#i think it's more the power of ryan gosling than anything but still

[mischas]

Yesterday I saw this tweet quoting a list of the ‘ao3 ship stats of 2023’ and they were talking about how out of 100 ships, the list only had 27 women total. Then someone said that couldn’t simply be just misogyny, and another person said they had seen others explaining they mostly ship male characters because women are badly written/under developed, and I mean… Please, that’s such bullshit! It made me sad, and also it made me think of these characters we’ve been loving for so long and despite them being written by men, and sometimes being BADLY written or written ooc, they’re still so important and it’s so worth exploring their layers and giving them voice. I just wish female fic writers would step up and write about ourselves, write characters we can relate, flesh them out—we’re in 2024, ffs! How can we blame men for not writing women well and then just dedicate our time and creativity to write this so called interesting fictional men we have love or whatever? Sorry, I know this sounds more angsty than anything but it really pissed me off. We need to stop calling male blorbos “baby girl” and start writing and voicing real baby girls!!! (That obviously includes wlw relationships!) That’s why I love this blog so much, btw. That’s why when I thought of venting about it I thought: oh, she would understand! Thank you for always talking about Marissa’s layers and potential, thanks for making women who relate to her in some level feel understood. 🫶🏻

Oh wow, that's crazy. But also... unsurprising. So that's 27 total women out of 200 characters/individuals? Jesus. I'm not terribly versed in modern fandom (or even, like, old fandom, really) but male characters have historically been babied and loved on more. I don't really get it. A huge chunk of that is they were created and crafted by men and those stories come from a patriarchal perspective. How shows/stories shape and shift can really define how things are written moving forward and it's frankly true that audiences are much more harsh about the fallibility of female characters than they are of their male counterparts. I personally think it stems from men being generally terrible irl so people take male characters and run with them because it's safe and comforting rather than dealing with the reality of dudes irl.

You're right, we need to stand up for the ladies!! And that absolutely includes wlw relationships!

You're very sweet. I love Marissa. I could talk about her all day. It blows my mind that people still misunderstand her in 2024.

[starleska]

So glad ur talking about ken bc as soon as he was on screen and ESPECIALLY when he turned "evil" i was like 😳😳😳

i am so glad to have lovely folks like you joining me in the Ken Thirst because he makes me feel like a blushing schoolgirl and i'm so embarrassed about it 🙈💖 spoilers below the cut!

anon you are so so so right and i can see countless people in my notifs who feel exactly the same 🤭💖 i had genuinely never seen anything Ryan Gosling is in before (an issue i am going to rectify this weekend, starting with Drive) but the moment i saw his jealous little face in the party scene, i was gone;;; now this is all fictional, and i in no way wish to glorify misogyny or incel-like behaviour - i'm just a sucker for those kinds of characters in fiction!!! chalk it up to my own complex relationship with gender and intimacy, but i found the possessive, egocentric, downright bastard route Ken's personality took just a treat 🥴 i think Ken has struck a chord with many of us because he has that duality: the ultra-loving, 'perfect' boyfriend who goes on a dreadful power trip to try and rectify the lonely and purposeless life he was living in Barbieland. he's wonderful, he's a poor little meow-meow, he's horrible, he's sexy, and he's dumb as rocks 😂💖 i don't know what kinda juice Ryan Gosling was sipping whilst prepping for this role, but my God did he need to go that hard??? everyone killed it in Barbie, but Gosling was so scarily believable as Ken that i'll never be able to separate the two 😭 i think there's this eerie combination with his highly conventionally-attractive face and body, the 'no thoughts behind the eyes' look, and the sudden and ferocious depth of emotion that he conveyed as Ken throughout the movie. he feels alien, and ethereal, and plastic, but also someone we can empathise with and care deeply for... it's dreadful that we can also understand how Ken went down the dark route he did, and all because he wanted to be loved, and to have a purpose. that's heart-breaking 💔 far more intelligent people than me have already talked about how beautifully Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach have extended ideas of feminism, misogyny and inequality to both sides of the aisle, and Ken's gullibility/willingness to adopt a harmful ideology he doesn't really understand in order to feel seen strikes such a chord when you've seen men who've gone down that route... i think the outpouring of love for Ken from folks of all genders doesn't show empathy towards his misogynistic behaviour, but rather our desire to understand how someone ends up with such terrible ideas, and how we want to help fix them. a love for Ken is a love for us wanting to be loved ourselves. wanting to open up that dialogue and see where the gaps in knowledge are. an understanding that the patriarchy harms everyone, and that it is a system perpetuated by a lust for power which cannot be sustained without someone losing and getting hurt. ...with all that said, i am still a degenerate who just enjoyed Ken being a domineering 'alpha-male' asshole 🙈💖 it's a sign of maturity to simultaneously appreciate the vital feminist message of the film, and to fantasise a touch about Ken chuckling darkly and calling me demeaning names 🥴 perhaps someone ought to teach Ken about BDSM dynamics; then he'd be able to engage in a bit of consensual power-play which is mutually beneficial with his partners 😉

[courtneysmovieblog]

We Need to Talk About Ken

All right, I guess we’re doing this.

As much as everyone adored Ryan Gosling’s take on Ken, we can’t have anything nice without causing discourse on the internet. Some people are blasting his storyline as Nice Guy villain apologia, others are willing to let him off the hook.

Let me start off by stating one thing: Ken isn’t evil.

Ken was created solely to be Barbie’s boyfriend. That was all the Kens’ purpose in Barbie-Land. Unfortunately, it turns out that the Barbies don’t really need (or want) boyfriends. While they don’t mistreat or dominate them in any way, they don’t really take their feelings into consideration either. So the Kens aren’t left with much else to do except cheer them on or compete with each other for their attention.

That’s the life Ken is used to. They’re still boyfriend/girlfriend because that’s the status quo. Even though it obviously still hurts when Barbie would rather hang out with her friends than him, he still accepts it. 

Until he goes with Barbie to the real world.

When he sees that men have power, he thinks it’s awesome. He’s not thinking in terms of how the patriarchy affects women. He doesn’t really want to hurt Barbie, he loves Barbie (or the idea of Barbie). In fact, when he sees the Mattel guys take her away, he almost goes after her, but then thinks that Barbie will be okay--because Barbie ALWAYS can handle herself. That’s the way it’s always been. He believes it’s more important to go home so he can share his newfound (childish) knowledge with his fellow Kens and make their lives better.

Keep in mind that we don’t actually see how Barbie-Land gets brainwashed into Kendom. According to Ken, all he did was explain to everyone how cool he thought it was. We can’t honestly think Ken knew that the Barbies would automatically be brainwashed into servitude--Ken is not bright enough to be an evil genius. It probably happened the same way Gloria was able to snap the Barbies back to normal with her big speech: unintentionally.

Think of it in terms of WandaVision: Wanda’s grief exploded out of her, turning WestView into her own personal sitcom land. She didn’t consciously mean to brainwash the residents, but she went along with it anyway because the Hex gave her everything she wanted. It wasn’t until later that she realized she was hurting people...but before that, she didn’t want to know.

Same thing with Ken. He sees the Kens happy and the Barbies happy, and thinks everything is cool. He thinks Barbie will like it too, but of course she tells him it’s wrong. And because he’s been infected with all the ideals of toxic masculinity, he doubles down. He refuses to give up his power and hurts Barbie the same way she rejected him.

Despite all that, deep down, he knows it’s wrong. The look on his face after he lashes out on her speaks volumes. Not even two pairs of sunglasses can hide it. 

This doesn’t excuse his behavior. I’m merely trying to explain it.

Hell, Barbie knows that Ken isn’t really evil and admits that she doesn’t want to hurt him. People have bristled at that, agreeing with Gloria that she shouldn’t be concerned about his feelings after he stole her house and (unintentionally) brainwashed all her friends. Even if it’s true, she still understands her part in all of this: she may not love Ken, but she could have maybe been a little kinder.

That’s the point Greta Gerwig is trying to make. One side having all the power never works out for everyone. Even the Barbies were better at governing than the Kens, that didn’t mean they shouldn’t have any say at all.

So it’s okay that Barbie apologized to Ken after everything was changed back to normal. Did he owe her an apology for everything he did? Absolutely. But, like I said before, sometimes the best apology is changed behavior. When he expresses that he doesn’t know who he is without her, she gently yet firmly tells him that he needs to find his own identity -- without her, without beach, and certainly not patriarchy.

And he finally listens.

He realizes that being “just Ken” is okay. He can find support and acceptance from his fellow Kens. He makes peace with Rival Ken, discovering that they have more in common than they thought.

The best apology he gives Barbie is letting her go with a smile and wave, wishing nothing but good things for her as she leaves Barbie-Land for the human world.

So no, Ken wasn’t evil. His actions were caused by hurt and misinformation, not true malice. It may not excuse his behavior, but he deserves sympathy because in the end, he does change for the better. That just my two cents, agree or disagree.

[transmalewife]

notes on barbie

Margot Robbie is a PHENOMENAL physical actor. total control of her body at all times. this was obvious as harley quinn too but seeing the difference here just shows her range. im not talking about the obvious stuff like falling rigidly to the side like a barbie but the way she holds her arms, that scene where she stumbles off kicking off her heels...

set and costume design was incredible

LESS THAN TWO HOURS HELL YEAH BABY MAKE MOVIES A WATCHABLE LENGTH

soundtrack sucked so fucking bad it was distracting, and the musical numbers dragged so much i nearly fell asleep during the second ken song then thought oh thank fuck its over THEN IT RESTARTED AND WENT ON FOR ANOTHER COUPLE MINUTES.

ryan gosling is too old for the role. I'm sorry, i know the casting makes sense with him being this ideal of the straight female gaze but come on. this man looks like he knows about taxes. do you think ken knows what taxes are? (aaaalso wouldn't it be subversive wouldn't it make sense for THIS to be the movie where the leading man is younger without making a thing out of it?)

allan is an incredible snapshot of the transmasc experience. Excluded from either gender, a head shorter than everyone around you... i could (and probably will, later) go into this more but it's not like the movie really does so. i liked him and weird barbie as those gender outcasts, but i think it works better with allan because he's just like that and doesn't seem to mind it or want to change. weird barbie is just like... the only way you possibly fall out of feminity is due to external forces. the only idea of a failure of femininity in the movie is a hot blonde woman whose a bit dirty

not gonna go after the political message too much because like... there's only so much you can expect from a mainstream movie and all things considered its still good like compared to anything else. HOWEVER. it does really stand out to me that this is a movie that can't even imagine the problems, or existence, of a non-atractive person (woman especially). and i do mean that both literally (the 'normal' woman is represented by a smoking hot meticulously feminine mom. like sure she's not the absolute ideal of mainstream white society's beauty standards but still. you know.) the solution, the normal barbie is just "a mom whos also hot and feminine just a bit less" felt a bit anti climactic.

splitting the point for readability: I absolutely don't mean 'ugliness is the biggest discrimination a human can face'. for one, other forms of discrimination affect what is allowed to be beautiful, which parts of a person are acceptable if you're fat, or trans, or a poc, and which need to be filed off to fit into a mainstream beauty standard. but beauty specifically is also the central issue with barbie. and don't think making an ugly doll is possible, a good idea or a solution but i think if you're making a movie about barbie it would be great to engage with beauty beyond 'look everyone can be beautiful! there's black barbies and one (1) trans and fat barbie each. you too can be loved and normal and powerful (as long as you're super fucking feminine and pretty)".

[nancydrewwouldnever]

I keep saying, fishbowl.//

I do understand this, but I would like to add that the general public aren't the ones watching his movies. No one is out there saying "I can't wait to watch the new Chris Evans' movie." Most of his movies where he is playing the lead haven't done well outside of Marvel. He isn't bringing in crowds for his movies choices, acting talent, or star power, like it has been said before he isn't Leo. So his fandom, the ones actually watching his movies for him, who have supported him through all the past missteps may not go out and watch or stream his movies because of his association with this girl and her friends. So I do think it could affect him. Just look at TGM, compared to other Netflix movies it wasn't even the most watched of all time, and many more people have Netflix and are more likely to watch a movie on Netflix than go out to the movies to watch. Yeah Netflix is on the decline, but many people are still subscribed to it. I mean I have it and I didn't even watch it even though I'm a fan of Ryan Gosling. Chris is a big reason why, his antics and of those around him really turned me off to the point where I don't care to show my support in watching things he's in. I have Apple and Amazon Prime, but I won't be watching his projects on those platforms either. So I think if his fans especially the die hard fans aren't tuning into watch his movie on Netflix, or other services it is going to impact him. And if his projects aren't bringing in the numbers, I don't think studios will be coughing up the hefty pay check or offer him decent roles, so he may end up having start auditioning again. And I agree with what Tarantino said, most people didn't go watch Captain America because of Chris they went for CA, so if Marvel could have found any decent actor who could play CA the results would have been the same. Because the storyline would still have been the same, and let's be honest Marvel was actually writing decent stories during Chris's time with Marvel.

TBH, I don't see him getting many more Lead actor roles, outside of Ghosted most of his current roles have been second lead. I don't think he can carry a film. And, I know a lot of people like his DJ role, but to me that wasn't anything great or different. To me that story of DJ had been told before, I think that same year or a year after Bryan Cranston starred in a movie with a similar story. Chris was supposed to play a dad, but nothing screamed father of a 14 year old to me. His look was the same, his body language seem the same, and, the acting was alright but not award worthy, so when fans went around saying he was snubbed all I could think was like really, he was not. He didn't deserve it over those who were nominated. He never change appearance other than facial hair. In puncture he was supposed to be a drug addict, but nothing in his appearance screamed drug addict other bags under his eyes. I know he said he tried to lose weight and couldn't but I find that hard believe considering how many of his peers were able to transform. His career to me is like those students that just skate by in class with a C or low B and they're happy with that, they could do better if they put in more effort but they don't want to.

.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hii uhhh this is for mermay, but it's not one of the fills so please feel free to ignore this if it doesn't catch your interest!!

Idea;; within a mostly-canon setting, Duck is turned into a merperson (probably while they're trying to deal with one of the abominations, but that part's flexible) and has to deal with it while still trying to like,, function. He gets a magic disguise, but hijinks ensue.

Here you go! I attached this to "Summer rain" and another mermay prompt. It's SFW

The last time he went flying through the air and into the water while fighting an abomination, he almost died. So he’s none too pleased when he surfaces from being chucked in Lake Brahe.

“What the fuck Indrid?!”

“I’m so sorry” Mothman flaps above him, both sets of hands tapping together anxiously, “I promise this is for the best but I’ll admit the exact process might have been overkill.”

“You fuckin’ think??” Duck kicks towards shore, grabbing his hat as it tries to float away, “the others are still back there with that thing. And I fuckin hate bein’ chucked into things without warnin.”

“I don’t think there are people who do enjoy such things.” Indrid alights on the shore Duck is swimming towards.

“Well then don’t fuckin do them.”

“It is for your own good, Duck Newton.”

“Yeah, heard that one before.” He hits shallow water, wades to shore trying to shake his hat dry, “now c’mon, fly me back so we can-”

His legs crumple, sending him face first into the lake. Crawling is no good, his whole body contorting and shaking, his throat and lungs burning. He claws at the pebbles and sand, coming away with fistfuls, grabbing for something, anything, to pull him from the water, as if reaching shore will free him from the pain wracking his body.

The world is coming in photo negative now, flashes of color that don’t make sense, the crack of his bones filling his ears. He might he crying, the pain is too deep to tell what else he’s feeling or doing.

“Help” he rasps into the night air.

Human hands cup his face, guide his aching head down across bony legs, “It will not last much longer.”

“Am” he gasps, feels the Sylph turn their bodies for some unknown purpose, breathing easier after he does, “am I gonna die.”

“No. And before you ask, your powers would not have done much for you if you still had them.”

“Fuck” he whimpers.

“Agreed.” Indrid strokes his hair, “five more seconds. Four, three, two, one.”

Duck passes out before Indrid can say anything else. He’s roused by the footfalls of combat boots and wingtips down the beach.

“Duck, Indrid-OH HOLY SHIT!”

“He’s not-”

“No, Ned, he is very much alive. Had I not moved him when I did, he would have suffocated before you could get him to any water.”

“Thank god.” Ned must be by his head.

“Aubrey, can, can you, it hurts-”

“Ummmmm” His friend sounds like she’s trying to come up with a comforting explanation, “which part of your tail hurts?”

Duck sits bolt upright, then falls back into Indrid’s arms, staring at the deep green and silver tail where his legs should be.

“Well….fuck.”

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

“How are you doing?” Indrid, red glasses glinting and pink and yellow sweater hanging off his tall frame, perches on a rock.

“Great. I’m a regular, breakable dipshit who turned into a fuckin merman without warnin, I had to have Barclay call work and tell ‘em I got a flu so they won’t fire me for disppearin, anything my friends bring me to eat gets soggy, and I ain’t seen my cat in three days.”

“So...not good then?”

Duck raises an eyebrow. Indrid smiles, not his usual confident, casual one. He looks unsure, which is in and of itself kind of unnerving.

“No, Indrid. Not good at all.”

“Ah. Apologies, I sometimes have trouble parsing certain tones.”

Duck swims closer, “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. You have every reason to be angry and upset. Even with me.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t curse me.”

“No. But had I moved faster, gotten to you all sooner, you would not have been in it’s path at all.”

It’s so matter of fact. The same way Indrid talks about anything troubling.

“Certainly my most newsworthy failure”

“Had you not arrived at the cottonwood, it would have been rather bad for me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about the eye. It hurt, but I have felt far worse.”

“And I have yet more bad news; while I can make a charm that will allow you to be in your human form for up to six hours at a time, the properties of that abomination mean eventually you’ll have to return to water.”

There’s a flicker in the smile, so swift Duck wonders if it’s only because his eyes are no longer human, slit pupiled instead of round, that he sees it at all. Or if it’s because this is the first time they haven’t been surrounded by heat, noise, or danger.

“Indrid, you know I don’t blame you, right?”

“Of course, Duck. I was merely being thorough in my apology.” Now it’s his normal, wide smile, but too tight across his teeth.

“He was before my time.” Vincent grins as he sets the DVDs on a well-dusted shelf, “though if Woodbridge is anything like he is now, I doubt they got along. The other ministers say he was...determined when he left. Like he could conquer any challenge earth presented during his quest."

Indrid’s glasses slip down his nose and he pushes them up before Duck gets even a glance at his eyes, “Now, where did I put that pin…” He pats his pockets, freezes when Duck manages to set a hand on his shin.

“Indrid, I mean it. Didn’t blame you then, don’t blame you now. Hell, from the sound of it you saved my ass, big time. So, uh, what I’m tryin to say is thanks. For lookin out for me.”

He squeezes in what he hopes is a friendly fashion. Indrid chirps, once, face losing all trace of eeriness. Then he schools it back to normal.

“You’re welcome. Punching aside, I’m quite fond of you. I’m going to use this for your charm, if that’s alright.” A souvenir pin from the Monongahela's tenth anniversary sits between slender fingers.

“Holy shit, I been lookin for that for ages. I, uh, I try to-”

“Collect them, yes. I saw that in a conversation between you and Juno. I was going to give this to you anyway, goodness knows it took awhile to find it in the trailer, but now it can serve a greater purpose.” With that, he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Duck’s image unfolds before them, Indrid smoothing it out and setting it on the rock as he begins working. Duck watches with interest, notices the process is much slower than it was when Indrid disguised Billy.

“Am I harder to get right than Ryan Gosling?”

“Yes. Well, not technically, no, but with Billy I just needed him to look human. I need you to look like, well, you. Such a fine specimen requires the utmost care.”

Duck’s about to toss back his usual line he gives to guys who compliment him, then realizes flirting with the Mothman might be weird, or that Indrid may not have meant it as anything more than some clinical, Sylph observation of humans. He tries to distract himself by swimming, but his tail still won’t do what he wants much of the time.

“You’ll have greater success on your back.” Indrid says without looking up.

He’s right, and Duck manages to swim without difficulty, tail shimmering in the sunset. The one time he glances at his friend, Indrid is staring at swaying and rippling in the water.

When the Sylph finally calls that he’s done, Duck speeds to the rock, let’s Indrid pin the charm to the collar of his undershirt that he keeps wearing because he’s still a human, dammit, just one with an inconvenient tail and he’s not gonna start skinny-dipping in a national forest. Again.

Duck flails when legs replace his tail, Indrid’s hand grabbing his a moment before he needs it to and helping him onto dry land.

“Satisfactory?”

“It’s fuckin perfect!”

“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands together, “what would you like to do? I may need to escort you for the first day, to be certain there’s no flaw in the charm.”

Duck studies the pink light tracing the angles of Indrid’s face, “Wanna meet my cat? She looks like a bobcat that lost a bar fight, but she’s sweet as can be.”

Indrid’s grin turns genuine for the first time all day, “I would like nothing better.”

The mothman becomes a staple of his life after that. With the charm, he’s able to help the Pine Guard track and slay the abomination, go to work, look after his house, and generally convince anyone not in the know that he’s totally fine. But he has to return to the lake every day, spends his mornings and nights there, even his lunch breaks when he knows he needs to give the charm a break then. It’s far enough away that he’s in no danger of being seen by civilians, but at least once Indrid had to fly him to it before they ran out of time (and Aubrey had to teleport them there, which made him nauseous).

Indrid keeps him company, sometimes with the others and sometimes on his own. He finds waterproof cards and games, listens to Duck talk about work and tells him about his travels. At first he worries Indrid is only doing it out of guilt, but as the weeks go by he comes to see that Indrid likes him. He laughs at his jokes, gives him as close to his full attention as he can, even scratches his scales with his mothed-out claws when they start driving Duck crazy with itchiness.

His friend always goes home to sleep, which is why, as Duck is drifting on his back, half snoozing and half star-gazing, the red eyes high in a tree come as a surprise. He’s on the other end of the lake, doesn’t seem to see Duck as he spreads his wings and flaps into the air. Then he nosedives, pulling up before he hits the water and then skimming across it in broad strokes. He shoots upward, spins, and then repeats the routine.

Duck’s seen him fly during fights and to escape the Cottonwood. Never like this, never so free and graceful. It’s such a joyful sight, makes Duck wish he had wings of his own so he could join him, dance across the stars and their reflections.

He swims towards Indrid, begins mirroring him on a whim, twisting, diving, and leaping as best he can in time with the cryptids flight. Pushes his tail to carry him faster, farther, all for the sake of keeping pace with the beautiful monster in the sky.

Surfacing after a particularly giant splash, a voice lilts down from the sky.

“Race you to the other side.”

Duck loses, but only just, cackles when Indrid buzzes him so closely he can feel the tickle of his feathers. When the mothman finally lands Duck swims to him, scooting up on land so he can watch Indrid fluff and clean his feathers.

“I come to this lake to practice flying without fear of being seen. I assumed you were asleep but, ah” his antenna twitch, “I’m glad you weren’t.”

Duck stretches, moans happily when Indrid gently glides his claws up his tail, “Me too.”

“Same time tomorrow night?” Soft hope flutters between them.

“Yeah.” He grins up at the cryptid, “bring your A-game, I’m gonna carb load tomorrow mornin so I can kick your butt.”

“I look forward to it.”

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

It’s been a month and a half since he transformed, which puts them smack in summer thunderstorm season. Duck’s used to it, though he’s more than a little nervous about what will happen if lightning hits the lake. Luckily, tonight it’s just soft summer rain instead of electricity and drops the size of robin eggs.

Indrid isn’t faring as well. The rain droops his antenna, compresses his fluff until Duck can see he’s still a twig under all those feathers. He shivers, chirrs in discomfort and shakes off his wings, but stays put on his favorite rock.

“There a reason you ain’t just turnin human? Could put on a raincoat that way.”

“I” Indrid sneezes, “I want you to feel comfortable. It can be so unpleasant, feeling like the only non-human in a place.”

Duck swims to the rock, flicking his tail up and down as he float, “You’re always changin form to make me comfortable.”

“Yes. Because I want you to not be unnerved by me.”

“But what about what you want?”

A feathery shrug, “That doesn’t matter.”

“Drid-”

Red eyes glare at him, “I am well aware of how I look, Duck. What people think of me. Would you have spent even a fraction of the time you have with me if your transformation had not forced it?”

“Y-fu-uh-I mean not no?” He sinks into the water as resignation becomes visible on Indrid’s inhuman features.

“I’m glad for our friendship, Duck. And I don’t doubt that you’re fond of me now. But please don’t pretend I was your first choice for company.”

“I mean...you weren’t. But that’s because we barely knew each other, hell, you only got back to town three months ago.” Duck takes the hand nearest him, “if this happened to me now? You might be the first person I’d want lookin out for me.”

Indrid chirrs, dips his head down to rub his cheek against Duck’s hand. Suddenly he wants nothing as badly as he wants to get Indrid warm and dry so he can run his fingers through every inch of those feathers.

“May I turn human?’

“Of course. Means you can come swimmin with me.”

Indrid, now in a tank top and yoga pants, cocks his head, “Why?”

“It’ll be fun?”

“My kind are not the strongest of swimmers.”

“Good thing I got a tail and gills, then. Besides, you’ll stop feelin as sticky from the humidity if you’re in the water.”

Indrid pulls off his shirt and pants, revealing duck-patterned boxers, and cautiously wades into the lake.

“Ooohhhh, that is so much better” his sighs, too blissed-out to notice the sudden drop, and only just manages to grab his glasses before going under. Duck zips forward, hoisting him easily into an embrace as he splutters.

“Blechhh, I despise the taste of lake water.” He clings to Duck, skinny legs teasingly tense around his tail.

Duck rubs his tail up and down his inner legs soothingly, “you, uh, want somethin to get rid of the taste?”

“Please.” Indrid smirks, clearly expecting a goof. When Duck tips his glasses up his forehead, he goes stone still.

“Can I kiss you?”

“This was not in any of the timelines.”

“Just came to me now. And that ain’t an answer.”

Indrid nods, tips his face forward to bring their lips together. Duck sighs, floats lazily backwards as Indrid slips his tongue between his lips. When they part, there are more stars in his eyes than in the whole milky way.

“Do you want some good news?” Indrid nuzzles his neck with an adorable trill.

“Lay it on me.”

“The futures just shifted; Aubrey and Janelle will have a cure for your condition tomorrow.”

“Hell yeah.” Duck flips them upright, Indrid “eeping” and holding tighter, “can’t wait to stop worryin’ about whether I’m gonna start suffocatin on land. And, uh” he nips Indrid’s lower lip, forgetting about his sharpened teeth until the Sylph lets out a little moan, “if you ain’t busy tomorrow night, like to take you on a date.”

Indrid beams, “I’d like that so very much. Though I will admit, I’m going to miss how this looks on you.” He squeezes his thighs around Duck’s tail.

“You can always whip me up one if we wanna, uh, relive the fun parts of this experience.”

“True. And with that in mind, my sweet; how do you feel about wings?”

[mybodyliberation]

Tax Season Tips (Deductible Expenses) AD I Paid Partnership with TaxScouts

There's little else that will make a self-employed person shiver like the phrase "Taxes Are Due". Did you just hear an ominous echo or is it just me?

Seriously though, its one of, if not THE, thing we fear the most!

Some of us are organised, making sure we've filed our return by April 6th so we can actively ignore it for the rest of the year. Some of us do the opposite and pretend that it pretty much doesn't exist until we have no choice but to drag out the bank statements, open our spreadsheets and try not to sob into our cup of tea.

Admittedly I'm the latter, relying on cheesy romantic comedies and chocolate to get me through the process, because if you can't yet eat loads of chocolate while screaming, "YOU DESERVE BETTER RYAN GOSLING" and crying into your calculator, are you even doing your taxes right?!

What I have learned over the years when it comes to doing your taxes is that knowledge is power and anything that helps you feel empowered when doing something as specific as your taxes, is very important! Sometimes empowerment means being unafraid to admit that you can't do it alone and you need help!

And if you need help with your taxes that's more than okay!

Enter in TaxScouts!

https://taxscouts.com 

One of the UK's first digital and affordable tax return services. And I know it’s not just me wondering why they didn't exist sooner?! And I know it’s not just me hoping they never leave our self-employed lives again because the support, the efficiency, the ease *chef's kiss*

They're a budget friendly option for filing your tax return. They take care of doing the calculations, filing your self-assessment and submitting it, with no other hidden costs, all for £119.

That means you get to scream at Ryan Gosling without any distractions knowing that everything is being taken care of!

On their website Tax Scouts promises to do exactly what it does:

 . Make Sense

 . Keep Things Simple

 . Speak Like Humans

 They're a company dedicated to making tax and life for the self-employed more accessible and a lot less stressful.

If you head over to their website, they even have incredibly helpful pointers via their guides and tip; should you still choose to do your taxes by yourself.

There's even a blog with some great posts, some dedicated entirely to those of us in performance. Here's one about tax and the film industry! https://taxscouts.com/how-is-tax-different-for-film-industry-jobs-0bc9e9da49d2/

They even have a tax calculator that can help you estimate everything from how much your income tax might be to child benefits and national insurance! https://taxscouts.com/calculator/

I was so excited to work with TaxScouts because as an actor, as a creative, my strong suit has never been in this area of my business and it’s taken me a long time and a lot of learning to gain the confidence I have now when it comes to taxes.

Working with a company that both offers a valuable service and seeks to empower you autonomously is hard to find and as an empowered and autonomous business lady (huh, I like that sound of that), I was so happy to form this partnership!

One of the areas I think most self-employed people stumble on is: DEDICUTABLE EXPENSES. What can they be, how much can you claim, is it appropriate to claim this disastrous date as a business meeting? The usual.

As an actor its always something we must keep on top of! According to TaxScouts, over 20bn of tax reliefs and refunds go unclaimed just because of how little we truly understand about the process! Keeping track of what we can and can't do gets confusing very quickly.

Now so more than ever, making sure our businesses are running as smoothly as they can, retaining the net that they need and calculating things like deductibles correctly is so important.

So here are some of the deductible expenses we can absolutely claim:

• Performance Costs: Need any additional clothing, make up or wigs for your performance? If the company you are performing does not absorb the costs, you at least know that it is deductible as part of your work.

• Research: This often falls under the category of our subscriptions. Yes, that's right, Disney Plus, Amazon Prime, Netflix, Spotify, iTunes, if you regularly use these services to help you in your craft, you can claim them as research!  This includes concerts, cinema trips, buying plays and anything else relating directly to your work. You can also claim the transport to get you there. So the next time you get ready to watch a Blockbuster, remember, you're working!

• Training and Classes: Any further learning you are required to do is again part of keeping you ready for your work, and so investing in the continued honing of your professional practice is possible!

• Union and Casting: Accessing your opportunities for working is mostly done through casting websites like Spotlight and Mandy, making sure you have these professional subscriptions in play not only help you access the jobs you need but also your agent.

• Agent and Booking: Speaking of your agents or management, the fees plus VAT they charge for doing work can also be a deductible.

•  Branding:  For an actor your branding comes in the form of your showreel, voice-reel, booking a photographer for headshots and editorials, a designer for your website and the list goes on. Presenting yourself, your branding, your business, is a deductible.

• Working From Home: Oh yes, 2020 has nothing on us, because we've been working from home since day one. We are the OG's! Your home is your office in which you do your practice and research that means you can additionally add a percentage of:

·        Rent/Mortgage

·        Utility

·        Council Tax

·        Building and Contents Insurance

·        Essential maintenance

·        Broadband 

The list goes on! If you're unsure about any other possible expenses, I've always found this website very helpful or you can contact TaxScouts or Equity to further guide you. http://www.actorhub.co.uk/365/tax-deductions-list-for-acting-expenses

It's so easy to get confused and overwhelmed during this process and with everything that happened in 2020, cutting yourself some slack in 2021 makes sense because sometimes the most efficient thing to do is delegate and get that assistance.

It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. It’s okay to not have the time! It’s even okay that you hate doing it.

It's not too late to take advantage of a service that is designed to help you because this year we will NOT fear January 31st!

[nightwingshero]

Rosemary, abatina, dill, hollyhock, and sweet pear for whoever you feel like talking about! 💜

Thank you, hun!!! I did a mixture, because I’m missing some old OCs of mine, and some need serious development. Yeah, so it got really long, I am so sorry!

Rosemary: What's their fondest memory?

Blair: It would probably be laying out in the backyard with her dad while they watched the stars, or her dad buying her that nice telescope that he’d use with her. It meant a lot to her that her parents indulged when it came to her interests, they were always supportive. Most of her time was spent at aquariums, the observatory, zoos, and just doing a lot of stuff with her parents. Science fairs were always a blast, because her parents would help. 

Emma: This would be either her and her brother Mark playing in the pond they had or playing football on the beach in the summer. Em would also work on an old Mustang, one she’s still helping him build, and Ash would come over most days and they would all just have a huge dinner in the backyard. Georgia gave decent weather for it. Most of her fondest memories are with her family or Ashton, because they grew up together and did a lot together when Emma’s family moved there. A beautiful, sunny day in Summer always takes her back. 

Quinn: There were times where they would travel back to Russia to visit the remaining members of his mother’s family, and he would love it. Quinn absolutely adored his babushka, and the stories she would tell. His mother would tell the same tales, but it wasn’t the same as how his babushka would tell it. There was also sailing with his father. That was something Quinn thoroughly enjoyed, and it was something they continued on doing until his father died. 

Wren: Definitely playing piano with her mother! That is probably the most precious moment for her. When she plays it now, she still feels as if her mother is there with her. Not only that, but her music teacher was her one good thing growing up. Mrs. Hall taught Wren how to actually play, and when Wren would sneak to lessons (under the guise of studying or going to the library), Mrs. Hall would often bake cookies and brownies for Wren, as if she were her own grandmother. Wren attended her funeral when she passed, and it actually felt like she had lost her grandmother when she heard. But those are memories she holds dear. 

Abatina: Are they very picky or particular about anything?

Blair: Not really, no. Blair is rather easy going and goes with the flow. I think the one thing would be don’t touch her work station. It’s organized chaos with an actual system that only she knows, and she will absolutely lose it if you mess with anything because that’s her life’s work you’re messing with. I think that could be said for any scientist though, and she is very verbal about it. It’s a light reminder, or a happy request until you get too close and she becomes slightly frazzled and makes you keep your distance. 

Emma: She can be an absolute control freak and has to have things a certain way (whether that’s because she was in the Marines or if she inherited it from her mother, who’s to say?) No eating in her cars, don’t touch her guns, and if you’re going along with her on something, you’re following her lead. Ashton, Nora, and even Roach give her hell for it, but honestly? Sometimes she can’t help it. Emma has a habit of taking control of a situation when it calls for it and she’s a super organized and neat person. Everything has it’s place, things are cleaned or done a certain way, and she would rather just do it herself. 

Quinn: His hair and shoes. Listen, Quinn is very boyish in looks (there’s a reason Ryan Gosling is his faceclaim) and his hair is usually neat or done how he wants it. He’s not overbearing about it, he just takes his time with it because he does put care into his appearance. His shoes are shined, his clothes match and his outfit is sharp, he doesn’t go more than a few days without shaving. Once the Collapse happens, it’s one of the things he can control, so he does. Grayson often jokes he’s the prettiest guy of Armageddon, but Quinn laughs with him. 

Wren: She doesn’t like it when other people drive. Having been in a traumatizing car accident, she prefers to be at the wheel for that sense of control. It’s honestly makes her so damn anxious when that’s not the case, and Quinn drives like a damn maniac from time to time in New Dawn. She will cling to something for dear life, and absolutely will backseat drive. It leads to a lot of spats between her and Jane, Quinn, and Ivy. 

Dill: Do they have any rivals?

Blair: I would say that one of the biggest would be John Constantine. Blair is skeptical when it comes to the mystical and supernatural, needless to say, she absolutely does not believe in magic. However, when the Particle Accelerator went off, someone close to her was wearing a totem or a spiritual pendent that got mixed into her meta powers (it’s how she can cosmic project and do some of the things she can with energy manipulation...it also helps balance out her going supernova and such), so...some of her powers are part of the arcane. Johnny knew that the second he met her, so when she gave him grief and became skeptical when he was helping Ollie bring Sara’s soul back, he just smirked at her and went “hate to burst your little bubble, love--” and honestly, they’ve been at it from there.  

Emma: Ha! Emma is competitive and very proud, so yeah, she has rivals, some more fun than others though. For example, her rivalry with Nikolai (and sometimes Price) is who can drink the other under the table. Yuri...well, they ended up in a fist fight on a misunderstanding when they first met, so while he’s working with her and the 141, there’s definitely some rivalry there with them trying to one up the other. She’ll spar with Ghost to see who is better too. Honestly, she’s always up for a challenge, and its something she shares with a lot of her fellow Marines back home--including her cousin and her teammates. 

Quinn: John fucking Seed. Listen, they hate each other, full on loathing, because Quinn isn’t afraid to point out that he’s in a cult and we all know how John is when someone makes him feel insecure and inadequate...with Quinn he very much does, even if that isn’t his intention.  It also doesn’t help that John notices how Quinn looks at his wife from time to time, and he doesn’t appreciate it, but the biggest thing is that Quinn openly challenges him on everything. To Quinn, he wants to poke holes in his logic and show that John isn’t at all what he thinks he is. Quinn is a natural leader, he had been in the Navy, he knows what that looks like and he’s quick to call John out on shit. Wren gives him a bit of a run, too, their rivalry just happens to uh...turn into something else. 

Wren: Holly Pepper and Mary May Fairgrave. Those are the two that gives her the most trouble. In any other scenario (and in most AUs), Wren and Mary May get along just fine, but in canon? Wren straight up punches her in the face. There’s more to it, of course. Wren is being worn down by people wanting her to do this and that for the Resistance, her constantly being pulled in every direction and being forced to give to people without them giving in return. And Mary May wouldn’t shut up about the truck, while saying Wren was dragging her feet on what the Resistance needed done (mostly because Wren was sleeping around with John, but they didn’t know that yet), and Wren just gets overwhelmed with frustration and anger, and straight up punches her in the face and tells her “if you want the truck so damn bad, go get it yourself”, and storms out. Holly Pepper later becomes an issue because she knows John slept around with her, and Holly loves shoving it in Wren’s face. So...Holly ends up dying because she straight up attacks Wren, and Jane helps her with it because she knows that John has a soft spot for Wren. Plus there’s that little shit Quinn in New Dawn...they’re a lot of fun. 

Hollyhock: What's their biggest goal right now?

Blair: Currently, it’s to find her place and stride with the team and her powers. She just wants to not have to lay awake at night and worry she’ll lose control again and hurt her friends and loved ones. Her whole life has changed, and there are still things that are throwing her off. She needs to find her footing again and feel more confident in what she’s become. Helping people, including herself and teammates/friends, is what’s most important to her. 

Emma: As of right now, it’s to regroup and hunt down Makarov. She’s still healing from when Shepherd took out the 141 base and tried to kill her, Ashton, and Nora. The stitches are still healing a bit, but she’s pumped up and ready to take him down. Her goal, and focus, is doing whatever Price and Soap need her to do. It’s almost tunnel vision at this point. 

Quinn: Take down the Highwaymen and fix whatever bullshit Whitney and Wren have going on. He won’t at all pretend he knows what fucking type of politics they have in New Eden, or what rules they’re going by, but it’s very damn clear that Ethan is no good and needs taken down. Him and Grayson came because Carmina asked Rush, and they were never ones to back down from a challenge, not when it comes to helping those in need. So, he’s gonna take down Mickey and Lou, allow Grayson to avenge Rush while protecting Prosperity, and then stand with Wren and Whitney as they take over New Eden.

Wren: That depends on if we’re talking Far Cry 5 or New Dawn, but she’s mostly taking out the head Seed and establishing peace. She’s trying to do what’s right, and whether that’s for herself (which is the eventuality of her changing sides) in Far Cry 5, or for their people and her family in New Dawn (overthrowing Ethan and opening New Eden to more freedoms.) It’s all revolved around Eden’s Gate though, and she agrees to help Quinn and Grayson because she still cares about Kim and Nick, and much of the others, so it’s just a pitstop on her plan. 

Sweet pea: If you had to choose a favorite dessert for them, what would it be?

Blair: Crème Brule, strawberry shortcake, or chocolate lava cake. You could say all of the above, to be honest, she loves sweets. Blair is always snacking, and they’re usually little cakes, fruits, or something sweet. There’s a reason crepes are her favorite breakfast foods, fruit and sweet? Yes. Which I guess you could  add porfait on the breakfast menu too, in that case...anyway, snacking is usually something her and Mick has in common, though she’s not constantly looking for it the way he is. Mick finds food in missions and randomly...Blair is more disciplined than that. She will grab stuff for him a lot of the times if they’re in the same room or if she’s working near him. Leonard just stares between them, he’s not sure what he thinks of their comrade (he also lost his more recent memories, so he can shut it.)

Emma: Dark chocolate cake or tarts. Anything that has a bitter or sour tinge to it, because she’s not really a sweets person. Not when it comes to that, at least. She loves her mom’s sweet tea (and homemade lemonade). But she just would have something like raspberry butter cookies, cherry pie, or even an old fashioned ice cream (yes, with bourbon). She loves dark chocolate though. And tiramisu. 

Quinn: Oh, he loves the Russian desserts his mom would make, and honestly, Quinn has such a sweet tooth. Bird’s milk cake, Russian rugelach, waffle cakes, and especially kartoshka. He would help his mom (or babushka when they would visit Russia), and would eat them with Russian tea they would make. He also enjoys many flavors of gelato. 

Wren: Cheesecake. Without a doubt. She has always been, and will forever be, in love with cheesecake. And all kinds, if we’re being totally honest. She will eat any flavor, she feels strongly about it. You wanna piss her off easily? Eat her cheesecake. Wanna get on her good side again? Bring her cheesecake. John does. Whenever he’s in trouble, he throws a cheesecake on it. She’s constantly eating it to the point Whitney and Rowan have both reminded her that it’s not a meal. Does she listen? No. 

[sammysreelreviews]

Counting Down My Top 10 Underrated Films Of The Decade

Let me start by saying it’s a fucking miracle I made this list because I’ve switched and changed it so many times I got whiplash. I really hope you love this list because it took months and months to make this. It’s so sad writing this because I love these movies so much I wish everyone saw them! I decided to cut this list down to ten because I might take the left over movies and throw them on a list in 2020 because I can’t focus on this to save my life. I’m posting this on Christmas Eve as a gift to all of you who follow this blog. To be honest these last like 4 months my mental health has been so bad I’ve barely left the house so this is one of the only things that’s been keeping me together. Anyone who reads this blog, you give me a reason to live and create and I love influencing y’all to watch my shows lmao. Happy holidays to anyone who’s having a shit time at home or has lost a loved one or has been having a bad time mentally. This list may not be the best to lift spirits but my top animated of the decade probably will which you can read here! Love y’all so much hope you enjoy your present! Usually I would say there are spoilers but since many people haven’t watched these I’m going to put where to watch them so enjoy these amazing but very vaguely described movies! Kisses! Oh and one last thing, the average Rotten Tomatoes score between all these movies is 85.2%!

10. Atomic Blonde (2017)

I saw this in theaters and it was quite the experience with all the twist and turns this film has. Atomic Blonde not only has a top tier cast but it’s also one of the best spy movies ever made. I don’t wanna give anything away but can you really go wrong with Charlize Theron, James McAvoy, Sofia Butella, and Bill Skarsgård? Don’t think so!

Where to watch: Anywhere you can buy or rent films

9. Anna Karenina (2012)

Directed by Joe Wright, the brilliant mind behind Atonement, Anna Karenina brings the famed novel to life in this romantic and dazzling rendition. I really thought this movie would be racking up the awards when it came out but it didn’t. Either way this film about a 19th century woman (Keira Knightley) who has a lustrous affair with a cavalry officer (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) is hot and just beautiful to look at. If you like period piece films you’ll love this!

Where to watch: Anywhere you can buy or rent films

8. Widows (2018)

This movie about a heist gone wrong that leaves the men’s widows to finish the job should’ve won an Oscar for ANYTHING. I mean Viola Davis running a lady gang to finish their husbands crimes!?! The FLAVOR!!! Please watch it there’s one scene in it with Daniel Kaluuya that is literally the definition of CINEMA.

Where to watch: HBO Now, HBO Go, and anywhere you can buy or rent films

7. Annihilation (2018)

Ok I can’t say much about this movie besides that it’s sci-fi and that it has Oscar winning actress Natalie Portman movie in it but please please please PLEASE watch this movie! It’s one of the best sci-fi films I’ve ever seen and it’s honestly one of the best films that came out in 2018! I wrote a little about it here! 

Where to watch: Hulu and anywhere you can buy or rent films

6. Nightcrawler (2014)

Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) is a news reporter who likes to get a little too close to the action. It’s insane to watch just how far he goes to get a story. He is actually a sociopath and Jake should’ve won or at least been nominated for an Oscar for this role. It may be one of his best performances ever!

Where to watch: Amazon Prime and anywhere you can buy or rent films

5. Prisoners (2013)

When two girls go missing a father (Hugh Jackman) does everything in his power to get them back. The ending of this film is so fucking annoying but genius I still argue about it wigg my friend claire. Please let me know if you know what I’m talking about! Also this movie should fuking have 7 Oscars!!!

Where to watch: Anywhere you can buy or rent films

4. Ex Machina (2014)

When a programmer (Domhnall Gleeson) wins a contest to spend the week with the company’s genius CEO (Oscar Isaac) he gets a lot more than he bargained for when he meets Ava (Alicia Vikander) the robot. All I’m gonna say is it should be illegal to have not seen this movie. Like should be a federal crime. I know this is on Netflix so watch it NOW!

Where to watch: Netflix and anywhere you can buy or rent films

3. Logan (2017)

The last chapter in Wolverine’s tale is not only riveting but surprisingly heartbreaking. I watched this on the plane ride to Vegas and I sobbed I ain’t gonna lie! If you love the X-Men you’ll absolutely love, or maybe hate, this Oscar winning super hero movie.

Where to watch: Anywhere you can buy or rent films

2. The Place Beyond the Pines (2012)

It’s kind of hard to believe that a movie with Bradley Cooper and Ryan Gosling didn’t get much buzz but here I am giving it the justice it deserves! This movie that’s basically a lesson in karma and breaking the cycle of familial bullshit is one of the best and most heartbreaking films I’ve ever seen. It also features a career defining performance by Dane Dehaan. I won’t give anything away but I suggest y’all watch pronto!

Where to watch: Netflix and anywhere you can buy or rent films

1. Looper (2012)

This time traveling mindfuck of a movie never left me the second I finished it. I really wish I saw this in theaters cause I feel like it would have been epic. I don’t wanna give anything away because I really want people to watch it but if you love time travel, twists and Joseph Gordon Levitt this is the movie for you. Looper is number one because I’ve been begging people to watch it for about 7 years now.

Where to watch: Anywhere you can buy or rent films

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 24 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I suspected the Gala would be at least two parts, and I was right--this is ostensibly the first half of it, 25 will be the second half. I don’t think it’ll go longer than that, but who knows, I never know until I sit down and write the chapter. Here are some higher quality pics of Kenzie’s dress. Her hair looks like this, but with tiny dark red rose buds rather than those little white flowers in it. Her makeup is similar to this look for Billie’s Bello magazine shoot, but her lipstick is like mine here. Here are her shoes. Kenzie is beginning to be able to see herself the way other people do--as something truly divine, her “Supremeness”, as it were--but she has no ego in those moments. The perception is an accurate one. The album Duncan puts on is Prince’s self-titled, the first track is I WANNA BE YOUR LOVER. Duncan’s hair in this part is similar to Cody’s hair here, which is more or less always how Duncan’s hair looks, just particularly well-coiffed on this night, I guess. His makeup is like Cody’s here. With Hannah and Georgio, I wanted to juxtapose the different reactions Duckenzie invoke in people--for some they are divinely inspiring, and for others with darker auras, they invoke carnal lust. Hannah’s jumpsuit looks like this, her hair like this. I based her vaguely on my friend Aly, who has a very dusty sunset aura to me and a beautiful soul. Here’s Annette’s Gala dress. Her hair looks like this. The necklace she gives Kenzie is vintage Cartier, and it looks like this. A special shout out to Luna (@misslunarayne/@officialcodysfallenangels) who inspired Anchaly reading Hawthorne’s THE NEW ADAM AND EVE; she’s the one who told me about the Millory parallels in that book. Momby’s dress, her rose pin, her scarf. Here’s Jimi Hendrix’s PURPLE HAZE (he and I have the same birthday, November 27th). STOP AND BE FRIENDLY is a reference to CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND, one of my favorite films (so I made it one of Kenzie’s favorites, too). I couldn’t find a logo for Shepherd Unlimited, and have no idea if the HOUSE OF CARDS showrunners ever created one, so I made one up. Here’s Gretchen Friedrichs’ absolute monstrosity of a dress. Sissy Conners’ dress looks like this. The “very famous actor” can be whoever you want it to be--I dunno, Colin Firth or Ryan Gosling or somebody. Here are the Pre-Raphaelite works I reference in this part: VENUS VERTICORDIA, VANITY, THE FIELD OF THE SLAIN, THE GOLDEN STAIRS, OPHELIA. Here are the angels from Waterhouse’s ST. CECELIA who remind Kenzie of Lindy and Gabby. To me, Lindy and Gabby represent the Millory fans; the lovely people I’ve met online who ship Michael x Mallory, without whom I would not have been inspired to write this story. The Millory fans are by and large extremely beautiful souls who have touched my heart immensely--in most cases, young women (many of you bi/pan, like me) who want to believe in love and redemption and beauty, and my fic, in many ways, is for young (and young at heart) women and nonbinary people who want these things in their lives. I still believe in the healing, transcendent power of love, despite all the terrible things in this world, and I ALWAYS will, and this is and will continue to be an unabashed love story. Here’s Marissa Montague’s dress. Her hair is like Emma’s here. She was fun to write. My Marissa is a very superficial, sad person, and Kenzie sees through her right away. The Ducatis are a wealthy family I made up who Duncan used to hang out with when he was younger, partying all the time with superficial socialites like Marissa. I wanted to note that Duncan did go through a phase where he was doing coke all the time and sleeping around, because he is indeed a spoiled rich boy in some ways, and he wasn’t always a great person. Kenzie has given him purpose and an active desire to be better, because love always inspires one to be better. Kenzie is waking to powers she didn’t know she had as she and Duncan get closer to learning about their true natures. If anyone would like to make a Gala moodboard/edit for this part of the story, I’d be OVERJOYED. And as ever, if you’re reading along, your comments, likes, reblogs, asks and edits mean everything to me. Please take a second to like the fic if you’re reading, thank you!

Kenzie broke their kiss reluctantly, her head cloudy with the scent of him (the woods of you, your ache for me, I feel the wildness of your high desire for me, baby, impatient for later), aware of Claire and Morgan’s eyes on them in the bright studio. Duncan made a soft sound as she pulled away from him, one of regret at her absence--his lips came up to her temple, his hands pulling her into him; those hands on the silky gold of her dress made her heart drop down to float in her stomach, spread warm tendrils to her sex. She could feel his thoughts still, aching against her.

Kenzie. My beloved. Everyone will bow to you tonight. But I swear I am your most devoted. And I swear I will worship you best.

“Wow, it got really hot in here,” Claire murmured, fluttering her hand against her cheek, breathing out in a long stream. “Fuck, you two look amazing. Wait until they do her hair and makeup, Duncan. They’ll want to hang pictures of her in the MOMA.”

“Clairebear, stoppit.”

“I am not fucking joking around, Kenzie Lou. You two look like a drawing in a mythology book. Like a fairy tale.” Kenzie could see the tears glittering around the edges of Claire’s eyes; her friend looked away, clearly overwhelmed in her emotions.

“My darlings,” Morgan said, coming up to them, reaching for their hands. Kenzie took one, Duncan the other, his arm still dipped around her waist, trailing up and down the softness of the gold there, against the waves of her hair. “Likes Hades and his bright queen Persephone.”

“They really are like that,” Kenzie heard Claire say as Morgan moved toward her assistant, agreeing delightedly, grasping Claire’s hand now. She felt her cheeks flush.

“That’s how I always think of her,” Kenzie heard Duncan say to Morgan. “Surrounded by flowers, bringing spring. Healing me.” Kenzie’s heart twinged. Everyone can see it. How he’s been healed. And I supposed it has been because of me in some ways. But I know he had it in him, in his dear heart, all along. And despite what he knows about Annette now, he’ll defy that too. He’ll transcend whatever was holding him back. Duncan had turned his head back down to her, and his hands tightened on her, the gold bracelet brushing along her bare shoulder blade.

I will, baby. With you here, I can do anything. As long as you’re here I know nothing can really hurt me. My constant moon. My flower of the universe. She was nodding, overwhelmed in the weight of his touch, his hand drifting to cradle her head at the nape of her neck.

“Erik’s going to be bringing the stylists to the penthouse soon,” he said down to her, his eyes intensely bright on her (so blue so blue blue like the blessed daylight, blue like sapphire), his thoughts bursts of brilliant desire, like tiny electric shocks cascading over her. “He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you--”

“I’m losing my mind over you--” Kenzie gripped at the velvet lapels of his gold-kissed jacket, lifting her hand up to the soft waves of his hair, the diamond and gold at her wrist reminding her again of her daydreams of the circlet of a crown around his head. Duncan. You worship me but my love, I worship you also. I am moved, body and soul, by you. Prince of stars.

The gold is your hands on me, he whispered into the corners of her mind. How it feels to be touched by you. How it feels to be looked at by you. How it feels to be loved by you. The gold is you and tonight everything is for you, and everyone will see you and know.

“Duncan, look at her shoes,” Claire was coming over to them, having found some semblance of composure, carefully holding Kenzie’s elbow as she leaned to the hem of the cascading gold dress, lifting it so Kenzie’s feet were exposed--her shoes were shimmering gold platform sandals with ribbons that wrapped around her ankles, tying at the back.

“They remind me of the shoes she was wearing the night we met,” Duncan was saying to Claire, his hand trailing down Kenzie’s arm, sending a shiver down her back. “I remember I looked at her feet and I thought oh, she ties her shoes in double knots, like I do. And in that moment, I was a goner.”

“Everything you ever wanted,” Kenzie grinned at him. “A girl who ties her shoes like you.”

“She looked like a fucking angel, Claire. You look like a fucking goddess right now, Kenzie. Like a queen. I love you.” Duncan was pressing against her again, his mouth on her cheek, his hands falling down the dress, and Kenzie’s heart was in her mouth, the shape and scent of him the only thing, the greatest of all things, the center of her soul intoxicated in him.

“He ain’t kidding, Kenz. I can’t wait to see BPF tomorrow, honestly. That website is becoming one of my favorite pastimes nowadays, they’re as obsessed with my best friend as I am.” Claire’s eyes had tears in them again, and Kenzie felt her own eyes go misty.

“I fucking love you, Clairebear. Thank you for everything. I can’t tell you how fucking happy I am about you and Harris.”

When Claire had been helping Kenzie dress in the side-room, her friend had told her how shyly and sweetly Harris had called her after Kenzie had passed along her phone number; how he’d asked her if she’d be open to “stepping out” with him, and had told her that he’d been immediately moved by how lovely she was. “I know he’s like ten years older than me, but I feel like--” Claire had blushed deeply, and Kenzie had clutched her hands (oh Claire, I love you and your sweet spirit so much)--”I just--Kenzie Lou, I just feel like he has a lovely soul. I feel like he’s been mostly happy--like me--for a long time, but also lonely, like me, for a long time--” Tears had welled up in Claire’s eyes, and half-dressed, Kenzie had clutched her, burying her face in Claire’s flowery shoulder (she always smells like sunlight on grass and fresh lavender to me), knowing what Claire had meant, knowing Claire didn’t need to say anything else. To have someone to understand you, someone who can truly hold you in the hollow of their heart. I know, Clairebear. More than a friend. A lover. She had pushed a wave of gold into Claire--Claire had quieted and gone back to helping with her dress, wrapping the train carefully over Kenzie’s shoulder, straightening its cascade over her shoulder blade, pulling her hair free from where it’d tucked under the bodice and pulling her fingers through the waves. “Princess Kenzie,” she had whispered, and it had struck a long chord through Kenzie’s heart, reminded her of Duncan--Princess, moon princess, my little moonbeam--and the worship of his words and his lips and his hands in the darkness in their bed, and Kenzie had shivered to behold the way she seemed to transform in the gown, the way the woman who had stared at her in the slender mirror of the dressing room truly began to seem like a princess--like some golden queen, some other Kenzie who fears nothing. And so I will resolve to be her tonight. I will be fearless, regal, that Kenzie who is a queen, Persephone on her throne in the Underworld. I will pretend I’m her tonight, and hold my head high. Duncan told me I belong in this world--and I think I do, because I belong where he is. So I’ll pretend I’m not afraid. I’ll be the one who protects him tonight, because his heart has been wounded and his spirit needs me.

Even looking at him in the splendor of the gold-dipped blazer and the regal gold collar, she could still see the pain behind his gaze, the melancholy ache of yesterday still lingering around his mouth. My Hades, trapped in the Underworld. You felt lost; you still do. Even in the certainty of our love, you are questioning who you are. But together we’re going to find out. We’re going to find the secrets of ourselves together. Duncan was thanking Morgan, kissing her gloved hand, making Morgan laugh with delight--Kenzie’s heart pounded fiercely as she watched him, the fall of his hair, his height, the brightness of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, his angelic beauty, compounded by the elegant clothes. Beloved. Tonight we’ll show everyone how bright we shine together--tomorrow, we’ll retreat into the woods, to whisper our love into each other without needing to speak, to hide and heal in each other’s embrace, and gaze at the stars, and find each other’s secret places. To find the secrets that are so close to us, that we cannot see but have begun to feel, to sense in each other. They are so near. They are the shadow that stands beside us, and soon we’ll be able to see them, Duncan, baby.

He was looking over at her, and she saw in his eyes the recognition of her thoughts. I feel them too. Like they are waiting just around the corner for us. Like we’re seeing them in the mirror today, not ourselves. The echo of them.

They left Morgan’s studio with their hands grasped tightly together, Kenzie’s train carefully draped over Duncan’s arm as he led her down the stairs, easily supporting her petite frame as she blushed down at her feet, trying not to fall in the golden heels, trying not to fall into him the way she was longing to, dying to, remembering the way she’d pushed him into the wall in the stairwell that first night, impossibly hungry for him, the most beautiful boy I have ever fucking seen, and now, somehow, ever more beautiful, almost impossibly so. She could feel the tiny tremors under her skin, the dancing bursts of nervousness, the nerves borne of how lovely he was right now, how staggeringly beautiful to look at. We’ve fucked like crazy, we live together, and god, I still feel so fucking shy of you right now.

“Baby, are you kidding,” he whispered against her as she hovered on the stair above him, leaning his mouth up into her chin, hands falling back and forth over the golden cascade that covered her body. “You’re shy of me? I’m so fucking nervous right now--you’re so fucking beautiful and I can’t even think straight. You can’t possibly be mine. I can’t possibly deserve you. You’re a fucking angel.”

And he was pressing her against the wall of the stairwell now, ever so gently, the chilly cement of it against the bareness of her shoulders above the lame of the dress, her train still tucked into the crook of his elbow, and his mouth down at her collarbone, keeping her tethered to him, his lips drifting to her neck and below her ear, his breath whispering there, his eyelashes brushing the tiny space at the corner of her eye, tasting at her, murmuring further and further into her mind with taut insistence as his hands trembled and shivered down her arms, I can’t wait to get home so you can push that ring onto my cock, can’t wait to push that plug inside you while we stare into each other in the eyes of the Mirror that’s drifting into our dreams now, can’t wait to keep you close to me all night, anticipating the moment where we’re truly alone, can’t wait for everyone to behold you and the thrill of the secret knowledge that despite their longing you are mine alone, and that you chose me among all, that you blessed me, beloved, most fair among all, as your lover, I can’t wait to be so close to you again that we don’t know where part from each other, so close the sweat on our skin mingles on our skin flushed against each other, so close I can feel the clutch of your cunt gripping onto me, claiming me, fucking me, devouring me, can’t wait for you to fuck me, angel--and the insistence of his mouth under her hair was pushing her eyes to the metal underside of the staircase above, her mouth falling open in a gasp of absolute need that drive sharp knives of longing through her whole body.

Fuck, Duncan, I want you so much, I want you all to myself, Prince Duncan, I want your need to be the only thing you can think of, your need for me, I’m the golden gift just for you, the Pandora’s box full not of darkness, but exquisite loveliness, all for you, but you have to be patient today, Erik and the stylists are waiting for us, everyone is waiting for us tonight, waiting to see you, beautiful exalted Prince--

No, they’re waiting for YOU, my golden Persephone, it’s your golden beauty they are waiting for--his mouth was hovering over hers, not touching it, not quite, but begging to, sweetly open, aching to take hers, tilting his head, impossibly blue eyes rising and falling down the curve of her face, the gold waterfall of her dress--

“Let’s go, baby,” she gasped, gently pushing his arms away from her, gently turning from his mouth despite the soft, imploring sounds he made, his curls and the bridge of his nose brushing against her cheek. I can’t hold out when you’re touching me that way, I can’t stand it, Dunny, you have to stop, I can’t, I want you so much--

She grasped his hand as he stepped back on shaking feet, the gold of their bracelets clinking together softly, and he carefully gripped the train as she stepped ahead of him, down the last flight of stairs to the palm-lined foyer of Morgan’s studio building, and they were out in the oppressive, flushed heat of the day, but it felt good on Kenzie’s skin, it was a relief to be enveloped in the heat that was coursing through her body already. The world has been set on fire with our love, she thought, looking up at Duncan as he came through the door beside her, towards where Samuel was parked on the corner. He dipped his head to her, his mouth set to stave off his longing, and he was pushing his Yves sunglasses over his (ethereal blue like the heavens) eyes, but before he did she could see the patterned geometry of his soul there, which saw hers utterly, and wanted her, utterly, loved her, entirely. The world has turned, changed for us, become ours, and now it sees us, and it bows and encircles us in its desire, its heat is its kisses of worship on our skin, and it knows who we are. Soulmates.

---------

Samuel was looking at them with moon-bright eyes as Duncan helped Kenzie into the deeply cool interior of the car, and Kenzie smiled back at him shyly as he turned the stereo dial up--with a thrill she realized it was Jimi Hendrix, and his wild guitar crashed against her. Summer music. 

Purple haze all in my brain, lately things don’t seem the same, actin’ funny but I don’t know why, ‘scuse me while I kiss the sky...

“My dear Duncan and Mackenzie,” he said, foot on the gas, “you look like you stepped down from heaven a moment ago, off a falling star.”

“I feel like I’m in heaven, Samuel,” Kenzie replied, as Duncan’s hand slipped into hers. “I can’t come down, and I don’t want to.”

“You know it’s the full moon tonight,” Duncan’s chauffeur said, slipping dark sunglasses on to shield his eyes from the sunlight that streamed through the window. “The juju that comes on nights such as these is quite special. It’s fortuitous that the Gala is on such a night--tonight will be the night the world will see the true brightness of your love.”

Kenzie puzzled for a moment over Samuel’s words--what does that mean? She looked up at Duncan, who seemed to be openly staring at her behind his dark sunglasses, his lips parted, his hand dry and warm, his thumb drifting over her palm. She lifted a finger to pull them down at the rim, exposing his eyes to her--yep, staring. Blue like the clear shore of a bright ocean.

“What does that mean?” She mouthed to him, smiling at him, her cheeks flushed. Oddly, Samuel lifted the partition after that, somehow content not to explain himself further.

Duncan shrugged, and his fingers tightened in hers. He shook his head. Baby, I don’t know. But I have a strange feeling about tonight. I had a strange feeling about yesterday, too--I know you felt that. But today doesn’t have that mean feeling like yesterday, does it? It has some other kind of feeling. It’s heavy, but it’s not a bad feeling. It’s like--a giant wheel turning. Like a huge clock tower chiming the hour. Like lifting your face to the sun after you’ve been indoors for a long time.

Yeah. Like that, she thought, nodding, her other hand drifting against his thigh, and then she spoke, in the cocoon of their privacy. “Duncan...I feel like I swallowed the sun and every bit of light is shooting from my eyes and my mouth and the tips of my hair and everyone it touches, they feel it too, they feel bright and healed. I feel like it’s my destiny to do that--touch people with the sunlight I can feel inside me.”

“You always make me feel that way. Like nothing bad can happen to me when you’re here. Like you’re the sun in the day and the moon at night, and you bring light where there would be darkness without you. Kenzie,” and he pressed his hand into her waist, his eyes fluttering at the softness of the gown, his breath gasping. “God, I want to just run away with you.”

“Away from everyone and everything to a secret place where no one can find us,” she whispered against him. Kenzie’s body felt flushed with overwhelming heat despite the coolness of the car. “Soon, baby, soon, we’ll eat fruit under the trees and swim in the lake and fuck so fucking much--” and she drifted her hand against his throat, thumb on the fullness of his lips, pulling him down against her, Duncan pulling his glasses off and dropping them unceremoniously on the car’s floor, gathering her in his arms, his mouth flushing into hers with her fingers still pressed under his jaw, tightening to hold him steady against her, and he whispered into her mouth, “baby, fuck, Kenzie--” and she could feel the rapid, frenzied drifting of his mind, the Bacchanalian chaotic need that was building in the center of him. To love you is holy madness, Mackenzie Stone. I fucking worship you. His mouth was in her hair, his fingers pulling it to his nose to breathe in the scent of her, and his expression was one of angelic beauty, an aching supplication to her, his finely chiseled features, his long straight nose, his full lips, his sharp jaw utterly divine in the purity of his love. It took her breath away to see him this way--it took her senses and rattled them apart, leaving her feeling spread like the particles of stardust in the night sky.

“Tonight,” she whispered against him, and she made herself look into his eyes, despite the shaking in her own soul, despite her fear of his beauty, because despite our closeness, my love, I still fear how lovely you are, I still fear your devotion because it shakes my fucking soul, and I fear you because your beauty seems impossible, and I see the inhuman in you, I fear the loss of you, for I’d die without you now-- “you’re gonna be aching for me all night, aren’t you, baby, you’re not gonna touch yourself at all, either, are you, baby, even though you’re gonna want to, I know,” and his tongue was pressing out onto her bottom lip, his tiny moans like sweet music in her ears, “you’re gonna want to but you aren’t going to, because only I get to touch you, only I get to take that ring off your poor aching cock, my poor baby--”

Duncan’s hands tightened at the back of her hair, twisting and forcefully pressing so her mouth crashed against his, and the need in it crushing against her heart with a possessive hand. I won’t baby, I won’t, but fuck, I want you now, how can I wait so long. His mouth was like the musky juice of some unearthly fruit. He must be what ambrosia tastes like. Like fucking sex. Like the pinnacle of all my desires. Like the highest part of my hope and the wildest release of the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. There’s nothing like it I’ve ever felt anywhere. Him.

Kenzie’s hands were clutched to the gold-kissed lapels of his velvety jacket as they arrived at the penthouse all too soon, her fingers drifting against the intricate cages of the collar tips.

“I feel like you should be wearing a crown,” she whispered to him. Duncan’s hands were coming around to clutch hers at his throat, his mouth kissing at her fingertips.

“I keep imagining flowers in your hair,” he replied. “Flowers would be your crown, my beautiful Kenzie. So many flowers.”

Samuel was lowering the partition and Kenzie moaned against him, her heart crushed that they had so much longer to go before they’d be alone together again. It’s never enough, she thought to him. Whatever time we have alone, it’s never enough, it’s not even close to being enough.

I know baby, I know angel, I know, it’s never enough, kiss me, kiss me-- and they crushed their mouths together again, not caring that Samuel could see them now, his bright-moon gaze skirting over them then politely away, though Kenzie knew that it was difficult for him, knew he thought they were bright as stars, beautiful beyond words, though she couldn’t have said how she knew, only that Samuel’s emotion towards them in this moment was starkly bright, as if he were speaking it out loud, and then Duncan was pulling her out of the car and she felt dazed, dazed as Jerry opened the door for them, his expression one of utter amazement, until Anchaly let out a barking laugh of complete joy towards them that startled her so she clutched at Duncan’s hand, suddenly shy and apprehensive of the small man.

“And the spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters,” Anchaly said, and Kenzie saw Duncan’s puzzled look as they walked past. His eyes were glittering.

“I feel like you speak in riddles sometimes, Anchaly,” Duncan was saying as he pressed the button of the elevator. He had gathered her train up in his hand again, holding it gently over his arm, and Kenzie blushed, suddenly feeling deeply self-conscious, as if she were being led up to an opulent throne where she’d be crowned a queen of some unknown kingdom. She kept looking down to examine the dress, unconvinced it was real, its golden sheen seeping into the corners of her vision.

“Some glories require the words of someone more skilled than I,” Anchaly replied. “You two seem to render me speechless to express my astonishment without some help.”

“Is that from Proverbs, Anchaly? From the Bible?” Kenzie remembered a Moby song that had a similar name to the words Anchaly had spoken.

“Indeed. God creating the waters when he made the world.”

The elevator dinged open.

“You two seem to be creating something, too. The beauty of your love seems to be growing.”

Duncan didn’t reply--he seemed unsure of what to say. Kenzie could see the blush around his eyes.

“Anchaly, Annette’s going to be dropping something off for me soon,” Kenzie called out to him as Duncan pulled her inside. “Please call up to the penthouse when she’s here, will you?”

She saw Anchaly’s nod, the glittering quality of his eyes flashing at her again, and then Duncan was clutching her against him again in the gold interior of the elevator, his fingers achingly delicate on the gold of her dress, and she was lost inside his attentions, lost, and it was everything she could do not to grind against his thigh pressing her into the elevator’s mirror, not to stare in wonder at the loveliness of the picture they cast there, she blushed to be so struck with wonder at her own beauty, blushed to be overcome so often by the rightness of how they looked together. We really do look like royalty, like Pilar said. The moment was gone too soon as the elevator seemed to climb 30 stories in no time at all, and Duncan gently pulled away from her, grasping the train and urging her out as she giggled at him, dragging her softly to the penthouse door, through with they could already hear the voices of Erik and the stylists inside. Rather than using his keycard Duncan knocked twice, lazily, on the door, then in a moment of abandon, grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her up into his mouth again, the taste of him dizzying her wildly, the half-hardness of his crotch pressing into her stomach. Then he was hurriedly bringing her back to earth, grinning at her as the door swung open and they broke apart to Erik’s judging gaze, his mouth pursed at them in their breathless state, his expression one of hidden delight masked by facetious scandal.

“Heeeeeeaven, I’m in heaven,” he sang, fluttering his eyelashes--they were very long with pink rhinestones today. “Just look at you two. As soon as you mentioned Morgan I knew she’d do both of you justice, Mackenzie. I can already see the headlines tomorrow: ‘DUCKENZIE STUNS IN GOLD, WE ALL HAVE TO WIPE OURSELVES OFF THE FLOOR’. Duncan, I brought Hannah and Georgio today. You remember them--they did you for the App release party. They’re going to lose their shit over her.” He extended his hand, beckoning to them languidly, moving back inside the penthouse, the long black cashmere poncho he wore drifting behind him. Duncan’s warm, large hand was on the skin just above the back of the dress, and Kenzie stepped away from his touch, feeling too overwhelmed by it to let it continue for now--I want you terribly, my love. I want you alone.

In the kitchen there was an array of picturesque snacks from the always well-stocked silver fridge and cupboards spread out; round rice crackers and two bricks of artisan swiss and gouda, salami rolled around tiny toothpicks, cubed mango, sliced green apple, bunches of grapes, organic hummus and pesto, bite-sized chopped purple cauliflower and celery sticks, and multiple open bottles of wine.

“We had to get the party started the right way, of course,” Erik simpered to Duncan, and Duncan smiled at him (that smile, kiss me, baby), unbothered, then at the two people seated at the obsidian island with recognition. Kenzie suddenly felt wildly shy again, fighting the urge to hide behind him, but he was pushing bright, warm blue feelings against her, circling her heart. “Hey, Hannah.” Hannah had very long, vaguely wavy hair that was a sort of lavender-grey, the kind of color that could only be achieved by a master hairstylist, one that usually only existed in superhero comics, and chopped bangs. She was ambiguously aged, perhaps in her early 30’s, with bright pink eyeshadow and an expertly contoured, round face. She wore a very long boho bronze-red jumpsuit with curling indigo detailing, and an array of long necklaces with varying crystals. Her skin was the color of milky coffee. The man beside her had long chocolatey hair streaked with natural gray, tied back into a bun at the back of his head, sharp, dark eyes, and an beard that was so well-cropped it seemed almost fake. He had silver rings on his fingers in the shapes of animal skulls, and wore a black denim jacket and black skinny jeans on his very thin frame. He had been talking to the woman in a very quiet, even voice, but she had begun to laugh loudly at something he said. “Hi Georgio, lovely to see you both again. This is Mackenzie Stone.”

“Oh my fucking god, I can’t believe Duckenzie are finally here!” The woman called Hannah immediately stopped laughing, dropping the morsel of gouda she’d been clutching in long coral-colored fingernails. Kenzie gawked at her. God, the Duckenzie thing is a trip. The woman got up from Duncan’s island and came around to her, her hands flitting down to Kenzie’s shoulders--she was at least six inches taller, and in bare feet. She smells really nice, like patchouli incense.

“God, you’re a little jewel,” and Hannah was pulling her into a hug, much to Kenzie’s surprise. “You smell like a rose bush. It’s obscene.”

“Hannah, I fucking told you,” Erik said. “Imagine the possibilities. An absolute babydoll.”

“Georgio,” the other man came up to her, grasping her fingers, leaning over them. “A pleasure to finally meet you in person, dear.” His voice remained very quiet and very even, removed from Hannah’s immediate enthusiasm.

“I do hair, Georgio does makeup,” Hannah was saying down to her. “This dress, Jesus fucking Christ, you’re like a Klimt painting, and Duncan, god, you always look incredible but this is next-level, nobody will be able to talk about anything else tomorrow, fuck, Georgio, we have to really outdo ourselves with this one.”

“I fucking agree.” Georgio was looking between Duncan and Kenzie with a hungry glint in his eye, as though he were a vulture about to swoop down onto a carcass. Kenzie shivered a little--I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way some people look at us when we’re together, she thought. It’s as though some people want to leave us candles and fruit and gold coins on an altar, and other people want to somehow consume us--rip out our hearts and gnaw on them with their teeth. Hannah is one of the former. This man Georgio is one of the latter. She watched his hungry, dark eyes float up and down on Duncan, and she was made conscious again, removed from her lover’s touch for the moment, of how incredibly beautiful Duncan was, how singularly, objectively handsome.

Back off honey, he’s mine. Kenzie couldn’t help it, she snorted into her hand suddenly at the force of her thought, the certainty of it, and Hannah looked down at her, puzzled.

“I was just thinking about how crazy all of this has been,” Kenzie murmured.

“I bet, honey. Your Instagrams are like the only thing anyone talks about anymore. You must have gotten like, a hundred endorsement offers by now.”

Duncan shrugged at her. “I don’t think we’ll be doing stuff like that, Hannah. Kenzie’s a writer.”

“I forgot, you’re a fucking billionaire,” Hannah rolled her eyes at him. “No pressing need to make more money.” I like this woman, Kenzie thought. We can be friends. “Little golden peach, come sit with me, I’m wild to start on you.” Hannah led Kenzie to the living room, where they’d set up two styling chairs with portable standing mirrors.  

“Dunny, bring me some of those grapes, please? I’m fucking starving.” Kenzie called across to him. Duncan was watching her with a dazed expression, as if he’d forgotten where he was. Georgio continued watching him with the same hungry eyes. Duncan went to the island as Erik said something to him that Kenzie couldn’t hear--she was turning back to Hannah, who already had two flat pastel-colored styling clips in her fingers. Kenzie sat, looking up at the woman, angling her chin up.

“What do you think your hair should look like tonight, baby doll?”

Kenzie smiled at her. I really like her.

“Sometimes he calls me Persephone,” she said to Hannah in a low voice, as if she were telling the gray-haired woman a secret. Hannah was leaning down to her, listening eagerly. The woman seemed to have an almost rosy aura around her, like the pink blush of a desert sunrise.

“Goddess of spring,” Hannah nodded. “Which would make him Hades, God of the Underworld. That seems right to me. And you brought your flowers down to him in the darkness, didn’t you, sweetness.” Hannah’s hand brushed through the wave of hair that fell over Kenzie’s shoulder. “I think we should put flowers in your hair. And then everyone will see who you really are. Not just your gold, but the way love is blooming all around you.”

Duncan was coming over to them with a bunch of grapes and some of the cheese and round crackers on a little plate and one of his Waterford glasses full of a dry rose, leaning the plate down to Kenzie’s lap, dipping his face to kiss her (thanks baby, she whispered into his mind) as he handed her the wine, then he straightened and said “I’m putting on some music for us, any requests?”

“Something sexy,” Erik said, holding up his wine glass, full of dark red. “I need some mood music to look at you two.”

Duncan smirked at him and turned away, into his study.

“Hannah, have you seen The Youth of Bacchus?” Kenzie spoke to the woman from a mouth of grapes. “It’s in Duncan’s study there, it’s so amazing, it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I just wanted to die the first time I saw it.”

“I saw it the last time I was here, we styled Duncan for an event a few months ago,” Hannah had already busily begun to slide clips into Kenzie’s long tawny hair, clearly used to working around people eating. “It’s really extraordinary. I can’t imagine how crazy everything has been for you lately, honey.”

“It’s--” Hannah was dividing her hair into segments now with a thin comb, turning to a set of portable drawers near the standing mirror. “It’s been so surreal, honestly. It feels like I’ve been walking around in a dream for the past few weeks. But most people have been so lovely.”

“I bet Annette’s a fucking handful.” Kenzie heard a funky electronic beat come over the hidden speakers as Hannah’s quick hands worked at her hair, spraying primer through it, brushing it out. I ain’t got no money, I’m not like those other guys you hang around, it’s kinda funny, but they always seem to let you down…

“Yes.” Kenzie didn’t even try to hide her frustration. “Yes, she fucking is.”

Hannah snorted, grinning at her as Duncan reemerged from the study.

“Yes, honey, yes indeed,” Erik was saying to him as Duncan sat in the other styling chair beside Kenzie, Georgio immediately attacking his stubbled cheeks with moisturizer, then primer. “Prince’s self-titled is his most underrated creation, I do believe. Pure sex from beginning to end.”

“Erik, I hope this isn’t too great for a favor for someone as important as you, but could you bring me the wine glass I left over there?” Duncan glanced up at Erik with a long, languid gaze, and Kenzie giggled. Laying it on thick, baby. I like to watch you do that, she realized. Because I know you’re always mine now, and all they can do is pine after you.

Erik gave him a pleased look and brought the wine to him. “Anything for Prince Duncan,” he cooed. I feel the same way, and Kenzie’s thought flashed to his eyes staring at her in the MIrror as he fucked her, her arms tied in velvet ribbon, flashed to his mouth between her legs with her arms tied to the headboard with his belt, to her back against the cherrywood table as he kneeled to her, her body arching into his elegant, strong fingers in the dark, the white-blue glow of his eyes. Anything for you, beloved. Anything.

“I’m gonna need fresh rosebuds for Kenzie’s hair, Duncan,” Hannah said, glancing at him.

Duncan made a little sound of longing in the back of his throat that made Kenzie’s stomach flip. Oh my fucking god, baby, I’ll get you roses to wear in your hair every day. And your peonies are starting to wilt, too. Kenzie glanced at the coffee table, noticing with a twinge of sadness that he was right. Prince wailed over their heads as Duncan pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sent a few quick text messages to Anchaly for the concierge. “Hannah, what do you need?” I wanna be your lover, I wanna be the only one that makes you come, running...Georgio’s hand was on his cheek as though it were made of delicate glass, holding Duncan’s head steady as he worked around his blue eyes with a tiny eyeshadow brush.

Hannah reached for his phone with an insistent hand and typed out a text, handing it back to him. “As young as they have would be best. And the darkest red. Fit for a queen.”

“Roses for Kenzie’s hair, roses for Kenzie, check.” Duncan glanced over at her, his eyes (the sky of you, the storm of you building for me) falling from hers down her gown, then back up. His tongue slowly came out to lick against his top lip, and the gesture seemed to be involuntary, so open to her, so desirous of her, as he sometimes was in the sanctity of their bed. Our bed, our room, my favorite place on earth now when you’re there, she could hear him, knew his thoughts drifted into the same place hers did, needy with the weight of their nights.

“Georgio, did you hear what Mackenzie told me a minute ago? Duncan calls her Persephone sometimes. Hence the roses.”

“Way ahead of you, Hannah,” Georgio said, then, “Close your eyes, please, Duncan,” and Kenzie watched him swirl the brush in a palette behind him, then begin to darken Duncan’s eyelids to deep black. My Hades. Gold in the darkness. It’s not just me, baby. It’s us together. My gold kisses your darkness, your darkness holds my gold. One without the other is not enough. One without the other is not whole.

“God, I love it,” Hannah was murmuring as she began to whirl Kenzie’s hair around a ceramic curling iron, from its soft natural waves into more carefully constructed ones. She began to switch between curling strands of Kenzie’s chestnut-blonde hair and weaving a very loose french braid down Kenzie’s back, until her hair seemed to be a very intricate web of falling braids and artfully arranged loose waves, though Kenzie couldn’t see it from the back yet. Duncan’s already luminously handsome face was now darkly striking in the shadow around his eyes, the gold of the jacket juxtaposing with the black and the blue of his corneas to an effect that took Kenzie’s breath away. God of riches, shadows, and my heart.

“God, baby, you look so good. So fucking good.”

“I agree,” Hannah was grinning between them, still fussing over Kenzie’s hair. At the back she’d created a slight bump and long waves fell around Kenzie’s face. The doorbell chimed through the penthouse and Erik went to the door from where he’d been lazily eating apple slices and downing glass after glass of wine. A delivery man stood there with a long white box--Erik took it from him and brought it over to the low leather couch, lifting the lid. Within were a dozen sprigs of burgundy-dark rose buds, and a bouquet of a two-dozen full-stem roses in the same color.

“Oh sugar, I wish a billionaire who looks like an angel would buy me flowers every day,” Erik said longingly. 

“Gimme, please,” Kenzie begged, reaching her arms out. Erik brought them to her from where Hannah was holding her captive, and Kenzie lifted the bouquet to her face in their softness, feeling tears welling up. “Dunny, I love them so much.” Duncan was smiling at her with a dreamy expression around his darkly shadowed eyes. We’ll take them with us to the cabin. We’ll put them beside our bed. I love you, Kenzie.

I love you, too, Duncan. I’ll save so many wildflowers while we’re there to hang over our bed here. We’ll bring the roses with us, and bring the forest back with us, Kenzie’s eyes rested in his, her hand stretching out to him, almost involuntarily. Duncan stood and came to her, Georgio having finished his work, leaning against the standing mirror, observing with a sharp, dark gaze. Duncn crouched down beside her chair, bringing his face up to press his nose into the roses she held, then up to her cheek and against her lips, and Kenzie’s body tingled with the softness and sweetness of him, the darkly beautiful dramatic cast of his face in the eyeshadow. He drew back from her, eyes lifting up to the others behind her--neither of them had realized for the beat of the moments that Erik, Hannah and Georgio were all staring at the two of them with observant, rapt expressions, Hannah’s almost pious, Erik’s joyous, Georgio’s openly desirous. The first side of Prince had ended, and the quiet had settled around them.

“God, you two are lovely,” Hannah breathed, breaking the spell. “I could watch you all day. I’ve never seen a couple so beautiful. It’s like you’re communicating without words.”

At that moment the downstairs buzzer beside the penthouse door trilled, making Kenzie jump. We are, Hannah. But no one knows that but us. And we want to keep it that way. It belongs to us. Duncan stepped away from Kenzie, clutching her hand for a moment. I bet that’s Annette, Kenzie thought, biting into her lip. Annette’s text had been strange, a frantic tone underneath her overly-polite request to see Kenzie. Please accept this gift as a token of my blessing, she’d said, and Kenzie had known Annette distress was coming solely from Duncan’s silence to her, but nevertheless, the prospect of actually gaining Annette’s approval by any means was tempting, especially since she’d softened to Kenzie at the Rose Garden. Duncan went to the door, hitting a button below the panel and speaking into it.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Shepherd, Annette is here.”

Duncan looked over at Kenzie, a pained expression immediately falling over his face. Baby, it’s okay, Kenzie thought to him. I’ll go downstairs. I won’t take long. I’m not afraid of her.

“Anchaly, Kenzie’s coming down,” he said, turning back to the speaker. “Do not send up her up.”

“Very well, Mr. Shepherd.” Anchaly’s voice sounded strained.

Kenzie rose, carefully tucking the cascade of the gold train over her arm, setting the roses in her seat gently. “Hannah, Georgio, I won’t be long, this should only take a few minutes.” Be brave, for him, even if you don’t feel it, because Duncan needs you to be. She walked carefully past Erik, who was giving her a dark look, a don’t let her fuck with you look, to Duncan, whose eyes were clouded behind the dark eyeshadow, suddenly lost inside the turmoil of his emotions.

“Baby, look at me,” she whispered to him, reaching for his hands. As she grasped them Kenzie could feel that he was shaking; feel the immediate change in his mood, the dark shadow that had settled on him, the one that had made him cry in her arms yesterday, the one that had sent his sadness out to her over miles. “We’re going to get through tonight, then we’re going to go away together, just me and you. Okay? And you won’t have to see her, okay? Not until you’re ready. Forget about everyone else.” And Kenzie, in that moment, resolved to do the same herself. Forget about them. About the paps, about Annette’s judgement, about the eyes watching us now, and anyone else who will try to hurt us tonight. When I have you, I’m fearless, invincible, you are my armor of blue flames, I am your armor of weightless gold. And they can’t hurt us.

Duncan brought his mouth down to her, and his lips trembled too, though with the tumult of his emotions or his desire she couldn’t decipher, so jumbled were the two strains of feeling in him. Kenzie gently brought her hand up to his hair and his arms came around her back, lifting her into him, and Kenzie couldn’t help but hear the sighs that came from Erik and Hannah behind her, the sighs that sounded to her like the wings of angels rustling in some holy silent hall, and she soothed him with paper-thin gold, feeling his heart settling down to a steadier rhythm, feeling the trembling in him drift out, into the ether.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, and let go of him, staring at him for another moment, seeing the way her energy had calmed him, his eyes bright again amid the gold-and-dark sheen of his shape, and Kenzie snapped the door open and walked, determined, to the elevator.

-------

Annette was standing in the foyer when Kenzie arrived downstairs, her expression strained and softly troubled, the usual anger in her eyes towards Kenzie missing. She was nervously fidgeting with something in her hands--a squarish, flat velvet box. 

As Kenzie’s eyes drifted over Duncan’s mother, she was struck by the other woman yet again: Annette’s coppery-dark hair was pulled back in an elegantly distressed bun, a few strands arranged artfully around her slender cheekbones, her naturally beautiful face made more exquisite with soft makeup tones, a roseate sheen on her cheeks and mouth, a pale olive around her eyes, reminding Kenzie of the blossoms and vines of some pink flower in bloom, of a cheek pressed against a garden wall. Annette’s dress was flowing saffron-colored satin, falling to the ground and shrouding her feet, long sleeves to her wrists (she was wearing one ring, a gold band on her left index finger with a round, yellow-colored topaz stone), a deep V exposing the dip between her small breasts, a string of tiny, perfectly-shaped (and likely priceless) iridescent pearls around her slender throat. As Kenzie stepped closer she could see there were small golden flowers falling throughout the dress, like bursts of pollen reflected in a sunrise. Annette turned her head down for a moment, her eyes closing, and Kenzie noticed there were pearls stranded through her hair as well. She is so beautiful. This woman who adopted Duncan so many years ago. Where did she find him? Who did she claim him from? Who is this woman really, this woman who has kept the truth of him from him for his entire life? I can see her loveliness that has been hidden beneath her shadow, like I could see his right away. It took longer to see hers. But I’ve begun to see it. But her shadow is strong. It’s consumed her for many years.

Anchaly had, somehow, blessedly, vacated the front desk, and Jerry was standing outside the glass doors in the balmy summer night, smoking a cigarette, staring down at his phone. There was no one else in the foyer, and no sound except soft classical music pumping from the speakers, the gold-embossed chairs and couch, lush persian rugs and expensive potted plants their only company.

“Annette,” Kenzie said, reaching her, remaining a few steps away. Annette was looking at her with a pained expression now--an expression Kenzie had never seen. Now that she was closer, she could see there were lines under Annette’s eyes, of tiredness and distress. I don’t think she slept at all last night, Kenzie realized. Because of Duncan. Because she knows how devastated he is.

“Oh, Mackenzie.” Kenzie’s nerves shattered as she saw the tears in Annette’s eyes, saw the girl within Duncan’s mother again, and was moved by her. “You...you are so lovely. I--I’m--”

Annette trailed off, raising the box in her hands out to Kenzie. She seemed to steel something within herself for a moment, force her tears back, force them back into the secret place where Annette Shepherd had been storing pain for decades, and her eyes fluttered closed again, then opened to Kenzie’s--Kenzie felt for a moment that she could almost see her own eyes reflected there, see the green and russet and the gold of herself, see how Annette could see her in this moment. Like an effigy of the Holy Mother, Annette was thinking, and it shook Kenzie to the core of her body to know that. But before she was a mother--when she was young and wild, and free, and the most beloved of all in the eyes of God. There is no wonder that he loves her. My Duncan. My darling boy. I’m sorry.

“I found this a few days ago while I was going through some of the remainders of Adelaide’s--my mother’s--possessions,” and Annette now used the voice of her outward self again, even, carefully measured. “I knew when I saw it that it was meant to be yours. I’d be--I’d--if you would accept it, Mackenzie...I’d be grateful.” Annette closed her mouth, as if by the action she could close off the tide of her emotions rising again with it. Kenzie stepped closer, watching Annette’s eyes rove up and down the exquisite gold of her dress, into her eyes, skirting away. She reached her hands out and Duncan’s mother (for she is Duncan’s mother after all--she loves him with her life, and she didn’t tell him because she couldn’t bear the thought that he isn’t hers, because she loves him as strongly as if he is--her love is true and blinding for him) lowered the box carefully into them, and their hands touched, and Kenzie looked up at her again, then opened it.  

Within was a circlet band of braided gold, its strands leading down to a matte red ruby surrounded by an oval of almost two dozen tiny, perfect diamonds. On either side of the oval were three gold leaves, each set with two diamonds each. I can’t imagine how much this is worth, Kenzie thought, her breath trapped in her lungs. This must be priceless.

“I--I can’t--” Kenzie struggled to speak. How can I accept this?

“Please, Mackenzie. I’ve been--I know I’ve been--” Annette seemed to be losing the strands of her composure, her hands fidgeting in front of her, clutching at the pearls around her neck. “I know I’ve been terrible to you. I have no right to ask you for anything. But please, Duncan--Duncan won’t speak to me, and I--”

Be the golden goddess Duncan sees in you, Kenzie. Be fearless and kind.

“He needs time.”

Kenzie evened her gaze on Annette; lowered the necklace in its velvet box in her hands, but brought it closer to her body, accepting. She lifted her chin.

“He’s very hurt. Keeping the truth from him for so long--it’s wounded him deeply. And I don’t know how long he’s going to need. But I know he needs time.” Kenzie watched Annette’s face, the subtle shift of the pain there. “After tonight, we’re going away for awhile--maybe a few days, maybe a week. And when we get back, I think he’ll be ready to talk to you. But until then, I don’t think he wants to. I don’t think he can. Annette, I will accept this from you...if you can accept that.”

Annette’s lip trembled, almost imperceptibly, and she seemed on the edge of tears again. She dipped her head, eyes closing again, the lengthening afternoon light spilling across her face--despite everything, Kenzie thought, I love her still.

“Please tell him I’m--how sorry I am.  And that I love him. More than anything. More than my own life. And I--I love you also, Mackenzie. I do. I’m sorry to you, too.”

Annette reached out one shaking hand, pressing it gently to the side of Kenzie’s arm, her other hand coming up to hover near Kenzie’s cheek--but that hand continue to hover rather than touch, as if afraid. Then Annette turned without another word, and left the foyer. Jerry held the door out for her, and Kenzie could see a Mercedes parked on the curb, the tall, imposing form of Becket coming out to open the door of the car for her, and Annette slipped inside, and the car drove away.

I guess it’s a good thing Georgio didn’t do my makeup yet, Kenzie thought. Tears, hot and aching and bitter, coursed down her cheeks as she stepped toward the elevator, and they continued to fall all the way back up to the penthouse, the velvet box clutched in her trembling fingers.

------

She immediately saw the pall that fell over Duncan’s face as she came back into the penthouse--strains of Beethoven played quietly now, Duncan’s cheerful mood clearly affected by Annette’s arrival. He knew she’d been crying. He was sitting in the styling chair again, Hannah pressing product through his waves of dark-copper hair, and he launched himself from her fingers as Kenzie closed the door with one hand, the box clutched in the other, running up to her, clutching her against him. Kenzie closed her eyes, immediately soothed in the enveloping weight of his embrace--there’s nothing else on earth as wonderful as this, baby, as wonderful as being held by you. This is the only thing.

“Baby, what happened? What did she do?” Duncan pulled her away, turning her chin up to him, his hand drifting back to cradle around her ear, his eyes full of clouded anger at Annette’s perceived ills.

“She just--she’s sorry. She loves you. She wants to talk to you. I told her we’re going away for a few days. I told her you’re not ready to talk to her yet but--but maybe you will be when we get back. And she gave me this.” Kenzie felt more tears fall down her cheeks as she lifted the box up to him. Duncan took it with fingers that were shaking again--his eyes roved over the necklace with recognition as he opened the box.

“This was Adelaide’s, wasn’t it,” he whispered. “I remember it. I would touch it when she pulled me into her lap when I was little. I wanted to eat the ruby, you know--how you want to eat everything when you’re little--” and Kenzie knew the steady stream of words was to keep himself from crying, from becoming overwhelmed.

“Shhhh, baby,” she soothed. “Will you help me put it on?”

Duncan quieted and nodded to her, his eyes glittering (like sapphire). He lifted the necklace from the velvet box, setting the latter aside on the island, and Kenzie turned, lifting her chin so he could clasp it around her neck--his fingers were warm, almost hot, and her eyes fluttered open and closed at the feeling of them brushing against her (your touch is heaven to me, heaven) and then he gripped at her shoulders, his mouth coming down to kiss her ear, turning her easily, her weight nothing in his arms, and his gaze fell over her neck and his lips drifted open, his eyes opening and closing (nebulas), and Kenzie could see a kind of peace fall over him, as if she and Adelaide were somehow able to meet now, after all.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered, and she nodded, her chin turned up to him. “Adelaide would have loved for you to have it.”

Kenzie felt desperate to be close to him, desperate for him to hold her, suddenly, in a dark place where no eyes could reach them, where they could be naked and taste each other with abandon, with only the moon to see. My One. I want to comfort you in the privacy of our room so very much. She pulled his face down to hers carefully, pressing her forehead to his, and pushed golden waves down into him, pushed with all her strength, all her love, all her longing, and she felt his body relax against hers, like a sigh, though he was silent. She closed her eyes, knowing his were closed too, knowing they could see each other without needing to look--she could see the blue waves of him melting behind the darkness of her lids, could see the iridescent gold she had given him. All good things come in time. We just have to get through tonight. Then we’ll be able to comfort each other, my love. Comfort each other for days. He nodded against her skin, and Kenzie knew he heard.

They broke apart, and she looked over to Hannah, Erik and Georgio, watching her and Duncan with mouths agape again, not speaking to each other. She made eye contact with Erik, who drank off the rest of the wine in his glass, giving her a good-natured eyeroll.

“You two make me wanna get drunk,” he said, waving a hand toward them. “I’m raging with jealousy and arousal.” Kenzie noticed someone had put her roses in another of Duncan’s gold vases in the center of the kitchen island, and she looked at them gratefully.

“Mackenzie, come sit, we have a lot to do still,” Hannah said, tapping the styling chair, and Kenzie glanced back at Duncan (baby, come sit with me, please?) and he nodded to her, going back to the kitchen island and pouring himself another glass of wine as Kenzie sat before Hannah and Georgio, who both attacked her with new gusto--Hannah began to rapidly pin the rosebuds through the back of her hair, while Georgio began to rub different substances into her face with cool hands, his eyes intent on her, making her immediately shy.

“Where did you two meet, anyway?” Hannah asked, using a slender, long pair of blunt tweezers to pull the buds into the braids and strands she’d created at the back of Kenzie’s head.

Kenzie was quiet for a moment, glancing at Duncan who was bringing another glass of wine around to her, nestling it gently into her hand.

“It was a Republican party for PAC donors.”

He gave Kenzie a mischievous smirk, then settled into the chair beside her, but not before dragging it closer to her, veering around Georgio and Hannah with abandon, dipping his long legs under her gold platform heels and propping her feet up under him, his hand coming around to her knee. Kenzie knew he was craving her touch desperately--she could feel the need coming off him toward her, the ache in him for the comfort only her touch brought him (only you, his thoughts were whirling in circles, just you, your hands, your skin, you, I need you and they’ll have to deal with it) and she wanted to press her hand against his throat and taste him with her eager mouth, straddle him and tease him until he was begging for her, and she pressed her hand down onto his, sending the tendrils of these thoughts to him as he spoke again to Hannah, glancing at her with burning eyes.

“She was undercover, recording tidbits of juicy conversation for her article--of course, I didn’t know that until later. Not that I think it would have mattered to me. I was wishing I was literally anywhere else, out on the balcony, hiding from everyone, and she appeared. I thought I’d been knocked into a dream. She was wearing this tiny black velvet dress and these golden sandals that tied up her ankle, and had this necklace, and her hair--”

“Ugh, Duncan, stop--”

“Duncan, do not stop,” Hannah grinned at her, soothing her hands against Kenzie’s temples to hold her head still as Kenzie jerked it towards Duncan, then resumed rapidly dipping the tweezers through the back of her hair. Kenzie could see her face through the mirror, how Georgio was applying dark russet liner to her brows, and a heavy black eyeliner to her upper lids, giving her gaze a high drama.

“Hannah, I would have done literally anything to get her to go home with me. I mean--fucking anything.”

“And all you had to do was buy me a drink. I’m a cheap date,” Kenzie smiled up at Hannah, who laughed a little.

“I can imagine it didn’t take much convincing for either of you,” she said, stepping back from Kenzie’s hair to examine her handiwork. “You’re both--well. At the risk of embarrassing myself by using an antiquated standard, separately, you’re both 10s. Together? Fuck. The scale is fucking broken. Most people would claw each other’s eyes out if it meant they got to stand in your orbit, and I’m not one for flattery. Miss Mackenzie Stone, I do believe you’re ready for the Gala.”

Georgio had stepped back at well, in his silent, appraising way, a round brush still in his hand from applying light, rosy matte blush to Kenzie’s cheeks. He’d made her lips dark red, not quite as burgundy as the roses in her hair, but a deep claret that made her mouth look like a ripe fruit. Kenzie couldn’t stop herself; her breath caught as she gazed at herself, the dramatic angle the light threw on her face, the ruby and diamonds glittering right in the dip of her throat, the gold shimmer of her dress wrapped around her like a second skin.

“Turn around, baby, look,” Duncan urged her, his hand softly drifting against hers, Hannah bringing a little handheld mirror down into her hands to see the back of her hair, which was now a breathtaking array of dancing burgundy red buds, falling in a drifting, wild cascade from the artful arrangement Hannah had created.

“God, you really do look like a painting,” Hannah breathed and Erik was standing back in a pose of admiration, another glass of wine dangling at the end of one arm. He laughed in delight.

“Forget everyone else, darlings, I’ll be following you two around all night.”

Duncan groaned. “Please, no. I want her all to myself.” His hand was drifting up from her thigh to where she had turned towards the study to see her back in the mirror, his fingers falling against the buds, and his thoughts were dark red too, dark red with need for her, and Kenzie could feel the fall of them, almost see herself in his gaze for a moment, feel the pulse of his arousal, the memory in him of the feeling of her clit on his tongue, the ache in him to taste her again, his body shivering to remember the sensitive cavity between her legs, the tightness of her ass--Kenzie tried to swallow, tried to breathe, felt her heart pounding insanely at his touch and the intensity of his need against her in this moment, turning from the mirror to look into his burning gaze, and Hannah and Georgio seemed to somehow sense that their time together was ending; Georgio was gathering his makeup with clipped order, Hannah wrapping the curling iron up, tossing pins into the drawers. Erik was languidly pressing a finger to his phone, calling a private Uber.

“I want you so much,” Duncan had dipped his head to her, his mouth shivering against her ear, kissing down under it as he quieted, as if he deigned to think it rather than speak it aloud, as if he wanted to speak it, needed to, had to or he’d scream instead, and his hands were at her waist, feeling with insistent strength, damning the others, ignoring them. Kenzie’s skin tingled with flushed, radiant heat, her thoughts hazy, suddenly, the cool gold of the necklace pressing into her throat and making her cunt twinge, Duncan’s drifting hands making it twinge again, making her breath catch and burst out in a gasp. Make them go away, baby, she thought, and said aloud to Hannah and Georgio, turning away from him, “Thank you so much--both of you--I can’t say how wonderful--”

“Miss Mackenzie Stone, it was my honor,” Hannah said, her smile lit with warmth that shattered into Kenzie’s heart like an arrow. This woman has a beautiful soul. It gave her as much joy to do this for us as I have now to see the masterpiece she’s created for me. “Hoo boy. I think I’m a Duckenzie now too. Better sign up on that website. Did you two see that? Duckenzie Fans, or whatever it’s called?”

Duncan was laughing, nodding a little, dipping his chin down against the palm of his hand, crooked on his knee, his other hand still on Kenzie’s thigh. “Yeah. It’s something. We met the girls who run it, they can’t be out of high school yet. Kenzie was so lovely to them, it was all over the tabloids. She’s so lovely to people. Makes it easy for me to just stand there and say nothing.”

He was smiling at Kenzie again, his hand drifting, his fingers tightening on her, his thoughts clashing through her like the warm rain that had soaked them a few days ago--I wanna be alone with you now baby love, goddess from heaven, I wanna press that plug into you and whisper into your skin all the things I’m going to do to you later, I want you to force that ring onto me and fuck I’m already getting hard for you, my cock is already aching for you, angel--

Georgio was giving them a glittering look again, that wanton desire still blatant.

“If you two ever wanna think outside the box, I have this group I meet with sometimes in Prince William Forest,” he said evenly.

What the fuck does that mean, Kenzie balked. Like an orgy?

Yes, Kenz, that’s what he means. Duncan had half-rolled his eyes at Georgio’s statement, his thumb drifting soothingly over Kenzie’s knuckles.

“I don’t think so, Georgio, thank you.”

“Suit yourselves. You’d certainly be the center of attention.”

“No, thanks, Georgio.”

Erik was pressing a hand into Georgio’s black-clad back, smiling down at him serenely, batting his eyelashes, ushering the thin man towards the door. Hannah dipped down to Kenzie and hugged her around the neck, gently, careful not to muss the flowers in her hair.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” she whispered into Kenzie’s ear. “I hope to see you again sometime, Miss Stone.”

“Call me Kenzie, please?”

“Kenzie. It was an absolute delight. I can’t wait to see your photos literally everywhere tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” Kenzie grasped the gray-haired woman’s hand and steadied her mind, whisking her psyche away from Duncan--and pressed gold tendrils down into Hannah, morsels of light, drifts of her good will. She watched a serene, doleful expression come into Hannah’s brown eyes, then she let go, and Hannah drifted away from her, still staring at her for a long moment. Erik was pushing Georgio out the door, and called out behind him, “I’ll see you in an hour or so, darlings, I can’t wait to meet the infamous Madeline Stone!” Hannah hesitated for the span of a few seconds, she and Kenzie still staring at each other across the room, pulling her portable drawers behind her on the little wheels attached to the bottom.

Hannah, bright blessings to you. Today, and for the days to come, for you.

Kenzie watched the other woman’s face, watched what seemed to be the glitter of a tear on her cheek--then Hannah waved a little to both of them, and pulled the big black door to the penthouse shut as she left.

Suddenly, the penthouse was quiet, and it was only the two of them. The light had begun to fade--it was almost 7 now, and night was beginning to fall. Kenzie glanced over at the Bouguereau prints on the wall, feeling Duncan’s eyes on her, feeling the blue of his thoughts kissing against her mind. The evening mood, she thought, and turned to him again.

Yes, my Kenzie. The evening mood is here. Come to the bedroom with me. He was standing, gently twining his fingers into hers, grasping onto her train and bringing it over his arm with supine grace, the melted gold of his jacket glowing in the twilight that had suddenly surrounded them. The energy inside her was humming now, building to a kind of frenzied rhythm, and Kenzie could see the full moon beginning to rise as they passed the picture window, see its corn-yellow face from last night had not faded, rather sharpened into a bewitching visage, like a sleeping maiden in a field of night-lit grasses.

“I feel like a princess,” she whispered to him as they entered the bedroom, and Duncan was closing the door behind them, closing it to the world--and then he was pressing against her, pressing her into their Mirror with an aching softness that made her mind leap into a static of feeling, thoughts bleeding out into nothing but his mouth on hers, nothing but his hands on the gold braid at her neck, then his fingers along her collarbones, then clutching at her shoulders, the smooth gold cups at her breasts.

“You are a princess,” he was whispering between their kisses, and Kenzie fought to breathe, “you’re my fucking Princess, you’re my fucking Goddess, you’re mine, aren’t you, my angel on earth, you’ll give yourself to me, baby, won’t you--”

“Fuck, yes, you know I will, baby,” she moaned into him, the tips of his hot fingers refusing to press more harshly into her, his blue gaze heavy-lidded, looking down on her from the dark shadow around them now, waiting teasingly for her answer. “Fuck, get my plug for me, please, baby--”

“Shhh, Kenzie, go get your coconut oil, okay?”

“Uh huh,” she murmured, and turned away from him, the tiny hairs on her arms standing up, flush with goosebumps. Kenzie pressed a hand between her breasts as she stepped carefully to the bathroom, serenely quiet and spotlessly clean, feeling her heart racing--she could see her jar of coconut oil on the edge of the sink, and took it with trembling hands. She tried to imagine telling Kenzie from a year ago about this night--you’ll be going to a Gala attended by the richest people in DC, and you’ll look like an angel, and your boyfriend is Duncan Shepherd, and he’s going to push your plug into your ass beforehand and you’re going to make him wear a cock ring and you’re going to edge each other to death all night and then, hopefully, you’re going to fuck each other into tomorrow morning, Kenzie, and you can hear each other’s thoughts, see the depth of his love for you like the swirling center of a fire--

Kenzie swallowed, stared at herself in the darkened mirror of the bathroom for a moment, almost not recognizing herself for a moment--I really do look like a goddess, she thought. I really fucking do. Be that fearless goddess tonight, Kenzie Lou. Just pretend she is you. For tonight, you are her. You’re a goddess.

Kenzie brought the oil out in hands she willed not to shake, and Duncan was standing by the Mirror, looking at himself curiously, appraisingly, the ring clutched in one hand, her plug in the other. He turned to her, and his smile melted her heart into sweet butter.

“Me first,” she whispered. “I want you to do me first, baby.”

Duncan’s eyes darkened (your storm, my sweet god of shadows) and beckoned to her with one elegantly crooked finger.

“Come here, angel.” Whatever Hannah had done to his hair, she’d made it so his beautiful curls were now even more striking than usual, the fall of them seeming impossible to her eyes in this light, their loveliness ethereal, and she saw him as inhuman again for a moment as she fell into his arms--saw him as as a god made of stars and ink-dark sky. You are the god to my goddess tonight, aren’t you, and their mouths came together in another aching kiss, his tongue brushing down into her, and then he was turning her to face the Mirror, turning her so his stomach pressed insistently into her back. He pressed the cock ring into her fingers, taking the oil away, and she gripped its smooth silicone surface, her heart bursting. Give me all your need, baby, make me feel it, remind me that I belong to you. He opened the oil, dipping his fingers into it, eyes focused on her--Kenzie could see her mouth hung open, her breath coming out in ragged bursts, her face glowing with the lovely makeup--I am going to be so gentle with you, baby, but you won’t get to come yet and no one will know your ache for me, no one will know your secret tonight but me, his eyes said, and then he was dipping the plug into it too, and Kenzie’s cunt and ass twinged sharply, and she sucked her breath in, unable to stop the whimper of the moan that fell out of her. But you’ll be thinking of it all night, as I’ll be thinking of my ache for you.

“Please,” she said, and pressed her hands against the Mirror, leaning just a little, ever so little, to give herself to him. Duncan leaned to set the oil on the dark wood--then, he carefully pressed the hem of Kenzie’s golden dress up with a twisting motion, so it fell up and over her hips, exposing the black lace of the panties she wore underneath the opulent gown. Kenzie could feel the damp, cool pressure of his finger tips at the line of her panties now, and with another quick motion Duncan pulled them down so they hovered around her thighs above her knees--he leaned down over her so his face came up beside her ear, and Kenzie cried out to him as she felt his fingers dip into her ass, first his index, then his middle finger beside it, stretching her.

“Kenzie, babydoll,” he whispered into her ear, and Kenzie leaned back, her mind needy, into his fingers, longing for him to press against her clit, knowing with anguished disappointment that he wouldn’t, not yet, not now. “My sweet baby, my angel of roses. Mine. You can’t take this out until I say you can. Promise me you won’t.”

Kenzie felt his fingers leave her and she was desperate for the loss--”Unng, baby, please, I won’t, I promise I won’t--” she whined, biting into her lip, unafraid in this moment with him, unafraid to show him the desperation of her want for him. “Please put it inside me.”

She sighed with relief as his hand came around her throat, gripping so his fingers pressed possessive divots into her skin, then a long, keening cry melted out of her and his fingers tightened at her neck as she felt the plug’s bulbous head, slick with oil, rest for a long, terrible second against the pucker of her ass, then slide with aching pressure and his strong insistence inside her, guided by his pliant fingers. His hand lingered, fingers pressing around the dip of her ass below where the plug was now snugly tethered, as if to ensure that it was tightly in place, and Kenzie was gasping, gasping at the terrible twinging need of her cunt, the throbbing of her clit, aching to be touched by him there, aching for him alone to give her release, her hands still pressed into the Mirror, his dark-shadowed eyes piercing her with their expectant lust. O Hades, my Hades, kiss me, then let me cage you, and in your cage, think only of me, your Queen of Roses, caged for you by your hand.

“My turn, baby,” he whispered, and crouched down to pull her panties back up snugly to her waist, his fingers drifting over her hips, cupping her ass cheeks, then carefully pulling her golden gown back over her legs, using the hand that hadn’t probed into her--he’s so careful, Kenzie thought, I know how much you want me in this moment, and yet still you’re so careful, so neat, afraid to ruin my gown, my Prince. As Kenzie shifted she could feel the twinge of the plug’s weight against the sensitive cavity of her ass, and she felt her knees buckle for a moment, her thighs tingling, her neck longing for the press of his hand again. Want it there always, my Prince, my sweet Hades, your scent like the wild wood of night. She pulled him down to her mouth, laving her tongue out into him, and Duncan moaned with piteous need, and Kenzie felt the long tendriled gold of her need reach out for him in turn, demanding.

“Put your hands at your sides, baby. You’re not allowed to move them.”

Duncan immediately did as she said, his eyes smoldering in the darkening bedroom, his mouth open to her, his thoughts afire with her. God, baby, I am fucking dying for you, you’re so fucking beautiful, not touching you is like torture, I’m yours, I beg you, please, touch me, baby.

You are truly the most beautiful boy I have ever seen, Kenzie thought. And you are fucking mine. You’re mine, baby. Your beautiful cock belongs to me.

“I know this is going to make you ache terribly tonight,” Kenzie said, evening her tone just above a whisper. “But you have to be good. You can’t touch yourself, you can’t take it off.” She knelt very slowly in the opulent gown, her back to the Mirror now, dipping her head so he could see the way she was prostrate for him, her head looking up at him, the cascade of her rosebud-brindled hair arrayed for him in its loveliness. Duncan closed his eyes, and she felt how overcome he was, how lost in the sight of her, and it thrilled her--that’s fucking right, Prince Duncan, your Persephone kneels before you now, and you will promise her you will allay your pleasure until she has need of it, and Kenzie could see the dip of his crotch had grown in the low light--she lifted her hands up and undid the button at his groin carefully, unzipping his pants, pulling down the waistband of his body-tight briefs to bring one of her slender hands against the bottom of the shaft of his growing cock, pulling it out decisively, and Duncan’s breath hitched, his head falling back, his adam’s apple bobbing in the light, making Kenzie want to pull him down to her so she could press her mouth against him there. She focused, instead, on his thick length, the veins of his sex suddenly beautiful to her, the head of his cock a roundness that she longed to dip into her mouth, a sliding droplet of precum glittering there. Instead, Kenzie lifted her hand away--Duncan moaned, dejected with the loss of her, and she could see his hands shaking at his sides--then she picked up the ring from where she’d carefully laid it by her knee, dipping her fingertips into the oil, slathering them along the circular interior of the toy.

Then, Kenzie dipped one of her hands into the oil again, and quickly brought it up, before Duncan could prepare himself, to the low hardness of his cock--she slathered the oil along him from head to base and Kenzie watched with satisfaction, feeling the plug pressing into her from her spread thighs where she knelt to him, as his mouth dipped open again and his shoulders shuddered minutely at her touch. Kenzie didn’t wait again--she gripped the ring and carefully, but with deep, concentrated insistence, pushed it onto his cock to the base, watching with a burst of intense heat into the bottom of her belly how it twinged with redness, immediately constricted.

“Ung, Kenzie, fuck me, holy fuck,” Duncan murmured, his hands drifting dangerously close to the ring, to his length, his eyes furiously bright, and Kenzie shook her head.

“No, baby. You can’t. Only I can take it off.”

“Fuck, baby, angel, I can’t--”

Kenzie stood, grasping his cock again, making him shudder and cry out, his throat convulsing, and she pushed him back down into the tight briefs he wore, zipping the closely tailored slacks and buttoning them, her fingers hooking over the waistline, my tall Prince, her face hovering at his heart, her dark red lips falling against the melting gold and velvet of his jacket to kiss it. The heat that fell away from him over her was blinding--he seemed to be burning, the blue flame of him almost visible to her naked eyes.

“You can, Dunny. It’s for me. My plug is so tight, baby, when I sit down it’s going to make me fucking writhe for you--” and Duncan went to grasp her but Kenzie said “wash your hands first, baby,” and he stepped back, nodding, turning as Kenzie followed him to the bathroom--she dipped her hands into the sink with his, the soap mingling between them, the Cartier bracelets falling down their wrists and clinking together, Duncan’s face leaning close to her hair, and Kenzie knew he was breathing her scent in. She reached for the hand towel and dipped her hands into it, then Duncan’s hands were pulling it insistently away, gripping her hips and pushing her into the wall, knowing it was okay, knowing he had her permission to hold her, now that both of them were carefully, insistently claimed by the other, both driven to the edge of their desire and now, with terrible need, held there for an undetermined amount of time, and knowing that to touch each other for a moment, a few moments, would be the only relief for hours. His lips fell against hers, her arms dipping up to reach for him, but he grasped her wrists and forced them against the wall, holding her there.

“I’m in fucking agony, baby,” he murmured, and Kenzie shivered, delighted by the strength coiled in his fingers, the strain in his voice. She struggled a little, facetiously, against his grip, and he tightened it as she giggled.

“Good,” she whispered, and she felt the burst of heat fall onto her from him at that. Duncan bit his lip, his eyes falling down her face to the tailored shape of the dress against her breasts, the dip of her throat with the gold braid, diamonds, and the ruby, the diamonds on her wrist she couldn’t take off unless he unlocked it.

“I wanna fucking fuck you, Kenzie.”

“You will, baby. Later. We have a Gala to go to.”

“I don’t fucking care about the Gala.”

“I know. But we have to.”

Duncan whined into her neck, and Kenzie turned her head, the better to feel his lips on her there, turning her head up, lifting her thigh up so it pressed into his crotch, and Duncan groaned, the sound bleeding into a strangled, tiny sob in the back of his throat. His grip loosened on her wrists, enough for her to release one of them, and Kenzie slipped out of his grasp, bringing her hand around to press into his darkly stubbled cheek, smooth with the dusting of concealer Georgio had put there. Not that he needs it. His skin is already so smooth and beautiful.

Kenzie tapped his cheek with an insistent little snap. “Bad boy is gonna fuck me so good later, aren’t you. My Prince is gonna fucking fuck my brains out.”

“Uh huh. I fucking am. I wanna do it right fucking now--”

She brought her hand up and let it come down again, this time with a more insistent little tap into his cheekbone. Duncan’s breath hitched.

“Kenzie, do it again. Harder. Tell me to calm the fuck down. I’m too hard and I can’t think straight. Fuck, baby, please. Slap me.”

Kenzie nodded and brought her hand up, Duncan still clutching her other wrist to the wall--she made sure her palm was very flat this time, and brought it down with a swift snap. This time Duncan’s face pitched to the side and his eyes fluttered closed with the low pain of it, and he stepped back from her, releasing her other wrist. Kenzie brought her hands around him, steadying him at the waist, and he blew out a low breath, eyes earthwards.

“Let’s go to this fucking party, baby,” Kenzie whispered. “I wanna show them how fucking beautiful we are.”

Duncan lifted his eyes, and the wildfire in them stopped her heart again.

“I’m ready, my Queen of Roses.” And Kenzie grinned, bouncing up against him in her platform heels, shaking out her rose-laden hair, leading her dark prince out of their rooms, his hand gripping her train possessively. Kenzie snatched up the little golden clutch Morgan had made for her, and pulled him, between insistent, coaxing kisses, out of the penthouse and into the elevator. Kenzie was absolutely struck by their reflection now, highlighted by brighter lights of the elevator’s interior--Duncan was pulling his phone out of his pocket. We have to, he thought, and Kenzie nodded. Time to show everyone.

Kenzie pressed against him, clutching her hand to his lapels under her chin, turning her head so the roses in her hair were visible in the mirror, her dress pressed to the side, partially enveloped and hidden by Duncan’s dark arm around her waist, but the back of the golden train shimmering in the light. Duncan’s darkly-shadowed eyes glanced into the reflection, his expression defiant and knowing, the dripping gold of his jacket striking, the golden, intricate tips at his collar scintillating under his sharp jawline, the fall of his hair just-so. He lifted his phone, capturing the reflection, bringing it down for her appraisal. Kenzie nodded, looking up at him. Yes, baby. Good. So fucking good.

She watched as he typed a caption. Hades and Persephone ascend to Earth for a party. #weheardyoulikeus #andifyoudontohwell #duckenziesayshiworld

Kenzie giggled and nodded. “Fuck yes, baby.” He continued to hold her against him as he posted the photo, his hand drifting against her shoulder as he bit his lip, squinting at his phone in concentration in the bright light. I love him. I love how earnest he is in our quiet moments together like this.

“Baby, send it to me okay? I want it.”

Duncan nodded into her cheek as the elevator door dinged open to the foyer, and Kenzie could feel the vague pressure of the silicone ring pressing into her hip from where he leaned his crotch against her. His hand drifted down, quickly brushing over her ass, down to the curve above her thighs, where he knew the plug was--Kenzie let out a little cry and slid away from him, hot lines of want coursing down through her belly at his touch, trying to straighten her expression when she saw Anchaly had returned to his desk. Duncan followed behind her, eyes burning on her, his hand still possessively grasping her train in his fist.

“I see you’ve come down to bless the mortals, Mr. Shepherd, Miss Stone,” Anchaly grinned. He had a new book, The New Adam and Eve, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Whatever strain he’d felt over Annette’s visit was now gone from his face, and his eyes were glittering at them again, his posture immediately leaning towards them, as if drawn by a lure. “I’m stunned, Miss Mackenzie, your hair, like the garden of Eden.”

Kenzie twirled for him, smiling at him coyly. Anchaly laughed, delighted, gazing raptly. The way people look at us now, she thought to Duncan. It’s a little bit spooky.

I agree, but who wouldn’t look at you that way, angel.

“Have a wonderful evening. I have no doubt you will, how could you not? As blessed as you are.”

Kenzie watched Duncan’s eyes turn on Anchaly, his dawning expression of recognition.

“Anchaly, we truly are blessed. I’m blessed. I’m grateful. To whatever’s out there. The Fates or...destiny. God. The gods. I’m grateful.” Duncan’s hand went to his hair, slid down his chin, rubbing there, thumb drifting to his lip. Kenzie stepped to him and grasped his hand, felt the immediate cooling contentment of his mind at her touch. Anchaly said nothing, merely continued to look at them admiringly.

“I’m sure your gratitude has not gone unnoticed, Mr. Shepherd. It’s apparent in you now. The change in you is breathtaking. You will do great work together. I can see it like a clear path stretching out ahead. Enjoy yourselves and be happy.”

Kenzie smiled. The smile seemed to extend through all of her body, down to her toes, through the tips of her fingers, into the skin of her cheeks and coursing through the back of her mind and her neck to her spine, shaking through the ends of her hair. She pushed the gold tendrils through herself; I’m so happy I could fucking die, she thought, and she felt the tendrils extend out of her in that moment, stronger than they’d ever been before except in the dream where she’d made the fire grow, and she felt them touch Duncan with deep, abiding strength, and brush against Anchaly with affection, and they both looked at her with expressions that reminded her of effigies in a church, faces turned with fervent eyes--and Duncan’s filled her with conciliation, with the knowledge that with his eyes on her this way, she was truly seen, that he saw beyond the flowers in her hair, the blush on her cheeks, the darkness at her lips, to the secret soul she had long hidden, the one that belonged to him because he had promised to love it with abandon.

Duncan seemed to surface from the vision she had pressed around them; he turned to Anchaly and thanked him, and then he pulled Kenzie out the door (Jerry said nothing, merely beamed at them and stared, his eyes wide) to where Samuel waited, and a sweet summer wind was blowing, cool and soft, and it smelled like long grass and the sun-kissed residue of day, it smelled like the full moon that hovered above them, a scent like small flowers in shadows and the heady musk of damp earth and, wildly, the aching crash of the sea, Kenzie’s eyes glancing to its perfect roundness--it seemed impossibly huge tonight, the sun kissing Her, pressed into an ardent embrace; it’s for us, she thought wildly, stopping Duncan breathlessly, bringing him against her under it, his arms lifting her into his mouth achingly, his tall body so right as it enveloped hers utterly, Kenzie, I’ll love you until the end of time, he was thinking, I’ll love you until time means nothing, and it was as if she could feel the moonlight holding them, feel it pressing soft, cool hands into their hair, smiling on them with serene affection, hoping for their love to find its secret holding place later tonight, urging them to the time when they’d be alone again, tangled in the sheets of the black bed, irrevocably entwined, like Her, held by the Sun, now a part of Her, the source of her light, and Her his most beloved. Duncan, I love you so much the words in my heart have not yet been written in any language. The gold of me is all for you. And the moon saw them, and knew it to be true.

---------

It was five before 8 when Madeline slid carefully into the front seat beside Samuel, who was playing Billie Holiday (I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new, I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you) quietly. Momby was wearing one of her gold scarves draped over her shoulders with a brocade Calvin Klein dress, as promised, and she had a lovely rose-gold pin clasping the scarf against her--it was in the shape of a rose, and Kenzie puzzled at it.

“Oh Kenzie Lou, you look beautiful,” her Momby breathed, and Kenzie was reaching her hand through the partition, her emotions bubbling up, threatening to overflow. Her mother’s hand was warm and comforting, deeply familiar. “You too, Duncan. I mean, really. Fucking beautiful.”

Duncan was smiling at her through the window. “Thank you, Madeline. So do you.”

“Momby, where did you get that pin? I’ve never seen it before.”

“I had other admirers besides your father when I was young, baby,” was all Madeline said, turning to glance at Samuel. “Why hello, most delightful specimen on God’s green earth.”

Samuel laughed at her, his very white teeth shining out of his mouth in the shadows and dim neon lights of the car’s interior. “Miss Madeline, to see you again is truly a blessing to me. And may I say, you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Go on, go on,” Madeline took her hand out of Kenzie’s and pressed it to Samuel’s arm. Kenzie balked. Momby. Kenzie pulled her phone out, sending Clairebear a quick text, remembering.

Good luck on your date with Harris tonight!!!! I love you so much. We couldn’t help it, we jumped the gun and posted a picture on Instagram, but here it is again. She attached the photo Duncan had taken of them in the elevator to the text, hit Send, then typed again.

Clairebear, thank you for always being there for me. I don’t know who I would be without you. I’m so emotional tonight, it’s like my body is on fire. Duncan and I are going away for a few days after this, his family has a cabin by Deep Creek Lake, it’s a few hours away. He found out he’s adopted and no one ever told him until now, so it’s been really difficult for him. I don’t know how the phone service is out there, and I’ll still have my phone, but I think we’re going to try to go off the grid a little bit.

She hit Send, then typed again, Duncan’s hand drifting to her leg. “I’m texting Claire,” she murmured to him, and he nodded, his eyes closed, his mouth in her hair, blue waves tenderly brushing against her body.

Duncan and I have been having some really strange experiences with each other lately. It’s hard to describe. Strange dreams and other things that should just be impossible. I’ll tell you more about it when we get back. I think we need to figure out what it means and I feel really strongly that if we go off to the woods we’ll find the thing we’re looking for. Not sure why, but that’s what it feels like. When we get back, I think we’ll know more about all of it.

Claire, I love you forever.

They were already pulling up to the Shepherd mansion’s gate, and the moment, the reality of the Gala, which had seemed so far away, had finally arrived. Kenzie slipped her phone back into her clutch, turning to gaze out the window--around the gate were at least two hundred people, some non-credentialed press, some clearly fans. Kenzie noticed with a jolt of recognition that Lindy and Gabby were among them--Gabby was holding a sign that said DUCKENZIE WE LOVE YOU STOP AND BE FRIENDLY, her curly red hair shimmering in the street lamps that lined the tall, impenetrable white fence that stretched around the property. Kenzie grinned--referencing one of my favorite movies is a good way to get my attention, she thought, and leaned to Samuel.

“Samuel, stop here for a minute,” and Duncan balked, trying to grab her hand.

“No, Kenzie, Harris isn’t here--”

“It’s okay, baby, I promise. It’s okay.” She looked steadily into his eyes. I can do this. Watch me.

Kenzie pressed the door open and stepped out onto the curb, and immediately a swarm of press gathered around her--Duncan was getting out of the car behind her, his expression deeply creased with concern. Kenzie took a deep breath and pushed outward--for a moment her body tingled wildly, her mind compressing and her head feeling impossibly heavy, pushing her chin down--and then the air around her seemed to calm, the summer wind that had been blowing seemed to stop, and the frantic shouting of the press around her lowered as if someone had turned a dial on stereo, their pressing dispersing, like leaves scattering, caught in a tiny tornado that spread them back. There, that’s better, she thought, and reached for Duncan’s hand. His expression was stunned now, gazing at her in bewildered wonder, and Kenzie smiled at him earnestly. I told you, Dunny, it’s okay. Come on.

She stepped up to Gabby and Lindy, who hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual, somehow; they were hopping excitedly, squealing and reaching out to her.

“Kenzie, Kenzie, we made you something!” Lindy held out a large squarish object that turned out to be a handmade scrapbook full of fan messages--Kenzie held it gently and nodded. “You look like a goddess tonight,” Lindy said, then unceremoniously the small girl burst into tears.

“Oh, Lindy, it’s okay--don’t cry,” Kenzie was pulling the girl against her gently, and Gabby was biting her lip, clearly hovering near tears as well. “Thank you so much, Duncan and I looked at the website, it’s absolutely beautiful. You two definitely have a career in web design. Maybe we can hire you for Shepherd Unlimited someday.” Gabby rocked back on her heels (both girls were wearing long flowery dresses, and their earnest loveliness pressed on Kenzie’s heart), her eyes fluttering in disbelief. “Oh, Kenzie, really? Thank you so much for looking at it, we’ve been working so hard, so, so hard.” Kenzie let go of Lindy, opening her clutch and handing the girl a tissue from it.

“Girls, we have to go, but it was so nice to see you again,” Duncan murmured to them, taking the scrapbook from Kenzie’s hands, grasping her with tight fingers. Kenzie quickly leaned and kissed Lindy’s tear-stained cheek, then Gabby’s, blushing and hot, pushing gold tendrils into them, watching Lindy’s face calm and soften. There. No more tears, sweet. I see you. She gave them both a little wave as she stepped back, then turned to the other people gathered around them, gazing at Kenzie and her interactions with the two girls with awed expressions. Suddenly the night was strangely quiet; the moon looked down on the scene, and everyone stared at Kenzie, a hush falling over the hubbub of the crowd.

“Next time,” she said, nodding, turning to the press, and then Duncan pulled her insistently back into the car, Samuel whipping the BMW around to the open gate, where several security guards were keeping the fans and other press back, ushering cars through to the mansion entrance. Kenzie heard the sounds of the crowd resume as the car drove on; that was really strange.

“Kenzie, why in the world would you do that?” Madeline was scolding her, looking back at her with an exasperated expression. “Your bodyguard is off duty and Duncan went as white as a sheet. He still is, look.”

“It’s important to be to be kind to people, Momby,” was all Kenzie said. Duncan didn’t say anything, putting the scrapbook from the girls down at his feet, still holding her hand tightly. Kenzie could see that he was a little pale under the dark eyeshadow, but his thoughts were even now. I know why you did it, baby. I love how brave you are, even if I’m not. Even when you do--whatever it is you do. I’m still afraid for your safety, my sweet Kenzie.

I know, baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you. I just feel like I--I really feel like I need to be kind to those girls. Like I WANT to be kind to them. They can see our love and they’re moved by it. I want them to know we see them, too, and how earnest they are. How lovely.

Samuel had made it to the entrance, which Kenzie could see was heralded tonight with huge banners running from the edge of the sidewalk to the entrance, the doors thrown wide tonight to expose the opulent foyer of Annette Shepherd’s mansion. Some of the banners had the Shepherd Unlimited logo (an SU in white Verdana script with cobalt blue fleur de lis on either side) and opulent, swirling gold text on a black background that read 4TH ANNUAL SHEPHERD FREEDOM FOUNDATION GALA: GOLD IN THE DARKNESS and in smaller script The Juxtaposition of Light and Shadow in the Pre-Raphaelite Movement. Between the script banners were picture banners printed stunningly with major Pre-Raphaelite works: Kenzie could make out Rossetti’s Venus Verticordia, Cowper’s Vanity, and Evelyn de Morgan’s The Field of the Slain, alongside others obscured from her seat. The glowing feeling she’d felt with Gabby and Lindy faded out into nervous excitement now, and she felt her throat clench, her hands going cold as blood rushed to her head. She shifted, feeling the press of the plug inside her, sending sharp pricks of intensity up her spine and through her thighs. Duncan clutched her hand more tightly, and she knew he was thinking about the clenching weight of the ring at his cock, could feel the intensity of his desire for her, like lightning bolts of needling sensation, infiltrating the corners of her mind. Hang in there, baby, and she turned to him, smiling nervously, his eyes intent on her as he bit his lip. We have a long way to go.

“Earth to Kenzie and Duncan,” Madeline called into the backseat, her voice impatient. “Your mother is fucking starving!”

Kenzie glanced out the window again--between the rows of banners on either side of the entranceway was a lush black carpet, stretching into the mansion and beyond her eyesight. There were at least a hundred people milling around on it now--the press was confined to the sidelines by gold ropes, photographers to a stretch around the middle of the walkway, a black backdrop visible with the Shepherd logo and various sponsor logos printed along it. Kenzie recognized several Senators and Congresspeople, as well as the Mayor and Vice President Usher, and also recognized several well-known celebrities with a little burst of shyness--get it together Kenz, you’re a celebrity now too, in your own right.

You’re the most important person here, she heard Duncan’s thought to her. I mean it, Kenz.You are. Don’t fucking worry about any of them. Tonight, this is for you. It’s about you. They’re going to see. Kenzie felt a rush of nerves, an aching affection for him, full of gratitude and desire and love, and she quickly dipped her mouth up to his and brought her hand to his hair, then she pulled away before he could deepen it--and pushed the door open, stepping out onto the carpet.

Kenzie’s eyes widened as the collective eyes of the press and photo pools drifted over to the BMW--as one, they seemed to shift all their energy and attention onto her and her alone, giving her the acute feeling of a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. Duncan was exiting behind her, and then a short-haired valet hurrying up to them, a flushed look on his face, pulling the front passenger’s open for Madeline, who gave him an appraising stare over her glasses as Kenzie felt the eyes of the guests now turning onto them as well--she locked eyes with Mark Usher for a moment, her blood going cold, and his expression was indecipherable to her, but Kenzie knew he knew who she was, which made her feel as though someone had usurped her body and put a mask on it. The Vice President can’t possibly know me, little ol’ Mackenzie Stone. How the fuck? Life makes no fucking sense anymore.

“Darlings, please, distract them from me,” Madeline turned her head to Duncan, who was holding his hand reassuringly at the small of Kenzie’s back as she stood stock-still, frozen and trapped in her thoughts. “I need to get to the refreshment table post-haste. Kiss or something.”

“You know I’m going to kiss her, Madeline,” Duncan smiled. “As often as possible and as long as she’ll let me.”

“That’s my boy.”

Madeline set out ahead of them before Kenzie could stop her, pausing to made a snide comment to a woman with platinum blonde hair and a monstrous dress that seemed to be made of the tinselly tassels of cheerleader pompoms in gold and white towards the front of the press area. The woman’s face pinched into a mask of dislike at Kenzie’s mother, and Kenzie fought the urge to laugh.

“Who’s that?” She whispered to Duncan, unable to look away from the horrible dress the woman wore. Kenzie felt acutely that she recognized her from somewhere, but couldn’t decipher where.

“It’s Gretchen Friedrichs,” Duncan answered in a dark tone. “She has a popular conservative web series called Patriot Watch. And she’s absolutely awful. I hope Madeline just told her to fuck off into a black hole. She’s going to try to talk to you. Ignore her.”

Duncan twined his fingers through Kenzie’s, his other hand coming down to her train to drape it over his arm, and he stepped forward, pulling her gently. Time to go, sweet Kenzie. You look as beautiful as a falling star. I know how brave you are. This is nothing for you. A piece of cake. They were nearing the press pool, the whole of which had turned their attention utterly on Kenzie and Duncan, making the hairs on Kenzie’s arms rise with the intensity of their stares. The energy was suddenly dense, suffocating, almost savage, and it made Kenzie want to turn and run back to the BMW--but the BMW wasn’t there anymore, Samuel had driven away. Too late, Kenz, you’re in it now. Kenzie glanced at Duncan, feeling her heart clench, feeling as though there was water in her ears, blocking her hearing, and she felt horribly dizzy for a moment. He’s so beautiful, all in gold and black, as beautiful as the evening, as divine as an angel with dark wings, Prince Duncan from high in his opulent tower, and who am I, but little Mackenzie Stone, tripping over her own feet, crying over every little thing, with her shitty little apartment and her shitty little tchotkes, her shitty little plants and her little goofy button face--

Kenzie. Remember when you had the nightmare? Breathe like that. Just breathe, baby. I love you more than anything on this earth. You know how extraordinary you are--but I’ll tell you again. You’ve felt it when our minds come together this way--you’ve felt it in our bed, how you’ve made me needy for you beyond all desire I’ve ever experienced, and you’ve felt it in the way you can bring comfort to others just by willing it into them. Mackenzie Stone. You are not a little of anything. You are a gold ocean of impossible depth. Now breathe. I love you. Show them. Duncan’s eyes were twin pools of sapphiric water--they knew her, and saw her, and accepted her utterly, worshipped her, and she knew it.

Kenzie breathed in through her nose, held it, and breathed out through her mouth. Then she went up to Gary Spencer and Sissy Conners, past Gretchen Friedrichs who shouted “Mackenzie, Mackenzie, does this mean you’re a Republican now?” and smiled at them--and when she smiled, rather than pressing the gold outward, Kenzie swirled it, stirred it, in the pit of her body, stirred it high into herself, and moved it through her mind. Mackenzie. You truly are that brave person Duncan believes you to be. Think of everything that’s happened. This is really nothing. You’re together. You are the sceptre, he is the sword. Eternal and unshaking.

The last of the thought came unbidden, a jarring, nonsensical certainty that she didn’t understand, and Kenzie blinked, moving it away from herself, refocusing on the high, heady boldness she could feel building in herself now. She shifted, resurfacing to reality, feeling the plug pressing into her again, pressing hot fingers into the sensitivity of her muscles and senses. Our secret, baby, here among all these people.

“Mackenzie, how are you feeling tonight?” Sissy was holding a microphone out to her, her smile too wide and too white, her dress a blinding, extremely tight bodycon in dark gold snakeskin. “You look absolutely exquisite, an absolute vision, I know you mentioned yesterday that Morgan Winthrop designed your look for tonight, but what’s the concept here, beyond the theme?”

“I’m the concept,” Kenzie was tilting her head down, batting her eyelashes slowly, giving her best Kenzie-wants-something-from-Momby look--one she’d perfected over a lifetime--aware the camera on Ricky’s shoulder behind them was zeroed on her. She glanced to the side--Duncan was saying something to Gretchen in a low voice, still clutching the end of Kenzie’s train, his expression dark. Gretchen looked like she’d swallowed something sour, and Kenzie looked back at the BPF reporters, a satisfied twinge floating through her mind. “Duncan was inspired by me. By our relationship. We both love mythology and we’re drawn to the myth of Hades and Persephone, so we kind of went with something along those lines, but--I feel wonderful, I can’t wait to see the set-up inside, I just love the banners already. I know everyone’s been working so hard. I love the romanticism of all of it, and I’m so happy Duncan and I are finally getting a chance to step out publically together, so, yeah--I’m just really happy to be here. And to show off Morgan’s extraordinary talents.” She grinned at Sissy, who was gaping at her with surprise. Duncan finally appeared at her elbow; he’d set her train down behind them, and Kenzie turned her head over her shoulder to glance down at it, fanning like a gold river over a black landscape, then turned her face up to him, her smile still wide. I fucking love you, baby. She grasped his hand and Sissy switched the microphone to Duncan now, her expression one of wonder, speaking rapidly.

“Duncan, wow--the look. The eyeshadow, the gold jacket, the collar--you two are just so incredibly beautiful together, there’s now an internet shorthand for your relationship, “Duckenzie”, which I’m sure you’re both aware of, I’ve heard you have a fan club now and your Instagrams are the most popular on the internet lately--I saw you already posted a shot of your looks for tonight and it’s racked up a quarter of a million likes already--is there anything you would say to your fans around the world? They seem to be growing by the hour, and tonight is sure to bring you more.”

“We think everyone is wonderful,” Kenzie said, and turned to Duncan, drifting gold against him. Everyone can see, baby. I feel it. He nodded, smiling down at her, his dark look shivering against her heart again, his thumb pressing into her palm, suggestive, hidden. “And good things are coming,” he said.

“Duncan, can you elaborate on that?” Gary said, his eyes switching back and forth between them, puzzled, rapt.

“It’ll be clearer in time,” Kenzie said to him, staring at him steadily for a long moment. Gary seemed utterly shaken by them; Kenzie could see sweat had broken out on his brow, and he looked away from her after a moment, nervously. “Thanks, Sissy, Gary. Thanks.”

“Have...a wonderful time.”

Sissy’s voice suddenly seemed tiny, far different from the boisterous tone she usually used. Kenzie could see the confusion in the other woman’s eyes--as if she’d seen something she couldn’t explain, something that had shaken her to the core. It’s us, Kenzie knew. Sissy saw us for a moment. Not me and Duncan, not really--she saw those other selves. The ones we see in our dreams sometimes. The ones that cannot be described in words. She saw us, just the tiniest bit, reflected from us like a mirror held up to another time and place. She felt us. Kenzie pulled Duncan away from the press pool, and to the black backdrop, turning towards where fifty photographers crouched on specially designed pews--their flashes immediately blinded her, made her suck her breath in, their voices rising in a cacophony so she could barely decipher one from the next.

“You got this, baby,” Duncan was whispering down into her ear, his hand snaking around her waist again. “Duncan! Mackenzie! Over here! Mackenzie, you look gorgeous! Mackenzie! You look beautiful Mackenzie! Duncan, this way, thank you! We love you, over here! You’re so lovely together! Duckenzie, look this way! Thank you! Duckenzie forever!” And Kenzie couldn’t help but laugh, dipping her head to showcase the dark rosebuds in her hair, Duncan turning his face down to her temple, his smile making her laugh again as he clutched her against him, their Cartier bracelets visibly crossed at their wrists for the onlookers, the shattering rhythm of the cameras rising higher, frenzied to capture the moment between them, the voices of the photographers clashing again and again against each other, and Kenzie felt absolutely drunk to be in his arms this way, suddenly forgetting the dozens of cameras facing them, feeling the pressure of the hidden ring at his groin pressing against the dip of her abdomen, making her shudder in his arms with tiny, almost imperceptible tension, and she could hear a kind of rising sigh from the photographers, a murmuring admiration that seemed to be making Duncan flushed, seemed to be kindling his boldness--he turned his face down to her, opening his mouth just so, kissing her in a rapturous, fluid movement that caused an audible gasp from the rows of cameras, a collective exclamation of gratification that elated her.

His lips bruised against her for a tender, tiny eon--Kenzie lost herself against him for the span of it, her eyes closing to the intensity of the camera flashes, the sound of the shouting mob floating away from her ears, her mind drifting to them alone in their bed in the blessed darkness, his strong, elegant hands tying her to the chain with velvet ribbon, that first kiss, that night on the balcony covered in roses, god, my life changing forever in your arms in an instant, beloved, the unbearable softness with which he’d first touched her, his hands falling to the sides of her face, the urgency of his mouth then, the venerate devotion in his mouth now--and then Duncan was breaking away from her, as if remembering himself, remembering that they were caught in the gaze of at least two hundred people in this moment, and they resurfaced to reality, both of them trembling against each other, longing for the moment where Kenzie knew, and could feel that Duncan knew, they could finally be alone. Alone together, the only thing I ever want now, ever.

There was another audible, collective sigh from the photographers as Duncan gently pulled Kenzie beyond the backdrop--this one of disappointment at the moment ending, Kenzie knew, frustration that they were leaving. They adore us, Kenzie thought. And she knew it was absolutely true; knew it, without ego or pretense, as she knew the full moon was hanging over them, watching the night unfold. They see it too.

Duncan was pulling her away from the frenzied press of the carpet--Kenzie could now see that almost everyone around them was watching them, but everyone seemed to be afraid to speak to them, eyes flitting over Duncan’s dripping-gold jacket, the striking shadow around his eyes, over the fall of her hair and the Cartier diamonds at her throat and on her wrist, falling down the shimmering gold of her bodice and the gentle dip of the sleeves, the train drifting behind her. No one dared to tread on her--Kenzie recognized a very famous actor, watched him carefully avoid the train, his eyes roving up over her form hungrily, and she met his gaze with a tiny smile. He looked away, sheepishly, blushing. I suppose one doesn’t dare mess with the Shepherds, generally speaking. Not for the first time, and she suspected, not the last, Kenzie remembered that Duncan was part of a very, very wealthy family, and that likely, he would soon be the inheritor of that immense wealth.

And then we’ll change the world, baby.

Kenzie gazed raptly at the foyer as Duncan helped her up the steps and through the double-doors, looping her hand into the crook of his arm, pressing her fingers into the muscles there, feeling him clench them at her touch. More baby, touch me more. There were dozens more of the banners here, Hughes’ Ophelia, Burne-Jones’ The Golden Stairs, but the angels of Waterhouse’s St. Cecilia caught her eye immediately--their sweet faces calm and reticent, watching the saint in her slumber, their innocence and sincerity clamoring into her heart. They look like Gabby and Lindy, Kenzie thought, remembering Lindy’s tears. My two little angels. Duncan looked back at her, noticing the emotion in her. She shook her head a little.

“It’s all just so beautiful, Dunny,” she whispered, and he was nodding to her, the dark beauty of him in the chandeliers moving her further still, moving her beyond words again. He brought his arm around her to drift down her back, pulling her beside the staircase, out of the way of the people around them, sliding his fingers down to the beginning of the incline of her ass, and she drifted back from him, shaking her head. No, baby, don’t. It’s too much. There are too many people. You need to be patient. She saw the terrible longing floating behind his eyes, saw the blue flames licking around her from him, and she smiled. Poor, poor baby. Is that ring making you ache and ache for me?

Yes, Kenzie, fuck. So fucking much. It’s almost unbearable. I feel like I’m about to pass out.

My poor, sweet baby. Kenzie went back to him, letting him grip her under her bare arms with his hot fingers, letting him press his mouth against her cheek, onlookers be damned. Let them look. Annette was nowhere to be seen here--Kenzie’s eyes skirted across the room as Duncan continued to kiss down to her ear, pressing into her. She must be in the room beyond. I don’t know how we’re going to avoid her, but we’re going to.

“We should probably find Momby, make sure she hasn’t fallen into a fondue fountain somewhere.”

“God, I just want you alone,” Duncan’s mouth was shivering into the dip of her ear, bringing the delicate hairs at the back of her neck up, his hands drifting at the smooth gold under her breasts. “I just want you all to myself, angel.” Kenzie could see people staring at them, eyes hungry; god, I don’t know who a lot of these people are, but they look fucking important.

“Shhh, really baby, we should find Momby, okay? Please?”

At that moment Kenzie’s eyes zeroed on a figure making a determined beeline for them from the other side of the foyer--Duncan was still pressing his mouth into her ear, sucking and biting there with urgency, his whispers having quieted to now drift secretly in her mind, and he hadn’t noticed the figure yet. It was a woman, and she was petite, like Kenzie, and beautiful, with wide, long-lashed eyes, full lips and a button nose, but rail-thin, her chin jutting towards them as though she were being pulled by an invisible force. She had long, artfully styled platinum hair, falling over her shoulder in expertly arranged waves, and her dress was a sculptured black bodice decorated with intricate gold embroidery, accentuating her minute waist, which fell into a voluptuous cascade of black tulle that seemed to buoy her across the room. At her throat was a huge yellow diamond, so large Kenzie wondered for a moment how she was holding her head up. Her fists were clenched at her sides as if she were bitterly angry, but a wide smile was plastered across her face, exposing all her teeth (like a crocodile, Kenzie thought). Her dark eyes were staring, eerily unblinking, at the back of Duncan’s head, and at Kenzie.

Marissa Montague.

“Duncan,” Kenzie whispered, trying to pull back from him, but he continued to kiss at her, lost for a moment, “Duncan, it’s--”

“Duncan Shepherd! Duncan, oh my god, I’ve been so busy lately, it’s been so hard to call you!” Marissa had reached them, and her voice pitched high, dipping towards uneven, though her smile remained plastered on her face, stretching her cheeks to what looked like an almost painful degree to Kenzie. Duncan stopped kissing Kenzie’s neck, but his mouth still hovered close to her, his arms still clutched tightly around her. Kenzie looked over his shoulder into Marissa’s eyes; she could see the coiled snake that rested behind them, the wanton need, now that Marissa was this close. But not for Duncan, not really, Kenzie knew. What she wants is attention--fame, attention everlasting from the multitude, and to be showered in riches, but her thirst for them is insatiable. There’s a hole inside her that gnaws with hungry teeth, and it has never had its fill, not once. So she searches for more food for it.

Duncan turned his head slowly to look at Marissa, and Kenzie saw the cast of a dark storm inside his eyes, felt the blue flame of him, shimmering, flare up with discomfort. Oh, no FUCKING way, she heard his thought, and slid her fingers down his arm, soothing him with her touch. It doesn’t matter, baby, I’m here. We’re together. Let them try to get between us. Let her try. Let anyone.

“Why would you be calling me anyway, Marissa?” Duncan was gazing at her evenly, still holding Kenzie close, his hand drifting in her hair, over the rosebuds. Kenzie could feel the wave of anger in him, feel the drifting measure of dislike. She’s lovely on the outside, Kenzie thought, but inside there is something gone, like it was ripped out of her and only the ragged void remains, a void she longs to fill but cannot. Poor Marissa. She instantly felt empathy for the other woman, seeing her so closely, felt embarrassed for her, as if Marissa were suddenly naked. As lovely as the actress was, Kenzie could immediately see how deeply discontent she was, how full of voracious need.

“Well, we never really finished what we started, now did we?” Marissa stepped forward, the smile that had been plastered faltering a little, her eyes skirting to Kenzie with annoyance, her hand snatching out, attempting to grasp his velvety arm. Duncan stepped out of her reach, pulling Kenzie to the side with him, his mouth curling up ever-so-slightly.

“And we never will. Marissa, this is my girlfriend--my partner--Mackenzie Stone. I’m sure you’ve read about her. Kenzie, this is Marissa Montague.”

“Of course,” and Kenzie forced herself to smile politely, bringing out a hand, Duncan’s cheek pressing against her hair, refusing to let go of her or let Marissa near him. “It’s lovely to meet you.” Marissa ignored the hand, crossing her arms now, barking out a little laugh.

“Partner,” she mimicked. “Since when have you ever had a partner, Duncan? We all know your reputation. You used to bring a different fuck buddy home every night, I was there back then, when we were all hanging around with the Ducatis and doing a mountain of cocaine every day.” Marissa plastered the grin back on her face. “I can see why you’re stringing this one along, though, what a scrumptious little pussy cat.” Marissa brought her hands up to her face and pressed them in a V against her mouth, flicking her tongue out.

This woman has no interest in sex, Kenzie knew, despite Marissa’s lewd gesture. Marissa’s eyes flicked over to her again with a measure of loathing, and Kenzie caught her gaze this time, trapping Marissa’s dark, intense eyes. In fact, it disgusts and bores her. But she is practiced at the art of pretending. She’ll fake interest in anything if she thinks it can move her to where she thinks she wants to be. Sometimes, though, she’s disillusioned by the reality versus her expectation. And she always wants more. Like a wind that howls endlessly.

“Marissa. What do you want?” Duncan’s tone dipped, and Kenzie could feel his anger beginning to stir, his frustration and lust for her pressing against the anger, kindling it further, his sorrow and disillusionment with his mother pressing there too, and his energy became ragged and chaotic, the turmoil in him suddenly like water boiling over. She concentrated, conjuring wave after wave of translucent gold in her mind, staring at Marissa evenly as she pressed them down over him in his arms. I have no animosity in my heart for you, she thought to the other woman. In fact, I feel acute sympathy for you. I’m sorry you’re trapped in a world where you cannot possibly be yourself.

“I want you to ditch this penniless, raggedy bitch, Duncan. What are you doing? I mean, who even is she? Do you realize what you’re doing to your reputation? Really, it’s embarrassing.” Marissa was rolling her eyes, fingers toying with the huge diamond at her neck, another mirthless laugh barking out of her. “I’m gonna go do a line in the bathroom, and you should join me. I mean, it’s silly that we stopped seeing each other. I’m willing to forgive you if you’ll just get rid of her.”

“Marissa. You’re embarrassing yourself right now. Please, go away. Immediately.” Duncan’s tone was quiet and very low. “Go away or I’ll have you escorted off the premises.”

Marissa scoffed. “Duncan Shepherd, you can’t fucking do that.”

“Marissa.”

Kenzie had been watching from the cocoon of Duncan’s arms, but a hot, blinding energy had been building behind her temples for the last few minutes, one that seemed to want to burst from her mouth and her eyes and the corners of her fingertips; seemed alive and impatient, shot through with sunlight, and the power of the energy, the feeling in the center of her belly, was immense, like the dream where she’d made the fire grow. The energy, Kenzie knew, could do whatever she willed it to do--could move objects, could stop them, could distort the air, could freeze it, could move unseeable things, reverse them, rewind them. The knowledge of the immensity of the energy overwhelmed her for a moment--and Kenzie felt sure that though this woman had some strange power of her own (it was like indigo, the color of her, like indigo that ached, and the thing Marissa ached for was a thing she couldn’t find, like a lost portion of her heart that had tumbled down a dark well, never to be retrieved from the depths again), Kenzie was calm in the certainty that hers was greater, because it was lighter, it was the gold that could move all things, the gold that could heal, and the gold that could shield from all darkness.

“Marissa,” Kenzie said again, focusing her eyes inside the other woman’s. “It’s over. You will not be able to move him again. You must stop now. It’s futile.” The world has shifted, she thought now, into Marissa’s wide brown eyes, the words clear in her mind, as if she’d read them in an ancient book. The path is set. Yours goes somewhere else. To attempt to alter our destiny--the High Destiny--will result in your personal destruction. Stop now, little one.

The air seemed to cool, to thin. The three of them were inside the energy now; the energy that had come from the center of Kenzie, that she had somehow pressed out, controlled, to only the cocoon of their circle. The other guests seemed to drift past them as if in a dream, not glancing at them, as if they didn’t see the cocoon at all, as if she, Duncan and Marissa were suddenly invisible--it’s working, Kenzie thought. Let’s see if I can move her away from us now.

Marissa’s expression had fallen from the obscene, mocking smile to one of confusion and apprehension--her eyes widened, her head whipping back and forth inside the cocoon Kenzie had created around them, and she seemed utterly bewildered.

“What the fuck,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Marissa, I’m sorry. I can see how cold you’ve felt, and for so long. Good luck on your path. Look for something that won’t harm others. Look for something to protect. I promise, if you can find that, you will be happy someday. Go now. Forget about Duncan. That’s all over. He is not yours, not at this time, and not in any time.”

And with those words spoken, Kenzie pushed Marissa out of the cocoon she had built, and Marissa turned, as if in a dream, and walked away from them, not looking back, her blonde hair and tulle skirt retreating until she had turned the corner of the vast parlor beyond, and they could no longer see her. Kenzie breathed in through her nose, held it, counted. As she did, she could hear her heart beating frantically, feel the tiny shaking in Duncan’s arms as he held her, His face had pressed against her temple again, his eyes closed, and he looked almost meditative, but Kenzie could feel the confusion inside him; he doesn’t understand what I did, either. But he trusts me. He trusts me now. He knows I’d never hurt him, never, never in this world. He knows I will always protect him. And I will, baby. I always will.

Then she breathed out, and the spell broke; the cocoon dissipated, and they were back in the foyer of the Shepherd mansion, the sounds of clinking glasses, lilting piano music, and blue-blooded voices speaking in polite cadences bleeding back into the background. Duncan opened his eyes to stare into hers, and the storms there had dissipated--their blue was calm now, like the sky bleeding into a summer evening, like the moon’s reflection on a pool of water.

“Kenzie, baby, what was that?”

[marredbyoverlength]

Year-End Awards 2018

2018 sucked personally, professionally, and politically. But hey, at least the movies sucked too!

Ok, there were plenty of good movies. But the bad vastly outnumbered the good, and the highlights weren’t especially high. Even my favorite filmmakers had weak years: Wes Anderson and the Coen brothers both put out some of their most mediocre films in 2018.

But no year is devoid of value, and damned if I won’t do my best to find it. Let’s dive into the only blog post I still do, the year-end awards.

(Honorable mentions, as always, are listed in no particular order.)

Best Lead Performance: Paul Giamatti & Kathryn Hahn, Private Life.

Giving this to two people is a cheap trick (and one I’ve used before), but this is my blog and I make the rules. Private Life is a powerful, painfully realistic film about a middle-aged couple, played by Hahn and Giamatti, going through IVF to get pregnant. Their relationship is at the core of the film; singling out one for praise would be a disservice to the other.

A film like this could easily be a one-dimensional tragedy about baby angst, but both lead actors go through a broad range of emotions that are at once inarticulable in words but instantly recognizable. The highs and lows of their journey and the stress it puts on them and their relationship come out in every expression, every movement of their bodies. This is the highest praise you can give actors: that they portray something that can’t be portrayed any other way.

Honorable Mentions: Olivia Cooke, Thoroughbreds; Joaquin Phoenix, You Were Never Really Here; Toni Collette, Hereditary; Ryan Gosling, First Man; Viola Davis, Widows; Olivia Colman, The Favourite; Emma Stone, The Favourite; Annette Bening, Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool.

Best Supporting Performance: Anton Yelchin, Thoroughbreds.

Enough has been written about this already, but Anton Yelchin could easily have become one of the greatest actors of our time had he not died such a weird and sad death. His performance in Thoroughbreds is the perfect example of why I say that.

Yelchin plays a kind of guy that everyone knows, the wannabe operator who hangs out with, and deals drugs to, kids much younger than him and feels cool for doing so. He slips perfectly into that role, but what makes it better than just a caricature is how he captures the character in the scenes where he’s out of the element he’s chosen for himself: once after two high school girls violently rob him and once at the end after he sees what one of the girls has become. He is shaken and unsure, and letting that façade drop in real time is an impressive feat of acting.

Honorable Mentions: Richard E. Grant, Can You Ever Forgive Me?; Alison Pill, Vice; Oscar Isaac, Annihilation; Jason Isaacs, The Death of Stalin.

The Costner Award for Worst Actor: No Winner

Before going into more detail, I’d like to point out that I didn’t see any Gerard Butler movies this year, so take this with a grain of salt.

There were a lot of god-awful movies this year. But all those movies are awful for reasons distinct from acting. Bruce Willis was boring in Death Wish, sure, but his character was boring. Tye Sheridan was annoying in Ready Player One, but his character was annoying. Travolta was actually pretty good in Gotti, even though the movie was a total disaster.

In fact, I can’t think of any performances this year that made me angry in the same way the Kevin Costner makes me angry. Congratulations to actors, I guess? If you know of a truly heinous performance, let me know.

Nicest Surprise: Aquaman

Aquaman is a superhero movie about a very strong, very stupid dog in the shape of Jason Momoa (just look at his dumb face!). There is also a giant octopus who plays the drums. That’s about all you need to know about Aquaman.

Honorable mentions: Mission: Impossible – Fallout; Game Night.

Most Insulting Moment: “Street Weapon,” Robin Hood.

In Robin Hood (2018), Little John (Jamie Foxx) trains a fledgling Robin (Taron Egerton) in the art of hoodery. At the completion of this training, he says to Robin, “you’re going to need a street weapon.” Then he hands Robin this:

“Patrick, is that a full-sized bow with brass knuckles tied to it?” Yes, yes it is. You know, for the streets.

Honorable Mentions: Queen Saves Live Aid, Bohemian Rhapsody; Tactical Furniture, Death Wish; Pretty much all of Ready Player One.

Winter’s Tale Memorial “What the Hell Am I Watching” Award: No Winner

I almost gave this award to Gotti, a movie so widely panned that the marketing campaign explicitly told potential viewers that critics are scum. But then a friend of mine live-blogged his first viewing of The Book of Henry, the current title-holder, and I was reminded of just how gonzo bananas a movie has to be to get this award.

Sure, Gotti is an incomprehensible failure tornado that somehow had enough money for John Travolta but apparently not enough for, you know, lighting and sound guys, but it’s not bewildering like Winter’s Tale was, or like Book of Henry was. A winner should make me ask not just “what the hell is going on” and “how the hell did this get made,” but also “why the hell would anyone want to make this?”  I didn’t see anything that prompted that last question this year.

Prettiest Movie: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

I used to give out an award for technical filmmaking, but in hindsight, I don’t know enough about filmmaking to confidently give that award. But I am an expert on the topic of “things I find visually appealing,” and since film is a visual medium (despite what the Academy would have you believe), I’m bringing the category back in this form.

Anyway, the winner is Spider-Verse, no contest. It’s the most brilliantly animated film I’ve seen in years, and easily the best-animated CGI film ever produced. In a world drowning in endless round-and-shiny Pixar clones, Spider-Verse made something entirely unique, influenced by the styles of comic books through the ages but ultimately producing something all its own. The end sequence, with manifold universes spiraling out of a black hole and bleeding into each other, will no doubt be the most impressive feat of animation for years to come.

Honorable Mentions: Mandy; Annihilation; You Were Never Really Here.

Best Picture: Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool.

After seeing this beautiful film, I resigned myself to the fact that it wouldn’t receive any Oscar buzz. I was more right than I realized: not only did it not get any nominations, it didn’t even qualify for consideration. The Academy considered this a Film Stars a 2017 movie, as it was released on a very limited run on December 29, 2017. I didn’t hear the name until I saw a trailer for it in January of this year, and I didn’t get to see it in my city until February. This is the great crime of Oscar season: everybody tries to put their stuff out as late as possible, and real gems like this one get crowded out by Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, a movie that gets worse every time I think about it.

I’m correcting this injustice. Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool is the only great movie of 2018. The script is heartbreaking, the acting is profoundly human, and the fluid cinematography masterfully blends past with present, creating a portrait of the last days in the life of Gloria Grahame (Annette Bening) in all her messy detail, seen from her own perspective as well as that of her former lover, the much younger Peter Turner (Jamie Bell). Where those perspective diverge is where the film is at its best, and those moments are easily the most moving of the year.

Honorable Mentions: Annihilation; The Death of Stalin; Private Life.

That’s it, that’s the whole post. Peace out.

[filmtrash]

going to just do some quick brutally honest reviews of films i’ve watched recently which nobody asked for 

the favourite - the more i think about it the more i liked it. was too long for my liking. all performances were award worthy. loved how it was shot and the dialogue was crazy good 

what we do in the shadows - have wanted to watch for so long. honestly so funny. wish i could commit it all to memory and quote it always. feel like more people should watch it!

disobedience - wanted to watch this for ages too. wasn’t anything sensational but worth watching anyway. performances by both rachels were very strong and very believable and you really felt the desired emotions they were portraying 

eighth grade - didn’t love this as much as i thought i would but another one of those films i liked more the more i thought about it. very honest and truthful to a 13 year olds experience and touched on some very serious topics although glazed over in this sort of ‘awkward teen’ way. i still liked it a lot 

welcome to marwen - disappointed. very messy and too much was trying to be achieved that just didn’t land. carell’s character was hard to build a relationship with and i still don’t know if i liked him or not. an interesting story and could be powerful at times too but maybe would have been better with a different director 

roma - one i must immediately watch again. in put this off even through the hype but im glad i’ve finally watched it. very different to what i normally watch. heartbreaking, beautiful, powerful

the nice guys - had the urge to re-watch my favourite comedy movie and im glad i did. i wish gosling played more of these roles because his comedy timing is impeccable. i just love all three performances from the main characters and idk it just kills me every time 

la la land - honestly IN LOVE. my second time watching but felt so different to the first. i could talk about this one for ages so i’ll stop but its 100% worth all the praise it got

the place beyond the pines - yes i watched 3 ryan gosling movies in a row. it’s called self care. this was fairly disappointing to me although i didn’t have high expectations anyway. i only really cared about it when gosling was in it. bradley bored me and reminded me of why i was never a fan of him before a star is born. would skip this one. 

the blind side - of course this is problematic but it was nice to watch an uplifting film for once. that’s all i have to say about it really

the silence of the lambs - ya im a film student that had never watched this before but boy did i love it. y’all probably know how great it is. not one single flaw and worthy of the 6 major oscars that year

the big short - i knew the performances were good but i didn’t understand what was going on 

the devil wears prada - yeah i’d never seen this classic either. so many amazing lines in here. i love the notting hill, love actually era. i see why it’s truly iconic. also i loved emily blunt in this haha 

my own private idaho - was so disappointed. skipped through most of it because i just didn’t care

wildlife - better than expected. beautifully shot, heartbreaking to watch. all performances were so strong and subject matter was very well portrayed. felt like i’d experienced it although i hadn’t

[randomrichards]

THE BEST MOVIE MOMENTS OF 2018:

HONORABLE MENTION:

The Opening/Closing Credits from BUDDIES

I’m putting this as honorable mention because this is an older movie recently rereleased.

The first film about the AIDS Crisis, Buddies strikes at the heart with its opening credits with a typed list of AIDS victim up to 1985. Set to a mournful score by Jeffrey Olmstead, the never ending list of lives cut short puts you in tears.

Alex Honnold faces Boulder Problem in FREE SOLO

Most thrillers can only wish they could be as gripping as in the moment when Alex Honnold maneuver’s his way through the most challenging section of El Capitan Wall without rope in this Documentary.

Ray Offers Wisdom from Mid90s

“If you looked in anybody else’s closet, you wouldn’t trade your shit for their shit.”

Ray (Na-kel Smith) and his friends may not be the best role models for the impressionable Stevie (Sunny Suljic), but in this moment, Ray teaches him a lesson in perspective.

Glenn Close’s performance in THE WIFE

I’m not referring to any moment. Just Glenn Close’s acting. She speaks more volumes with her face than most actresses could with dialogue.

10)        The Beach Scene from ROMA

Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio) is an extraordinary woman. Sure, her life hanging towels and cleaning dog poo doesn’t seem like anything special. But like many lower working-class people, she endures. Boy does she endure a lot of shit in this movie. Not only does her deadbeat boyfriend ditch her to practice martial arts, but her baby is born dead. Despite all this, she not only continues her work, but she shares a close bond with the family. She showcases this bond and her strength when a fun day at the beach goes horribly wrong.

When Paco (Carlos Peralta) and Sofi (Daniela Demesa) swim too far out, Cleo walks into the ocean to save them despite not knowing how to swim. We watch in dread as she faces severe waves to find the kids, the camera always close to her.

This scene also contains a beautiful scene of the family hugging Cleo when she tears up over losing her baby. Seeing them all huddled together in front of a bright white sun captures the heart.

9)         “A Place Called Slaughter Race” from RALPH BREAKS THE INTERNET

Admit it, it’s fun to take pot shots at Disney Tropes. Hell, even Disney gets in on the fun. And boy do they seize on every moment to mock Princess tropes when Vanellope Von Shweetz (voiced by Sarah Silverman) encounters the Disney Princesses. Of course, it helps that Director Rich Moore and Head of Story Jim Reardon creates some of the best episodes of the Simpsons. Though there are many hilarious moments[1], none can hold the candle to Vanellope’s “I Want” song.

As she reflects over a puddle, Vanellope sings about her longing to be in the gritty game “Slaughter Race.” Seeing this little girl perform this lighthearted musical number over a background of riots and dumpster fires is comedy gold. Nearly every element of this number elevates the comedy, from singing shark (with cats and dogs in its mouth) to the creative lyrics (“Am I a baby pigeon spreading wings to soar?/ Is that a metaphor?/Hey, there’s a dollar store”). And the number still finds time to emphasize Vanellope’s fear of hurting Ralph (John. C Reilly).

Kudos to Alan Menken for mocking the trope he (and the late Howard Ashman) introduced to Disney. Just as deserving of Kudos is Silverman, who faced to task of singing in Vanellope’s high pitched voice.

8)         Charlie Loses Her Head from HEREDITARY

With her unusual hobbies, connection to her late grandmother and that clicking sound, you’d assume Annie’s (Toni Collette) daughter Charlie (Milly Shapiro) would be the centre of the whole film.[2] Boy, were we in for a surprise.

Spoilers!

When Charlie suffers a peanut allergy reaction, Peter (Alex Wolfe) races her home. On his drive, he sees a mysterious figure in the middle of the dark road. In his attempt to dodge it, he doesn’t see Charlie hanging out the window. Seeing her head slam right into a pole leaves us as traumatized as Peter is. To see them kill off a main character so early in the film is downright shocking. With this death, predictability goes right out the window and we are left uncertain of what direction this film will go.

7)         Neil Armstrong Soars in the X-15 Rocket Plane in FIRST MAN

It’s funny how the most exciting scene in this film isn’t the moon landing. Don’t get me wrong, the scene’s still breathtaking in its realism, but it’s surprising how thrilling the opening scene.

Damien Chazelle hits the ground running with Neil Armstrong (Ryan Gosling) soaring the atmosphere in an X-15 Rocket Plane. He soars higher and higher into the skies until he flies out of earth’s surface and gets stuck in space

Albeit, you know he will be back on earth in time for the moon landing. And yet, I found myself on the edge of my seat, wondering how he’s going to get back to earth. Most of it is thanks to the visual effects, which contains some of the most believable since 2001: A Space Odyssey. The effects leave CGI in the dust with practical effects that look so real, you’d think Gosling was actually flying into space.

6)         The Ferris Wheel Scene from LOVE, SIMON

High School Movies are home to many unforgettable romantic scenes. There’s Samantha (Molly Ringwald) and Jake (Michael Schoeffling) standing over a birthday cake in Sixteen Candles. There’s Patrick (Heath Ledger) singing to Katarina (Julia Stiles) on the bleachers in 10 Things I hate About You. And who can forget Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) blaring Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” outside Diane Court’s (Ione Skye) in Say Anything. Be ready to include the closing scene of Simon (Nick Robinson) waiting on the Ferris wheel for online pen pal Blue from Love, Simon.

After being outed by a student, infuriating his friends for deceiving them in his attempt to stay closeted and abandoned by Blue, Simon makes a plea to meet with Blue face to face on the Ferris Wheel at a carnival. As he rides on the Ferris Wheel, he, fellow classmates and the audience wait in anticipation for Simon’s happy ending.

5)         The Book Heist from AMERICAN ANIMALS

When Spencer Reinhard (Barry Keoghan) and Warren Lipka (Evan Peters) plotted to steal extremely valuable books from the Transylvania University library in Kentucky, they thought they had the perfect heist. With the help of their friends Erick Borsuk (Jared Abrahamson) and Chas Allen (Blake Jenner), they thought they pull off a heist as smooth as Oceans 11.[3]

But reality hits them like a sledge hammer when they try to pull off the heist. Unlike their dreams, Librarian Betty Jean Gooch (Ann Dowd) doesn’t get knocked out with one taser jolt. It also isn’t easy to lug a six-foot book down a flight of stairs. Then there’s the fact the basement has no exit. That’s just a few of many problems they never consider. From then on, we witness them pay a huge price for their hubris and lack of real-world understanding.

Only youths as smart as they are to come up with such a stupid plan.

4)         The Mutant Bear from ANNIHILATION

Biologist Lena (Natalie Portman) and her team find themselves in a quite a bind. After entering the Shimmer, physicist Josie Radek (Tessa Thompson) has barely survived an attack from a mutant alligator and Anthropologist Cassie Sheppard (Tuva Novotny) has been attacked by a bear. Now paramedic Anya Thorensen (Gina Rodriguez) has gone mad and has tied up Lena, Radek and Dr. Ventress (Jennifer Jason Leigh). But when they hear Sheppard’s cries for help, they will soon find Anya is the least of their worries.

Their journey delivers many grotesque, nightmare inducing visuals (especially the slithering intestines.) But the most memorable moment in this film was the image of the helpless crew trapped in a cabin with a mutant bear. Bears are scary enough on their own, but a faceless one is pants spitting meeting. And then you hear it imitate Sheppard’s screams and suddenly you need a new pair of pants.

3)         The Great Snap from AVENGERS: INFINITY WAR

The whole Marvel Cinematic Universe had been leading up to this moment. The fact that nearly every character had a moment to shine in this one movie demonstrates the astounding direction of the Russo Brothers. But despite all the epic fight scenes, everyone agrees that this film’s greatest scene is the heroes moment of defeat.

Despite every effort made to stop in, despite outnumbering Thanos and despite Scarlet Witch (Elizabeth Olsen) sacrificing Vision (Paul Bettany) to destroy the mind stone, Thanos still got all the infinity stones. And with a single snap, Thanos succeeds in wiping out half the universe’s population. One by one, we watch many of our heroes vanish into dust while others watch in helpless horror. But none are more heartbreaking that the moment when Spider-Man (Tom Holland) falls into Tony Stark’s (Robert Downey Jr.) arms, crying “I don’t want to go.” All because some characters couldn’t make the sacrifice needed

Yes, we knew he was going to succeed in the end.[4] And yes, you know most of the heroes won’t stay gone.[5] And yes, their return will likely involve the surviving heroes sacrificing themselves.[6] But the ending still feels powerful despite this knowledge.

It all concludes with Thanos sitting near a cottage, content in his triumph. If the MCU ended here, it would have been a perfect ending. But I’m still curious to see how this will go.

2)         The Closing Close-Up in CAPERNAUM

The closing image of Zain’s (Zain Al Rafeea) face will haunt you beyond the closing credits. Throughout the film, we’ve seen this kid struggle through hell on the streets of Lebanon, trying to protect his sister from their resentful parents and helping an Ethiopian Migrant Worker take care of her son. But when he’s sent to prison for assaulting a pimp who bought his sister, he decides to sue his parents for the crime of bringing him into this miserable world. Writer/director Nadine Labaki never looks away for a second to the brutality of Zain’s world and how it brings out the worst in Zain.

When the film freezes to the image of Zain smiling for a Passport photo, your heart breaks for him as Khaled Mouzanar’s haunting score plays out.

1)         Tish and Fonny’s Walk Through the Park in IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

No other opening scene has done a better job of putting its audience under its spell than when loving couple Tish (Kiki Layne) and Alfonzo “Fonny” Hunt (Stephan James) stroll through a park holding hands.

There’s beauty in every element of this scene, from Nicholas Britell’s romantic score to the warm looks in the character’s eyes. But what really sells it is James Laxton’s lush cinematography. The colours pop through the yellows and blues on the couple’s clothes and the green of the grass. You are as in love with this couple as they are for each other.

Then the film cuts to Tish visiting Fonny in prison, this time the yellow is the prison, the blue is Fonny’s jumpsuit and the green is on Tish’ outfit. From then one, we know why their love is worth fighting for.

[1] Mostly at the expense of Ariel (Jodi Benson)

[2] Especially when she appears so prominently in the advertisements.

[3] As indicated by a fantasy sequence.

[4] Since we know this was going to be a two parter.

[5] Especially when there are already planned sequels to Black Panther, Spider-Man and Guardians of the Galaxy. After all the money Marvel’s got from Black Panther? They’re not going to give up that meal ticket.

[6] What with Robert Downey Jr. and Chris Evans retiring their characters.

[carrowe]

AMYCUS CARROW is A DEATH EATER in the war, even though HIS official job is as A CURSE BREAKER & HIT MAN the TWENTY SIX year old PUREBLOOD is known to be PATIENT and RESERVED but also VIOLENT and TWO FACED. some might label them as THE DEVIL IN DISGUISE. fc: ryan gosling 

ANTHEMS:

feel it still - portugal the man // devil like me - rainbow kitten surprise // dead man’s arms - bishop briggs // fever pitch - rainbow kitten surprise // devil eyes - hippie sabotage // dark side - bishop briggs.

pinterest board (x)

BACKGROUND / FAMILY:

Amycus Abigor Carrow came crashing into the world screaming for his sister. Born the eldest to the Carrow dynasty, he was expected to eventually mount the role as the heir to the family legacy, but Amycus quickly proved himself to be Quite the Disappointment. 

As a young child, Amycus was soft spoken, easily intimidated and quiet ( main inspiration for baby Amycus: Radu from And I Darken tbh ). Mostly clung to the family’s staff, always crying, always craving closeness. For a while, he was just as angelic as he looked. 

Never saw much of his parents while growing up. His father was a successful businessman who only had kids because he was supposed to ( to carry on the blood line ), and wanted nothing to do with him. Instead, Amycus was left in the care of his grandfather.

His grandfather was FUCKED. An absolutely terrible man. A Death Eater before his time. An actual demon. Can’t say enough bad things about him, ya feel.

Either way, his grandfather was absolutely disgusted by Amycus, who could never fit into the mold that had been created for him. Thought his grandson was a poor excuse for a Carrow and thought he could change that through pain and violence. So, lessons were drilled in using corporal punishment, and the emotional and physical abuse he suffered eventually turned him into something colder and darker. What had once been soft, turned harsh, rough around the edges. A shell of a boy was left behind, not a trace of that sweetness left behind once they were done with him ( but were they ever? ).

Amycus basically became filled with resentment against everyone in his family, with the exception of Alecto. She has always been there, from the day they were born. She was the one to dry his tears, the one to hold his hand, the one to tell him where to hide. The one constant, his safe haven. They come as a matching set, and Amycus would kill ( and definitively has, too lbr ) for her.

Gained a definite rebellious streak pretty early on, which only became more aggressive as he got older. Once he reached his teenage years, he’d do ANYTHING and everything to fuck with his father & grandfather. Kinda stopped caring about the punishment, so used to pain that he stopped fearing it. Almost stopped feeling it.

Definitively grew up in his sister’s shadow, and was always the lesser Carrow.

When he turned fifteen, he moved out and never looked back. Decided to make his own future, and just never spoke to his family (Alecto is always the exception we all know this) again. Because fuck y’all, basically.

SO. His family’s plans had been for him to finish his education at Hogwarts, and then follow in his father’s foot steps and take over the company and the family name. Amycus had different plans though, obviously. 

His family were... so angry with him. But they definitively pretend ( because can’t have Amycus ruining their good reputation, am I right ) that they were the ones to encourage Amycus to find his own path in life and become a curse breaker.

Though, Amycus was never denounced as a Carrow ( because they didn’t wanna air their dirty laundry to the world, ya know ). Most pureblood families have noticed though that Amycus isn’t exactly... close with his family. I mean, at pureblood parties, he literally pretends that he can’t see them. 

AESTHETIC / VIBES:

old gramophones, blood stained mirrors, broken glasses, bleeding fists, standing in silence for hours, chipped teeth, unwavering loyalty, unhealed scars, getting home at the crack of dawn, red wine, eyes too blue to be trusted, long showers, god complexes, the color of dusk, messy hair, blood soaked suits, always cheating death, a rebel just for kicks, dried crimson on dull blades, half smiles, just beating and beating until the world stops, no conscience, half empty wine bottles, impersonal offices, a face that doesn’t quite match his demeanor.

HOGWARTS YEARS:

Was a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. 

patience/loyalty/dedication vs self preservation/resourcefulness/dedication mostly.

At Hogwarts, Amycus felt in power for the first time. Ended up becoming the aggressor, finding solace in pain and violence. Found that he was good at inflicting pain, and liked being good at SOMETHING. Had never really felt that before. :/

Eventually got a taste for blood, and started getting into fights with other students, each run in more violent than the next.

STILL, did not end up in detention, because for a while, the teachers couldn’t believe that someone like Amycus ( who was mostly known for being very quiet and looking sweet ) would hurt another student. It would take for him to eventually get caught in the act, until that perception shattered.

Was that kid who used bugs and insects to practice unforgivable curses on. Eventually progressed to torturing students as well.

Excelled in charms, and can do wonders with a wand when he puts his mind to it. Most other grades were pretty shit though. 

AFTER HOGWARTS:

Once he graduated from Hogwarts, he was meant to take his place in the Carrow dynasty ( grandfather somehow STILL believing that he would come to his senses ), but fuck that. So he basically left the country as fast as possible, and became a cursebreaker.

Which just made sense, because he has always been good at inflicting curses, and breaking them isn’t that different. He is very good at what he does.

First few years were spent working in ancient tombs abroad, mostly. That kind of work fit him really well, because he could wear whatever he wanted, didn’t have to talk to people too much, could do his own thing. Was also always someone around to beat up.

After a while, he started missing his sister, and returned home, where he found work at the ministry of magic. Today, he works for the removal of curses, jinxes and hexes office, which is a subdivision for the improper use of magic office. 

Really likes his job? BUT. Also has a #second job.

On the side, he’s sort of a gun ( wand ) for hire, and will kill anyone who needs to be killed, for a price. Gives zero shit about the money though ( but the client needs to be rich, ya feel ).

Most of his clients are members of the sacred 28, who somehow always seem to want SOMEONE dead.

Honestly, I haven’t 100% figured out how he conducts this business because obviously he wants to remain anonymous. He probably has some sort of dramatic way of getting people to give him names that need to die idk. #to be determined

Joined the Death Eaters mostly because of his sister? But their agenda also really fits him, because violence? Bigotry? Death? Sign him tf up.

He isn’t the most invested in the whole pureblood supremacy thing ( but would he ever admit that? that’s a no ), but overall likes Voldemort and what he stands for.

Though he’s also lowkey intimidated by / afraid of Voldemort and is quite pleased with the fact that he doesn’t have to report directly to him.

For the Death Eaters, Amycus mostly works as an information gatherer, which is basically just a euphemism for him being one of their main torturers, who will torture people until they tell him whatever it is the Death Eaters want to know. He usually works together with his sister and they are disturbingly good at what they do.

AS A PERSON:

Cares very little for most people and is so so so selfish.

Lacks most of the finesse of his sister, tbh.

100% neutral evil. Kind of has a moral compass, it just points in the wrong direction at all times? Mostly just does whatever is best for him and Alecto though, and has zero interest in any righteous bullshit.

Does he think that he’s doing the right thing? Nope. He’s well aware that he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A bad dude.  Does he care? Also no.

Might just be the most private person you’ll ever meet? He seldom reveals anything about himself, and when he does, it’s usually not true.

Will also lie about the dumbest and smallest of details.

SO self disciplined. Always in complete control, and it’s very hard to get a genuine reaction / rise out of him. Also so so so patient, and is happy to wait for whatever his current end game is.

Drinks and smokes heavily, but doesn’t personally think that he has a problem.

Mostly just a dumb asshole.

SO COLD.

Thrives off violence and is a total brute tbh.

Never fucking does what anyone tells him to do. 

Someone: pls do this Amycus: *does the exact opposite*

Bisexual !

Pretty good at hiding his death eater ties since he’s… paranoid as FUCK. And also keeps to himself. Always wears a mask. But some people probably suspect… stuff anyways, if they’ve like. Spent longer than two hours with him. Listen if Amycus wasn’t such a fucking asshole he probably could get away with it (/scooby doo villain voice). But then again, others will probably think he’s just cold af.

Looks a lot nicer than he is, which works to his advantage most of the time? Like he just looks like a nerdy, good dude. Is a total demon, but looks like an angel. 

STYLE / FASHION / APPEARANCE :

Wears glasses (x), but somehow manages to fucking break them ALL THE TIME. The only thing keeping them together is magic.

Wears mostly wizard suits for work ( bc he has to :/ ), but will wear those long black robes in his free time. Think a vampire cape, flying in the wind. Ultimate drama. He really is THAT guy.

Will also wear stupid wizard band t-shirts a lot when working.

Keeps his hair short.

Like 70% of his wealth is probably spent on buying new clothes, because he keeps fucking ruining them by getting blood on them? Or just having them ripped to shreds in a fight, that works too.

Looks like he’s wearing the same exact shoes every day but actually has like... 200 different pairs. They all look the same.

Eyes appear either blue or grey, depending on the lighting.

Has some tattoos, and a half sleeve on his right arm, going from his shoulder to his elbow.

CHARACTER INFLUENCES :

caleb haas ( quantico )- the snark. the assholery. the background. the black sheep.

clay haas ( quantico ) - just the right amount of polished. the style. the general aesthetic. the hair.

angelus ( btvs ) - the disregard for human life. the darkness. the occasional brooding. the quips. 

holden ford ( mindhunter ) - the scheming. the hidden ambition. the slyness. the resolution.

lucifer morningstar ( lucifer ) - the smile, the general vibe, the quips, the mannerisms, the darkness.

eric northman ( southern vampire mysteries ) - the confidence. the general dumbness. the stubbornness.

demon dean winchester ( supernatural ) - the occasional charm. the being an actual demon-ness. the blood lust. the bad jokes. the weakness for a pretty face.

wolverine ( x men ) - the violence. the moodiness. the hatred. the occasional gruff demeanor.

takeshi kovac ( altered carbon ) - the violence. the fucked up moral compass. the buried anger. the instinct to fight.

elian ( to kill a kingdom ) - the rebel prince. the angry heir. the sarcasm. the dialogue.

radu ( and i darken ) - amycus as a child. the softness. the sweet face. the loyalty to his sister.

hannibal lecter ( silence of the lambs ) - the calm. the politeness. seems so civilized, so nice. isn’t though.

FAVORITE CHARACTER TROPES :

DISSONANT SERENITY - someone smiling gently in the middle of death and carnage, seeming almost enlightened as they slit throats left and right.

THE BERSERKER - throws himself into battle with such reckless abandon, that it seems like he wants to die. never, ever retreats.

FACE OF AN ANGEL, MIND OF A DEMON - looks nice, is a demon.

DEVIL IN PLAIN SIGHT - obviously up to no good, but few people seem to take notice.

EVEN EVIL HAS LOVED ONES - loves his sister.

BLACK SHEEP - the family screw up, someone who rejects their role in the family.

DARK AND TROUBLED PAST™ - something terrible happened in the past. tragic backstory. yada yada.

EVEN EVIL HAS STANDARDS - or at least his own moral compass.

MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE - turns out evil has quite a lot of money and excellent fashion taste. most of the time.

PRAGMATIC VILLAINY - only does evil things when it serves him or his purposes tbh.

VIOLENCE IS THE ONLY OPTION - must fight.

OPPORTUNISTIC BASTARD - doesn’t really have a plan, totally winging it.

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Nicki Minaj posted a comment on Instagram about the number of white rappers sitting comfortably atop the iTunes rap chart that became so “controversial,” she deleted it. Good thing the Internet lasts forever. Nicki’s post is below.

A post shared by The Shade Room (@theshaderoom) on Dec 16, 2017 at 6:07pm PST

“It’s a great time to be a white rapper in America huh?”

In the screenshot, Eminem, Lil Pump, Post Malone, NF and G-Eazy round out the top five spots. Nicki’s 11 words may be controversial to some but to me, they are just the truth. These men have hit songs, yes? They are white or white passing (Lil Pump is actually of Mexican descent), yes? Then where did Onika Tanya Maraj lie to you? Why are you so outraged?

Even after she amended her post, many commentators hit back at Nicki Minaj calling her jealous (please), petty and even racist for pointing out a FACT. That’s a lot of white rappers. Again, WHY YOU MAD? Nicki’s critics have used the defense that the success of these rappers have nothing to do with race; that these songs are hits because that’s what fans want to hear. A friend e-mailed me yesterday with the same argument against Nicki’s post: “charts don’t rank people based on race. If you put out a catchy song, you’ll hit the top ten. Simple as that.”

I love this friend but I wholeheartedly disagree with them. It’s not simple. The artists who hit the Top 10 have largely been given the access and opportunity to be there. Whose songs get the most radio play before they land on those charts? Which powerful white label executive decided to sign and promote the sh-t out of certain artists? Who lands a record deal? Just because a song is played on the radio doesn’t mean it deserves to be there or that it’s there simply because audiences demanded it. If you think the pop charts truly reflect the best songs ever created then please explain the rise of Butterfly by Crazy Town.

And then there’s the whole issue of which artists, after the record deals and after the hit songs, get the most money and accolades. Eminem is the highest-selling rapper of all time. Em is quick to point out his privilege but that doesn’t mean he gets a pass from benefitting from it. When he first came along, the response to his music was like he invented rap and he went on to do better financially than any black rapper before him. Let’s not forget that time Macklemore won a Grammy over the greatest rapper of our generation, Kendrick Lamar. There can only be true meritocracy in a fair and equal system. The music industry is not rooted in equality for a lot of reasons but mainly because the system’s backdrop is America, one of the most racist and historically disenfranchised places in the free world.

Consider it like this: Nicki Minaj is a black female rapper in an industry that has consistently degraded and overlooked black women. She’s also a black woman herself living in a country that is designed to oppress black women. She’s had to work twice as hard to get everything these white dudes seemingly strolled in to get and she’s still only one of two black female rappers currently thriving on mainstream charts (shout out Cardi B). Then, imagine Nicki Minaj looking at those charts and they’re full of white men. She’s watching white men monopolize a genre that was created by black people as an expression of the frustration of being black while also being a celebration of blackness. Hip-hop was the safe space black Americans created when they had so few spaces of their own. At the very least, I don’t think it’s hard to understand why this screenshot and these specific rappers might make Nicki stop and say, “Huh.”

If the Twitter mentions of black writers are any indication, many people want to dismiss every observation that has the word “white” in it as racist. Nicki Minaj was making a commentary on the state of an industry and a culture she belongs to. She has every right to do that and she literally just stated FACTS. Black people are constantly called out for outrage culture but it’s the Beckys (men included) all up in Nicki’s comments who are the definitions of precious, little snowflakes.

Let’s also address the double standard of the reaction to Nicki’s comments. She linked to a J.Cole interview where he pointed out how white people have taken over jazz, a genre also invented by black people. Here are J.Cole’s comments:

https://www.instagram.com/p/BcyaxjslUJM/

“The entire page of iTunes Jazz is 99.7% white people... Mind you, anybody can do whatever music they want but you have to understand that Jazz is a black form of music in its origins. And not only is it a black form of music, it was the hip-hop of its day. It was that much of a rebellious music."

Last year, there was entire Oscar-winning movie about a white dude mansplaining jazz. What I think J.Cole is trying to say here is that he doesn’t want the 2054 equivalent of Ryan Gosling to star in a movie where he saves hip-hop.

In response to the backlash to Nicki’s comments, Wale (a rapper who would probably be WAY more successful if he was white in my opinion) came to her defense and pointed out how black artists are often relegated to “urban” or R&B sections while white artists get to be pop and thus, have more mass appeal. We’ve seen this happen to Beyoncé at the Grammys, for example. So, J.Cole and Wale essentially said the exact same things as Nicki and no one is forcing them to delete posts or calling them racists. To borrow a phrase my friend Allya says often, “ain’t that being a black woman?” In Nicki’s words:

“Whenever a black woman speaks on ANYTHING she’s labeled as “mad” “angry” “bitter.”

The rise of the white rapper was always inevitable. When hip-hop became the genre dominating mainstream music charts and rappers became the official arbiters of cool, it was only a matter of time before the white kids who grew up listening to them would want to rap too. None of the above points are saying that white guys shouldn’t rap. I’m not saying that. I want to make that very clear. The conversation here is about bringing attention to the privilege that comes with being a white rapper, especially one that’s mediocre. Eminem is not a mediocre rapper. You could argue that he’s the only name on this Top 10 who deserves to be there based on talent alone. I just tried to get through a Lil Pump song and I couldn’t make it. I hadn’t heard of NF until today. He’s not terrible but he sounds so much like a PG Slim Shady knockoff it’s eerie. G-Eazy is the WORST. Post Malone has put out a couple of catchy songs but he’s the dude who repeatedly disrespects the very industry he exploits to his advantage. I can’t imagine a black female rapper getting away with some of the ignorant sh-t Post Malone has said about hip-hop. And yet, these dudes get to enjoy a level of success that talented, legendary black female MCs like Rah Digga and Trina never did or that current overlooked voices like Young M.A and Noname have yet to achieve.

It used to be that if you were a white rapper, before you were accepted by hip-hop fans, you had to be anointed by a member of the black rap community. Think Dr. Dre for Eminem or Run DMC for The Beastie Boys. In one post, Nicki said she wanted to sign a white rapper. I don’t see anything wrong with that if it’s an MC Nicki Minaj believed in and she got a cut of that cheque when they hit the iTunes Top 10. A New York Times piece about G-Eazy last year called this moment in hip-hop the “post-accountability era of white rap, when white artists are flourishing almost wholly outside the established hip-hop industry,” and that, “the freedom afforded them by their success verges on entitlement.” Entitled white guys are dominating hip-hop and Nicki Minaj isn’t allowed to point this out?

[la-leto]

The road up to Jared Leto’s house in Los Angeles is steep and winding. Let’s be clear: this isn’t some faux-Spanish mansion bolted onto the Hollywood Hills like a monstrous totem of temporary fame and wealth. Neither is it like those LA shag pads, all nonreflective glass, lap pools and hammered zinc, the sort you see on Scott Disick’s social-media feed, the ones with the three supercars parked out front in various shades of matt black.

No, this is anything but ostentatious. Whoever lives here wants to work undisturbed. For one, it’s an old Air Force base. An enclave. A sprawling, expansive, many layered building. A cross between Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater house and a candle factory, which was once used by the US military to develop a means to photograph the detonation of government-built nuclear weapons. A place of espionage and secrets and cameras to capture and measure badass mushroom clouds. This is a hub. This is a bunker. A hideout. A lair.

I buzz in and I’m met by Leto’s assistant. She is very polite. I’m offered refreshments. My water arrives in a jam jar. I sit for ten minutes in a whitewashed room. It’s empty save for a little mid-century furniture. I’m summoned and the very polite assistant takes me through more rooms to a door which leads to a courtyard where I am told Leto will meet me shortly.

I’m left alone. It’s absurdly tranquil and much cooler than the Sunset Strip, with its hustlers and hustled, wannabes and gonnabes. There’s a pool that looks like a pond. A large tree throws shade over a royal blue set of metal garden furniture. The floor is covered in small stones. Ants dash silently like an army of workers beneath my feet.

“I came to Los Angeles in 1991, which sounds like ancient times.”

Jared Leto, GQ’s Actor Of The Year, is here with me now and is conducting this interview standing up wearing what looks like pyjama bottoms and a flannel shirt. He doesn’t want to sit down as he has a bad back, something that happened on a film set, and it hurts less if he’s upright. I am, however, sitting, which feels slightly odd, but he’s cool with it so this is how we’re going to roll.

“This was pre-mobiles and pre-internet, if you can imagine such a thing. I was a film student and an art student and I thought acting would get me on the path to directing. I remember I was supposed to come out with a friend and he cancelled on me two weeks beforehand. I remember thinking, ‘Fuck it, I’m going alone.’”

That first trip, Leto found himself at the beach staring at a homeless man urinating in the sand. “There he was with his pecker out. It was not what I was expecting, the LA of all the movies and posters. But it was actually great. It was honest. It made this imagined place more real. It made it attainable. I realised that California brings a lot of people together looking for a lot of different things.”

Did Leto get work straight away? “Hardly. I actually had to go back to New York. But on my second trip I ended up renting a room from a woman in an apartment. Like, a tiny apartment, one-and-a-half rooms. It was her, me and her roommate. The roommate was a man dying of Aids. My mum was a hippie, so I knew how to make all these nutritious green smoothies with fresh vegetables and so on. We were just trying to keep him alive. Strange how things like that happen to you only to then inform your life at a later point.”

Leto is, of course, talking about the impact that early harrowing experience had on his role as Rayon in Dallas Buyers Club, a part which saw him win an Oscar three years ago.

“When that role came along I had been retired for almost six years from acting. I had my band, Thirty Seconds To Mars, which was and still is my main creative outlet. I didn’t think I wanted to go back. But then I read that script and…” Well, you know the rest. Since then, the parts Leto has taken on have been, from where we’re sitting at least, fully immersive experiences for the actor: The Joker, in last year's Suicide Squad, was as unhinged and cartoonishly menacing as fans all hoped. Leto also plays Neander Wallace, the seemingly God-like replicant creator in Blade Runner 2049, alongside Harrison Fordand Ryan Gosling.

“What can I tell you? Neander Wallace is powerful. He’s also blind.”

I’d heard his character is based on his tech-titan friend Elon Musk. “Yeah. I used a little of Elon and actually quite a few of my friends who are very successful founders of companies. I was interested in how billions of dollars can change a man and how he is perceived. Money is freedom. You can take more risks. But it can also enslave, you know? Like Howard Hughes.”

What else can he tell us? “Well, I can tell you Harrison Ford is a stud - even in a cream suit. Man, he’s 75 and he’s a solid dude. And Ryan Gosling? I didn’t have any scenes with him, but he’s exactly what I want my movie stars to be like. Exactly.”

So can Leto finally draw a line under the 35-year-long dispute between Ford and Ridley Scott, the original film’s director, about whether or not Ford’s character is in fact a replicant? “I can.” Really? “Yes.” As I hear this I can almost hear the late Philip K Dick, along with every other nerd worth his Grays Sports Almanac (1950-2000) stop counting electric sheep, sit up and cock an ear.

“You see, my character in this film is the only person in the entire Blade Runneruniverse who puts a machine inside…” Caution suddenly gets the better of his natural candour. “Put it this way, my character gets a bit of information that no one else sees. So I know who is and who isn’t a machine. I can decide.” And the answer? “Nope.” What? “No, no, no. It’ll be on my gravestone - 'I know the answer’ - and I do.”

A mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a Gucci flannel shirt. Oh, and a real prick-tease. And we say that with humour. And a lot of love. There hasn’t been, nor ever will there be anyone quite like Jared Leto in this town. Hollywood’s leading man who fell to earth.

Blade Runner 2049 is out now

//

via GQ // 10/6/17