#re: vegetarian nat

[albatris]

happy (possibly very late) storyteller Saturday!

does anyone in the rental car cast have any opinions on vampire literature? oh, does the Garble mean that vampire stories as a whole are slightly different?

thank you for the ask!! :D I am very very late responding, whoops

also I'm so sorry this turned into more of a ramble than I've done in months, I swear I did not mean to subject you to this, I'm mortified

ooh, this is an interesting question, and not something I've put too much thought into yet!

in particular, "does the Garble mean that vampire stories as a whole are slightly different?" - I hadn't even considered this and now my brain is doing a whole spiral thing which is fun (genuinely)

I will say on the topic: I hadn't intended for it! the Garble has existed for hmmmm 800 - 1000 years, ish, so in real world terms a lot of vampire lore and literature predates it! but it's quite likely that it has influenced some more modern (relatively speaking) takes on vampirism which could be fun to explore in the story c:

also this has made me think about, like.... the nature of the Garble does mean it began as just a single regular human ("doctors hate him! local dumbass finds one fucked up trick to achieve immortality!"), but the original Garble found a way to outsource its murders to other people while still reaping all the benefits for itself, and grow a whole stupid hivemind system that basically runs itself

whereas perhaps with previous instances of people in the same situation it would all just stay contained in that one person on a much smaller scale, and resulted in a more traditional "undead" vampire existence for that person after a while

so, like, a combination of misunderstanding ordinary human phenomena and a few rare instances of genuine undead vampires would contribute to the existence of vampire lore and vampire literature - then at some point the entire system just fucking FLIPS due to the Garble finding a way of expanding and outsourcing and bringing living humans under its influence, and a Lot Of Them, who as vampires end up markedly different in appearance and behaviour and physiology and vibes to those more traditional undead vamps. unless in very very specific cases (cough Ethel cough)

which might result in, like, a REALLY odd shift in vampire lore at some point, and perhaps an odd shift in the way people represent vampires in literature too

HM. LOTS TO CONSIDER. thank you for making my worldbuilding brain happy ahaha

anyway!!!! opinions on vampire literature!!! sorry it took me so long to get to the first part of your question fdhgjkdfg

----

I will give you the opinions of the vampire members of the cast because that's what I'm vibin with. I'm sure Quinn has some Opinions too though lmao

so, I've entertained the possibility of Riley being something of a vampire literature/film/media-in-general buff, mostly just because she finds it entertaining to see all the different takes and twists people have on vampirism :P she's Riley, so she'd have some Strong Opinions for sure. and probably an ever-updating ranked list of which stories are most accurate

for the most part she enjoys vampire fiction, I think! the scary fucked up horror vamps are her faves in a sort of morbid self-deprecating way ("haha hey it's me!")

Alex's opinion on vampire literature is that it's the worst. do NOT ask Alex about vampire literature unless you want to be trapped into hearing an unbearably miserable three hour rant

and like Alex KNOWS it's being petty. but still

it despises ~sexy vampire romances~ the most I think, but to be fair Alex is also aroace so there's multiple reasons for that. but also, yeah, it irks Alex to see vampirism being portrayed as cool and sexy and mysterious in a way that's meant to be appealing and attractive, like. none of this is cool and sexy. this is not cool sexy angst. this is horrible nightmarish surreal angst 24/7 that makes you super depressed and anxious and not want to get out of bed for a week. sexy vampire tropes make Alex super fucking uncomfortable

another sore spot is any vampire literature dealing with like..... themes of morality and humanity and anguish........ like. no, fictional vamps are not allowed to be sexy and fun. but they are EQUALLY not allowed to be miserable and monstrous and full of symbolism. perhaps they are simply Not Allowed

like, moral crises and misery and questions about the nature of humanity are things Alex struggles with on the daily, and seeing vampirism all turned into some big important symbolic moral lesson or just kind of..... woven into some dramatic angsty spectacle for people to fawn over. giving it some Deeper Meaning or revealing some meaningful truths about life or whatever. idk

humans always try to make vampirism into a Whole Big Thing to entertain other humans, be it tragic or symbolic or sexy or whatever else

it's rough, kinda

n like. logical Alex does Get It. bitter jaded petty Alex is like "fuck you. vampirism fucking blows. that's it. end of. stop making a stupid song and dance about it"

on that note, Alex would be fucking furious to learn it itself is, in fact, a vampire in a novel about vampirism

idk about Nat lmao. he canonically has enough vague knowledge of Twilight's terminology that he occasionally feels the need to awkwardly clarify that when he says he's both a vegetarian and a vampire he means this in the "I'm a vampire who makes killer salt and pepper tofu and hasn't had a hamburger since he was fourteen" way and not in the "I'm a vampire that refuses to drink human blood" way. just so there can be no misunderstandings and no unfortunate surprises when he inevitably just fuckin drains a guy like a capri sun

but yeah, neither human nor vampire Nat has ever really been one for reading OR for horror stories, which a lot of vampire literature would count as. he doesn't have a lot of opinions like Riley or Alex do. he's just kind of like "well, books about vampires sure are a thing that exists!"

that being said he DOES have personal beef with any stories portraying vampires as exclusively fancy formal hoity-toity rich folks who live in fuck off giant mansions. he himself is a broke unhinged gremlin of a man who lives in a shitty apartment and works in a petrol station. most of the vampires he knows personally are in similar boats (with varying degrees of gremlinry, of course)

anyway thanks for coming to this behemoth of a ramble! I hope u have a nice day!

[i-write-boop-spoops]

N Harmonia Fluff Alphabet

One anon asked for an N fluff alphabet and another asked for just any N content, so I hope this sates you both!

Not proof read so rip me

Enjoy!

A = Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? how do they spend their free time?)

Rather expectantly, N loves looking after Pokemon with you! Whether you’re playing with, feeding or tending to them, he really enjoys seeing you being so sweet and kind to cute little mons and giant scary monsters alike.

He also loves just snuggling up with you and playing with each other’s’ hair. He really cherishes that kind of gentle, intimate affection.

Other than that, he really enjoys doing mundane things with you, stuff like going grocery shopping, cleaning the house, gardening etc, even before you live together. There’s something very comforting about it.

Oh, and he loves dancing with you!

B = Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

He admires your kindness obviously, but also your determination and resilience! He thinks you’re so strong, and in turn, it emboldens him too!

As for physical beauty? He loves your smile, even just a little quirk of your lips makes him so happy. It’s just so precious!

C = Comfort (how do they help their s/o when they feel down? what makes them feel better?)

N isn’t the best at this kind of stuff, but he definitely tries his best to offer you support. Usually he just sits with you and lets you vent, or cry into his shoulder, often bringing a cute pokemon with him to cheer you up. He also likes bringing you on walks, hoping it might clear your head.

His words of affirmation, though few, are quite powerful, so you know he means them.

When he’s sad, he’d like to be treated in a similar fashion, just quiet support and cute Pokemon

D = Dreams (how do they picture their future with their s/o and in general?)

N doesn’t really know how he wants his life to go, the only thing he’s certain of is that he wants to continue improving the relationships between humans and Pokemon, and that he wants to be with you for the rest of time.

E = Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or are they rather passive?)

Due to his lack of experience, he’s definitely more on the passive side, preferring to let you take the lead when it comes to dates and stuff. Though he has no problem asserting himself (gently) if he wants to do something else instead.

F = Fight (how quick are they to forgive their s/o? what are they like in an argument? who says sorry first?)

N hates fighting with you, absolutely despises it, so he tends to avoid it when he can. Inevitably, like in all relationships, you end up in a few spats. He’s never mean to you, but he does try talk over you and has a habit of just walking out instead of working out the issue right away. Really he just goes for a walk to calm him down, and he’s usually back in an hour or two, but you probably don’t solve your disagreement until the next day.

He finds it quite easy to admit fault and apologise, so you don’t have to weasel a ‘sorry’ out of him. And due to his earnest nature, you know he means it.

G = Gifts (what kind of things do they gift to their s/o? are they spontaneous or do they stick to special events like anniversaries?)

When N gives a gift, most of the time, he doesn’t even realise it. He just sees something he thinks you’d like and just gives it to you without a second thought. Usually it’s pretty flora or candy, occasionally it’s a plush. Sometimes you get gifts very often, sometimes it’s weeks, maybe months, between each present.

H = Heart Eyes (what are they like in love? is it obvious to others? how do they express their love? do they brag about their s/o to others?)

N can be described as blissfully confused when in love. So soft and blushy and not totally sure what he’s feeling, but he sure does love it, and you. His Pokemon friends pick up on it immediately and root for the two of you.

Unintentionally brags. He just thinks you’re swell and tends to bring that up often, but he’s not trying to gloat.

I = Impression (what first attracted them to their s/o? how accurate was their first impression to how their s/o actually is?)

You seemed to handle that little joltik so carefully as you returned it to its mother galvantula, without an ounce of fear or malice in your eyes, and truly only kindness in your heart. It made him feel so at ease, like he had found a kindred spirit.

Not only was he right, he also found his soulmate too,

J = Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?)

N doesn’t quite understand jealousy. Like, you love each other, what does he have to worry about? He likes your friends a lot, and he finds anybody who tries to flirt with you more annoying than anything else

K = Kiss (are they a good kisser? what was their first kiss like? where do they kiss the most?)

At the beginning, N’s kisses are sweet but awkward, he’s so new to it, so he’s a bit afraid he might make a mistake. As your relationships progresses though, he becomes more comfortable and confident with it, and kisses reflect that, so soft and caring and full of meaning

I did a whole thing about N and kissing here

L = Little Things (what are the little things they love about their s/o? are they attentive?)

Really what doesn’t he love? It’s not that he puts you on a pedestal, he just genuinely finds you amazing and he loves you so much

M = Marriage (do they want to get married? how do they propose? what would the wedding be like?)

N doesn’t feel the need to marry you, as long as you’re in love, that’s what matters to him, a piece of paper doesn’t make it any more valid than it is in his eyes.

That being said, if you want to get married, he’s down for it, but don’t expect anything sappy or traditional. No proposal, no huge event, just the two of you exchanging heartfelt vows at the courthouse, with matching rings.

N = Nicknames (what do they call their s/o? what do they get called?)

He doesn’t really use nicknames, just the occasionally “Love” or “Dear”

On the flipside, he loves your nicknames for him. Some of his favourites are “Cutie”, “Sweetie”, “Greenie” and “Nat”

O = Open (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? is it easy for them to share?)

While I wouldn’t say N is an open book, he doesn’t really hide things from you. He tells you how he feels without much fanfare, and you’re made aware of his past quite early on, even before you started dating.

P = Pancakes (are they a good cook? how often do they cook for their s/o? breakfast in bed or fancy dinner dates?)

N’s actually pretty good at cooking, and tends to cook pretty often, especially when you’re on the road together. His meals are simple and comforting, sometimes spicy, lots of soups and curries and rice.

Since he’s vegetarian, he prefers to cook for the two of you instead of going out, since most restaurants don’t have great options for him. That being said, if you find a place with a good menu, he’s totally down to take you there.

Q = Quirk (a random quality/ability that is beneficial to their relationship.)

N does not understand the concept of BS, so you don’t have to worry about playing weird mind games to find out what he really wants. As a result, your relationship is quite chill

R = Romance (how romantic are they? are they cliché or creative?)

Again, he’s not traditionally romantic, but he does care about you quite a lot and loves making you smile. And while it doesn’t say “I love you” very often, he means it, and that is a lot more valuable than any serenade or flower bouquet

S = Sleep (who falls asleep first? do they need their s/o close to them? do they have any bad habits?)

If you play with his hair, he’s out like a light. While he’s cuddles are lax and loose when he’s awake, he hugs you like a teddy when he’s fast asleep.

His sleep routine is shit though.

T = Thrill (do they need to spice up their relationship with new things or do they stick to a routine? how often do they do new things?)

N loves the cosiness of domestic mundanity, so it’s safe to say he likes to play it, well, safe. It gives him a sense of comfort and stability that he really appreciates.

U = Unity (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? what traits do they share?)

Through being with you, N learns to be more attentive and emotional (in a healthy way), and to appreciate humans even more. He also feels more human too.

While you already loved Pokemon, he makes you see how truly amazing and special they are, and treat them even better than you did before.

V = Value (how important is their relationship to them? what is it worth compared to other things in their life?)

Your relationship is very important to him, but deep down, you know his love for Pokemon trumps his love for you. Though it never causes an issue with you

W = Wild Card (a random fluff headcanon.)

Likes to make matching flower crowns for the two of you and whatever Pokemon you’’re with at the time!

X = XOXO (do they like to kiss and cuddle? are they upfront about their relationship or rather shy when in public?)

N loves fluttery kisses and really tender hugs and cuddles, ones when you’re loosely tanged together and gently stroking each other’s skin.

He is not a PDA person at all, besides holding your hand and the occasional kiss. Some of it is shyness, but it’s mostly because he doesn’t feel the need to prove your relationship to anyone. He doesn’t use affection lightly.

Y = Yearning (how do they cope when they spend time away from their s/o? do they miss their s/o?)

He’s pretty okay on his own, since he’s quite used to it, but he does still miss you a lot. He finds comfort in things that remind you of him, a certain scent, a flower, a sound, even a Pokemon, it makes him feel like you’re with him

Z = Zoo (do they have pets? do they want some in the future?)

N doesn’t have any pets, mainly because he thinks Pokemon are friends. How many Poke-friends does he have? Too many for even him to count. My man radiates serious Disney Princess energy with the way Pokemon seem to flock to him.

That being said, he’s not against good people having Pokemon as pets, so if you have pokemon, you know he’ll be the best dad to them ever.

[jq37]

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 17 For Candia (Part 2)--Mini Recap

Hey guys. It’s been a bit, huh?

I haven’t been on Tumblr a bunch lately because I’ve been busy as hell irl for a lot of reasons, but I also hate to leave a thing undone, especially when it’s so close to being done. So I decided to provide at least some level of closure for anyone who might have stumbled across these with no access to the ep and really wants to know how the story ends.

Maybe I’ll do a proper recap at some point but, for now, let’s wrap things up.

This episode is basically a series of Boss Fights standing in for the more significant but less interesting final battle going on in which the Rocks Family face off against all the Important NPCs.

Amethar and Joren together waste Grissini, Amethar saying that he might have been good to Jet, but he’s fighting for the wrong side. (Joren goes down but it’s never really resolved whether he survives or not. I feel like he probably did considering Liam’s epilogue.)

Ally gets their obligatory Nat 20 to intimidate Keradin for the rest of the fight by greatly shaking his faith in the Bulb before icing him. Then he sees the Pontifex watching the fight from the wall of the keep and makes a beeline. 

Amethar, likewise, sees Cal running across the castle wall and breaks from his unit to go after him.

Ciabatta shows up and I am reminded in the absolute DOPEST way that Ruby never used her watersteel dagger. “In sweetness there is strength, bitch.” Ciabatta is toast. 

White flags start to go up. 

Liam catches up to the Pontifex, does the insane amounts of damage that’s just like par for the course for him at this point, and drops her, taking St. Citrina’s Book. 

Cal tries to make for a secret tunnel to escape but Cumulus blocks his path. Amethar blocks him off from the other side. “What’s the last part of my title? Say it.” Cal, being forced to kneel by Cumulus, acknowledges his “Unfallen” title (throwing a man w/ the title “the Unfallen” off a roof and not checking to see if he’s dead is the very height or hubris. That’s some, “Not even God can sink this ship” levels of asking for it) and then attacks. Amethar gets 4 attacks back and his last is a Nat 20, activating Payment Day’s special ability: On a Nat 20 against someone who has killed a member of Amethar’s family? That person instantly dies. Boom. Fight is over just like that. Piece of cake. 

With all the Big Bads dead, the fight is more or less over other than logistics. Or at least it would be if Brennan didn’t have some mind games up his sleeves. As the fight is winding down, Ruby and Rina lock eyes and they both know they have a moment to turn the tide in their favor in their little cold war by attacking the other and striking first. Out of game, Brennan makes Siobhan and Emily decide secretly on slips of paper whether they each want to attack or show compassion. It’s a classic prisoner’s dilemma setup. If they both play nice, it’s golden. If they both attack, it’s even. If you play nice and get betrayed, you’re screwed. 

But like...it’s D20. It’s the Game of Thrones season of D20 but it’s still D20. 

They choose compassion, both of them. 

“Saccharina, you’re an astonishing leader, but I can’t be your subject. But please, I would like to be your sister,” Ruby says, and Siobhan keeps her perfect track record of taking me out in every finale. 

Rina has her guys stand down (to Swifty’s dismay). Ruby tells a skeptical Cara to stand down and choose family (which she does, snapped out of her paranoia by Ruby’s brave move).

Brennan’s attempt at PvP thwarted, Amethar swears on the Book of Leaves that he was named Emperor and Primsy--who is here in too for some reason--recognizes the claim. That leaves the recently (forcibly) vacated throne of Castle Candy to Rina. Which is great for her because Liam remembers the wish seed and uses it to just quadruple Candia in size, the absolute madman. 

We get epilogues! Liam becomes Master Gardener (and also casually says that he brought back the Pontifex and Kerradin to jail them which is wild because that’s not a spell that exists in this world--Ally just brute forced it in in the last second in a line so poetic that Brennan was just forced to let it happen). Cumulus takes a break from snapping chicken’s necks. Theo gets laid. Rina and Ruby do the sister thing and Ruby joins the circus for a while. Cinnamon becomes a vegetarian which mellows out his constant hunger. And Amethar enjoys time with his newly expanded family. For the first time in a while, things are looking sweet. 

A Few Notes

I’m going to fight the editor who had me worried about the “family is exposed” clip all season for the exact wrong reason. But also, gold star. Well played.  

Lol at Brennan not even getting his PvP in the GOT season w/ a prisoner’s dilemma. Like, give it up dude. Watch next season start in media res during a fight to the death to force everyones’ hands. 

On the same topic, very funny that the previous episode it was like, “Loyalties tested! Lines drawn!” and then this episode Theo was like, “Come on guys you shoulda just talked to me. I would never betray you.” It’s like he just wanted to have a dramatic moment. 

MVP this ep is Ruby with the watersteel dagger imo. Like everyone had their moment. And Amethar w/ that Nat 20 was dope but you were kind of waiting for that all season. But I totally forgot Ruby had that dagger. I, like, verbally cheered when she pulled it out. 

I haven’t watched the last AP or the behind the scenes special so I don’t know that much about unseen characters besides what I’ve glimpsed on Twitter/Tumblr but Amand Maillard looks very dope. 

I wish we’d gotten to know more about Citrina. Like I get that if you dump these players in a world, they’re gonna wanna take down The Man and often The Man is The Church and the Pontifex *did* need to go but sometimes people are just Good and I dug her (Citrina’s) vibe in the flashback we got.

I can’t believe Siobhan got me with the “Be my sister/Let me be your sister” stuff in back to back seasons. You’d think I would have developed some resistance in the intervening months. Nope! Weak as ever baybee!  

One Final Thing

One of the reasons I’ve been so busy lately is I’ve been working on my podcast*, Absolutely No Adventures, which is dropping in a tiny bit over a month. The trailer drops on Sunday so if you wanna check that out when it’s out, you can follow the show’s Twitter (@noadventurespod)! I’ll also link it here as my pinned post once it’s up. I hope some of y’all check it out! 

*ONE of my podcasts but one announcement at a time.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 5 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: The Youth of Bacchus is listed publicly as being part of a “private collection”, so AU-fictionally-speaking, who knows, it could theoretically belong to the Shepherds. I’ve been meaning to feature Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata in some kind of story for ages, as I’ve loved it all my life (I listened to this version a lot while I wrote this part). I had to include a little nod to my fellow Sagittarius, Jane Austen, with her famous line, spoken by Darcy to Lizzie in a moment of passionate abandon, from Pride & Prejudice (“you have bewitched me, body and soul”), though the title of my fic came originally from the song Hypnotised by Years & Years, as I’ve mentioned before. I mirrored the “breathing” advice from their mothers on purpose. That moment Kenzie stares at Duncan with tears in her eyes over dinner was my homage to that gif floating around of Mallory looking across the table (I always imagine she’s looking at Michael). I’m learning some fascinating stuff from my research for this fic, including the fact that in order to be issued a Black AmEx (“Centurion Card”) you need a special invitation and are required to pay an initiation fee of $7500 with an annual fee of $2500. Rumor has it (it hasn’t been confirmed on record) that Black Card holders need a net worth of around $16 million to qualify. I also learned that Bordeaux goes well with duck a l’orange, which, as a vegetarian, is a thing I probably would have never known otherwise. The line “Then I must be thy lady, but I know / When thou hast stolen away from fairy land” is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Bouguereau cunnilingus I came up with in my sleep last night and I’m totally in love with it. His painting Evening Mood (which Duncan thinks of when Kenzie is standing there naked in the candlelight) is enshrined at the Museum of Fine Arts, in Cuba. I’m so proud of this part; I worked really hard on it and put a lot of my own emotions into it. I’m proud of what I’ve written here and what I’ve done so far with this story, and that’s a wonderful feeling. If anyone else wants to do visual edits or moodboards for the fic, I’d be so thrilled. The one @nat-de-lioncourt made (here) made me ecstatically happy. I posted some screenshots of the playlist I made for writing the fic on my Twitter, if you’re interested in my music influences/the mood I’m trying to create so far.  And as ever, if you’re reading and enjoying, your comments mean everything to me.

Duncan felt as though his spirit was trying to break free from his body. He was leaning against the obsidian counter in his spotless kitchen, his sleek black phone clutched in his hands, tapping it every now and again to check the time, quiet strains of classical music coming from the turntable in the corner of his office; Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He fiddled with the cufflinks of his shirt again; they were rose gold with black onyx stones. He ran his fingers down his Balmain one-button velvet jacket, breathing deep, letting it out at a measured pace, re-adjusting the collar of his black shirt, though it had already been perfectly straight. Annette had taught him to breathe carefully from the time she had begun to bring him to public events with her when he was still in elementary school. “Never let them see your nervousness,” she had insisted, holding his small hand in hers, pushing at his back so he’d stand straight. “These people feed on weakness, and you must appear to be untouchable them. Breathe until your fear fades away. You can’t use it where you’re going.”

Oddly, he often thought it was the best advice his mother had ever given him. You can’t use it where you’re going; as if his destiny was to do something great, no matter his own doubts about himself. She had always said it with absolute conviction. He knew his mother loved him. That was an absolute, unshakeable truth. Maybe she could accept Kenzie, because I think I love her. He brought his hand to his chin in that familiar tick, running his right index and middle fingers over his bottom lip. That thought had come unbidden, like a tide to the shore. God. I think I do. I don’t know her yet, but I think I love her. It’s so strange.

He made himself breathe out again, focusing his attention on the strains of the Sonata’s first movement; it had always made him think of the dead of night, some abandoned moor far from civilization, bathed in the glow of the moon and a universe full of a million stars hovering above, looking down on the tiny rock of humanity with a studied, sympathetic indifference. Wretched humankind, he thought, moving slowly to the study, all alone in an empty cosmos. It was a thought he’d had many times before, but this time, oddly, his resolute conviction in it faltered. Maybe alone. Maybe not. His eyes fell over the painting that stretched, colossal, against the wall facing his desk.

It was Bouguereau's The Youth of Bacchus. His mother had bought it for him for his 18th birthday: yes, the original. The Shepherds had a net worth of over 3 billion, and she had insisted he needed a legitimate piece when he’d moved into his penthouse alone. He’d always loved it; “it reminds me of when you were a boy and I bought you those mythology books you’d read for hours and hours,” Annette had said, her finger stroking his cheek. He’d gone through a period in his adolescence where he was obsessed with Greek and Roman mythology; had practically every book ever published on the subject, most of them still on his study shelves, though Edith Hamilton’s was always his favorite. He had gazed at the bacchanalia depicted in the painting countless times, its naked, dancing figures, feverish in their revelry; sometimes he would come here and sit in the leather chair behind the mahogany desk, just to stare at it until whatever vinyl he’d placed on the turntable wound down to silence. It had always been odd to him that though the painting referred to Bacchus’ youth (he, the god of hedonism), he was depicted as a pot-bellied old man in it, teetering on a donkey. Duncan had long-ago decided that Bouguereau meant it in reference to Bacchus’ spirit, his essence, one of endless mischief and debauchery. He thought back on the many nights he’d indulged in debauchery himself; the women and men he’d taken into his bed, careless to know their names, content with the pleasures of the flesh, rarely feeling the impulse to see them again. When your mother was Annette Shepherd, you could afford to pay off any troublesome, tiresome attentions. Duncan found that though he’d often felt lust, any experience he’d had until last night had not deigned to come close to the wild, somehow almost painful, intoxicating energy he’d felt when Mackenzie Stone was in his arms. It was as if he’d never known what passion truly was until the moment he’d kissed her, her mouth opening to him; hadn’t understood the winding way of the universe at all until she’d been under him, her sweet whisper in his ear, her small hands on his skin, around his length, in his hair. Her smell, her touch, her presence was like waking up for the first time on a cool spring morning after winter, seeing the sunlight course over some distant hill, watching auburn clouds float into the ether as dawn kissed the world. She had reminded him, or perhaps made him realize truly for the first time, that being alive was miraculous indeed; and he wanted the feeling again, the grip of the desire to live. And that was passion, he thought. Passion was her eyes, where he’d seen her soul floating behind them, seeing his, as though they’d been long lost from each other, and now, finally, had found each other again, through time.

Bewitched, body and soul, he thought, and he could not remember what the line was from. God, but that’s how I feel. He’d considered himself a staunch atheist since he was little more than a child, but something about this woman, this wondrous angel so she seemed, made his resolve falter for the first time in memory. Maybe there is something out there, he thought, surprising himself, a shiver falling down his spine under the weight of his velvet jacket, the C-sharp minor of the Sonata boring into his mind. She exists, and she is some kind of miracle, so maybe something is. Fuck. It was as if someone else had entered his body since last night; the better version of himself, desperate to be good enough for her, desperate to hope for a world where she truly existed, and was not some free-falling fantasy of his own invention.

He fiddled with his onyx cufflinks, clearing his throat, moving to where he kept a small bar cart beside the table the record player rested on, an ornate, priceless Tiffany lamp beside it. He poured a finger of bourbon and drank it down, wiping his lips on the back of his hand as the final strokes of the first movement ended. He glanced at his watch (the Cartier again); it was 8:20 PM. It was time to go; time to go to her.

Surprising himself again, he thought out a silent prayer for the first time since he was a boy: if anyone is out there, give me courage.

------

Samuel shut the door behind Duncan as he slid into the backseat of the black BMW. Duncan felt as though he could jump out of his skin at any moment; his resolve was trembling, and the feeling was truly putting him off-guard. Am I actually good enough for this woman? The thought flitted across his mind and he felt utterly shaken by it, as though someone else had invaded his mind. But he knew the thought was his own. He knew he was truly wondering what he’d done to deserve her in his bed, enraptured, the euphoria of her seeping into his senses. He couldn’t believe he was about to see her again. His body felt like it was vibrating, the bourbon he had drunk to calm his nerves giving them an edge instead, an overwhelming intensity.

“Are you alright, Mr. Shepherd?” Samuel was sitting in the driver’s seat again, peering at Duncan over his glasses, a combination of concern and amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Samuel, I need your good thoughts tonight,” Duncan replied, his guard down. “I need all the help I can get. I’m enamoured with this woman. I’m crazy about her.”

“Let your heart be your guide, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down, toward the stretch of asphalt in front of Duncan’s high rise. The car moved forward, streamlined, humming quietly, toward Duncan’s destiny.

----

Duncan had texted Mackenzie again a few hours before; after the conversation during which she’d gazed at her phone in awe, falling into the constellation of Cancer on her bed, unbeknownst to him. He’d asked for her address; it was now programmed into Samuel’s GPS, so he could see the minutes counting down to their arrival. He took another deep breath; let it out in a steady stream, opposing thumb pressing into his palm; his eyes, sapphire-like, gazed out the window, reflecting the glowing lights of a Washington evening. He thought of Kenzie in her little black dress, her ankles wrapped in laces, the crystal floating at her throat, her eyes, gazing at him, full of hidden emotion. Her voice rising in his shower; baby, I want you to come. He closed his eyes and his head, crowned in curls, fell back on the leather seat. God, her fingers in mine, her hard little nipples and sweet clit in my mouth and the feeling of her body clenching around mine, how was that real, how is it still all so real and yet like a dream, the smell of vetiver and her skin, her moans, her hair glowing in the light over the bed--

“Mr. Shepherd, we’re here.”

His eyes snapped open, an involuntary fear rising in them. They’d pulled up to an apartment complex, relatively modern, with glass doors leading to an entryway and the doors of the inner apartments visible within.

Kenzie.

“Here I go.”

Samuel nodded, the wry smile playing around his mouth again.

“Mr. Shepherd.”

For the breadth of a heartbeat, Duncan paused, then he pushed the door of the BMW open and stepped onto the sidewalk. Apartment 1R was Mackenzie’s; she’d texted even her apartment number to him. She was trusting him with it, and he understood this innately. He straightened his Balmain jacket (already straight), rubbed the finger into his palm again, ran that nervous, constant hand against his bottom lip, and walked to the glass door, pulling it open. The second door was locked; he saw a neat row of buzzers beside it, each with a tile clearly printed with apartment numbers underneath. 1R. Stone. He breathed in again, long and low, and pressed the buzzer.

He held the breath as the moment hung there, unmoving.

Then a buzzing sound emanated from the foyer where he stood; he pulled the second door open.

Inside, there were four apartments in a long row, and a corner where the hallway turned towards more apartments along the next wall. He walked (wearing black Saint Laurent Wyatt boots tonight, the buckles hidden beneath the hem of his tailored slacks) to the end, where the corner began; 1R. A gold crescent moon ornament, hung from a small nail and a gold-painted, braided length of rope, shimmered in the hallway light against the door. There was a one-sided peephole facing him; he stared at it for a moment; he breathed again, and then he knocked.

An aching pause again; and then she opened the door.

Mackenzie stood there, her chestnut waves falling down over her shoulders and her back (moons along her head, he thought, stunned, moonlight in her hair), and she met his gaze, her hazel eyes aglow with silent fire, though her expression was full of apprehension she clearly had not been able to conceal. He went to speak, but his breath seemed caught in his lungs; he looked at her and his heart was struck with a quiver of aching need. Her mouth was darkly colored; her eyelids were dark, black kohl around her eyes; tonight she was like the hidden face of the moon, and he was immediately beguiled, under her spell.

She was wearing a dress that seemed to be cut out of the air itself; its neckline plunged down through the space between her breasts, coming together beneath them in a deep V, the skin there luminous in the light (I want to kiss that skin now); it was black like the dress she’d been wearing the night before, but it had long sleeves that came down to past her wrists, pointing towards her knuckles. It had been tailored to her small waist, tailored so it hugged against the rise of her chest and the elegant inclines of her arms, and then it fell from her hips, in waves of more silken velvet an inch above her knee, waves he wanted to kneel into, bury himself inside. Knee-high heeled boots stretched along her slender legs (the legs whose ankles I kissed, their redness building an ache in me, he thought), their toes coming to points, but the stretch of skin between where the boots began and her skirt ended was entrancing to him; he wanted to press his mouth there and move it up between her legs again; he ached at the thought. Around her neck was a velvet choker (my hands there my lips on her mouth), and hanging from it was a black inverted moon, its crescent points hanging down towards her shoulder blades. The sight of it sent a cool chill along the back of his neck; it seemed an omen, occult and knowing, a feminine eye that knew him and could see all of his secrets. He resigned himself to this; I would tell her anything. And he knew it was true.

“Kenzie,” he said breathlessly, overwhelmed. She was real. He hadn’t dreamt her; not last night, not this morning, when her light scattered along the hall as she ran away from him. And she was beautiful beyond all words to him; her realness, her weight, her beauty, within and without, shining like a darkened star in the twilight.

“God, you look beautiful.”

“So do you,” a nervous smile spread over her little mouth, and he thought of honey, roses, wine, the sweetness of your soul, Kenzie--and he moved forward, his lips capturing hers, his hands burying themselves in her cascade of hair, and he felt lost for a moment, lost in the tangibility of touching her again, full of relief at her reality. “You’re real,” he whispered into her mouth; he couldn’t stop. “You’re real, and I didn’t dream you.” He breathed in her smell; her perfume was the same. Vetiver, geranium, roses. He wanted to drink it like nectar.

“I know. I was afraid of the same thing. That I’d imagined you.” Her little face was turned up to him, and her darkly-shadowed eyes glistened with moisture. He was filled with a terrible fear that she would begin to cry; he felt a twinge around his heart, a wrenching horror at the idea of her sadness.

“I’m here.” He pressed his forehead into hers for a moment, his fingers trailing through her hair, his eyes closing, overwhelmed. “We’re both here. Everything was real. Everything is real. This is real.”

Her little hands went around his wrists for a moment as he held her, twining her fingers through his on either side of her face, clutching him to her, and he felt a burst of energy, as if her sweetness, her care, her nature of goodness, seeped through her into him, bathing him in warmth, and then she stepped away, out of his grasp. “Take me to dinner, Duncan Shepherd. I’m fucking starving.” She smiled again, like honey, he thought, and he smiled back at her (he watched her face blush towards him at his smile and his heart clenched again), and then he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her through the door, his fingers pressing into her, the warmth of hand spreading into him like the glow of home after a long, cold walk in the dark.

-----

Duncan grasped Mackenzie’s little hand as she slid into the backseat of the BMW, her eyes meeting Samuel’s through his rearview mirror as they always did Duncan’s. Duncan could see the smile in Samuel’s eyes; he was delighted. Duncan slid in beside her and pulled the door shut, anxious to be near her; Kenzie looked so unbelievably beautiful, he felt dazed, blinded, disoriented once again, wistful for them to be alone together.

“Samuel--this is Mackenzie Stone.”

Duncan watched the clouded patina that immediately came into Samuel’s usually clear brown eyes. “Stone. You wouldn’t be Madeline Stone’s daughter now, would you?”

Kenzie put her chin up, meeting Samuel’s gaze through the mirror, bringing her hands together in her lap over her little purse (it was different than the clutch she’d had at the party; this one had a strap to go over her shoulder, and a gold buckle shaped like a crescent moon, this one facing in a waxing direction). Duncan felt a sort of fierce pride wash over him as he gazed at her lovely, shadowed face, the blush of her cheek and the incline of her neck. She’s brave; she’s honest. She’s so easy to fall in love with.

“I am.”

Samuel didn’t miss a beat, letting his concern slide away. Duncan silently thanked him. “Delighted to finally meet you, Miss Stone. Duncan has said only the best of you.”

“He doesn’t know me that well yet,” she laughed a little, glancing at Duncan, and he was full suddenly to the brim with the desire to hold her, kiss her again, melt into her. Samuel chuckled with her, his very white teeth flashing, his eyes dancing behind his square glasses. He liked her very much; Duncan could tell. How could you not, Duncan thought. Look at her.

“I can’t wait to know you more,” he said to her, Samuel’s watchful eye be damned. He reached to her lap and grasped her hand, looking at her carefully. He wanted her to see how sincerely he meant what he was saying. “I want to know you more than anything.” Kenzie looked at him, her hazel eyes taking on that strange dark hue again, and then she looked down at his hands, as if she felt overwhelmed by his gaze. Samuel’s attention seemed to strategically slide away from them; Duncan didn’t even need to ask him, the partition between the front and back seats rolled up languidly, almost absent-mindedly, and the car moved forward. By the time it arrived in front of Le Diplomate, Duncan and Kenzie were breathless, eyes glittering, breath hitching from the wild locking of their mouths, and Duncan’s lips were smeared with her dark lipstick. She put her delicate thumb up to his mouth as the car stopped, to wipe it away; Duncan captured the finger in his mouth, and sucked at it for a moment, lost in the ecstasy of her touch, the taste of her.

“Duncan,” she whispered, the longing in her voice inconcealable. “My lipstick is all over you.”

“Good. I want it there.”

She smiled at him, and he couldn’t hold back the moan; “Kenzie, baby,” he tried to kiss her again, his mouth hovering over hers, but she pulled away, the smile turning mischievous, and he knew she was watching the yearning in his gaze and his body with satisfaction; she quickly wiped the stain from his mouth before he could bite her finger again, and pulled her hand away.

“Later,” she said, their eyes meeting, and the core of his body tingled, as if touched by a live wire. “Later, I belong to you.” A chill coursed down his spine. He wanted to press his mouth between her legs and make her scream again. He wanted to press his face into the hollow of her neck, buried inside her. But patience was a virtue. He owed her his patience.

The partition went down, languidly; “Samuel, I’ll text you when we need the car. Thank you,” Duncan said. Samuel replied with the smile still dancing on his features, his bright eyes on Mackenzie. “Certainly, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Thank you, Samuel,” Kenzie said shyly, smiling back at him sweetly.

“It is truly a pleasure, Miss Stone,” Samuel replied, and she grinned.

Duncan helped her from the backseat, his large hand grasping her small fingers with fervent attention. “I like him very much,” she said to him quietly, smoothing her dress nervously; his other hand came around and felt at her waist, moving up and down for a moment, lost in the soft feeling of her, steadying her. “He likes you too,” he replied, bringing his face close to her again, breathing in her intoxicating scent. “Samuel’s worked for my family since before I was born, and I trust him with my life. I know when he likes or dislikes someone right away. He thought you were lovely. And you are. You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met.”

He couldn’t stop himself; the words tumbled out of him, fervently.

“God, Duncan,” she said, her hair shimmering in the lamps outside the entrance, her breath sweet against his face, her eyes glowing, hypnotizing him in their ethereal embrace. “How are you so wonderful?”

“Kenzie, it’s for you. It’s all for you. Anything you want, I want to give it to you.”

She laughed. “Right now, I want dinner. And a glass of wine. That would be nice.”

“So much dinner and so many glasses of wine are in store for you, Madame.” He pulled away, grasping her little hand tightly, the eyes of DC society be damned for now. He’d reserved a private room, but he didn’t care who saw them on their way to it (and he noticed several unfamiliar but attentive eyes follow them through the dining hall--clearly they recognized him); he felt an encroaching abandon, as though nothing and no one could tear him away from her now; let everyone see her, let everyone see them together, and he would do whatever it took to protect her, to sway his immovable mother to good graces when the time came. But first, this evening. First, Kenzie. Angel.

He saw Kenzie’s hesitant face as the waiter helped her into her seat; she saw the exhaustive wine menu and an overwhelmed look came into her eyes at its massive length.

“May I order the wine?” He asked her, his eyes on her, gentle.

“Yes, please.” He wanted to soothe the worry from her; he wanted her to feel comfortable to let her guard down, to be herself with him. Wine menus could get fucked if they made her doubt herself. Anything and anyone could get fucked, as far as he was concerned, if they looked at her the wrong way.

“Château Trotte Vieille Bordeaux, please,” he murmured to the waiter after he perused its exhaustive length for a short minute; he’d looked over this particular menu many times before. He watched Mackenzie’s wide, beautiful eyes glance down at the menu, searching for the wine he’d chosen; they widened further and he knew she’d noticed the price tag. The waiter (a tall young man with a thin face, a long nose and close-cropped hair) nodded, eyeing Mackenzie very briefly with badly-veiled interest; Duncan could see that the waiter recognized him as well, and was clearly curious about the beauty sitting with him in a private room. A less observant person would have perhaps missed the look, but Duncan was almost preternatural in his ability to read others; a useful talent he’d learned from watching his mother and listening to her through years of gains on political stages. He wondered how much a future reporter would pay the man to give them information about Duncan Shepherd’s date at Le Diplomate on a recent Sunday in May, the details of Mackenzie’s appearance, the coy Instagram shots that could potentially materialize of them later. He could see the headlines on the gossip websites now. Duncan Shepherd Spotted Arriving and Leaving with Political Enemy’s Daughter From Intimate Dinner At Posh French Restaurant.

I don’t care, he thought, staring into Kenzie’s eyes, which met his with a mixture of hesitance and open avidity, and that crushing feeling around his heart recurred. He reached out and took her hand. I just don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this woman mine.

“$245. I saw that. Oh my god,” Kenzie breathed, holding his fingers tightly. “That’s the money I spend on groceries in a month.” Nervousness had seeped into her eyes as she stared at him, her mouth open in a kind of stunned realization.

“Kenzie. It’s nothing. My mother spends that much every week on cold-pressed juice.”

“Duncan.”

“You’ll love it. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect with the duck a l’orange, which is, by the way, better here than the duck I’ve had in Paris.”

“Duncan.”

“Kenzie.”

“I feel strange.”

She was biting her lip, and her eyes looked frightened. They pierced his heart; he ached to soothe her again, ached to calm her.

“Mackenzie, listen to me. Please don’t. This is my life. I understand that it may be strange to you, but I will do whatever I can to make you feel more comfortable, more at ease. Anything. Don’t be afraid, Kenzie. I want you here. I want you to be here with me right now, and no one else. Mackenzie Stone, I don’t care about anything else right now except being here with you.”

He watched her face, her eyes growing shiny with the tears hiding behind them, and her little mouth trembled ever-so-slightly, a strange smile falling over her features. She sniffed a little, and a single tear fell from her eye, dropping down onto the immaculate white tablecloth, spreading into a damp orb. He grasped her hand desperately, his thumb rubbing against her wrist. “Baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

She breathed, silently, her overwhelmed expression clinging to the certainty in his blue eyes; he watched her throat and the rise of her collarbones, wanting to press his lips against her there; he watched the whiteness of the skin between the plunging neckline of her extraordinarily beautiful dress. And then her expression seemed to clear from what she saw in his face; she nodded a little, the smile trembling still but steadying for him. “Okay, baby,” she whispered. And he squeezed her hand, his smile widening to her, nodding back.

----

The duck tasted even more wonderful tonight; it was simultaneously the best meal he’d ever had and the one he felt he’d remember the least, somehow; he could only think of and focus on her eyes and her hair and her throat and her gold headband adorned with moons and the tiny movements of her hands and fingers as she ate her bread or stabbed a forkful of spinach or a morsel of perfectly roasted duck or drank the (absolutely exquisite) vintage Bordeaux from her wine glass, catching the dim, romantic evening candlelight from their table in its reflection. He somehow felt he’d never seen another person so clearly and entirely before this night; she was a revelation, so real and so beautiful and her eyes were full of emotion and so open to him, it absolutely took his breath away. He watched her ease into the meal and into his words as they talked; she told him about her father, far away in LaLa land, writing about film, forgetting to send her birthday cards, about her best friend Claire (“shares her name with the president, oddly enough”), and the love she shared with her mother. And there we can agree, he’d said, and told her about his mother, too. “I know how she can seem,” he said, looking away, referring to Annette’s sharp television interviews and her well-chronicled contentions with the press, “but I love her deeply, and she loves me. That’s an unshakeable truth, and it gives me comfort in life.” Kenzie had nodded, understanding. “I feel the same way about my mother,” she had agreed. “She’s there for me when no one else is. She’s given me so much advice that has helped me survive; she’s been a guiding light to me. I admire her strength and fearlessness so much.” Throughout the meal and as they talked, they continued to reach for each other’s hands every now and then; Duncan pressing his thumb gently into circles in her palm, his hands trailing down the expanse of her slender fingers. She’d grasp his fingers one by one, caressing the shape of his knuckles, making him shiver. At one point as he gazed at her left hand in his between staring into her eyes (god, her eyes, I love them so much, like stars), he wondered what it would look like with a ring from him adorning it. He blushed at the imagining; and then he wondered, quietly, what kind of ring she would love. A moonstone, he thought immediately, somehow sure right away, as though she’d told him herself. A moonstone, because she’s like the face of the moon to me, penetrating my spirit, exquisite and divine. He kept the thought to himself, tucking it away to look at later, as she told him about her work as a journalist, how much it made her hope for and want to fight for a kinder, better world. His eyes clouded with her sincerity; he was shaken with a moment of doubt regarding the work he did for his mother, and he knew it was dark work, cloudy work, and not for the first time, he felt deeply conflicted, perhaps now more than he ever had, especially hearing her sincerity. “I feel as though I can’t say no to her, my mother is the only person who has always been there for me,” he murmured. The sympathy shone out from Mackenzie’s eyes, and he knew she did not judge him harshly; knew she understood his confusion.

“I’ve seen and felt how wonderful you are,” she said. “I feel it now. We can always work to be better, be kinder, be gentler. I think it’s something you do every day, little by little, work at like a sculptor chipping away at a stone. Eventually it becomes something extraordinary. But that’s from hundreds of days of tiny work. For me, working on a story is like that. A tiny chipping away to find the essence of truth in something. I think that’s what life is, really. Hundreds and hundreds of days of little work.”

“I want to try to do that with you, Kenzie. Work together like that, a little bit at a time, for hundreds of days.”

Her eyes settled into his. He watched her breathe out, slowly, setting her fork down, the velvet choker at her throat, its moon charm catching the light.

He said it before he lost his nerve. “Mackenzie. Would you...be with me? Would you be mine?”

“Duncan. Oh, my god. I…” Mackenzie trailed off, staring at him. Her shock seemed to extend, and she was quiet. Her eyes had taken on that greenish hue that startled him deeply again. Her soul, deep in thought, full of tangled emotion.

He bit his lip, his eyes darkening, and he looked down for a moment, grasped his wine glass, drank deeply. He set it down, slowly, carefully.

“I know...this all seems so sudden, so fast. But I feel something for you that I’ve never felt for anyone. I meant everything I said to you today. You’ve brought an ache into my heart. I want you. Not just in my bed. I want you in my life. I want you, Kenzie. All of you.”

The moment hovered, quieted. They regarded each other. He felt her eyes rove over him as soft, pulsing music played in the background of the room; down from his dark hair, thrown back, to his eyes, meeting hers with hope and desire, his lips (which would kiss you every day, kiss you always, Kenzie), the fine sheen of ever-present stubble on his cheeks, the bob of his throat, the high collar of his dark shirt, the fall of his velvet blazer over his tall frame, down his arm and to his wrists, his silver Cartier watch shining against the candlelight, down his long hands, one resting against his thigh, the other hovering an inch away from hers on the table, index finger stretched. Light seemed to cascade behind her head, and he was reminded of the way she’d looked last night, like there was a halo around her head, golden and iridescent. It was as if he could see the outline of her soul, and it shook him to the core, again, trembling. He was bare under her gaze; he felt like she was looking into the essence of him, weighing him, deciding his fate. He waited. He had decided what he wanted, and had spoken it to her, and so at least he had had the courage to be honest. At least, he said to himself, I was brave in the sight of her wonder.

She lifted her head a little, and the light danced off her headband adorned with moons. She looked like a queen to him in that moment; like a Waterhouse priestess, throwing gold dust and magick into the night, and he was struck by her lovely, coiled energy, her power over him. She smiled at him, and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. It was blinding, overwhelming, filling him with her brightness, the beauty that shined out of her spirit.

“Yes,” she said, her voice steady, smooth, like honey. “Yes, I will, Duncan. Yes.”

He grinned, grabbed onto her hand, leaned toward her, his joy immediate.

“On one condition.”

He stopped. “Anything, Mackenzie. Anything.”

“Be mine, too, Duncan Shepherd. Will you be mine?” A little laugh flitted through her words. He could see the joy in her eyes, and it moved him deeply.

He breathed a sigh of relief; it felt like a weight was lifting off his heart, like wings were beating inside his ribcage.

“Kenzie, yes. Yes, a hundred times, yes. I’m yours.”

-----

They were anxious to be alone together, then; Duncan ached for her, and she whispered “let’s go”, draining her wine glass, the flash of her white throat setting his nerves on edge; Duncan had hurriedly passed his Black AmEx to the waiter, who brought it back to him with a swiftness that seemed almost supernatural. The evening seemed to be pushing them toward their private rendezvous; Duncan no longer wanted anyone else to be near them. He wanted her to himself, this divine goddess who had said she would be his; he still couldn’t grasp that she had accepted him, still felt terrified she’d disappear. He wondered if that feeling would ever fade, or if he’d always feel that fear, that ache for her, already dreading the moment she would leave.

Duncan had texted Samuel and as they practically ran from the entrance of the brightly-lit facade of the buzzing brasserie, their hands clasped together tightly, not noticing the eyes of some of the diners following them this time, not caring, he was struck with relief to see the BMW quietly humming on the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the lamps along the sidewalk. He opened the door for Mackenzie, catching her in his arms for a moment, pressing his lips into the soft space between her ear and her jaw, achingly. She leaned into him, her little body folding into his arms, sucking the air from his lungs, intoxicating. Angel baby. His own. She flitted away from him, disappearing into the backseat, and he followed her eagerly; Then I must be thy lady; but I know / When thou hast stolen away from a fairy land...the line hovered in his subconscious. She was like Titania, queen of the fae, scattering gold, her laugh making flowers burst into bloom, and as he pressed into her in the backseat, the flowers bloomed in his mind and his senses as he kissed her and her little mouth opened against him, her hair tangled in his fingers.

-----

When they’d finally arrived back at his penthouse, she hushed him when he tried to press into her again, impatient for her, his arms around her back, under her shoulder blades, trying to be delicate, afraid he might break her apart with his urgency. “I want a little bit more wine, baby, get me some?” The way she said baby, into his mouth, caused heat to pool in the bottom of his stomach. “Kenzie, baby...” he groaned into her softly, he couldn’t stop. Last night felt like it had happened a hundred days ago--he was starving for her again. He shook his head a little, dizzy, loathe to let go of her.

She grabbed the sides of his velvet jacket with her little fingers; “get it for me baby, I want it,” and he loved the pout on her lips, loved it like he loved her eyelashes, her glowing cheeks, her sweet smell, her insistence. “Kiss me first,” he begged, and he knew he was begging, and he didn’t care, he was lost in her. She pressed her open mouth into his bottom lip, sucking it carefully, slowly, and he pressed his hands into her breasts, trying to hold back the rough desire he felt, the skin between held in her plunging neckline, feeling her hot skin there. “There,” she breathed, releasing him. “Now, baby, give me what I want.”

“Mhmm,” he murmured, his head swimming, letting go of her, aching. He looked back as he moved through his vast living room with its lush carpet and low leather couch, trailing his finger absently along its back, watching her watch him (with eyes ringed in gold) move into his study, where he kept an opulently stacked wine rack beside the standing bar. He pulled a Chablis Grand Cru from the middle rack of the temperature-controlled glass case (a bottle worth an absurd amount of money--at least a grand--but his head swam and he couldn’t care at all, money meant nothing to him right now next to her) and as he turned, he saw that she had followed him, boots cast aside somewhere, on soft, bare feet, into his study behind him, hair shimmering, the gold of her glimmering. She pouted. “I wanted to scare you,” she whispered, eyes glowing.

“You look like an angel,” he replied, the bottle dangling carelessly from his fingers. She smiled, turning, looking at him over her shoulder, the dress falling in the light, beautiful beyond words to him. She turned her face towards the wall that faced his desk (her hair in waves of gold); and she gasped, her eyes falling over the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus. She paused for a moment, staring, and then took two hesitant, soft steps toward it, clearly in awe. He came up behind her, setting the bottle to the side of his polished mahogany desk, folding his arms around her waist, nuzzling his mouth into her neck.

“Is this real?” she whispered, leaning into him.

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing under her ear, kissing the incline of her neck falling into her shoulders. “It’s real. It’s called The Youth of Bacchus. My mother gave it to me when I was 18.”

“God. Duncan. It’s so beautiful. It’s beautiful beyond words.”

“No,” he whispered into her ear, kissing it, capturing the lobe in his lips, “you are, Kenzie, you are, only you…”

He turned her face to him, kissing her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, her scent crashing into him, and his arms turned her so he could grasp her hips, and he lifted her, light as air, onto the edge of his desk, her little elegant feet suspended several feet in the air, dangling over its edge. She pressed her hands back onto its smooth surface, and he leaned into her, tasting her, hands running over her in ardent waves, whispering into her, “angel, beloved, baby” and he moved his head down, pushing up the velvet folds of her flowing dress, cut to her body like it was part of her, finding her panties (wet against her for him again, god, he loved it so much), these ones made of soft lace, and his hands pulled them off her, hurried, impatient, and he buried his mouth on her clit, sucking with urgency, and she threw her head back, “oh my god, Duncan, fuck, babyyy,” and he saw her eyes floating back and forth between him and the gigantic painting against the wall of his study, caught up in its beauty, caught up in him, and her eyes clouded with green and gold, as he worked his mouth against her, her hand finding the back of his head, holding him flush to her sweetness, and as she came, crying out with a sound that threatened to overwhelm him in the crashing wave of his desire, he saw a tear fall from her eyes, catching the low, soft light, and he thought about god again, thought that maybe there was something in the universe that had brought her to him, into his arms, and he was full of joy.

----

He led her into the bathroom, the joy still dancing in his heart, inside his blue eyes. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said, and she giggled, clutching his hand, feeling carefully along the doorway with the other one, bare feet padding onto the cold, seamless stone tiles. She stopped; he pressed the fingers of his right hand, hot with his want, along the white skin between her breasts where the dress fell down into the void of her, against her neck, thumb trailing over her bottom lip.

“Okay, baby, open them.”

She opened her eyes wide and gasped again; all along the edges of his claw-foot tub there were roses, so many roses, dozens and dozens of roses, their stems stripped of their thorns and woven together in a tapestry, all the deep carmine red of her lips last night when she’d kissed him under the night sky for the first time; handfuls of petals floated over the surface of the water, steaming into the air, and the bath itself was surrounded by white pillar candles, illuminating the otherwise-dark bathroom with a soft, melting glow. He watched her delighted face with relief; “do you like it?” he asked, unable to keep the hopeful, wistful edge from his voice.

“Oh, Duncan, I love it. I love it so much. It’s wondrous. It’s divine.”

You are, you are, you are, he thought, his mind repeating it over and over, the only prayer he ever wanted to recite. Kenzie, Kenzie, Kenzie.

He watched her, aching, in the candlelight. She gazed at him, her face aglow. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Undress me.”

He leaned into her, desperately; his hands found the zipper at her back, pulling it down with soft urgency as she ran her fingers along his neck and his chest and against the rise of his crotch, pressing carefully and insistently. He moaned, shivering, pushing the heaven-soft sleeves down her arms, feeling her skin with his fingers, relishing the way her breasts, nipples hard, emerged from the cupped embrace of her plunging bodice, his mouth on her neck again. Her dress fell to the ground in a soft heap; she stood before him and he thought of another Bouguereau painting, its beauty flashing in his mind yet paling to her before him in the flesh, one called Evening Mood, the white-skinned nymph of twilight hovering over soft waves, her head softly turned in ecstasy, a crescent moon hanging behind her bowing head.

“You look like the moon,” he said, wonderingly, as her hands pulled at his jacket and pushed it away and her demanding fingers undid his shirt and unbuckled his belt, pulling the zipper of his pants down, pulling out his hard, aching length, her mouth open, her face looking up to him, her eyes impatient, her moon headband and black choker, hugging her neck like a lover (him, her lover) the only things she now wore. He loved that she was wearing her adorning jewelry again, like last night, as they were about to fuck; he loved the artistry of her, unpretentious, unstudied, gold and soft and starry and his, his own, for she’d accepted him, and she was his now, and he was hers, and that was all he knew and all he wanted to know. Her hands drifted over the length of his cock, languid but concentrated, and he pulled away from her touch, leading her to the steaming bathtub, the roses making way for them as he pulled her down into it with him, pulling her on top of him again, loving the feeling of her body hovering above him that way. She reached down into the hot, almost scalding water, its heat causing goosebumps to rise on both of them; gripped the length of his cock again, fingers grazing his sensitive head, her face hovering over his, her mouth almost kissing his, but not quite, her breath cascading into him and she moaned as she stroked him and he moaned into her in return, lost in her, his impossibly blue eyes falling into the night of her, “Mackenzie, baby, that feels so fucking good, you’re as beautiful as an angel, oh god, Kenzie, I love you--”, and the roses clung to the sides of her white skin, the steam that rose off the water enshrining her, and her mouth finally clashed into his, stifling his ardent admission, and he thought again that he could die and be content in the death, content because his last moments had belonged to her.

“Come for me this time, baby love, come for me, okay?” She murmured these sweet words into him, and he nodded, his brow furrowed, completely lost in her touch and her voice; she stopped the firm stroke of her hand around his hardness, and moving her hips, eased down onto him until he was buried in her, gasping, and she moved again, grinding down on him, causing him to stutter “fu-fu-uu-ckk” into her neck, against the softness of her chin, into her skin, and she said “I love you too, I’m yours baby, all yours, come for me,” and he couldn’t stop it, his release was so deep and so consuming that his moan bled into a wild cry that he tried to stifle between the space of her breasts where her dress had plunged, showing her heart to him under the shadow of her delicate bones, and he couldn’t believe that he could have ever felt so good, clutching her little body against him, her soul held in his hands this way. She was his, she had said yes, she was his, this angel, an angel, she loved him and heaven had fallen to earth, and he was holding it, her, she was heaven, heaven in his hands, heaven on his lips, heaven, heaven, heaven...

[thetradeway]

Session 41 17 Apr 2021: Wait, a TRAP door? Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.

Duncan is walking back from the opticians, so we start a little bit late. Ed is also going to be late, but he says to go ahead without him and he’ll catch up.

Mr. Pickles has a gift for Ahleqs (which Joe forgot until this week…)

Should be fun riding through the streets of Waterdeep - until he gets done by animal rights activists.

Matthew reminds us of what Brother Charity and Gideon did at the end of the last session - the buddy cop movie, during which they got some names of some people. (He explains in a very sketched out way until Sophie asks him to clarify a bit further, ‘like I was asleep or something’.) (For those who weren't there at the time, she *was* asleep.)

Mirt, Harper’s quest, Maxeene, talking horse, ride around the city, inn with a glory hole in it, disguised selves, names of a sun elf fellow and a half orc lady. Timothy P. Fuckapple and Thunderbuns, ah yes. (apparently Matthew was going for Danny Dyer, but he’ll take Ross Kemp.)

“That was exhilarating!” Charity says to Gideon as they flee down side alleys.

(Joe shows us an image of Undermountain, the dungeon under the Yawning Portal.)

(holy shit.)

We pick back up at the Dagger. Kessler wanted to ask Shanks about procuring us a book to offer the monks at Candlekeep. (Joe shows Melaina her new weasel…)

Kessler and Ahleqs arrive back at the Dagger, shortly followed by Charity, Carl and Gideon. Kessler points and laughs at Gideon’s disguise.

Tarragon has gone to find Renah and challenge her to an arm wrestle, loser buys drinks. Matthew worries that it might turn into a bar fight. Ahleqs: “It’s all fun and games until someone throws a dwarf.” Tarragon wins 18-21, and asks for a half an ale. “I’m very small and I’m not used to drinking.”

The others are deciding how to contact Shanks about the book. Ahleqs asks at the bar what would be the best way to get in touch. Ria and Jirr are tending bar tonight. Ria isn’t sure who Ahleqs means when he asks for Shanks. She offers to ask the other staff, and has a chat with Jirr.

Jirr can get a message to Shanks for us. Or - do we want to meet her? That might be better. Jirr will organise a meeting in the cellar. This might take a day or so to arrange.

Do we need preparations or supplies for the journey to Candlekeep? (Shopping episode! Somewhere, Travis Willingham sighs.)

We probably need rations. We also need to get passage on a boat - we could ask Surge (Gunna's water genasi friend in the Docks Ward), or Larissa. Either way, to the Docks Ward!

(Charity Prestidigitations Gideon before we leave.)

Kessler debates buying a shield and goes to speak to Filiare before we go, as well. (Scribe’s note: Her AC is already 18.) He will sell her one for 7gp; she accepts, choosing a metal one with a plain front so she can add her own design. She sells her crossbow bolts as well.

Ed joins us and Charity remembers about the mad druid that Tarragon needs to speak to, but that’s not for a few days. We decide to speak to Surge first as he’s slightly less dodgy, and if he’s unavailable or can’t help, then we’ll try Larissa. We’re trying to get passage but also get paid for it, like going to a festival and pretending to be cleaners.

(Duncan gets lost on his way to the kitchen to make coffee, and finds himself in the off license buying beer.)

As we go through the streets toward the docks, a bird lands on Tarragon’s shoulder and gives her a scroll from Amithrel, giving her the name of the druid whose tome may be of use in curing Tansy’s illness. She asks the bird to thank Amithrel for her and it flies off.

Kessler: “I wonder if I could snatch that bird out of the air…”

Duncan OOC: “This whole time I’ve just been imagining you grabbing birds out of the air and eating them.”

There follows a discussion about the diets of goblins, and how much evidence there is to suggest that they really do eat babies.

Melaina makes a Perception check to get us to the Docks ward (I almost wrote Dicks ward by accident lol). We find the temple, and Surge is in the middle of it, feeding sick sailors. He sees us and recognises us, and asks straight away if we’ve seen Gunna.

Melaina, suddenly and excitedly: “Have you seen him? Not that we care about… where… he… is…”

Surge says that he saw him briefly before he left, and that he said something about visiting his father. It could take a few months for him to return.

Melaina asks about passage on a boat. Do we want to pay, or work, Surge asks us? Well, we’ve acquired some skills in recent times. He asks about what sort of skills we have. Fire magic?, Ahleqs suggests. Tends not to be popular on wooden boats.

Kessler can make stuff…? Melaina is an elf, she could make a good lookout? Tarragon is a herbalist, she can make poultices. How many are there of us? Six? Yeah, six. Seven, if you count Brother Charity. (We’ve accepted Carl as one of us.) (Charity looks wounded.)

Ahleqs makes a Persuasion check with Guidance - 25 total.

To Candlekeep, you say? Maybe the return journey as well? Space for seven, we’re looking at a cargo ship. Is there any way Surge can contact us? We’re staying at the Dagger. Surge will ask around and send word.

Brother Charity has some shopping he wants to do. Where would he find adventuring supplies? Market in the Trades Ward. He wants Healer’s kits and scroll scribing kits, that sort of thing. We like to travel in a lump; our lump arrives in the Market.

Between a lucky roll and help from Charismatic Ahleqs, Charity can have 20gp off the asking price of 70, to the shopkeeper’s chagrin.

Tarragon buys some more herbs, as she’s offered her services as a herbalist on whatever ship Surge can get us passage on. Kessler buys some healing potions.

Anyone else want to do some panic buying? Chain mail! A gun! Some big bombs! The Death Star! Nope, that’s it. We head back to the Dagger.

So - rations, and a meeting with Shanks to maybe procure a book. Gideon has a heavy supper and falls asleep in front of the fire. (Tarragon: Five bean chilli from the new vegetarian menu, and a peach liqueur.) As we sit down to eat, Jirr motions to us. We’ve got a guest.

Shanks meets us in the cellar. Can she procure rare and curious books? Ahleqs explains what it is we need - a book that the monks of Candlekeep don’t already have in their collection. What about something unique, like a journal? Are we familiar with Xanathar’s thieves’ guild?

No-one is really sure what it’s real name is. The higher ups in that guild are known as The Hand. Their master of magic is a woman called Emerine (I think?). She’s a powerful wizard, not to be crossed. But she is undertaking research in the sewers, Shanks knows where. She has a something called the Tome of Bindings. Shanks could take us there to get it? She can time it for when the wizard isn’t in.

Would this wizard part with the book, or will we have to nick it? If we time it right, she won’t be there to defend it. But she’ll likely have traps and stuff. Ahleqs asks what do we think the chances are that she has an actual Beholder there? Low, says Shanks, as the guild leader is one and Beholders are notoriously territorial and won’t put up with another close by.

It would be doing Shanks a favour, if we got that book away from her. Can we be ready first thing?

Charity: “All those in favour say Aye.”

All of us except Kessler: “Aye!”

Kessler: “I don’t see why not, I mean I’ve got no objections…”

Shanks tells us it’ll be another trip to the sewer, so get ready.

Tarragon, thoughtfully: “Do you know anyone who sells nose plugs…”

Shanks returns the following morning and leads us into the sewer. We make CON saves against the smell. Only Tarragon fails and is polite enough to lean away rather than puking on Brother Charity, which she feels is very magnanimous of her.

Shanks leads us to a new (to us) part of the sewer, where we haven’t been before. It looks in poor state of repair. She points to a locked trap door. The wizard has been seen going in and out of there. Do we need help picking the lock…?

Melaina: “I think we’ve got this.”

(Wait, a TRAP door? Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.)

Melaina checks for traps and unlocks the door with ease, and after some wrangling, Joe gets a marching order out of us. (A police car goes by in horrible Nottingham.) There’s a small delay while Joe fights his way through all the gubbins I’ve filled roll20 with (SO MANY RED DRAGONS!), and puts our tokens on the board.

Back in the charming sewers again! It’s a nice part, and doesn’t smell. It’s part of the old elven sewer.

Ahead of her Kessler sees a metal door, with a slot into which something presumably fits. She checks for traps - it is not trapped. She goes for a pick, but rolls a 12 so nothing happens. She could try impact engineering… (Is that a fancy-lady way of saying she’s going to twat it?) Melaina elbows her way to the front and does it properly.

(Gideon has had too many meads and has probably fallen asleep - or gone to the kitchen to get sausages, so the DM moves him gently out of the way.)

We are just exploring when Joe tells us to stay where we are - uh oh!

We all make STR saves except Tarragon, who is now glad she was stuck at the back.

They roll so badly that they couldn’t pass if they added all their scores together. They are hit by lightning from the pillars in the room, as well as being blown around by wind.

Kessler shoots at one of the pillars to try and discharge the magic, but is at Disadvantage because of the wind and rolls a 9. It zaps her, and she takes 13 lightning damage.

Melaina has a go but also fails and takes some lightning damage. Joe rolls 4 1s for her damage though, noice.

Ahleqs makes an arcana check to see if he can figure out this magic, but rolls a nat 1. He uses a Sorcery point to re-roll for a 17. It seems to be retaliating when attacked, and there are glyphs on the floor that zap you if you stand on them.

Kessler and Tarragon see that the winds inside the sphere seem to be physically blowing the ammunition off course. Perhaps magic might work better…?

Ahleqs tries an Eldritch Blast, and it hits. Yay! He assumes the foetal position; just as well because he gets hit with lightning.

Tarragon does a Thorn Whip, which also hits. The pillar is starting to look damaged, and she takes 17 lightning damage. Oof! Kessler fires off a Firebolt, as Ahleqs downs a potion. She hits for 3 damage and takes 15 lightning damage. Yikes.

Melaina does a magic arrow at it - or, a spell? Or Charity can do a spell, so Melaina isn’t using up a spell slot?

He does a Divine Eldritch Blast. (A what? He is a Cleric, right? Sophie, OOC: ‘He’s a sneaky bastard is what he is.’) It does 1 damage, which is just enough - the pillar breaks. He does a Cure Wounds for Kessler, and offers the same to Ahleqs.

Melaina tries the door. It is a large, metal double door. She checks it for traps - once she’s found her character sheet again. She sees the telltale signs of trappage! She sleight of hand disarms it with a 27 - “Bazinga.” She then unlocks the door. It swings open to reveal a monster - “Lock it again! Lock it again!”

We roll initiative. DM asks if one of us want to take the Grease Wizard “because I think you’ll need him”. Oh shit. Matthew and Sophie both take him so they can squabble over him.

(Sophie OOC: “What is that thing? Oh, it’s massive and it’s got a big old sword.”)

It moves forward and breathes poison on Kessler, Melaina and Tarragon. Only Melaina makes her save. If only our front-line fighter wasn’t on a boat going to see his mum!

Tarragon rages and does Cure Wounds on herself (but the other way around); Melaina casts Woundbind on Kessler, who went down after the poison breath. (How’s that shield working out?) Melaina bonus-action-disengages and backs up.

Kessler gets to her feet and goes for a Thunder Gauntlet, which misses. She stands her ground.

Ahleqs: "I stand my ground too!" (We all laugh.) He screams (part of his spellcasting ritual), and casts Fireball. It doesn’t bother trying to make the save - ah shit.

Kessler, Tarragon, Ahleqs and Gideon (and Melaina) make perception checks - we all notice that the creature absorbs the fire, and any little dents in the armour repair themselves. Matthew-as-Gideon - “Fire appears to mend it!”

Ahleqs runs away.

Grease wizard doesn’t have Enlarge-Reduce prepared, sadly. He has a go at Enfeebling it instead. He rolls an 18 and it misses.

Oh fuck…

Kessler, right up in melee range: “Run, save yourselves!”

Ahleqs, already halfway out of the room: “Way ahead of you!”

Charity casts ‘a buffing spell’ on himself to get more HP, and then shilleweghilghosllhsoaslkhhah. Carl holds an action, as there’s not much he can do.

It’s the golem’s turn. It tries to squish Kessler, who is standing right in front of it, by bringing its sword down on her noggin. It misses! But dents her new shield. Then it swings an arm, trying to slam her into the wall. That time it hits for 14 damage.

Tarragon goes for an Indiana Jones slide between its legs but fails her Dex check and hits it in the legs. (If Duncan was DM she’d have hit something else.) She tries to batter it with her quarterstaff, but misses.

Melaina hides and shoots, and hits the thing! She rolls badly on her damage, however. (Joe assures us that this fight is winnable; we all make dubious noises.)

Kessler goes for the Thunder Gauntlets and hits it for 11 Thunder damage. She uses Fury of the Small on top for an extra 7 damage. She would like to disengage for a bonus action and split her attack; after a short discussion it’s decided that she can. She wants to move behind it so she makes a DEX check - and passes! Like a greased seal she slides between its legs. She goes for her second attack, with Advantage as she and Tarragon are now flanking it. She hits again for 8 more Thunder damage.

"Are we still in the shit? We kind of are, aren’t we." Ahleqs uses all his remaining Sorcery Points to create a 4th level spell slot before screaming “GO AWAY!” at it and casting Banishment. It fails the save and disappears!

We still need the gem around its neck, which is very much phase 2 of the plan, and Ahleqs will leave that to us.

Kessler: “I would say next time make that your opening gambit?”

Ahleqs, Concentrating: “Look, let’s not waste this minute bickering.”

(DM decides that was inspired so he won’t enforce it now, but next time Ahleqs casts Banishment he will actually have to produce the spell component - something distasteful to the target. Duncan, OOC: "I may go full monkey and fling my poo at it.")

We prepare - moving to flanking positions and rerolling initiative. Tarragon goes bear and waits to re-Rage.

Bear Tarragon and Kessler both hit with their attacks of opportunity as the thing pops back. Brother Charity goes for a whack with Sheldflhjdasdlaflfghhh, and natty 20s it for triple damage - 36 total!

It’s Kessler’s turn. She punches it upside the back of the head for a 19 which misses, then natty 20s for her second hit. Max damage, then she rolls the damage dice again, yeah!

Tarragon does a multi attack and crits with her claws - bloodied nose. Max damage and roll again - she gets max damage on that roll too! She’s so pleased it’s hard to maintain her rage.

Melaina goes for a shot but misses.

Ed has woken up! He is pleased to know that Matthew, about to take Gideon’s turn, was about to Grease something. He asks how this thing feels about fire, and is warned that it loves it. He’s very disappointed until he realises that he can use his new toy.

Wait is this the main big bad, or is this on the way to the big bad?

Sophie, OOC: “We just got into this dungeon, we’re in the foyer.”

He does Phantasmal Killer! The thing makes a WIS save - at Advantage - and fails. Ed, delighted: "It’s timid and scared and frightened." It makes another WIS save on each of its turns, or takes more psychic damage; for now it takes 16.

But…

It’s immune to psychic damage - and being frightened.

That is a poor show, Joe.

Brother Charity is up, and he’s the last one before the golem. Gideon: “We’ll have to do this the old fashioned way Charity, go and stab it with a spear!”

It’s still flanked, so Brother Charity rolls with Advantage and hits it with a 26 for 12 bludgeoning damage with Shillgslahkfksjddkghglhlhllbblhh. It’s looking tatty now, yeah!

It doesn’t get its breath weapon back, phew. It attacks the bear, at Disadvantage (because it is not attacking Kessler). It hits, but she takes half damage.

It’s Coward Time! He doesn’t need to move closer so he casts Shenanigans at level 2. He expends a spell slot to regain a sorcery point. Now he casts Shatter at level 3, using the sorcery point to use Careful Spell and steer it around his friends.

It does a CON save (“I imagine it’s okay at those”) which it has Advantage on, but it’s a construct so it has Disadvantage as per the spell. They cancel each other out so it makes a straight roll, and gets a 16 which succeeds. It takes half damage though. Having covered his eyes as he cast the spell Ahleqs shouts, “Did I get it?”

We all want Carl to get the how-de-do-dis. He does Gauntlets of Helm but misses even with Advantage.

Kessler goes for the Thunder Gauntlets and hits with her second attack, for 7 thunder damage. It’s at Disadvantage to attack anyone but her again.

Tarragon does a multi attack and hits with both - and gets the how-de-do-dis! She rips it apart with her bear claws, with a horrible screeching noise of claws on metal.

We get the crystal key!

(After the dust settles, Joe reminds us of when we fought the Flesh Ripper and Melaina very cleverly hid herself on the other side of a doorway through which the Flesh Ripper was too big to fit. We look again at the map we’re on now to see that we came through a corridor that would be too big for the golem… We are so stupid.)

The crystal fits in the slot in the door, which leads us down another corridor into a study. Melaina rolls to pick the lock with a 27. We get the book, yeah!

(Next week we pick up with our old campaign, for which I DM. I will try to add an entry here, but it won’t have the same level of detail!)

[awokenapollo]

RULES: bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people.

Tagged by my fave, @nat-the-ghost and have to do this before I forget!

AIR:

I have small hands • I love the night sky • I watch small animals and birds when I pass them by • I drink herbal tea • I wake to see dawn • The smell of dust is comforting • I’m valued for being wise • I prefer books to music • I meditate • I find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE:

I don’t have straight hair • I like to wear ripped jeans and overalls • I play an organized sport • I love dogs • I am not afraid of adventure • I love to talk to strangers • I always try new foods • I enjoy road trips • Summer is my favorite season • My radio is always playing

WATER:

I wear bracelets on my wrists • I love the bustle of the city • I have more than one set of piercings • I read poetry • I love the sound of a thunderstorm• I want to travel the world • I sleep past midday most days • I love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs • I re-watch kids’ shows out of nostalgia • I see emotions in colors, not words

EARTH:

I wear glasses/contacts • I enjoy doing the laundry • I am a vegetarian or vegan • I have an excellent sense of time • My humor is very cheerful • I am a valued advisor to my friends • I believe in true love • I love the chill of mountain air • I’m always listening to music • I am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER:

I go without makeup in my daily life • I make my own artwork • I keep on track of my tasks and time • I always know true north • I see beauty in everything • I can always smell flowers • I smile at everyone I pass by • I always fear history repeating itself • I have recovered from a mental disorder • I can love unconditionally

@galaxyofgays @lesbiangang @meme-snob @ilikecatsforrealz @immmaghost @5candycorn @virgillo @jaspis10

[aph-2p-headcanons]

So this might sound weird,but I got my weird rarepair ships so I was wondering if you got sum headcanons for 2p!AmericaX1p!Belarus (I am very deeply sorry if this is against a rule of your blog but I am on mobile,so I can't read them,if my ask really is against a rule of yours, feel free to just delete this ask, have a lovely day ^^)

1p x 2p crossovers are just fine! nyotalia as well. i’m fine with most crossovers as long as I know what they are lol, but i’d rather just stick to hetalia ;)

2P!America x S/O x 1P!Belarus Relationship Headcanons:

alright, so: you have two very protective people on your hands

basically personal bodyguards

Natalya is very doting, to many people’s surprise. however, she will not hesitate to call you out on something- especially if you’re hurt

it is “practically my [allen’s] ’duty” to serve the two of you“Your highnesses..”“al please”

nat secretly loves cuddles but she’s not going to voice it- allen knows this and frequently drags her down, much to her complaint

Natalya is alsp super into poetry and will let you read some of hers, albeit shyly- a lot of it is super dark and personal- you give her a lot of love when you read it

sometimes she goes to slams and would love it if the two of you joined

it’s common to see clothing being distributed unevenly amongst the three of you

allen is vegetarian/vegan and Natalya is a pescetarian, so their diets might begin to influence yours if it’s different- by that I mean you might find yourself eating a lot more fish if you didn’t before (unless you can’t) and wondering “hey how’d that bag of sunflower seeds get here”

allen really likes bugs, especially grasshoppers and bees. he always tries to pet bumblebees but he’s fairly allergic to pollen so you’re going to have to drag him away- Natalya is waiting for the day he is stung

as everybody who is friends with allen knows he loves musicals (and has dragged Nat into showtune hell with him)- this means that if you aren’t into musicals you’re going to get harassed with constant re-enactments - sometimes Natalya will join him if she’s feeling it- if you are into musicals then you’ll fit right in ;)

Natalya is a bit of a helicopter girlfriend - if someone looks at you for too long she has her arms curled around one of yours, a glare, and her tongue sticking out at them in an instant- she will most likely mumble things to you in Belarusian, even if you don’t understand her- more of a reassurance thing for her self- just pat her and tell her you love her

if you’re sick allen has already called four hospitals and the swat team- nat is just calmly taking your temperature while he’s on the phone with the mayor

I feel like a frequented date spot is a park at night

the two of them love holding hands and just PDA in general, so if you’re not a part of that scene then you must make it very clear

Natalya is shy when it comes to kissing however- she prefers that to be less public

honestly the girl could live off of cotton candy and peach schnapps- please don’t let her- allen doesn’t drink yet he’s trying to take away her fifth martini glass but she’s convinced he’s being selfish and wants it for himself and there are tears in his eyes as he silently pleads for help but you can’t bring yourself to tell her it’s virgin- eventually the sheriff shows up,, for,,, some reason...,,,- allen thinks its the start of a porno- Natalya is trying to arrest him - you just want to go home

tbh matt and Natalya h a t e each other for no apparent reason- it kind of tears at allen because him and matt are very close- you always reassure him they will get along eventually

Ivan is extremely wary of Allen, but loves you- I feel like they’d get along if al would just top touching Natalya's butt- tbh you do too she looks damn fine in yoga pants WOW

Natalya sleeps in the middle, curled up like a cat- actually it probably isn’t even the middle because allen fell so far off the bed he’s in line at denny’s

Natalya LOVES stealing collecting signs- she has one from Blockbuster and it’s her Prized Possession(tm)

honestly just please lov ur partners, they deserve it and so do you

BONUS:

the three of you have a rescue animal, but it’s something out of the ordinary, like a duck or a deer. allen and you have decided to name it something awful much to Natalya's amusement and disdain- the name is probably something like Rugburn or Grass Stain or like gggreggg (pronounced like Maurice)

[lifeofthibault]

Over the weekend, I took some much deserved time to catch up with my friends living in England.

It began with a day-trip to Brighton during which I finally caught up with my great friend Nat, and finally got introduced to her boyfriend Joe. The three of us met at Brighton station, and went out for brunch in a new Café called VH. In Hove, actually.

After a walk in town, running a couple of errands and re-discovering some of my favorite shops, streets, and the infamous Brighton Laines/Lane/North Lane, we headed back to their lovely little flat for some tea.

Later on I went to meet up with the lovely Drea over a couple of beers at the local pub. A great time to catch up with a friend I last saw over the summer in Cannes!

Finally, I met up with Natalie & Joe again for dinner. A delicious Indian curry, another walk I. Town, more cocktails and it was time to head back.

From the moment I left the station to the time I left the city, I felt happy, at home, and yet also conflicted about being back: it felt like I had both been gone for 5 years, and at the same time it felt like I had never left.

Then came Sunday, and with it another lovely brunch with my friend Ben, whom I’ve known from Twitter for the past 3 years or so, but had never had the chance to physically meet until today.

Ben took me out to Kua ‘Aina, a Hawaiian-themed Burger Joint. The food was glorious, and so were the alcoholic milkshakes (Coconut + Malibu and Peanut Butter and Bourbon), as well as the Sweet Potato Fries and Halloumi & Red Peppers vegetarian burger.

From there, we explored some of London’s most iconic streets and shops, from the wonderful Moleskine store to Fortnum & Mason, walking around Tradalgar Square, and really experiencing the core center attractions of London.

We ended the day out back on the Soith Bank, over Ramen. From there, I went to see Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, at the BFI IMAX, the UK’s biggest screen. It was glorious!

Nat & Joe

Planet India, Hove

Liberty London

Ben took me out on a splendid lunch!

Kua ‘Aina

Thanks for the birthday cake!

Hawaiian Burger Joint for Brunch

Liberty London, Florist

Liberty London

Didn’t know Maille mustards had a flagship store in London

Gotta love a Polpo

Tales of the weekend — Friendly Brunches in Brighton & London Over the weekend, I took some much deserved time to catch up with my friends living in England.