#when i look at other artists i admire the difference is staggering

[sci-the-superb]

How do you guys reconcile with the fact that despite doing digital art for 14+ years you don't actually know how to draw at all

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Title: Eyes on you

Pairing: Shaw x You

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2,901

A/N: You (Y/N) are not the MC in MLQC. This is a plunny that's been bugging me for quite a while, I had to write it. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own MLQC or its characters, but I do own the concept of this fic.

There were a few mysteries in this world that the esteemed Archeology Graduate Professors at Loveland University can't explain - for instance, the formation of the Stonehenge, the exact location of the lost city of Atlantis, the origin of the Nazca lines… and your presence at the Metro Art Gala dressed to the nines, positively gleaming as you strode arm in arm with your classmate and Thesis partner Shaw, who seemed like the perfect gentleman that evening. Thanks to your work at the Loveland Museum, you scored two invites to the gala featuring the recently discovered works of a well-known artist - an event any Archeology fanatic wouldn't let pass. The two of you walked along with LFG's Exhibition Hall, pausing occasionally to admire one of the recently discovered sculptures by the Renaissance artist D'Romani. As you both looked at the intricacies of the artwork in front of you, your charming companion would lean in slightly and whisper something in your ear, causing you to roll your eyes or stifle a giggle. 

To the guests in the prestigious gala, the two of you looked like two young people at the cusp of falling in love, but the members of the Faculty of the Graduate School of Archeology saw it differently - this was a real-life mystery if they'd seen one. 

As your eyes swiftly swept through the entire room, you could see that your professors only had one question in mind - how'd this happen? How did two people as different as day and night, who argued with each other throughout Graduate studies, end up amiably enjoying each other's company tonight? 

You drew a sharp breath and sighed. The answer was simple: Your Thesis defense was right around the corner. You needed him to cooperate, you were willing to go to great lengths to make it happen. And your Thesis partner (unfortunately) was ready to take full advantage of the situation. 

***

"Tell me why we're doing this again, " you said through the door that separated you and your date, as you were putting on the dress you bought (or invested on, as he casually stated) for tonight's gala, which he insisted on attending with you. It was six in the evening on a Friday, and you had just arrived home after cramming your workload at the Loveland Museum and foregoing your meal breaks just so you could leave work at exactly five-thirty. 

"I already told you a couple of times - you want me to cooperate with you so you can pass our Thesis, and I need a reason to be around her," the purple-haired man waiting at the other side of your bedroom door called out nonchalantly. "You can drop your fantasy about me asking you out because I'm attracted to you."

You hissed silently at his snarky remark and counted to ten. You haven't even left your apartment yet you already wanted this night to be over. "How do you even know she's gonna be there?"

She - the Miracle Finder Producer, the object of your Thesis Partner's fantasies, and as fate would have it, his brother's girlfriend. 

"They're doing a show featuring our Thesis adviser. Didn't he tell us about it during our last consultation?" He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I wasn't listening," you shot back, as you took off your ponytail and started styling your hair with your curling iron. You chose a one-shoulder fitted black dress that stops right above your knees, so you thought of wearing your hair down for a change. 

"Ah, yes. You were too busy looking at your notes, trying to prove me wrong as always."

You closed your eyes, as you continued to make big beach waves and prayed to the gods you wouldn't commit murder tonight. 

"How much longer are you gonna take?"

"Excited much?" You asked, smirking while you now removed your glasses and put on your contacts. "You sound like a teenager excited to see his crush in a school fair!"

"Don't compare me to you!" 

"I don't have designs on anyone in the party," you called back. "Unless your brother's attending the event, that is. From what you've been telling me, he seems like a great guy."

Silence. You arched an eyebrow as you strained your ear to listen for any sign of life outside your bedroom door. What must your grunge-rock skater boy-turned-date-for-the-evening be thinking? 

"Do you want to pass our Thesis or not?"

You struck a victory pose at his remark. Finally, one point - you, Shaw - about twenty. 

"Are you done yet? This suit is really uncomfortable. Damn, why do people even wear these?"

"Because they're decent?" You shot back. "You know, you can always go home if you're not comfortable in your attire because when we get there, you need to act decent, too. Can't have your usual swagger in a formal affair."

"Just hurry it up already!"

You rolled your eyes as you applied your nude-colored lipstick to finish off your look before putting on your black stilettos, and stuffing your phone, wallet, and your makeup in your purse. 

"All done," you replied, as you finally emerged from your room. 

***

A part of you wished that the dynamics between you and Shaw were different. While he was a pain in the neck, and too carefree for his own good, you also thought he made for a good intellectual sparring partner, quite attractive, and it was hard to deny that he's got your heart beating double-time whenever he got too close for comfort like he was at that very moment. 

"My, you two kids seem to be having fun tonight."

You gasped, at the sound of the voice behind you, and you felt your date nudge you ever-so-subtly while straightening.

"Hey, Professor Adler," he said in his usual unruffled tone, his lips stretched into a smirk as he held his hand out to your Anthropology professor and Thesis adviser, who watched you both amusedly. His gesture made your eyes shot wide open, you thought they'd fall right off. Shaw shaking someone's hand? That's one for the books. 

"Shaw. Fancy seeing you here," the stout middle-aged man greeted while shaking your date's hand. "This isn't your usual scene though."

"Yeah, I know, but I can't exactly turn a pretty lady down, can I?" 

"I can see that," your professor said as he looked at you appraisingly. "Well, well, you clean up well, Miss (y/n)."

You fought the urge to squirm at the older man's words when you heard your date cluck his cheeks with his tongue and suddenly felt his arm around your shoulders, pressing you protectively close to his side. 

***

"All done!" You happily announced as you stepped into the living room of your small apartment where your date was impatiently waiting for you. 

You could've sworn he was stunned for a second or two before he shook his head and tried to regain his usual impassive expression. Finally, he stood and walked closer to assess you better. 

"You're not wearing your glasses. I thought you said you're practically blind without them?" 

You cocked your head to one side. Out of all the things he could've complimented or called out, that's the first thing he noticed? 

"Wouldn't it look awkward if I wore glasses to a formal event?"

"Your hair is all curly," he continued as if you didn't say anything. "And your shoes are so tall, won't you trip? Also, surely you have a jacket to go with that dress, right?" 

You stared at him in disbelief. Why did this carefree, bass-playing skater boy turn into your dad all of a sudden? 

"Uh…"

"Well, at least you're not wearing red lipstick. You don't have to try too hard to look sexy. Geez! I've got plans of my own this evening, so don't expect me to be your bodyguard," he continued to mumble as he circled around you. Before long, you felt something warm and heavy on your shoulder. His coat?

"It's just until we get to the venue," he shrugged as he led you to the car he borrowed for tonight. "I don't want people seeing you freeze to death."

You sighed, your shoulders slumped as you followed your date to the car. You already expected he wouldn't throw you a compliment for looking like a proper human tonight, and you cursed yourself for feeling gutted over it anyway. 

 ***

"So, which one of these sculptures did you like best, Professor?" You sighed in relief as Shaw changed the subject, his arm still wrapped around you, making you blush furiously. 

"Oh, I have to say I liked Eros and Psyche best. In case you haven't seen it yet, it's located a little further down the hall near the bar area," the older man was starting to explain when someone tapped his shoulder from behind. 

"Excuse me, Professor Adler," a gentle voice called out, making both the professor and Shaw jump. From behind the old man, a pretty petite with brown hair and big brown eyes, and the biggest smile on her face stepped up. "My name is MC from Miracle Finder."

Almost immediately, Shaw withdrew his arm around you, almost causing you to stagger backward. He straightened up and feigned disinterest. 

"Hey. It's a little rude how you stepped in while I was talking to the Professor," he said, his tone teasing. 

"Oh, I didn't notice you here. Do you mind if I talk to your Professor? We've invited him for an interview about the exhibit," the girl said sweetly. 

Based on how unconsciously coy she acted around Shaw, and the way he kept egging her, there was no doubt that this was the girl he was crushing on. You felt like the odd person out all of a sudden and needed to step away. 

You backed away slowly, careful not to rouse their attention because it would probably suck if you knew how Shaw would introduce you to his little crush. As soon as you were in a safe distance, you turned and walked aimlessly down the hall, pausing briefly at paintings or sculptures that caught your fancy, looking at its intricacies as you did so earlier. But somehow, it wasn't as fun as it was before, so you moved on quickly, to give way to the other guests who also wanted to view the artwork.

Finally, you came upon the bar and decided to rest your tired feet at the far corner, hidden from the rest of the world. Sighing, you slipped your feet off your stilettos and quietly watched as the guests around you - mostly couples - happily chatting away as they enjoyed the beauty of the art around them and the wonderful music that filled the air. You knew somewhere in the crowd, your date was fawning over his lady love, probably getting in the way of her filming your professor. 

Tch. 

You knew he liked her - he always told you he did. And why wouldn't he? MC was pretty, seemingly sweet, and dainty - the kind of girl any guy would like to protect. And you. You were the opposite. You lived for your work, were 'one of the boys', and didn't need anyone to protect you - that's just how you were - and now you started to realize that maybe guys don't exactly like that. At least not Shaw. 

Wait, what were you thinking? You scolded yourself as you shook your head. Why were you even thinking of what he liked when you don't even like him to start with. Or did you? 

"Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me?" You groaned when a cold bottle of beer and a frozen glass was placed in front of you. 

"I was gonna ask you that myself." 

You straightened up in your seat and shot a look at the guy seated beside you. Dressed in a nice grey suit, he smiled as he raised his beer bottle in front of you. 

"You look like you needed a drink. I hope the beer is okay. They don't have fruit beer or soda," he said calmly, his amber-colored eyes never leaving yours. 

"Y-yeah. Beer is perfect," you replied while pouring the amber liquid into the glass. "Thanks," you muttered before raising the glass to your lips to gulp down some liquid courage. 

"I saw you with Shaw earlier -"

The name on his lips drove you to a coughing fit, as you choked on your drink. "Sorry, " you mumbled in between coughs. 

"No, I'm sorry," the brown-haired guy said, as he cautiously and politely patted your back. "I didn't mean to bring that up. I was just curious."

"It's fine," you replied when you finally regained your composure. "Yes, we're just classmates in Grad school who decided to check this exhibit out for the heck of it."

"Classmates, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what we are," you said, taking a sip off your glass. "Grad school classmates."

"Are you telling me or telling yourself?"

You looked up and saw him smiling. There was something about Dreamy McHandsome who was seated beside you that felt so familiar yet different at the same time, but you couldn't point a finger at what it was exactly. 

"We're classmates, and we're working on our thesis together. But we're not friends - far from it even. We hate each other's guts."

"Can't blame you for doing so," he shrugged as he drank his beer. 

"Yeah. He dragged me here so he can get with someone he's been crushing on for so long," you rambled on, frowning. 

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"The Miracle Finder Producer. You know, the pretty girl in a blue top and white skirt. He's been going on and on about her for weeks…"

"You mean my girlfriend?" 

His girlfriend. You choked on your drink once again. "Y-y-your girlfriend? You mean to say…" You gasped. Has the beer made you stupid? You've barely drunk half of it, you thought as you fought to regain your dignity. This was Shaw's brother you were talking to - and boy, we're they blessed with good genes…

… And the same social awkwardness, you noticed, judging by how he kept his hand at your back, but not exactly touching it, as if trying to assess if he had to pat you or not. 

When you finally calmed down, he cleared his throat and gave you a small smile. "Don't worry. She talks to me about their conversations. I know what that guy is playing at, and I most definitely know he's not after my girl," he said, his voice broke no room for doubt. "My name is Gavin..."

"Yeah, I know…"

"You - what?"

"Oh," you said, tapping on your glass nervously. "Shaw kinda mentioned it in passing before."

"I see."

"So, what were you saying earlier about Shaw?"

"Oh. From what my girlfriend tells me, he's got his sights set on…"

"Ahem," you heard someone say loud enough for you and Gavin to turn your heads around. And there, standing behind you, was an angry-looking Shaw. You sat up, your gaze shifting between the two brothers as the air started to thicken with tension. "I talk to someone for a minute and the next thing I knew, my date walks out on me and right into the one person I'd hate for her to meet."

"Well, if you were just honest with her as with a lot of other things in your life, maybe she wouldn't have left your side earlier," Gavin retorted flippantly. "Is she finally done with filming?"

Shaw simply grunted in reply as he watched his older brother finish his bottle of beer and stand. "Well, Miss, there's a lot I've heard about you. Seems somebody couldn't stop talking about you, but I'll leave it at that." 

With a wink and a mischievous smile upon his face, the brown-haired guy sauntered off to look for his better half, as you and Shaw watched in awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat and glanced at you. "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, shakily. 

"So, about what that jerk said -"

"Yes?" You asked, feeling your heart hammer against your chest by the second.

"Whatever he said is not true," he said dismissively, as he took his coat off and draped it over your shoulders. "I told you before, I don't find you the least bit attractive."

You felt tears starting to sting your eyes, as he continued with his harsh commentary. "You're tough, highly opinionated, and you always want to come out on top. I don't find those attractive at all," he said. "I prefer a damsel in distress. I want someone clingy… someone, needy."

"I know that -"

"Oh do you?" He teased, his amber eyes twinkling. "You seem to know a lot about me."

"We've been working together for months now," you said. "Of course, I'd know more about you."

"I see," he said, as he took a step closer to you and touched your cheek, rubbing the stray tear that had managed to slip down the side of your face. "So, you must know I'm also a good liar. After all, I've kept all these feelings to myself for quite some time."

He snickered when he saw your frown deepen and he bent down just as he had done so earlier, to whisper. "I made you think I liked someone else when in fact," his low voice made you shiver. "I've always eyes for you."

The End.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Protector - Bucky x Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend Bucky Barnes has his own ways of supporting your musical career.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Bullying

Words: ~4000

A/N: I think this is a good opportunity to tell you that you can always reach out to me, no matter what. If you guys are experiencing any kind of emotional distress, don't hesitate to text me 24/7!

You are not alone. You are loved. You deserve better!💌

Some mornings, Bucky would feel like a bag of bricks when waking up. Most of the time he’d just laugh it off as being “a hundred year old man, after all.”

And today was no different.

He groaned when he felt the phantom pain kicking in, involuntarily waking him up before the sun even rose. The metal plates in his arm turned as he cracked his bones, trying to get his body to listen to him.

After getting the sand out of his eyes, your boyfriend finally turned around - just to be disappointed when he found your bedplace to be empty again.

He knew exactly where you are.

Well, morning cuddles with you were almost impossible due to the strict training schedule you put upon yourself.

It was kinda sad, since you were the only reason Bucky was able to sleep soundly again, without being interrupted by hellish nightmares. Yet you were already up way earlier than a goddamn elite soldier.

To not disturb you, Bucky would stagger to the bathroom first, taking a shower as he heared the��“Moonlight Sonata” echoing through the whole house.

When you were playing, your boyfriend couldn’t help but to at least hum the melody, no matter when. His silent voice turned into a loud whistling as he enjoyed a hot shower, before striding to the kitchen.

His enhanced hearing allowed him to experience music in a whole new way - and goddamn it, the way you produced pure art on this piano was unlike anything he had ever heared.

The pace, the rythm, the fact that you never missed one note let alone emphasize the right tones...

Everything was simply perfection.

Especially the way you gave old classics your own twist. It was admirable to have such talent, he thought.

He used his super-soldier powers to sneak up to you playing way too often, as he did today, leaning to the doorframe which led to the living toom, munching on a cereal bar to reveal himself.

For some reason, you didn’t like him or anyone else to listen to you play, humbly stating that you were still way too bad to have any audience.

And that was the one thing bothering him as he scanned your face: You didn’t seem like you were enjoying it at all.

Quite the opposite, actually. The only thing he could see was a tired, strained musician.

Well, artists were always stressed. They were special persons, after all. It was hard to understand them fully, as they often didn’t even understand themselves.

“Music is the art of self-discovery” you once told him, almost tempting him to learn an instrument himself.

And your music was the most soothing thing that ever graced his ear, so shouldn’t you be enjoying it, too?

Today, you didn’t even seem to notice him, that was just how invested you were in your work.

Well, it wasn’t simply a hobby. It was your dream. And he knew just how hard you were working on it ever since you were a child.

Bucky was eager to support you in any way possible, giving you what you needed and trying not to be all too clingy. You needed space sometimes, no matter how much it pained him.

“Good morning, babycakes” he hummed loving, interrupting your trance. James would put his arms around you from behind, quickly pressing a kiss in your hair. “Up so early again, I see?”

Eventually your stony expression would falter and you gave in to his touch, leaning against his bulky chest as you blinked rapidly between still narrowed eyes. A weak “Hi...” was all that escaped your lips.

“You look tired. How long have you been up?”

Things would only get worse the closer that certain date would come “I’m still not good enough…” you stammered, elbows leaning on the tiles and releasing a horrifying sound. “Far away from acceptable, even…”

You already snapped out of it, forgetting your exhaustion and getting ready to start again - but Bucky would softly grab your wrist, putting his other hand under your chin so you would finally look at him.

“Doll, you know that’s not right. You’re amazing! Everyone says so!”

��What would they know.” You instantly regretting that sentence. He meant your friends, after all. “I-I mean, it’s nice and all, but they aren’t professionals. And Thomas says-”

“Shh.” Bucky began to rub small circles on your back until he got to your stiffened neck, carefully massaging it. Your voice sounded so full of self-hatred that even Bucky had to swallow.

As much as he knew you valued his opinion, Thomas was top notch. Anyone elses opinion meant very little in comparison with the best teacher in New York.

He had trained many of the biggest pianists in the world, and you dreamed so very dearly to become one of them.

Bucky was good at reading people, and he had that feeling from the very beginning: That your teacher was an asshole.

But every time he tried to find out more about your lessons with him you’d completely block his attempts or defend that guy.

“He’s my only chance to become better than myself. And he even planned that gig for me. I owe him!”

James bit his cheek until he felt blood coming- Fuck it. He knew just how important that concert was for you and your career. And he’d be damned if he ruined it by being overly protective.

But it was putting a stroll on his heart, too, seeing you that way even though he thought you to deserve nothing but happiness.  

Since you helped him to accept his past and love himself again - through loving and helping others. Through loving you, to be precize.

And now he was here, helpless at how to assist you in that time of need.

Right now, he didn’t feel like a hero in the slightest.

So he simply shuffled down on the seat next to you, clumsily starting to play a part of “For Elise”.

That whole time through, you wouldn’t move a muscle as you stared at his big hands with an open mouth. It wasn’t really what one would call well played, but it was a surprise nonetheless.

“Where-”

“My parents” he already started explaining, “They were never quite fond of me becoming a soldier. Considering everything that happened, I should’ve probably listened to them.”

He chuckled, shyly and dumbly as he’d always do when he made a joke that dark, and your glare changed into a compassionate one. Buck didn’t like you pitying him, but he knew it was to no avail.

You’d always care about him. And that wasn’t so bad, after all. He was a lucky man.

“Well, they wanted me to learn something else than the way of hurting and killing people. Bringing them joy, you know? Be sophisticated.” He shrugged, then kept on as his fingers ghosted over the tiles, then wandering to your knee to squeeze the flesh of your leg.

“It was great to impress woman, hehe.” You weren’t really fond when he was talking about his time as a womanizer, yet you loved seeing him reminisce in easier, happier times. “I may be a lunk, but I have one or two asses up my sleeve. I never liked playing at all, but now...It’s the only way to feel connected to my parents. My heritage.”

“Darling...” you sniffled, weakly snuggling up to his chest just to feel his fastened heartbeat. When he put his strong arms around you, it was like all the problems of the world couldn’t affect you any more.

You felt safe.

“Never doubt yourself again” he demanded, silently whispering into your ear after an eternity of enjoying this closeness in complete silence.

With him, you were finally able to relax. And it didn’t take you long until your body gave in, falling asleep as he gently stroked your head and covered you in the most tender kisses.

“I love you, Y/N. And I’m very proud of you.”

...

It was already noon when you awokened, much to your surprise in your bed. Seems like Bucky carried you there.

For a moment, a wide smile stretched over your face as you took in his scent that was present in the sheets.

“Fuck!”

Bucky knew what was going on before you even got downstairs.

“I’m way too late!” you yelled at him, running around in only your underwear, carrying a huge pile of clothes and make-up to the bathroom to get ready. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

Your boyfriend did nothing but chuckle at how easily irritated you got when you were stressed, then facing the stove again when you locked the bathroom door behind you.

Loud music jammed out of the radio, and before the song was even finished, you took a seat, being all ready. “You cooked?”

“Everything for you, doll.” When he turned around, Buck was wearing a huge ‘Kiss the Cook’-apron, making you almost choke at your drink out of laughter. “Well, if that isn’t a cliché.”

“A man from the 40′s doing the housework is a cliché?” he mocked as he placed your favourite food on the table, gifting you the most heartwarming smile. “Well, I want to help you wherever I can.”

“You’re simply the best!” you told him between munching quickly, “Sorry that we don’t get to spend much time together, lately.”

“I enjoy every minute, doll. Even if I just listen to you play. As long as I fall asleep next to you, I couldn’t be happier.”

God, he was so sweet all the time. It only caused your guilt to skyrocket.

As soon as the concert was over, you would gift him that holiday on Tenerife as you had planned to! Just the two of you, all alone on a romantic trip, sipping drinks at the beach...

You really needed a time off.

“Lost in thoughts again?”

“No. But I need to go now.” You were already standing up after having devoured that lovely prepared meal in record time, putting on your boots and jacket.

“Doll, you know I can simply drop you out the-”

“Never!” you blurted out, then quite embarassed getting a hold of yourself. “I-I mean it’s fine. You have other things to do, right?”

Of course he had not. It wasn’t even a fifteen minute ride from here. But he didn’t want to pry, so he just sat there with crossed arms, sighing deeply.

“Fine. But I get my goodbye-kiss, right?”

Racing towards him to peck his whole face, hoping it would suffer for the time you were away, you murmured “Love you” and rushed out of the door as quickly as always, leaving the love of your life alone with all of his worries.

Little did you know that the master spy had a plan of his own:

Today, he was gonna find out.

...

“Can’t you do anything fucking right?!”

You flinched at Thomas words, but kept on playing the best you knew how. He dramatically threw his hands into the air, cussing under his breath.

It hadn’t even be three minutes until his first outburst, even though you only played “Flight of the Bumblebee” as a warmup - and in a pace that would even make the composer envious.

But after so many months training, you were already quite used to his ragefits.

“You play this as slow as a snail, for fucks sake!” he added, only making you more nervous with every step he came closer.

“Did I allow you to stop?!” your teacher yelled, slamming his balled fists onto the wooden piano. “Can’t you even do the basics? God…”

You quickly rubbed your face and started all over, wondering why he took you as apprentice in the first place.

If you were that bad, why would he make you play in front of a great audience this Saturday?

But well, you were just too kind-hearted and naive. You thought this was just his method of motivating his pupils to become even better.

“You look terrible. Aren’t you embarassed?! How can I present you to my colleagues if you look like a homeless? Shit!”

He was kinda right. You took the firs things in your wardrobe so you wouldn’t get too late. Thomas hated it, and you were afraid of the punishment And then the messy hair and dark rings under your eyes...

“I’m just a litte sleep deprived” you explained calmly. “I trained the whole night, so-”

Thomas bursting laughter interrupted you, and he’d even wipe a tear out of his face while doing so. “You trained yourself?”

His voice became more grim now, and he got so close that the stinging smell of his aftershave tainted your nose. “Do you think you can train on your own? You’re nothing without me! Get that in your head!”

Your eyes widened with fear when he opened your bag, puling out some scribbles. “And this! Don’t think I didn’t notice you were composing on your own.”

“Plea-” The words dissolved into nothing but a whimper when you saw Thomas ripping apart all of your attempts, everything you��ve worked so proudly on. And he didn’t even read or listened to them...

“You think you’re some hot shit, huh? I told you to stick to the fucking notes! No one wants to hear your version to old classics of the greatest!”

Pressing himself against the piano, he said “I heard you even have a boyfriend. What poor being has to spend his time with you? Or is he a freak, like you?”

Right now, the image of Bucky in your head was the only thing that kept you sane.

“Yeah” you sniffled, even managing to crack a smile when you remembered how uplifting and supportive he was all this time. “He is a freak. The best kind of.”

A loud noise snapped you out of it.

It took you a while to realize what had just happened, but the burning sensation on your cheek, heat rising in the skin told the whole story.

Thomas had slapped you.

“Get that stupid grin out of your face!” He wouldn’t even apologize. It never stopped, wouldn’t it? And you were too weak to fight back, the only thing you were able to do was holding back the tears who were already collecting in the rim of your eyes. “We’re not in kindergarden! Get yourself together!”

"Stop. It. Right. Now…” a menacing but familiar voice called out from the back.

Oh no.

It was Bucky.

“Babe!” you blurted out, running right to him as he was nearing your teacher with firm steps. “H-how much di-did you hear?”

“Enough” he muttered under heavy breaths, shooting an icy glare to Thomas who was still ranting on about how your boyfriend got in here and starting to insult both of you.

His mechanical arm was well hidden under his fabric, yet even if he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, you could feel how he air around him had changed.

This was dangerous.

You needed to de-escaalate this situation - otherwise there’d be a disaster.

“Please.”

Your voice was more than enough to calm him down. But he didn’t understand why you would still protect this cheap excuse of a man.

His eyes wandered down to your shivering from, grabbing on his shirt and whispering “You promised me...Never again.”

Bucky gnarled his teeth, still clenching and unclenching his fists, thinking about how he wouldn’t even need weapons to give that guy what he deserved.

But he couldn’t do this to you.

If that was your wish, it’d be his command.

“Let’s just go home, okay?” You cupped his cheeks in your hands, softly brushing his lips with yours to make him calm down. “Don’t become a monster again. Not because of me. I couldn’t live with that.”

Those words really hit his heart like a bullet never could.

“Allright.” His voice was still dark and gruffed, almost as if he was about to cry at any moment.

He gulped harshly, to remove the lump out of his throat, squeezing your small hand way too hard when the two of you turned around and left - but it was alright. You could bear with it.

Thomas had no idea what kind of wrath he just put on himself, neither what had happened just now. Yet it was in his nature to say more than good for him, so he kept on pouring oil in the fire.

“Yeah, and you never need to come back here, you maniacs!”

One last time, without you noticing because you were too busy crying, Bucky turned around to look at your teacher. And the look in his eyes told him everything he needed to know, pulling shivers down his spine.

This wasn’t over. The last word had not yet been spoken.

…

After the two of you made your way home, you would finally tell him the whole story: About the bullying, the abuse - the violence.

And Bucky felt like the worst partner that had ever been.

How could he not have noticed?

No - it was way worse than that.

He did notice. He knew the entire time, yet he turned a blind eye to the situation at hand.

Why hasn’t he tried to find out?

It was so obvious now. All of your reactions, the excuses. The bruises on your body, telling him you had tripped.

How you cried yourself to sleep sometimes, telling him it was just the stress.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. So sorry...” Tears pattered down his face as he watched your sleeping form, covering you in the blanket.

One last time, he would brush your cheek, placing a kiss on the very same spot before he disappeared.

Because he had a mission that couldn’t be delayed.

It wasn’t all that late, but already dark, due to it being winter. And Bucky couldn’t help to remember how often you ‘forgot your jacket’ after your lessons, walking home in the freezing cold. Was that another one of his punishments?

That man would have to suffer. He’d finish him, take him down for good, he-

No. He promised you: No crimes, no murder - and as tempting as it was, no torture either.

The way to Thomas music school wasn’t that long, but Bucky sure took his time, kicking every stone while pondering just how he could make that bastard pay for what he had done to you.

Not once it came to his mind that you could’ve cheated on him, yet he always wondered why you wouldn’t take him to those piano lessons.

Now he knew, and it was hard to bear with it.

Because you were experiencing horrifying things this whole time, while he was enjoying himself in the safety of your shared home.

That was inexcusable, for him as weil as for Thomas.

Meanwhile, Thomas was the last one in the building, having carefully put together the ripped pages.

“Incredible. Magnificent!” he was talking to himself, playing some of the notes you had written. “One masterpiece after another. If I lable them as my own, that’ll be my second breakthrough after so many years of not producing anything!”

Bucky huffed. It was obvious that your teacher was just envious of you already being more talented than he ever was.

“That stupid bitch is so easily to control. I’ll-”

At that very second, Thomas felt a blade being pressed to his neck, already cutting the first, thin skin layer. He was standing in front of a giant mirror, making him able to see his own blood slowly dripping down his skin.

He began to hyperventilate, trying to grab the arms of his attacker - but to no avail.

While Thomas was struggling, James could see himself in the mirror. It was the first time in years hat he was fully geared, even wearing his muffle again.

You were right. The person in the mirror wasn’t him.

Yet it was a part of him. His dark side.

And he could control it. To do the right thing.

“Move, and I will kill you. Make a sound, and I will kill you. Try to fight or fool me, and I will kill you.”

Oh, he could basically see how that man was almost pissing himself, and he had to keep himself from laughing about it. Yet he kept a straight face, seeing how Thomas listened to every of his commands.

All of a sudden, it was all quiet. Thomas wouldn’t even flinch or cry.

“If you understood what I just said, slowly close your eyes.” And so he did, sweating heavily.

“Not all that mighty now, huh? Do you know who I am? If you do, open them again.”

Thomas was a piece of shit, obviously, but he wasn’t stupid. So he wouldn’t do anything.

“Good” Bucky grumbled, balling a fist in the mans hair. “Since you have no idea just what I am. Now listen: You’ve never seen me. You won’t go to he police. You won’t talk about this at all. No one can help you.”

“Wh-what do you-” Smack. One of his teeth flew as soon as Buckys metal backhand hit his cheek.

“I didn’t allow you to speak, pig. I wanted to wipe that obnoxious grin out of your face, you trash. Or should I cut off your hands, so you can never play again?”

His blade was gliding over Thomas body, leaving marks everywhere. “I should make you as ugly on the outside as you are inside...” He wanted to scream in pure terror, but his survival instinct kicked in, telling him to stay silent. Yet his heart was racing so loudly against his chest that it could be heared from afar.

“Anyway: I promise you, I’ll find you anywhere on this world and make you wish you were dead. Not even god will help you, then.”

Bucky threw the whimpering man to the ground, slamming his combat boot just an inch away from his face, leaving that man a shaking and screaming mess.

“Never show your filthy face to us ever again.”

...

It was the night of your concert, and you were as nervous as never before.

Ever since that day, Thomas had disappeared into nothingness, but Bucky assured you that he was alive. You just knew he had something to do with this - but you trusted him.

He was your protector, after all. And you were already feeling guilty enough for not telling him. It took you forever to convince him that he had done nothing wrong.

Just your luck that the descendants of Buckys old piano teacher were still leading that school, welcoming you with open arms.

Finally, your passion for music was enjoyable again. Life was so much easier after you had opened up to Bucky. Something like that would never happen ever again.

“I am so proud of you, Y/N.”

His words gave you strength and confidence. And when the curtain dropped, you felt as if you had been born ready.

All of your friends were sitting in the first row, with Bucky already clapping before you even started, a giant pack of roses on his lap to throw in your direction later.

He was simply baffled by the way you looked in that formal wear, beautiful as always. But the most important thing: You finally looked happy again. Relaxed, content with yourself and everything else.

Sitting down in front of that magnificent piano, you felt everyones glares being stuck on your every move. Calmly sipping on a glass of water, you cleared your throat.

“The following song I composed myself.”

Everyone was curious about what song you would’ve chosen for your great debut.

“I wrote it for the most important person in my life.” At that moment, Buckys and your eyes met, and you felt yourself melting at his passion.

That was for him. For everything you’ve gone through and experienced together.

And everything that would happen in the future you shared.

“I love you.”

As you began to play your song, fingers dancing over the tiles, you tried to pour all the love you felt for this man into your music, honoring his very existence and the fact that he came into your life.

He was your muse.

And you meant everything to him.

_______

Taglist:

@bepo-is-sorry @fuckthatfeeling@anythingandeverythingmarvel@bucky-fanfiction @blondekel77@kaneki-fuentes @vxidnik@antboyandbumbblebee @lokis-queen05@you-like-this-chain@hiei1300 @lilypalmer1987 @andiyholly@elevenismysweetie@uwu-sebastianstan @seasidespecter @you-like-this-chain @your-pixels-are-showing @wildefire @elfprincess81@escapetheshackles@jellyfishflowers @look-to-the-stars-and-wish@bucky-to-my-barnes @tarithenurse @chennyetomlinson @kenzie-cold-greenkale@jaylarkson @doa1518 @wtfholland @thisgirllikeme@awesome-fangirl-334 @pvnk-bivch @chipilerendi @mandei355@buckybonky@commissioner23 @remember-padfood @chibiyanai@lost-and-wandering-alone @outcastedghost @cautrida@inumorph@meyoko10 @stargurl16 @trashyemonerd@slutforbuckybarnes@tinytravisty @unknownuserhasjoined@otaku-tater@hiddlestoner3059 @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981@lust-for-pan@fruityflies @iamburdened @death-beetles@shaunamart @fire-in-her-veinz @red-writer13 @libbymouse@lokiscure @i-am-always-famished @alexa4444 @4-a-m @indica-witch @lou-makes-me-strong @phasma-trash @hiddlestoner3059@rocknroll-is-thewaytogo @purpstraw @lovelyangelofasgard@elevenismysweetie@orighami @trashkidsblog @the-resident-demon @littlemartiangurl@thelowkeylokifanblog @za24ever@trubluepensfan @chibiyanai@dsakita @lady-loki-ren@caticorndancingonpainbows @loving-life-my-way@crappyimagines @a-kiddo-with-a-doggo @elwyn7@celestiacq@amor67figment-love @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981@sweetpeaismylifenow @stanmarvelcu@thewordsinthesky@larryopium @hiei1300 @janepetersonxxx​ @untoldshortsofthefandoms​ @lokis-queen05​ @saxgirl21​ @limedane21​ @sparkling-gayyy​ @lokiscure​ @getdowntothatfunkysound​ @emyhonny​ @randomfandompenguin​ @marvel-madness @dyanlzbb @inumorph @gian-giannina@chipilerendi @pseudonymfox @neptinite-writings @cautrida@kaneki-fuentes @exhaustedcommonsense @theicecreamhero@killerbumblebee @tarithenurse @sgtbucharest @lokis-helmet@wonderlandteaparty @sweetpeaismylifenow @bionicbishop @red-writer13 @bloodiedskirtts @boohooiamthefool @jackstrenchcoat@chipilerendi @sleeplessnight-pointlessfights @welcomingpayne@crimefightingspiderguy @longlivethereaper @a-wanna-be-emo@lokidoki-e @holy-loki @slutforbuckybarnes @mandei355​ @morefics2read​ @otaku-tater​ @khatrinaarts​ @grincheveryday​ @jessiejunebug​ @youtxbemusic​

If you want to get on the taglist (or deleted from lmao) feel free to ask! ♡

Feedback is always appreciated!

[keatondj]

My Personal Ranking of Lady Gaga’s Discography

The time has come. The day has arrived. I am so excited to finally do this list!

Lady Gaga is one of the most influential, innovative, and incomparable artists of this generation. I think her to be one of the greatest musical artists to ever live. Her impact on pop culture as a whole cannot be ignored, and her talents as a singer/songwriter is limitless.

I remember first seeing her perform on So You Think You Can Dance with that iconic bleach-blonde, sharp-edged wig and those LED glasses with text on them and being absolutely mesmerized. Ever since that performance, I had been a casual fan, but absolute admirer of her music. Around 2016-2017 is when I decided to listen to pop music more regularly, and the first artist I knew I had to add to my library was Gaga. It was then that I listened to all her albums and officially became a Little Monster.

Each one of her albums is so incredibly unique, yet so undeniably Gaga at the same time. With the recent release of her sixth studio album Chromatica, I can now finally give my ranking of her incredible discography. I will only be covering her solo studio albums, so A Star Is Born and Cheek to Cheek will not be included.

A new thing I want to add to each album review is add a superlative that the album possesses to showcase its respective strength in the discography as a whole.

Reminder: this is my opinion. Everyone has a different ear, and certain sounds and songs resonate with different people. I’m just sharing my personal thoughts and experiences with these albums.

6. Joanne (2016)

This feels like pure blasphemy to put this album as the lowest ranking on the list when it is objectively one of Gaga’s strongest and more mature albums. It showcases her versatility as a songwriter to the nth degree, and she is the most vocally ferocious on this album. 

It is incredibly top-heavy for my taste (the first seven songs are absolutely sublime to listen to). It’s unfortunate, but from “Sinner’s Prayer” to the end, the album becomes borderline unlistenable to me. Gaga’s vocal delivery on the last few songs seems over-dramatic and unauthentic, and also technically not up to par with what I know she can do.

I think the big concern about Joanne is the feigned nature that I think I’m listening to. Gaga has always been theatrical and performative with her music, but with Joanne, I don’t seem to buy it as well. It suits a more dance-pop and electronic feel that we know and love her for. Maybe that’s the gay sensibilities in me talking; that’s just how I feel. 

She was far more successful with the A Star Is Born soundtrack in terms of writing for this genre. I applaud Gaga for going out on a limb with this massive genre shift, and it worked well, for the most part.

Favorite Songs: “Diamond Heart” through “Million Reasons”

Superlatives: Most Stripped, Most Diverse

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

5. Artpop (2013)

I have very conflicted feelings about this album. At its best, it is exploratory, imaginative, and audacious. At its worst, it’s ostentatious, inaccessible, and clumsy.

It undoubtedly has some of Gaga’s sickest and coolest production to date; she really amped up the electronic feel for this album. She also experimented with several contemporary genres (hip hop, R&B, dubstep, trap, rock, etc.) quite skillfully on various tracks like “MANiCURE”, “Do What U Want”, and “Swine”. However, the production does go overboard sometimes, creating a heavy and clunky sound (”Swine” often becomes very harsh to listen to).

Lyrically, I find that it can be very distant, boastful, and vain. Certain songs like “Donatella” and “Fashion” are very specific to Gaga’s lifestyle and obvious love for high fashion, but it is not relatable to the common listener (or at least not me). The extravagant nature of the songs, and even the album as a whole, is hard to really dive into.

I still love this album a lot, but more like as a guilty pleasure. I see many people regard it to be her underrated masterpiece, and I understand where they are coming from, but find them to be misguided. It’s a strong piece of work, but Gaga just shot for the stars and went a little too far for her own good.

Favorite Songs: “Aura”, “Venus”, “G.U.Y.”, “Sexxx Dreams”, “ARTPOP”, “Applause”

Superlatives: Most Experimental, Most Bold

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

4. The Fame (2008) 

It truly pains me to put this album so low because it’s the record that introduced us to the brilliance of her work and it features some of my absolute favorite Gaga tracks on it (”Poker Face” still hits hard even today). I cannot let the nostalgic nature of the album cloud my judgment, though. This only goes to show how incredibly strong her discography is; we are really splitting hairs at this point.

What Gaga did for the music industry back in 2008 is insurmountable and outrageous. She brought back the four-to-the-floor sound to the radio in a campy and edgy way that we had never heard before. She will most likely be the biggest juggernaut of an artist I will ever see in my lifetime; she will define my era of music as a child. This is the era I mainly associate with the iconic nature of Lady Gaga. 

It’s comparatively tame to her other work since she was still testing the waters and figuring herself out as an artist. But by 2008′s standards, terms like “disco stick” and “bluffin with my muffin” were totally out-there and controversial. Songs like “Paparazzi”, “LoveGame” and “Poker Face” pushed the envelope and influenced many artists for years to come.

Besides the lead singles, many of the songs on the album are not too remarkable and probably the closest thing you can classify as “filler tracks”. They’re inconsequential, generic, and uneventful compared to the powerhouse singles. 

While these songs also deal with fame and the opulent lifestyle like the ones I mentioned for ARTPOP, they were written from the perspective of someone who was not yet famous. The whole idea of the album is playing with the universal dream and fantasy of what fame is like. In turn, that make the album so much more relatable, universal, and engaging.

This is one of the greatest debut albums ever produced, and it paved the way for Gaga’s career and artistry. I’m happy to say that it basically gets close to pop perfection from here on out.

Favorite Songs: “Just Dance”, “LoveGame”, “Poker Face”, “The Fame”, “Starstruck”

Superlatives: Most Revolutionary, Most Iconic

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

3. Chromatica (2020)

This is the first album of her work that I was eagerly waiting for as a proper Little Monster. I was absolutely ecstatic when the first information about the album was coming out, including the singles. It was the album that I had been waiting for for a long time... and it absolutely delivered. It was everything I needed it to be and more.

Vocally, it is Gaga’s most impressive work to date. Her voice has matured so beautifully over the past 12 years, and she has learned to use her upper register in the D5-F5 range more healthily, powerfully, and consistently than before. There were several moments throughout the album that I was gobsmacked at the force of her voice. 

I will admit it is the most “tame” of all her works in terms of the outlandish and campy nature with which we know her for (just ahead of The Fame). Instead, she writes with more sophistication, finesse, and honesty that has come with more experience. On first listen, it seems rudimentary, but as time goes on, the inner complexities of the album start to reveal themselves.

For being a straight-up dance album through and through, it is brutally honest and personal. There is real pain and heartache that is displayed through much of the album, and Gaga is using music as a means of catharsis to release the pain. It makes the album incredibly relatable and accessible, allowing the listeners to dance through the pain. Released in a time when the whole world was faced with such uncertainty and worry, this album is definitely a great outlet for those looking for comfort.

Being as huge of a fan of artists like Kylie Minogue, Robyn, and Carly Rae Jepsen as I am, this album truly delivers on the dance/dance-pop department. The production is impeccably done and spearheaded by Bloodpop (who I hope is Gaga’s main collaborator from now on). Even the Chromatica interludes are stunningly gorgeous and inform how the next act of the album will go. In my opinion, Act I of the album (Tracks 1-6) is absolute pop perfection; I wouldn’t change a single thing about any of those tracks.

The album may run a little short, and it’s tamer compared to her earlier works, but it is still brilliant nonetheless. With a collaboration with the reigning Princess of Pop, Ariana Grande, you know it has to be amazing. This will absolutely go down as one of the best dance albums ever written. This is Gaga’s return to form, and we have been so blessed.

(Ok, but Chromatica II into 911 is THE serve. She did THAT. Do you know what she did? THAT.)

Favorite Songs: “Chromatica I”, “Alice”, “Stupid Love”, “Rain On Me”, “Free Woman”, “Fun Tonight”, “911″, “1000 Doves”

Superlatives: Most Cohesive, Most Personal

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

2. The Fame Monster (2009)

I’m gonna be perfectly honest here: it took the longest time for this album to grow on me. Even longer than ARTPOP. But with time, I was finally able to see just how sleek, crisp, and perfect of an album this really is.

This was Gaga’s expansion to The Fame that she wrote based on her experiences with touring, fame, and the toll that can take on someone. It is a concept album with each song being based on a personal fear of Gaga’s that I am sure were all amplified with the high intensity of being a pop star. 

You can immediately tell the difference between this album and its predecessor. It’s darker, it’s sexier, and it’s candid. Where The Fame was written from a place of imagination and wonder, this was written from a place of truth and fear. The amount of growth that came from just a year on the road is staggering.

It is undeniably her most polished album in terms of production and composition. It took the ambition of sonic perfection that The Fame was going for, and amped it up even more. Each song has its own feel to it, but they all work together so well as an album.

There is one song that makes this album imperfect and keeps it from my number one spot, and the song will make tons of Little Monsters angry: “Speechless”. I just don’t like it, no matter how many times I’ve tried to get into it. It’s written in C major (my least favorite key), it’s overly sentimental and hokey, and it disrupts the flow of pop that keeps the album together. I know it’s an incredibly personal song for her, but it is just mediocre to me; I skip it everytime.

Other than that, I think the album is absolute perfection. “Bad Romance” is one of the most iconic and influential songs in her songbook and even the Great American Songbook, and the non-singles are just as powerful, if not better. This album is the standard to which Gaga is held, and any album in the future will struggle to hold its own against this amazing work. Except one. ;) 

Favorite Songs: “Bad Romance”, “Alejandro”, “Monster”, “Dance In The Dark”, “So Happy I Could Die”

Superlatives: Most Polished, Most Dark

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

1. Born This Way (2011)

Is there really any other option?

It’s the album that debuted at #1 on the Billboard charts. It’s the album with 5 of her most iconic and successful singles (the title song, “Judas”, “The Edge of Glory”, “You And I”, and “Marry The Night”). It’s the album that was unabashedly open about its advocacy, and gave voice to anyone who ever felt cheated by life or counted out. Of course it has to be in the number one spot.

This is Gaga at her freest, her most courageous, her most daring. She went all out in this record, and the results are absolutely remarkable. I am a massive fan of the 80′s in all aspects (especially the music), so the influence of 80′s rock and pop on the album satisfy my sensibilities swimmingly. The ingenuity and artistry which she demonstrates in the composition of this album is just mind-blowing.

“The Edge of Glory” is her best song. Hands down. No question. Bottom line, cut, and dry. The first time I heard it back in 2011 was so impactful to me. I learned just what an impressive singer Gaga is, and how powerful of a songwriter she is. It is one of the most euphoric, devil-may-care, and joyous songs ever written, and one of the most important songs in my life. The fact that it perfectly closes out the thrilling roller-coaster ride of Born This Way is the cherry on top.

It might be a little messier and imprecise than The Fame Monster, but it’s lows never get as low, and its highs are astronomically high. The arc that this album takes me through is astonishing. It is an album about celebrating life, loving others and yourself, and throwing caution to the wind. Who can’t relate to that and find comfort in it?

I could go on for ages about this album, but I’ll keep it simple. This is Gaga’s magnum opus, and one of the best pop records ever created. I am so unbelievably grateful for what it has done for my life, and it will forever be one of my favorite albums ever written. It taught me that I am unequivocally born this way, and that I should strive to be on the edge of glory.

Favorite Songs: The whole tracklist   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Superlatives: Most Daring, Most Adventurous, Most Creative

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

I have been wanting to do this list for so long, and I am thrilled to finally get my thoughts out in a post. Lady Gaga is one of the best and most iconic musicals artists ever, and I am eagerly hopeful for the future of her music. I recently uploaded a reaction video of me listening to Chromatica for the first time if you’d like to watch. I am an absolute dork in it, and completely got my life on the first listen. I’ll include it as a separate post on my page as well. Enjoy!

https://youtu.be/zdEH2RRc3DE

[weltonreject]

our october traditions.

|| for @zombiebowlcut​ and their genius mind. boris’s first american halloween. || ao3

i.

Theo heaved two very large, but equally misshapen pumpkins onto the kitchen counter. Boris was staring at the newspaper-- upside, mind you-- and didn’t even notice Theo until he nearly placed a large gourd in his lap.

The newspaper folded down almost perfectly. “What is that?”

“It’s a pumpkin, shithead. We’re going to start decorating for Halloween.”

“What?” Boris furrowed his eyebrows and acted like Theo was speaking in tongues. They hadn’t even started drinking that afternoon; Theo made sure of it. It seemed a bit dangerous if either of them were under any sort of influence. “Decorating?”

“Yeah! I’m going to teach you how to carve a pumpkin.”

“...What?”

Theo ignored Boris’s confusion. “Okay so first, lay out the newspaper on the table while I get a knife or something.” Theo pointed loosely with his hand as he started pulling out kitchen drawers. He pretended he didn’t see the strangely filled sandwich bags and looked only for any useful utensils.

“Knife? To cut?” Boris said, stepping down from the chair. He dug in his pocket before snapping a switch blade out of his dark jeans. If Theo wasn’t looking, he would have mistaken it for his snapping wrist.

“Jesus, Boris. Since when in the fuck did you start carrying that around?”

“Um, got knife... from someone sleeping in my house.” Boris shrugged, turning it in his hand. It was slightly comforting to see the handle sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the palm of Boris’s hand. Of all the things he’d held, it was nice to see a weapon fit the worst.

“...Okay... I’m not gonna touch on that one. Just, um, make sure it’s, uh, clean and then pick your pumpkin.”

Boris flipped the blade in his hand, shrugging at it. Theo began unfolded the newspaper and spreading it over the counter island. He nodded toward Boris, who was still staring at the two pumpkins with indifferent disgust. At Theo’s instruction, again, he suddenly slapped his hand out onto the larger of the two.

“This one.” He said, almost proudly. “Is mine.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Theo had been a fan of the most simple triangular features for his jack-o-lanterns. His mother had always been the one with the artistic hand and the more inventive ideas. She made a bat one year, parts of the cutout left remaining to show the bones and structure of the wings. Theo tried to keep it up well into November, he’d loved it so much.

“Ideas about what, Potter? Have no idea what we are doing. Bring in strange fruits and ask me to pick, then to cut, then to-- ideas, Potter? Have one idea. You have lost mind. Desert has done lot to you. Je-sus.”

“You have to carve something into it, Jackass. You don’t just cut shit out. It’s decoration, not the ER left-overs of a bar fight.”

Boris smirked at him. “What do you know about bar fight? Would never do such a thing.”

“I’ll deck you right now, fuck off.” Theo shoved Boris harshly, forgetting for a moment he had a knife in his hands. Luckily, it clattered onto the table; Boris dropping it the moment Theo stepped up to him. He was more aware of the danger than Theo was. “Think of a face or something to cut out. It’s whatever you want.”

Boris mulled the concept over with surprising thought. He turned his head side to side, flopping his hair back and forth. It was in a matted clump from sleeping in Theo’s bed earlier-- really only getting up a few hours before. His lips pursed before he smacked them and clapped his hands deafeningly loud. It shook Theo enough to remind him to stop staring before Boris turned back to him.

“Have it. Can see it.” Boris reached for the knife.

“Wait! Hold on! You have to carve the top part out first. It’s the lid and how you get all the insides out.”

“Huh?”

“Cut around the stem so you can lift it up and out. Like a lid-- you’re supposed to put candles in jack-o-lanterns. And you can’t do that if it’s got all it’s guts inside.”

Theo thought he’d confused Boris more. But without much preamble, Boris bought the knife down into the top of the pumpkin. Both of his hands gripped the handle of the blade; it was still an uncomfortable object to wield. Thank God.

He practically hung over the pumpkin, trying to get his entire arm into it. Theo felt like he was watching a surgeon discover his love for anatomy.

“Ha! Is like putting hand inside someone.” Boris laughed, his elbow flexing as he moved his arm around. Theo could hear the pumpkin squishing in Boris’s hands, right between his fingers.

“Uck! Boris, that’s gross.”

“Do not mean intestines, Potter.” Boris said wryly, lifting his hand up and rolling his fingers around in the orange, stringy mess.

“EW! That’s fucking gross. That can not be what-- Ew. No. That’s gross. Fuck off.” Theo wanted to gag but didn’t want to look weak; able to handle insurmountable amounts of drugs but not looking at the inside of a pumpkin. Or hearing a possible comparison to some kind of sexual act. No, Theo couldn’t gag at that. Now how would that look.

It was in Theo’s best interest to let the topic go. To act like he and Boris weren’t familiar with what they were dancing around. No, it was better to grab the knife and just keep cutting.

ii.

Boris's pumpkin, in all honesty, looked better than Theo's. It was carved blindly and with half-committed Russian words that half-complimented, half-insulted the face. The eyes were round and wonky, trying to have pupils, but the concept of not completing a cut in order to keep some of the piece hanging in the empty space eluded them both. By the end, the pumpkin had eyes that were wide-open and startled. Unblinking. Refusing to give them any privacy, it seemed.

Theo stood a step farther away from Boris as they admired their work, but he wasn’t sure why. It was just a pumpkin. It was just them.

“I’ll grab some candles when we go out-- we can light them when it gets darker.” Theo said.

“Going where?”

“To the supermarket. We have to get candy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Boris seemed to have an argument, or at least a question, but there was an unfamiliar timidness in his acceptance. He put his hands in his pockets, as if keeping his rebuttal to himself.

“Typically, you don’t get your own candy.” Theo reassured Boris’s presumed knowledge. “We just have no houses for trick-or-treating. So we’re improvising.”

“Plan to do what? Ask for candy at supermarket?”

“No.” Theo laughed. He quickly tried to disguise his mockery of Boris’s naive and honest question. It was finally something Boris had very few and far between ideas about; Theo had to remember these weren’t traditions to Boris, yet. They were still all first iterations, first experiences-- all with Theo. “We’re going to steal some candy. I’ll grab you some, you grab me some. Then we’ll trade whatever we don’t want.”

It wasn’t a gift or favor if it didn’t cost either of them anything. Then again, love never cost anyone anything--

"Trick-or-treat.” Boris repeated, the concept emerging from his own embodiment of the word. “That is-- knock, yes? And the-- word.. ack, what is word, Potter? Over body. Um... Dis-guys?”

“Costume.” Theo blinked and snapped back to Boris’s face. It was no longer soft or amused-- furrowed in his confusion. “You aren’t really hiding from anyone. You don’t need a disguise. Just a costume.”

“Oh. Okay.” Boris held his arms up, looking at his sweater sleeves. “What is costume?”

They didn’t really have the means to be much of anything except maybe different variations of the same hungry children, but Theo quickly tried to come up with something. Boris couldn’t just be the kid who couldn’t afford a costume. "You can be Dracula!” Theo motioned to Boris’s conveniently monochromatic outfit. “That’s perfect! You’re... brooding enough.”

“And teeth!” Boris bared his crooked teeth, nearly perfectly angled for fangs. Almost close enough to bite too--

“You’ll terrorized everyone at the store.”

“Yes, can do that. But who are you?” Boris asked, lifting a weak hand toward Theo. He was in his old, far-rattier, sweater and a pair of slacks from his previous school. “Cannot be scary, Potter.”

"Uh-- hey!” Theo said, pursing his lips. He quickly changed to clenching his jaw; Xandra always pursed her lips or popped her hip. Theo stopped doing both to look more physically upset with Boris.

“You look like... Liberian!”

“... A librarian?” Theo said slowly, trying not to laugh. “Well thanks. I guess, then I can just be... I don’t know. Van Helsing, maybe?” Then we’d match, and we’d belong together in public. “Oh, but then we’d match-- I don’t know if that’s--”

“A victim!” Boris cheered, throwing his arms up and charging at Theo.

For a moment, Theo allowed himself to laugh. He ducked his head to the side-- all but fucking giggling like some little girl-- and letting Boris drop his arms on top of his shoulders. His arms were long and there was still distance. It was strange-- and it was suspicious from the outside, sure-- but it was still safe.

In another moment, one coming way too quickly, Theo felt his stomach try to rise up to his throat. Boris’s one hand braced the side of his neck, while the other looped under his arm and gripped his shoulder. His grip pulled on his clothes, tight but not as frantic as it had been before-- just the night before. The collar of Theo’s sweater moved away, a stitch quietly popping under Boris’s fingers. It made space for Boris’s teeth-- lips-- trying to find their spot on the side of Theo’s neck.

“What the fuck, man. Get off of me!” Theo cried, shoving Boris’s back harshly. He stumbled back but his hands were still on Theo. And he still wanted them to be. “Don’t fucking touch me like that.”

Theo wasn’t sure if he’d intended to slap or punch Boris. Either way, his hand made sharp and heavy contact with Boris’s mouth, his head snapping to the side as he staggered back. Theo readjusted his sweater in the immediate aftermath, his hands trying to echo where Boris’s had been, if only to relish the contact for a moment of imagination.

Boris stood, hunched over, cupping his mouth. “Fucking got me, Potter.” His hand fell away and he was smiling. His lip had split and blood was pooling around the curves of his bottom lip. Boris’s fingers played with the large droplet of sticky crimson guilt. “Ha! Look! Blood, Potter!”

“I-- yeah.” Theo knew better than to say the other forbidden word: sorry.

“Vampire! AH!”

“Yeah. Full vampire.”

Theo wondered, selfishly and disgustingly, what Boris’s teeth would have felt like playfully puncturing his neck and not his knuckles. The forbidden chance had been dangled in front of Theo, temptation grabbing him with a tight grip, and he blew it. Curiosity would be the most promising nightmare.

“Let’s go get some candy, before all the good stuff is gone.”

iii.

Theo scoured the aisle for mixed bags of snappable candy. Boris didn’t like the candy with sticky, chewy, stringy insides. No caramel, nougat, or that chewy coconut shit either. He liked candy that snapped when he bit down. It was something stupid and primal, Theo was sure, but the short, staccato laugh Boris let out when the snack would snap between his front top and bottom teeth was unforgettable-- and that night, desired.

If Theo could get Boris to laugh, to find small, infantile joy eating stolen last minute, sale candy, he’d gotten everything he wanted.

There was a bag of Crunch bars, KitKats, 100 Grand bars, Twix, and Snickers sitting along the sparse bags of sugary, hard candy. Theo grabbed it and tucked it into the inside of his father’s borrow coat. It barely looked like Theo had taken anything-- in fact it made the waistline of the coat fit better. He still had some sleeves to fill.

Theo spotted Boris weaving around the seasonal endcap of the aisle, studying the ways all the familiar candy wrappers were now orange or covered in bats. He pretended to study the nutrition label on the back of a bag as a mother and child walked behind him. The child tried to point at Boris’s split and still-bleeding lip, but the mother paid no attention to Boris. Just like he had no intention of paying for that candy.

Theo left Boris to his operation and wandered down to the oral hygiene aisle. He strolled, with almost adult-like authority, along the rows of expensive electronic toothbrushes until he reached the plastic covered ones that hung on the wall like packaged pens. Theo grabbed a blue one-- with soft bristles, because someone had sensitive enamel from years of eating straight sugar and not gargling after vomiting-- and slipped it up his sleeve.

He sighed, pretending he hadn’t found what he was looking for, and started to head out toward the parking lot again to wait for Boris. Just as he tried to exit the aisle, a worker came around with an arm full of plastic pumpkin baskets. Theo skidded to a halt-- clutching his jacket and the candy-- in lightning fast response.

“Sorry.” Theo said, stepping aside quickly. The worker was frazzled, barely noticing that Theo had even stopped him. The baskets wobbled in his arms, their faces printed just off-center to the indentations of the “carved” features. They were ugly and obviously all defects. “Hey, can I have one of those?”

“What? They’re all going in the trash. They’re garbage and it’s literally Halloween.” The teenager spoke as if Theo had been born on a different planet, unaware of the time, day, and possibly the year.

“Yeah. I know. Then let me have one.” Theo thrust his hand out. “Fucking give me one. It’s important.”

“Okay, here you go. Asshole.” The worker handed it to Theo, but not before ripping the tag off the handle. “Go loiter somewhere else. We’re closing in a half hour, too. Is that your friend? The one who looks like a corpse.”

“He’s a vampire.”

“He looks like he’s fucking dead.” The man correctly, hitching his armful up. “And he’s been reading that bag label for five minutes. Is he simple or something?”

“English isn’t his second language, cut him some slack.” Theo scoffed. “Asshole.”

“Well, whatever he speaks, tell him we’re closing and to either buy the candy or leave.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Theo said, smiling. “I’ll be sure to do that.”‘

While the teenager turned away, Theo grabbed a tube of toothpaste, floss, and one of the travel head covers. He barely tried to hide them as he marched for the door.

There was something careful in how Boris was searching, Theo didn’t want to disturb him. Part of him said it was because he wanted to let Boris have his own shopping time uninterrupted or rushed. But the larger part of Theo was secretly pleased that he was choosing candy meant for him with such purpose and care. 

It meant nothing, probably, but Theo let it mean everything as he stood out at their meetup spot. As he waited, he practiced smiling without looking too happy.

iv.

“Here. For your candy.” Theo held the plastic pumpkin out to Boris. His hand felt like it wanted to be shaking, but it was too afraid to even do that.

Boris took it carefully, studying its off-brand features. “Is for my candy? That you give me?”

“Yeah! But, you’ve got to ask me for it first.” Theo said. He used his teeth to rip open the bag, tossing the end into the dumpster.

“Have candy, Potter?”

“No! Trick-or-Treat! You’ve got to ask-- just hold your basket out and ask ‘trick-or-treat’! And then I’ll say some super weird passively-adult thing about your costume and then give you your candy. Okay. Now go.”

Boris jerked his basket forward, teeth bared and dried blood now brown. “Trick! Or treat, Potter!”

“Oh wow! Look at your fangs... Not even fake.”

“Fuck off! Teeth are fine-- chew just fine.”

“You can’t tell a suburban mom to fuck off.” Theo laughed, tilting the bag into Boris’s basket. It overflowed and the stiff candy clattered on the asphalt. “They’ll call neighborhood watch on you.”

“Fuck if I care.” Boris held the basket to his chest, crossing his arms over it. He held delightful ownership over the new holiday clutch and seasonal candy. They’d created their own tradition, own triumphing memory, standing by the dumpster of Lucky’s. It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly the quintessential American Halloween, but it was one Boris could recount without sounding like he’d copied some made-for-tv movie; it was lop-sided and little fucked up-- just enough-- to truly be Boris’s first Halloween.

Actually, all the perfect Halloweens Theo had ever had seemed fruitless compared to watching Boris cradle his first trick-or-treated haul of candy. Getting things right the first time was stupidly overrated.

Theo felt the urge to jot that down. To remember to tell his mother-- next time he saw her-- how great Halloween had the potential to be if the mischief and wickedness were lent the chance to match costumes with joy and innocence.

v.

Boris accosted the entire living room floor as he dumped his basket out onto the carpet. He spread it out so no two pieces of candy were resting on top of each other. His hands ran over the crinkling wrappers, feeling the even square molds-- until he stopped and firmly gripped the toothbrush. He held it up to Theo with an accusatory look.

“Are trying to tell me something?” He asked.

“No, no. It’s not like that. Most of the time, there’s this family of doctors or something that always give out healthy food or non-candy for Halloween. I decided the family you ran into would’ve been a dentists. So I gave you a toothbrush.” Theo shrugged. “You wanted the full experience.”

Theo also wasn’t sure if Boris even had a toothbrush. He’d seen him with one, when they first met, bristles flattened and parted from over-extended use. He said nothing further-- not about the old toothbrush, or about how Boris placed it gingerly by his side just then, tucked just under his knee for safe keeping.

“Stupid dentists. Of all doctor career-- all part of body to think about, all day all the time-- who pick teeth? It is bone. Weird bone to talk with! Who want to see bone all day, and fix and grind and drill? Seem so stupid when think about it.” Boris exclaimed, still running his hands over the candy. “Will not go to dentist house again. Have learned lesson, Potter. Fuck the doctor houses.”

Theo laughed and moved closer to Boris-- just to be able to pour his own candy out for trading. “Okay, what do you want out of my pile-- I’ll take all your snickers.”

Theo’s bag was full of most of the same candy, but also small Hershey bars and Baby Ruths instead of 100 Grands. It was the principle of trading more than it was either of them getting more of what they wanted. Confectionery bargaining was a skill few had back in New York. Only Andy was ever really good at it.

“What is in Baby Ruth?” Boris asked, turning over some of Theo’s silver-wrapped pieces. “Is that woman?”

“Baseball player, actually. Like Babe Ruth.” Theo said, quickly pealing one of them open. “Here, try one. It’s mostly nougat I think.”

“Uck.” Boris muttered, still taking it. He popped the whole thing in his mouth, his cheek bulging as he tried to chew it quickly. It was too sticky, but Boris didn’t seem to mind. “Gross.”

“Careful. Your fangs.”

“Ah!” Boris bared his teeth again, holding his arms up as if he had a cape to shield him. “Will eat your blood!

“It’s uh,” Theo nearly gargled the word, struggling to say it cleanly. “it’s suck your blood, Boris.”

“Yes. That too.” He chopped his teeth loudly, the candy gone. Theo recoiled and clutched his own jaw. Boris did it twice more, breaking into a grin the more Theo looked disgusted. “Am bothering you! Halloween spirit, yes?”

“Sure. Something like that.” Theo picked up a Crunch bar and tossed it at Boris’s head. It caught momentarily in his matted curls before slipping through and onto his legs.

“Oh? Candy fight?” Boris grabbed a fistful of chocolates. His long fingers and tight grip snapped many of the bars in half, the sound heard underneath the crinkling plastic. “Tradition too?”

Theo paused, his arms no where near his face in defense. He grinned, only clenching his eyes closed. “Yeah. It’s definitely tradition. For us, at least.”

“Can be tradition that you lose?” Boris cackled, throwing both handfuls directly at Theo’s chest. “Do not think will change. Am always good shot, Potter.”

“Oh, fuck off. Arrogance is not about to become any part of this holiday, Boris. I swear to God--” Theo was pelted with every candy brand on the floor individually. Boris had a pile at his feet he tossed at him one by one, squirming backward slowly as Theo dodged them and shifted onto his knees.

“No! No! No! Cannot touch Dracula!” Boris cried, fully falling onto his back. He wiggled back and forth like a snake but gained no distance away from Theo.

There was something about a snake Theo read in a book once. Temptation, or something, right? Wasn’t that how the story went? That snake, that woman, and that apple-- but that one wasn’t candied.

Theo flopped down on Boris with all his weight, laughing at the loud oof! Boris wheezed out. His arms grabbed onto Theo’s back, but he didn’t push him away. Instead, his hands pressed Theo closer and rolled them over. The candy slid and squashed under them, like a really strange bed of orange and red foliage. With Theo on his back, Boris sat up with his legs on either side of Theo’s waist. Theo was pinned, eyes wide and mouth open, but not in any rejection. The temptation looked sweet.

“I bite!” Boris cried, placing his hands on Theo’s chest and shoulder. “Suck blood from you, Potter.”

And he did. He pushed Theo’s head to the side and playfully (and with surprising delicacy) bit down on the curve of his neck. It was weird, really really weird, but it was still touch. Undefinable touch, at that. It wasn’t anything romantic and definitely wasn’t anything sexual. It was just playing vampire. There were no rules or sermons against that. Theo allowed himself to laugh, shivering at the cold drag of Boris’s teeth across his skin.

It was so weird, but Theo felt so free. He’d never felt the touch of anyone be so warm and his entire world seem so far off. It wasn’t even tradition at that point; it was habit. Boris would always be the one that made Theo feel like every frayed nerve was neatly sewn back together. Like every moment was worth remembering and recording, all in the hopes of recreating it someday. Same crooked smiles, same laughter giggles, same mishaps, same boy. Always the same boy.

[lynne-monstr]

sea and shadows (chapter 2/2)

follow up to this ficlet instruments fic (alec is an artist. magnus is a sea demon)

chapter 2 on ao3

Alec hangs back a respectful distance while his unexpected guest cuts himself free from the fishing net.

The last thing he expected coming home from his daily walk was to find an injured sea-demon invading his kitchen. Alec’s heard the stories, of course. Every child has. Long ago the sea-demons demanded sacrifices to sate their demonic appetites, murdering their victims and feeding off the magic of their life force until humanity fought back.

The man in front of him, with his easy smile and his bruised skin and his tentacles caught in a tangle of fisherman’s knots, doesn’t look like a monster. He looks like a man.

“I thought sea-demons were extinct,” Alec finally dares to ask.

“Extinct. Is that what they call it nowadays?” A muscle in Magnus’ jaw clenches tight before he shakes it off in favor of squinting at a patch of netting near his shoulder. The blade of the scissors easily finds its mark and a patch of net falls to the floor. Another tentacle pops loose, wiggling skyward as if celebrating its freedom.

Magnus’ eyes are golden slits when he looks back at Alec. “Extinct is a funny word for slaughter, if you ask me.”

The worn, broken-in leather of Alec's boots suddenly seems a lot more interesting. Alec’s never put much thought into questioning the old stories. Everyone knows them. Water nymphs are harmless unless provoked, selkies aren’t to be kept as pets, sea-demons will eat your soul if you let them.

Granted, no one has ever said anything about the tentacles so perhaps the stories aren’t as accurate as everyone likes to believe.

A heavy silence settles between them and Alec assumes that’s the last of the conversation. There’s only the whistle of sea air through the open front door and the occasional snip of the scissors to mark the passing of time.

Until Magnus looks up. “Children or virgins?”

“Excuse me?” Alec asks.

“These stories about my people? Were we eating children or virgins? I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Babies,” Alec admits.

Magnus shakes his head but says nothing, and Alec is left with the uncomfortable feeling he’s disappointed this strange man.

Again he’s surprised when Magnus breaks the silence. “I won’t deny that some of the tales are true. We’re a lot like humans in that some of us good and some of us…aren’t.”

Even from across the kitchen, Alec can’t miss how the muscles of his shoulders draw up tight. A bad memory, perhaps. Whether he’s remembering an experience or a particular person, Alec doesn’t know and doesn’t have the right to ask. Whatever it is, it’s bad enough for its presence to linger in the fibers of muscles and sinew beneath Magnus’ skin.

It’s gone just as quickly.

The minutes tick by and more and more slick black tentacles slither free from their confines. Some of them wave around in the air. Others settle themselves on Magnus’ shoulders or wrap around his waist, adorning him alongside the strands of shells he wears around his neck and his hips. Alec might be just a little bit jealous that they get to traverse the dips and valleys of hard muscle so clearly on display.

A pained hiss jolts him back to the present.

Magnus is twisted almost completely around, eyes narrowed and muscles straining as he tries to reach a spot on his back. His eyes close and he exhales, deepening the stretch. He’s practically quivering with the effort but it still isn’t enough. His bare chest heaves and he tries again, and Alec doesn’t need to be a yoga instructor like his asshole ex-boyfriend Todd to know this is a losing battle.

He’s in the middle of contemplating the futile beauty of the action, the strokes and lines it would take to best capture Magnus' struggle on paper, when he realizes he’s being every bit the raging dick his siblings affectionately tease him about. He bites his lip, debating if it’s his place to offer aid.

A pained grunt reaches his ears and makes his decision for him.

Several long strides bring him across the kitchen, careful to keep his hands visible and his motions non-threatening. Not that he’s much of a match for a sea-demon, even a weakened one. Then again, some of the stories say that the best way to bind a sea-demon’s power is to bind their tentacles. If that’s true—if Magnus is merely pretending to be friendly until his tentacles are freed—Alec is about to sign his own death warrant.

He thinks of how Magnus expected a fight when Alec first stumbled upon him, and the surprise scrawled across his face when Alec offered the scissors, like he was unused to being treated with basic kindness.

Alec gambles with his life and he does it with a soft smile. “Need a hand?” he asks.

Magnus blinks. His eyes flit from Alec’s face to his outstretched palm, like a cornered animal circling a baited trap.

Alec’s stomach clenches. The man in front of him is a lot of things but he’s no animal. No monster. “You’re going to cut yourself if you keep that up and I don’t really feel like cleaning blood off my kitchen floor.”

“I supposed I’ve encroached enough on your hospitality without forcing that particular horror upon you.” Magnus’ knuckles are white around the rubber grip of the scissors but he slowly places them in Alec’s hand and lets go. “Be gentle.” His tone is laden with innuendo but there’s a tightness at the corner of his eyes.

Alec gives him a reassuring smile and angles himself so he can see the tentacles on Magnus’ back. This close, the jet black of their coloring is shot through with bands of sickly gray. He runs his finger over one of the gray veins. Magnus flinches and Alec pulls away like he’s been scalded.

It’s an injury, he realizes. The places where the fishing net dug too deeply into him.

There are so many gray spots. Alec pushes away the wave of nausea and concentrates on his task. He aches to run comforting hands over the mass of tentacles, but he already has proof that does more harm than good. Instead, he turns his eyes towards the ugly tangle of netting and tentacles that spans the length of Magnus’ shoulder blades.

“Tell me if it hurts,” is his only warning before he cuts away the first piece of net.

Magnus winces but doesn’t say a word as Alec cuts the last parts of him free. The tentacles that can, curl tightly inwards around his body. It drives Alec on, wanting to be done with this as soon as possible. As he finally snips away the last piece of straggling pieces, Magnus heaves a relieved breath and slumps.

The moment the last tentacle breaks free, a blue wave what can only be magic washes over Magnus’ skin. When it passes, the tentacles are once again a smooth, unblemished black. Alec is reminded of the old wives’ tales about how to bind a sea-demon’s magic, and wonders if Magnus realizes how much he just gave away.

Before he can think too much on this new information, Magnus staggers. Only years of catching runaway pencils and paintbrushes allows Alec to catch him before he hits the ground.

“Oops,” Magnus mumbles. “Forgot how much that takes out of me.”

Alec smooths a hand down his arm, barely aware he’s doing it. The slightest of tremors rock Magnus’ otherwise solid body, the beginnings of exhaustion. Alec’s debating whether to remove his hand when Magnus practically melts backwards against him.

A tentacle curls around Alec’s waist, ending any thoughts of putting space between them.

“That’s twice I owe you my thanks now.”

“I’m not counting.” Alec shifts his hold so he can walk Magnus towards the adjoining living room and onto the couch. It’s an old thing, the fabric worn and faded, but it’s deceptively comfortable and he’ll fight anyone who argues differently. “Though you should probably make it three, since I’m about to offer you the spare bedroom while you regain your strength.”

“Three it is,” Magnus agrees. His eyes are practically closed as Alec settles him onto the couch.

There’s a throw blanket draped over the side chair. It’s gets draped over Magnus, the edges carefully tucked around his shoulders. Alec would prefer to get him a towel since he’s still wet from dragging himself in from the water, but the blanket is good enough for now.

Straightening, Alec admires his handiwork. His eyes catch on his pencil where he left it sitting on the kitchen counter and he goes over to retrieve it. And stops as a pair of tentacles wind around his wrists, tugging him backwards.

Alec lets himself be tugged all the way back to the couch.

Back to Magnus.

His sketchbook will still be there when he gets up. For now, he has a sea-demon pressed against his side, his damp hair resting against Alec’s shoulder as he sleeps.

[miraculoussage]

like siblings - copycat

Rating: G Pairings: Marinette & Adrien, Ladybug & Chat Noir (No romance) Length: ~ 2,260 words Type: Episode rewrite

♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Marinette was in hyperfocus mode, working on a dress design and experimenting with different fabric and thread and stitch patterns. She had a pretty unique design in mind, encouraged by Adrien, and it would require her to try a lot of new things. She was completely time blind, and only realized how long she’d been working when her phone buzzed with urgent texts from Alya. Apparently, Chat Noir had just stolen the Mona Lisa from the Louvre in broad daylight, surrounded by stunned onlookers. There were so many things wrong with that, and Tikki agreed. Setting her project aside, she hurried outside and transformed, getting right down to business. Something was up, and either her best friend was in trouble, or an akuma was on the loose. 

♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Late to the statue unveiling, Chat Noir thought Ladybug would be there before him, but to his surprise she was nowhere to be seen. He even scanned the trees and the roofs of buildings to see if she was watching from a distance. Something must have come up, and since there was no akuma alarms, he was pretty sure it was something in her civilian life. He wouldn’t ask her what made her miss the unveiling, but he worried about her. He hoped she wasn’t in trouble.

Theo, the artist who made the statue, looked pretty sad that Ladybug wasn’t there. He went on about how he admired her, complimenting her a lot, and rather creepily holding a newspaper clipping of Ladybug’s picture. It would be less creepy, he thought, if Theo also wanted his autograph, but the guy barely acknowledged that Chat Noir, a superhero, was talking to him and sitting right by him. 

Ladybug still hadn’t shown up, and after the statues were unveiled and the crowd started to disperse, Chat Noir was starting to feel glad that she didn’t. The artist didn’t even acknowledge his complement on the statue, only talking about Ladybug. He wanted to ‘express his admiration’ and ‘get to know her’, and it was unnerving to hear someone really talk about Ladybug that way. 

Sure, she would get shouts from fans while they were out and about, and lots of people complimented her appearance- Chat Noir too, to a lesser extent; even he thought his bugaboo was far greater than himself, though he did strive to be as good of a hero as she was. But the way this Theo guy almost obsessed over Ladybug, sounding like he wanted to date her or something, it rubbed him the wrong way. 

He didn’t want Theo to harass her, so he... didn’t tell a lie, but he insinuated that he and Ladybug were very close, then left the scene before Theo could ask questions. It was true, they were very close, but not romantically. That was for Theo to assume, and not Chat Noir to tell. It felt a little bad, but to protect the city, he had to protect Ladybug, and having someone always trying to get her attention and get close to her was dangerous for them both.

♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Later, in the car, Adrien was stunned to silence to hear that he stole a painting from the Louvre. Either he was in two places at once, or someone was an impostor. He better get there quick.

..... The police trapped him. Not only that, but it was Roger that tricked him. He couldn’t just STAY here. He found a clue, and knew the impostor was Theo. Regretfully, he has to use his Cataclysm to escape; Ladybug would probably have something to say about him using it so soon, but he didn’t feel that there were any other options.

He had to admit, though, knocking a bunch of riot police over felt good. When he got to a safe place, he called Ladybug, hoping she believed in him. She picked up, running up stairs, and he frowned. “You know I didn’t do this, right?” Please, please, have faith in him. Ladybug seemed worried, and she was taking this very seriously, but before they could talk more, there were helicopters chasing him down. Off to Theo’s place he goes, then.

♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Ladybug was thrown. It wasn’t often that she had to fight or figure out a mystery without her partner by her side, and more than that, she was worried about him! What kind of trouble would he get himself into? He was already deep enough! 

He was calling her again, and she picked up right away. A brief and vague conversation left her even more confused, and worse, Chat Noir was trying to fight this akuma alone! She didn’t have any siblings, but she imagined this was what it felt like to have a younger brother that got into trouble, tried to fix it himself, and made it even worse. She could feel it in her gut that Chat Noir was not going to be able to do this himself- She wouldn’t be able to either! 

She checked his location and leaped off towards him, surprised to get another call saying that he caught the akuma. She didn’t believe a word that cat said, but played along. When she got into the building, the two Chat Noir’s fighting an even match, but they both stopped when they saw her.

“Wow, I have to say, I’m impressed with how good the copy is. Physically, at least...” She sounded uncertain, and both Chat Noir’s could tell. They both started yelling about which one the real impostor was, and she put her face in her hand. “Both of you hush.” They complied, the argument fading out. 

“Now, I can’t tell by looking, but I need to fight one of you, and only one if you is the Chat Noir I love. Whoever it is is going to have to prove it, somehow.” She kept her face blank aside from intense focus. Time to see which one was the fake.

“Ladybug, of course I’m the one you love!” cried the one on the right, desperately. 

“LB, you have to know that I’m the real one,” said the one on the left, frowning, “We share a special bond, can’t you tell I’m the one?” 

“Bugaboo, don’t listen to him, he’s the liar! We can take him down and be together again!” 

Ladybug held up her hands to get them both to quiet down again, coming up with something to say quickly. “Whichever one of you is real... Remember the promise we made to each other? Our secret promise, about, you know...” 

The one on the left looked confused, and the one on the right looked surprised.

“Yes, of course I do!” It was the one on the right that spoke first. “How could I ever forget?” 

Ladybug walked over to the one that spoke, soft smile on her face, and she put her arm around the back of his neck. “I knew you wouldn’t forget,” she said, putting her free hand in his, “Our promise was so secret...” she leaned in, “that even we don’t know about it.” She pulled the ring from his hand and forcefully spun him around, hand gripping his shoulder. “Chat Noir!” she called, and threw the ring to the other one, the real one. 

But he didn’t Cataclysm it, or even try to break it. Trying to hold onto the fake, who was struggling under the knee she had shoved into his back to knock him down, she only caught a glimpse of Chat Noir’s ring and saw two toes missing. 

“Ladybug, this isn’t the object! It’s in-” and suddenly Ladybug was thrown, the fake Chat’s staff jabbing painfully into her stomach and knocking her off of him. He got up with Chat Noir’s speed, and snarled at them. 

“You tricked me!” he hissed angrily, looking between both of them who were now in defensive positions. 

“Yeah, duh, we’re partners, we know each other more than any obsessive fanboy ever could,” Chat Noir teased with a taunting grin showing his slight fang-like canines. His distraction gave Ladybug a chance to call her Lucky Charm, and then the fake was attacking again. Tape. She had gotten red and black spotted tape. 

Struggling as the fake tried to pin him, Chat Noir tried to kick him off, but paused when he saw Ladybug approaching from behind with a strip of tape. She just managed to get the tape stuck to the fake’s arm before he was turning on her and shoving her away from him. Taking the opening, Chat Noir sent Copycat flying with his own momentum, away from both himself and Ladybug.

His ring beeped again- the last beep before he would detransform. “Ladybug!” he shouted, knowing she heard the beep from the look on her face as she ran back towards Fake Noir. Fierce as ever, and evidently just as clever, she drove Copycat back, towards one of the metal support beams. Without warning, Ladybug used the tape like her yo-yo, grabbing the loose end and tossing the roll towards Chat Noir. Fortunately, he had figured out her idea as soon as he saw where she was moving the fight towards.

He leaped forwards to catch the tape roll before it could hit the dusty floor or get twisted, and continued to run towards the pair just as they reached the beam. Fake’s back hit the beam and he shouted, trying to leap to the side, but he was already being snagged on the tape. 

Ladybug and Chat Noir ran circles and circles around the pole, using the whole roll of tape to wrap Copycat securely to the metal beam. He struggled and struggled, but couldn’t get out or even move his arms, and even lifting his feet off the floor just left him suspended. From out of the range of the flailing legs, Chat Noir retrieved the newspaper clipping and handed it to Ladybug.

“OHhhh... That’s... Flattering,” she said uncertainly, tearing it in two, quickly purifying the akuma, and using the empty tape roll to call the fix-it buggies. 

Theo was confused as he was suddenly released from the tape, staggering forwards. “What- what happened? Oh! Ladybug! My newspaper clipping, can you sign it?” He held it out to her with a marker from his pocket, completely unaware of what had just occurred. Ladybug, never one to turn away a fan, signed it quickly and gave it and the marker back. 

“Thanks for and sorry about the statue, but we’ve gotta jet!” she said, pulling Chat Noir against her and sending them both through one of the open windows of the studio. His ring beeped insistently, and Ladybug closed her eyes, landing them on the roof she’d aimed for, thankfully out of sight of any civilians. “We cut it close,” she said with a smile. “Need help getting down, or can your kwami recharge?” 

“I have food for Plagg, but thanks for the offer!” he said as he ducked behind a roof-top AC unit. “I’m hidden now, you can open your eyes, I don’t want you falling off the roof when you try to leave,” he laughed, and she laughed with him. “See you later, bugaboo!” 

“Later, Chaton,” she said, her voice full of relief and cheer, and she left without looking back. 

“Plagg, do you think Ladybug’s family would adopt me?” The kwami had just stuffed his face with cheese, and froze at Adrien’s question. Swallowing the cheese after a moment, Plagg only said, “I think you would have to not have a parent for someone else to adopt you. Human laws are weird.” 

“There’s certainly some strange ones. Did you know that in some place in the United States, it’s illegal to have an ice-cream cone in your back pocket?”

“Yeah, I did! The law is because of horses,” he said, nodding as if this made complete sense with no more explanation. Adrien just laughed, and transformed to go home.

♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

The next day at school, Adrien was turned around in his seat talking to Marinette and Alya as they all waited for Nino to come in. “Some guys are just super creepy,” he was saying, frowning. “I may not know what it’s like to be in love or flirt with anyone, outside of the polite half-flirting my father makes me do at events with girls my age... But I know enough to know when someone is being sleazy. 

“THANK YOU,” Alix yelled from her desk, “at least ONE boy understands,” she said, looking pointedly at Kim. At his startled and confused look, she explained, “you don’t ask a girl out by complimenting her butt! And you wonder why she pepper sprayed you.” 

Adrien just motioned to Kim as if to prove his point to Marinette and Alya. “When I see someone talking or acting like that, I get, like... Protective, you know? Especially if it’s about someone I care about. Not that girls need protecting, but why should they have to face that kind of behaviour anyways?” 

“You’re cute, Adrien,” Marinette said, lightly pinching his cheek and putting on a fawning-relative voice. “Little Adrien, look at you, so mature and grown up, knowing about social issues!” The three of them laughed, and Marinette patted Adrien on the head from where she was above him. “Keep being a good person, Adrien,” she said with a fond sigh. He was clearly already growing up to be a better person than his father could ever be, and Marinette wanted to help him stay on that path, as long as she could.

[isagrimorie]

Person of Interest characters in a Doctor Who AU?

from this ask request

This really depends on the era of Doctor, I think? 

Wouldn’t it be interesting if they meet the Doctor in different points of the Doctor’s life? 

1. Young Harold meets the Third Doctor, at the point of the Doctor’s life just when he was newly executed forcibly regenerated by the Time Lords for helping people and his companions, Zoe and Jamie were taken away and brain washed into forgetting him. 

I feel like Three and young!Teen!ready to fight the world Harold (last name redacted) would stand shoulder to shoulder together instigating a lot of anti-government rallies and actions. 

Harold senses there’s something strange about the old white haired British guy, but he helped Harold narrowly escape from getting nicked by the police. 

It was strange how quickly Harold trusted him but then two days later Harold did something risky and someone got hurt but this time around there was no British guy to bail him out. Harold forgot about the English guy, too busy about other things, like running for his life. 

2. John was in another dive bar, trying to get over a hangover by drowning it with another shot of whiskey. It didn’t even matter what day it was or week or month. 

John staggered out the bar -- suddenly there were headlights coming his way and he didn’t move. 

Except someone pulled at his jacket and he tumbled out of the way. 

“That car almost got you,” a voice said, his mind, despite how addled it was with alcohol immediately tagged the man’s accent as British, but not one of those elite RP bullshit. 

John turned and whatever bitter anger he had drained away when he saw the other guy. John knew a soldier when he saw one, with his black leather jacket and cropped hair, and heavy boots. He also knew a soldier fresh out of a war. 

“Should watch where you’re going, mate.” The man said. He looked as unused to talking as John was but he was making an effort. 

After a while John realized he should say something. “Thanks.” 

It was all he could say, the man seemed to realize and nodded at him before he moved away into a dark alley. 

3. The world had gone to hell. One day Joss was going about her business, ecstatic as a newly minted detective when the world ended. The President was assassinated, and hell rained down from heaven. 

Literally. 

And hope rested in one woman. 

“You should come with me.” 

Joss shook her head. “I can’t, I have to see this through.” 

“Saxon is going to destroy New York!”

“My son died here,” she can almost say it without choking on air, without wanting to empty her gun into the nearest object. “I’m not going anywhere. You need to get out of here.” 

Martha Jones looked at her and then nodded, she looked so much younger when she did. 

“Let’s jet,” another voice said, and Joss saw Shaw nod to the van. Shaw came out of nowhere, battered with an even tattered uniform, from what Joss can make out of her uniform, she was a Lieutenant in the Corp. They were basically the backbone of the resistance before Saxon blew up their headquarters taking Joss’s son with it. 

Martha Jones appeared soon after, scuttlebutt had it that she could kill Saxon. Joss didn’t believe it until she met Jones. Even then she was skeptical, Jones started talking hope, tactics and a man called the Doctor. Jones seemed to believe in the man and other people started to talk about the Doctor too. 

Joss preferred to believe in Martha. Joss didn’t know what Shaw believed but she knew it wasn’t some alien called the Doctor. 

“Good luck, Martha,” Joss told her.

“And you,” Martha told her before giving Joss a quick hug and leaving. 

Six months later, the world reset back to a year. 

Joss Cater got her promotion to Detective, she treated her son out. In 2008, Detective Carter had a routine check-up and was surprised when a British doctor took over. 

The doctor was nice and affable, and Joss found herself chatting with Dr. Jones. 

“I’m glad Taylor’s okay,” Dr. Jones said, after giving Joss a clean bill of health. It was only after that Joss realized she never gave Dr. Jones the name of her son. 

4. "Oh, you’re a fun one,” a woman cooed from the rafters. Root jolted, she didn’t know someone else was in the hall with them. Them being subjected, seeing as the other people in the room were dead. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” the woman (Scottish?) continued. “I was just admiring a work of another artist. You won’t even remember I’m here.” 

True to the woman’s word, Root didn’t remember the woman until the Machine brought up the footage for Root to see, as a warning, Root assumed not to cross the Scottish woman Root saw make a flying leap from a building with a Mary Poppins umbrella. 

“I get it,” Root said, staring at the screen, “this is weird even for me.”

5. The satellite that contained the Machine floated around the Earth when a blue box appeared next to it. 

The Machine sent inquiring probes to the box, puzzled by its contrary appearance and was surprised to note the Box respond back. Don’t worry, child. The Box told the Machine, You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone from here on out. 

And then the door of the Box opened and the Machine visual receptors read the person standing as a female humanoid with Two hearts. 

“Hello!” The woman said waving her hand, “I knew your dad.” 

[cupcakemolotov]

It’s Cold Outside

Written for @lalainajanes, this was supposed to have been written before the end of the Holiday Season, since she works retail aka the hardest job on this planet. Its mostly a ton of fluff, sorry folks, no smut here, but hopefully I can finish something else soon!

Caroline eased the tips of her fingers out of the mound of blankets and shivered. The air was bitterly cold, the fire having gone out sometime in the night. Around her the house was quiet, the soft sounds of snow sliding against the windows easily discernible. She hoped the lack of thunder and harsh winds meant the worst of the storm had passed. She supposed she could check the weather report if her phone’s battery had made it through the night, but that would require moving. She was not looking forward to untangling herself from her super cozy pile of blankets.

Or the man pressed along the length of her spine.

She was pretty sure Klaus was still asleep, the warm tangle of him lax, his breathing deep and even. Even with the layers of clothes between them, even the hat she’d crammed over her frizzy waves, she could still feel him through every line pressed against her. The tangle of legs, the way her wool clad feet were shoved against his. The heavy length of his arm draped across her waist.

It left her wondering how he’d feel naked and just as close, and those were both dangerous and familiar thoughts. Dating one of Rebekah’s brothers could make her social life messy, but dating her friend’s favorite was a recipe for disaster. Caroline had watched Rebekah cut people out of her life for much smaller infractions, and she had made it perfectly clear years ago that her brothers were off limits.

If only she’d known.

Caroline had laughed when Rebekah had made her pronouncement, not believing dating a Mikaelson would ever be an issue. She and Rebekah had become friend’s despite themselves, and at the time she couldn’t imagine how Rebekah’s brothers would ever be a temptation.

She just hadn’t anticipated Klaus.

She’d met him for the first time during the summer of her junior year, having landed a coveted internship in New York City. There had been a complication with her sublet, a broken pipe had made the space unliveable, and a series of conventions had made getting a hotel room for a night or two on her budget impossible. A panicked phone call to Rebekah had ended with Klaus being bullied into offering his guest room. Caroline had been too stressed to be embarrassed, and Klaus had been grudgingly polite that first night she’d shown up with her bags.

He’d ignored her babbled thanks, hauled her bags into his extra room, and told her that as long as she didn’t disturb him when painting and didn’t have sex in the public spaces, he didn’t care what she did. She’d spluttered at his words but he’d disappeared before she could manage a reply, leaving her red-faced in his guest room.

Caroline had texted Rebekah that she was at Klaus’ apartment, thrown herself into a quick shower and immediately started scouring the internet for a place to stay that wouldn’t end up with her on an episode of the ID Channel. It hadn’t gone well. New York’s renting market was vastly different from anywhere she’d lived, and she’d been forced to text Rebekah a series options before crashing hard before the first day at her internship.

Said internship had left her pulling late hours, often staggering home after midnight and crawling out of bed again at six the next morning to start over. But Caroline wasn’t a quitter, and she had a very deft hand with concealers. It did, however, make finding a place to stay tricky. Her daylight hours were packed and so she’d find herself running searches when wolfing down a midnight snack, exhausted and blurry eyed.

It was how Klaus had found her.

She’d been camped at his kitchen island, eating her cold pizza leftovers and scrolling through listings with one hand. He’d been paint flecked and rumpled, curls fluffed into disarray. They’d both just sort of stared at each for a long moment. Caroline had known that he was stupidly good looking, all of Rebekah’s family was unfairly attractive, but something about frazzled artist Klaus had done things to her insides.

Thankfully, exhausted-Caroline hadn’t had a chance to embarrass herself. The expression on Klaus’ face had been a familiar, even if she usually saw it with less stubble, and she’d shoved the remains of the pizza box in his direction. Hungry Mikaelson’s were usually mean, and she was too tired to deal with it.

She hadn’t expected him to sit and eat as directed, Rebekah usually took more coaxing and Klaus hadn’t seemed much like the social type. At best,  she’d have expected him to grab a slice and disappear. Instead, he’d sat and ate while studying her from an expression only slightly paint speckled. It’d been a little nerve wracking, but she’d lost all possible shyness when he’d started butting into her apartment searches. His comments had been a mix of helpful and annoying. She’d stayed up way to late that night arguing with him, she’d barely gotten in enough sleep to count as a single REM cycle. But even though she’d needed seven cups of coffee to function the next day, she’d admitted, at least to herself, that it’d been worth it.

It’d been… fun.

Caroline had tried really hard to keep her impact on his space to a bare minimum. Particularly once staying a few days had stretched past a week and that had meant avoiding him as much as possible. She’d expected him to react more similarly to Rebekah having he space invaded than he had. Klaus had been engaging and smart, bitingly sarcastic at times, but over all he’d been weirdly nice about her enforced stay as she’d complained about subletting in New York City.

Maybe that should have been a warning flag, but she’d been tired and off her Mikaelson game. Having narrowed her list down to two potential opportunities, she’d been cautiously optimistic that her stay at Klaus’ apartment would be ending.

The cupcakes on the counter had been her only real warning. Klaus in the kitchen when she got home in and of itself hadn’t been particularly alarming, but a Mikaelson offering bribes was never a good sign. It didn’t help that Klaus, freshly showered and alert, was an unfair sensory overload that had little to do with the warning bells going off in the back of her head.

Klaus had been completely unapologetic when he told her that he’d called his realtor about her situation. He’d ignored her loud noise of disbelief, and continued on that after a chance to really dig into the current renting market, it looked like her best bet was to stay where she was in his guest room. Caroline had not taken his suggestion well.

It had felt too much like mooching. Klaus has already refused her offer of rent when she’d tentatively broached it when she’d been stuck for that first week, and to extend that for another six weeks had left her spluttering with anger. She’d tried to be reasonable between gritted teeth, pointing out that she’d only called Rebekah for help in desperation, and his spare bedroom was an emergency location only, not a solution.

He’d made that clear the first night, hadn’t he?

Klaus had listened to her rebuttals with a little smile that made her want to bite him until she had run out of air. Then, picking up a cupcake, he’d unwrapped it while using her mom and Rebekah to cut her legs out from underneath her in two neat sentences. She’d kind of hated him a little for it even if the rest of her grudgingly admired his cutthroat tactics.

She’d still eaten the cupcakes, even if she’d really, really disliked that he’d been right. He’d been smart enough not to gloat in his victory, sliding her the box and disappearing back into his room. Too irritated to sleep, she’d written out a pro and con list for her new situation. Finally and irritably, she’d admitted her wasn’t wrong. His apartment was much closer to her internship that she’d have managed to find on her own, and the extra hour of sleep was a huge benefit. His doorman was friendly, the nightlife was awesome, and as long as she didn’t murder Klaus it’d probably be okay.

At least she didn’t have to share a bathroom.

But for all of her lists of lists, her fanatical attention to detail, there had still been challenges. The weekly cleaning service had taken some getting used too, and she’d still sneak re-cleaned her bathroom every time. The lack of things to clean when she’d been unable to sleep from stress had been annoying. Thankfully, Klaus hadn’t complained too much the time she’d rearranged his spice cabinet in a fit of anxiety and cupcake driven paranoia at three in the morning.

In fact, he’d sat on his counter with sleep heavy eyes and listened to her ramble about memos and models until the pre-dawn hours with only a small bit of complaining. She’d bought him flowers in thanks, and she’d tried not to read too deeply into his niceness. Rebekah had many things to say about her favorite brother, but patient and nice had rarely come up.

Thankfully for her sanity and her inability to shake off her awareness of his cuteness, for all the times they ran into each other, they still missed each other just as often. She could go days without him appearing from his studio. She’d given up on tip toeing around the first week of her stay, and as the summer moved on, she’d forgone any niceties or concerns for his sleep schedule pre-coffee.

Then pizza night became a thing.

Caroline couldn’t remember quite why pizza night had started, she was pretty sure it had something to do with post work drinks, and tipsy-Caroline being hungry after a night out. She was a bit fuzzy on the details, and hoped she hadn’t rambled too much. Tipsy-Caroline was a talker and a lot cuddly. Klaus hadn’t said anything, and she’d tried not to blush for almost a week.

But whatever had happened, every Thursday night for the rest of her internship, she’d walk in to Klaus and pizza. He’d poke and prod at her until she was spluttering; she’d argue with him over the silliest of topics until she was yawning and he’d shoo her off to bed. It became her favorite night of the week.

She found Rebekah’s brother to be a strange mix of snobbery and hard work, that biting sarcasm she enjoyed and a charm that was occasionally sweet. Little things cropped up in the apartment that she knew were for her even if he never explicitly said anything. Small things. A hand soap she liked or a certain snack in the fridge. Little sticky notes with cute sketches.  She still had all of them, tucked away safely in new apartment.

And okay, maybe she’d developed the teeny, tiniest of crushes even knowing that liking Klaus had been a bad idea all around. A girl only had so much willpower against accents and dimples and clever wit. But Klaus wasn’t someone she could date casually, and there wasn’t any chance for a hot sexscapade. Not with Rebekah being such an important part of her life.

In the end, she hadn’t known how to say goodbye.

Thankfully, Rebekah had flown out for her last weekend in NYC, which had kept her goodbyes from being awkward. Klaus had been especially busy with a series of paintings and had left them to entertain themselves, but he had cleaned up and taken her and Rebekah to dinner their last night. He’d even emerged from his painting cave to wish her luck the morning she’d moved out. He’d already been smeared with paint and a little more disheveled than she was used to seeing, and keeping her goodbye hug platonic had been both easy and difficult.

She hadn’t really wanted paint on her clothes.

The trip back to the airport had been wistful, and Caroline would never admit it to Rebekah, but leaving had felt like a missed opportunity. She would never have stayed, she had one year to go, and so she had forcibly put Klaus and lingering possibilities out of her mind. But New York had always been her end goal, and twelve months later, she had moved into her shoe box apartment. The weeks she spent moving and adjusting to her new workload had been amazing and stressful, but it wasn’t until she finally settled that she found her thoughts drifting back to Klaus. Caroline had found herself idly wondering once or twice if he’d mind if she showed up with a pizza.

If he’d been in the States, she might have done it.

But a little bit of casual fishing with Rebekah had confirmed that he was currently in Europe promoting his newest gallery and wasn’t expected back in the States until after the New Year. Putting aside her disappointment, she didn’t even know if he was interested though she had hope, she’d thrown herself into her post-graduation life.

Caroline found she adored New York in the fall, pumpkin spice lattes and leaves falling in Central Park. But even as fall turned cold and blistering, stringing up Christmas lights and forming her tiny tree had been a tiny milestone she’d loved. She’d flown home to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her mom, the quiet town of her childhood a stark contrast to the city she lived in now. It had been nice to realize she didn’t miss it, that Liz was happy that Caroline was building her life.

New Year’s Eve was in Vale, Rebekah having been super insistent that their friends circle spend the holiday in the new year at the Mikaelson Family Lodge. Caroline had avoided asking if her wish for an activity outside NYC was as much the opportunity of most of her family being overseas or a reaction to the very messy breakup weeks before.

Fervently wishing that her bestie had chosen someplace warmer to spite party without her ex, Caroline had packed up her ski gear and set her teeth. Since she was flying from Virginia instead of New York, she would end up landings hours before the rest of the group, but she was looking forward to the silence. She’d planned on a long bath. A chance to raid the wine cabinet, and maybe some picturesque selfies on her bedrooms balcony.

She just hadn’t counted on a legit blizzard rolling in the day if her arrival. It would figured her one trip to Vale would be a disaster. The storm was supposed to have been intense but manageable, so she hadn’t worried too much when she’d been getting on her flight. Chicago has its fair share of winter storms, she could manage the weather for a couple of days.

She knew how to drive in inclement weather.

Once she’d landed in Denver the weather had been a different story. The weather predictions had worsened and airlines had been presumptively cancelling flights. A quick phone call to Rebekah had confirmed that they weren’t getting out of JFK that night, any planes heading into the Midwest grounded. It had also become clear that if she didn’t want to spend the night at the airport, her best bet was to ride the storm out at the lodge.

The worst of the storm was supposed to have hit later at night, so Caroline had decided to roll the dice and rent a car. The two hour drive would only get worse the longer she waited, and the roads were expected to remain open for several hours.

Driving in the steadily falling snow had been tiring, her muscles drawn tight with strain. She’d texted Rebekah her plans but hadn’t heard back, her reception spotty, and it been with a great deal of relief that she found the house lights on as she’d pulled into the driveway. The walkway was mostly free from snow, as if someone gave deliberately shoveled, and she hoped the Mikaelson paid the caretaker well.

Yanking on her jacket, Caroline had grabbed her bags and made beeline for the front door, shivering in the wind and snow. The door had opened as she’d reached for the handle and she’d nearly slipped as she caught sight of who was standing there.

Klaus, with his mouth set in disapproval, the sweater he wore soft and comfortable looking, inviting her cold fingers to reach out and touch.

“I thought Rebekah was joking when she said you were making the drive.” His words were terse, edged in exasperation as took her bag and ushered her into the heat of the house.

Caroline rolled her eyes as she headed straight for the fire,yanking at her scarf and gloves. “It’s not my first time driving in snow, and I refuse to sleep on an airport floor.”

Klaus had made a rough noise of disbelief. “What would you have done if you’d gotten stuck?”

“The worst isn’t supposed to hit for a few hours,” she’d protested, looking over her shoulder with raised brows. “It was perfectly fine and…”

Her words cut off as the power flickered and the. died around them, the fire their only source of light. The sudden silence had been punctured by the crackling of the fire, and Klaus exhaled slowly. “I’ll go check the backup generator.”

Caroline set her jaw and started pulling her gloves back on. “I’ll go with you.”

Both of his brows had arched. “You just got out of the storm, love. You sure you want to go back into it?”

To puncture his words, the windows rattled as the wind picked up. “You might need me to hold the flashlight. Plus, I know how generators work, being as this isn’t my first snowpocalypse.”

She could tell he had wanted to argue, but he’d manage to refrain. They’d trudged out into the storm together, and Caroline hadn’t argued when he’d use his taller frame to block the worst of the wind. Their investigation had lead to the discovery that mice had chewed through the wires, leaving the generator unusable. The cursing that had come from Klaus had almost been worth knowing that they were going to have to figure out how to deal with the snow without the convenience of running water. Caroline had taken back all her mental thank yous to the caretaker. She would have killed for a shower or bath to thaw in and was extremely unhappy she wasn’t going to get one.

Once back in the house, Klaus had rolled his neck with a sigh and eyed her. “Come on. I picked up dinner earlier. I’ll share. We’ll open a bottle and figure out our options.”

Caroline frowned and slipping out of her wet shoes, thankful for her thick socks and making a point to avoid the growing puddles as snow melted off their jackets. “Do you think the power will come back on?”

“Doubtful, sweetheart. The winds have been picking up all evening, and it is as likely someone’s asinine Santa decoration took out a power line as it was a tree limb. We’ll have to make due, I’m afraid.”

Dinner turned out to be Italian. The lasagna was room temperature, the cheese a bit congealed, but the wine made up for it. As had her company. It had been ridiculously easy to fall back into old patterns, and so much harder not to let her eyes linger on the curve of his lips, the hint of a dimple in the firelight.

It was with regret that she forced herself to be practical once she finished her food. Sleeping arrangements needed to be decided upon, their water supply examined. A quick perusal had showed that while the generators had been neglected, the pantry was well stock with food and water they could live off of should the storm last longer than expected. The bedrooms all had thick blankets, but also large windows and thin curtains. The master bedroom hadn’t been much better even though it did have a fireplace. In the end, with its fireplace, doors, and easily covered windows the den had ended up being the unanimous winner.

They’d wrestled a double mattress into the den as Klaus had refused to sleep on the floor and had convincingly argued the couch wasn’t wide enough for two. Deciding not to complain when she didn’t want to sleep on the floor either, she’d helped him move things around. By the time they’d piled the bed with blankets and settled in for the night, she’d been exhausted.

Thankfully, so had Klaus. Getting into bed had been quick, both of them covered in layers of clothes. Secretly, she had really been hoping Klaus snored or drooled or something that she could use to keep her hormones in check. Seeing Klaus again, sharing a bed with Klaus, had woken all sorts of ideas she had thought she had kept in check. And instead of being annoying, Klaus had proven to be an excellent bedmate and a quiet sleeper. And really, stupidly comfy.

Taking a bracing breath, Caroline mournfully decided it was best get up and deal with the fire. If the storm had eased up, it was likely that the roads would be cleared soon. Rich people rarely lived with inconveniences, and Caroline figured it wouldn’t take long for the airport to be functioning. Snow plows would start clearing the streets as soon as it was safe. She figured it would be best to get the den straightened up and eliminate all signs of their forced cohab for the night even if the rest of her social circle would be showing up much later that night.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, she pushed up to try to untangle herself. The arm wrapped around her waist tightened and she squeaked as she was pulled backwards, firmly against Klaus’ chest.

“It’s cold,” he murmured, voice sleep rough. “Stay.”

Caroline bit her lip to keep from shivering. “I was going to restart the fire.”

His fingers flexed against her stomach and she felt him move around behind her. The sound of the covers shifting and the familiar click of a phone screen was loud, and she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the little grunt of disbelief he made. “It’s six am, Caroline. I don’t remember you particularly enjoying mornings.”

“Technically, it’s eight am in New York,” she pointed out just to be contrary. For all that he’d complained it was cold, the bed was cozy with the combined heat, but she didn’t feel like reminding him of it. Burrowing back into her pillow, her voice was slightly muffled by the bedding. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“Perhaps not,” Klaus agreed softly, legs brushing hers as he settled behind her. The bed didn’t provide much space for them both and a tangle of limbs was nearly unavoidable. Not that Klaus seemed interested in avoiding her, his arm still draped across her waist. “But I’m in no hurry to leave, either.”

“Not a fan of the cold?” Caroline teased yanking the blankets higher, hoping to cover the heat in her cheeks with the motion. “How does that work? You live in New York.”

He laugh was soft. “And as I’ve been told, so do you, love. But I was referring to my current company, not the slightly unfortunate temperature.”

Caroline’s eyes widened, fingers curling tightly into the sheets at his casual admittance that he’d talked to someone about her. The sudden jump in her pulse left her breath hitching in her throat, and she tried not to fidget. “New York was always in my plans. I’m pretty sure I mentioned it at least once.”

“You did,” he agreed. “Does the city still meet your expectations?”

Taking a bracing breath, she glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her intently. There was a crease from his pillow on his cheekbone above his usual stubble, and his eyes were dark in the low light. “It’s nice to be able to afford more than a single drink at a time, and I still hate the subway. But I think I’m getting used to it.”

She’d found herself fitting easily back into brightly colored flats and comfy sneakers for running to catch a train, and her boots had gotten a much needed upgrade once the weather had chilled. For all of her complaints about public transport, she loved having a coffee shop always around the corner and highlighted takeout menus on her fridge. She was still looking for the perfect yoga class, but her legs were in fantastic shape.

It was messy, but it was hers.

“I’m glad,” Klaus said simply.

Biting her lip, Caroline rolled onto her back to study Klaus’ face more closely. There was a quiet sort of intimacy laying there with him, even with the layers and layers of clothes between them. Toes curling nervously beneath the pile of blankets, she forced herself not to fidget.

“I thought about swinging by with a pizza to say hi, I was pretty sure the doorman would let me in, but I was told you were in Europe.”

His lips curled slowly, a hint of a dimple peeking from his cheek. “London seemed less of a trial than my apartment after you left.”

Not willing to read into that when she wanted it so badly, she looked at the ceiling in mock exasperation. “You probably ruined the spice cabinet in a week.”

He made a rough sound of amusement, but his gaze was serious when her eyes returned to his. “If only your lingering presence was limited to my spice cabinet. You were in the magazines on my coffee table, your trash tv addictions just sitting there on my DVR, the precise way you’d folded your bathroom towels after the maids left last. You were gone and I still couldn’t escape you.”

Caroline her felt her cheeks heat, her mouth going bone dry at the dip in his voice, the smallest hint of gravel. “First of all, those shoes are quality entertainment, and I’d have thought you were happy to get your space back.”

“You cannot imagine I let just anyone rearrange my kitchen at three am, Caroline.” His brows arched, something warm and amused lingering in his eyes. “Much less confiscate my DVR with their poor television choices.”

She’d known that but hadn’t been able to really read into such a thing with her last year of school standing firmly between them. Carefully inching closer, she watched for any sign of discomfort or distaste but instead, Klaus settled a hand against her spine and pulled her closer still. She sputtered out a laugh, something giddy rising in her chest, and forced herself to focus.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Klaus’ chin tipped downward, both brows arching. “A pretty girl living with the older brother of her best friend? It was rife with potential commentary from our mutual acquaintances, as I am sure you can imagine. By the time I realized that it was more than just a bit of lust, I’d also realized how bad of an idea it would be to start something when you still had so many choices to make.”

Caroline could respect that. She hadn’t been ready for something serious. It could only mean good things that he’d realized that and waited. But her school hadn’t been the only elephant in the room.

She bit her lip, words slightly hesitant. “Rebekah won’t be happy.”

Klaus’ lips quirked at her faint warning. “My sister doesn’t share well, true. It’s a family trait, I’m afraid. But as I do t believe either of us are looking for a fling, she will get over it. Eventually. Assuming, of course, you wish to pursue something that would lead to her throwing such a fit.”

His fingers tightened slightly against her spine, a sign that the question had been difficult for him. It was nice knowing that he was as nervous as she even if he was hiding better. Particularly with how much she liked Klaus, the potential for more than just like she could see not that far in the future and she wanted it.

More importantly, she had already decided that Rebekah’s feeling weren’t more important than her own. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation and her friend was likely to throw the tantrum Klaus had alluded to, but Caroline was certain they could work through it. But it was important that Klaus knew that she had decided on him, that she had done so knowing the Rebekah would be unhappy.

“I was going to use that pizza dinner as a chance to find out if you were seeing anyone,” Caroline admitted, fingers lifting to toy with the ties of the hoodie he wore. “And if you weren’t, receptive you’d be to a move or two.”

His eyes flared with interest, thumb brushing slowly across a knot of her spine. “What kind of move?”

“The kind of move where I wore something short and tight that made my boobs look fantastic,” she said with a slow growing smile. “It couldn’t be too racy of course, Rebekah would never believe my outfit a coincidence if I showed too much skin. For that, I’m going to have to bribe her with candy flavored vodka and those English cake things she likes.”

“Not a fan of fairy cakes, love?”

“Oh no, they’re delicious, but for someone who drinks pure sugar disguised as alcohol, I do not understand her hatred of frosting.”

Klaus laughed softly, eyes lowering to the curve of her lips. “A discussion for another time, I think. I’m not particularly interested in the things my sister likes, Caroline.”

It was with more than a twinge of regret that she covered his mouth with her palm. Both of his brows arched in question, confusion clear on his face. Caroline took a deep breath and tried not to think about the feel of his stubble under her fingertips, and wonder how it would feel against much more delicate skin.

“You were going to kiss me.” The low noise of agreement he made set off butterflies low in her stomach and did not help her resolve. At all. “You can’t kiss me.”

His free hand lifted her palm from his lips and he tipped his head. There was no censure in his voice, just a careful caution she appreciated. “No?”

“Well,” she amended. “You can’t kiss me right now. It might be early, but we need to get the fire going and figure out food and I’d really like to brush my teeth. And you know, figure out how long until we can expect the power to turn on and the roads to be plowed. I’d also really, really like to get this room straightened up because if Kol teases us about sharing a bed Rebekah is going to be livid and I’d prefer her to be maybe not drunk, but at least tipsy before the conversation about dating her brother happens.”

His hand shifted so that thumb stroked slowly along the curve of her bottom lip as she drew in a breath. “And after we accomplish this mental list of yours, Caroline?”

“That depends,” she said brightly. “A girl has to have standards, and while I’m totally onboard with the kissing post-toothpaste, your half frozen hands aren’t getting anywhere near my boobs.”

Klaus’ laughter shook his whole body and she forced herself to maintain a straight face when what she wanted to do was laugh with him. Ducking his head, he caught her fingers and pressed the wide curve of her smile against her palm. Her breath caught, and for a moment they laid there, watching each other. Then Klaus pushed up, taking the heat of the blankets with him, and she squealed. He took no pity on her, pulling her up with him, and she pressed against the heat of him once they stood, shivering.

“As delightful as this is,” Klaus drawled, tugging at the ends of her hair. “I cannot start a fire and cuddle with you at the same time, sweetheart.”

Nodding, she reluctantly moved away from him. “Fine. I’ll track down some of those water bottles and then start folding the bedding.”

His eyes glimmered with laughter. “Don’t forget the toothpaste.”

Caroline huffed out a laugh then, reaching back to redo the mess of her bun as Klaus stepped around her. For a moment, she watching him move, the shift of his shoulders beneath the layers before making herself look away. She had no doubt that he would have the fire going in record time. She’d brush her teeth and give Rebekah a call, find out what kind of timeline they had to work with and then she’d very happily submit herself to a few hours getting handsy with Klaus.

It would have to suffice until they made it back to New York. Then she’d suck it up and break the news to Rebekah before she let Klaus take her to dinner. If he was really lucky, she’d show him some of her new, pretty and very adult lingerie. Delighted with her plan, Caroline went hunting for her cellphone, happiness a bubbling in her chest.

It was going to be a great New Years.

[aurora-daily]

AURORA

Interview: AURORA for Notion by Cleo Webster (May 28th, 2019).

Norwegian pop sensation Aurora wants the world to know that she is only human – though, perhaps, A Different Kind…

It’s both refreshing and unnerving to talk with someone who seems to know what you’re about to ask, before the question even passes your lips. But, given the mysterious, otherworldly aura surrounding alt-pop artist Aurora, it’s a talent that shouldn’t be entirely unexpected. Notion grabbed a few minutes with the Norwegian singer-songwriter to discuss her upcoming album, A Different Kind of Human, in between touring the globe, writing a fourth record, learning Japanese, and building an army of warriors for our world.

Most people will be familiar with Aurora’s mystical, ethereal vocal style – even if they don’t know it; her cover of Oasis’ “Half the World Away” was the soundtrack of Christmas 2015, having featured in that year’s John Lewis Christmas advert. While the gig could well be credited with propelling her career in its earliest stages, she isn’t hesitant in admitting that the Gallagher brothers aren’t really her cup of tea: “I didn’t know about the song before that! I don’t like them that much, I think they’re a really good band and they make really good music, but it’s just not what I usually listen to.

“I don’t really listen much to music, because there is so much music in my life, and in my head, so I do prefer just silence most of the time. But I do sometimes listen to Enya, which is quite calm, and I like listening to heavy metal like System Of A Down and Mastodon, bands like that, so it’s quite a contrast! There is something in heavy metal which soothes me, I often sleep to heavy metal songs.”

We catch her, coincidentally, half the world away on tour in Australia. It’s a long way from her home town of Bergen on the west coast of Norway, where her family still resides in a quiet fjord in the forest. “It’s really beautiful, and I think my favourite thing about my childhood home is that there are almost no people there. I like to be alone, and I loved being alone when I was a child. It was always an issue with my friends that I said no to hanging out, because I really enjoyed being with myself and I had so many things I wanted to do; I liked to draw, dance and make music. I think that’s the best gift from growing up in Norway and my family home; the imagination and creativity you get when you have to be your own best friend.”

This connection to nature, and the idea of escape and solitude, permeates her music: “I have nature where I grew up, and I know many people don’t have the same kind of scenery, so it’s nice to think that music can take you away to somewhere else. My music has many layers, and I think people really feel connected to nature and tribality in the world; I have big landscapes in my music, because I like energy and I like to dance and shout when I perform live. I’m quite explosive, or I’m feeling quite explosive at the moment. I think I need to be loud at the moment.”

Similarly, while the tribal emblems present throughout her music to date are still a clear influence, A Different Kind of Human goes further, inviting us on a journey through earthly and unearthly realms; opening with tribal rhythms from the belly of the Earth, we’re suddenly flung above the stars in a cloud of futuristic electropop, before being pulled back down by hypnotic and heavy drum beats:

“Every album I make is a bridge between the album that comes before, and the album I know will come after. I am moved by native music, ancient music, and I’m very inspired by Native American and African music, Norwegian folk music and quite a lot of Japanese folk music. I’ve had those quite close to my heart for a long time and, with every album I make, the perspective is becoming bigger.

“My first album was a lot about looking inwards and working with your own demons, becoming a warrior for yourself. All in all, it’s about becoming a warrior for the people that can’t be a warrior for themselves yet, so that’s why it’s important that this album felt like it was sent to a different kind of human. It has this mix of the ancient and futuristic because we are in a very interesting time now, as humans; we are trying to learn how to live with the world, the technology, with us, and trying to balance it all in harmony.”

The desire to be loud, to be a warrior, is fundamental when considering this latest musical offering; while her music may have once been intended to offer a retreat from reality, Aurora is determined now to bring her fans face to face with the very real crisis facing us today. “Music can be an escape for a little while to this other creative place, at the same time as it can be a tool to survive what you have to deal with in reality. I wanted people to feel like they could have a little break from whatever is hard to deal with in their lives, and to get some comfort. But, now, I’m obsessed with bringing people back to the planet through music, and opening people’s eyes about the world, about each other, to provoke compassion.

“I feel like we are meant to be compassionate creatures, we humans. We are compassionate with our friends, family, our closest ones, and it worries me that we don’t really have that much compassion with everything else of late. That’s kind of the whole point of what I’m into right now, bringing people back down to the Earth again and facing all of these uncomfortable things, while also seeing what is so beautiful, and that we have to preserve it before it’s too late.”

“The Seed” and “Apple Tree” are among the more overtly charged tracks on the album, reminiscent of the politically active musical movement championed by ‘70s punk artists. “I know there are problems that may seem very big – like how we look, or things we are unhappy about in ourselves – but if we just got a bigger perspective, it is easier to be happy. You learn that you have so much more to do on this planet, and all the small insignificant things that you are insecure or shy about, all of that stuff goes away; you realise ‘I’ve got power, and I have so much potential, I could actually help.’

“I think that music can make those things perhaps more fun to care about – like the planet, equality and gender equality, animal cruelty… there are many, many battles to take up. I’m kind of missing the anger that we used to have, especially in music. It makes me exhausted to think about how full of plastic the music industry has been for such a long time. Even with big shows, like the Met Gala for example, it’s so beautiful and expensive and sparkly, but if you just take one step back it looks so strange, you know? Like, if they were an animal, it wouldn’t make any sense. So why do we spend all this time and money focusing on this… We have so much potential, but I feel like it’s wasting away on matters that don’t really deserve us.”

If there’s one thing that nobody can accuse Aurora of, it’s being ‘plastic’; her standout theatrical style, both in her performances and dress sense, are a huge part of her appeal to fans across the globe. With her sense of self so clearly solidified, it is difficult to imagine that Aurora has ever felt that pressure to conform to homogenised pop standards. “It is a lot of pressure, all the time. People try to comment on what I should wear or want me to wear brands on every photo shoot. And you have to fight them off to just look like yourself. I think the biggest point I have tried to stay very true to is that, the way I dress, it has nothing to do with money, it’s nothing expensive. I mostly wear stuff me and my sister have made from old curtains or other clothes that we make into something else, and I do like really vintage stuff.

“I was determined from the beginning not to get any outfits from brands, because it’s not about getting stuff for free. With my fans, I want them to see me in things they can easily make themselves, because it has nothing to do with money, It just has to do with creativity and imagination – and then the possibilities are endless! It’s much more fun to just make things out of whatever you find in the dumpster.”

While Aurora may be resolute in remaining unchanged, there is no doubting that there have been staggering changes happening around her since the release of her first album in 2016 – so how does she feel about that? “It’s weird to even notice the change because it happens step by step; my family is bigger now, I have more warriors and weirdos by my side, and I think that’s the biggest difference. It’s nice, because I’ve always had the question in my head as to whether I really want to be an artist or not, as it’s such a strange thing. I just want to make music, that’s all I want to do. I want to be in the studio with my drummer, Magnus, and sometimes, in the beginning, I felt like being an artist and being on the stage was too distracting from that and kept me away from the studio.

“I think the biggest change from then to now is that I’ve learned how important it is to meet people, and to be in the same room with people… I think it’s important to see that someone they admire and love – because they do give me so much love – I’m just another human. Then I think it’s easier to have the same love for yourself, and so I do see the value in being an artist and performing; I’ve learned how much power my words can have.”

It’s interesting, that someone so assuredly content in solitude can, at the same time, feel so enticed by a crowd, and by notions of power and persuasion: “I do like having the power because I have a lot to say, and I have a lot that I want to change, and now I realise I can make change because of those people – I have no power without the people. I have really learned to love my fans and to love travelling around the world, and really getting my word out there. It’s very powerful.”

With A Different Kind of Human still a month from release at the time of writing, Aurora says that she has already started work on her fourth album with ‘an even bigger perspective’, whilst also on a worldwide tour. So, what’s next? “I want to make 8 albums, I think that’s the limit, and I want to have a show on the water. I want to make it a theatre performance with music… and I am a dancer too so, if possible, add even more dancing into the show. It’s very exciting, really, to have the time to really develop the most magical live show that you’ve ever seen.

“But I have a lot of plans! I also want to be a painter, and I’m trying to learn Japanese – I want to live in Japan for a few years. So, I have a lot of things that I want to do. And, luckily, I have a lot of time, because I’m not going to stop, not until I die.”

AURORA freshly reveals her new single ‘The River’ and accompanying video from her highly anticipated third album ‘A Different Kind of Human’ today, set for an official release via Decca Records on 7th June. In line with this, AURORA also announces a 6 date tour in November, including her biggest headline show to date in the UK at London’s iconic Roundhouse, on 11th November. Following a full packed summer of festival appearances including Glastonbury and Latitude, as well as sold out headline tours across Australia and South America.

‘The River’ is the opening track on ‘A Different Kind of Human’ and finds AURORA at her best, juxtaposing huge pop melodies with more conceptually driven electronica. Thematically tackling the issues of increasing male suicide rates and expression of emotion, the darkness and thoughtfulness of her lyrics are perfectly balanced with her delicate vocal, layered to sound more like an instrument than vocal in parts. Aurora commenting on the track notes “It’s quite a happy song… it’s been a while since I’ve had a joyful song so it feels very nice. It was inspired by something quite sad as I looked at the suicide rates on this planet and apparently 73% of them were men and then I thought, why is that the case? Then I realised, obviously, it must be because of the feeling that you can’t talk about your emotions and show that you’re in pain because pain is often associated with weakness but you know, here in my world it’s not, so the song is inspired by something quite sad but it is also happy because crying can be such a positive experience, especially afterwards when you actually feel a bit lighter.”

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 21 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Moved several things to Part 22 to make this chapter more concise (table fucking included, but you get fucking in the beginning, so don’t complain!). The album they’re listening to after Thai food is obviously Jefferson Airplane’s absolutely iconic SURREALISTIC PILLOW; the songs are two of my favorites, which indeed play adjacent to each other on the record: TODAY (one of the most beautiful love songs of all time) and COMIN’ BACK TO ME. Please note how careful Duncan is about waking Kenzie up before they fuck; autonomy, people, consent is hot! Their Exalted Selves (which is what I’m gonna refer to their angelic divine other selves as now) are based very vaguely on the Princess Serenity and Prince Endymion versions of Usagi and Mamoru in Sailor Moon, which I’ve loved since I was a child, but they’re far more ethereal and obtuse--it would be impossible for a human artist to draw Kenzie and Duncan’s Exalted Selves, for instance, as their beauty is too incredible and intense for human eyes. Kenzie’s makeup look for the photoshoot is based on Billie’s look here. A reminder that this is her red dress. The Cartier LOVE bracelets Duncan orders are here (for him) and here (for her, with diamonds). Duncan’s Givenchy star shirt. Duncan’s watch. This is his silver Cartier he’s wearing in Part 1. Here’s ANNIE’S SONG (another absolutely iconic love song I’ve loved forever). I found multiple meanings for the name Mackenzie, but in Gaelic it apparently means “comely”, which I used the synonym “lovely” in place of. The Rose Garden at the Botanical Gardens is real, but there’s no gate akin to the one I created, and I added a lot more roses than I think there usually are (there is a fountain)--MY STORY, MY STUFF. Annette’s dress. I’m seeing Fleetwood Mac tomorrow (it’s been two years since the last time I saw Stevie and I’ve missed her more than I can describe), I work on Saturday mornings, and it’s one of my best friends’ birthday party on Saturday evening, so Part 22 is going to take a bit; it’s also going to be the chapter where my!Duncan finds out from Claire Underwood that he was adopted, though the way I navigate that scene is going to be slightly different than the way Beau Willimon’s Season 6 did it; a reminder that my fic is a House of Cards AU in addition to being a Millory AU, and I’m throwing out canon HoC stuff that doesn’t fit into my narrative (such as @montenegro-style noticing I threw out Duncan’s super-Modernist apartment from the show and replaced it with a Romantic one), so don’t expect things to unfold the same way--I said this before too, but Duncan’s definitely not going to jail in my story, so forget about that. I may be borrowing characters and some vague plot elements from Ryan and Beau, but this story is mine. Love to the Millorys, as ever, and especially my Duckenzies.

Duncan stared up at the ceiling far above them, his fingers in Kenzie’s hair, his own hair tossed against the black pillow as music pumped quietly from the hidden stereo in the bedroom wall. To be living for you, is all that I want to do, to be loving you, it’ll all be there when my dreams come true...Kenzie was tucked under his arm, her head against his shoulder, the softness of her breasts and stomach pressing into his side, her body naked now--they’d ordered a mountain of Thai food, and she’d kept the tulle lingerie on while they ate, a linen spread on the floor in front of the picture window in the penthouse living room as the night fell, Dike, Nike and Athena gazing down on them on either side, Kenzie facing the Bouguereau prints, her little legs stretched out in the silky sheer stockings, bowl in her lap. The picture of her eating so hungrily in the delicate attire would forever be seared on his brain from this day on--my Kenzie, her essence, her goodness, her sweetness, her staggering beauty, not just her body, but her soul. Her wide-eyed gaze skirted up now and then to admire the prints (Duncan noticed she looked at Evening Mood the most), then fell back into his to give him coy looks, languidly licking curry from her spoon.

“I think they all look like you,” he’d murmured to her, the sincerity in his heart making him dizzy. “I can only see your face in them now, you in the evening, you at night, you waking up in the morning…” He reached for a spring roll but forgot about it halfway to his mouth as Kenzie had come up on her knees, her breasts pressing together in the elegant criss-crossing design of the black bra, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder in the fading light, her (sweet budding leaves and chocolate and the saffron light of autumn mornings) eyes laying him bare. Her beauty in this moment struck him dumb--Kenzie set her bowl down and crawled over to him on the linen, languid, knowing. Duncan had put on a pair of black gym shorts and a fitted black tee shirt to retrieve their takeout from downstairs a few minutes before, and as she reached him Kenzie tugged the hem of the shirt up, little hand soothing over his bare skin underneath.

“Call me your moonlight again,” she whispered against him, her eyes trembling open and closed, her little pink lips shining with the residue of spice and saliva. Her hair brushed against his neck and cheek, the sweet smell of rose and vetiver and jasmine, and Duncan had set the spring roll down uneaten, brushing his hand against the napkin in front of him, then bringing it up to press the cascade of her hair into his nose. She is my favorite smell. I’m at peace inside the scent of her.

“Moonlight. My moon princess. My moonbeam.” He kissed her hair--let his lips slip down its waves, intoxicated. “You know the full moon is on the night of the Gala, baby? A full moon just for you. It’ll shine down on you and everyone will be struck with longing for you. But you’re my baby, aren’t you? You’re my moonlight. They’ll pine for you because you’re mine.” He blushed at his need, his desire to have her all to himself--but as he said it, Duncan knew it was true. We belong to each other.

“Yes, Dunny, I’m your moonlight, I’m yours, my love. I belong to you.” Kenzie climbed into his lap, sliding against him in the achingly soft tulle, her ass settling down on his calves crossed together, and she was so small and felt so delicate and she smelled so lovely, he could feel himself growing hard again--her little arms came around his neck and he lifted her up into his mouth to kiss her, his mind awash in a cloud of gold. He was struck with a vision of her as Artemis, naked and white in the reflection of the moon, bathing in a midnight pool, her bow and arrow made of the gossamer strands of stars sitting on the bank of the water, singing moon hymns in her sweet voice to the owls and the deer and the foxes flitting through the undergrowth. Too beautiful for any ordinary man’s eyes. How am I so blessed. Their kisses extended for a long while--Kenzie went to lift away but Duncan needily brought her back against him and she let him, she fell into him again, she arched into him and he could feel the way she was giving herself to him, coaxing him back into arousal to do what she asked him for later tonight--his nerves were alight at the prospect of bringing her body out of achingly lovely sleep with insistence, enticing her under his continuous touch to give herself over to him in the dark with only the moon to see their desirous tangle.

Now they lay in bed (our bed, the bed of our adoration, our love, my favorite place now that she lays beside me in it), sleepy and full and naked and ready for bed, the duvet pushed down to their feet, speech seeming a very dull and faraway impulse. I can hear you this way, can feel you better this way, he thought into her, and she nodded against his skin, her cheek against his nipple as the music drifted around them. Please, please, listen to me, it’s taken so long to come true, it’s all for you, all for you...Duncan gazed down at her--her eyes had fallen closed and she had begun to breathe slow against him, her leg crooked over his thigh, her little mouth open just a touch. He could see there were still lingering red marks at her neck from his ardency, a tattoo that told the story of their nights. He thought of how she’d looked that morning, still stuck inside her sleep, stuck in her nightmare--her face had been creased with fear, and it had clenched an icy hand around his heart, rattling a panic into his lungs--he’d run to the bed and gripped her and shook her, his desperation strange and immediate. Wake her up, his mind had urged. Don’t let her see it, don’t let her suffer it. What it was still didn’t seem clear, but Duncan remembered what she’d said upon waking, that in her dream there had been a man with his face, a man who was like a black hole in the void.

It was like he had eaten you.

Duncan shivered against her and slid his arm out from underneath her head--Kenzie stirred, her head turning, her body shifting with aching loveliness--Duncan’s heart and the heat in the pit of him clenched as he watched the incline of her ribs shift, the refracted light on her breasts, heard the a tiny sigh fall from her mouth--but her eyes remained closed. He carefully moved from the bed and pulled the switch on the nightstand, his eyes still lingering on her (exalted), and the room plunged into blue-and-white darkness, Jefferson Airplane still quietly drifting into the room: you came to stay and live my way, scatter my love like leaves in the wind, you always say you won't go away, but I know what it always has been, it always has been...Duncan moved through the living room, stepping to the reading lamps to switch them off, bathing himself in darkness, his eyes falling over the expanse of the city through the picture window that encompassed the entire west end of the room. The night was very clear and the sun was gone--the only indication it had been there was a line of mauve and dahlia color lingering at the horizon before the sky bled into darkness pinpricked with stars, hazy in the reflection of the city.

Strolling the hills overlooking the shore, I realized I've been there before...the shadow in the mist could have been anyone...I saw you…

What do the dreams mean? At first Duncan had been sure they’d been brought on by the mad mix of emotion inside both of them lately--just dopamine, seratonin, oxytocin and endorphins, just our brains in a mad rush of ecstatic happiness, and the residue is our minds going haywire at night. He moved on to his study, the carefully controlled temperature of the penthouse cool on his bare skin, an oasis in the hot June night. This one seems to have been the clearest for her, and the most frightening. Is it fear that I’ll betray her that would make her dream of an evil version of me? His heart ached at that. I never will, baby. I never fucking will. I’d die first.

I saw you, I saw you, comin' back to me

Duncan glanced at the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus as he moved towards his turntable, the song’s final longing guitar and melancholy hum bleeding out into silence. The woman in the center, her arms thrown back ecstatically, her head tilted towards the consort at her feet, collapsed in revelry--Duncan had studied her many long nights, studied her abandon and her achingly white, almost translucent beauty, but now, like the prints in the room beside this one, he could see only Kenzie in her form--Kenzie dancing in the living room, singing in drunken joy (I’ll never live to match the beauty again), Kenzie running away from him into the ocean waves, Kenzie’s glittering eyes on him as he tied her to the chain. The whole of the world turned around her; she was the sun, and also the moon, and also every other star, and everything that encompassed the universe was because of and according to her--for me, that’s the end of it.

Duncan pressed the button at the side of the record player and the needle lifted away, settling back into its resting place. He turned to look at the painting again--the painting Annette had gotten him as a moving gift, and over time the painting that had begun to feel as though it were an irrevocable part of him, an extension of him, a friend to him as he stared at it long on lonely nights. He thought of the mesmerized way Kenzie stared at it, as she had since that first night when he pressed his mouth to her clit as she hovered on the edge of his desk, her head thrown back; as if she sees me in it, when now I see her in it. It’s almost too much to look at it for too long now; because it reminds me of the one I love most in all the world and she is blinding in her loveliness. It was always beautiful. But now it’s exalted to me because she loves it, and anything she loves is beloved to me.

He thought again of Ariadne, the painting he knew would be for her now, too; the auction was in a few weeks’ time, just before the beginning of July when their birthdays would be coming, and he smiled, his hand coming up to his jaw, his thumb pressing against his bottom lip, though he didn’t realize it, eager to have it hanging on the wall beside their bed, eager to see her face when she saw it and knew it was for her. When she died Dionysus took a crown he had given her and placed it among the stars. The idea of her dying someday was one he couldn’t begin to fathom; the despair of it was beyond words in its agony. But Duncan felt a drifting calm fall over him after the stab of pain--we found each other in this life, didn’t we. We finally found each other. I think we would find each other again. I think we’ll always find each other. I really fucking do. I think that’s what the Fates wrote for us. That we’re meant to be together--really, truly fated to be together. Like two stars in a constellation that endures until time no longer has any meaning. And there can’t be one of us without the other--not for long.

Duncan switched off the Tiffany lamp--now the penthouse was truly in darkness but for the light that came from the night outside. O Fates, I wish you could tell me what the dreams mean. They don’t feel like they’re just dreams. I know I said that to Kenzie--but I said it because I wanted to believe it myself. Lately, everything seems to mean something. Everything seems to have a hidden clockwork of purpose behind it. When we met I think we kicked something into motion, something ground out of a long sleep into a great predetermination. Now everything is vibrating with destiny--our destiny. Our love. Whatever she and I are meant to do with our lives, we are meant to do it together. Whatever I’m meant to do, I can’t do it without her. And I wouldn’t want to. I ache for her every moment--she has pierced the deepest part of my soul.

He carefully moved back to the bedroom in the dark--his eyes glanced up at Pallas Athena as he passed her, and he couldn’t help but send a prayer out to her (gray-eyed maiden, in whose wise gaze all truths are laid bare--give us wisdom, my sweet lover and I, to give to those who need it most, to move the pathways toward the greatest good--I’ve wasted time, Athena, I know it, but I swear I won’t again, I swear I’ll cherish every moment with her); he’d had the goddess statues for over five years now (they’d come from Stapleton’s, Frederick had found them for Duncan carefully when he’d asked for Greek goddess motifs), but never had he so often had the impulse to pray to them--I never prayed to anyone before, he remembered, and now I’d pray to anyone if it meant she would always be safe and happy. He thought of the Fates again (Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos), spinning the threads of their two destinies together many ages ago--most deep and unfathomable love, a love for all of time, he thought, and did not question where the certainty had come from, only felt acutely that it was not misplaced.

Duncan saw that moonlight now fell on the bed as he re-entered--the moon was waxing strongly now, and his breath felt caught in his throat as he looked at Kenzie in the throes of sleep, turned towards the door, the duvet still pushed down around her feet, so her body was bare to him. The silvery wave of the low light fell over her cheek and the tawny-gold of her hair, making it seem almost white, giving it a sheen that seemed otherworldly. But she is, he thought, emotion clouding into his mind, stunning him with her again (and again and again) as he watched her sleeping form, her silvery nakedness, the dip of her waist and one arm crooked around her hip, hand dipping down in front of her sex, the other pressed against her mouth, sweetly--she was more profound to him than anything, more breathtaking than any art of any age. It’s like she is from another world--it’s like she was snatched from heaven and fell down into my arms, into my bed, fell down onto that balcony where I beheld her, trapped here on earth, for the first time. I felt that I knew she was more than what she might have seemed to an untrained eye. And I still feel that I know it. She has an effect on other people that they don’t seem to really recognize or understand. But I see it. And I think I understand. My Kenzie isn’t just lovely and kind; she has real power to heal, to alter the pain others feel and alleviate their suffering. Kenzie has a healing touch, one that can knit together and remedy a distressed soul. It’s almost like she really could bring something back from the dead. It’s like she could sew back together, using only her hands, her energy, something that had been ripped apart, reverse fucking time--it’s like she somehow willed me onto that balcony, so I could find her, so I could touch her and in that touch know her immediately as I always have, and know she was the half of me that had been lost, but no longer. Because she had willed us back together. She had willed us to find each other again, and so we did--she attached a golden string to me long ago when time began, whispered to me that it would help me find her if we got lost, if we got separated from each other--and I finally saw it glimmering between us, and followed it to where she was. Saint Mackenzie, goddess of lost things, goddess of binding, of rebirth, of transcendent healing, of perfect love. My moonlight, my sunlight, my starry sky, beloved.

He could feel himself growing hard again, thinking of her sliding onto his lap in the tulle lingerie, the demanding croon of her voice (call me your moonlight again, I want you to wake me up with kisses and fuck me in the dark with your lips pressed into my shadows, I want you to kiss my shadows, and touch them with aching hands), and Duncan knew it was the right time--that it was time to press his mouth into the soft space of her in the darkness. His eyes had begun to adjust to the dark now and he eased down onto the bed, its cool sheets shivering up his thighs, urging him toward her--Duncan reached down to where her arm crooked over her hip and slid his fingers up her torso to the sweet roundness of her breasts, achingly slow, willing himself into tenuous control, overwhelmed with the relief of touching her without any constraints, without his hands tied or the lingerie covering her or anything in the way of her, Kenzie, my solace, the home of my heart. He eased his body down next to hers, his hands still cosseting around her, fingers drifting back and forth on her nipples, and he felt a surge of blood into his cock as he felt them grow hard under his touch, though she didn’t stir yet (wake me up with kisses) and Duncan leaned his face to her across the pillow and pressed a soft, aching kiss into her forehead, her temple, each eyelid, shivering in sleep, the dip of each cheek, over her nose and the incline of her jaw, and then he pressed down, sliding against the coolness of the sheet again, to bury his face against her neck, his kisses becoming more insistent, more exacting of her--wake up my love, Duncan pressed into her mind, feeling her head lift as she stirred, slowly beginning to register him, wake up baby, and he felt strange for a moment, caught up in her unconscious mind, as if he was brushing up against another self, another Kenzie--then the feeling cleared, and he could feel her golden waves of energy. And he said again, into her: wake up my love, wake up baby love, wake up so I can fuck you, wake up so I can press my kisses into your shadows, wake up so we can be together.

Then--Duncan was stunned with the feeling that surged into him in that moment. It was almost painful, the brilliancy and power of her energy as he lingered inside her in that in-between place that wasn’t waking and wasn’t sleep for her, and he felt minute inside it, wildly small to behold her this way; fucking goddess. Oh fuck, Kenzie. You really are a goddess. You have all of this inside you and I am staggered by you. I can’t begin to fathom this. Is this where you go when you sleep? Back to the secret expanse of everything you keep hidden, this place of resplendent power that has colors I’ve never seen, colors I could never describe? Is this where you came from? And even more unbelievably, he heard her voice inside that in-between place, calling out to him, and her voice was full of so much joy it immediately made him want to sob against her, and she said yes baby, Duncan, exalted, beloved, this is where I came from, and where you came from, and you come here too in your dreams, but you never remember, but you will. Soon, you’ll start to remember. What we were before, what we are, and what we will be again. Soon we’ll both start to remember, for our destinies were written when the stars were just dreams themselves, and our destinies will live on when they’ve burned out.

Duncan’s mind felt like it was on fire with the feeling of her, the words she spoke that made no sense to him, and yet made every sense, a deeper sense, their hidden meaning touching against the shadowed hidden heart of him, and he lifted his mouth up to the space under her ear, one hand cradling up under the back of her head to pull her more firmly against him and the other sliding down the intoxicating softness of her rib cage and her belly to hover at her abdomen, hover above the mouth of her sex, waiting for her eyes to open to him, to give him the yes he longed for, and he felt the intensity of the in-between place begin to fade--felt reality seep back in, like milk stirred into dark coffee, and Kenzie was stirring more strongly against him, leaning into his mouth tasting at her skin, and a moan escaped from her that stirred the building heat in his groin and he spoke into her skin, his own words bleeding into a moan, a reply of need for her--”wake up baby, wake up all the way for me, wake up and tell me to touch you, tell me to fuck you, Kenzie, uhh--” and despite the darkness, he felt her eyes open, their golden depth unnerving him for a moment (how can they be glowing like that, like a ripe harvest moon), focusing on him as though he were the one pinprick of light in a long darkness, and then they seemed to fade back, fade to the forest-and-burnt-acorn he recognized--he had leaned back to look at her, his lips lifting away from her skin, and he gasped as her little hand came down, exacting, and slid from the dusting of hair at the top of his groin, closing around the length of his stiffening cock and dragging her achingly soft grip to the head of him.

“I’m here, baby,” she whispered, and he felt his need kindle up like someone had thrown gas onto a bonfire, felt his cock jump inside her grip, and then she said “touch me,” and he slid his fingers, middle first, down between the lips of her cunt and pressed, harshly, into her clit, so warm and so wet and sending a spasm of want through his body--Kenzie lifted up, almost involuntarily, and her moan was longer now, focusing on him, inside the sensation of his touch, beseeching him for more. “Yes, baby, fuck yes,” Kenzie moaned, “more, more,” and Duncan pressed the lips of her sex outward with his other fingers, his long middle finger still working down into her clit, strictly, then finally, he kissed her, open-mouthed, and her sweet little tongue laved out against his, her slender hand still gripping his cock with a strength that addled his senses. In the shadows, with only the moon to light their bed, Duncan felt he could feel the way she was sending little pinpricks her power, that terrible gold energy, too beautiful to behold in this world, into his body through her grip, as if she were sending it into his spirit, giving him strength, kindling his desire to a high place he had never imagined, residue from that in-between place, residue from another world where such things were commonplace, so much power was the natural order.

But Duncan knew what she wanted then, and he broke their aching kisses apart, moving his hand up from his attentions at her sex, pushing her little body down forcefully so she was on her back, pressing her legs wide apart and coming up between them on his knees, and Kenzie lifted her hips so she was poised against the head of his cock, her hair falling down in the moonlight, her hands coming up to his arms and then sliding down to his wrists to clutch him against her. Duncan gripped her carefully at the small of her back, his thumbs pressing across her hip bones (god I want to kiss them)--then he thrust into her with an ecstatic groan, marveling at how wet she was, how perfect it felt to be inside her in the dark this way. Kenzie shuddered into him, a little cry falling from her lips, and in the dark he could see her mouth lingering open, her eyes rolling back for him, “that’s it, baby,” he couldn’t stop himself, needed to speak his desire aloud to her, in the dark, where no one else belonged but the two of them in this moment, “give yourself to me, everything, the shadows too, I’ll kiss them, I love you--” and he felt her nails dig into the skin of his arms as he pounded into her, wondering at the intensity of his hardness, the lightness of her body against him--god baby, I don’t want to crush you and she said “fuck, keep going, do not fucking stop, god you feel so fucking good, fucking fuck me Duncan--”

Her little hand reached up to him, lifting from his arm and he leaned down to her, pressed down into her, easing her back down onto the bed and fucking her achingly close now, their stomachs pressing against each other, her hand coming under his jaw to pull his mouth into her, tasting him breathlessly as he drove his length into her again and again, and her scent was rose and vetiver and her sweet, heady sex, and her yielding mouth was almost too wonderful, too much to bear, and his hands came around to cup her breast and against her neck to press there softly and she wrapped her little feet around his back and her fingers twined into his hair at the nape and Kenzie whispered “my sweet baby, my beautiful Prince, fuck me--” between their kisses and Duncan felt faint with her realness again, faint with the feeling of her cunt clenching around him, faint in her arms, her loveliness, her silken skin, the slight, achingly sublime sounds she was making overwhelming his senses.

His hand came down between her legs again and his fingers pressed ardent circles against her and he said “baby, do you want me to suck on you, do you want me to kiss your clit--” and Kenzie shook her head against his lips and said “no, baby, no, don’t stop fucking me, just touch me like that, touch me in the dark, I love you, Duncan, I love you with every part of me--” and he was nodding against her--”I love you too baby, Kenzie, I love you, oh god I love you, I can’t describe--”, his memory drifting against the power he’d felt from her as she floated out of sleep, absolutely in awe of her again, absolutely at her mercy, inside her grace, and she shushed him as his fingers flicked back down to the wetness that coated her cunt and his cock as he thrust his whole length into her, then out, then back again, and redoubled his effort with his fingers at her clit as their mouths came together again and she began to shake in his arms, a shaking that began at her shoulders and cascaded down her body into where his cock was buried inside her and she moaned into his mouth, a moan that became a prolonged wail into him, her words muddling into incomprehensible murmurs that Duncan could almost see, like colors, floating around them--”Dunny, oh, fuck--oh fucking fuck baby oh ohhhhh beloved baby my sweet fucking babyfuck love you I love you--” and Duncan breathed in carefully, deeply, keeping the rhythm of his movement into her steady and concentrated as she came, her little hands clutching his head down to her, twisting into his hair and pulling it harshly as she cried out, and he thought oh Kenzie, you’re bathed in moonlight, you look like an angel, you’re too beautiful for words--

Suddenly, inexplicably, inside her release, Duncan’s mind was jerked back into wherever it had been before Kenzie woke up--into where he’d hovered inside her psyche, in that in-between place, and he remembered her words again, still locked against her, inside her, the rhythm he’d built unceasing, words that she seemed to speak from another self floating back into his mind, a version of her that had immense power, an energy that seemed too great for reality, too beautiful for human eyes--soon, you’ll start to remember, what we were before, what we are, and what we will be again--and Duncan saw a version of them in his mind, as though in a memory, where they were both in that place that seemed to be made of those inexplicable colors that he’d felt inside Kenzie, colors that felt like emotions, like the love he felt for her, like the love he could feel coming into him from her. Kenzie’s hair was longer than it was now, it was so long it fell to her knees, and it sheen was indescribably lovely, paler than the tawny-gold he had begun to know so well, a white-gold that was almost silvery, in magnificent waves, and he saw tiny flowers woven through the strands, their color indescribable to him, their shape unlike any flower he could think of--each one seemed to have a hundred tiny petals. Around her forehead was a circlet of gold so thin and fine it seemed an impossible thing to exist at all. Her dress was unlike anything he’d ever seen, either--it seemed to be made of the gossamer strands of a thousand spider webs, a hundred intricate honeycombs of some vast, beautifully geometric design that was simply too complex to ever create, and yet she wore it, and it fit her as though it were her second skin--intricately woven, rose-golden embroidery fell over the dress--its pattern was like a language he could not comprehend. And her eyes--inside her eyes in that place he felt he really could see a universe turning, so magnificent and so golden that they threatened to rend his heart into a thousand fragments. He realized he was inside some other self in this moment--he couldn’t see his own face, but could see his own clothing, the intricately woven sleeves over his arms, in a similar incomprehensible gold embroidery and geometry that made him dizzy to even attempt to contemplate--he wore a kind of thin, woven gold breastplate that was akin to the aegis on likenesses of Athena, but its quality also seemed incomprehensible to him, a weave that seemed to shift and change under his gaze, and he could feel weight at his shoulders--a strange weight that felt familiar, but also heavy beyond all understanding.

And in the memory, or the imagining, or whatever the vision was that he had tumbled into, he noticed with a wild, fierce surprise that Kenzie, this other Kenzie, this Kenzie wrapped in intricate golden lovely things that were not of earth, with shimmering hair twined with tiny universe flowers, had wings extending from her back--wings that were gold and silver and iridescent rose and other colors that he didn’t know the names for, wings that were unlike any wings he’d ever seen on a bird or a bat or any earth-bound winged creature, but he knew they were wings just the same, knew they were wings for a certain kind of being--a divine being.

And then he resurfaced back into the dark of the bedroom, their bedroom, and he was still moving with an intense rhythm against her and he was coming deep inside her now and Kenzie was clutching at his torso between his hips, her cries quiet but her mouth hovering open, and her eyes had that strange glow again, intensely focused on him, the one he’d seen when he woke her from her sleep, and then it faded as he emptied himself into her, his moans extending into deep silence, and he pulled out of her and collapsed beside her, his head falling into the pillow, and clutched her desperately against him and felt her mouth come against his chest and her little hands clasp against his ribs, and Duncan remembered nothing else until he woke the next morning at sunrise in the same position, with her still clutched in his arms, her little breath having left a damp pool against his skin, her face cherubic and far away in her sleep in the dim morning light, and he wondered upon his waking if it had all been a dream. And then he fell back into sleep, his hand coming up to bury in her hair.

-------

“Babyyyy, Dunny…” Duncan felt her little mouth pressed into his ear and his eyes opened--full sunlight was streaming into the room now and Kenzie was leaning down to him, kneeling on the bed, wearing her satin kimono, her eyes (your earthly eyes, baby, not your divine eyes, you keep those hidden most of the time but sometimes I can see a little bit of them, that gold whirling around, and last night I saw all of them and they were beyond words, they were ethereal as the first dawn--) open and awake to him, a little smile playing around her mouth.

“I brought you coffee, baby,” and Kenzie’s hair fell against his collarbone as she dipped down to kiss him, and Duncan’s hand immediately came up, needy, to the space under her ear.

“Kenzie, baby, do you remember that? Last night?” His eyes searched hers--please tell me if that was real, beloved angel. Please tell me that wasn’t a dream. Did you see the vision? Kenzie stared at him, and her mouth dipped open, and Duncan was suddenly hazy with her loveliness again, hazy with longing. I love you more than the morning sunlight, wondrous Kenzie. “You said something to me--that I’d start to remember something, about who we were, who we’re going to be--”

Kenzie eyes lost some of their clarity, and she handed him one of his glass coffee mugs, carefully. He sat up, leaning into the shape of her hand--she dipped her head down and her hair fell over her shoulder again, the strap of her top falling down onto her arm. Duncan wanted to press his lips to the bare skin there--wanted to press his mouth against her heart, the delicate space between her breasts. There is never a moment where I wouldn’t rather be kissing you. He knew she heard him--her face became even more radiant in the daylight, her hand coming up to brush shyly against her cheek at his thoughts.

“I...I don’t know...sort of, baby,” she said finally, eyes flitting up into his and then away, towards the great mirror, towards the window, its curtains partially drawn but the sliver of day visible beyond. “It was like a dream, wasn’t it? Like we both slipped into a dream.”

“Yes, baby, it was, but I don’t think it was a dream.” Duncan brought the coffee to his lips and drank, the hot, bitter liquid coursing down his throat, immediately stirring his senses more sharply. “I think it was like...a memory.”

“How can that be,” Kenzie laughed a little, inside her words. “Dunny, baby, the way you looked to me--you were so radiant, so beautiful, it was too much to bear. You were...you were a real angel, you had wings, but they were--” Duncan was putting the coffee down on the nightstand, his heart suddenly rattling inside him, and he reached out and grasped her hands tightly, pulling her closer. “--they were not like any wings I’ve ever imagined, they were in colors I’ve never seen--” “Kenzie, baby, I saw you that way too--” “And your clothing, it was like, gold and had this design to it, but I couldn’t figure out the--the design, it was like, it was made of something that doesn’t exist in this world--” “Fuck, Kenzie, you looked that way too, baby, your hair had a hundred tiny flowers in it and each flower was made of its own universe, and your eyes were like a gold galaxy spinning--” “Fuck, Dunny, that’s lovely, how can you say that to me, that’s too lovely--but--but you looked so amazing too, your hair was longer and more golden and your eyes were like a blue nebula, but the blue was not any blue I’ve ever seen before, it was--”

Their lips were rushing together again, and he was pulling her against him, sliding towards her, and her little hands came up to twine inside his where they clutched her face tenderly and he thought I love you Kenzie I love you fuck I love you I’m yours I’m yours and when I die my spirit will call out to you through time I’ll still be yours forever never doubt that I am yours my beloved my exalted beloved most hallowed of all most unearthly and divine love and he knew the dream had not been a dream, knew they’d seen something that seemed impossible but was not, something that was hidden deep in time that somehow they had glimpsed, that their love had uncovered the great secret of it, that finding each other here had opened the door on that other place, and he was overwhelmed inside the knowledge, and it was all he could do to hold her against him and taste her, her little face lifted up to him, her eyes closed, her face ecstatic (saintly, her pleasure in this moment sacred), the feeling of her under his hands so intensely real he wanted to cry.

“I--Kenzie, I want--”

Her eyes opened to him--hazel, depth of green--his hands still clutched her and their mouths hovered over each other, pulled back for a moment. I want to marry you. I want to be tied to you in the eyes of all, your most loyal, most faithful, most devoted husband.

He knew she’d heard, despite the words un-escaped from his lips. She looked down, suddenly shy again--her cheeks dusted with color immediately, and she felt achingly warm under his fingers. She was so lovely here, in reality, in his arms, to try to contemplate her in that other place was like trying to contemplate the mathematics of the universe in the face of the glory of one star; there was too much, and she was too great, and her multitudes were staggering, and he felt his breath hitch--felt the tears come against his eyelids. Neither of them said anything, but he could see the emotion gathering in her face towards him; he knew Kenzie could see how close to tears he was, and saw that it was moving her to tears, too.

“After the Gala, when we go to the cabin,” she whispered to him. “We’ll have time and space--to, to think about all of this. To figure it out. To figure out what all of this means. Okay? Duncan. I love you. I love you so much. You are beloved to me. You are the only one for me. Just be patient, okay? Be patient with me, baby. I’m here and we’re together. We just have to get through this first. We’ll be alone so soon. Alone to--alone to--to see each other. To really see.”

Duncan dipped his head away from her--he felt utterly overcome, and tried to gather the many threads of himself that had scattered and dispersed, as if in a gust of wind. He nodded--he knew she was right, knew that his patience was required, knew the rush he felt wasn’t a true need, rather his own deep desires. But he couldn’t help it--he wanted their life to begin so much. I want everything to fall into place, I want us to move the company forward to help others and the wheel of fate to grind toward the greatest good, I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed about, Kenzie, angel, I want the sweetness of you in the quietness of the woods, under the starry night sky where there is no one but us.

Baby, she thought into him. Dunny. I love you so much I can’t speak it. I can’t tell you. You have to feel it from me, just feel me, feel that I love you more than life, more than every flower, every living breathing thing, know that you’re the angel of my heart, the light of my body and my soul. And he did--he could. He could feel the golden wave she pushed down into him, the inexplicable touch of her so fine that it felt as though she were wrapping a second skin around him, this one radiant and impenetrable, this one the skin that would protect him from the outside world, invisible but inviolable, his hidden armor, woven by her little slender hands, all her love whispered into each strand, all her divinity blessing him. And my love shall protect thee, guide thee, and keep thee always, for thou art exalted in the light of my adoration, my divinity I give to thee, my sanctity I have divided unto thee, my soul I have split with the aid of the three-headed goddess, my golden thread I have tied to thee, and so thou and I art the same. And Duncan knew these words weren’t really Kenzie’s words--they were the words of the other Kenzie, the one with the silvery hair and the eyes like planets made of gold, the words that winged, ethereal creature had spoken to the other Duncan he had hovered inside last night, the one who wore the golden aegis, the other him with the colossal weight of his own wings.

Then the spell seemed to break, and he felt the tears drift away from him--he gently let go of her, and she slid away from him off the bed, and he felt the peaceful gold she’d borne down on him wafting inside his chest and his belly, in the core of his body. Duncan reached for his coffee again, watching her step into the walk-in, glancing at him over her shoulder with a peaceful, knowing smile. “Time to go see your mother, Duncan.” He groaned a little, smiling back at her--reality seeped back in strongly, and he reached for his phone on the nightstand, turning it over.

There was a text from Annette, confirming that the Vanity Fair interview and photoshoot would be at the Botanic Gardens in a few hours, the one for Forbes at The Lafayette after that, a restaurant inside the Hays-Adams hotel that he’d been to for several interviews in the past, most of them for Gardner Analytics. He had ignored her text from yesterday, wherein she’d called him ludicrously naive, their moving in together preposterous and claimed Kenzie was a greedy little social climber, a phrase that had made him want to hurl his phone across the room despite the heights of his mood with Kenzie in the kitchen only moments before--he looked them over again, scrolling up, fighting the anger seething back into his mind, urging himself to calm. I refuse to let her get a rise out of me today, he thought, and answered his mother today with nothing more than a clipped “Okay.” You can’t make me turn on her, Mom. It’s not going to happen. Never in a million years. You might as well try to make the sky fall down or stop the tides or keep the sun from rising and setting. You will never break us apart. Not only do I love her more than I love my own life--I know, I feel like I know that we’re actual fucking Soulmates, we can hear each other’s fucking thoughts, and I think these dreams and visions we’ve been having are the future, the past, or some strange parallel present. You really don’t fucking get it, but I think eventually you will, because you won’t have any other choice. Eventually everyone will get it. We’re together and I think...I think we always will be, if there are other lives after this one. I think...we always have been.

“I can’t believe we have a fan club now, baby.” He heard Kenzie’s voice drift towards him from where she was hidden from view in the closet, and he came out of the soft gold of the thoughts he’d begun to delve down into.

“You were so sweet to those girls, Kenz. The paps noticed right away. You handled that like a pro, I was so proud of you. I bet Claire’s texted you a BPF post about it already.”

“Check my phone, baby, it’s on my side. My password’s 0717.” Her birthday.

Duncan reached for Kenzie’s white iPhone in its iridescent gold case--he smiled down at the black inverted moon sticker, beginning to rub away into white, running his finger over it, then turned the phone over. Clairebear had indeed texted her (how did I know), a telltale BPF link visible in it, and behind the text Duncan could see her lock screen was ones of the Esquire shots of him--the one where he had a thin circlet of silver around his forehead, his eyes skirting to the left of the camera, their blue emphasized to striking brilliancy by the filter used on the shot, his hand adjusting his cuff facetiously. He thought of his own lock screen, with the shot of her smiling down at the breakfast he’d made her, sunlight on her cheek, grapefruit juice and Adelaide’s silver spoon in her hands--wait until we do a photoshoot together, baby, he thought. God, you’re going to look so beautiful. You always do. I should commission someone to paint you. Fuck, I should fucking do that. I’d die to have a painting of you. A huge one, colossal as The Youth of Bacchus, of you with flowers in your hair, you in wild moonlight, you as the goddess you are, you--

Duncan got up from the bed, glancing up at his naked reflection in the mirror (no wings, no aegis, no long gold hair, that’s for damn sure), then back down at the phone, slowly moving towards the closet doorway with her phone still clutched in his hand, thumbing her password into the surface, reading Claire’s text.

Clairebear: Kenzie Lou, look at this. They LOVE you. You knew exactly what you were doing with this. You wily little lady! I can’t believe you have a fan club now. You have to look at the website these girls have created. I’m just screaming over it, it’s insanely cute. They have like 15,000 members already. It’s insane!!! Also, is Harris single? He’s so hot, oh my FUCKING GOD.

He grinned at her message--I love how Claire texts Kenzie, he thought, and clicked on the BPF link. DUCKENZIE GREET FANS WARMLY OUTSIDE ONE FRANKLIN SQUARE, POSE FOR PHOTOS--the first shot was Lindy passing the roses to Duncan in his sunglasses, the second was a lovely shot of Kenzie smiling at Gabby (god look at her, an angel), then one of her leaning over the newspaper, writing, one of her tucking her hair behind her ear, face still dipped down, Duncan’s hand pressed against her back, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses (I was worried as fuck), her smile still apparent--how could anyone look at these and not fall in love with her, Duncan thought, his hand coming up against his jaw, trailing there, lost in the photos. There were a few more: side-angles of them posing with each of the girls, then Duncan pulling Kenzie away from them, Harris close behind, glancing darkly into the camera. Duncan turned into the closet, his eyes still on the phone--he tapped one of the photos of her looking up at the girls over the newspaper, the sharpie poised in her hand, enlarging it.

“Baby, look at this--” Duncan held her phone up to where he knew she would be standing, eyes rising to look at her, and then he stopped dead--Kenzie had slipped on the red dress, the lacy red bodice hugging her tiny waist and her round breasts (I fucking love them, I love her), the full lace of the skirt fanning out beautifully down her hips, and she was throwing her chestnut hair over her shoulder, her head still tilted to the side, away from him--she turned and met his eyes, and she smiled at him, her eyes roving up and down his nakedness. “Hey baby,” she murmured, her voice husky.

“God, I love that fucking dress.” His thoughts immediately drifted to when she’d been wearing it as she eased onto his lap in that makeshift dressing room, his fingers coming between her legs and coaxing her into a secret euphoria, the way he’d wiped his fingers after on a tissue and brought it to his nose, the heady scent of her sex making him wildly dizzy. “My mother’s going to flip her shit, baby, and I honestly can’t wait to see it.”

Kenzie stepped toward him, hands coming out to take her phone, her fingers brushing along his as she did, making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up--she stared up at him for a moment longer, the depth of green hovering behind her corneas--and I love looking at you naked, baby, was the thought she pushed into him, and Duncan bit into his lip, goosebumps breaking out on his skin--then she looked down at her phone and he was staggered again by the loveliness of the smile that fell over her face as she saw the photo.

“I look nice, don’t I?” She said, looking up at him again. “I mean...I look kind, I mean.” She blushed--Duncan melted at the sight of her shyness.

“Baby. You are kind. You’re kind to everyone. And you look fucking beautiful in these. Everyone is in love with you now. I have to admit…” Duncan stepped closer to reach her, his hands falling down her bare arms and the sides of the lacy red dress--Kenzie wore no makeup yet, but her eyes were so wide and so beautifully colored they seemed illuminated somehow--”It makes me a little jealous. I selfishly want you all to myself sometimes. I don’t want to share you.” Kenzie’s eyes fell into his again, and her little hand was falling down his bare torso to trail over his hip bones, needling with her thumbs and forefingers, her mouth opening to him.

“I was thinking, later...” and Kenzie was reaching up to him, tiptoed, her mouth pressing into his jaw as he leaned his head down to her, his hands at her shoulder blades, pressed into her hair. “You could throw me down onto that big, beautiful cherrywood table--” and her mouth was edging along to his chin and to the other side of his jaw, and Duncan couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her, moaning against her, his cock stiffening--”and fuck me on it, baby, fuck me standing while I wear this dress--” and Duncan was nodding against her, his eyes closing with the sensation of her, her little hand flicking down to play over his length, then teasingly away. “--I was thinking I’d really love it if you’d do that…”

“Yes, Princess. Yes, I will--” Duncan’s mind thrilled, imagining her body prostrate against the beautiful antique table, her golden hair tossed onto it, the sound of its creaking as he thrust into her, his mouth on her body. We can finally use that table regularly, he thought. We have to fuck on every surface of this penthouse, baby, every square inch, I need to fuck you as often as you’ll permit me, as often as you’ll desire my attentions--

“Good.” Kenzie moved back from him, eyes intense in his, her mouth and hands sliding away from him, and Duncan groaned desperately at the loss of her touch. “Now, get dressed, baby. Do as I say.” Her eyes skirted down to his cock and Duncan shivered at her eyes--look longer, baby, look at me, I’m yours, my aching sex is all for you, my body, my desires, all for you. But her eyes lingered for only a moment, as if to tease him, then she moved past him on her fast little feet, towards the kitchen. Later, baby. You know later I’ll be yours. Later I’m gonna tell you to fuck me good and you’re going to do it, aren’t you, baby.

Yes, Kenzie. Duncan had half a mind to go after her, to grab her wrists and press his mouth against her, but he knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t--Kenzie told me to obey. Her desires come first. He let out a long, shuddering breath, then turned to where his shirts hung in their quiet, pressed, dark row. He pulled down a black cotton Givenchy shirt with stars embroidered along the collar--all the stars in the sky are for her, he thought, drifting inside his desires as he began to dress, thinking of tiny flowers with a thousand petals, each one containing a universe.

---------

“Kenz, Samuel and Harris are downstairs,” Duncan looked up from the text on his phone to where Kenzie was sitting across from him at the island, about an hour later. She clutched a little bottle of Pellegrino in her hand, a piece of half-eaten sprouted grain toast with unsalted peanut butter in front of her (Duncan had made it for her alongside a sliced, skinned kiwi and a carefully squared mango, which she’d already devoured), hair falling over her shoulder, the Tiffany moon necklace at her throat, glinting at him--she’d applied a little makeup now, though he knew undoubtedly the stylists would want to put more on her for the photos they’d be forced to take today (not that I mind sitting around staring at you, baby, that’s all I ever want to do now)--and she’d been looking at her phone too, grinning at something unseen to him, some secret pleasure on the little screen.

“Baby, look. Look at this. I can’t believe it.”

She pushed her phone across to him--with a little jolt of nerves Duncan realized Kenzie had gone to DUCKENZIEFANS.COM. Holy fuck.

Duncan was used to fans--that is, a certain type of fan. They tended to be women, many of them middle-aged and as questionably-mannered as the two women in the coffee shop who’d taken photos of him and Kenzie without asking, or DC socialites with a desire to climb (that is, fuck) their way up the social ladder of the capital city. Duncan couldn’t deny he’d slept with several such socialites, but they all seemed to be part of a distant past he could barely see now--part of another life, another Duncan, a man who hadn’t understood himself at all, hadn’t bothered to pay closer attention to his real desires, his hopes, or the sources of real happiness he had encountered. Kenzie has awakened my senses to the world that is always hovering just outside our eyesight--the hidden world that is seeped in delicate beauty, the world that comes out when one looks at art, or hears beautiful music, or is present in nature. Love is, I think, all of these things--and all of these things remind me of love. Of the one I love. Of her.

The website had clearly been made by someone with graphic design experience--the interface was lovely and easy to follow, and the aesthetics were pleasing. The home page was tasteful and minimal, gold and soft cream with black lettering--he thought of the two teenage girls who had greeted them--those girls made this website? The headings were in Lobster script, and the text in soft Playfair Display. WEBSITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION, thanks for your patience, read a header near the top. Above it was the photo of the two of them at Le Diplomate taken by some random iPhone camera, but sharpened and filtered to be maximally flattering. A bar down the side had directives neatly listed: DUCKENZIE FAQ, HOW TO JOIN THE FANCLUB, DUNCAN SHEPHERD PRESS RELEASES, MACKENZIE STONE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE MERCH & FAN CLUB EXCLUSIVES, COMBINED GALLERY, CONTACT INFO, FAN MAIL INFO, MEMBER FORUM. He marveled at the page for a moment, lost in it--Duncan knew he had had fan sites before now, but he’d never looked at any of them beyond Instagram, the site he tended to frequent the most when he had bothered with social media at all in the past. But this website was exceptionally ordered, clearly by someone who was interested in design and who also had developed a serious fascination with the two of them. He clicked on the link titled DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES--sure enough, the topmost result was the series of photos from the article posted today on BPF, with Kenzie smiling at Gabby and Lindy, the camera facing her. Under it was a link to the gossip site and a long series of paragraphs, clearly written by the two girls, about how friendly and warm Kenzie had been to them. Duckenzies, you wouldn’t believe how lovely she is in person! It’s like she’s surrounded by a warm ring of sunlight and being near her makes your whole body tingle. She smelled like roses and flowers, like a goddess of spring. Just being close to her was so incredible. Below a few paragraphs was another photo, this one a close-up of Kenzie’s signature and the message she’d written out on the newspaper. A special message to us and all of you from Kenzie herself. Below that was the iPhone shots of the girls posing with them. They were so kind and gracious to us! Everything we hoped and knew they would be!

“That’s just insane to me,” Kenzie said as Duncan continued to click through the site. “‘Duckenzie Merch’,” and she lifted her fingers up on either side of her head, feigning quotations. “Stickers with my face on them for everyone!”

“I want stickers with your face on them, too, they better send me some.”

Kenzie made a face at him and Duncan grinned. I mean it, though. I’ll put them on everything I own, I don’t care. I’ll buy every fucking sticker they’ve made. He glanced away from Kenzie’s phone reluctantly, at the face of the black Ballon Bleu Cartier he’d chosen for the inevitable photos that would be taken of him today--different from the silver one he’d worn the night he met Kenzie on the balcony. This one was framed in rose-gold (and the gold reminds me of her). He noted it was a quarter till noon. “We gotta go, baby. They’re expecting us at 12:30. In the Rose Garden, can you believe that?” He smiled at her; roses for my Kenzie. He looked at his Cartier again, thoughtfully, as Kenzie finished her toast and stood to put her plate in the long steel sink, washing her hands, staring at her succulents along the windowsill. He admired her tawny blonde hair, falling down her back from the crown of her head in soft waves. I’m going to get her something to adorn her lovely little wrists. I want to give her more tokens of my love, one for each part of her body. He thought of the rose choker, coiled in one of the drawers in their closet--I’ll strap it to your soft little throat tonight, baby love, I’ll kiss you all along its smooth leather as I plunge into your sweet rosy cunt. He looked up to see she’d turned and was staring at him, and knew she’d heard the thought--the color of her gaze shivered with hidden arousal, that hidden, golden power he knew she had over him. “Anything in my teeth, baby,” was all she said, though, baring them at him. He laughed, delighted at the feigned ferocity in her gaze. “Just your sweet smile.” Kenzie rolled her eyes at him, coming around the side of the island, languidly leaning down on its smooth surface to dip her face towards him, the red lace dress hugging her waist and floating around her beautifully, sending warm waves of tingling longing down his spine. “Mr. Shepherd, you’re infatuated.”

“I love you.” And Duncan pulled her arms insistently into him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her smell in deeply. How I feel, baby. How I feel with you. Like I can’t help but be sincere. My heart is so full of you there’s no room for anything else.

“Can’t wait for your mother’s head to spin when she sees my dress,” Kenzie’s tone was playful and her hand fell down the side of his hair, her cheek at his temple. He closed his eyes, still pressed against her neck, lost for a moment in the feeling of her little fingers, the pressure of her skin under his eyelashes.

“It’s a Kenzie dress,” he murmured against her. “Not like the other one. This one has you all over it. I love it so much. I think it’s perfect. And whoever’s doing the shoot is going to love it too, I bet.” He leaned up to look at her and her face was suddenly hovering very close to his, her lips whispering over his, her eyes half-lidded, looking down into him.

“I love you, Duncan Shepherd.”

“What did I do to deserve the love of an angel?” He couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth, falling against her lips, hovering so close to him. Her leg was crooked into his thigh, her little stomach breathing against his, his hands pressed insistently into her hair along her back--you fit so sweet and small into my arms, my beloved. I could hold you this way all day, drunk on the scent of you, drunk with your softness. She was wearing the golden-strap heels again, and his hand came around to her foot, trailing over the laces.

“Oh stoppit.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s time for us to go, baby,” Kenzie tried to extract herself from his arms, but Duncan held fast to her, pressing his lips, then the tip of his tongue to the bare skin under her ear. She softened in the tenderness of his mouth; he heard her moans against him and wished the day would fade back into night for them, wished they were in the woods, under a night sky in a hidden forest, wished the world would just leave them be, let him kiss her, turn the sun away from them and bathe them in the shadows of their bed. But no, the world was waiting (Duckenzie, here they come, quick, take a picture), and so was Annette Shepherd. When Kenzie tried to pull away this time, Duncan let go of her, heart bruising at the sudden coldness of his lap. Kenzie slipped her convertible bag over her shoulder from where she’d left it by the penthouse door. “Pass me my phone, baby,” she said, her eyes bright on him. “Let’s go. The sooner we leave the sooner it’s over with.”

Duncan clutched her little gold iPhone, sighing deeply. “Don’t let Annette give you any shit today, baby,” he said, standing and handing it to her, fingers brushing down her wrist, her little face looking up at him, her expression one of aching trust, as he leaned protectively over her. “You’re a Shepherd now too, as far as I’m concerned. If she wants to insist you belong there, we’ll show her that you really do.”

Kenzie’s eyes flashed at him, and she lifted her chin in that defiant way--his throat clenched, head suddenly hazy with adoration. You got it, baby. Duncan barely had time to slip his wallet into the tailored pocket of his slacks before Kenzie clasped his hand in an iron grip, pulling him out the door and down the hallway. You got it, baby.

---------

Duncan remembered his meeting with Claire Underwood tomorrow as Samuel drove them towards the Botanical Gardens--a meeting he had no real idea of how to navigate, considering Annette’s insistence that the President was, in fact, her enemy, therefore the enemy of the company. What can I say to convince her I’m not, he wondered. Especially being unable to disclose that I’m gaining majority share once BIll dies? Nervously, he wondered if it was indeed possible without making her suspicious of him. Maybe meeting with her before Bill’s death wasn’t such a good idea after all. Too late now, Duncan. You’ll have to play like the old Duncan. The one who was ruthlessly loyal to Annette, and Claire Underwood knew it.

Kenzie’s hand was tucked under his thigh, and he glanced at her; she was staring out the window, seemingly admiring the historic Georgetown colonials they drifted past, her little lips mouthing the words to the John Denver Samuel had playing low--you fill up my senses, like a night in a forest, like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain--the lovely dip of her collarbones lifting in her quiet breath against the fitted lace bodice and her diamond moon necklace, the lacy folds of the crimson skirt fanning out around her legs. Her phone was in her lap and he could see the outline of her Instagram profile open on it--2 million followers now. He could see she’d made a new post, featuring the photos of them posing with the two girls from DUCKENZIEFANS. My sweet Kenzie. Duncan made sure she was still distracted by the music and the scene outside her window, then angled his phone up to snap a discreet photo of her--her hair fell beautifully across her shoulder in the sunlight, and her mouth was open a little, mouthing the song, her cheek turned to the side and her eyes lifted away from the shot. On our way to talk to @vanityfair, did you know my @kenzielouwho has a beautiful singing voice? #comeletmeloveyou #letmegivemylifetoyou

Kenzie still hadn’t noticed anything--he could feel the drifting cascade of her thoughts falling against him every few moments, and knew; you really love this song, baby. It’s making you think of me. It’s making me think of you, too. Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms. He opened the browser app and typed cartier.com, highlighting Jewelry, then under COLLECTIONS, he double-tapped LOVE. He chose two bracelets--one band of 18k yellow gold, and another band, also yellow gold, smaller, with 4 brilliant diamonds. He tried to keep his mind quiet as he did, tried to think of his mother and his meeting with Claire Underwood. He finished the order and closed out of the Cartier website--there. All done.

“All done with what, baby?” Kenzie turned to him, blinking. Annie’s Song had ended, and she seemed to resurface from a dream. Duncan noticed that they were a few yards back from pulling up to the Botanical Gardens; he lifted his thigh a little to grasp her hand. “Nothing, baby, just something I had to take care of for work.”

“Hmmmmmm,” Kenzie replied, giving him a suspicious look. “It doesn’t seem like that’s quite right.”

“It’s a surprise, baby.” Get out of my head, let me surprise you, my love.

“Stop buying me things.” He could see she was trying to hide the smile that wanted to fall over her mouth--she pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I won’t.”

“Duncan Shepherd.” She crossed her arms.

“I want to, baby. Please let me.”

She gave him another long look, pouting her lips a little.

“Please, Miss Stone. Let me bring you tribute for your altar.”

Kenzie blushed deeply at that, turning away from him. Duncan leaned down to her little cheek, bringing the hand that wasn’t holding hers tightly up to the dip under her chin, turning her jaw towards him.

“It’s a way I can worship you,” he spoke down to her ear. “Let me worship you, Kenzie.” He felt her shiver under his touch; he dipped his lips down to her skin and let them linger there, closing his eyes, savoring her softness and the sweet scent of her perfume (rose, vetiver, geranium, no, I’ll never tire of it).

“What’s your middle name, baby?” He heard her ask softly. “So I can use it when I’m annoyed with you.” He laughed into her cheek at that and felt it rise as she smiled under his fingers.

“It’s Malcolm. Follower of the Saint. Mom told me it was going to be my first name for awhile, but she decided she wanted it to be Duncan after all. The Warrior. Fearless.”

Kenzie gazed at him for a long moment as the BMW drifted to a stop on the curb. Then she mouthed his name, quietly. “Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. Warrior, follower of the Saint.”

“And what does Mackenzie mean?”

She smiled at him, winsome, charming him, teasing.

“Guess.”

“Fast as a falling star.”

She grinned. “No.”

“Lover of horses.”

She laughed at that. “No.”

“Beautiful as a rose kissed by spring dew at dawn.” He dipped his head to her, breathing along the delicate space between of her neck.

Kenzie looked away from him at that; he saw the shyness fall into her, felt it; the gossamer wave of her affection, the demure tinge of her longing for him.

“Kenzie.”

“It means lovely.” Harris was coming out of the front passenger door, buttoning his jacket, wearing dark sunglasses, stepping to open Kenzie’s door. The partition was floating down. Duncan could see several people walking on the sidewalk outside; some of them were turning, curious, to look at the BMW. He turned back to her, and he and Kenzie stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment; hers with gold discs floating behind the hazel--Duncan thought for an instant he could see his own eyes in her mind, you pierce my spirit with them, she thought, blue like the sky after a storm, the storm you’ve stirred in my soul, the wild love you’ve given me, every kiss and every touch too beautiful for words, every instance of your love a miracle.

“Of course it does,” he breathed.

Kenzie smiled at him. In time I’ll memorize every tiny detail of your face--I’ll remember everything, he thought. Beloved.

Harris opened the door and she slipped away from him, her little golden iPhone clutched in her hand, her hair falling back, the red lace of her skirt sliding off the leather seat. Duncan followed her out, squinting into the summer sunlight. He glanced to where several pedestrians had stopped to watch the car (two middle-aged companions, a man and a woman in professional attire; a younger woman in jogging clothes with a German Shepherd on a leash); there was dawning recognition in their eyes and the jogging girl immediately lifted her phone up. Duncan turned away, annoyed, certain she’d snapped the picture anyway. He reached for Kenzie’s hand as she slipped her round sunglasses over her eyes, and Harris moved in front of her, blocking her from view from the people watching. There were a few more people inside the front gardens to the southwest, and they stared after Duncan and Kenzie with obvious interest, but Duncan was relieved to see that the Rose Garden had a sign on the gate saying it would be closed for maintenance for the day--the “maintenance” in this case being their interview and photocall with Vanity Fair. As they approached they saw a tall Asian woman with very long, straight black hair and razor-cut bangs, in a smart short-sleeved navy blazer, a black v-neck blouse and a pencil skirt, standing at the gate from the other side. She waved to them a little, giving them a small smile, using a key to unlock it; she pulled the gate open and Kenzie and Duncan stepped through, Harris tight on their heels, and the woman locked it securely behind they moved further in, shielded by tall arborvitae bushes.

“River Tsukamoto, staff writer for Vanity Fair.” She reached out a hand first to Duncan, then to Kenzie, who grinned at her. She had a coy, small smile, and very dark eyeshadow and lipstick, almost black, and no accent. “So wonderful to meet you both. Annette arrived a few minutes ago--she’s in hair and makeup. We don’t always do it this way, but she said you have another interview later today--is it okay if we conduct this one as we shoot?”

“That’s fine,” Duncan replied. “Whatever’s easiest for you.”

He gave her a small, close-mouthed smile, and still saw the telltale sag in her features that his smile tended to cause with people. River’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Kenzie; down the length of Kenzie’s lacy red summer dress, the fall of her tawny hair, up his tall form and the smart cut of his clothing, lingering in his blue eyes and flitting over to Kenzie’s, their depth of green and gold making the other woman blink rapidly. River’s eyes fell to Kenzie’s moon diamond necklace--she seemed to recognize it. We must have an Instagram follower here.

“God, I have to say, you’re both just stunning in person.” The woman’s cheeks turned a deep crimson almost instantly, and she crooked an arm around her stomach. “I have to admit I started following both of your Instas since your relationship became public, they’re just--ugh, I love them.”

Duncan hesitated and Kenzie immediately stepped towards the woman--”What’s yours? I’ll follow you back.” Kenzie was holding her phone up, opening the app.

“Oh, oh my god, yes. It’s just @rivertsukamoto. Ugh, that would be so great.” River smiled again, this time dipping her body down and clenching her fists a little, bouncing in the black open-toed boots she wore--her toes were painted black. “I just loved those photos of you guys at the beach, so gorgeous.” Kenzie grinned up at her. “Thank you, that was a really wonderful day. There, now we’re Insta friends.”

“Right this way--” and River extended her arm, the blush still on her pale cheeks, leading them towards the center of the rose garden, where several stone benches surrounded a fountain, with dozens of rose bushes in different colors and varieties circling all around the courtyard, deep damask red, rosy-white bourbon, burgundy-colored hybrids, creamy york, sunny yellow--a tall sandy-stone building rose ahead of them with pointed turrets and art-deco glass windows. Duncan’s eyes skirted to where there were two trailers set up along one side of the bushes--River ushered them towards the one at the right, opening the door and beckoning them inside, wherein a very large, hairy man in suspenders and combat boots with a very curly mustache, long hair tied in a messy bun, and very glittery eyeshadow greeted them with a screech of delight.

“Alister at your behest, dumplings,” he said, gasping in a high voice. “Duncan Shepherd and Mackenzie Stone, sit down. God, you two are like sweet pastries, Duncan, you’re a chocolate eclair, Miss Kenzie, you’re a little pink macaron. You’re first, prince of the piercing blue eyes. Sit.”

Duncan settled down into the nearest styling chair, and Kenzie settled into one beside him, two circular mirrors mounted against the trailer’s back wall wherein Duncan could see her nervous expression across from him. Alister was washing his hands at a basin sink in the corner, and Duncan saw Kenzie take her phone out, snapping a picture of their two reflections, him side-eyeing her with a bemused expression, the phone angled over her mouth, her eyes skirting back to him. Then Alister was gripping his jaw carefully and pressing a pencil onto his eyelid.

“God, you don’t even really need anything, do you,” the big man spoke down to him in his high, lilting voice. “Your skin is gorgeous. This jaw could cut someone in half. Your eyes are out of control. Your lips are like fucking pillows. Just kill me, honey.” Kenzie was laughing into her hand, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Honey, you don’t even get to laugh, you’re fucking him, that’s not even fair,” Alister pointed the brush in his hand at her in mock-severity, rolling his eyes, turning back to Duncan--this just made Kenzie laugh harder. “God, you smell like a fucking Tom Ford runway, too. And what are you wearing, it fits you like a second skin, oh my fucking god, who does your tailoring?”

“A gentleman never reveals his tailor,” Duncan was trying not to laugh himself; Kenzie’s wild amusement was making him want to jump out of the chair and tackle her with kisses.

“Is he a gentleman?” Alister glanced over at Kenzie, using the brush to swish powder across Duncan’s cheekbone. “I bet he is to you, honey, you little sugar plum.”

Kenzie was coming down from her laughter, brushing tears from the corners of her eyes.

“He is. He’s an angel.”

“Oh shut up. You’re both stupidly beautiful and wildly in love. Sickening. Your Instas are the hottest thing online right now, I saw you taking that photo honey, make sure you tag me, @alisterrichardsstyle.” “I promise I will, thank you, Alister.” Kenzie snorted into her hand again. Seeing her laugh this way made Duncan feel absolutely dazzled. I’m your biggest fan, baby love.

“There.” Alister hadn’t done more than add some dark eyeliner and very light contour to Duncan’s face; Duncan had had this reaction from stylists before, and was used to light “touch-ups” versus any kind of lengthy makeup for shoots. “You honestly didn’t even need that, but keeping up appearances and all that. You might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, baby. And I’ve seen some boys.” Alister moved over to where Kenzie sat, glancing up at him nervously.

“Now, you, little baby angel. Let’s give you some lips to go with that dress, mama.” As Alister worked on Kenzie’s face Duncan couldn’t help but stare--her eyelashes darkened and became longer under his hands, her eyelids painted a iridescent pink, her cheek rosied, her lips dark crimson red to match the lacy dress. Duncan was struck by the romanticism of her hair over her shoulder, the glance she gave him as Alister finished on her--suddenly, my dark fiery goddess of blood-red wine.

“I guess you’re more like a little red box of Valentine’s Day chocolate now, baby,” Alister said to her as he moved the lipstain wand from her mouth. “Stay still while I document.” Alister pulled his phone out of his large pocket and took several snaps of her face from all angles, then moved over to Duncan and did the same thing to him. “Gonna pretend like I created all this beauty myself,” Alister smirked. “You are free to go, my angelic darlings. I shall wave to you from your place in the heavens.” Alister gave them a little bow just as River pulled the door open. “Alister, are you done on them?” Duncan was going over to Kenzie and grasping her hand--they thanked Alister, Kenzie still giggling into her palm.

“Oooooo, gorgeous,” River cooed, staring at them openly. “Annette’s over here.” Duncan’s heart rammed up into his mouth as he saw his mother, her beauty clouded with annoyance (as was her usual with him lately--Duncan remembered how he’d brushed her off the last time he saw her, and her angry texts regarding their living together), staring down at the large screen of her phone, typing quickly. She looked up at them and Duncan saw her clouded gaze darken further at Kenzie’s appearance.

“Mackenzie, what are you wearing.” It wasn’t a question as much as a demand--an angry demand for a satisfying answer.

“Mom, please, lay off her.”

“Duncan, don’t take that fucking condescending tone with me. And you’re living together now, what a fucking joke. Absolutely thoughtless.” Annette stood and her eyes flashed--she wore an asymmetrical black crepe dress with a draped neck, and pointed black stilettos. Today she also wore a gold necklace with three round diamond stones in addition to her customary diamond earrings--more jewelry than Duncan had seen on her since the last photoshoot they’d had, which was several months ago. Her look was undoubtedly, undeviatingly Annette. But what you don’t seem to understand is Kenzie is not going to dress like you. She’s going to dress like her.

“Annette, the paparazzi swarmed my apartment building--” Duncan looked down at Kenzie to see her face creased with anxiety, her little voice distraught, floating up to his ear towards Annette. He could see how much she was trying to keep her temper, and it made him want to shield her from Annette’s cruelly dark eyes.

“Then you find another fucking apartment, sweetie,” Annette snapped at her, and he felt Kenzie flinch in his hand, as if she wanted to run away from the scene. No, baby, no, remember what I said. Show her who’s boss. You’re the boss now, Kenzie. You’re in charge. You belong here. Show her.

Annette was openly sneering at Kenzie now, her eyes taking on that unnerving, deeply dark sheen they’d had over dinner at Plume. River was standing by nervously, not speaking, seemingly afraid to butt into the sudden vehemency of Annette’s manner--a photographer, camera in hand, a woman with boxy glasses and salt-and-pepper hair, had come up to her and whispered in her ear, and she was hurriedly whispering back, head turned towards the encounter. Clouds had drifted over the sun while they were in the trailer, and it suddenly seemed as though it might rain--yeah, really fucking rain, Duncan thought. Kenzie suddenly gripped his hand so hard it hurt, and he flinched, looking down at her--her eyes were staring into Annette’s, and they were swirling with the gold sheen usually saved for him alone--a sheen so bright it almost hurt him to look into them. Her other hand had come around to grip at the diamond moon around her neck, tightly, so tight he could see her fingers turning red. His head snapped up to his mother’s face; she seemed caught inside Kenzie’s whirling gaze, and her own took on a dazed expression, as though she were trying to remember something she’d forgotten.

“Duncan and I are together now. You can’t tear us apart.” Kenzie’s voice was trembling at first--then, it evened and soothed, and became very clear. “Please accept my presence in his life, Annette. He’s told you this before: your disapproval will not end our attachment. But it will bring him sadness. And it will bring you sadness, too.” Kenzie’s voice was mesmerizing in this moment; Duncan remembered flashes of the vision of her last night, a vision that seemed to be slowly fading from his understanding in the fabric of reality; the Kenzie with white hair that had flowers like little universes, eyes like whirling cosmic vistas, a gown made of the intricate geometries of some unknown intergalactic fiber, wings of some unfathomable divinity. This voice is like the voice of that Kenzie. That Kenzie is afraid of no earthly being. The air suddenly felt very heavy, as though a thunderstorm were about to begin.

“Please, don’t direct your anger on us anymore.” Duncan felt Kenzie’s hand grow strangely cold for a moment--cold, then surge back into warmth, like hot water dumped over ice. Her grip on him relaxed--the heavy feeling in the air seemed to dissipate, and he took a deep breath.

The clouds moved a little from their place over the sun, slowly allowing it to peek out again. Annette was strangely quiet--her expression had changed from one of anger to the dazed expression of confusion to one that now seemed to have forgotten her anger entirely; her annoyance remained, but it was less pointed towards Kenzie, now directed at River and the photographer standing to the sidelines. They didn’t seem to really understand or recall what had just happened--River was blinking rapidly, as though disoriented from a loud sound.

“What are we all standing around for?” Annette barked at her. “Are we doing this or not? I have a full schedule today, Ms. Tsukamoto.”

“Kenzie,” Duncan leaned down to her, his lips to her ear. “What did you do?”

“I--I don’t know,” she whispered, looking at Annette. Duncan’s mother was moving away from them, talking to River with a clipped voice. The photographer was interjecting, pointing to the fountain and gesturing. “I think...I just told her to stop. Stop being the way she’s being to us, to me and you, to us being together. I think it was like...a kind of command. Baby, I don’t know.” Kenzie was pressing a hand against her forehead, breathing slowly through her nose, out through her mouth, her red lips shining in the afternoon sun.

“Okay, baby. Okay. Let’s get through this, okay? We can do this.” He soothed his thumb over her hand. Kenzie nodded, weakly. He led her over to where Annette was now sitting by the fountain.

“Hey, I’m Anna Peterson.” The photographer approached them, peering at them over her glasses, pushing a hand through her hair. She seemed either unfazed by what had just happened, or seemed to have forgotten it entirely. Kenzie was still pressing her hand on her forehead, but Duncan nodded to her. 

“You two are...really something. I have to get some shots of the two of you alone, I think. We’ll do something with Annette while River’s conducting the interview, but I’d love for you to pose for me a few times together without her. If that’s alright with you.”

“Is that okay, Kenz?” Duncan looked down at her. She nodded a little. He turned to Anna. “Do you have any water bottles?” Anna trotted over to one of the trailers and emerged a few moments later with an unopened plastic water bottle, handing it out to Kenzie. Kenzie reached for it with shaking hands; Duncan grasped it, opening it for her. “Thanks baby,” she whispered, sipping at it carefully. River was already asking Annette questions--Duncan felt weary at the prospect of trying to lie about his intentions for the company, and the longer he could put it off today, probably for the better. Anna eyed them both again--Duncan noted how impatient she seemed to start with the camera on them, fiddling her fingers over its black-and-silver surface, hopping from side to side--and said “How about we do a couple shots right now? Just some warm-up stuff. How about over here?” She gestured with one hand to where groups of blushing bourbon roses were clustered in two adjacent bushes, about a yard away from where River and Annette were going back and forth, Annette’s clipped voice carrying over to them.

Duncan nodded, gently pulling Kenzie in front of one of the bushes, to a spot of partial shade under an oak tree that grew beside them--she still clutched the water bottle in one hand, and Duncan could see the moisture gathering along the outside trembling as the bottle shook in her unsteady grip. Anna was already snapping away, having started as soon as he and Kenzie began to move; Duncan kept his hand threaded through hers, thinking soft waves of love towards her. I don’t know what you did to Mom, Kenz, but it worked. It’s like she forgot we’re even here. It was like the power we pushed over her at dinner, but even stronger. I think the powers we can use, whatever the fuck they are, whatever they mean--I think they’re getting stronger. I think we can direct them better, control them better. Kenzie set the water bottle down in the crook of the oak tree’s roots, and came close to him, her hands reaching out for him. Duncan couldn’t stop himself; he pressed his palm against her jaw, heard the furious clicking of Anna’s camera.

I still don’t really know what I did though, baby. Kenzie was looking up at him, her hazel eyes drifting into different colors as the clouds partially obscured the sun again--Anna paused for a moment, and said “God, that’s lovely, just keep doing that, the way you’re looking at each other, Duncan, keep touching her that way,” towards them. Their bodies were leaning close; the roses framed behind them. Gladly, he thought. I’ll gaze at you and hold you all day, angel baby. Kenzie seemed to be calming, the trembling running down from her limbs. Duncan moved his hands down to hold Kenzie at the waist--she pressed into him, sighing, her chin angling up. Gaze away, her gold thought drifted against him. I love you so. In your eyes I am content. They’re home.

“Mackenzie, look over here.” The camera was snapping rapidly, repeatedly. Kenzie glanced to Anna--almost involuntarily, it seemed, she laid her temple against Duncan’s chest, and his hand came up against her hair--he gazed down at the aureate crown of her golden-chestnut hair and pressed his lips against it as she glanced over at Anna, her little red lips parted just slightly, her eyes shining with the damp residue of her emotions. Duncan savored the warmth of her despite the hotness of the day, the feeling of the lace of her dress under his fingers, the dip of her waist, the cascade of her hair, the heady scent of her. You’re my home too, baby. You’re the resting place of my soul.

“Wow,” Anna said. She seemed to have forgot about them, in a sense; seemed to be thinking about the photos rather than their physical presence. “That’s going to be a final shot for absolute certain.” Kenzie turned her face into him now, her eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed; Duncan looked to Anna’s camera now, and couldn’t stop the protective wave that fell over him, his resentment towards the world around them that didn’t seem to grasp how extraordinary Kenzie was, how luminously beautiful within, brighter than a hundred other souls combined, how desperately she had to be protected from anyone who would wish her harm, how divine it was that her spirit was on earth at all. “Gorgeous, gorgeous, fuck, perfect,” Anna was murmuring, coming around their right side. “Like a fairy tale. Your eyes, Duncan, they’re like sharp little polished sapphires. Hold that pose for me, please.” Kenzie looked up at him; they really are, she thought to him. They are like sapphires. I love your eyes, baby.

And your eyes are like autumn leaves dusted with golden evening lights. She pulled away from him, grinning in embarrassment--Duncan clutched at her arms, pulling her back to him, pressing his lips into the bottom of her jaw as he lifted her little body up to him, Anna clicking her camera all the while. No baby, let me. Let me tell you how beautiful you are, Kenzie. Let me tell you and know how sincerely I mean it, my body and soul aching for you, hungry for you every minute. Please know how much I love you.

I know baby, I know. And I love you--so much. So fucking much. So much it’s almost hard to look at you, to feel all that love from you, because I feel like the love I feel for you and the love I feel coming from you is so great--together, it’s like they’re going to burst my heart into a thousand pieces.

Let it burst, then. Mine will too. The fragments of both of us will still find each other again. I’d find you if you were at the opposite end of the universe, baby. I’d search for you until I found you. I swear on everything. On my life, on my death, on every star. I promise. I would fucking find you. His hands were threading through her hair, their lips not quite touching but their mouths hovering near each other; Duncan resurfaced from the intoxicating nexus of her, glancing over at Anna again; the older woman was gaping openly at them, her camera hovering in her hands, forgotten. Then she shook her head as if to clear it, and nodded at him, mouthing the word again. Perfect.

------

The interview, so far as it concerned him and Kenzie, went surprisingly smoothly--whatever influence Kenzie had had on Annette seemed to extend through the remainder of their time with River and Anna; the photographer took several shots of them around the fountain, Duncan standing behind his mother in one with Kenzie sitting in the opposite direction, and another with Kenzie and Duncan sitting together and Annette standing, her gaze off to the side. Duncan wondered with mounting impatience what the photos would look like when the article was released; wondered if by the time it was published it wouldn’t already be obsolete in context. Annette had already given answers to several questions from River regarding the company that Duncan knew were not entirely accurate or truthful--and answers he knew would not coincide with the new model for the company when he gained majority share. Duncan knew Kenzie was getting glimpses of his inner frustration as the afternoon wore on; she would glance at him with concern deep in her eyes, and reach for his hand, her lips pressing together. Better not to talk much anyway, baby, she said to him, secretly; that way you won’t be branded a liar later. And Annette can’t pretend like you went along with all of this just to turn on her. I’m with you, baby. We should talk to Momby soon about the board of directors. I’m sure she’ll say yes. We’re going to make it through all of this--and then we’ll have our whole lives ahead of us.

Her voice inside his head had soothed him as the afternoon wore on, and by the time River was turning off her recorder and closing her notes, Annette seemed to be in a mood that could almost approach good for once. She was glancing down at her phone with a neutral expression; then, it seemed to cloud again as she received a text. Kenzie had been whispering into his ear, giggling over Claire asking if Harris was single, trailing kisses along his skin there. Annette looked up at him, and he knew something was wrong.

“Your uncle’s been taken to the hospital again.” She was standing, her lips pressing in a thin line, the clouds having returned strongly overhead--this time they seemed to be here to stay, having multiplied and extended over the sky, so the day was no longer bright or as hot. Annette’s hand was coming up to brush her hair off her shoulder, and her expression became unreadable, dark, hidden. “I have to meet him there. We’ll have to postpone the Forbes interview.”

“Mom, I could do it without you--”

“No. I don’t think so.” She seemed to falter for a moment, her eyes skirting over to Kenzie beside him, who was staring back at her solemnly, sympathy in her hazel eyes. Kenzie forgives you for everything, I know she does. She always does. She wants to be your friend. She wants to be a daughter to you. I know that, even if she won’t say it, won’t really say it, not yet, not even to me. Annette’s tone wasn’t angry and incredulous, as it had been--now, it was tinged with a sort of weary resignation, and a hidden sadness that she refused to show outwardly. “I think perhaps it’s better to cancel it entirely. There’s too much happening in the company right now to give a business-forward interview, anyway. With the company itself soon to be in such flux--it seems unwise. This one is done, besides.” Annette suddenly looked very tired. Duncan reached out to his mother--she gripped under his arms, and he knew in a rush how badly she had wanted to touch him, then. Knew that she was mourning his uncle already, in her heart of hearts, a heart she never showed to anyone but him, and then only in rare flashes that seemed to disappear right after the instant they emerged.

“Mom. I love you.”

“My sweet Duncan.” River and Anna had gone away, back to one of the trailers, and Harris stood with his mother’s bodyguard, Becket, a huge, menacing man who rarely spoke, at the far edge of the garden by the gate, too far away to hear any conversation from the distance; the Rose Garden had grown oddly quiet, the only sounds the drift of the summer wind and the trickle of the water, and Kenzie was sitting on the fountain beside where he and his mother stood, staring at the ground, her hair falling down her shoulders, her hand clutching at the moon pendant at her throat. As he glanced at her he could see that she had tears gathered in the corners of her eyes--he glanced back at his mother, caught between their emotions.

“You were always such a perceptive, sensitive child.” Annette was loosening her grip on his arms, stepping back from him. “I fought to steel your nerves for the world outside. It’s cruel and unkind and ruthlessly hard, and I knew it would crush you if I didn’t prepare you for it. I’m sorry if I...I’m sorry if I have sometimes been cold to you. I tried to...I tried to protect you. I have tried to. You had to be fearless to survive this world, and I knew it, and I became obsessed with my need to prepare you. I wonder if I--” she turned her face to look over his shoulder, into Kenzie’s eyes--seemed to notice the tears there. “I wonder if I’ve been too stubborn regarding certain...things. As your uncle worsens, I...”

Annette’s eyes grew misty--she smiled, but the smile was achingly sad to him.

“I wonder if I haven’t confused the things that truly matter with what seemed to for so long.”

Duncan watched, his body going stiff with shock, as Annette went around him and reached down to Kenzie with one shaking hand. I’ve never seen Mom shake like that. It’s my uncle. Bill’s dying. He’s really dying. And I think she just realized that. Really realized it, and began to accept it. He’s going to die very soon.

Kenzie reached up to her--as their fingers grasped each other, Duncan watched (felt) the golden wave of Kenzie’s energy (her attention, her kindness, her goodness, her love) fall down over his mother in its quiet, cascading swell. Annette sighed--the sigh seemed to be tinged with surprise, as though whatever she was receiving from Kenzie was moving beyond words, tinged with too much feeling to resist. Duncan couldn’t quite glimpse it in its entirety--it seemed to be a secret of some kind that Kenzie passed into his mother, something for her and her alone. Duncan felt another sharp wave of shock as he watched Annette lean down to Kenzie’s little cheek and kiss it, a tiny, short peck of her lips to the soft skin of his beloved’s sweet face. The kiss, he knew instantly, was sincere.

And then the moment passed, and Annette walked away from them, towards Becket and the gate, slipping her dark sunglasses over her eyes, shielding him and Kenzie from her emotions entirely. The big man ushered her through the gate, and they were lost from view.

“Dunny,” Duncan heard Kenzie’s little voice before he turned to her, heard the tears in it, and they weren’t tears of sadness, not really--they’d become tears of relief, he saw as he looked into her eyes, their whirling gold telling him clearly, and he rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms, and she was so small and her body shook against him, and Duncan touched her cheek where his mother had kissed her, and it seemed to burn under his fingers, burn like it had been held close to a flame, and he held her among the quiet roses, the sweet-scented summer wind falling against them, and the moment soothed and dissolved, and they lingered in it for a long while.

[nyfacurrent]

Business of Art | The Artist’s Creed: 10 Guiding Principles for Your Arts Career

Make your arts career work for you with this empowering advice from artists.

There is no one way to be an artist. Artists use different media, explore a vast range of ideas, and face differing barriers and obstacles. Yet over the years we’ve observed that many artists have one thing in common: tenacity. Below, we’ve distilled advice from people we admire. These intentions and action steps can help you protect and strengthen yourself, as a member of a community, an individual who must survive in the world, and as a creator.

“Find the practice that works for you, and never apologize for it.” - Walidah Imarisha

You’ve most likely read an article, or many, about the routines that notable artists swear by as requirements for productivity. While content like this can be inspiring, it can also be discouraging and alienating. What if you’re not a morning person? What if you you can’t afford to create everyday because you’re juggling multiple jobs to pay the bills?

In the words of educator and writer Walidah Imarisha, writing or creating every day “works for some, but if it doesn't, especially because you’re struggling to survive, it doesn't mean you aren't a writer” or artist. You are the only one who can set the best, and most feasible, rhythm and schedule for yourself.

Try: If fitting in large chunks of time for your art feels unattainable right now, set aside a few minutes on a regular basis to explore. This could be every night before you go to bed, on your morning commute, or during a break at work. Write down impressions of your environment, do a brief sketch, or think about ideas you’d like to explore in future work. You’ll find these few minutes will add up.

Or, if you’re ready and able to carve out more time aggressively but find yourself pulled in opposite directions by various priorities and responsibilities, set aside realistic chunks of time in your calendar to create. If your calendar is digital, set up reminder alerts. Treat this time as you would a work obligation.

Build yourself up.

Become your own best supporter. Writer Esmé Weijun Wang takes a documented approach. “My own self-belief has to be nurtured. I have a file of Kind Words that people have said or written to me...which I sometimes refer to.”

Try: Create your own repository of kind words. This could be a document you add to, or you could try a more tactile approach and list compliments on your wall or create text-based art with them.

Do the thing.

Creative block will manifest for every artist, but it is different for every artist. Perhaps, to counter it, you need rest, or a break, or to let yourself focus on another project. Ultimately, though, it can be helpful to “do the thing,” in the words of author Pam Stucky. Wendy Perron (Fellow in Choreography ’85) recommends doing the thing “even if at that (blocked) point, it feels really stupid and pointless. At least then you'll have something to look at or fix or edit.”

It’s OK to ask for help.

You don’t have to do it alone. If you’re struggling in some way, it’s very likely there is someone or something that can help. That’s why NYFA offers the NYFA Source Hotline, a free referral hotline that you can call at (800) 232-2789, from Monday - Friday, 3:00 PM - 5:00 PM EST, or email at source@nyfa.org.

If you’re experiencing financial duress because of an emergency, you may be the perfect candidate for an emergency grant.

Try: Reach out. Your local arts council or arts organization likely has the exact resources you need. Need a writer’s community or workshop? They may be able to connect you. Is your studio space lease ending with no alternative in sight? Organizations like chashama and many others offer free and affordable residencies. And remember, your peer network—either online or in-person— is one of your best resources available to you. Your fellow creators may be able to provide you with feedback, spread the word about your events, and help you make connections. Just be sure to offer help in return to ensure a fair and equitable partnership.

“Watch your pals.” - Hanif Abdurraqib

It can be a challenge to find the perfect outlets for your work once you’re ready to share it with the world. Here’s a simple starting point from poet and essayist Hanif Abdurraqib: “All of my dream publications are the places I can be published next to the work of my friends and heroes.”

Try: Create a list of 10 favorite artists in your discipline with whom you feel an affinity in style or subject matter. These could be artists in your circle, online or in-person, or others you admire from afar. Where are they published? Which galleries exhibit their work? At which festivals have they performed? Then, research any relevant deadlines or eligibility guidelines and set reminders for deadlines and the steps you need to take along the way to be ready to submit.

Court rejection.

Don’t let the “no’s” you receive define you. Rejection is inevitable. Poet Lauren Whitehead speaks of “courting rejection.” Lean into the “no’s” you receive because that  means you’re putting your work out there. Celebrate your rejections. Some even recommend aiming for 100 rejections per year, because that increases your odds of being accepted.

You can be financially stable.

Being an artist can be a financial challenge, whether you’re trying to finance a full-time artistic practice, pay student loans for your creative education, or afford studio space. But let’s throw out the stereotype of the starving artist. It is possible to survive, and even thrive, financially as an artist or creative, and there are many ways to reach this goal. Caitlin Pearce, Executive Director of the Freelancers Union, offers one strategy for independent contractors: “For many freelancers, stability comes with diversifying their income portfolio… [and with] finding diverse ways to monetize their skills and expertise.”

Try: Artists and creatives in all fields are often at a loss on how to price their work or services. Artist fees and hourly rates should be realistic in order to be competitive. But begin with the income you need, and want, to earn as your starting point, and prioritize this number. Your target annual income can help you find a sustainable hourly rate. Try using the formula provided by Andrew Simonet in Making Your Life as an Artist (free for download with newsletter sign-up).

Another principle to live by: when you’re creating a project budget, remember to pay yourself for your time.

Know your rights.

Here’s a staggering statistic from the National Endowment for the Arts: “American artists are highly entrepreneurial; they are 3.5 times more likely than the U.S. workforce to be self-employed.” This means that artists and creatives can find themselves without the protections of a standard workplace, shouldering more risk and liability.

There are steps you can take to protect yourself. Work with a contract so that expectations are clear. This is crucial for larger projects and highly recommended for smaller projects. The Freelancers Union offers contract templates that are compliant with New York City’s Freelance Isn’t Free Act, which protects the right to timely and full payment.

Another consideration for independent contractors: try to avoid work for hire contracts, in which the party that commissions the work or the employer owns the rights to the work. Poet, educator, and performer Denice Frohman cautions: “Don’t give your rights away.”

Try: There are a range of contract templates online or you may want to ask peers to share their template with you. Photographer Reggie Cunningham reworks templates that large companies and clients have sent to him. Whatever your method, resolve to find the format that works for you, so that it’s ready to go before your next opportunity presents itself.

Protect your work, invest in your future.

Your work and your well-being are precious resources; luckily, protecting yourself is well within your power. Every small step you take adds up to readiness in the face of disaster, as well as readiness for exciting opportunities in your arts career.

It’s important to document your work and related materials. “Archives help capture what can easily be lost.” says Eric Colleary, Cline Curator of Theatre & Performing Arts at the Harry Ransom Center. For many artists, “documenting their work for posterity almost becomes an artwork itself“ and is a highly individual process. Apply the same care and creativity in preserving your work as you do in producing it.

Try: Every tiny step is helpful. Here’s an example: look around your studio or living or storage space. Are there important materials in a basement or attic that could flood or experience extreme temperature shifts? Move them to a safer spot. Or, research opportunities to preserve your assets. CERF+ offers mini grants for craft artists called Get Ready Grants to help artists safeguard their studios and their careers.

Ready to start archiving? Here are a few resources that can guide you through the archival process: a guide from the Joan Mitchell Foundation for visual artists; Dance Heritage Coalitions Artist’s Legacy Toolkit; and resources on preserving electronic and time-based works from the American Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works. Thinking about your legacy early on will also help you get your work out into the world in the present.

The world needs your perspective.

Artists are all too familiar with imposter syndrome, as people who make their own rules and create something out of nothing. This leaves room for doubt. Over time, you’ll find your own ways to counter this feeling, but try starting with affirmations that help you fake it ‘till you make it. Writer Brandon Taylor says: “I try to remind myself that my work is worthy. Sometimes I literally say that in the shower until I believe it. ‘Your work is worthy, your work is worthy, your work is worthy.’ I try to take it very seriously. So that even if I suck that day, I still try.”

On top of everyday imposter syndrome, many artists receive messaging, subtle or otherwise, that their work or experiences are less valued than others. Deanna Fei (Fellow in Fiction ’06) on writing about her experiences as a parent: “We assume the family or domestic sphere is less worthy as fodder for art. But race, class, power are in every class and playground.” Disregard that prejudice and create “what inspires you. Start with the tiny and specific. Then go wide and big.”  

- Mirielle Clifford, Program Officer, Online Resources

This article draws inspiration from #ArtistHotline, an initiative dedicated to creating an ongoing online conversation around the professional side of artistic practice. Our goal is to help artists discover the resources needed, online and off, to develop sustainable careers.

Have an arts career question? You can contact NYFA staff directly via the NYFA Source Hotline at (800) 232-2789, from Monday - Friday, 3:00 - 5:00 PM EST or email source@nyfa.org.

This initiative is supported by the Emily Hall Tremaine Foundation.

Images from top: Michelle Boule (Fellow in Choreography ’16); Jordan Casteel (Finalist in Painting ’18), The Baayfalls

[conoscenze]

annaliese // annaliese & ida.

Finally, after a long, agonizing period of time since I’ve announced her “presence”, I come here and slap on the blog Ida’s full info. Keep in mind that she is a fairly new character, and as such she might be developed differently from what’s written in here as of now---but it’s still a start, so let’s skip pleasantries and just jump into it.

Who’s sister Ida, the nun whom Annaliese looks up to and is basically watched over by most of the time?

1 // basics.

Full name is Ida Baumgartner.

Though she seems to have some vague Dutch ancestry, her family has been located within Germany since generations; this makes her full German.

Like Annaliese, she was born in Thuringia. However, differently from her, she’s from Apolda (located in the Weimarer Land district, which geographically surrounds Erfurt’s territory).

Ida is 37 years old, and has been in the convent since when she was barely 20. She’s ten years older than Annaliese.

Birthday is May 2nd.

Besides being nun by definition, Ida has, with time, taken upon the cloistered life. This means she spends all of her time within the nunnery’s territory, rarely stepping outside of it. She never goes beyond the the forest surrounding the structure, as well.

She occupies herself with studying and copying antique sacred scripts; despite being a rarely practiced (or required) activity since quite some centuries, Ida has always found it rather intriguing and relaxing. Consequently, as the job requires, she has developed excellent and precise skills in graphics (such as layout and copying Gothic fonts freehanded) as well as in figurative arts, more specifically miniatures.

Considering she likes to delight herself by reading old Latin manuscripts from time to time, she is fairly well-versed in the language itself. (Her knowledge of it isn’t academic, however.)

Other pastimes include praying, occasionally helping in the kitchen, and resting. From time to time, she helps with the convent’s small crops.

If asked, she will say she is heterosexual. However, she hasn’t explored that sort of aspect all that much, if at all. Ida is merely disinterested.

A lot of nuns in the convent admire her. She is far from being the oldest and / or the wisest, but her very severe and persevering lifestyle is often found worthy of praise.

She acts humble about this specific deal, but deep down, she’s aiming to become Mother Superior.

2 // personality.

Ida starkly contrasts Annaliese on all fronts. The most evident difference is reflected by her poise: if the latter tends to be overwhelmingly energetic and, to some extent, even immature, Ida in everything and anything reincarnates the stereotype of the cloistered, pious, sapient nun.

Though she seems indifferent and cold, Ida is very obviously a woman with a heart of gold. She hardly ever happens to think anything genuinely hostile in regards of anyone.

That, of course, doesn’t mean she isn’t irritable. In fact, she can be quite grouchy if you approach her during one of her aforementioned activities. Amongst the nunnery often hangs the heavy, stern warning not to disturb her whenever drawing, studying or praying.

Going by this rumor, Ida’s not fun to deal with when she’s furious. It is best not to test her.

Beyond the diamond and steely surface, Ida can sometimes reveal herself to be somewhat shy. A lot of nuns in the convent know her because of her general popularity, but she herself knows less than a third of the women that populate the building. Annaliese is the only girl she can say she really knows, besides a couple of other peers. In her words, approaching new people is “an hassle”---in truth, she is just much too awkward at handling first encounters.

She is a very private person, and dislikes sharing whatever she produces / is doing / thinking with people she doesn’t particularly care about.

Very good at picking up subtle signs and oddities in others’ behavior.

Before becoming a nun, Ida was an arts and psychology student. This explains her aptitude for artistic fields, as well as her good reading on whoever she may encounter. She is far less expertised in the second than she is in the first, though.

Ida is very religious, and strongly holds close to her heart the word of God. She isn’t a fanatic of any kind, but most of her beliefs and values heavily take from the Bible and the New Testament. Yet, here and there, her own faith doesn’t exactly match with that offered by the clergy.

She claims that she doesn’t like wasting her time teaching things she already knows, but it’s painfully obvious to everyone that it is a lie. Else she wouldn’t be so careful and gentle with novices.

Ida has a very good visual memory. Almost any face she encounters, she will remember.

If you wrong her, you need to keep in mind that she is going to be the jury, judge, and executioner of the situation. There is no situation she’s more fearful in, than one in which you perpetrated in her regards something which she deems unacceptable. Ida, paradoxically, never forgives and never forgets---especially if said something is considered absolutely deplorable and inexcusable. In the case in which you are right and she is wrong, all is well. Ida will apologize and that’s the end of it.

Very skeptical in talking about her past life---the one before closure. Not even Annaliese has managed to hear more than snippets of it.

3 // physical.

Ida is no spectacular beauty, even if she does retain some odd characteristics. Her body type is chubby, soft, and curvaceous; her lack of exercise and rich diet are contributing factors to this (not that it is that much of a big deal to begin with).

Chestnut brown hair / mint-shade green eyes, sparse and thin brows, bulbous nose, and fairly thick lips. She looks just about her age, the signs of time beginning to mark, if ever so slightly, her visage.

Her hair is neck length, straight, and often kept into a low bun. Her fringe parts towards the right. Despite being almost always beneath her veil, it always manages to maintain a thick and soft texture. Stray hair are a common occurrence.

A particular sign she retains, which can be only seen without her veil, is that she is missing her left ear’s lobe. Ida is unwilling to disclose the reason behind this, making her past even more mysterious in the eyes of the other nuns.

She’s 149cm tall. (Heavily advised against is making fun of her height.)

Whenever she’s not wearing her religious habit, Ida can be seen with thick, comfortable sweaters and ankle-length skirts. It’s rare for her to don anything body-adherent. Her sense of style is basically a grandma’s.

4 // ida and annaliese.

There isn’t much of a story to be told, despite the fact that the two know each other ever since Annaliese has started to properly live within the community. From that very moment, Ida has begun monitoring the younger girl, and to some point she even acts as a parent, rather than a simple mentor. While Ida can clearly detect Annaliese’s good intentions, she cannot deny that she finds her ways none short of unsuited for a proper Benedictine nun.

Even so, she can’t bring herself to force Annaliese to change out of her ways. Ida would never admit it, but she finds the girl’s energy and excitement soothing, in a way, even in the moments in which she manages to get on her nerves. Annaliese’s different and more active way of preaching belief and religion is also something entirely new to Ida; she finds it very refreshing and more synchronized with nowaday’s youth. Unsurprisingly, Ida herself was the one to suggest Annaliese the path of the sister.

They have an overall stable companionship, which can be hardly defined as a proper friendship, but that is also too much deep to be merely tagged as an acquaintanceship. It’s an odd, unnamed sort of middle ground. They both obviously care for each other, still.

Annaliese always tries to get Ida out of her shell, with little to no results. She will steadfastly attempt, and will take baby steps, if that’s what’s required. Annaliese simply wants Ida to make more friends, since she doesn’t have many.

Unbeknownst to Annaliese, Ida actually has sensed that something might or might not be weird with her. It’s not that difficult to tell, given that the younger girl is terribly excellent at being an open book; but Ida has particularly managed to understand that it’s not just general clumsiness. Ida is but a mere human (?), so she can’t say for sure what it is---still, her suspicion remains. She’s also the only one to have noticed the scars on Annaliese’s palms. So far, though, Ida prefers to abstain herself from making any bold accusations.

5 // ida and ... ?

Ida could be considered the perfect nun. However, there’s something odd about her aura, something weird lingering in the air around her. It’s a presence that no mere human can see---nobody but her. A fruit spawned from a badly-sown, ill-natured seed. A pact with no positive premises that she pursued in her younger years, going against all fears, with the expectation for said outcomes to outdo the predictions.

Alas, it’s not the case. Her egoism took the best of her, and Ida was blinded. Now, she’s forced to deal with her own selfish decisions.

A creature is attached to her, bound by unbreakable chains. Ida knows she won’t go to Heaven, which is why she does her best to detach herself from the material things that made her pursue such a crooked path in the past. But what is this thing? What whispers in her ears, tries to tempt her into further corruption?

It’s not for anyone else to know. Lest they get involved in something that she must carry alone.

Not a demon, but not an angel, either. Something in-between. In a staggering, unstable limbo.

Even in if physically powerless, it tries to get hold of the people that get close to her.

[vixxscifiwritings]

[M] a dangerous love

I crave a dangerous

kind of love.

One that breaks hearts

And bed springs

             - Michael Faudet

Hongbin knows that he can love Hana better

Find other drabbles here

“And here we have the famous Gustav Klimt exhibition. It��s very limited access because the exhibition is yet to be opened and we are still curating paintings. But Mr Lee requested you be given special access to see it beforehand” the curator explained as he led Hana inside the hall.

“Interesting” was all she said in reply.

“Now if you will excuse me, I have a meeting. My deepest apologies once again on not being to escort you personally ma’am -” the curator started but was cut off by her.

“It’s quite alright. I shall come find you in your office in an hour” Hana told him.

“Thank you. The guards can get a message to me in case of an emergency” the curator said. He bowed to her and left the room, leaving Hana free to explore the exhibition as she pleased.

A few minutes passed and she walked along from painting to painting, admiring the artwork. Gustav Klimt was popular for a good cause. Her mind was not in it, but the paintings were set up very well with the gallery using mood lighting for heightened effect.

She stopped by The Kiss, probably his most well known painting.

“Intimate, isn’t it?”

Hana did not have to turn around and see the trademark blue hair to recognise Lee Hongbin. The famous owner of the largest private art gallery in Seoul and the man who had invited her here to view his exhibition before it opened to the public.

“However did you get the Vienna National Gallery to loan it for the exhibition?” Hana asked, ignoring how good he looked in a black and black suit. He had a suit chain, connected from his breast pocket to the rose lapel pin on the same side and it glittered in the dim yellow light. In this outfit, he almost seemed a gentleman.

“I called in a few personal favours. I was very persuasive” he smirked.

“I don’t doubt it” Hana said, turning back to the painting. “I am glad you did. It is my favourite.”

“I know. Consider this my early birthday gift to you” Hongbin said, putting his arm around her waist as he came to stand next to her and admire her painting.

“My birthday isn’t for another four months” she reminded him as she stepped away from his hold.

“I only have it on loan for the next three I am afraid” he said playfully. Hana rolled her eyes at him and moved on the next one. Portrait Of Amalie Zuckerkandl. An unfinished yet beautiful piece.

“Why isn’t Younghyun here with you?” Hongbin asked, watching her as she kept her eyes on the painting and not on him.

“Younghyun doesn’t like art as much as I do” Hana replied with an indifferent shrug.

“Does he hate your NGO too? I never see him at any fundraiser you host. Or any of your parties. Which is funny because I see him in night clubs all the time” Hongbin asked.

“Younghyun is a busy man. Why are you asking about him? You didn’t like him very much ever since we started dating” Hana asked him.

“We have no love between us. I still hate the man. I think it will be good riddance if he left you alone” Hongbin said.

“I am not discussing this with you here, in company of strangers” Hana said sternly, looking at the guards in and around the room. Hongbin stared back at her before dismissing them with a flick of his hand.

“Do you even love him?” he asked, the moment they were alone in the room.

“What are you implying?” Hana asked him.

“That you could do much better. You deserve much better” Hongbin told her firmly.

Hana scoffed and turned to walk away but Hongbin caught her hand and pulled her to him.

“Why are you settling for someone who doesn’t care for you the way you should be cared for?” Hongbin asked her.

“I don’t know what you mean and I don’t like what you are insinuating” Hana warned him.

“Yes you do. You know the truth. Younghyun doesn’t love you. The entire world knows of his affairs. Why are you protecting him? Why don’t you leave him? You deserve a loyal partner” Hongbin argued.

“That’s rich coming from a man who has a different woman on his arm every week” Hana said scathingly. “The playboy of Seoul giving me lessons on love and loyalty? No thanks Binnie.”

“Fuck that. I don’t care for them. I care for you and I care way more than Younghyun ever has” Hongbin said, gripping her arm tightly. Hana gasped in pain but Hongbin didn’t care. He continued to stare at her and she refused to look into his eyes.

“Don’t say stupid things. Let’s just stop talking about it alright? I don’t want to fight with you” she said, attempting to leave his hold but he was much stronger than her and she didn’t have much choice.

“Leave him and run away with me” he suggested.

“What?” Hana blanched.

“I mean it. You deserve to be loved and cared for, not cheated on. I could do it much better than anyone could” Hongbin said, his voice lowering and getting deeper.

“I told you not to say stupid things” Hana said, finding this entire conversation incredulous. Maybe this was all a bad dream. Her imagination was overactive and Hongbin was sexy and there had been times when she had idly wondered what would have happened. A stupid what if. But this was also Lee Hongbin, a literal model and most popular man in the social circles of Seoul. Why would he even look at her?

“I would do it. I would love you till the end of time and back. I would treat you well and show you how loved you are” Hongbin said, rubbing her back.

“Why? Hongbin, I’m not a naive child. Why would you like me of all people? You could have anyone you want. You have women falling over themselves for you” Hana asked.

“Why…?” Hongbin faltered, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at Hana thoughtfully. She took the chance to escape his hold and walked away to the door.

“You’re really clueless about how beautiful you are, aren’t you?” he asked. Hana stopped at his words. He really was joking with her. Such a cruel game to play.

He hugged her from the back. She froze literally and mentally when he nuzzled into her neck and squeezed her waist just above her hips.

“I could show you if you would let me” he whispered in her ear, biting her earlobe for incentive. Hana staggered, her knees giving way. Hongbin led her to the nearest wall, letting her lean on it and trapping her between his arms.

“Does he tell you how ravishing you look in dresses when they show off your curves?” Hongbin asked, resting his hands on her hips.

“Or how your skin is softer than this silk sundress you are wearing?” he continued, tracing up to her arms that were bare because she had been wearing a sleeveless off shoulder dress.

“That your collar bones would put most well sculpted figures to shame?” he wondered more to himself, as he nudged her left collarbone with his nose.

“Hongbin…” Hana gasped when he caressed her neck. It sounded more like a moan than the stern tone she had intended and she was embarrassed instantly. She put her hands on his chest to stop him and he took them and held it above her head in response.

“You didn’t answer me Hana. Does he tell you how your lips are the most enticing pair I have ever come across? Or how your eyelashes curve perfectly or how beautiful you look when you are all pink after a thorough fucking? How musical your voice sounds when you are moaning my name? How artistic your hair would look, splayed across my pillow and underneath my fingers as I thrust into you?”

“He doesn’t…” she acquiesced.

“What a shame” Hongbin said. Hana looked away, ashamed of herself for playing into this. He took her jaw and turned her face to him. She had to look him in the eye and say yes if he was to continue.

“I would do it for you. You just need to say yes” Hongbin said, letting her hands go and playing with her long hair.

“This will ruin everything” Hana said with a sigh.

“But you want me to continue?” Hongbin asked, smirking at her.

“I have a boyfriend Hongbin” she told him strictly.

“About time that you broke his heart and made him an ex. You literally could not do worse” he said with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Just… take me before I change my mind” Hana agreed, closing her eyes and nodding to herself.

“I promise you won’t regret this.” Hongbin said seriously.

“This isn’t love or any stupid shit like that” she added, narrowing her eyes at him. It couldn’t be. A hot mess was all it was. And it was about to become a hotter mess, if his reputation had good ground in the truth.

“Doesn’t have to be. Not tonight anyways, it is too soon for that. But I want you” Hongbin said, not mincing his words or sugar coating the truth. 

“This is also very dangerous” she said, closing her eyes.

“I know. That’s the fun of it all, isn’t it?” 

He kissed the base of her neck, just above her collarbones joining and she moaned.

He knew this was temporary and that he would only get one night before she disappeared, unwilling to cheat on her useless piece of shit boyfriend any further. It was the con of being a good soul at heart, he supposed. But he had one night and he knew how to be persuasive. It wasn’t love and his mind violently rejected the thought of commitment but it was also enticed by the idea of what if.

For now, he had his lady to make love to.

- 

A/N - Yes this has more of a bad boy Hongbin vibe and is longer than my other drabbles in the series. Don’t say what I know you will because the answer is still a no. I am just generally trash alright?

[colinandezra-blog]

Ezra talks falling in love and no longer being isolated in existence.

Everything starts with this Ezra interview for Wonderland Magazine.

The Wonderland interviewer noticed some romantic and poetic tone in Ezra’s discourse about falling in love, in an intense personal powerful connection with someone else and hinting he is ‘no longer isolated in existence’.

Ezra also mentions Nick Cave on the interview. Coincidentally Nick Cave is a singer known to participate in Colin Farrell’s films soundtracks. He was the singer in True Detective’s finale (a soundtrack that Colin himself helped curated) and Colin even sings Nick Cave in his masterpiece work in The Lobster. Nick Cave is one of Colin Farrell’s all time faves and some sort of ‘collaborator’ in many of his projects. Such a huge coincidence that he is also Ezra Miller’s current obsession. 

Ezra mentions Arthur Rimbaud, another poet that Colin Farrell mentions and reads all the time, Colin even uses Rimbaud poetry and entire persona as an inspiration for his characters.  

Surely this is not the first time Ezra has coincidentally shared the same interests with Colin. Here is a pic of Ezra walking around with a book by Colin’s idol, Leonard Cohen’s homosexual themed book Beautiful Losers two weeks after the Fantastic Beasts promo session with Colin. As you all may know, Colin is an avid reader and into deep literature and poetry. This is what Ezra said:

“The thing about Colin that I feel compelled to talk about is his intelligence because it’s really, really staggering. I’m deeply impressed by that man’s brain. When we do interviews together, I usually stay quiet and try to look pretty.” - Ezra Miller

The fact Ezra is caring Colin’s biggest idol Leonard Cohen book just after meeting him, might again be coincidental but knowing how Colin himself said he loves to talk about literature and bonds with fellow actors through books is probably a sign that he and Ezra are close. A few years ago Colin did a film with Sir. Anthony Hopkins, he said that they bonded so well that they used to call each other in the middle of the night to talk about literature and they had this little book club. Maybe that happened between Colin and Ezra as well.

Back to Beautiful Losers, that is a book that Colin has mentioned in the past. The thematic of the book is highly sexual and homosexual, it describes the relationship between the male characters I. and F. they are best friends, mystically connected, I. is younger and F. is and older man with an intellectual and spiritual force that will help I. to escape, they have a pupil and teacher kind of dynamics. Not to be a Gredence-Colezra crazy person, but that sounds extremmelly familiar.

To give a little context about his entire Leonard Cohen obsession, his ex-girlfriend Emma Forrest wrote on her book (inspired on her troubled and passionate love affair with Colin) that he once flew her from LA to Rome just to take her to a Leonard Cohen concert for a romantic night and that he gushed about how Cohen all the time. On his film Crazy Heart, Colin’s songs are molded on Leonard Cohen. He also got Leonard Cohen to sing the iconic ‘Nevermind’ for the opening of True Detective. And then you have Ezra, with Leonard Cohen’s book. That’s an iconic artist for sure, but it is quite interesting to see how Ezra and Colin have the same taste in music and in literature.

  LONDON TO NYC, A VERY COINCIDENTAL COLEZRA TIMELINE:

COLIN + EZRA both in London, from September until the October 18th 2017: 

London, October 12th. Colin at the Gala Screening and UK premiere of The Killing of the Secret Dear in London. 

London, October 13th. Ezra performs in London at The Old Blue Last with SonsOAIF.

London, October 14th. Colin at Graham Norton Show to promo TKOTSD.

London, October 14th. It’s saturday and Colin gets some fry chicken after TKOTSD press junket, the pix is published on the 15th. 

London, October 15th. Ezra has a sunday roast with SonsOAIF. ‘Roasting in our Sunday best. We love you London.’

London, October 18th. Ezra performed with SonsOAIF in London and that reduces the time window for the Wonderland interview and place him on the exact same time Colin was in NYC. Ezra actually got a LON-NY plane on the coincidentally on same day as Colin.

COLIN + EZRA both in New York, October 20th to 23rd 2017: 

New York, October 20th: Ezra was in NYC and the Wonderland interview above happened via phone and the interviewer says ‘Today he’s calling me from New York before he heads to Shanghai.’ The cast of JL arrived in China on October 25th 2017.

New York, October 20th: Colin was spotted by a fan in New York  at Ground Central Coffee Company.

New York, October 21st. Colin at The Killing of the Secret Dear Official Academy screening in New York.

Colin was really promo TKOTSD so he had an excuse to be in London and then NY, Ezra lives in London for FBAWTFT2 but it is quite cute the fact he went to NY on the same day Colin went there for no specific reason. I mean he could have totally taken a plane to China from London. Coincidental schedule in Hollywood is something so rare and this coincidence is kinda cute, especially cause Colezra is adorably cute.

Colin is a person who gets easily obsessed with his adoration for some people. Knowing his history and past relationships (romantic and platonic) one can see a certain pattern. Having read Emma’s book on his personality, the secret nature of his platonic relationship with Elizabeth Taylor, his intense and dramatic ‘marriage’ with musician Amelia Warner, his much publicized affair with once wild Angelina (they made a tattoo together when they met), his love for the ‘outcasts’ and ‘eccentric’ artists and how he describes the perfect love as someone who is a singer and artist, he likes people who live out loud and have a touch for the dramatic, to the wild. 

With his friends Colin is a gentle and loyal soul, he has a tiny group of trusted friends that often includes only a couple of directors and a few selected actors like Sam Rockwell, Samantha Morton, Sally Hawkins and Wes Bentley. He is very secretive about his real friends and rarely is seen with them, another factor that points out that Ezra could be close to him. Not every co-star gets to be his pal, he is nice and kind with his co-stars but to bring people into his life, he is selective. He also loves to hang out with musicians, U2 being his friends for years and years. 

There is also his new protective side that loves to take young actors as pupils, Barry Keoghan being a classic example of that. But a quick examination of Colin’s protective and goofy interaction with Barry who is the same age as Ezra, we can see that he treats him completely differently from Ezra. Maybe because Ezra is well, Ezra! All that lead to a certain type of relationship that I certainly see Ezra fitting into his ideal type of people. When Colin said on Cinema Con ‘Where is Ezra?” this is not a very Colin-esque attitude, he really is not that affectionate with most of his former co-stars. It lead us to believe he and Ezra are in touch cause he already knew Ezra was at Cinema Con. 

Colin also has an openly gay brother (who is an activist) and is himself a vocal supporter of LGTBQ, he is very comfortable around gay people because of his close bond with his brother Eamon and Steven, Eamon’s husband. When people say Colin treats Ezra with so much affection and respect his nature, it’s cause Colin is very open minded and queer people are part of his life. 

Colin has played three queer roles in his career, Alexander, Home at the End of The World, The Lobster and a few homoerotic toned roles like on Phone Booth (the deleted scene between him and Jared Leto), True Detective (his dynamics with the closeted role of Taylor Kitsch), Tigerland (with Matt Davis) and of course, Fantastic with Ezra. He also is very keen of understanding the psychological side of his roles and speaks openly about homoeroticism on film. Therefore, Colin is quite open minded and at ease with queer conversation both in his work and on his personal life. He has also had his share of (speculated or unproven) rumours about his bisexuality and a long lasting myth ‘open-secret’ about having being in a relationship with a famous male co-star.

I think it could have been a surprise to Ezra to have met someone of Colin’s status who is genuinely comfortable with him. Ezra is quite young and has this amazing energy and is in a position that very few, if any, actor have been in the past. I think he got quite stunned and enamoured (in a platonic or even romantic) way with a charming, handsome, intelligent, experienced, open minded and touchy Colin. Of course that is visible on their interactions. I don’t know what happens in Ezra or Colin’s life, but I do believe they got close. The intellectual and psychological bond between them is crazy coincidental, too coincidental. And again, Colin loves musicians, Colin loves passionate eccentric people, Colin loves poetical souls, he usually gets obsessed about the tiny bit complicated ones as well.  

I hope that Colin and Ezra meet sometimes since Ezra is a total fan boy about Colin and those encounters would fit his description of finding a connection with someone you admire. This is less about shipping them romantically, and more about wanting a genuine connection between these two amazing men. I think Colin, having lots of ups and downs in his life could find beneficial to be around such a bright generous soul as Ezra and Ezra could use some poetic Irish calmness and also advice on two to navigate Hollywood safely, I think he is too pure and things are happening too fast for him. Colin have lived through haven and hell on his share of the histeria, he could be a helpful mentor to sweet Ezra. 

As Ezra said in the interview, is about finding another creative soul, to recognize yourself in another person, and no longer feeling isolated. Having been a Colin fan for years and years, I can tell that is so rare to come across with someone that is not only extremely talented, beautiful and kind, but also who shares so many of Colin’s own tastes and tendencies. For people who only ‘ship’ them their connection might seem only a fan fantasy due to the immense popularity if the film these two actors made together, but philosophically speaking I feel this secret friendship between Colin and Ezra is quite plausible. As I said, Colin doesn’t publicizes his true relationships (he legit was friends with Liz Taylor for years and years and nobody knew until she passed away), therefore I wouldn’t expect it to be any different with Ezra. 

This is just a personal essay done out of curiosity of the coincidences of the timeline and tastes between Colin and Ezra and obviously the electric chemistry they share on and off camera. 

[all-lost-promises]

"Home" by C.A

You.

He didn't know what to do with you.

He couldn't explain what you made him feel.

He couldn't explain how you made him feel.

He can’t seem to find the right words to describe it, all he knew was it feels so new to him.

Anything that’s about you, he couldn’t comprehend━ there aren’t enough words to describe what he feels. What is this strong pull of force he feels towards you that he can’t seem to resist?

All he could think of was how delightful this distinct scent of yours is, and whenever he gets a whiff of it, a dreamy sigh escapes him every time.

He knew the very sound of your voice, how it soothes his longing soul and fills in for the silence of the crest, or "home" as you liked to call it.

How he instantaneously melted as he heard your delicate voice speak of his name for the first time. You knew it was such a sudden encounter, but he had insisted he trusted you well enough to tell you his name.

“Preston?” you asked hesitantly, and he nodded. “What a beautiful name” you smiled.

His breathing hitched, he never saw anything as pure as your mere smile.

Neither of you had expected that this simple encounter would go as far as you could think.

Your eyes, so captivating he kept staring in awe. How your eye color was carefully picked by the Gods above, especially poured in by artists. Alluring eyes that shine brighter than the stars in the night sky, graciously filled with chromatic hues and emotions━ this, he willingly drowned into.

You trusted him, you let him into your life... All the moments you’ve shared had come up to such an intimate level and you feared that this person is all the good you could ever have but don’t deserve, would eventually leave because of how you feel like you aren’t enough.

But little did he know he loved you, every inch of you. He understood and wanted to know more. He was rather engrossed by your staggering beauty and unique flaws, which you call imperfect.

He was there by your side and only wanted what was best for you. But here you are, doubting everything good that comes your way.

With every second he spent with you, he fell deeper. Deeper in an infinite pit of ecstasy most would call love.

You've always been on his mind, day and night. Yet, he still doesn't know what to do.

You━ Oh, you clueless little girl. How could you let it slip by just like that?

Thus, years passed by within the blink of an eye. There was something between you two, how you were opposites but yet you both compliment each other. You were able to fill in the void of the other━ our bond was something else, simply inseparable.

But sometimes, maybe things are too good to be true.

Preston eventually grew weary of all the “what if’s”, he became woeful and was constantly questioning what you two have. His mind was clouded by questions he dared not ask you.

“What do we have right now... Or more so, what... Are we?”

And maybe, just maybe, he may take the leap to finally ask you this.

But when will he? When will he be able to gather up his courage to ask you these questions that have been constantly haunting him, ever since you both had grown such a strong bond?

Your routine with him continued as it normally was, but something felt off. Everything seemed fine, to you. You were too mindless, innocent━ carefree. You hadn’t taken the time to notice Preston had something to say.

Maybe you've gotten so used to how every second you spent with one another would always be so easygoing━ like a breeze. Yet, the delightful feeling of a strong breeze may leave as quick as it came.

The brisk moment when your eyes form into beautiful crescents from sheer glee as you both share a harmless laugh━ little did you realize, a split second wasted held you both back from so much.

Of all the words that could have been said, the silence crashes over the two of you as this lingering feeling engulfs you little by little until it solely defines what you both have.

And like that, gone were the days where you and Preston used to spend sleepless nights talking about life━ your very existence, the moments you’ve shared, and the emotions you both had felt. Oh, if only you could go back to the times where things used to be so simple.

But now all you could do is let go of the times of what was.

You never really paid attention to how he was slowly drifting away, as you were too caught up in the moment. You were simply trying to make the most of what you both currently have...

Or rather, had.

You should’ve known all of your moments together would add up to this. You never came to the thought that things could become complicated.

Everything that happened never really meant to stay as it is. Now the only reason why you hold onto these memories so tight is that they are the only things that don’t change, even when people do.

And he did change.

When you were still with him, hours felt like seconds. But now everything has boiled down to this, days just feel like years.

You would still see him now and then, whenever you hang around with other people. Every time you steal a glimpse of him your heart skips a beat. When has this feeling taken place? Or more so, what is this feeling?

You had no answers to the questions that filled your mind. All you wanted to figure out is... How will you possibly gain back what was lost?

Days and weeks passed by like that. Every person you came across never really felt the same━ the same way you felt for Preston. You couldn’t understand why he was so different.

You were aimlessly going on with your day-to-day routine, slowly drifting apart and cutting ties as no other company could fill that emptiness you feel without Preston.

You were contemplating wasting your time by sleeping the day off but your phone suddenly lit up and vibrated. Oh, a notification from an old friend. It’s been some time since you’ve received one from them.

“Hey I know it’s been some time since you’ve hung around with us, but would you want to come along?” the text read, along with the details.

You took your time to respond but eventually agreed to come along. Well, you haven’t withdrawn yourself from this clouded mind of yours. So why not? What’s stopping you?

Reality then hits you. What if Preston was invited as well? Oh, golly. This is going to be a wild ride, for sure.

What’s the matter, anyway? It’s just Preston, not like you both haven’t spent time with each other at all, right?

...Right?

The day finally came and you guys had to meet up altogether to drive to the destination. Thankfully, the sun wasn’t scorching on this bustling afternoon. The drive wouldn’t be too unbearable, ignoring the fact you may ruin the fun with the awkward atmosphere that surrounds both of you━ you and Preston, that is.

Along the way, your friends were stressing over the fact that you guys may be running late on schedule due to heavy traffic. You, on the other hand, were stealing glances at Preston.

He had brown, wavy hair and beautiful amber eyes. His skin had a golden tinge to it as the evening sun basked its glory on his naturally tanned skin. He hadn’t noticed that you were admiring his presence, as he was too immersed in the music he was listening to.

You can't help but be intrigued to know what song is playing on his phone. Countless times when you both still used to talk, he always told you how you reminded him of this one song he adored. Could that be the song playing right now? Could he be thinking of you, at this exact moment?

You leaned back on your seat to try and catch a glimpse of his phone, to only be greeted by a surprise.

I was scared to lose you then,

But secrets turn into regrets;

Buried feelings grow

Oh, you were a good dream.

The song started to play in your head as soon as you caught a glimpse of the album cover. It was Lifetime by Ben&Ben, and it was the exact song he associated with you. You instantaneously were filled with hope, maybe there is a way to fix everything.

Hours flew by, you and your friends are finally at the destination. They were busy setting up the tents while you sat alone by the cliff.

You took a deep breath and enjoyed the subtle breeze that brushed against your skin. The sunset had long been gone and was now replaced by the moon, which now appears anew in the sky upon a clear, starry night. And in that instant, it would elevate the souls of all to some higher plane.

In every direction there was a star, should you fly into the universe any way would be the right way. You tilt your head gazing upward, eyes more open than they can be in the fullness of day, not looking at just one star yet somehow seeing them all at once.

“The stars look beautiful tonight, don’t they?” asked a familiar voice.

Before you were even able to turn to see who it was, they sat right next to you. You turned to your side, only to be greeted by the smile that had taken your heart away.

It’s him, Preston, wearing his best smile along with two cups of hot chocolate. He hands one to you and the words you wanted to say faded into the silence that surrounded the both of you. Only this time, it was a comforting one.

You wanted to strike up a conversation but were too hesitant to. What was holding you back? He even approached you, so what’s the matter?

“So..” Preston paused, choosing his words carefully. “..How are things?”

“Not so well honestly..” You responded, taking a sip of hot chocolate before continuing. “..Not until you arrived.”

“Oh, is that so..?” He asked, seemingly doubtful of what you had said.

You nodded your head carefully and proceeded to admire the stars.

It felt as if time had slowed and all that ever mattered now was this very moment. You had to find the right words to say— all that you’ve held back now has to be let out. You can’t let another word be swallowed by doubt.

During that moment, all the memories you both shared had flashed right before your eyes. While you were gazing at the endless void, carefully admiring the stars scattered like moondust in the night sky. Somehow, you could see glimpses of you and Preston’s wonderful moments dance around in the starry night.

You were happy knowing that he was right beside you in this instance, hopefully thinking the same way. But fear gradually crawled into your mind; you realized that if you wouldn’t speak now, you might lose him forever.

Preston let out a quiet sigh, turning to face you. “I want to tell you something.” He cleared his throat, seemingly nervous as he tugged on his hoodie strings.

You snapped back into reality and quickly responded, “Oh, what is it?” You stumbled over your words, feeling your face flush from embarrassment.

Preston couldn’t get straight to what he was about to say and proceeded to scratch the back of his neck as his eyes darted around the place, avoiding eye contact.

You were clueless and your mind filled with more questions. “Hey, what were you going to say?” you asked, while Preston wouldn’t utter another word.

He finally gathered his courage, took a deep breath, held your hands and looked you in the eyes, and muttered the words you wouldn’t expect him to say.

“I missed you— everything we had, I miss it. I was so foolish to simply leave you hanging, I was afraid... I…”

You were filled with astonishment and were at loss for words. All this time…

He must've understood what you felt.

"I... Miss you too, Preston," You responded in a low voice.

"You do?" Preston asked, with a hint of glee in his tone.

“Yes, I mean it.” You replied firmly. "I’ve been finding the right time to tell you that... But you beat me to it.”

Preston took a moment to compose himself before he spoke again.

"I'm glad to hear that," he added, seemingly relieved.

He brought you into his arms as you basked in his warmth. Both of you felt so free. Everything went well, and neither of you had expected this would happen. The stars danced merrily around the both of you, it was as if the heavenly bodies were celebrating this very moment.

All that ever mattered in your life was happening now, right in front of your very eyes.

The only thing that filled your mind was the overwhelming love you feel for him. All the stars aren’t enough to measure your love for him, not even if he were to count those reflected in moonlit oceans. You now understand that a soulmate is not the person who makes you the happiest, but the one that makes you feel the most.

Love, how blissful it truly is— once the both of you finally accept the emotions you've been long avoiding from… You will realize how wonderful may be, with the person you're able to call home.

“Thank you, Preston.” You muttered as you laid your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulder while you both admire the stars above the both of you.

Love will soon find its way.