the 30th floor, where he knew he could sometimes see into the long window of his penthouse if the light was right in the evening. He could see the reading lamps near the window were turned low; could see the reflection of light coming from where the kitchen and dining room were to the north end of building, but he couldn’t see Kenzie; she wasn’t near the window, it seemed. An almost-vanished sliver of moon hung over it, like the rind of a melon devoured. He walked quickly into the building, anxious to be near her; the doorman, Jerry, nodded to him with familiarity. “Mr. Shepherd, fine night.”

“It really is, Jerry, hey,” Duncan moved past him, giving Anchaly a nod. Anchaly gave him a knowing smile; his copy of Tropic of Cancer catching Duncan’s eye for a moment. “Enchanting,” Anchaly said as he walked past, eyeing the blue box under his arm. “She walks in beauty, like the night / of cloudless climes and starry skies--” Duncan grinned at him, heading to the elevators, feeling flushed. “And all that’s best of dark and bright / meet in her aspect and her eyes,” he finished, as the doors slid open.

“Just so,” Anchaly agreed, and turned back to his book.

Duncan looked at himself in the long mirror as it climbed, unaware that Kenzie had done the same only a few short hours before; his hand pressed along the smooth line of his leather jacket, only just now remembering he’d worn the same clothes for two days. He sniffed his armpit carefully; not too bad, considering. He ran a nervous hand through his hair; still nervous, he wondered. Still trembling to behold her grace. I hope that feeling never fades. I don’t know how it could. He thought of how she’d looked clutched against him in this mirror, in that haze of their first night together; how it had made his cock throb, his nerves set on fire, her little body pressed to him, his hands in her hair. He felt his cock growing hard now, pressing with urgency into the lining of his tailored slacks (her little tongue in my mouth, her little nipples in my fingers, my hand between her legs, her laugh, her smile, the light falling on her); he ran his fingers along the edge of the blue box, swallowing carefully, pressing a thumb along his jaw. The doors slid open, achingly, seemingly impossibly slow. He walked to his own door, heart thumping wildly, as though it belonged to her now; it’s because I belong to her now, he thought. And I’m happy to obey her every whim.

He used the second keycard he carried in his wallet to unlock the door; it was usually tucked into the inner lining of his wallet, but he’d moved it to the spot where the old one used to be in his billfold; the one that now belonged to her. As Duncan opened the familiar doorway of his apartment, warm, wonderful smells enveloped him; food smells, lovely and enticing and comforting.

“Kenzie?”

She emerged to his left; from the dining room, a room he never used, a room that would be gathering dust but for the housekeepers’ attentions. Kenzie’s face looked tired; there were small dark circles under her wide hazel eyes, and her cheeks were pale, but her lips were pink (like roses), as if rosy from hot liquid; she was wearing a little slip dress that fell almost to the floor, one of the straps falling down her arm, and its color reminded him of wine grapes firming on twisting vines. Her neck was bare and her hair fell around her shoulders, catching the light of the diamond-drop chandelier.

“Hey, baby,” she said quietly, and her eyes seemed dark again as they stared at each other for a long moment; green and bronze. “Hi.”

He put the blue box down on the stand by the front door, his eyes not moving from her face.

“Baby...” he whispered. He closed the distance between them, his hand coming behind her head and cradling it, the other falling down her cheek and neck to her shoulder and down her arm, feeling insistently, hungrily, with terrible relief. She fell into him with urgency, her hands grasping the lapels of his jacket with tight little fingers, her mouth opening to him with need. They stood this way for a moment that felt like an eon, a lifetime, pressing into each other, lost in the solace of each other; he thought again that he’d be happy to die now, breathing into her. She lifted her mouth away a little and he tried to follow her; “baby, today was the strangest day,” she whispered into him, closing her eyes, face lifted up to him, hands pressing up his arms.

“I’m so sorry I followed you out of the car--” he started, his voice tinged with the remorse he felt, tinged with regret.

“I’m not.” She looked into his eyes, her little body sighing. “I’m glad you did. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

He smiled; his hands fell through her hair and down the small of her back, loving the smooth feeling of the dress through his fingers, the silky strands of her. He turned his face, kissing the corner of her mouth; he moved his lips so they trailed along her bottom lip, biting a little, sucking gently, and he was thrilled at the moan that seeped out of her, her eyes fluttering.

“I got something for you.” He stepped away from her, gently gripping her hand and pulling her along with him, towards where he’d left the blue box on the stand by the door. He stroked the contours of her knuckles and fingers for a moment as she glanced at the box, her face curious; then, with a small burst of excitement scattering through her eyes. He handed it to her with both hands, stepping close. “Oh, Duncan,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes again, making him shiver with the devotion he felt, frozen in her gaze.

She pulled at the white ribbon around it, the black lettering emerging from underneath it; Tiffany & Co. He took the ribbon gently so she could lift the lid, and as her eyes fell on what was inside, the little laugh of delight that escaped her filled his heart with tenderness that made him want to press his face to her neck. Inside the box was a platinum necklace on a long chain; the charm at the end of it was a crescent moon set with brilliant round diamonds, which immediately threw their glow against her face, under her eyes. “A moon,” she whispered.

“The moon on a string, for you,” he replied, grasping her hand again, pressing his thumb over it. “My beloved.”

“It’s perfect. It’s too much--” Her eyes took on that overwhelmed glimmer; he shook his head, pulling her mouth onto his again, shushing her worry.

“It’s not. It’s not nearly enough. I wish I could pull the real moon down and give it to you.”

She grinned into his lips. “That’s beautiful. But I don’t know what I’d do with the moon all to myself. The world needs her. I love her best where she is.”

“Of course you would say something like that,” he whispered into her, his thumb brushing a gently trail from her cheek to her earlobe, twisting a strand of golden-brown hair through his fingers.

“Like what?”

“Something so lovely, and so kind, and gentle.”

Her eyelids fluttered downwards as she blushed; he could feel her shaking a little under his touch. He gently lifted the necklace from the box, and he reached out with his long fingers, pressing the index of his left hand into the hollow of her throat, trailing it there.

“May I?”

She nodded, her green-tinted eyes staring at him again, her mouth open ever-so-little. She lifted her hair and turned, exposing the whiteness at the back of her throat, the bumps of her spine and the incline of her shoulder blades above the dip of the dress; he resisted the urge to kiss her there, later, and unclasped the hook, lifting it around her head, his fingers brushing against her with longing as he clasped it at the nape of her neck. She turned around again, facing him, a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips; “how do I look,” she asked, her eyes falling into him.

“Like an angel,” he said, hands against her shoulders, fingers trailing. “Like a goddess.” And she did to him; the soft light on her skin and her hair, dazzling against the little round diamonds in the crescent moon, the shape of her little breasts pressing against the soft velvet of the lilac-colored dress. “You look like Persephone, goddess of spring.”

A strange look came into Kenzie’s eyes; one of a dawning realization, or a familiar deja vu; she brought her little hands to his cheeks, trailing them softly along the stubble on his jaw, onto the bottom of his lip; he pressed his mouth against her fingers, closing his eyes.

“Then that makes you my Hades, God of Wealth, King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dark Places.”

“Spooky.”

She giggled.

“Thank you, baby. I love it so much. I love you...so much.”

“I love you too, Kenzie. I love you.” He opened his eyes again to her; everything I have is yours now, he thought. Everything is for you. All of me.

“Come have dinner.” She smiled mischievously, pulling back from him. She held his hand and pulled him through the doorway into the room he never used; its centerpiece was the long cherrywood dining table that once belonged to Duncan’s great-grandfather, a piece passed down to him by his mother when he moved into his penthouse years ago. Kenzie had found one of the linen tablecloths packed away in the drawers of the darkwood sliding-door china cabinet Duncan never touched; it was carefully tucked around the table, and on it was a lovely spread; she’d moved some of the pillar candles from the coffee table into this room, lighting them in the center, and their warm glow dazzled into his eyes, making them tear.

“I made chicken and dumplings,” he heard Kenzie say softly. “It’s one of my favorites, my mom always made it for me when I was growing up, especially after she’d had a particularly hard day; now, to me, it’s always comfort food.” His eyes roved hungrily over the spread she’d created; his favorite shallow cooking pot full of fluffy dumplings covered in speckled parsley, and steamy, bright chicken stew; another platter had smoky tendrils of broccoli rabe, and a third had an array of colorful root vegetables, yellow beets and dark orange chopped carrots and purple turnips.

“Kenzie, this is wonderful,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for cooking for me. I’m so happy you did this for me.”

“I wanted to,” she said, shyly, the diamonds around her neck catching the light, her cheeks, pale when his eyes had first fallen on her, now glowing with her emotions and the touch of his fingers. “I wanted to make you something because you’ve been so wonderful...because you’ve made me feel so wonderful…”

“Kenzie, baby,” he couldn’t stop, he pulled her into him again, aching, his body shuddering into her, his lips falling along the side of her face, and she sighed into him, “God, I missed you so much today, I wanted to see you so much…”

“I felt the same way baby, I’m so happy you’re home--”

He pulled her hand up to his face, kissing her open palm with terrible softness, overcome.

“I’m starving,” he said, grinning at her, and she smiled back (my moonlight), kissing him, nodding, saying “Me too, let’s eat, let’s eat.”

-------

Over the dinner Kenzie had created for him, Kenzie told him about everything that had happened to her after she ran into One Franklin Square; “Ben Wilder is basically the Annette Shepherd of the Washington Post,” she said to him, her eyes flashing. “Everyone is terrified of him, and he demanded I get you to give him an interview. It’s impossible to hide any modicum of gossip from him.”

“I’ll give him an interview,” Duncan said between mouthfuls of Kenzie’s savory chicken and dumplings. God, this girl can cook. I can’t wait for us to cook something together, he thought. I can’t wait for us to cook together for so many nights to come. He watched her eyes goes dark with surprise at his words. “...You will?” He watched her fingers fall to the diamond moon hanging at her beautiful throat; Kenzie, baby, I love your fingers there, I love your fingers, my little moon, my Persephone--

“Of course.”

“Duncan, I work for The Washington Post.”

He laughed a little, drinking down a mouthful of the Grand Cru he’d opened for them, bringing the bottle over to him, pouring more into his crystal glass, pouring some into hers carefully. “Kenzie. I know.”

“So...how is that going to be okay with your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.”

Her eyes shone out at a him from where she sat across from him; he was at the head of the beautiful cherrywood table, and she was sitting in the seat to his left, facing the doorway to the kitchen, her little face soft in the candlelight.

“Okay,” she said, and the smile that spread over her cheeks was like the blush of spring flowers in the rain. He reached over to her; her fingers curled through his, and the energy that passed between them was like the rolling crash of thunder over an open plain; wide and intense and open and circling down into the cores of their bodies, through the fingers that touched. They gazed at each other for a moment, hands tightly together. Then, Kenzie grasped her wine glass in her little slender fingers, stood, and, still clasping his hand against hers, said, “I seem to recall a bold claim from this morning.”

He looked up at her; she glowed, and his breath fell away from him.

“A certain Prince of the Underworld, he of vast fortune and troves of gold and black flowers with silver stems, told me he was going to make me come...so...fucking...hard.”

Duncan smiled; smiled with an all-encompassing happiness that pierced into the center of him, one that made him want to scream with its intensity; he let go of her (I don’t want to)  and wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin at his lap, but as he stood, she moved away from him, gazing coyly into his eyes as she did, over her shoulder, cradling the wine glass against her; come and get me, her eyes whispered. His groin shuddered with a coiled sort of agony and he pulled his own wine glass with him, languidly, following her slowly, leaning against the door to watch her move through the kitchen and the wide front room, flipping the light switch so they were bathed in darkness, as she moved towards where the long glass window stretched, its blank face gazing down on the city lights; the silky movement of the dress against her back and her ass, one of the straps falling down again, the incline of her breast almost completely visible to him, the waves of her hair down her back; Duncan imagined flowers tangled in the strands, peonies like the little flowers on the glass of water he’d pulled in her hand, roses like the roses on the balcony and in the bathtub, the candles clustered around them, her body hovering over him in the water, her fingers clutching at his stubble.

She gazed out onto the city, quietly, lost in her own thoughts again, it seemed; he felt like he could almost see the gentle cascade of her thoughts in this moment, the hazy warmth of the wine spreading through her, the pain and confusion of the day fading and spreading down into the city, away from them; he put this moment, looking at her, bathed in a soft glow, into the memories of her he would always cherish, always have locked in his heart. He watched as she sipped the wine, the crystal edge of the glass reflecting the golden helmet of Pallas Athena beside her.

“You know,” she said, as he moved towards her, carefully, “today, after I got here, I looked at your home for a long time. Its energy. Its spirit.”

“What did you see?” He couldn’t remove the longing from his voice; everything I want, everything I need, he thought. It’s you. Only you. He came up against the other side, against the wall of his study; he leaned against it, his arm propped up, trying to look out at the capital city’s glow; but his eyes turned to her, almost involuntary, lost in her.

She dipped her head down for a moment, thoughtful, her eyes to the steep incline of the ground, thirty stories down; the crystal glass glinted in her hand again, throwing stardust against her cheek.

“That you love art and beauty. That you love books. That you love the strength of women; the strength and yes, the beauty, and the beauty of men, too, I think. I think so. And that you have a great and hidden depth in you, Duncan Shepherd, one that perhaps not everyone around you sees; one that you hold secret, pressed against your heart.”

He kept his eyes on her. She turned to him, dazzling, soft, and he noticed her wine glass was almost empty now.

“I think you really are like the God of the Underworld; a prince on a cold throne. And I think you need a Queen made of Light who sees the light in you. And I think I am her.”

She stepped away from him once more; looking over her shoulder again, setting the crystal glass next to Athena, a swirl of red still in the bottom, moving on to the soft, low light of the bedroom. His breath seemed caught in his chest; he put his own glass, a little wine left in it, an offering, next to Nike, whom he stood near; bring me Victory, blessed Nike, whence I toil like the bees, you bring me honey--

As he entered the bedroom (quiet black sheets, the cover thrown back) he saw her pushing the dress from her shoulders, stepping out of it; she was naked underneath, and his nerves thrilled to realize she had been naked underneath it since he came home; thrilled at the secret she’d held that he had not realized, but she left the necklace on, the moon made of diamonds, and Kenzie looked over her shoulder at him, her long lashes languid as she laid down on the bed, sighing into it, bending one of her knees so her thigh fell over her sex, hidden from him just a little, her face turned to where he stood there at the door, leaning against it, staring over her.

Kenzie moved her legs apart, her sweet little sex opening to him, reminding him of that first night, days ago--

He pulled his jacket off quickly, about to pull his shirt off just as quick--but she murmured “slow, baby, I wanna watch you,” and he slowed himself; anything you want, angel, he thought. Whatever you want, now and always, and as he unbuckled his belt, now shirtless, he watched her little fingers go down between her legs and rub at her little clit, her mouth falling open.

“Baby, stop,” he said, firmly.

Her eyes widened at him; her finger paused its circles at her core.

“Put your hands up above your head. Against the headboard.”

Her eyes went darker; that glow, forest-green, haunting. Kenzie lifted her hands up, grasping onto the slats above her. Her mouth was still open, lips parted just a little, her breath coming out in tiny, quiet gasps.

“I’m gonna make you come.”

He watched the shiver fall down her body, starting at her shoulder, through her torso, her hips, her legs, to her toes. She gripped the slats harder, opening her mouth a little more. He pushed his pants and his briefs off his body, staring at her, his cock falling against his fingers for a moment, making him moan, and then he reached down and picked up his belt where he had dropped it; he let it hang carefully down from his hand for a moment, watched her eyes travel over it, a mixture of desire and apprehension in them, then he climbed onto the bed, between her legs; he didn’t touch her, but she wrapped her legs around his thighs, the head of his cock brushing for a second against the open lips of her sex, and they both shuddered. He lifted his arms up and pressed the smooth leather strap against her little wrists; she let out a moaning little cry that made his heart feel as thought it was going to burst out of him, but he concentrated on the task at hand; he wrapped the straps around two of the slats, buckling them together behind it, pulling the strap tight against her, not too tight, but enough to make it so she couldn’t move her wrists out of the belt; he watched her hands flex for a moment, and then he looked down into her wide hazel eyes; she nodded to him, eyes fluttering, and he moved his long hands down her arms, fingers closing over her round breasts and gripping the diamond moon above her breasts for a moment, down further as he moved his body back, hands on her waist and now her hips and now her thighs, pushing then further apart; he saw the little tears glittering in the corners of her eyes, felt the shiver of her body under his hot hands.

“Is it okay, baby?” he whispered, hesitating.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she whimpered, an edge in her voice that made him shake. “Yes, fuck, yes…”

He moved his head down to hover just above her folds, above the lip of her clit; his hair fell over his forehead, brushing her belly, the dip of her bellybutton; she shivered, crying out again; then he pressed his lips into her, his tongue laving out to urge against her core; he looked up as he did, watching her arms resist the constraint of his belt holding her for a moment, tight on her wrists, pressing into her skin, her little mouth stretching in need; “Duncan, fuck, ohhhh--”

“You like being tied up like that, baby?” he whispered, then he pressed his tongue against her again, long and slow and aching, and her hips bucked into him, and she let out a little shuddering cry that made him painfully hard, made his cock jump against the sheet.

“Y-y-es, baby, yes…”

He brought one of his large, long hands up, fingers curling; then he brought it down suddenly, a soft but sharp little slap onto the sensitive slit between her legs, and she cried out again, leather pressing into her little wrists.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes.” The tears glimmered in her eyes again; her cheeks were rosy, and he could see her pussy slowly turning dark pink from his attentions. “Yes. Do it again, baby.”

He lifted his hand again, his palm and fingers flat; this time he brought his hand down again, harder this time, slapping her clit with a rough immediacy.

“Fuuuuck, fuck!” Kenzie moaned. “Please, suck my clit, baby…”

Duncan leaned down, eagerly, his lips closing around the bud of her; he sucked deeply, carefully, his tongue swirling over her, and he felt her hips buck into him again, her moans strangled and needy and unwinding.

“Kenzie, I’m gonna make you come hard,” he whispered into her, his breath making her buck into him again, and again, her mouth a little O, her wrists shaking, “and then I’m gonna make you come again after that.”

“O-okay, baby,” and her voice was shuddering, high, driving him into white feelings of madness.

He worked his tongue against her again, and his fingers came up; he pressed two, his index and middle fingers, into the wet core of her body, curling them, flexing back and forth, his lips sucking into her clit again. She cried out again; “Baby, I am gonna fucking c-cu-um,” and he kept his mouth pressed heavily into her clit as she shuddered under him, his fingers still buried inside her pussy as her wetness fell against them, moisture gathering between the spaces of his digits, sweet-smelling and thick. She continued to shudder for some time; he laid his head gently into her abdomen, his fingers coming out of her, soaked with her, his hands pressing into her jutting hipbones, tracing them and leaving traces of wetness and his lips pressed into her skin, ignoring his own hardness, his own need, for the moment.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking godddd,” Kenzie moaned, and he looked up; tears coursed down her cheeks and her shoulders were shaking. Her hands were still clamped in the confines of his tight leather belt; he leaned up, reaching behind the slats, untying it, tossing it aside, gently grasping her wrists, bringing his lips to where they’d left red marks on her, kissing her tenderly.

“Are you okay, baby,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whimpered, though tears still coursed from her eyes. “Yes.”

“Good. I’m gonna fuck you again now. And you’re gonna come for me again.”

Her eyes opened wide, wide from their fluttering, hazy half-lids; she gasped a little, and then she nodded, and she whispered “yes, baby, my Prince, fuck me hard now.”

He pulled her up, gripping her under her arms; “come here, baby, come with me,” he whispered, and her little naked body slipped off the bed as he pulled her, and he kissed her with his mouth open with fierce admonition, fingering the diamond moon at her breast in his large elegant hand and she lifted herself up to him and her tongue tangled against his and as he pulled her towards him he saw a glitter of moisture that slipped down her leg from her release. He gripped her hand tightly, pulling her from the bedroom; he led her to the window, his glass window, surveying all of the city, a wall of glass, and he pressed her hands against it tenderly in the darkness, the only light now shining below them, his mouth open under her ear, his body pressed against her back and her thighs, his cock hard between her legs, brushing against her cunt, sensitive and soaking wet, and she moaned again, her eyes looking back at him for a moment, then back at the lights below as his large hand came around her throat and he pressed his length into her, his other hand coming around to her clit, rubbing insistently.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as he fucked her, raw and rough and with wild desire, and her little mouth hovered over the glass, her breath cascading in clouds against it, her fingers curling where they were pressed, fingers splayed, her knees buckling just a little against him, her ass moving back to press into him as his fingers bored into her core and pressed harshly into her neck, her hips moving against him, her feel tip-toed to reach up to his height, her eyes looking out, glancing up at their reflection over her shoulder. “Almost as beautiful as you are, but nothing is, no one is, nobody is as beautiful as you are, Kenzie, my angel--” Duncan could see the outline of them there too, in the reflection, his hair tossed against his forehead, his mouth open in a mixture of lust and concentration, her wide eyes turned up almost into her head as she gasped, and he moved the hand from her neck to twist around her chestnut hair, pulling it tight, bringing her head back with a soft jerk, and she moaned “oh goddd--” and ground against him again, ground down onto him so he was completely buried inside her. His index finger was grinding circles into the side of her clit; he moved it down to where moisture was dripping down her leg, dripping down the length of his cock as he pulled in and out of her, and gathered it on his finger, bringing it back to her clit, soaking wet--

“Baby, I’m--I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna--”

This time, Kenzie’s little body rocked back onto him, her fingers clenching into fists on the glass, her cunt spasming down onto his length with a force that brought stars behind his eyes, and he watched the glitter of the diamonds at her neck reflect in the glass. “Fu-u-uuck my pussy, fuck my little cunt with your big cock,” Kenzie cried out, and he lifted out of her and plunged back, feeling the vague outline of her cervix brushing his head; then, Kenzie screamed; she screamed and her body began to shake, to vibrate against him, the lips of her so far down on his cock that they brushed against his balls, and he felt another cascade of moisture seep out of her, this one more intense than the first, dripping down his testicles in rivulets, and he shuddered a hallucinatory release into her that made him blind for a moment, his cock immediately sensitive and painful with its intensity, his voice crying out “Fuck, fuuuck, I wanna be inside you forever, Kenzie, goddess, I wanna fuck you until I die--”

They leaned heavily into each other for a moment; her cunt spasming up onto his cock, his cock shuddering into tenderness inside her; then he pulled out and Kenzie slid, weakly, to the floor, breathing heavily, her little breasts shuddering.

“Oh baby, are you alright--” Duncan immediately crouched to her, avoiding the sensitive area between his thighs, his eyes widening with alarm; he tucked a hand around the crook of her neck, the other hand coming around her waist and holding her up as he gently pushed her head towards him; her breathing was heavy and her eyes fluttered once more, half in and half out of consciousness. He pressed his fingers against her cheek softly, tapping it a little; her eyes trembled open, and the look she gave him was one of supple, dream-like trust.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Duncan.” Her eyes hovered between opening and closing; her breath slowed, and she murmured “I’m so sleepy, baby,” and they closed and she was hovering there in his arms, breathing softly, lost in her post-coital euphoria.

Duncan pressed a kiss to her cheek; he hovered there, breathing in the smell of her skin, then he hitched his arm around the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders, and he picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed, where he pulled the sheets and the duvet over her little body; my poor angel, my poor sweet baby, he thought. I have to talk to her about a bodyguard tomorrow, I know she won’t want one, but I have to convince her it’s for the best, god, I have to. He watched the shadow of her eyelashes against her cheek, the slow breath that moved her body under the blanket, the slow shadow of her heartbeat against her throat. Then he moved towards the bathroom; his groin was still soaked in her release, his cock still throbbing as he came down from his orgasm; he went to one of the drawers under the bathroom sink to get the wet wipes he always stored there (a million uses) and paused, his heart in his mouth, as he saw her little toiletries lined along one side of the sink, the side he’d cleared for her; his on the left, hers on the right. The dark red bottle of her perfume; he pulled it over to him and brought his nose to the nozzle, breathing in; roses, vetiver, geranium, and his body sighed into the smell, the smell that was her. A little black hairbrush rested on the edge of the sink; strands of her chestnut hair glinting in it. A little eyeliner stick, a tube of lipstick, a stick of mascara, a bottle of face wash. All her little things, the little pieces of her. His immaculate grooming supplies were on the opposite side, spotless and still; hers threw warmth into the space, made his cheeks blush; he wanted to touch everything, kiss each of her belongings, memorize their shape. Duncan felt overcome again; it was as if her things had always been missing before, leaving a Kenzie-shaped hole, one he didn’t know existed, but could feel, somewhere in his hidden heart. And now, they weren’t missing anymore. Here they were. He could reach out and touch them, like he could reach out and touch the smooth contour of her skin, the waves of her hair, where she slept in his bed. Our bed, he thought, smoky desire drifting, cleaning himself up, shivering as the cold wipe touched his still-sensitive cock; using another one under his arms, at the back of his neck. Our bathroom. Our apartment. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. How can I keep her safe if she isn’t here with me? How can I sleep without her now? He imagined reporters hounding her as she tried to leave for work in the morning; imagined people trying to get into her apartment building at night, trying to look in her windows. The thought absolutely chilled him. I’ll ask her. I want to soothe the worry I saw in her eyes tonight. I don’t want her to worry about anything, or anyone. And I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.

Duncan left the bathroom, naked, flipping the light-switch, but not before one long, last glance at Kenzie’s little things on the sink; he smiled, his heart full. He turned towards the closet, eyes falling over Kenzie where she slept again; she was breathing slowly now, far away, the diamonds still glinting at her throat; he went to her softly, unclasping the necklace at the nape of her neck, gently lifting it away from her so she wouldn’t wake, pressing the softest, lightest of kisses into her cheek, his heart on fire. He put it on the side-table, noticing her phone there; it was turned over so he could see its gold case and the moon sticker on it, fading away from use; he trailed one finger over it, lovingly, then turned and walked into his closet. Duncan bent to the drawer, in search of sweatpants, but he stopped, noticing the little outfits that now hung in the space he’d cleared for them; her clothes in my closet--our closet, he thought, and looked down on the shelf below, where there were a few other things stacked in a row; a little black bag, some little moon and star jewelry. Her little things. His chest swelled with longing; he wanted all of her things here, all of her, kissing him, blessing him; he longed not to be greedy, not to ask too much of her too soon, but he thought again of paparazzi outside her house and his mind clouded with concern, resolving to ask her in the morning. He pulled on the sweatpants, wincing as the waistband brushed against his cock, then, he moved out towards the kitchen (he paused, eyes falling on her hair tossed over the pillow tenderly, her little hand clutched against her mouth) and into the dining room, to clean up the dishes.

[makesyoubrave]

Janis/ Regina- college roommates

This also kinda fills a prompt I got for Janis taking care of a sick Regina. 

Read on Ao3 here. 

[I didn't think there was a world in which they were like "yo let's be roommates" but I also couldn't bring myself to write something where it happened by chance so suspend your disbelief just a touch for that part.]

Regina George thinks that all her luck ran out a long time ago.

To backtrack; her senior year of high school had been quite the experience. No longer the top of the social food chain, permanently damaged from the bus incident, and becoming a new person. Suddenly she limped instead of strutted, smiled instead of sneered, and honestly cared about her friends and their lives. Weird.

She’d even become friends with Damian and more-than-civil with Janis. But when Janis comes running into school one day, waving a piece of paper above her head, and shouting that she got a full-ride to the Rhode Island School of Design, Regina pales.

Everyone hugs her and congratulated her and Regina plasters on a smile and is genuine when she tells Janis she’s really proud of her and her face softens at Janis’ big grin.

Then Karen pipes up “isn’t that where you’re going to school, Regina?”

Regina pinks. Regina had applied early action to RISD and got in, but she was waiting to see if she’d gotten into SCAD or one of the other schools she’d applied to. RISD was her first choice but if one of the other school’s was going to offer her a bigger scholarship…

She’d decided about a week ago that she wanted RISD and she’d been talking the decision through with her parents. They’d agreed and she had told Karen (Michigan University) and Gretchen (Northwestern). She hadn’t wanted to tell Damian, Janis or Cady, because none of them had decided on a school or heard back from all their applications. But now it was out in the open.

“Yeah, um it is.”

Janis stares at her. “You’re going to RISD?”

“Yeah.”

Janis grins. “Damn, this is going to be wild.”

•••

Damian (who’s going to NYU) is the one who convinces them to room together. They’re both slightly intoxicated; drinking wine and watching romcoms just the three of them (Gretchen and Karen are at some party that Regina had declined an invitation to (which had honestly shocked them all), Cady and Aaron on a date) and he convinces them that it’ll be better if the two of them room together than it would be to try and get along with strangers. Plus, he argues, they’re friends now.

They sign up and apply and pick a room. When they wake up in the morning they regret it but it’s too late now so they’re stuck.

•••

Move in day is a little rough. The Sarkisian’s and the George’s haven’t interacted in years, but their parents are polite to one another. Janis and Regina worked it out so Regina would set up her side of the room in the morning and Janis would do hers in the afternoon.

When Janis and her parents arrive, Janis breathes out a sigh of relief. Regina’s side of the room is definitely pinker then Janis would ever allow her room to be, but it’s mostly white and gold with just a soft pink rug and dusty pink bedding. She’s put up fairy lights and some polaroids and she’s covered her desk surface in fake-marble adhesive panels. It’s very Regina.

Janis’ side of the room is a lot less black then Regina would have expected. When all is said and done Janis has put up a big black and white tapestry with gold tassels around it on the wall and her bedding may be black but most of the rest of her stuff is either a light teal or white. All in all it kind of works. When Janis’ parents leave to go move the car, Regina taps Janis on the shoulder and hands her a pillow. It’s black and gold and it says “I’m cooler than you” on it. Janis stares at her. (She puts it in pride of place on her bed)

Their dorm is small, though, and they refuse to make their beds bunk beds. Regina lofts her bed and sticks her dresser, storage bins, and desk under it. Janis keeps her bed at hip height and puts her desk at the head of the bed and her dresser slides underneath. Regina brought the coffee maker (some fancy thing that makes lattes and cappuccinos) and a tv that they put against the windows. Janis brought the fridge, two beanbags, and a fan.

By the end of the day, they’re all unpacked and ready for what orientation will bring. Janis calls Damian and Regina insists on talking to him; it warms Janis’ heart. By the end of the week, they’ve both made a few friends but they’re not afraid to admit they’re glad they came with someone they already knew.

•••

That's not to say that they always get along. Sometimes things get a little heated.

They fight. They scream. They don’t talk for days. And then, whoever was wrong (it’s usually Regina but not always) will buy the other dinner or cookies, or they’ll come home for class and the entire dorm will be completely cleaned.  

One time, after a particularly bad fight, Janis comes back from class and there’s chocolate mousse from that place they went to with Regina’s mom when she visited a month ago that made Janis blush when she had to choke back a moan. The chocolate mousse is ridiculously expensive and amazingly decadent and the restaurant isn’t very close so Janis’ is touched. Next to it is a sing rose. Janis double takes. It’s white and blue and black? which confuses Janis so she gets closer. She realizes it’s made of blown glass.

Janis is touched and wonders what poor kid Regina had to pay off or intimidate into making it.

It’s not until 11 pm when Regina is working at her desk and Janis is watching Netflix in bed when she remembers that Regina’s in a blown glass elective. The only light in the room is from Janis’ computer and Regina’s desk lamp. Janis stares at her.

Janis fakes having to pee and calls Damian. He rolls his eyes and tells Janis to calm down but as soon as he hangs up he squeals and freaks out to his roommate.

•••

It’s the beginning of October and Janis comes home from class, completely covered in paint and Regina’s trashed the room. She’s apparently getting ready for some party. It’s a Friday night and even after all these years when Janis opens the door and sees Regina in her skin-tight jeans and a low-cut crop top with a pink jacket she has to blink a bunch of times as her brain sort-of short-circuits.

As soon as Regina sees Janis just staring and standing in the door she rolls her eyes.

"I'll pick it all up as soon as I finish getting ready.”

Janis doesn’t necessarily believe her but she just shrugs and leaps onto her bed. She can wait to get settled in for the night until Regina leaves for her party.

She’s sprawled out on her bed when she realizes Regina’s been staring at her. She pops one eye open and looks up to see Regina with a glint in her eye. Reflexively she bolts up.

“I don’t know what you’re about to say, but the answer is already no!.”

“Janis…”

“No! No! NO!”

“Will you calm down?” Regina rolls her eyes and Janis stops (but only because she wants to).

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to come to this party tonight…”

Janis’ jaw drops. “Why would I want to come to one of your dumb parties?”

Regina looks taken aback. “Firstly, the parties I go to aren’t even the weird wild ones. Secondly, you sit in here every-fucking Friday, I think getting out would be good for you. Find somebody hot, drink a little, let your hair down.” Janis just rolls her eyes, but she’s also chewing on her bottom lip, which Regina knows means she’s thinking about it. “And lastly, I thought we were friends now?”

Janis starts and whips her head towards Regina. She looks her in the eye and see’s sincerity. It makes her feel kinda bad.

“I don’t really know what to wear.”

Regina’s grin is feral.

•••

Janis shows up to the party in pretty much what she always wears but Regina’s “refined it” as she said.

Instead of her big heavy jacket, she put Janis in one of her own lighter-weight and better-fitting black leather jackets. Janis is loathe to admit that she actually really likes it. Regina grins and tells her to keep it. Janis stares at her. (“You know I’ll probably just paint it and shit…” “If I wasn’t ok with that why would I have offered you keep it? I think your jackets are cool, they could just fit you better.”) Janis stares at her more.

When Janis goes to do her makeup, Regina slaps the eyeliner out of her hand and sits Janis down at Regina’s desk. She spins the chair around so Janis is facing her and giggles softly (“I’ve always wanted to do your makeup”) Janis stares at her.

When she spins Janis back around Janis is kinda pissed. Pissed because she doesn’t hate it. She’s wearing a lot less eyeliner than usual, but her eyeshadow is dark and blended really well and gives her that dramatic look without being as heavy. Regina grins and spins her back around, refusing to let Janis put on her regular lipstick and instead presents a purple-nude. Janis hates that she likes that too.

Regina insists on taking a picture of her (Janis flips off the camera) and sends it to the North Shore Squad group chat.

Cady calls them because she’s laughing so hard; tell’s Janis she finally got made over by the plastics. Janis hangs up on her and Regina cackles.

Gretchen sends a long paragraph gushing over how nice Janis’ bone-structure. She sends a picture of something for them to try next time and although Regina rolls her eyes Janis see’s the smile she’s trying to hide.

Karen sends about a million emojis that mostly encompass the hearts and a bunch of thumbs up but she’s thrown some fried shrimp and some dogs in there for reasons no one can try to guess.

Damian face-times them in the middle of a skin-care routine and gushes with Regina over how great Janis looks. Janis groans and stomps around in the background, but she pays very close attention to what they’re saying about her hair and the way the eyeshadow softens her “gorgeous” eyes.  

•••

Janis’ biggest fear is that when they get to the party Regina will just desert her, but she’s also resigned herself to that fact and decided she’s just gonna say fuck it. Maybe she’ll meet someone hot or someone interesting. Or both.

She’s shocked when the door to the house party opens and Regina grabs her hand and leads her through the crowd. Janis is pissed to say almost everyone at this party is hot. Some in the Regina-duh way and others in their own “I’m confident in the way I am but also have really pretty eyes” kinda way.

Regina drags her to the kitchen.

“You don’t like, have to drink or anything, and they don’t usually let like the gross pervs in, but don’t like…” she looks at Janis seriously, “don’t lose track of your drink. And if you do, get a fucking new one.”

Janis hasn’t been to a lot of big parties like this but she’s not a stranger to alcohol. She’s expecting Regina to give her something sweet and fruity and gross but when she asks for a drink and Regina hands her a solo cup, it’s an old-fashioned and Janis grins. Regina winks, grabs her hand again, and pulls her back into the other room.

They stand around and lots of people come up to Regina. Some of them Regina greets warmly and introduces to Janis. Others elicit a brush off. This one dude, Mark, comes up and Regina makes eye contact with Janis and rolls her eyes and sighs before greeting him. Regina isn’t as much of a bitch as she used to be, but she barely speaks to Mark, keeping her attention on Janis and he gets the hint.

“He was the nude model for one of our figure drawing lessons and he thinks he’s the fucking shit.” She sips her drink, “he’s really not.”

Janis snorts.

When their drinks are empty Regina grabs her hand, leads her back into the kitchen where she gets rid of their cups and offers Janis a shot. Janis grins and they down some vodka before the song changes and Regina kind-of-squeals. She grabs Janis by the hand and runs to the dance-floor.

Before Janis can finish thinking that this whole Regina-holding-her-hand thing is like a lot, Regina’s all up in her space dancing. Janis doesn’t really care what people think of her, hasn’t for years, but that doesn’t mean she’s completely comfortable in this situation. Regina ducks her head to make eye-contact with Janis and her eyes and her smile are warm when she leans in. Janis just stares. Regina’s mouth is incredibly close to Janis’ ear when she chuckles “Don’t worry, just don’t think about it.”

Janis is a weirdo. She knows that she owns it. But when she starts dancing in her own way she expects Regina to roll her eyes and tell her to stop or to try something different. But Regina just throws her head back laughing and dances with her. It’s kind-of intoxicating.

They’re like three songs in when a big buff dude comes up behind Regina and starts dancing against her. She stiffens, turns around, and sets him with a glare that could crumble someone much bigger and stronger than him. So he puts his hands up and backs off.

They go through about five more guys until it seems that everyone understands she’s not interested. But then out of the corner of Janis’ eye, she see’s a tall, thin, muscular brunette in a button up, shiny silver shoes and a leather jacket start making her way through the crowd. Janis tries to give her warning eyes, not wanting this girl to face the humiliation of Regina, but when she starts dancing with Regina the blonde stiffens as she has with all the guys, looks over her shoulder and then she grins. She swivels her head back to Janis and makes direct eye contact as she leans back into the girl. Janis just stares.

•••

Janis needs a break and she starts to head off the dance floor. Regina looks a little put-out but goes to follow her. Janis turns around and smiles honestly “No worries, I’m just gonna get some water and take a break, I’ll be right over there.” Regina grins at her and grabs her hand and leans in so Janis can hear her. “Call me if you need anything.”

Janis thinks that’s sweet and smiles but answers back, “I’m ok Regina, enjoy your night.”

•••

Janis ends up hitting it off with this girl named Felicity who’s an animation major and tall, lithe, and has short, strawberry-blonde hair. When Felicity leaves at 2 am she slips Janis her number.

Janis turns around and scopes out the crowd for Regina. She finds her in a very dark corner, being pushed into the wall by the girl she was dancing with before. The girl must be going at Regina’s neck with some fervor because Regina’s eyes are glassed over when she makes eye contact with Janis across the room. Janis gestures to her phone and then waves a goodnight.

Regina pulls away from the girl, Jessie, and pulls out her phone.

*Janis 2:13AM: Mica from my intro class is gonna walk home with me.*Janis 2:13AM: Stay safe and don’t walk home alone.*Janis 2:14AM: Also, if you bring her back to our place I will literally murder you. *Janis 2:14AM: *kissy face emoji*

Regina laughs really hard.

•••

They don’t talk about it, Janis figures that they’re past it all enough to not have to make a big deal out of Regina apparently being into girls, but the more she gets to now Jessie, the more it bugs her. She calls Damian to tell him and it takes him approximately twenty minutes to calm down.

“I STAN ONE QUEEN” he shouts into the phone before he hangs up. Janis is glad that Regina and Damian are friends but she feels a little betrayed. He calls her the next evening and apologizes and helps her work her lasting feelings about it all.

•••

Jessie and Regina are fuck-buddies and they don’t last for long. But once Jessie happens it’s like Regina’s settled into it and suddenly there’s a parade of people.

Regina’s usually really good about not bringing them back to their dorm but sometimes Janis comes home from the studio really late and finds a silk scarf on their door (Regina refuses to use socks) and she has to crash with one of her other friends. It doesn’t happen often enough for Janis to truly have any grounds to complain, but over time she gets home and see’s that goddamn red scarf on her door her blood boils.

One time, Regina forgets the scarf. Or maybe it’s that her and her newest conquest just got home, because Janis opens the door and Regina’s pushed up against the supports of her bed, pressed incredibly close to a girl that Janis recognizes from one of her classes - Frankie, Janis thinks - and Frankie’s hands are in Regina’s back pockets, and Regina’s moaning and her top is on the ground and she’s wearing a white floral bra and Janis stares, mouth open for a few seconds before she slams the door and bolts.

She comes home the next evening and Regina’s not there, but the room is clean and Janis’ usual order from their favorite Chinese place is on her bed, still warm.

•••

Regina might have a lot of girls but that isn’t to say Janis is living like an old maid. By the time their first year is over and it’s time for them to go home for summer break, Janis has been on plenty of dates, dated a girl named Quinn for most of second semester and even dated that dude from her intro class for about a month before she realized he was seeing a girl from his portraiture class at the same time.

When she tells Regina why they broke up, Regina stands up from her desk, looks Janis dead in the eye and Janis stares as Regina slowly transform into Junior-Year-Regina. Her jaw sets, her mouth purses, her eyes go hard, her posture becomes impossibly straighter and she sucks on her front teeth and puts her hands on her hips.

It makes Janis feel a lot of things.

Janis slides off her bed and panicked-ly waves in Regina’s face.

“Hey, hey, no-no-no. We’re not going back there ok!?”

Regina’s face softens at Janis’ panicked look and she takes a step forward and pats Janis on the cheek.

“I”ll be back in an hour, call Damian and clear some space on your bed.” Janis looks skeptical. “What kinda ice-cream do you want?” Janis stares and then grins.

Regina struts out of the room.

•••

She comes back a little over an hour later and she looks smug. She toes off her shoes and grabs the pint of ice cream out of the bag she’s carrying. She grabs two spoons and climbs into Janis’ bed. Janis shoots her a questioning look.

“Stop worrying and eat your ice cream.”

Janis decides to listen.

•••

She sees Mica the next day and he looks sheepish and small in a way he never has before. He apologizes honestly and profusely but Janis just smirks and walks away. Let him stew for a little, she thinks.

A week later she asks Regina what she did and Regina says all she did was tell the girl from the portraiture class what he did. Janis stares at her and Regina rolls her eyes. “I may have also got all up in his face and told him if he ever did it again that I’d castrate him.” Regina shrugs nonchalantly and Janis bursts into laughter. When she finally calms down, wiping her eyes she thinks that maybe she should talk to Regina about how that’s not a really cool thing to threaten someone, but then she thinks about how it might actually make Mica think about the consequences of his actions and she just smiles at a very smug Regina.

•••

They go home for summer break and, unlike winter break when Regina flew directly to Florida, they drive together. Regina drives most of the way and Janis puts her feet on the dashboard and although it looks like it physically pains her, Regina says nothing. Janis buys them lunch and then offers to drive the second half. Regina sits primly in the passenger seat until Janis flicks her and tells her to stop being a brat. Maybe to prove a point or maybe for a different reason, Regina stares at Janis as she puts both her feet on the dash and reclines her seat back.

Regina will never admit that Janis is the one who wins because she actually really enjoys relaxing. She likes to pretend it doesn’t exist, but the lasting pain from the bus really gets to her sometimes. So far she’s been able to hide it pretty well from Janis but she’s unsure how much longer that will last for.

•••

They hang out over break, of course, the North Shore Squad does a lot together, catching up and hanging out. But every night Regina looks around her big room and feels scared and sad and alone. Janis does too.

It’s the day after Fourth of July when all of Janis’ family had been in her house the night before and the house is so quiet and she cracks and she finds herself calling Regina.

“Janis? Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” she chuckles awkwardly, “it’s really quiet here.”

Regina’s brain gives her a million ways to make fun of that but she’s too soft now, she thinks because she just says; “Yeah, same… I miss you.”

Janis is silent and Regina balks. “I mean I miss having someone in the room, I got so used to it and it’s like… wow now I’m all alone and it’s just really foreign, like-“

Janis interrupts her. “I miss you too, Regina.”

They fall asleep with the line still connected, though they don’t say anything else, just content to know that someone is kind-of there.

•••

When it comes time to pick where they’re living the next year Janis decides there’s no way in hell she’s living in a dorm again. She thinks it’s going to be really weird not living with Regina until Regina texts her and straight-up asks if she wants to live with her again. Janis probably wouldn’t admit it but she appreciate’s Regina’s straight-forwardness. Apparently, Regina’s found a little two bedroom town-house really close to campus. Janis grins and agrees.

Their new house is gorgeous (at least in their eyes) and it’s really nice to have their own rooms, though they still spend plenty of time together. However, Regina’s escapades seem to have tripled. And having her own room means Regina brings more girls back to the house. They’re never really loud enough for Janis to hear them (what with the bathroom in-between their rooms) but when Janis comes home and see’s a foreign pair of shoes on the mat, she usually spends the night with one of her friends, a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

Janis has made friends with the people from that first party and when they throw another one in November, Janis and Regina get ready for another one very similar to the first time, but it’s colder now and fall so Janis insists upon wearing flannel. Regina concedes that but has to wrestle a beanie from Janis’ hands.

Regina ends up leaving at like 11 pm with some leggy brunette in a backward baseball cap and Janis is fuming. A fucking baseball cap? Janis finds the nearest eligible person (tries to not process that the girl is blonde and athletic and wearing pink shoes), pushes the girl against the wall and kisses the snot out of her. Ten minutes later, Janis leaves with her. She just walks the girl home and then she fumes some more.  

The fuming lasts for two days until she comes back from class early and notices Regina’s home. She’s supposed to be in class so Janis walks towards her room, sees the door open and then enters to see Regina lying in bed, crying.

“Regina! What’s wrong?”

Regina seems to short-circuit. She’s silent for a little too long. “Nothing, nothing I’m fine.” She goes to sit up, and Janis thinks her face might crack with the severity with which it is scrunched up in pain. She manages to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, and sit up before she can’t make it any farther.

Janis just stares at her.

Regina deflates. “I couldn’t get out of bed this morning. I tried and my legs buckled and it took me an hour to get myself back up into bed.”

Janis’ eyes are huge and she looks confused. Then her face softens.

“It’s from the bus, isn’t it?”

Regina starts crying again. “It just happens sometimes, the residual effects of it and all that, sometimes my body just can’t keep going.”

Janis steps in-between Regina’s legs and hugs her. She pulls Regina farther off the bed a little so that she can properly hug her and tries not to think about it. She holds her really tight but tries not to put too much pressure into it at the same time. After a few seconds, Regina hugs her back and Janis holds her as Regina cries and cries. After a few minutes Regina seems to not be able to hold herself sitting anymore and Janis helps her lie back down, runs to her room and digs under her bed to get the heating pad she keeps there and plugs it in. She tucks it under Regina’s back and grabs a towel and wets it in the bathroom, coming back and wiping Regina’s face down, tear-stained and blotchy.

She stares at Regina, with her eyes closed laying there in obviously a lot of pain and something inside Janis breaks. She climbs into bed with Regina and Regina curls into her and Janis holds her as she cries herself to sleep.

As soon as she thinks Regina is out enough, Janis slips out of her grasp, slips out into the hall and calls Damian.

•••

Once she admits to Damian that she has feelings for Regina, everything gets harder. Once Regina recovers from her bout of pain she’s back on top of her game and Janis can’t stand watching her flirt with, hold hands with or make out with this slew of girls. More and more come back to the house.

Regina and her still hang-out a lot. They do their homework together. They sit in Janis’ bed and watch TV when they don’t feel like going out. Regina comes to Janis’ art presentations and Janis looks over Regina’s compositions.

Two weeks before winter break Regina comes home and tells Janis that she’s absolutely in love with her sculpture class and she thinks she’s either going to get a dual-degree in that and fashion, or she’s going to completely change her major. Once they get back, and over the course of the first two months, Janis see’s Regina’s life change as she delves into her passion. She has much more enthusiasm for her school work and besides that, all the working with her hands is giving Regina’s already toned arms (that girl is up at 6 three days a week and in the gym) even more tone.

The fourth time Janis finds herself staring at them she realizes something’s gotta give soon.

•••

That day comes sooner than Janis thinks it’s going to. They’re at a party and Janis and Regina are on the dance-floor. Janis is just the far side of buzzed but Regina hasn’t really been drinking. With every party, Janis gets more and more comfortable with the scene and the bass is pounding at this party. Regina grabs Janis’ hands, nothing out of the ordinary, but then suddenly Regina’s spinning around and placing Janis’ hands on her hips. She backs up into Janis and flips her hair all to one side, smirking back at Janis. Janis just stares at her but then she smirks too and pulls Regina closer.

A song and a half later and Janis realizes what’s happening and kind-of bolts. She uses the excuse that she needs to use the bathroom and splashes cold water on her face. It sobers her and makes her realize she’s ready to go for what she wants. She heads back to the dance-floor with vigor but when she enters the room and makes eye-contact with Regina, Janis has been replaced by some girl with auburn hair and a jean jacket. Janis just stares.

Regina is looking right in her eye but she’s dancing with the girl with the auburn hair. Janis can’t stand the sight of it, so she bolts.

It’s mid-March and it’s still cold and Janis forgot her coat but she can’t even care. She doesn’t even feel the cold. She’s probably five steps from the front door when it slams behind her and she hears someone running up behind her.

“Janis!” It’s Regina so Janis steels herself and turns around.

Regina is holding Janis’ jacket. She hands it to Janis. Regina herself didn’t bring a coat, she often doesn’t. Regina’s eyes are open and she’s shivering in the cold. Janis hates her soft gay heart. She sighs and steps forward and slings her jacket over Regina’s shoulders. Regina sort-of buries into it and smiles up at Janis. Janis stares at her and then realizes how close they are. She goes to take a step backward but Regina grabs her by the elbows and pulls her even closer. Regina isn’t smiling anymore, she looks a bit exasperated.

“Janis, what do you want?”

Janis just stares at her.

“Because people aren’t mind-readers. And I might be awesome and better than most people, but I did not gain that particular power.” Regina looks so earnest. “So you have to tell me what you want.”

Janis stares into Regina’s blue eyes, shining in the darkness and she shakes her head at herself.

She grabs Regina, sliding her left hand to Regina’s jaw and the right to the spot where Regina’s neck and head meet and pulls her towards her. She pulls Regina off-balance and Regina steadies herself by putting her hands on Janis’ hip bones. They’re inches apart and Janis growls out; “I want you”. She waits just long enough to see Regina start to smile before she presses their lips together.

As soon as their lips touch, Regina pulls her in until they’re pressed flush against each other. Janis tries not to be overwhelmed, but Regina from a distance was intoxicating, and now… Janis isn’t sure if she’ll ever come down from this particular high.

The kiss deepens and Regina moans and Janis pulls her even closer and then Regina growls and digs her fingers into Janis’ back and Janis grabs at her own jacket around Regina’s shoulders and backs the blonde into the telephone pole a few feet away and presses into her.

Regina pulls back after a moment and looks Janis in the eyes.

“I was wondering how long it was going to take for that to work.” She’s smirking and she’s got all the attitude she retained that Janis secretly loves but all the softness she’s gained that makes Janis melt. But her words shock Janis. Janis stares at her.

“I’ve been wanting you to do that for months.”

“But you just said… you have to go for what you want.”

“Janis, a little more than two years ago I was the girl who ruined your entire life. I could see in your eyes what you wanted, but you needed to realize it for yourself and then make the choice to trust me.” Regina seems… nervous. “And I realize that this could have been a heat-of-the-moment decision and while it will kill me to give you up now I’ve had a taste of what could be,” here she grins and pulls Janis closer to her, but then she stops and pulls back, “I need you to be sure that this is really what you want, because I know it might seem like my ‘schtick’ but I’m not planning on being casual with you Ja-“

Janis shuts her up by dragging her back into a kiss. She pulls Regina to her and slides her hands down to her ass and presses Regina against her. Regina wraps her arms around Janis’ neck; Janis’ jacket slips off of Regina’s shoulders but neither of them notices. Regina threads her fingers through Janis’ hair and slips her leg in-between Janis’.

She pulls back just enough to whisper her demand into Janis’ ear. “Take me home, Janis. Take me home now.”

[unpickingthetangles]

Wardrobe and Interiors for those oc asks? Your choice of OC(s)!

Ooooh! I like this one! It is tactile!! Clothing and interiors, hell yeah!

wardrobe: what’s your OC(s) style like?

I got to do Hadrian for this one because his style is a whole crazy concept. My boy has a vain streak in him that I try to keep more nuanced than overt in the book, but it is absolutely there. 

I’ll focus on 35-year-old Hadrian, since youthful Hadrian didn’t have enough money to buy anything to flatter himself. Older Hadrian is much fussier now that he has the luxury.

I’ve based his colors off poisonous plants that are advertising their danger, yet are nonetheless engaging to the eye to look at. He is dangerous in his own right, but harmless unless you interact with him. He is dresses in such a way to bring people in, and to then by no motives of his own, he ruins them. Hadrian wears a lot of creams and whites (like The Lily of the Valley flowers) when he is living in the city, basically screaming ‘I can afford to get this suit dirty’ to everyone on the street. Also, white is more often than not connected to funerals in Gillidainen culture, worn almost exclusively at times of high honor or mourning. Dressing Hadrian in cream suits is a purposeful move on my part, to show that he always seems to be in a state of half-life. It is as literal as it is metaphorical. He fakes his own death really early on, spending ten years allowing people to believe him dead. But with that he has killed his sense of self-being. It dies along with his past life, leaving behind this half-alive version of himself, though that isn’t really addressed until the emotional climax at the very end so lets forget I said that. 

Hadrian begins the story wearing a cream-colored suit to a funeral, an example of how his respect for the dead man is only half-there, then proceeds to wear similar colors over the course of the story. But he goes through some shit while he is out there traveling, moving from light colors to darker ones, until he is finally in black. A color to show a completion of being in Hadrian-- that he has departed from his charlatan ways, that he is no longer stagnated at the age of 25, that he has the capacity of thinking beyond his own wants and needs. 

I also made him travel with Gretchen a great deal, who wears exclusively black 99% of the time in the story. She moves towards lighter colors herself, untangling herself from a life where she was bound to an ideal, a purpose. The colors revert in the opposite direction from Hadrian, from dark to light, until finally she is dressed in a vivid violet color. For her, this coloring means freedom. I coupled the two as a set so they could be in contrast to each other. Also, they just get on really well, they deserve to be friends. 

Outside of all that bullshit, Hadrian accents with fob watch chains and pocket squares. Anything to compliment the color of his hair. He also has a wooden leg and cane made out of MAHOGANY, the finest of all wood (yes, i did that for the reason you’re thinking). So there you go, Hadrian in a nutshell. 

interiors: describe your OC(s) bedroom/home/or a place they consider "theirs". what's in it? do certain items have a special significance to your OC?

This one is really hard!! I cover 20 years of personal history and most of it spent traveling. But if I had to pick a single space where two of my character were blissfully happy, it would be the brownstone house in the Monument District of Alburndia where Douglas and Hadrian live for 5+ years. For Hadrian, it is the first and the last place he ever considers ‘his’. For reference, Alburndia is based (looooosely) off New York City, so the brownstone looks just like the iconic buildings found in Brooklyn. 

For Douglas, it is a cozy little corner very much unlike the manor house in which he grew up. For Hadrian it might as well be a palace. Douglas buys it for them to live together in, far away from a world the echoing halls and bustling servants of the Blue Manor and Hadrian’s own claustrophobic apartment over the Oar Daily Newspaper building. Three stories, that Douglas exclusively fills with furniture that he picks out with his mother. So it isn’t at all to Hadrian’s tastes, but he gets use to it. They fill it with books, not only for their own tastes, but for a cultural standard. They come from a culture that classifies illiteracy as an actual disease. Books are a status symbol, and you are expected to have read them all. Thankfully both boys do so with a genuine hunger. (Though I feel it is worth mentioning that Douglas reads nothing but trash and Hadrian is the one off learning languages and history.) 

The interior was chosen (in what Hadrian thinks) looks like a middle class family’s go at trying to look richer than they are. The wallpaper is classy, mostly in absinthe greens, but floral in the drawing rooms and deeply patterned creams in the bedrooms. 

To Douglas it is all very plainly furnished, very modern. To Hadrian is as posh as a man like him can possibly hope for. It is very much a home to both of them and my lunch is done I am going to wrap this up.

Thank you so much!! This one was FUN! 

[creepykingdom]

Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party 2019 - Review

Words and photos by Gretchen Von Cloedt 

One of the lost joys in life is the ability to get dressed up in costume and go trick-or-treating. Generally, once you're past your teen years, the activity is taboo unless you have children. Well, my friends, through Disney magic, you too can re-live your childhood and parade around the Magic Kingdom, dressed in costumes and, in fact, Trick-or-treat.

Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween party is a separate ticketed event held on select nights during the Halloween Season. I make this a priority every year, and let me tell you, this year it did not disappoint!

New this year, they had a whole new Halloween castle projection show called, Disney's Not-So-Spooky Spectacular. This was probably the most amazing and advanced show I've ever seen projected onto the castle. One amazing feature was the inclusion of a live action Jack Skellington hosting the show. It is a cannot miss!

I really enjoy the character interactions. They have rare characters, and familiar friends all decked out in their Halloween best! A highlight would include The Pumpkin King himself, along with his best gal, Sally. If villains are your thing as they are mine, they have them!

We had a “spoopy” good time watching the Boo-To-You Parade. Disney parades are always cool, but we really love this parade! The parade opens with a reading of the Headless Horseman poem, and the Hessian himself comes trotting by. We really liked the inclusion of Constance Hatchaway, the bride herself, dancing with the ballroom specters. The whole thing is so much fun!

We had so much energy from all the candy, we stopped at the Monsterous Scream-o-ween Ball and danced with Mike, and Sully from “Monsters, Inc.”. While we didn't ride any attractions, they did have fun overlays on several of their classic attractions. Space Mountain, Pirates of the Carribean and Mad Tea Party all have a Halloween twist to add to the fun! Over at the Haunted Mansion, Madame Carlotta perches on the front lawn of our adored spooky abode, and banters with the mortals while they wait in line. I enjoy the concept, but I think I would have enjoyed it more of she were free roaming and mingling in the crowd. Perhaps similar to the citizens of Main Street.

We also tried a couple of the featured snacks for the party! Over in Liberty square, we tried Constance's “For Better or For Worse” Wedding Cake. This was a lemon raspberry cake with a not too sweet frosting. It was cool and creamy, but slightly tart. We also tried the Headless Horseman Cheesecake. I am admittedly not a pumpkin fan, but my hubby is, and to quote him “I was shocked with how flavorful it was.” So I guess it was good, because I just looked over and it was gone. This was chocolate cake and pumpkin mousse. It was a creamy crispy tasty treat.

There is also a castle stage show called Hocus Pocus villian Spectacular! The Sanderson Sisters from the beloved classic Hocus Pocus, along with other Disney villains, stir up some trouble in the Magic Kingdom! This show plays several times during the evening, so make sure that you stop and watch it once... or twice! At the end of the night we had somewhere around 20 lbs of candy, all from treat stations located around the park. There was so much to do, it is hard to get it all in. I recommend attending more than once if you can.

[cbdforptsdthings-blog]

Everyone has the same number of hours in a day. There are people who are extremely successful in their careers and businesses and others who use the “I’m too busy for that” phrase all the time. In the modern world of open possibilities, including the ability to do business online without stepping foot inside an office, you can see a person who took a shot and made it with the same resources available to everyone and with the same number of hours.

Are they smarter? Wealthier? More charismatic? There are people out there who just want to stop worrying about paying their bills. Period. This is the biggest issue for them right now rather than becoming a multi-millionaire in the future.

Besides, according to recent research done by Gallup, 87% of employees worldwide are actively disengaged in their job. Active disengagement could mean that employees hate their job so much that they go out of their way to sabotage their company.

It means that only 13% of people are actually living on purpose by living the lives they want to live. Today, we are going to review three strategically important habits that successful people apply to each area of their lives and how we can do the same.

HABIT #1: SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE STAY FOCUSED.

One of the most important things that separate successful people from the rest of the world is the ability to set clear goals and follow a chosen path. They know that there are lots of talented people with brilliant ideas out there but understand that we are living in an age where you compete, not for the unique idea, but for its EXECUTION.

A brilliant businessman, Tom Bilyeu, whose company had a billion-dollar turnover in less than two years said, “You’re here because you already have something beautiful to come out. You already have an idea of a better life. You just need action. Only action matters. Everyone here has an idea. I give out ideas for free all the time because I know that I’m not competing against ideas. I’m competing against execution.”

However, the modern world brings a huge number of distractions; starting with our phones, social media, communication with people, and those “useless” information about actresses giving birth or politicians commenting on certain events. Whether we want those distractions or not, it all sets in our subconscious mind.

This information leads most people to say, “I have no time for this” when it comes to actually making an impact in their lives. This is because the work that can be completed in a couple of hours can take twice as much time with those distractions. With the inability to focus on one goal, day after day, month after month, all people end up living with is their unique ideas and busy schedule.

Science has detected that concentration and focus occurs when the brain’s prefrontal cortex, which controls high-level cognitive tasks, is awash with the right cocktail of neurotransmitters, hormones, and other body chemicals – particularly, the “pleasure chemical” called dopamine.

The lack of dopamine in the body is associated with symptoms like fatigue, lack of focus, difficulty in concentrating, forgetfulness, insomnia, and lack of motivation. So, if you have tried taking advice from life and business coaches, and it did not work, the problem could be physical which cannot be solved by watching motivational videos or reading books about successful people and their life stories.

Now, let us see where CBD stands on that. When taken on a regular basis, CBD can interact with dopamine receptors which play a crucial role in regulating many aspects of behavior and cognition.

I RECOMMEND YOU TRY CBD ESSENCE CAPSULES FOR THIS PURPOSE.

Oh, and that is not all. Another chemical CBD interacts with is Anademine, which has an impact on joy. So, there is a good chance in allowing your body to help you reach your personal goals AND enjoy the process along the way!

HABIT #2: SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE KNOW HOW TO GET A GOOD REST.

Statistically, every one out of three adults in the US are not getting a recommended seven hours of sleep. Above that, have you ever woken up feeling tired? Even after sleeping for seven hours?

Well, putting themselves first is another common feature among successful people. No matter how busy their schedule is, they always find time for a good rest. They treat it as PART of their business and professional life; not some separate action.

The quality of sleep is what matters most and people who want to function fully and put themselves out 100% understand that. If your sleep is interrupted, you wake up feeling tired and exhausted and that hinders you from being productive for a long time. Other side effects from lack of sleep also include weight gain, negative emotions, and a greater risk of heart disease.

Let us see how CBD can fix that. CBD can help you sleep but does NOT make you sleepy during the day. Gretchen Lidicker, author of CBD Oil: Everyday Secrets, mentioned that studies mainly point to CBD’s ability to interact with serotonin receptors and GABA receptors in the brain. Serotonin plays an important role in mood and anxiety and GABA is known as the main “inhibitory” neurotransmitter, meaning it calms excess activity in brain and promotes relaxation.

[TRY CBD ESSENCE OIL TO HELP IMPROVE YOUR SLEEP.]

HABIT #3: SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE CONTROL STRESS.

Ok, so it does not mean that successful people are superhuman who never worry about anything. But many can agree that, “with great power comes great responsibility.” In fact, no one can control emotions caused by certain events because emotion is something we experience for a moment. It is our reaction to things that happen, and it can last for 10-15 minutes only.

What happens later, however, does make a difference. General people take this emotion, react on it immediately, and then replay a moment in their minds which makes them experience the emotion continuously. Now, THAT is what causes stress.

The event has passed but you are still worrying about it instead of letting your brain calm down and search for the solution.

You see, successful people avoid that. They know that they cannot control some events in their lives AND their first emotions. They TRAIN themselves, physically and emotionally, to calm down and react in a descent way. And you know what? CBD helps in that too.

A study performed in 2010 showed that CBD not only helped reduce current anxiety, but it also changed the initial brain reactions of the anxiety. Brain scans showed changes in the blood flow patterns throughout regions of the brain that was associated with stress and anxiety.

[justindavidcarl]

Rebel With A Cause: How To Meet Internal & External Expectations & Build Good Habits When You Resist Everything

In short, it has been god awful frustrating.

All my life I've struggled against internal and external expectations never really understanding when and why I would meet resistance.

This includes simple & complex expectations as well as habits (exercise, family obligations, work tasks, all types of personal & professional goals, etc.)

Some of the times I encounter little to no resistance. Other times massive resistance despite knowing that meeting the expectation would be awesome for me and my life.

I didn't understand why sometimes it was easy and other times incredibly difficult (even when the expectation itself was fairly easy).

It's been like having a super powerful machine that only turns on sometimes. When it turns on it is incredibly efficient, diligent, and reliable. However, it only turns on sometimes no matter how I hard I "try." 

For some things, like exercising regularly, I have basically zero resistance and it is incredibly easy for me to do this every week with an almost fanatical zeal. This holds true for me whether the expectation comes from within myself or from an an outsider (people, society, etc.)

Yet, other things, like doing my taxes on time or early have been incredibly difficult. This is despite consciously knowing that it is in my best interest to get them done on time at the least.

Along the same vein, for the longest time I could not understand why I resisted great suggestions from my partner, family, and friends. A prime example of this is journaling. I always secretly wanted to be a writer. And yet I resisted my mother, partner, teachers, books, etc. until finally I began at the beginning of 2014 (more on that here).

I've run into similar issues with my own good ideas for myself in all areas of life.

If it is my idea I found that I have at least a 50% chance of following through on it. This is a rough estimate.

If the idea was suggested by someone else in the frame of "you should do _______" my internal resistance flairs up immediately most of the time and the chances of me meeting the external expectation go down a lot.  

I often resist whether someone tells me to do something or kindly suggests it.

Yet, sometimes someone makes a great suggestion and I immediately implement it.

Like I said before. Ridiculously frustrating.

I can't even imagine how annoying that has been for the people in my life. Especially my Mom and significant other.

Despite how frustrating it must be for others I always felt like my Mom did an amazing job parenting me. She gave me a ton of freedom and created an environment where I could truly thrive through my own self-direction. Yet, with the freedom there were reasonable boundaries that I had no trouble respecting (most of the time).

I've come to somewhat understand how she did this for me in the last few years through many deep talks. The basic gist is that she always gave me options and let me make the choice.  

She almost never (if ever) made the choice for me. And since I made the choice I was able to meet the expectation (most of the time).  

A fiercely independent individual like myself has always bucked hard against anything that felt like it was limiting my freedom. Fortunately, my Mom who also highly values freedom never did this to me.

The CEO of my company Ohmygreen has also created an environment where I am constantly asked "what do you think you/we should do?" We almost always discuss options & related consequences. Then ultimately, I am always empowered to make my own choice. I'm not even sure if he's ever specifically told me what to do.

This has resulted in the most fulfilling career/calling of my life thus far and I have been massively successful in my role at the company as a result of this personally empowering environment.

I have a highly similar "pro-choice" environment in my home life with my fiancé -- one of the big reasons I know we are going to be successful and happy in the long-run. Basically, my significant other never tells me what to do, always explains the reasons behind anything and everything we are doing (often before I even ask for the reasons), and ultimately I am always left with the power to choose.

To some, this need to understand and choose may seem somewhat unruly and rebellious. To others you may see yourself in this. Regardless of the personal resonance, almost all of us know someone like this (whether we are consciously aware of it).

Well, thanks to an awesome podcast by Chase Jarvis along with developing work of the Four Tendencies by Gretchen Rubin (author of The Happiness Project & Better Than Before) I believe I am finally coming to understand myself in a new & deeply profound way.

And holy hell I am grateful!

I may have just stumbled upon the missing piece in the key to understanding my ability to meet both internal and external expectations.  

I am still personally testing this, but I wanted to share now because I am so excited about this discovery and I want to up my rate of understanding & learning by interacting with others who may be going through the same thing with themselves or someone they know. . . so please leave comments!

According to Gretchen's Four Tendencies quiz I am a Rebel (take quiz here). And according to her framework as a Rebel I resist all expectations, outer and inner... Wait, what?! This sounds so familiar!

In Gretchen's words she says the following about Rebels [my comments in italicized brackets]:

They choose to act from a sense of choice, of freedom. Rebels wake up and think, "What do I want to do today?" [LOL! This is too familiar. I usually have a running list of a dozen or more things I want to do daily and each day I wake up and intuitively do what calls to me the most.]

They resist control, even self-control, and usually enjoy flouting rules and expectations. [I definitely resist any sort of outer control, bending rules does often appeal to me (that doesn't mean I always bend them), and expectations often drive me crazy. I often consciously and subconsciously subvert outer expectations placed upon me. Nonetheless, I have serious self-control when it comes to things related to my identity. More on that below.]

Rebels place a high value on authenticity and self-determination, and bring an unshackled spirit to what they do. Rebels work toward their own goals, in their own way, and while they refuse to do what they're "supposed" to do, they can accomplish their own aims. [Definitely agree. I often find myself purposely trying to do things in my own way, different from the usual way. I get a strong sense of satisfaction doing things uniquely. And "unshackled spirit" couldn't ring more true.]

Rebels often frustrate others because they can't be asked or told to do anything. They don't care if "people are counting on you," "you said you'd do it," "your parents will be upset," "it's against the rules," "this is the deadline," or "it's rude." In fact, asking or telling Rebels to do something often makes them do just the opposite. [I had to teach my fiancé how my Mom parented me in order to avoid the chaos this could cause in a relationship.]

The people around Rebels must guard against accidentally igniting their spirit of opposition--particularly challenging for the parents of Rebel children. [Both my parents, CEO of my company, and fiancé all do an incredible job of avoiding this.]

In fact, Rebels sometimes frustrate themselves, because they can't tell themselves what to do. [Definitely run into this too many times. I believe I've finally consciously discovered solutions & strategies to overcome this (see below) . . . Amen!]

Three important strategies Gretchen brings up for the Rebel are [my comments italicized, but much is paraphrased from the reading of Better Than Before & scouring Gretchen's blog]:

1. Strategy of Clarity

This is all about having a strong "why" behind why you are doing something. This includes the "why" related to your corresponding values & the "why" related to the action.

I.E. I exercise because health & fitness is an important value to me and I exercise because it makes me feel energized and I love looking & feeling fit. 

By being able to powerfully articulate in your own words why you are doing something the impetus to follow through in a way that actually brings satisfaction and a sense of looking forward to meeting the expectation can be consciously created.

2. Strategy of Identity

This is consciously tying the expectation (inner & outer) to who you see yourself as and who you want to see yourself as.

Case in point #1: When I finally read The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron I was able to deeply tie my personal identity to journaling, writing, and reclaiming myself as an artist. Her work struck such a strong chord within me that after more than decade of resisting the suggestion of journaling by teachers, family, & my partner I have now been journaling & writing with consistency ever since reading her book at the beginning of 2014.

Case in point #2: When I first started Transcendental Meditation (TM) I decided that this was who I was and wanted to be (a meditator) and almost two years later I've meditated every single day (twice a day for 20 minutes) without ever missing a single session. Even I am surprised at this commitment to meeting an expectation. This identity was reinforced by the fact that people I aspired to be like also did TM (Tim Ferriss, Oprah, Hugh Jackman, George Lucas & many other powerhouses). 

Another personal example is my fitness. A huge part of my personal identity is being incredible fit so I have no problem exercising regularly and eating in a way that supports optimal aesthetic fitness.

3. Strategy of Other People

Rebels pride themselves on being "different" from other people. This has been the story of my life. I've always enjoyed taking the path less traveled and doing things people either said I couldn't do or doing things that I "thought" other people thought I couldn't do. Whether they actually do doubt me doesn't even have to be true as long as I "think" they are doubting me. Ludicrous, but true for me many times in my life. Proving "other people" wrong and breaking societal norms brings me joy and action-taking energy.

Case in point #1: It was uncommon for people in my high school to go to Stanford University (or equivalent level University). I even thought that most "other people" I shared this dream with doubted me. Whether they actually did doubt me is totally up for debate, but since I thought they did I had infinite energy to pursue this goal and even after being denied the first time I made it into Stanford on the second try.

Case in point #2: It was uncommon for people who went to Stanford to go work in nightlife . . . I ended up working in Hollywood Nightlife for 7 years.

Another personal example is my bodybuilding and yoga dual nature. I consider myself both a bodybuilder and a yogi -- a combination that isn't commonly found. I find it personally gratifying that I can be both when often a bodybuilder has no interest or sees no point in doing yoga and vice versa. And I personally get a kick when I am met with a surprised look after explaining my passion for both physical disciplines.

   These strategies (Clarity, Identity, Other People) have value for all Four Tendencies. A brief overview of those Four Tendencies from Gretchen are:

 Upholder: "I do what others expect of me--and what I expect of myself"

Questioner: "I do what I think is best, according to my judgment. If it doesn't make sense, I won't do it."

Obliger: "I do what I have to do. I don't want to let others, but I may let myself down."

Rebel: "I do what I want in my own way. If you try to make me do something--even if I try to make myself do something--I'm less likely to do it."

Curious what you are and want to know more? Go take the quiz & find out!

Alchemical Learnings

I finally have found a framework that makes sense as to why it is so easy for me to form and keep some habits and so difficult to create and keep others. Same goes for internal and external expectations set my by myself and other people.

I now have three strategies (Clarity, Identity, & Other People) with which I can consciously use to strategically build empowering habits and meet internal & external habits. [I am still testing so will update this article if I come upon deeper insight or new & improved Rebel strategies. Please leave me a comment if you have any!]

I can easily give the following getting a Rebel-to-meet-expecations-framework to anyone who is looking to personally or professionally work with me in a co-empowering way. Discovered by mother originally in my life and personally re-cognized by Gretchen during her interview with Chase Jarvis where she says, "Information, Consequences, Choice." Framework for working with a rebel is:

Go over ALL the information behind and around the expectation (or habit).

Go over ALL the consequences (good, bad, & neutral) of various choices and possible outcomes.

Let the Rebel make the final choice once step 1 & 2 have been thoroughly vetted.

Alchemical Opportunity for the reader:

Go take the quiz & find out what your tendency is!

If you are a Rebel try out the strategies of Clarity, Identity, & Other People with an expectation you have (internal or external). I am trying these strategies out with my taxes (which I have notoriously avoided and been late on way too many times in this lifetime).

Think you interact regularly with a Rebel? Try the Information-Consequences-Choice strategy and see how it works.

Leave any/all comments below about Rebels (yours personally if you are Rebel & your experience working/dealing with a Rebel in your life).

Life is full of expectations and habits. Our own. Other people's. And society's.

Self-knowledge is such a powerful tool. Deeply understanding what and how we are motivated is an incredible way to bring effectiveness, more grace and increased happiness to our very own lives so that we can meet inner & outer expectations and build & break habits with the least amount of friction possible and in the most efficient way for our individual way of being.

In my own life I’ve discovered that despite being a Rebel I can be effective with meeting internal & external expectations and build awesome life-affirming habits as long as I have strong reasons behind me. This is why I consider myself a REBEL WITH A CAUSE.

Despite your tendency two maxims hold true & empowering for you and for me . . .

As Socrates said, “Know thyself.” And as Shakespeare said, “To thine own self be true.”

In alchemy & service,

Justin David Carl 🌒

P.S. Positive transformation is an ongoing never-ending part of an empowered life. Why not mechanize the process by joining my NEWSLETTER?!