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watevermelon · 4 years

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Patience is a Virtue | Shinsuke Kita x Reader

✧ Summary: You lost track of the days that you were in love with Kita. He was so much more than just the team mom that many outsiders dubbed him as. He was the wielder of cold-logic and held the bluntest of words at times, but he showed his own special brand of care for each member of the team. What you hadn’t expected was for him to especially care about you. ➳ Warnings: Language because twins lmao ➳ Tags: Childhood friends to lovers; mostly fluff and humor; Atsumu being a little shit; friends trying to be match-makers; mild jealousy on Kita’s part; introspection and some character development

✧ Masterlist

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As the manager of the Inarizaki volleyball club, you were no stranger to the antics of your generally loud team. And while this was usually elicited by the twins, with most of the team ahem especially Suna being no help (since many would rather film then break-up the fight), you were almost a pro at keeping them calm to the public eye.

You grew up alongside most of the members of the team, a strange connection between all of the players. From advanced classes in junior high to being literal neighbors to some of them, you were long-term classmates with many of the members - including the captain himself.

Kita was much more than the doting team mom than people gave him credit for. Yes, he was often the face of the team, the voice of reason that handled the interviews and other press coverage, but this all came from a place of stone-cold reason. He had strict routines and never cared about doing things without practical rationale. Kita had a mature way of thinking, often compartmentalizing both people and emotions, to the point that it made people his own age not relate to him.

Even the quiet Suna, the analytical little shit who loved to poke fun at said captain, had honestly admitted that he thought Kita to be on the robot-side of the emotional spectrum.

And, despite all this, Kita was the long-term object of your affections.

It was all the little things that made your crush on him grow. From his proper speech, the blunt words no matter to whom he was speaking to, or his unusual brand of care he extended toward his teammates, Kita was the foundation of Inarizaki that you fell for. And when he was named captain of the volleyball team? You almost cried alongside him, reveling in the rare fit of pure happiness that he was gracing your eyes with.

You remembered the last time you walked home together, for once not being called away on separate duties as captain and leading manager. He treated you to ice-cream and walked along you side-by-side.

“Mint chocolate-chip with two cherries.” He told the street-cart vendor confidently, knowing your favorite flavors by heart at this point.

You ordered for him in kind, receiving the treat from the vendor as Kita paid for both of your orders. Anyone else would be contesting it, but you knew that Kita would not take no for an answer. He did stuff like this all the time with you, you were better off not fighting it. This was not the hill you wanted to die on.

But you were surprised when Kita licked at your ice cream, smiling as he tasted it and maintaining your gaze head-on. The shock on your face must have been evident since the smirk on his widened. You reached for the cone in his hand, only for him to lightly slap it away.

“Should I be asking with a pretty please or something?” You asked with a playful pout.

“No.” Kita replied, before lowering it to your eye-level.

Did he want you to lick it? While he was holding it????

Wordlessly, you followed his silent command and felt the minty taste of your afternoon snack on your tongue. Kita watched the action, eyes following your tongue as he shot you a friendly smile. He pulled away before you could get that much more, before licking your ice cream again.

Was that an indirect kiss???

“My, you two make quite the couple.” The vendor commented, clasping her hands together as she watched your interaction.

“We’re not dating.” Kita answered, squashing any hope you had from that interaction.

He was just?? So confusing??

You had so many little moments like this over the years. So many that had you often questioning deep into the night what truly was your relationship with the blunt captain of Inarizaki. You fell for him so many years ago, it made you wonder when was the last time you really thought of him as just a friend. Did he truly not know about your feelings?

But Kita was smart and on just as many occasions, you wondered if he knew the truth but simply did nothing about them. If he could read the twins with little effort, there was no doubt he understood your feelings long-ago, but decided not to act.

At least, that was your reason behind not openly admitting it to him:

That Kita knew you had a crush on him. And since he did not feel the same, it was better off if he did not address them.

And so you never brought it up, stewing in silence for years.

Eight years was a long time to be in love alone.

“You should just give up on him.” Jisoo, your fellow Inarizaki manager commented one day. She was in the same class as the twins, a year your junior.

The both of you were lounging outside in the courtyard for lunch, a humidly hot day that made the two of you especially lazy this particular school-day. Only a few more hours more and you would be free of classes, liberated of any schoolwork and finally enjoying the weekend.

You were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, looking at the different posts on social media from your various friends. Atsumu had posted of his serve practice the day before, his comment section flooded with various hearts by his fan-club of all things. Osamu’s private Instabook was of food while Aran’s had posted one of the day’s blue skies.

“Why would I do that?” You asked with a sigh, already used to her trying to guide you away from him. You understood why, it was hardly a smart decision to hold onto your feelings, not that you really cared.

“Aren’t you tired of it by now?”

But was that a good enough reason at this point? You were a third-year and about to graduate. If there was one thing that was constant throughout your entire life in the farming prefecture you called a home, it was that you had feelings for the captain.

The sky was blue. Summer was hot. You liked Kita.

It was that simple sometimes. And while there were moments that hurt your heart, it was not like you had any head-space to even try to stop.

“Maybe.” You answered candidly, “Honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to. But I don’t want to either.”

“I worry about you, senpai.”

“What can I say?” You tried to joke, even with your sad smile. “Kita has my heart on lock-down.”

“We’re all going to the twins’ party this weekend, why don’t you try talking to some of the guys there?”

“Not this again.” You complained as you put your phone down on the table.

“Come on!” Jisoo pushed, “I’m sure there’ll be someone there that peaks your interest.”

You raised a brow in response, doubt evident on your face.

She teased, “It could also be on a purely physical level.”

Laughing at her statement, you said. “Like that’s any better.”

“A little smooches here and there never hurt anyone.”

“Now I’m worrying about you.”

She giggled, before continuing. “Just think about it. First guy tonight who hits on you, give him a chance.”

While you would have dismissed the thought immediately, there was something rather playful happening in the pit of your stomach. As if, for once in a long-time, you wanted to feel the puppy love of just casually flirting. Of grinning and laughing along with someone's advances and actually enjoying one these parties; rather than just sitting on the couch playing Mario Kart waiting for Kita to hopefully show.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

She sighed loudly, happy to have cracked you a little. Jisoo continued with a teasing grin on her face. “Oh right, I forgot. You’re a masochist.”

“I could’ve told ya that.” Another voice broke out, the familiar setter of two-tone hair taking the seat next to you. He picked at one of your french-fries, eating it with no preamble as Suna took the seat diagonal from you, next to Jisoo at the picnic table outside.

For someone who spoke a lot of game about not being caught up with the twins, Suna tended to hang around Atsumu quite a bit.

“I am not a masochist.” You defended from Atsumu’s words, earning an eye-roll from the other female manager.

“Why else would you agree to manage a team with the twins?” Suna quipped before taking out his phone, probably scrolling through social media as well. Atsumu shrugged in agreement, a smirk on his face.

“Also, tell that to your love life.” Jisoo countered, playfully moving her lunch out of Atsumu’s reach before the setter could commandeer some of hers.

You quietly pushed the rest of your fries in his direction, appetite long gone on this overly humid day. Doing this sort of thing was actually quite natural with the twin, sharing food and hugs were a normal thing with your friend.

“It’s not that bad.” You argued.

“Wait, have ya ever dated before?” Atsumu asked.

“Have you?” You countered back, the setter was infamous for his many… romantic encounters. But the young man had yet to ever put a serious label on any of those instances, at least not to your knowledge.

He rolled his eyes in response, turning to Jisoo instead to continue.

“Come on senpai, not even a smooch?” She pushed.

You felt your face flush at having been called out, “Well....”

Atsumu turned his body toward you in his seat, his insufferably confident smirk back on, “I could help ya with that.”

You pushed away at his shoulder, “You say it like it’s a problem.”

“Ya savin’ it till ya get married or somethin’?” He asked, genuinely curious. Even Suna turned to you, looking up from his phone in interest.

You turned to Jisoo, the conversation taking a dangerous turn. If you said yes, their curiosity would definitely be spiked. And it was not like you could lie to them and say it was some random person in your class - you knew these boys for years, but they also knew you in kind.

Yes or no?

The other manager did not even try to bail you out and your silence was already tantamount to an answer.

“Aww. How cute of ya, (L/N).” Atsumu chuckled, reaching to pat your head. You slapped it away before he got too close. For someone younger than you, he was quite the brat. Years of being friends long stripped away any formalities apparently.

“Looks like our heart-breaker manager is actually very sentimental.” Suna commented, a brow raised in your direction.

“Heart-breaker?” You questioned in genuine confusion.

“Come on, (L/N)-san.” Jisoo answered this time, “She’s had her heart set for so long, she hasn’t even seen the other boys she’s curved.”

“How is that possible when no one’s confessed to me?”

Jisoo laughed while Atsumu absently tapped his finger on the table, “Even I know that ain’t true, (L/N).”

“Whatever.” There was no reasoning with your underclassmen when they were this dead-set. No one had confessed to you before, right? At least none to your memory, they were just being instigators as usual?

“That doesn’t answer the question why ya sittin’ here single.” Atsumu stated.

“He obviously has feelings for you, but she’s too much of a wuss to confess.” Jisoo stated it plainly for you, then turned to look at Atsumu with an expectant face. “So it’s either because he hasn’t noticed, which I doubt, or he’s not looking for commitment.”

“Ah. And it’s someone we’ve known for years, huh?” Suna deduced, words come out slowly.

You straightened your back in surprise and shot warning looks toward both boys. This was getting too close, they were starting to put together pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t even willingly handed to them. And knowing these little shits, they were not going to let this go until they found out.

Atsumu inclined his head for you to continue while Suna’s eyes never left your own. Suna was smart all the time, but with being associated with the twins constantly, it was easy to forget that fact. And since the trio acted like idiots so often, you tended to forgo how truly analytical even the Atsumu was.

This was not good - so not good. It probably would not take them long to deduce the person at this rate.

“I swear to the highest volleyball gods out there,” You spit out as your turned to the other manager, “I will fucking smite you off this planet if you say another word.”

Jisoo burst out laughing immediately, almost choking on her lunch as Atsumu grinned at your warning, the exact opposite response you wanted.

“Strong words ya got there.” He commented, body still angled toward yours in interest. “Looks like we hittin’ a lil too close to home?”

“Don’t even try it.” You responded back, turning away from his inquisitive eyes and back to your phone.

Needless to say, they didn’t listen.

Suna backed up in his seat, eyes glancing between you and the setter. “No commitment, huh?”

Meanwhile, Atsumu was rapid-firing questions. “Is it a second-year? Third-year? Is he on the volleyball team? Do we know ‘em personally?”

You smiled at his now peaked curiosity, the setter almost looking like a small puppy waiting for a treat. But you refused to answer, no doubt sure that they would tell the captain the moment they found out the truth. You turned to Jisoo, who was smiling away at Atsumu, but otherwise sat thankfully quiet.

Atsumu was firing off specific names now, hoping to get any response from you.

“The bastard’s gotta be on the team.”

“Bastard?” Jisoo laughed at the nickname.

“Shut up, Atsumu.” You countered, attempting to poke harshly at his forehead to stop. But he just grabbed the hand in one of his own, holding it in his lap as he continued to spit out names.

“Is it Aran?”

“Will you stop?”

“‘Samu?”

“I will murder you in cold blood.”

“... Is it me?”

You tried your best to pull your hand away, now realizing his tightening hold on against the skin of your hand. How long had you been sitting there holding hands? You felt a natural rosiness rise to your cheeks, not really because of the recipient, but because you were doing so in public with some guy.

Instead, you poked the setter’s side roughly, earning a deep groan, but freeing your hand in the process. Packing up your belongings, you stepped out of the picnic table and stated, “Lunch is almost over, we should get to class.”

You walked away with a small wave, the boys turning to the now only female occupant of the lunch-table.

“So…”

“Nu-uh.” Jisoo cut off Atsumu, moving to leave the table before she accidentally said anything.

“Throw a man a bone here! Or at least help him bone.” Atsumu murmured that last part under his breath, “Ya don’t even have to verbally confirm it - is it me?”

Jisoo paused as she stood, books in hand already. The look she threw him was mischievous, but otherwise she left in silence.

Unfortunately for you, all you were thinking about during class was that conversation you just had. Kita sat on your right in your next few classes, the mild Ōmimi behind the both of you. The last thing you needed was to linger on their teasing words of smooches and marriage. You couldn’t confess your feelings, imagining anything else?? You could only imagine the bright blush at the simple thought of it.

And apparently, you hadn’t hidden it well.

“Something wrong?”

There were still a couple more minutes until the teacher would return. And so you were sitting in the classroom with Kita alongside you, other students milling around the room. He was so damn good at reading people and you cursed that he was using it against you now.

“Just thinking about some stuff Jisoo said at lunch.” You tried to wave off.

“You’re blushing.” Kita stated bluntly, putting his book down as he spoke to you.

He was never one to sugar-coat his words.

“Am I?” You put your palms to your cheeks, as if to feel the heat. There was no point in trying to lie to him. “She was teasing me about boys.”

“Oh. Are you dating anyone?” Kita asked.

God, this was awful.

There was nothing worse than your crush asking about your crush.

“No, not yet.” You shook your head negatively, turning towards the window on your left, at least trying to hide your expression.

“Yet? Are you looking to date soon?”

You wanted to scream.

“Um, not in the near future.” You tried to deflect, “But it could happen!”

“Of course.” He smiled, “I packed extra onigiri for lunch, but I couldn’t find you. I’m not sure if you still want it.”

“Ah, I would love to! If I’m not imposing, then yes.”

Kita shook his head, “I packed it for you.”

“You’re so sweet sometimes.” You said honestly, taking it and munching down.

“You usually either forget your lunch or eat junk.” He stated plainly, making you suddenly blanch at his cold-words. I mean, he wasn’t exactly wrong either. You thought back to the lunch you had today, literally just water and french fries that you ended up giving to Atsumu.

“Ha, well.” You trailed off before settling on, “Thanks for always taking care of me.”

Kita’s small grin widened as he looked you in the eyes, “It’s my pleasure.”

When he said things like that, it easily set your heart aflame. It was so simple, such small interactions that you would have to squint hard to find anything underlying in his words. But you wanted to. You wanted to feel needed and also give to the captain as well.

The blush you had earlier was probably nothing in comparison to how you looked now, you were sure. And, with Kita being the ever smart cookie he was, there was no doubt that he spied your inflamed reaction.

Was that conversation over? Was he expecting a response?

Maybe the volleyball god’s did have mercy on your poor soul, since your teacher walked in then and thankfully brought your conversation to a halt. You tried not to outwardly seem relieved, turning to the front and taking out your notebooks.

Your mind wandered in and out of the lecture. There were moments that your gaze just happened to meander over to the captain to your right. It was one thing to suddenly notice you were staring at him, but another thing entirely to be caught in the action. Kita would usually just smile at you kindly, before nudging his chin toward the front of the room toward the teacher.

Even later during volleyball practice, your eyes would casually dawdle over to where the captain was standing. Whether he was watching the team with careful eyes or participating himself in practicing spikes, your eyes usually just found him.

But today was not the day to let down your guard.

Atsumu and Suna were paying careful attention to you. And now it was no secret where your gaze was pointed to. Suna smirked when he realized, but Atsumu clicked his tongue and mentally filed it away for later. Jisoo once snapped playful fingers in front of your face, grabbing your attention to flip the scoreboard.

When it was finally time to clean, Kita helped you collect the left-over volleyballs and roll the hammock into the proper storage room. You did so carefully, making sure not to accidentally touch his skin lest he back off from the motion. But the kind, neutral expression he shot you went straight to your heart.

“Let’s get the scoreboard next.” He instructed, the both of you moving to opposite sides of the wheeled board.

And you would have, if Atsumu had not thrown a casual arm across the captain’s shoulders.

“Hey, do ya mind helpin’ ‘Samu over there?” He motioned with his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to his twin who was not looking at all.

Slightly suspicious, Kita did as asked anyway and went with the grey-headed twin to mop the floors.

“What was that about?” You asked as Atsumu pushed the scoreboard along with you.

It was only when you entered the storage room alone that he replied, “So Mister No Gaps Kita Shinsuke, huh?”

“What?!” You fought the inward need to slap yourself, high voice and exclamation enough to show that he was right on the money. “You asshole, how do you know that?”

“I didn’t need anyone to tell me that.” He emphasized, gesturing at your eyes with two fingers. “Ya kept starin’ at ‘em the entire practice.”

You huffed frowning, “That obvious, huh?”

“Yea, he probably knows too - especially if Suna and I figured this shit out.”

That didn’t help at all.

“Great.” You leaned against the nearby wall and put a palm to your forehead.

Atsumu crossed his arms, “So why haven’t ya confessed to ‘em yet?”

You scoffed and shot him a flat-expression, “Because he doesn’t like me back?”

“What? He said that to ya?”

“Well, no.” You hesitated, but explained. “I mean, he definitely knows I have feelings. And Shinsuke has never been one to beat around the bush. If he hasn’t addressed it, it’s probably because he doesn’t want to make it awkward… since he doesn't feel the same.”

“I think you’re a dumbass.” Atsumu stated back, sighing heavily. “Kita don’t think like that and we both know it.”

“Why else would he be waiting it out?” You asked, “This is the same Kita that told us he doesn’t understand how people feel nervous.”

“Jesus, (F/N). He was talkin’ about volleyball.” Atsumu groaned, raking one of his hands through his piss-blonde hair. “Kita’s human too. Maybe he’s not sure how ya would respond for the same reasons.”

“I don’t know if love advice from the school’s resident fuck-boy is a good idea.” You jabbed instead, a playful smile on your face.

Atsumu put a mock-offended hand on his chest, a smirk finding a way on his face before he squashed it down seriously. He took a step toward you until you were less than an arms’ length-apart, “Fine, have it your way. Stew in silence until he finds someone else.”

That struck a silent chord in you.

“Honestly, that was kind of the plan these past few years.” You admitted, turning your head toward the ground. “If he could find his true happiness with someone else, then I would be happy for him.”

Atsumu must have detected your seriousness, since he hesitated to say his next few words. “Don’ be like that. Stop bein’ an idiot - he likes you.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, (L/N).” Atsumu levelled with you, “Ya standin’ here like ya ain’t the only girl he’s ever withstood.”

“Wow, what a feat.” You muttered as you sighed.

“Fine, if ya don’t believe that. Aren’t ya’ll best friends anyway?” Atsumu asked, “I’m sure he’d do anythin’ to keep you close.”

You hesitated, but agreed. Your relationship, no matter if he reciprocated your feelings or not, you were best friends. But if he didn’t feel the same and you said something? Would there ever be recovering from something like that?

Atsumu drew you out of your thoughts before he lost you further to your over-thinking, “You’re a real catch. Anybody would be lucky to have ya.”

“Oh?” You shot a withered smile at him.

“And I’m not just sayin’ that to put the moves on ya.” Atsumu joked, earning a light punch to his shoulder as you walked past him to leave.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said before turning back towards him, remembering to say. “None of this leaves this room. You hear that?”

“Yes ma’am.” He mock-saluted, a second later a loud ahem ringing through the room.

You tensed up and turned toward the door, seeing a blank-faced Shinsuke standing in the open doorway. Atsumu was always surprised, albeit much less worried than you were. Was your secret finally out?

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, before you pushed shouted a loud No! and brushed past him back into the gymnasium.

Atsumu tried to casually exit the room as well, before his captain’s voice rang-out again, “Care to explain what that was about?”

The setter had two options here: either brush it off or fan the flames that he knew for a fact was there. You were the obvious party, openly staring at the captain like your eyes belonged on him. But Atsumu knew that those feelings were not as unrequited as you thought.

He remembered some club-room talk not that long ago. It was normal for the guys to discuss their preferences, something that Atsumu was rather vocal about on multiple occasions. Aran was just looking for someone he could cook while Ōmimi stated he liked girls who were generally very kind. Osamu preferred someone who was a bit meeker while Atsumu loved ‘em vocal, even bratty to the point of talking back.

“Of course, you would.” Suna commented as he dressed.

“What the fuck do ya mean by that?” The setter bit out.

“As in the fuckboy thinks he’s a girl tamer.” Suna snarkily replied.

“Well, when a girl has a mouth on her. I want to put it to good use.” Atsumu said with a smirk, earning a loose towel to the head, one that Osamu had just launched from across the room. Aran sighed and grabbed it before Atsumu could whip it back. Kita nodded toward his counterpart in quiet thanks.

Many of the others were still dressing after practice this day, it would be annoying to have to break up another fight between the twins then.

“Can ya be less of an asshole?” The grey-headed twin asked.

“Wha? I’m speakin’ the truth!” Atsumu defended, “Not every girl is like that anyway.”

“And who would the infamous Ratsumu have his eyes on?” Suna asked, genuinely curious but not missing the chance to poke at the setter.

Atsumu frowned, but continued anyway. “No one, right now. But I still got eyes, ya know. Ya can’t tell me our manager ain’t a cutie.”

“She would rather hand you a new asshole than ever date you.” Suna said, to which Akagi laughed.

“Careful, ‘Tsamu.” Osamu playfully warned, “People might think ya like (L/N)-san.”

“What can I say, she’s single and hot as fuck.” Atsumu replied off-handedly.

It was a plain statement, but you could almost physically feel the temperature change in the club-room. Aran was glancing between the captain while the rest wondered why it was suddenly dead silent.

Osamu wondered if his prayers had been heard and he would soon be an only child.

“I suggest not saying that again.” Kita stated over his shoulder as he buttoned up the rest of his shirt.

That was a clear enough warning to everyone in the room that you were off limits. Suna had remembered this instance as well, in the present day reminding Atsumu after lunch not to push any buttons. It was clear then that Kita had no tolerance to any shit he was going to pull and now the pining was mutual on both your ends. Suna reminded him again and again during class to just let you and Kita sort your feelings naturally.

Pfft.

Was Atsumu going to be a little shit and try to sew some discord?

Hell yes.

“What can I say?” Atsumu feigned being casual, even shrugging as he exited the quiet storage room. “A pretty girl and a young guy enter a closet alone together, you know the rest.”

The glare he felt on his neck could have been enough to snap it with this much pressure. But, Atsumu digressed. He was doing the both of you a favor anyway, pushing you together when you both already had feelings for one another (albeit with some mind games interspersed).

Atsumu almost laughed when Kita grabbed your hand when the two of you walked home together.

Kita knew what the setter was doing. What buttons he was trying to push, what he was trying to imply with you. The captain knew it all and he was still getting pissed off.

True to everyone’s assumptions, Kita knew about your feelings for him. The extent and duration, that he was not sure of. But he knew that you have thought about him in a romantic light for quite some time. Lingered looks and purposeful touches, on both your ends, was not something he could easily ignore.

What made Kita wonder was why you hadn’t said anything at all?

You were often pretty straight-forward as well. Not exactly in terms of romance, but you when were interested in something you tended to speak your mind. Whether it be a new show, some shounen anime you were following along with, you always shared it with him.

And for that fact he was always grateful.

Many of the others your age tended to be warded off by his way of thinking, branding him too mature or even too cold at times. To think that even the sarcastic Suna had nicknamed him as a robot, it was interesting to see that was how most people saw him.

But you didn’t.

Or at least, you saw passed his cold exterior and were just a freely-spoken with your mind. Kita’s blunt way of speaking had casualties sometimes, but you usually voiced if his blunt speech was too much. There were times that, if you were inadvertently hurt by his words, you would say it out-loud.

He remembered the last time this happened, not even a month ago. The two of you were hanging out under the shade of a tree, about to go out to a team hangout when you exited your back porch wearing a blue sundress. It flirted high above your knees and showed off the creamy legs of yours that he loved to trail his eyes over.

You looked breath-taking.

And so he said:

“Is there an occasion I’m missing today? I thought we were just going out with the team.”

The disappointed look on your face was immediate and it did not take a genius to figure those were the wrong words to say. But what he was not sure is where it went wrong. Logically, it made sense. You were going to walk at least two miles to the train and then from there a mile to the arcade. And most of that time you would all be standing. Would you even be comfortable doing all this walking in sandals?

But you didn’t get offended or draw away from him from these smaller misunderstandings.

You were always ready to knock some sense into him if need be.

“Not even a compliment on how I look? How mean.” You said with a frown, “I tried a bit more because I don’t usually get the chance to.”

“I know, but I want you to be comfortable considering the walks today.” Kita lightly grabbed your elbow as he stepped closer, “Besides, you always look beautiful no matter what you’re wearing.”

Your blush was palpable, Kita was almost sure he could fry an egg on your forehead, if the redness was any indication of temperature.

“Let’s save this dress for another occasion. Preferably where only I see these.” He glanced down to indicate your legs, to which you sputtered and allowed him to guide you back inside the house.

And instead, he picked a pair of light-colored shorts and a loose summer-blouse. Kita knew you had a pair of black-and-white sneakers that would go with it anyway. You commented how it was almost scary that Kita knew your wardrobe, but he stated it simply:

I like what you wear. And I think it looks very agreeable on you.

It was simple and he stated it thusly. And from your reaction, it seemed as if it had made your day. From the beaming smile on your face to the new skip in your step, it was clear to him that he had amended the situation properly with your guidance.

But he still had the same issue: Kita thought he was being clear as day.

There was no one else he was spending time with like this. No one else whom Kita was expressing interest in like he was with you. From sharing ice-cream to hangouts alone with just the two of you, he thought his way of flirting with you was obvious? His actions alone should have been clear that he was showing his own interest in you.

And so if Kita was being clear with his feelings, why hadn’t you said anything?

This was not something he could just say and retract, either. The last thing he wanted to do was put your entire friendship on the line just to lose you. What if you actually did not feel the same way? But from your constant blushing and obvious gaze on him, you liked him too? But why hadn’t you said anything? Were you expecting him too?

He almost groaned aloud at this line of thinking.

Nothing had him flustered quite like you. Kita was confident both in school and on the court, a sure faith that no matter where it was. It was not a baseless arrogance, but more like a calm trust that he knew what he was doing was right.

And yet…

When it came to you, that brand of confidence simply withered away. Not always a bad thing, you often caught him off-guard with your own kindness and rarely did you ever truly fight. But there were times that he sorely wished he knew what was going on in that head of yours.

Like why hadn’t you said anything to him regarding this tension?

Or better yet, why the hell were you whispering with Atsumu in the gym closet?

The setter knew all about your being off-limits. Kita made it very clear that day and it seemed even then, the message did not totally receive in the asshole's mind. Or rather, it probably did, Atsumu just decided to ignore it.

And so on your shared walk home after practice, Kita gently grabbed your hand and did not let go. You almost jumped in surprise alongside him. Not that you hadn’t held hands before, but it was usually called for in the context. Navigating one of the twin’s parties, through a crowded group, or just to guide you somewhere.

But never had he held your hand for no reason.

Kita just smiled, hoping this would send a clear enough message to both you and the meddlesome boys behind you.

Meanwhile, Atsumu had to stop himself from cackling aloud. Osamu was ready to question his brother over what the hell was that about, but Suna assured him that it was best not to get involved at this rate. Aran simply sighed, but waved goodbye and goodnight to the rest of the team.

Your smile was a mask to your inward screaming, only to be silenced to a blank void. Your mind was comparable to that picture of spilled milk - the only thing inside as if the very act was an enigma. You had no idea what to say, what to do in this situation as you both continued to walk along.

For someone who was an athlete, the skin of his hand was surprisingly soft as it encased your own. You felt your hand unconsciously squeeze his and feared that the act would have him pulling away, as if waking him up from his act. But Kita squeezed back, a fond expression reflected back at you.

The two of you walked home together whenever you had the chance, unless called for by other duties. So this was usually normal for the two of you. Conversation was just easy, ranging from school or recent events, and even if one-sided you had no issues with simply speaking to the captain. And yet today…

Kita and you were both completely silent.

You couldn’t even tell if something else was on his mind, a neutral look on his face as he looked ahead. Was this action to show that he was reciprocating your feelings? You hated being unsure like this, but there was too much vulnerability to simply lay-out what you wanted to say.

Even on the train, Kita sat next to you quietly but still held your hand over his knee. You watched the action, before trying to level your breathing as to not freak out. But Kita kept going about his day, even taking out his phone to check a few texts with the other hand.

It was meant to show this was entirely on purpose.

Only when your house popped into view during something conspiratory popped into your mind - Did one of the boys tell him?

You felt the small seed of hope grow further. Was it just a coincidence that the day Suna and Atsumu found out about your secret was the same day, after literal years, that Kita found out as well? And that maybe if he knew now, was he reciprocating in some way?

You moved to glance at him in the corner of your eye, but he was already looking at you.

The both of you stopped short of the gate, but you hesitated for a second to say anything. There was so much on your mind and stewing in silence was the exact opposite thing you wanted to do. Before you could even think of words to say, your captain made the first move again.

Kita tenderly reached for your other hand, holding both in his much larger ones. He brought them up together and shot you a gentle smile, “(F/N), your hands are so soft.”

It came out like word vomit.

“I like you, Kita!”

SHIT.

Maybe you read him wrong?? If he was going to make a move, why was he looking at you so surprised??

“And here I was, wanting to say something first.” Kita said as he chuckled lightly, his hands gliding the rest of the way up your arms. “I like you, too.”

You didn’t even have time to overthink, Kita wasting no time and pulling you towards him. Quickly raising your hands to his chest, you steadied yourself against him as he held you in the close embrace. His smile was almost blinding - not from the size, but rather the genuine feel behind it.

Your hands slid upwards, folding behind his neck as your faces drew closer together. One of his hands gently carded in your hair, lightly guiding you to him. You closed your eyes in silent anticipation, long awaited joining finally happening with only stars as your audience.

The skin of his lips slotted gently against yours and you silently relished the feel of the prolonged peck. You pulled him closer, silently nudging him to go the step further. Kita smiled in response, making you beam right back at him. It was honestly hard to deepen the kiss further, expressions pulled from your shared grins. You were two idiots smiling at one another, foreheads pressed together as you struggled to deepen your impassioned kiss.

“I’ve waited so long to hold you like this.” Kita whispered against your lips, one of his hands resting around your waist.

“Me too.” You replied in a low vice, eyes still closed as you just felt him.

He watched your cute expression, from your rosy appearance to the way you deliciously leaned your body into him. Kita felt his eyes shutter closed, savoring the feeling of you two finally joined. You moved together in tandem, softly at first, and then with a swift intensity that made you cling to him even further - as if Kita was the only solid thing in this suddenly swaying world.

The world was constantly moving, either too fast or too slow or too much at times. Until finally, in Kita’s arms, it finally felt right.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time.” You confessed.

“I know.” Kita responded simply, “Me too.”

You almost wanted to laugh, but withheld it from possibly breaking the atmosphere. “Is it really that simple?”

“Yes.” Kita said as he smiled, moving to place a light kiss on your forehead. “I was honestly… afraid to say anything in fear of your response. But now we are both aware, right?”

You grinned back and stretched on your tippy-toes to kiss his cheek, “Yes.”

“That’s it then.” Kita stated as he leaned his forehead back against yours, “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

You whispered back, “Sounds like a deal.”

His insistent mouth parted your eager lips, sending wild tremors crawling up your spine, evoking sensations you had never known you were even capable of feeling. And as the swimming giddiness spun you round and round, you steadied yourself to kiss him back just as passionately. With a swipe of his tongue against the crease of your lips, you parted your mouth eagerly.

There was no battle, no insistent fight between your two appendages. There was only Kita, eagerly roaming around your mouth as you sensually rubbed tongues. You openly moaned at the feeling, not even noticing the noise until Kita was smiling in response.

You blushed at the realization, but Kita only complimented the sound. “Make that noise again for me.”

Your smile dropped to a more sultry smirk.

“You’ll have to earn it.”

Kita felt his eyes comically widen before dropping to a half-lid, “Oh?”

“My parents aren’t home…”

“Oh.”

Kita placed a kiss on your forehead just to lean away, one of his hands dropping to grab your own. You hurried along with his pace, suddenly breaking out into a faster walk in the direction of your home.

“Let’s make up for lost time, shall we?”

BONUS:

“No way.” Jisoo commented on the sight before her, nudging Atsumu standing next to her. The twin’s party was ravaging around them, but there was an unlikely and yet very likely couple that had just walked through the door. And while it was normal to see the two of them together, it was the first official time as an exclusive couple.

Walking in was Kita and you, hands clasped together like this was oh so natural.

Akagi greeted the both of you with a smile while Aran waved you guys over to the living, where many of the other team members were playing a game. Kita guided you through the party, joined hands proudly on display for all party goers.

Atsumu held out a hand in Jisoo direction’s, causing her to frown but nonetheless place some lost yen in his open palm.

But seeing you smile and share a kiss openly with the captain, Jisoo didn’t exactly mind losing this bet.

---xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx---

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uwumessenger · 3 years

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random headcanons i have for each om! character teehee

hi it's been a while since ive posted some hcs bc uni has been kicking my a$$! luckily i only have a few papers to tidy up and im done. here r some hcs for each obey me character that ive accumulated over the past few months wink wonk

most are random but some constants you'll find are what i think they smell like, languages they can speak (other than their native (demon/angel) and eng/jp), and music tastes !

lucifer

i have a strong feeling that he showers twice a day: in the morning after waking up and at night before going to bed

his cologne is probably the type that will last in an elevator for like a week after he uses it once. i dont think this mf ever smells like anything other than his cologne

has a secret folder on his phone of semi-nudes and other scandalous pics from when he felt sexy at the time omg

aside from demon language/eng/jp he can speak french and knows latin

listens to classical stuff yea but he also listens to diavolos mixtapes (re: diavolo's section)

not a fan of sweets but will eat sweet things when craving

really bland sense of humor...borderline cringey 😭✋🏻

mammon

has gone to google images and searched for "inspirational quotes tumblr" "gold aesthetic tumblr" & "relatable crush post tumblr" then reposts it onto his socials or just taps thru them and giggles bc he relates

his cologne doesnt last as long as lucifers and probably smells common. he has to reapply a lot but it's a people pleasing smell. it's cheaper hence the constant reapplying

he probably does have an expensive bottle but is the type to totally overspray...eek

he is canonically a car guy 🥲 and probably tells the one in his room good morning & good night + kisses the hood every once in a while. has tons of car magazines

he doesnt really speak other languages but has attempted to learn spanish before

listens to whatever is on the radio. doesnt rly stan anyone but he eventually will listen to mc's playlist and mc's playlist ONLY

levi

lurks on mc's socials ALL THE TIMEEEE like he will rewatch ur stories and scroll thru ur feed and overanalyze ur tweets/rts or blog posts. if ur mc isnt the type to use sns much he still googles ur name all the damn time just to find any sites u might be on fjdjdjdjskks

probably streams on whatever youtube or twitch devildom site equivalent there is, but only has like 40 or so followers. which he is okay with!

until he sees someone else who gets more attention than him. then the envy starts kicking in bad. especially if they suck 🧍🏻‍♀️

classic gamer boy smell. you know, sweat, tears, must, and (sometimes) axe deodorant. lucifer has to do a scent check before he goes out to any event & lets him use his cologne. how sweet!

kpop stan!! more girl groups than anything and his ults are probably GIRLS GENERATION, wonder girls, twice, loona, & red velvet

cried when ioi disbanded and refused to leave his room. the only thing u could hear was downpour on loop at full blast

can also speak korean & communicate in echolocation like dolphins 😏

satan

listens to country music you cant change my mind

smells like whatever environment he is in. he doesnt really have a designated smell just throws some deodorant on and goes about his day.

he's sooooo bad at driving...gets road rage way too often so his license has been REVOKED

but hes totally a backseat driver. needs to be sedated on long trips

do not let him watch finding nemo when luke asks to watch it. it's not worth it. he will cause mass destruction.

if he was a human or lived long term in the human world he totally has the ability to be a doctor

is studying as many languages as possible, but he mostly knows latin & french & german etc etc. wants to learn all the dead languages out of curiousity

asmo

dont think this mf has ever held down a relationship. ever

he doesnt compromise much & is not willing to change his lifestyle to fit an s/o into it. you keep up with how he lives or it just isnt meant to be (but dont worry! he'll eventually learn...maybe,,,,)

has the hardest time out of everyone when it comes to breaking bad habits

his smell varies bc he uses a variety of perfumes (whatever is the most popular at the time) but he probably sticks to floral and fresh scents. he never uses generic people pleaser scents like mammon

listens to electropop, mainstream pop, & some alternative rock

as for languages he too knows french, spanish, italian, etc. in general, if it's a romance language he knows it!

opposite of lucifer in the sense where he loves sweets and will refrain from eating too many bitter things

i think we all know that asmo is the biggest rockstar of the group! he's probably been in a boy band at least once, but now he makes his own music

has tried to teach mammon how to sing once. ended up in a broken piano and bleeding ears...

beel

i feel like he is SO SHY

like unless ur close to him he will not start conversations or anything

i think he listens to r&b a lot ! and jazz 😎 maybe rock as well

smells like ur typical athlete with undertones of wet wipes. he carries them around bc he likes to clean his hands before he eats & is prepared for when theres no sink nearby

he can drive and he drives really well. no rough turns, parallel parks perfectly, and never has problems with merging

driving with beel is probably really soothing. left hand is steering the other is gripping ur thigh 😫

dont think hes really fluent in any other language but hes probably semi fluent in korean because levi wanted beel to help him out

definitely know how to order food in practically every language tho HAHAHA

belphie

he reminds me of randall from monsters inc

smells kinda musty IM SORRY but not the way levi does hes more like the kind of musty u feel or smell when it's a shitty morning

but that's only because hes so lazy, when he cleans up hes like satan

has definitely murdered multiple people before. mc is not the first 😐✋🏻

with that being said belphie has been put into prison at least twice when visiting the human world, the mf had such a strong hatred for humans theres no way he never got into trouble before

lucifer probably broke him out and they used the pen thingies from men in black to erase everyones memory of that 🙄

dont think he listens to anything other than music that'll put him to sleep. really likes lazy song by bruno mars but thinks that bruno mars put too much effort into the song. should have been one acapella verse and then finish

similar to beel hes only semi fluent in one language, probably french bc of lucifer. doesnt remember much but knows a couple of lullabies and bedtime stories

the sandman used to be his bff until they drifted. they do, however, like and comment on each other's sns posts.

diavolo

once he found out who nicki minaj was he became her #1 stan

def an ariana grande stan too 😌

choreographs dances when hes stressed...idk just seems like a diavolo thing to do

also makes rly bad soundcloud rap music sometimes. turns to poetry when hes feeling emo but only lucifer knows this. barbatos is suspicious of him but doesnt have enough evidence to confirm.

his dad is like hudson abadeer from adventure time aka marceline's dad? something must have influenced him to want to unite the 3 realms + he would need the approval to do so, so his dad must be more chill than all the others before him 🧍🏻‍♀️ IDK ok anyway

currently going through his hamilton phase bc of mc. whether mc's intent was to get him hooked onto it or just to explain it bc of something he saw online, he tells everyone that he found out abt it bc of mc!

this man cannot drive his skills are only second to jumin han

not too fond of many languages but knows the widely spoken ones like spanish, mandarin, etc. if it's taught in high school he knows it

smells like a las vegas casino. not sure why but i feel like he does. but there's also an interesting & nice smell to him if he embraces you. it's a smell you cant quite identify. but it smells nostalgic, it's mysterious, and it's tempting.

barbatos

very calm demeanor but underneath hes WILD hes probably done everything at least once oof

he just has a lot of control and stability over himself (must be nice!)

on a more angsty note i feel like he might have had his heartbroken sO BAD IDK he is hurting and maybe that's why hes so willing to obey diavolo and not abuse his time lord power thingies bc he learned his lesson the hard way

mans is so smart he knows every language you could switch languages mid conversation with him and he wouldnt be thrown off. he'd probably start speaking it too.

BUT HE SPEAKS VIET P E R F E C T L Y

listens to the same stuff as lucifer but also likes eminem. likes the movie 8 mile but criticized it heavily

have you ever been to a chinese herb shop? naturally, he smells like that. his room probably smells like it too. he doesnt really have a significant smell like some of the others

when he bakes he smells like whatever hes baking tho

one of the few out of everyone listed to have been able to travel to literally everywhere

solomon

was probably on kitchen nightmares once, but only to get feedback from chef gordon ramsay. then he used his magic to prevent the episode from airing...

was in an orchestra, one of the best times of his life. played the violin. asmo watched him in the audience once, but didnt approach him until well after that performance.

he CANNOT sing. he can, however, rap.

doesnt listen to music. he listens to podcasts! but every now and then he turns on background music, but prefers it to be instrumental stuff

never wears sunglasses. also does not have a driver's license. cannot drive a regular car. could maybe fly an airplane.

due to his immortality he has learned almost every language to exist, but finds himself speaking mandarin the most. knows most dialects too

similar smell to barbatos but u can also smell some sunscreen on him too. like, generic beach day suncreen

he has a lot of pact marks, so he once had the idea to match foundation to his skin. it took him two weeks but he eventually perfected a combination. yes he will help u find ur perfect shade if u ask him to

simeon

another country music man. has also made a tiktok or two to that one song that goes "he cant even bait a hook." they are private tho

angel country music exists and simeon invented it

if he visits the human world and wears more causal clothing he probably tucks his shirt into his pants

wears a speedo at the beach i tell u, speedo at the beach

he can speak german...i can feel it

uses his pointer finger to type and holds the phone like 2 inches away from his face so sometimes his nose will push a key hence all his typos

has no signature smell. he simply smells like your favorite scent all the time. if multiple people are around him at once, everyone smells a different smell. it's pretty rad

"what does he smell like to himself?" u may be asking. hmm...a church? 💀

luke

his first pet was a goldfish and a few months before the exchange program happened, he was given a koi pond!

secretly likes hanging out with levi sometimes just to play with henry. makes him miss his pet fish back home

so his favorite movie is probably finding nemo and he threw a fit when nemo touched the butt

luke is probably learning german bc of simeon, though he'd like to learn more of the dead languages just for fun

i dont think he listens to music often or has any preferences, he just listens to whatever is playing on the radio

but he finds himself listening to the music mc listens to

smells like freshly baked goods all the time. or fresh laundry. but like, not combined. just depends on the day

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rachelbethhines · 4 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - The Alchemist Returns

Strap in folks, cause this is going to be a long one. In truth, there are very few flaws in this episode, but in order to explain them I have to really get into some character analysis first.

Summary: Varian comes to Rapunzel for help in finding the remnants of the mystical golden flower, which may hold the key to stopping the Black Rocks. Working together, they venture through the old tunnels beneath Corona. Meanwhile Cass and Eugene work together to figure out who drugged the castle’s populace with a truth serum.

Behold! The One and Only Time Frederic is Called Out on His BS; and Nothing Comes of It.

Rapunzel finally, finally stands up to her dad and points out both his abusiveness and his poor leadership. It doesn’t affect the narrative in anyway. Neither character learns anything from this nor changes their points of view. This conversation might as well not have happened given how the characters behave in later episodes/seasons.

The only reason this scene exists is to give Rapunzel motivation for stealing the flower within the episode. A goal that she changes her mind about towards the end. Thereby walking back on such motivation and putting us back at square one with her development.

Rapunzel Isn’t Being Truthful With Herself Nor the Audience

So people aren't always one hundred percent truthful about what they want and their goals. Especially if it involves admitting something about yourself or a loved one that you don’t want to acknowledge. Fictional characters are meant to give the illusion of being real so they can sometimes mimic this behavior.

Throughout the episode Rapunzel keeps on assisting that she’s doing this ‘for Corona’, but we’re given context clues along side that to tell us that her real reasons are about her relationship with her father.

Unfortunately, the show has a bad habit of not communicating information clearly and also has a history of expecting the audience to take what the characters say at face value. Ergo, it’s easy to miss Rapunzel’s true motivations and thereby fail to fully understand her actions and decisions throughout.

Once Again, These Prophetic Dreams Go Nowhere

Dream Varian mentions Rapunzel has a ‘destiny’ but the show never spells out what that destiny actually is nor why she needs to fulfill it. Sure there’s a big quest for the moonstone in season two, but the rocks stop being a threat by then so really, she doesn’t actually need to go on that quest. In fact, she would save a lot of people at lot of trouble if she did nothing at all. That’s poor storytelling. You need something driving the action; a reason to motivate the hero.

Secondly, we never get an explanation for why she randomly has these dreams in the first season but for none of the others. Nor why Varian is at the center of the them when it’s other villains she needs to actually be warned about, like say Zhan Tiri.

No, the real reason why this dream sequence exists is just to reiterate Rapunzel’s internal conflict. She wants a relationship with her Dad, but he’s a male Gothel, and she’s now caught in the middle of his and Varian’s conflict because she failed to take responsibility when she needed to. And is still failing because she doesn’t want to shatter her illusions about Frederic.

Shoving the main protagonist’s driving conflit into a subtextual dream sequence is lazy. Especially since we get no official resolution to said conflict. Rapunzel never acknowledges the problem here, never follows up on any type of action, and she never faces any true consequences for ignoring the issue.

She carries on believing in her fantasy version of Frederic, even as he continues to do harmful things, and the narrative just rewards both her and him for it.

There Should Have Been an Episode Showing the Audience Varian’s Side of the Story

What happened to Varian in between Queen for a Day and this episode is told only through context clues. Nothing is stated outright, meaning the audience has to rely too heavily on inference and are left to piece together what happened on their own like a puzzle. That’s poor writing.

Even something as simple as ‘how much time has past’ (its three months btw, S1 is six months long and QfaD is the meant to be the midpoint) is left up to the viewer to keep up with rather then being clearly stated. This is made even harder to do by the marketing team showing most of the episodes out of order.

You need to clearly relay information to your audience. That means repeating said information in a variety of ways over the course of the story. Have those context clues, but also have more overt hints, and direct reveals interspersed along with that. Especially when dealing with the motivations and goals of the character driving the main plot.

Even if you attribute the lack of a Varain episode to the ‘twist’ in this one, (a twist that was revealed in QfaD anyways) there’s still no excuse for why we didn’t get a flashback episode afterwards to fill this hole in narrative out.

Don’t Pretend Ignorance Rapunzel

Nigel literally repeated the rumor to her face last episode. She knows her father is lying about the rocks and attacked her for the scroll. She knows from the letter that those same guards were chasing down Varian for said scroll. She knows about Corona’s laws and what would happen to Varian if the guards caught him.

There is zero reason for her to be acting like this is new information. Let alone have any right to feign concern after three months of ignoring his plea for help.

That’s what I mean about the series not communicating clearly and wanting the audience to take things at face value. The show deliberately has the characters say things that contradict established events to try and get the audience on their side.

The episode is trying to telling us, ‘See! Rapunzel is innocent in all this cause she didn’t know, but she’s trying to make up for it now’. Yet, if you’ve been watching and paying attention to the details, you know that’s not the truth here.

Good writing is about communicating ideas to your audience. But this show can’t decide on which idea to communicate. Is Rapunzel at fault or no? You can’t have it both ways. Either she screwed up and thereby caused the conflict in question now or she didn’t. If she didn’t, then events shouldn’t progress like they do. If she did, then it needs to be acknowledged and she needs to held accountable by the narrative. ��

More Hints into Rapunzel's True Motivation

I can’t stress this enough. Rapunzel’s reasons for stealing the flower has nothing to do with Corona. That is an excuse. It’s about trying to find out what her Dad is hiding from her and why he’s lying to her. This comment right here is what compels Raps to go along with his plan.

Also...

Varian Isn’t Lying Here

I also want to make it perfectly clear that Varian is being upfront with Raps. He tells her his plan is to steal the flower and why. She’s the one that makes the assumption that this entails them only taking one petal and the assumption that ‘all our problems’ only means saving Corona. Even though saving Corona and saving Quirin are the same problem. (more on this later)

It’s important to understand Rapunzel’s thought process and her true motivations in order to make sense of her actions later in the story.

Rapunzel’s internal conflict is her need for autonomy versus her fear of rejection. The ‘for Corona’ and ‘one petal’ excuses are used because she thinks they’ll play well with her Dad. In order words, they’re reassurances to her that should she get caught and have to face her father’s disapproval then she could counteract his arguments with his own belief system about ‘putting the kingdom’s needs first’ and ‘following your own inner voice.’

And yes, both Rapunzel and Frederic are big fat hypocrites for this, but Rapunzel hasn’t acknowledged that fact to herself and is trying to convince herself throughout the episode to believe in her own excuses.

Why Do You Care About Treason Rapunzel?

For context, treason is the highest crime in any country. It’s punishable by death, even in the real world. Now each country has its own legal definition of what constitutes as treason. Here in a America, in Article III, Section 3 of the United States Constitution, treason is specifically limited to levying war against the US, or adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort. And only during a time of war. Legally, a time of war has to be approved by the US congress. Technically, congress hasn’t declared war since World War II. This is why certain people haven’t been convicted of treason like acts both in, and out of, later US conflicts because the definition is arguably too narrow and specific. But it’s intentionally that way to help prevent false accusations and to keep people in power from murdering their political opposition.

Before the US, treason just meant opposing the ruler of the land in any way. The founding fathers committed treason just by signing the Declaration of Independence. They all would have been executed had the US lost the revolution. Here in Corona, that old definition still stands. Simple theft of royal property, a non violent act, is considered treason and we already know it’s punishment. Eugene stole royal property and was almost hanged for it in the movie.

Now Rapunzel though, she is royalty. This stuff she’s stealing is technically her own property. She’ll inherit all of these things once Queen. Moreover, we all know that Frederic wouldn’t harm Rapunzel let alone kill her. She’s not in any real danger here. So why does she care?

Remember that Rapunzel’s internal conflict is personal autonomy versus her fear of rejection. She only hesitates in her pursuit of answers when reminded of Frederic’s possible disapproval. That’s why she stops under his frowning picture to say this. “Treason” only means possible rejection or disapproval from her father. The worst thing she faces is another argument with him.

Meanwhile, Varian’s life is very much at stake here. He is risking everything, quite literally, to save his father. But his life was arguably forfeit as soon as Frederic decided he wanted the scroll. What’s to prevent the king from claiming that as his own property even when it’s really not? If he’s already sent guards after Varian and the scroll then that’s precisely what he’s already done.

The series is acting like Rapunzel is the reasonable one here because she questions stealing, but the reality is she’s being selfish and willfully obtuse. Multiple lives are at stake here, including the one of the person she is talking to right now. Breaking the law, defying her father, in order to save those lives shouldn’t even be in question at all.

Corona and Quirin Aren’t Conflicting Interests.

Quirin and Corona are both facing the same problem. Solving one will inevitably mean solving the other. Any distinction between the two is solely created within Rapunzel’s own mind.

She does this to to hide her true motivations and conflict from herself. The show does this to try and villainize Varian over Frederic.

There’s a clear bias in who the series wants you to root for and so it skews the perception of what’s actually at stake by creating a non-existent competition between Quirin’s life and the country’s safety. Even though Quirin, Varian, and Old Corona are all apart of the kingdom. They’re all Rapunzel’s and Federic’s responsibly too. Saving Quirin’s life should be more than reason enough to steal the flower on it’s own.

But this is ‘Rapunzel’s show’ and according to the creators, that means that her personal feelings are more important than actual human lives. Not really, but that’s their mindset and approach to conflicts in the show.

Rapunzel’s True Motivation is Revealed

So we’ve followed the hints, but here it is stated outright. This was never about Corona, the rocks,Varian’s safety, nor Quirin’s life. This is about her need for autonomy. Her own personal quest for assertiveness. She’s been bullied and abused by two steprate parental figures now and she’s growing tired of it. Which is understandable and valid, but it shouldn’t be made more important than everyone else’s problems. Everytime Rapunzel says ‘for Corona’, she really means ‘for herself.’

Rapunzel Shouldn’t be the Only Person Solving the Obstacles Here

Varian is just as smart as Rapunzel, if not smarter. This has been established throughout the show both before and after this episode. Meanwhile, Rapunzel is more physically adept than Varian. This whole sequence in the tunnels should have been both Rapunzel and Varian teaming up and complementing the other’s skill sets. They need to be on equal footing in order to sell their conflict later on. But the show deliberately down plays Varian’s competence in this episode in an effort to make Rapunzel look good.

‘Girl power’ shouldn’t mean making the character perfect. It especially shouldn’t mean making other characters weaker in comparison. Women want equality. That means we want to see female characters treated as people. That means we want female characters to be flawed while still contributing to the plot same as the male characters. That doesn’t mean we want to be paraded around as the only competent person in the room. We want to be on the same level as the boys not above them.

Over idealization and glorification of ‘strong’ female characters is just as problematic as damsels in distresses.

Writers like Chris Sonnenburg grew up during the heyday of Third-wave Feminism. Right on the cusp between second-wave and third-wave points of view as women really started to challenge Hollywood’s portrayal of themselves as homemakers and love interests. They wanted to be the heroes for once. Starting in the 60s and reaching pick popularity in the 70s and early 80s, film makers responded by making female characters who could physically fight but either failed to give them any sort of depth and/or made them the only archetype available.

Chris, and several other male writers who lived during this era, have internalized this approach by default without actually examining how it came into existence nor why women would no longer be satisfied by this portrayal of them, if they ever were. All we’ve done is trade one stereotype for another, as male creators fetishize what was once meant to be an attempt to empower ourselves.

Had Chis actually brought more female writers onto the show and listened to the criticisms from his female crew, he could have better avoided problems like the one above. But instead he dug in his heels and insisted that he already knew what we wanted. He doesn’t.

Why Would You Assume This Eugene?

Varian hasn’t actually done anything wrong yet. His worst crimes are drugging people with a magic potion, which is what Xavier did without consequence only two episodes ago, and attempting to steal a magical healing flower that the king has been hoarding from his subjects anyways. A king who has been persecuting Varian unfairly and they know this because of Quest for Varian.

Eugene of all people should be sympathetic towards Varian’s plight. He’s been there himself. He should also know that the rumors about Varian attacking Rapunzel are untrue because Raps told him about the events of Queen for a Day herself.

Meanwhile Cassandra was actually there. She knows Varian’s problems and is supposedly his ‘friend.’ She has even less reason to be hostile towards him.

But once again, the series has the characters respond to things that contradict established events in order to create a bias in the audience. “See, Eugene and Cass doesn’t trust Varian and neither should Rapunzel. See, how evil he really is?” It tries to tell us. In order to convince us to excuse Frederic’s behavior so that when the series does just that through Rapunzel choosing his side we’ll be on board with it. You know, unless you have been paying attention, already have a developed moral code, and the reasoning facilities of an adult.

Rapunzel Lacks Empathy

Keep in mind, ‘for Corona’ really means ‘for herself’. The only competition between Quirin and the kingdom is one that she’s fabricated in her own mind. Varian not caring about the island punctures holes into her excuses. Even though Varian is a fourteen/fifteen year old who holds no responsibility for the safety of a whole country. Especially one that’s mistreated him. Of course his father’s life is going to be more important to him.

What Rapunzel is really asking here is, “Why don't you care about what I care about?” “Why aren’t you concerned about my feelings over your own?”

Which makes sense for her character. She’s a woman who has been trapped in a tower her whole life. She lacks the experience needed to be an empathetic person. She’s never had to grieve before. The only permanent death she’s known is that of her abuser. Her trauma over nearly losing Eugene and Pascal was the fear of loss, not the actual process of living without someone. Rapunzel has no framework of reference in order to truly understand what Varian is going through.

Sympathy is feeling sorry for someone. Empathy is understanding how a person feels. Rapunzel may be a sympathetic person but she’s not an empathetic one and there’s a difference between being ‘nice’ and being kind. The show presents to us a woman who needs to learn that difference. The problem is that she never does.

This is actually a brilliant conflict and point of characterization. It’s taking what we already know about a character and expanding upon it to give us believable flaws that impact the story. I actually like this conflict. I like this portrayal. I initially preferred the series over the movie because of this.

I want Rapunzel to be flawed. I want her flaws to to inform the plot. I want to like her as a character. But I can’t. Because the show never acknowledges these flaws, never has her grow as a person. She remains unempathetic and selfish till the end even as she gains more experience, and the show acts like she is justified in hurting others.

This exchange is the quillivant of a rich person who donates money to environmentalist causes trying to shame a poor child for daring to ‘waste water’ in order to take a bath, even while ignoring their own factories spewing pollutants into the local river. The show tries to claim that classism is okay so long as it’s perpetuated by the creator’s favs.

Varian is in the Right

First off he never claimed that he was only going to take one petal. Rapunzel just assumed that. Also, he’s right there is no difference. Once again Rapunzel has fabricated a distinction in her mind in order to have an excuse to sell her dad. She only hesitates now because taking the whole thing means there’s more risk of getting caught and less possibility of weaseling out of punishment through deniability.

Never mind that Frederic doesn’t own the flower anyways. He stole it from Gothel first, outside of his land’s borders. Never mind that him taking the flower actually causes harm to others while stealing it back does not. Never mind that breaking a law to save a human life is not only justifiable but preferable. Never mind that the king is essentially hoarding medicine from the populace, thereby breaking the social contract of a leader towards his people and becoming a despot instead.

No, Varian hurt Rapunzel’s feelings so he’s evil don’t you see? He placed his needs above the main character’s wants and desires, ergo the series treats him as a villain.

Look, I’m not saying that Varian is without fault nor that everything he does is justifiable. But the show (and certain fans) goes out of its way to demonize the character even when he’s doing what’s actually morally right. This isn’t the point when Varian falls to the darkside, that’s yet to come, but it is the point where the series starts to play favorites with its characters at the expense of teaching coherent lessons.

Inconsistent Messages

Yes, how dare he do the exact same thing as Pascal and Max did two episodes later. Don’t you know, he’s the villain; even though he actually has more reason to use the truth serum than they did the mood potion.

The problem of centering so much of the conflict on Rapunzel’s personal feelings means that Rapunzel and the show has double standards for how characters are treated. Friends of Rapunzel gets free passes. Lack of friendship means you’re now the enemy and can’t be excused. Even though in real life that is what we call nepotism and an abuse of power.

Authoritarianism Vs Consequentialism

When you mention the word authoritarianism to someone they automatically picture in their head armed men in uniforms marching in the streets attacking innocent people on behalf of a dictator’s orders. Yet, that’s not what authoritarianism is. That’s fascism, which can spring forth from authoritarians gaining political power but it’s not the only manifestation of this philosophy.

Authoritarianism is the belief system that the ‘authority’ is always right, even when wrong. An authoritarian will find any excuse to follow and believe in their chosen authority even when that authority has failed them or others.

The opposing philosophy here is consequentialism. That’s the belief that right and wrong are directly linked to consequence. To their minds something is morally wrong if the action has a bad outcome for others.

To illustrate the difference let's look at a near universal rule.

“Murder is wrong.”

Now both the authoritarian and the consequentialist will normally agree with this. But the ‘why’ to them couldn’t be any more different.

To an authoritarian ‘murder is wrong’ because the authority has deemed it so. That authority can be anything that the anthoritian has personally chosen; God, the government, their parents ect. It’s completely arbitrary and subject to change on a whim. The authoritarian lacks consistency and conviction and will often have multiple chosen authorities that will contradict one another. If one of those authorities came out in favor of murder then there’s a strong chance that the authoritarian will change their position or belief as oppose to denouncing their chosen leader.

Meanwhile, ‘murder is wrong’ to the consequentialist because there are clear irreversibly bad consequences for doing it. It removes a life from the world. All possibilities for that person are now forever snuffed out. It hurts those left behind. ect. The consequentialist is consistent in their beliefs so long as the consequence remains the same. They can’t be swayed by mere orders. That’s not to say that consequentialism is incorruptible. A consequentialist can easily become a knight templar if they are forced to weigh consequences against each other. Then it becomes ‘murder is still wrong unless it achieves this arbitrary goal’.

In truth, morality is a sliding scale for most people and you normally hold more than one ethical belief system. However history has proven that authoritarianism is the more often dangerous and corruptible philosophy as it relies heavily on peer pressure, groupthink, and yes, abuse. Most authortians don't come from healthy loving homes. Either they were abused or are abusers themselves. When conducting studies on authoritarianism psychologists and sociologists use questions about parenting in order to pinpoint who is and isn’t an authoritarian as most people aren’t going to just come right out and claim we should go back to feudalism and the divine right of kings.

An out of control authoritarian is a bully with power. An out of control consequentialist is just a vigilante.

Frederic and Varian are the representatives of the two sides of these opposing belief systems and the representatives of what happens when people with those belief systems become corrupt. By having the main character choose between the two of them and siding with the her father, the authoritarian, the show is now validating this philosophy.

Breaking an unjust law shouldn’t be presented as a bad thing here. Blindly accepting Frederic’s rule shouldn’t be the end result of all this. Excusing his abusive behavior shouldn’t be the finale outcome of the story. There’s not a single thing that Frederic, and by extension Rapunzel, does that hasn’t been done by corrupt governments in the real world. Their reasons for doing so be damned.

Given the current political landscape and the increasing push to give real life anthortirans more power, this was absolutely the wrong message to put into a children’s show. It’s not that children will grow up to become authoritarians themselves by just watching the show, but it can condition them to go along with authoritarian abuse if they are now familiar the excuses abusers use to validate their actions. Especially, if they are already trapped in an abusive environment and are being fed these excuses by their current abusers.

I've already seen this toxic thought process played out by younger members of the fandom who are only just now forming their moral codes. “Accept what’ve you’ve been given.” “It’s okay, your parent (the authority) loves you and knows what’s best” “Hurting people is alright because they’ve been hurt you need to ofter up understanding”

NO!

Theses aren’t good lessons. These are the lies fed to you by abusive people. And the show repeatedly validates, justifies, and excuses both abuse and political corruption. Whether the creators believe this philosophy or not, they just approved of it anyways through their own incompetence.

Varian has Every Reason to Not Trust Rapunzel

This the third time in three months that Rapunzel has backed out of helping him. All for increasingly flimsy reasons. She’s making a lot of promises here but not offering up any concrete solutions. Remember she’s not ready to confront her father yet, and neither of them know that she’s the sundrop herself. So what is her plan here? How is she suppose to recuse Quirin and prevent Varian from being unjustly punished if she can’t stand up to the one person who is responsible for causing these problems in the first place.

Can you really blame Varian for going through with what he does here given how she has treated him thus far and would most likely continue to treat him? Yet that’s precisely what the show wants you to do because ‘stealing is wrong’ even though in this case it actually isn’t.

This is Out of Character

Once again, both Cass and Eugene have no reason within the current narrative to be so hostile towards Varian, yet. They’re only doing so now to create bias in the viewer. For Eugene this is especially out of character. I mean we’ve already seen Cass place her ambitions of above others people’s needs both before and after this, but Eugene is constantly written as the heart of the show. He’s suppose to be the most empathetic and caring person in the group, and yet here he is trying to arrest an orphan who’s only stealing to survive. Sound familiar? He of all people should be the first to defend Varian not attack him.

Excuse You, Raps!

You know very well what he is. He’s a child. A lost, lonely, grieving, and desperate child who’s been let down by everyone who is responsible for him including yourself. But far be it for the show to actually point this out by stating it plainly and show you for the self centered ass you really are.

Scenes Like This are Why Varian Should Have Been the Deuteragonist

His story maybe connected to Rapunzel’s but it doesn’t revolve around her. He has his own stakes and conflicts that happen to intersect or oppose with Raps given whatever point in the narrative we’re at. As such we gets scenes like this one in his lab where he is the sole focus and is pushing the story forward. No other character actually gets this.

Eugene’s arc has little to no bearing on the overall plot and Cassandra’s solo scenes in season three do nothing to further push the story nor give new insights into her character, as her given goal and motivation is too dependent upon Rapunzel herself to be shown separately.

Out of all the main characters, Varian’s conflict is the only one that holds enough tension to maintain a separate story line. He needs this focus in order to make sense of what's going on with the larger picture and to resolve his conflict in a satisfying manner. Had the the creators been smart enough to follow through with Varian’s story till the end instead of dumping it at the last minute in season two and hastily rewriting a half-arsed resolution it in season three, then we’ve could have gotten the Disney equivalent of a Zuko vs. Aang, Loki vs Thor, or even Duck vs Rue/Fakir arc. As is, we’re only left with the table scraps of several loosely connected stories none of which are very satisfying to watch.

Conclusion

I still like this episode and Varian’s arc overall but I can't in good conscience call it well written knowing now where it all leads to. Nor can I in could good conscience recommend the show knowing the awful morals it touts. And that makes me angry. Angry that I was fooled into thinking that this show had depth and maturity. Angry that I ever once held this show up as being good. Angry that I invested myself into believing that this show would finally give me a decent Disney anti-villain that I could like. Angry that trusted the creators not to be raging arseholes who made poor creative decisions based off of ego and questionable ethics...

I started this marathon so that I could vent my feelings and gain some closure, while also opening up a frank discussion about how bad creative decisions can lead to bad lessons in children's media. This show has many of the same problems as a lot of current tv series do but all condensed down into one place and there are things to be learn from that.However after this series of reviews are over I doubt I’ll ever watch the show again. It’s honestly not worth the time.

#varian #rapunzel #anti-tangled #anti-rapunzel #tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #review #character analysis

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carols-review-box · 3 years

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My Thoughts on Ginny & Georgia: Season 1

These are my thoughts.

Right off the bat, I want to address that this is, by no means, a comprehensive review. I’m not even sure if it can be called a review. These are just my thoughts on the show, and it may or may not cover everything (in fact, it most certainly won’t cover everything), and I’ll try my best to write it out in an organized manner, but I can’t make promises. (Though, in all fairness, this is just a blog for my own entertainment, and I don’t expect anyone to actually read it.)

Now, moving on. Ginny & Georgia, season 1. Where do I begin?

First Impressions

I first encountered Ginny & Georgia on Netflix when the website decided to auto play its trailer while I was scrolling through it. I watched--almost begrudgingly-- a short, 1 minute clip of Ginny complaining to her teacher about how all the books on the curriculum were written by white men. While I understand where Ginny was coming from, and while I understand that a lot of high school literature is written by authors who sometimes are not representative of their audience, Ginny’s introduction just came off as obnoxious and annoying. I thought, “Imagine moving to a new school, and that’s the first thing you say to the teacher.” I rolled my eyes, wrote the show off as another try-hard feminist woke piece (or something like that), and didn’t think I’d watch it.

Well, at some point, I obviously decided to give the show a try. And by the middle of the first episode, I was actually really surprised when Ginny didn’t turn out to be insufferable in the beginning. I say in the beginning-- because her character really slides downhill past a certain point.

Plot

Throughout the entire show, I was probably a thousand times more interested in Georgia’s plot than Ginny’s.

It makes sense-- Ginny’s plot is... well, pretty much a generic teen soap opera that I’ve seen hundreds of times before. There are some unique themes to her story that I’ve rarely seen portrayed in other shows, like her experience as a biracial person, but other than that, it seems to be your run-of-the-mill drama.

On the other hand, Georgia’s plot is fresher. I haven’t personally seen any black-widow narratives (if Georgia could be called that), so I was intrigued and curious by how her story would play out. Not to mention, I liked Georgia’s love interests far better than Ginny’s, but maybe that’s just my personal taste.

In comparing these two plots, I do feel like the writers did Ginny wrong. Georgia is given an interesting storyline with a relevant backstory and plot points that actually make sense, whereas Ginny’s story is mediocre, we rarely get to see her side of the past, and half the stuff that goes down in her life is either unrealistic and overdramatized or it just makes no damn sense.

Characters

I could probably talk a great deal about the characters in this show. I have the most to say about Ginny (75% of it is criticism, honestly), so I’ll dedicate an entire section to her later. For now, I’ll start with these characters:

Georgia: Georgia, oh Georgia. To put it simply, Georgia is a psychopath hidden behind a large smile and a buzzing Southern accent. For the first 5 episodes, I was so fooled by her act (and her beauty) that I forgot she’s a literal murderer and most likely not a good human being. But I guess that’s, in part, what makes her very interesting to watch.

Hunter: I literally felt nothing but a mixture of boredom and pity whenever Hunter was on screen. For the first 8 episodes, he is just an extraordinarily boring character-- and his boringness is used as a justification by Ginny to cheat on him (that’s where the pity part comes in). I enjoyed how how he got more character in the ending episodes, and I could understand his struggles when he fought with Ginny (in that scene). But if he wasn’t dating Ginny, then he would’ve been a completely forgettable character.

Marcus: Marcus ALWAYS looks like he’s high. I don’t think there’s a single scene in the show where he doesn’t look like he just smoked something. He also has little personality, other than being the “bad boy.” I guess his hotness makes up for it, or something?

Maxine: While I enjoy Max overall, I think she can be really annoying, talkative and insensitive at times. Emphasis on the last part, because she does this irritating thing where she says something racist, and then asks if she just said something racist.

Abby: Out of the friend group, I feel like Abby is the most dramatic without being overdramatic. She experiences things that a regular teenager would. However, she can be a bad friend at times, and I don’t like how the characters gives her a pass on some questionable choices she makes.

Paul: I like Paul. It is a little bit hypocritical of me to say Paul is a good character when he basically has the same exact personality as Hunter, but I’m going to say it: He’s a good character.

Zion: Zion is smooth, and I enjoy his little wisdom bits with Ginny. But he was introduced too late into the show, and I can’t see him being a good fit for Georgia.

Joe: I love Joe. Just like some of the other characters, he is kind of plain. Kind of vanilla, daresay boring, but for some reason, I love him. Maybe it’s because of his adorable connection with Georgia. Maybe it’s because he offers some much-needed comedic relief in this overdramatized show. Maybe it’s because he has attractive qualities, like running a “successful” business, or maybe he’s just my type. For many, many episodes, I wanted Georgia to get together with Joe the most.

Austin: I forgot Austin existed for half the time. Like, I know the kid stabbed someone, but in the grand scheme of things, he’s just so forgettable.

Character: Ginny

Ginny. Ah, where do I even begin with Ginny?

First, I’m just going to say this: I know the writers intended to depict a biracial person’s experience in America through Ginny. I’m not biracial myself, and I don’t fully understand the issues that biracial people go through, so I’m not going to comment too much on how the authors managed to fuck up. I say “how” and not “if,” because a lot of biracial people have said that Ginny & Georgia is kind of a bad example of their life, and also because even I can see the problems with the show from a mile away.

Getting that out of the way, I’ll start with Ginny’s overall character.

One would think that a character who is depicted as-- for a lack of better words-- as “woke,”... as in, a character who is supposed to have better moral values than others (the definition comes from the word’s general connotative interpretation from leftist media), would be a good human being. But time and time again, we see that Ginny is everything but.

These are my biggest issues with Ginny’s character:

1) She acts like she’s better than everyone else, but also like she’s super oppressed. I know these two personality traits aren’t mutually exclusive, but they’re not a good combination either.

2) She thinks she’s the only person in the entire town who has real issues. Other characters confront her about this, and she eventually mellows down, but it’s astounding to me the amount of people she had to offend before she got the point.

3) She can be really ungrateful and rude towards her mom. I know Georgia is not a perfect mother-- not even close-- and she can be genuinely crazy at times, but Ginny is very rarely appreciative of her mom’s efforts.

4) Despite Ginny’s intelligence, she is not smart. She commits a bunch of dumb mistakes. Now, some of these can be attributed to her just being a teenager-- like having unprotected sex, sending nudes, being peer pressured into stealing, etc. Whereas other choices-- most notably cheating on her boyfriend-- are just a product of her shitty personality.

5) There is a really bad implication concerning Ginny’s views on race. I can probably talk a lot about race in this show, but true to my word, I’ll keep this short and talk about the one thing that really bothered me: Ginny ignores the black kids. There’s a line in the show where Ginny says she’s too white for the black folks and too black for the white folks... and she uses this to justify never having any friends or not fitting in. But when she gets to Wellsbury, she’s accepted by everyone, including black people, yet she chooses to ignore them. She only sits with them near the end of the show when her friend group kicks her out. And she looks miserable.

Ginny likes to complain a lot about her white side, but all things considered, I think she has an issue with her black side instead. I don’t know if this is representative of the biracial experience, but I imagine this can’t be a good thing to portray on screen.

I know it’s crazy of me to say this right after I just ripped Ginny apart. However, despite everything, I actually like Ginny as a character. Do I like her as much as I like Georgia or Joe? No, but she swings more good than bad. What can I say? She’s entertaining (in the same way that Cheryl from Riverdale is entertaining). She’s at least somewhat relatable, and I wouldn’t have watched the entire season if I truly found her to be unbearable.

That being said, Ginny does have a lot of potential to grow, and I sincerely hope the writers do her better in the next season.

Themes

*At some point in the future, I may add more to this section.

Family: Despite a significant portion of this show being terribly unrealistic, I appreciate the show’s overall depiction of family and separation. For one, the show represents families who aren’t stereotypically nuclear. Our main protagonists are a single mother-daughter combo. The Bakers next door have a deaf father and a mother who doesn’t fit into a perfect mold. There’s a biracial family (Hunter) who connects far more with their American side than their Taiwanese-- so much that Hunter and his sister don’t even speak a lick of Mandarin. The small details and nuances which are added into the show makes them far more representative of the general American population.

Conversations: This show gives conversations that are far overdue in media. While Hunter and Ginny’s fight scene is 98% pure cringe, the remaining 2% of it is an important reminder on being biracial (or a person of color) in America. Many of us struggle with our racial identity, and it’s unproductive to compare who has it worse.

Overall + Rating

To me, the first season of Ginny & Georgia is a 6.5/10. (Five being the average; so this would be a little better than average). While it showed a lot of potential at the beginning, the show eventually devolved to nothing more than a standard melodrama-- even on Georgia’s part. It tried hard to be another Gilmore Girls but ended up falling quite short. I am looking forward to its second season though; and hopefully, it’s much better than the first.

#shows #netflix #7 #ginny and georgia #ginny & georgia #ginny&georgia

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cantteachanoldguardnewquotes · 3 years

Text

Together

Please enjoy some fluff I wrote while stressing about stuff.

Comments always appreciated

Summery: It has been a hundred years and it's the first night Booker is back with his family.

Warnings: nightmares, mention of death, mention of torture, both brief, some violence but it gets better.

A/N: Andy is immortal again in this.

Features: So much fluff, cuddle piles, flirting, acceptance, comfort, forgiveness, family love, happy ending.

Word count: 2555

It was the first night of having Booker back from exile. He was trying to figure out where he stood after so long and the rest of them were doing there best to make him feel welcome. After all, he had served his sentence without complaint even after Quynh had left him to stay with Andy. He had really cleaned up his act and was still working on being better.

Nicky and Nile were making hachis parmentier, french onion soup, and cherry clafoutis for dessert all on honor of Booker's return home.

"Nicky, if you were a fruit you'd be a fineapple." Joe teased popping another cherry in his mouth.

Nicky grinned, narrowing his eyes thinking of the perfect response. "And if you, Joe, were a vegetable you'd be a cutecumber."

Joe barked out a laugh, closing the distance between the two of them and wrapped his arm around Nicky's waist. "Is that right?" He cocked an eyebrow. "You think I'm..." He paused biting his lip seductively. "Cute?"

Nicky's eyes sparkled with delight at his husband's reaction. "It's crossed my mind on occasion." Nicky wiped a smear of floor on Joe's nose.

"Ok, that's enough flirting. Save it for after the meals done please." Nile interjected when she realized they would do this all night if she didn't put her foot down. "Nicky has work to do and you aren't helping one bit." She pulled Joe's arm off Nicky and started pushing him toward the dining room.

Joe gapsed in mock surprise and let her push him out of the room, out of the corner of his eye he saw her trying not to laugh she was in just as high of spirits as the rest of them.

Booker, Andy and Quynh sat around the table playing some blackjack before dinner.

The kitchen and dining room were connected so they all could see and hear everything that was going on.

"I see nothing's changed?" Booker smirked keeping his eyes on his cards. He was trying not to show it too much, but oh he'd missed his family. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

Andy chuckled. "Never."

"Joe, you can join us." Quynh patted the seat next to her.

He accepted and sat down finding himself kitty corner with Booker.

Booker in the short time he'd been back was still walking on eggshells around Joe and Nicky. He knew they had forgiven him but he was being cautious all the same. He wouldn't blame them if they had any hard feelings.

Joe had mixed emotions about Booker being back. His betrayal still stung but he was happy with how far Booker had come. The truth was he had missed him, sometimes more than he cared to admit, so he was doing his best to let bygones be bygones, it would just take a little getting used to having him back.

They played a few more rounds before Nile came out of the kitchen carrying food. "Dinner is served!"

Quynh jumped up and ran to the kitchen to help carry everything over.

Joe went and got drinks and cups, while Andy cleaned up the game.

It took no time and they were all sitting around the table with the food steaming in front of them.

Nicky smiled at everyone's anticipation, taking in his family's warm energy. "Dig in."

"Oh babe, you've outdone yourself." Joe said closing his eyes and savoring the hachis parmentier.

"Hey now, Nile helped too." Nicky said.

"Nile, this is outstanding." Joe grinned ear to ear at her.

"Thanks, it was fun. This was my first time making it and Nicky helped a lot."

"Well I would have never guessed you hadn't made it a hundred times before." Quynh chimed in.

"How does our French guest of honor feel they did?" Andy asked Booker.

Booker had been touched, even moved, when Nile told him they had picked out some of his favorite dishes for dinner tonight. He had offered to help but Nile and Nicky would hear none of it. 'Perhaps tomorrow' Nicky had teased.

"It is..." He shook his head a little, almost as if he was in disbelief. "The best I've ever had."

Nile beamed, and Nicky happily took another bite. They were both glad their efforts had turned out so well.

They talked and they laughed, told stories about their time spent apart, teased and joked. It was wonderful getting back to a new normal.

"Here I'll get the dishes." Booker volunteered after dessert.

"Someone's on their best behavior." Andy teased.

Booker wasn't sure how to respond, he really was still trying his best to make amends.

"Hey." Andy saw his hesitation and grabbed his arm so he would look at her. "I'm glad your back Book."

Almost as a reflex his eyes darted to Joe and Nicky, but there wasn't anything unpleasant in their expressions. "I'm glad to be back." He said refocusing on Andy.

"I'll put the food away if you've got dishes." She patted his arm before getting to work.

Quynh helped as well with cleanup while the other three went into the living room to pick out a movie.

"No horror, not tonight." Joe said.

Nile grabbed the remote before they could. "But I love horror movies." Nile grinned an evil grin. She knew Joe could only take so much before he was out, even with Nicky holding him. "What are you feeling Nicky?"

Nicky shrugged. "Maybe something funny?"

Nile nodded her head. "Hmm, a comedy does sound pleasent." She agreed.

Joe squeezed Nicky's hand so Nile wouldn't see, grateful for the light-hearted suggestion.

Quynh came into the room and saw Nile scrolling through the comedy section. "Nice." She liked watching almost anything so long as there weren't people drowning. Nile could always talk her into watching horror movies unlike the rest of them who were more hit or miss.

Quynh looked at the seating arrangements, and thought for a moment. "This won't do, Nicky will you be a dear and come help me?"

Nicky didn't even ask, just followed her out of the room.

They came back a few minutes later with an armful of comforters and pillows. She began making a pile on the floor against the couch so they could lean on something and Nicky dropped his armful of blankets and pillows where she directed.

"There are too many of us to sit comfortabley on the couch, we'll have to improvise." She stood back to admire her handiwork.

Joe chose a spot and pulled Nicky down beside him so he could lay his head on Nicky's shoulder.

Nile curled herself almost into a ball and rested her head on a pillow on Nicky's lap. "What about one of these three?" She asked.

The rest of them read the descriptions.

"The one with the cruise ship." Nicky suggested.

"I second that." Joe said.

"Sounds good to me." Quynh added. "We're gonna start the movie!" She yelled to the slowpokes in the kitchen.

Andy came around the corner followed closely by Booker.

He paused, trying to decide where to sit among all the blankets.

"Don't be shy." Andy said guiding him over to where Quynh was sitting pressed up against Nile.

Quynh pulled him down so he was sitting right next to her and Andy sat down on her lap and rested against Booker's shoulder.

"Ready?" Nile asked before pushing play.

She got a chorus of confirmations from everyone and started the movie.

Nicky had been right a comedy was just what everyone needed on a happy day like today. They all enjoyed it and relaxed.

Quynh joked she was going to buy Andy some of the ugly outfits the characters were wearing.

At one point Nile had to sit up because she and Nicky were laughing so hard at one of the jokes.

Booker and Joe had a debate on how long someone could live on a cruise ship without getting caught by staff.

Andy fell asleep with a fourth of the movie to go.

When it was over they laughed and carried on about some of the jokes and how unrealistic the ending had been.

When the concern died down they all bid each other goodnight going to their rooms.

Nile, relaxed as she was and as tried as she was, still couldn't fall asleep. She finally gave up after two hours and went to the kitchen to get some water.

Andy was already in the kitchen which at this point never surprised Nile.

"Can't sleep?" Andy asked.

Nile shook her head.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Why is it even, on happy days, does it feel like nothing can chase away the dark?" Nile asked taking a drink of her water.

Andy studied her for a moment. "The last job still bothering you?"

Nile swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. "I know it probably shouldn't, but yeah."

Andy gently lifted Nile's chin. "I wasn't asking you to justify anything Nile. I'm asking if you're ok." She said kindly.

Nile sighed. "I guess the answer is no."

Andy pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry."

The last job had gone all wrong. The person they were trying to rescue was killed before they had made it in, they had to fight there way out through tear gas and ak-47s, Joe had died horribly, Nicky had his face bashed in guarding Joe while he was out, Quynh lost an arm, and that didn't even cover how many bullets they'd all eaten.

No one who had attacked them survived.

It was a terrible job and the noise and confusion still troubled Nile.

It might still haunt some of the others as well but if it did she felt they were better at hiding it.

"Will I ever be able to see that stuff and sleep after?" It has been a hundred years already, her hopes weren't high.

"With a heart as big as yours I doubt it. Believe me, we all struggle with nightmares, your not alone in this. Will it lessen as time goes on? Maybe, probably, but it will never truly go away. That's just the curse we are forced to live with." She kissed the top of Nile's head. "That's probably not the answer you were hoping for."

"You never give me the answers I want to hear." Nile said teasing her.

"But like I said you don't have to face this by yourself. Come sleep with Quynh and I. It helps when you're not alone." Andy took her hand and led her to the room they were sharing.

Quynh was asleep and didn't wake up when Andy laid down next to her. Nile laid down next to Andy and they were both out in no time.

Around three in the morning Nicky woke up to the sound of a shout. His hand flew to his gun and he pressed into Joe feeling him at his back to make sure he was safe.

He'd recognize that cry anywhere and jumped up running straight to Booker's room.

He kept a sharp lookout for any intruders in the house and swung Booker's door open while keeping as much of his body hidden behind the door frame as he could.

The lights were still off and he didn't see any signs of something being wrong. With great care he peered around the door and stepped further into the room.

A lamp snapped on and he pointed his gun at an apologetic Booker, who had his hands in the air.

"Ah, Nicky, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you let alone wake you up, sorry about that, you can go back to bed, I'm alright." Booker was talking fast, trying to get all his words out at once.

Nicky did one more sweep with his eyes around the room before putting his gun down.

By now Joe had made his way down the hall and peered into the room. "All clear?" He asked gun in his hand.

"We're fine." Nicky assured him. "What happened?" Nicky asked turning his attention back to Booker.

"Nothing but a nightmare." He said waving them off, he attempted a small smile but it looked more like a grimace.

Nicky wouldn't budge, there was still the faintest hint of terror in Booker's eyes. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Tell me, if you can." He laid his hand on Booker's arm.

Booker squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head. He couldn't tell them how he'd tried to do a job and got kidnapped then tortured for nearly two year. How every night for two years he had wished for death more so than usual and knew that neither death nor help was coming. But it still haunted him, tormented his dreams, sometimes he could even feel imaginary pain from the things they did to him. He couldn't tell them, he wouldn't, that was the same fate he had signed them up for and he couldn't bare to live with it if they told him it was karma. He knew it was.

"It's nothing." He whispered, not looking at either of them.

"You don't have to face it alone anymore." Andy said, she had joined Joe by the door and had watched most of the interaction. "You're home Book." She walked over to him and took his hand. "Do these dreams happen often now?"

Booker hesitated he still didn't feel like this should be any of their problem. He wanted to be able to carry this on his own, no matter how heavy the load.

Joe narrowed his eyes, not without kindness, studying Booker. "Be honest."

Booker looked at him, and saw all the concern and sincerity he thought he might never see again. "Nearly every night." He admitted.

None of them were a stranger to night terrors it came with the job, but dealing with them on your own, they haven't had to do that in a long time, they knew how difficult it was.

"Come, join us." Andy gently tugged on his hand. "Nile is already sleeping with us it won't make any difference to add more."

"I-" He started to protest, he couldn't put them out on his first night back, they'd already gone above and beyond for him.

"She's the boss." Joe grinned.

"Don't argue." Nicky added, he was smiling as well.

Booker didn't say anything just stood up to follow her.

Nicky grabbed his pillows and blankets so there would be enough.

Nile and Quynh were both awake when they walked in, Andy had asked them to stay so that Booker wouldn't feel too overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry for waking everyone." Booker said sheepishly.

"Don't give it another thought." Quynh insisted and the rest of them agreed.

Nicky laid his stuff down by Nile but didn't turn to go back to bed just yet.

Nile noticed his thoughtful expression. "You can stay too." She offered squeezing his hand.

Nicky looked over at Joe.

Joe smiled and walked over to kiss Nicky's temple. "Room for two more?" He asked Andy.

"Always."

They weren't exactly sure how, but they got everyone to fit in a comfortable enough pile with Nile and Booker in the middle, surrounded by their family.

This was safe, this was home, and the nightmares stayed away.

#The Old Guard #let me know if something else should be tagged #the whole Guard is here #ficlet #fluff #fun #cute #family #cuddles #comfort #nightmares #violence #death

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soft-stormcloud · 4 years

Text

Damage Control [The Witching Hour Au]

Trigger warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Cursing, cigarette mention, needle mention, fear, screaming, misgendering (not on purpose, they just don’t know yet), suicide comparison, hopelessness, self deprecating thoughts, crying, bad home life mention, beer bottle mention, knives, fear of murder, blood

A/n: I’m realizing when I switched blogs over from chemically, I never posted this? Which is annoying. Anyway. Here it is. This is for The Witching Hour Au, sequel to End of the Line. Origin fic.

“You’re kidding, right?”

The teenage boy shook his head. He had a cigarette between his fingers. “Nope. Heard it all from Mary.”

“Mary’s always full of shit,” Izzi grumbled, kicking a stray rock. It sailed into the alley and clattered against the broken concrete.

“Oh?” He smirked. “So you’ll go inside, then?”

She glared up at him. “Yeah. I will.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ellie said nervously. She was wrapped up in her winter coat, her pale face poking out of the hood.

Adrian waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine.”

“If you really believe that stuff, you won’t let her in!” Ellie insisted.

Adrian laughed while Izzi rolled her eyes in amusement. “What, do you believe it?”

She blushed and looked away. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

He stepped closer to her, tickling her sides. “You think the ghost of Riley Cornell is gonna get you?!”

She shoved him off, his cigarette dropping to the ground. “Maybe!”

“Come on, Ellie.” Izzi held out her hand. “We’ll go together.” She glared at Adrian. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

She pursed her lips, and then sighed. She took Izzi’s hand and let herself be led into the alley.

Adrian raised his phone, and hit record.

“God,” Ellie gasped, covering her nose, “what’s that smell?”

“Don’t think about it.”

Their sneakers sunk in spots where the concrete gave way to mud, in dirty puddles of rain water and muck. The ground was littered with cigarette butts and needles. As the girls approached the dumpster near the centre of the alley, backed up against the theatre wall, Ellie stopped and shook her head.

She was suddenly stricken with fear, so strong she couldn’t move.

“Ellie?” Izzi looked at her, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

She just shook her head. She was too scared to speak.

“Come on, there’s nothing there.” Izzi forced a chuckle, but Ellie was starting to freak her out. “Let’s finish this so we can rub it in his face. He’s just a stupid boy, he was trying to scare us.”

She started walking again, and Ellie shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. “No,” she choked out.

Izzi dropped her hand, inching forward. She got to the dumpster, rounded the corner, and-

There was someone there.

She only got a glimpse of the face, half covered in scales with a glowing eye, before she screamed and sprinted out of the alley. She pulled Ellie with her. Adrian burst out into laughter and recorded them running.

“Put that down, you idiot!” Izzi snapped. Ellie had tears in her eyes. “There’s something in there!”

Adrian laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you saw something. What, did a leaf scare you?”

Izzi clenched her fists, and screamed in frustration. She pushed Adrian as hard as he could, and he fell back into the alley, phone scattering behind him.

“IZZI!” He jumped back up, rushing to make sure it wasn’t cracked.

He pulled it out from under the dumpster, sighing in relief. He looked up, and- Two eyes stared back. One brown, one yellow, like a snake’s.

He went white from fear. He booked it out of the alley, forgetting that they were recording.

Riley listened to them leave, covering their head with their arms. They just wanted to be left alone.

___

“We have a problem,” Logan said as he came down Roman’s basement stairs, Patton following close behind.

Virgil was standing in the middle of the room, the furniture pushed out of the way, with a stack of books on his head. He glared up at them.

“What are you doing?” Patton asked.

Roman raised his phone, taking a picture. On screen showed a floating stack of books. “This is going to be great for my Instagram.”

“I gave the two of them some things to do to help Virgil practice his sentience,” Logan said. “I think things that require more concentration can help him progress faster. A little bit harder of an exercise, you know?”

“FUCK!” The stack of books fell right through Virgil’s skull, sitting at the floor, occupying the same space as his feet. He stepped out of the way, and kicked one of them with all his might- It smacked against the wall and landed on the carpet.

“Excuse me!” Roman gasped, picking it up. “This is an exclusive, I’ll have you know!”

Virgil growled.

“Maybe we can take a break,” Patton said, opening up her arms. Virgil grumbled and snuggled into them. “Logan has something to show us, anyway.”

They all crowded onto the couch, Patton with Virgil in her lap, Logan and Roman’s shoulders pressed together. They all leaned in as Logan pressed play on his phone.

It was a YouTube video, posted anonymously and titled, “REAL monster found in the alley by the theatre!!!!” It was clearly posted for a specific audience, as the actual location wasn’t revealed.

Curious, Roman pulled up the video on his phone, and scrolled down to the comment’s section. He recognized most of the names as people from their school, or with the same usernames as their Instagrams.

“Shit,” Virgil said under his breath as the video showed Riley, fully visible and now on display. “You need to get this taken down.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

He shrugged. “If anyone here can learn how to hack, it’s you.”

Logan scowled, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Right, while I work on that,” he rolled his eyes, “why don’t you keep working on your sentience? We need to get Riley out of there. What progress have you made?”

Virgil looked away.

“Not much,” Roman admitted. “He still can’t leave the house. The farthest he can go is the front porch. We’ve been using your exercises, but, well- They aren’t really working.” His eyes widened. “I mean, they are! Just, not… Enough?” He blushed. He always sucked at talking to Logan. He loved the guy, but it was impossible to please him.

Logan, though he was feeling significantly less motivated, looked to Patton. “And how have you been doing on your part?”

“I’ve been trying… But he doesn’t trust me!” Patton looked guilty and embarrassed. “He won’t talk to me. I can’t even get him to stand up.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked.

“He’s just… Curled against the dumpster, hugging his knees. Sometimes when I go he won’t even raise his head!”

“Right, well, I doubt videos like these,” Logan shook his phone, showing off the video they just watched and all the others that came up in the recommended, “are helping.”

“So you’ll try to hack them?” Virgil asked, and Roman snorted.

Logan looked at them flatly. “If it’s our only option.” He stood up, brushing his jeans down. “If you three could stay here and help Virgil work on his sentience, that’d be helpful.”

Roman laughed. “And where are you going?”

“Damage control.”

“Are you sure you want to go back there, Lo?” Patton asked nervously. She squeezed Virgil’s waist.

He held up his hand. “I’m sure. It wasn’t that bad to watch. I’ve gotten over it.”

Nobody believed that.

“Well, I guess it’s all up to you, then!” Roman said, clapping his hands together.

Right. “Isn’t it always?” Logan didn’t wait for a response, just left.

Roman gathered up the books and straightened up, grinning. “Guess we better get back to work!”

Virgil looked at the books in distaste. “I need coffee first.” And with that, he sunk out.

Roman’s eyes widened. “HE CAN’T GO TRAMPING AROUND IN THE KITCHEN, MY PARENTS ARE HOME!”

___

“Hey.”

Riley didn’t move.

Logan sat down next to them, so they were both hidden by the dumpster.

“Did they show up today?”

Riley hesitated, and then slowly nodded. They were hugging their knees, just like Patton said, their chin rested on them and their eyes downcast.

“We’re working on getting those videos taken down,” he said, “so maybe people will stop coming around.”

“Don’t bother.”

Logan frowned in confusion. “What?”

“It won’t work,” they mumbled.

“Don’t you want to take the chance?”

They shook their head.

Okay. So that definitely wasn’t the way to get him to open up. Maybe a different direction…

“Have we told you about our friend Virgil?”

They snorted. “What, your ‘ghost friend?’” They wiggled their fingers a little, their only movement. “Ooooooo. I’m sure he can help me.”

That was definitely the wrong direction. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

Logan sighed. “Tell you what.” He spoke quietly. “When we get you out of here- When -you can come back to my place.”

Riley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move or look at him.

“It’s better than this gross alley. And it’s quiet. It’s really quiet. No one will bother you. And you can rest a few days before you meet Virgil.”

They hesitated. “How long has Virgil been dead for?”

Logan didn’t want to answer. “A while.”

They laughed again, shaking their head. “You guys have no fucking idea what you’re doing, do you? I-” Their voice cracked, “I’m going to be here forever. Virgil can’t even leave his house, how am I ever-?”

They broke, and started sobbing, their body shaking. They buried their face in their knees, and Logan hesitated, before wrapping an arm around them.

Before Roman and Patton, he never really had any physical affection. He just tried to think of what they would do.

Finally, Logan made a right move. Did something good. Riley collapsed into his arms, burying their face in his chest as they sobbed, gripping him tightly. Logan wrapped them up tight in their arms, letting Riley let out all their fear and pain and stress.

Riley eventually fell asleep, leaned against Logan’s chest. Well. He definitely couldn’t leave now. He reached around for his phone, plugged in his headphones, and put on a podcast.

___

Logan found himself visiting Riley every day. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t that beneficial. He could be working on learning how to hack, or helping Virgil with his sentience.

But he didn’t. He visited Riley.

He learned their pronouns, and what their favourite books were. He informed the others of their pronouns, and ordered Riley’s favourite books. Then, because Riley couldn’t hold them, Logan read to them.

Every day.

Eventually, he even started seeing them more than once. He would drop in to talk a few minutes before school, and skip lunch to read a chapter with them before heading back. Then he would go back after school, and stay with them until it got dark.

When it started, Riley would normally fall asleep leaning against Logan, and jerk awake as their sentience failed and they fell right through him.

That didn’t happen much anymore.

“You’ve been spending quite some time with our dragon boy,” Roman said one night, while Virgil was trying to learn how to tie different knots. “Any progress?”

“Not a boy,” Logan reminded, eyes focused on Virgil’s frustrated fingers. “And… Not much. They’re able to keep up human contact, but otherwise, nothing new. Still can’t hold a book. I think I’ve gotten them to open up to me, though.”

“Oh?” Roman’s eyes twinkled. “Human contact, eh? Opening up, eh? So what happened? How did they die?”

Logan just laughed.

“Really?” He whined. “You’re not gonna tell me?!”

“Not on your life.” Riley trusted him with that information. It wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“I brought cookies!” Patton cried as they came into the room, holding a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. They sat next to Virgil, taking away his rope and replacing it with a cookie instead. The bracelet on their wrist had returned to its usual green, instead of the pink they wore before. “What are we talking about?”

“Logan’s new boyfriend,” Roman teased. “Er, uh- Partner!”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Riley is not my partner. They’re just my friend.”

“Ooh, big word comin’ from you,” Virgil said with his mouth full. “You sure you’re ready for that commitment?”

Logan glared. “And what about you two?”

Patton and Virgil glanced between each other. “What about us?” Virgil asked.

He waved his hand at them aggressively. “When are you going to, you know, date?!”

They both laughed. “We already are, cutie!”

Logan blinked. Roman was laughing at him. “You are?”

“Since the day we met,” Virgil confirmed.

“It was love at first sight,” Patton sung.

Virgil smiled. He didn’t quite believe in love at first sight, but if that was how Patton felt, who was he to argue?

“Whatever,” Logan huffed.

“Not everyone dances around their feelings,” Roman teased. He knew Logan was touch starved, and had trouble expressing his emotions due to his suffocating home life, and he tried to be nice about it… But sometimes it was hard.

“We should watch a movie tonight!” Patton smiled.

“Normally I’d say yes,” Logan said, “but Virgil really needs to work on his sentience. Riley isn’t doing well there.”

“Okay, hold on,” Roman said. He looked uncharacteristically serious. “Say we do get Virgil up and about. What then? Is he gonna see Riley and immediately know how to help?”

Their eyes all fell to Virgil.

He hesitated. “... No.”

They were quiet.

“But- But it could still help, right?” Patton asked nervously.

“I mean, sure, it could.” Virgil shrugged one shoulder. “But the only way to help them is for them to build up their own sentience.”

“But they don’t want to,” Logan insisted.

“They’re like, ghost-suicidal!” Roman cried.

“Yeah, well.” Virgil held up his hands.

“We need something to motivate them,” Roman mumbled. “Logan, you aren’t enough?”

“Apparently not,” he grumbled.

Roman looked at him guiltily. “That’s- That’s not what I meant. Just that, you two are getting close, and wouldn’t they want to spend more time with you? Wouldn’t they want to do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Now, Roman,” Patton scolded, “romance isn’t everything. If Logan was the only reason they were motivated to get better, I’d be worried!”

“I think it’s that they don’t think they can,” Logan said. “They don’t have any faith in themselves.”

“Then we need to show them that they can!” Roman declared. “Which involves Virgil building his sentience, so he can float down Riley’s alley, and flaunt their ghostliness! Problem solved!”

Logan wasn’t so sure that would work. But… He didn’t have another plan. So he stayed quiet.

“We might not have too much time,” Virgil said.

“What do you mean?” Logan asked.

“Just, if they don’t make progress soon, they could… Regress.”

“Regress?” Patton frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“They’d go back into their loop, and we’d have to start from scratch. Only- Well, we wouldn’t be able to break them out again.”

“What?” Roman whispered.

Virgil was staring at his hands. “It’s like… How someone with dissociative identity disorder, their mind fractured after going through a trauma, to protect them. If Riley stays in this depressive state too long, the same thing will happen to them. Their spirit will lock them back into their loop, and not let them back out, to protect them.”

“How is that protecting them?!” Patton cried. They had tears in their eyes.

“Because it’s easier to go through the same trauma than to experience new ones,” he said.

Logan glared down at his lap. That… Would not happen. Not to Riley.

“Lo?” Pat asked, sniffling. “Where are you going?”

He grabbed his backpack, full of the books he had ordered for Riley. “Going to Riley.”

“Logan, that won’t help anything-”

He was already gone.

___

Riley sniffled into their knees. The kids were throwing beer bottles at them.

They had wandered in, drunk, and were now screaming about some monster. They were recording again.

They were always recording.

Every day, it got harder to hide.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

The kids looked back at Logan, who was glaring at them from the entrance.

“Yeah?” One of them laughed. “The hell are you going to do?”

Logan pulled the knife out of his pocket. The same one he was carrying the day he met Riley.

That was all it took for the kids to bow down. Logan’s knife glinted in the moonlight, his determined glare staring them down. They stumbled past him, but Logan grabbed one of their shoulders.

He snatched the still-recording phone, and deleted the video off the device. He shoved it back in the boy’s hands.

When they were gone, Logan pocketed the knife and knelt in front of Riley. He pulled Riley’s hands away from their face, and pulled them into his arms.

“I hate it when you leave,” Riley spat, gripping onto him. “I hate it!”

“I know,” he lied. “I know. Come on, stand up with me.”

“What? Why? I can’t go anywhere.”

“Just stand up.”

They stood up, and Riley’s legs were shaking.

“We have to get you out of here,” Logan said. “So I need you to please work with me.”

“Okay,” they whispered.

“Hold out your hands.”

Riley did so. Logan reached into his backpack and pulled out one of the books he bought, a thinner one. It was a very short collection of Edgar Allen Poe stories.

Riley’s eyes widened. They were so focused on the book, that they didn’t recognize Logan trying to gently settle it in their hands. Whenever it started to fall, Logan would catch it.

Then, finally- Finally -after a half hour of this, the book stayed. Only for a second, and they both fumbled before Logan caught it, but it stayed. They both saw it.

Logan looked up and caught their eye, and they both grinned.

They spent the rest of the night celebrating. Riley laid down with their head rested on Logan’s soft thighs as Logan read, his voice careful and soothing.

“I hate it here,” Riley whispered as the sun touched the horizon. The sky was an ashy gray, peeks of fire coming up in the distance. “It’s so boring, and when it’s not boring, it’s terrifying. I’m so… Scared, all the time.” They squeeze their eyes shut. “I keep thinking that he’ll come back, and kill me all over again. And I’ll have to start over.”

“That’ll never happen,” Logan promised. “It doesn’t even make any sense.” He brushed Riley’s hair back with his fingers. “We’ll get you out of here. We will.”

“Logan,” Riley swallowed, “could you do something for me?”

Logan immediately got nervous. He wasn’t good at favours. He always did them wrong, somehow.

“Could you leave the books with me?”

He blinked. “Of course. Why?”

“So that you have to come back,” they said. “To get them. And so I can practice.”

Logan blushed. He refrained from telling them that the books belonged to them. “Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow to help out. We can use some of the exercises I’ve been having Roman practice with Virgil.”

“Are they working?”

“... They haven’t, uh, not worked yet. It’s too soon to tell.”

Riley smiled a little. “You’re the boss. You know more about this than I do.”

“That’s ironic,” he laughed. “Get some sleep. I don’t know what sleep deprivation can do to a ghost, but let’s not find out.”

“Stay with me until I fall asleep,” they said, and it was almost an order.

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll haunt you.”

He really hoped they would.

___

Virgil was sitting in the kitchen while Roman’s mother cut up some lemons.

It was dangerous. Not a smart move, really. He could go visible any minute now. He wasn’t anywhere near poltergeist level.

But controlling his form was getting easier, and it was exhilarating.

She scooped up the lemon slices and dropped them into the pitcher of tea she was making, and carried it outside. In the backyard, she and her husband were sitting on a picnic blanket while Roman painted on an easel he had set up back there. They were playing music and laughing and talking. Virgil longed to be a part of it.

But he couldn’t get that far.

He stood up and came around to the counter, picking up the knife Roman’s mother had left. He ran his finger along the blade and-

“Shit!” He snapped, dropping it.

It cut him!

He snatched a paper towel and wrapped it around his finger as blood pooled out. It dampened the paper towel with red, and then disappeared.

The doorbell rang and Virgil went to see who it was, grinning. He pulled the door open and yanked Patton inside.

Patton squeaked. “Verge?”

“Look!” He shoved his finger in Patton’s face, ripping the paper towel off.

Patton gasped. “Oh no, how did this happen? Are you okay?!” He inspected the cut carefully.

“Patton, the knife cut me!” He sounded way too excited.

Patton looked at him. “Uh… Yeah, babe. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah!” He grinned.

Patton was so confused. “Sweetheart, I need some context.”

“I’m a ghost, Pat. I used to just sink through the floor! Knives shouldn’t be able to cut me!”

“Does this mean…?”

He grinned, nodding. “I’m getting more sentient.”

#virgil sanders #sympathetic deceit #loceit #moxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #virgil #deceit #logan #patton #roman #the witching hour au #virgil writes

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swervavery · 5 years

Text

Chocoholic | Daniel Seavey

Pairing: Daniel Seavey x Reader

Summary: An alternate universe where you crave the food that your soulmate eats. The more one eats, the more the other will crave it.

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 1430

A/N: I really liked the idea for this imagine, but I’m not sure how I feel about the finished product. Please let me know what you think, any kind of feedback is highly appreciated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I get off the phone with my friend and turn on the TV, glad to finally hear about something other than her impatience to meet her soulmate and get them to stop eating shrimp. Apparently, this is the third time her soulmate has eaten it this week, which wouldn’t be a big problem, if it wasn’t for her shellfish allergy. It must suck to crave something you literally cannot eat. Luckily for me, my soulmate doesn’t have any weird food habits. I do find myself craving apple juice quite often, but that is about it.

I get up from the couch to have another chocolate chip cookie. While on my period I usually resort to ice cream as my comfort food, but lately I’ve gained an obsession with chocolate. This week has been especially bad, and I have eaten every single piece of chocolate in my house. I am now on the second to last cookie, and I groan as I realize I’m going to have to leave the house and get more chocolate. I have been living on the couch for the past two days and I know that I look like a mess. The thought of having to shower and make myself look somewhat acceptable triggers another groan to leave my throat. What one does for chocolate.

Daniel’s P.O.V.

We are finally finishing up in the studio after a long day of recording, and I’m packing up my stuff when Jonah suggests we order take-away pizza to bring back home with us. We all agree and settle into the car while Jonah is on the phone. The drive to the pizza-place takes almost ten minutes, and we’ll have to wait at least another fifteen before our pizzas are done. Corbyn spots a grocery store further down the street and asks me to go with him to get us something to drink. I agree, and we head over to the store. Inside, we walk towards the sodas, but I stop short at the sight of the chocolate isle. I’m pulled towards it, my feet moving like they’ve got minds of their own. I have had an insane craving for chocolate the past three days, and it has been annoying the hell out of me, because I hate chocolate. Yet here I am, looking at all the colorful bars, not wanting but seriously needing it.

Y/N’s P.O.V

I push open the door to the grocery store close by my house. I had showered, put on pants, and “fixed” my hair, aka made it look slightly less like a bird’s nest. Even though I didn’t really want to leave my couch, I really wanted chocolate. Walking through the mostly empty store I make my way to the candy section. My stomach cramps up, and I hardly notice the other person standing in the isle, only focusing on getting my chocolate and going home to my couch and Netflix.

My hand instinctively reaches towards a bar of plain milk chocolate, and I am surprised when instead of getting hold of the chocolate, my hand crashes into another. I look up to see a tall, blonde boy with eyes so startlingly blue I almost gasp out loud. We look at each other for just a second too long, making the air around us thick with awkwardness. He clears his throat, and I avert my gaze, suddenly finding the floor remarkably interesting.

I glance up at the boy again, opening my mouth, hoping my brain can come up with something to defeat the awkward silence. Thankfully, I’ve been in a lot of social encounters, and my brain naturally comes up with witty, intelligent comments, fitting the situation I’m in. A couple of hours after the interaction. For now, all that comes out of my mouth is a low “umm” sound. The boy in front of me simultaneously starts with an “ehh,” and I see redness cover his cheeks, no doubt matching mine. He moves his head and hands in a weird little gesture, and I interpret it as a silent offer of the chocolate. I smile slightly, grab the bar off the shelf, and automatically tell him “thanks”.

I contemplate turning around and leave, but something is holding me back. “You’re a chocoholic too?” I ask the blonde, mentally applauding myself for managing to form a coherent sentence. He shakes his head, something between a smile and a grimace forming on his face. “Not really, I’ve just been craving it lately.” I nod my head in understanding, before responding, “I usually prefer ice cream, but I’ve recently been getting more into chocolate.”

Daniel’s P.O.V.

Another awkward silence settles between us, but I can’t bring myself to end the conversation, if you could call it that. Suddenly, Corbyn comes around the corner, calling out to me, “Dan, I’ve got the drinks! Should I get you some apple juice as well?” I don’t know if I want to hug him or yell at him for the interruption. “Yeah, that would be great, thanks.” The cute girl in front of me lets out a tiny laugh, and I glance back at her as she says, “That’s so weird, I don’t love apple juice, yet I somehow always crave it.”

Studying her standing there, bar of chocolate in hand, something inside my brain clicks. “You don’t think…” She looks at me quizzically, not understanding where I’m going with the conversation. “That, like, you and I are…” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens slightly as she catches on to my thoughts. I quickly realize how weird and creepy I must seem to her, and mutter out, “never mind, of course not, that’s just stupid….” I turn around and walk away, embarrassment flooding through my body.

Y/N’s P.O.V

I hastily walk after him, softly calling out “hey” as I grab his arm. He turns around, and for a second I’m speechless once again, but my head clears enough for me to tell him, “I never caught your name”. He looks both hesitant and relieved at the same time, staring at me with his captivating blue eyes, “It’s Daniel.” I hold out my hand for him to shake while introducing myself, and once our hands touch I feel a chill run up my arm and spread through my whole body. “Well, Daniel, I don’t know if we’re soulmates, but I think you’re cute and I’d love to hang out sometime.” He takes a moment to react, and then he quickly pulls his hand away, fumbling around in his pockets. “Y-yeah, for sure, sounds great! Just let me, umm”. Daniel pulls out his phone, and I get my own, opening the contacts app and handing it over to him. I type my number in his phone and he types his, then we swap phones again. Silence enfolds us again, but this time it feels less awkward. There is an electricity in the air, fueled by the knowledge of what we might be to each other.

Our moment is once again broken by Daniel’s friend, who yells “Daniel, stop flirting and let’s go!” Warmth spreads over my face, and Daniel takes a small step backwards towards the entrance. “It was nice to meet you Y/N”, he says, slowly walking towards the doors. “You too Daniel”, I tell him, watching him reunite with his friend who smirks and mutters something to Daniel, earning himself a punch in the arm. I smile to myself and walk to the register to pay for my chocolate.

I’m finally back in my couch, remote in hand and scrolling through Netflix while munching on chocolate. I consider finding a new movie or series to watch, but

decide against it. Instead I pull up Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and re-watch old episodes of my favorite comedy-cop show. My phone beeps, indicating a new message. Reaching over to the table, I pull it up and see a notification for a new message from cute grocery-store-guy. I smile as I open Daniel’s message, the TV and chocolate forgotten. It was really nice to meet you today, Y/N. I have to work this week, but what do you say I take you out to lunch or dinner on Saturday? I’m about to respond, when three bubbles pop up, showing Daniel is writing another message. Also, I don’t know if we’re soulmates, but I actually can’t stand chocolate, so maybe you could stop eating it, just in case? I chuckle to myself and settle in for an evening of chatting with Daniel, no longer needing chocolate to distract me from my period cramps.

186 notes · View notes

chemically-imbalanced-romance · 5 years

Text

Damage Control [The Witching Hour AU]

“You’re kidding, right?”

The teenage boy shook his head. He had a cigarette between his fingers. “Nope. Heard it all from Mary.”

“Mary’s always full of shit,” Izzi grumbled, kicking a stray rock. It sailed into the alley and clattered against the broken concrete.

“Oh?” He smirked. “So you’ll go inside, then?”

She glared up at him. “Yeah. I will.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ellie said nervously. She was wrapped up in her winter coat, her pale face poking out of the hood.

Adrian waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine.”

“If you really believe that stuff, you won’t let her in!” Ellie insisted.

Adrian laughed while Izzi rolled her eyes in amusement. “What, do you believe it?”

She blushed and looked away. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

He stepped closer to her, tickling her sides. “You think the ghost of Riley Cornell is gonna get you?!”

She shoved him off, his cigarette dropping to the ground. “Maybe!”

“Come on, Ellie.” Izzi held out her hand. “We’ll go together.” She glared at Adrian. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

She pursed her lips, and then sighed. She took Izzi’s hand and let herself be led into the alley.

Adrian raised his phone, and hit record.

“God,” Ellie gasped, covering her nose, “what’s that smell?”

“Don’t think about it.”

She was suddenly stricken with fear, so strong she couldn’t move.

“Ellie?” Izzi looked at her, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

She just shook her head. She was too scared to speak.

She started walking again, and Ellie shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. “No,” she choked out.

Izzi dropped her hand, inching forward. She got to the dumpster, rounded the corner, and-

There was someone there.

“Put that down, you idiot!” Izzi snapped. Ellie had tears in her eyes. “There’s something in there!”

Adrian laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you saw something. What, did a leaf scare you?”

Izzi clenched her fists, and screamed in frustration. She pushed Adrian as hard as he could, and he fell back into the alley, phone scattering behind him.

“IZZI!” He jumped back up, rushing to make sure it wasn’t cracked.

He pulled it out from under the dumpster, sighing in relief. He looked up, and- Two eyes stared back. One brown, one yellow, like a snake’s.

He went white from fear. He booked it out of the alley, forgetting that they were recording.

Riley listened to them leave, covering their head with their arms. They just wanted to be left alone.

___

“We have a problem,” Logan said as he came down Roman’s basement stairs, Patton following close behind.

Virgil was standing in the middle of the room, the furniture pushed out of the way, with a stack of books on his head. He glared up at them.

“What are you doing?” Patton asked.

Roman raised his phone, taking a picture. On screen showed a floating stack of books. “This is going to be great for my Instagram.”

“Excuse me!” Roman gasped, picking it up. “This is an exclusive, I’ll have you know!”

Virgil growled.

“Maybe we can take a break,” Patton said, opening up her arms. Virgil grumbled and snuggled into them. “Logan has something to show us, anyway.”

They all crowded onto the couch, Patton with Virgil in her lap, Logan and Roman’s shoulders pressed together. They all leaned in as Logan pressed play on his phone.

“Shit,” Virgil said under his breath as the video showed Riley, fully visible and now on display. “You need to get this taken down.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

He shrugged. “If anyone here can learn how to hack, it’s you.”

Virgil looked away.

Logan, though he was feeling significantly less motivated, looked to Patton. “And how have you been doing on your part?”

“I’ve been trying… But he doesn’t trust me!” Patton looked guilty and embarrassed. “He won’t talk to me. I can’t even get him to stand up.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked.

“He’s just… Curled against the dumpster, hugging his knees. Sometimes when I go he won’t even raise his head!”

“Right, well, I doubt videos like these,” Logan shook his phone, showing off the video they just watched and all the others that came up in the recommended, “are helping.”

“So you’ll try to hack them?” Virgil asked, and Roman snorted.

Logan looked at them flatly. “If it’s our only option.” He stood up, brushing his jeans down. “If you three could stay here and help Virgil work on his sentience, that’d be helpful.”

Roman laughed. “And where are you going?”

“Damage control.”

“Are you sure you want to go back there, Lo?” Patton asked nervously. She squeezed Virgil’s waist.

He held up his hand. “I’m sure. It wasn’t that bad to watch. I’ve gotten over it.”

Nobody believed that.

“Well, I guess it’s all up to you, then!” Roman said, clapping his hands together.

Right. “Isn’t it always?” Logan didn’t wait for a response, just left.

Roman gathered up the books and straightened up, grinning. “Guess we better get back to work!”

Virgil looked at the books in distaste. “I need coffee first.” And with that, he sunk out.

Roman’s eyes widened. “HE CAN’T GO TRAMPING AROUND IN THE KITCHEN, MY PARENTS ARE HOME!”

___

“Hey.”

Riley didn’t move.

Logan sat down next to them, so they were both hidden by the dumpster.

“Did they show up today?”

Riley hesitated, and then slowly nodded. They were hugging their knees, just like Patton said, their chin rested on them and their eyes downcast.

“We’re working on getting those videos taken down,” he said, “so maybe people will stop coming around.”

“Don’t bother.”

Logan frowned in confusion. “What?”

“It won’t work,” they mumbled.

“Don’t you want to take the chance?”

They shook their head.

Okay. So that definitely wasn’t the way to get him to open up. Maybe a different direction…

“Have we told you about our friend Virgil?”

They snorted. “What, your ‘ghost friend?’” They wiggled their fingers a little, their only movement. “Ooooooo. I’m sure he can help me.”

That was definitely the wrong direction. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

Logan sighed. “Tell you what.” He spoke quietly. “When we get you out of here- When -you can come back to my place.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move or look at him.

“It’s better than this gross alley. And it’s quiet. It’s really quiet. No one will bother you. And you can rest a few days before you meet Virgil.”

They hesitated. “How long has Virgil been dead for?”

Logan didn’t want to answer. “A while.”

They broke, and started sobbing, their body shaking. They buried their face in their knees, and Logan hesitated, before wrapping an arm around them.

Before Roman and Patton, he never really had any physical affection. He just tried to think of what they would do.

Riley eventually fell asleep, leaned against Logan’s chest. Well. He definitely couldn’t leave now. He reached around for his phone, plugged in his headphones, and put on a podcast.

___

Logan found himself visiting Riley every day. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t that beneficial. He could be working on learning how to hack, or helping Virgil with his sentience.

But he didn’t. He visited Riley.

Every day.

When it started, Riley would normally fall asleep leaning against Logan, and jerk awake as their sentience failed and they fell right through him.

That didn’t happen much anymore.

“You’ve been spending quite some time with our dragon boy,” Roman said one night, while Virgil was trying to learn how to tie different knots. “Any progress?”

“Oh?” Roman’s eyes twinkled. “Human contact, eh? Opening up, eh? So what happened? How did they die?”

Logan just laughed.

“Really?” He whined. “You’re not gonna tell me?!”

“Not on your life.” Riley trusted him with that information. It wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“Logan’s new boyfriend,” Roman teased. “Er, uh- Partner!”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Riley is not my partner. They’re just my friend.”

“Ooh, big word comin’ from you,” Virgil said with his mouth full. “You sure you’re ready for that commitment?”

Logan glared. “And what about you two?”

Patton and Virgil glanced between each other. “What about us?” Virgil asked.

He waved his hand at them aggressively. “When are you going to, you know, date?!”

They both laughed. “We already are, cutie!”

Logan blinked. Roman was laughing at him. “You are?”

“Since the day we met,” Virgil confirmed.

“It was love at first sight,” Patton sung.

Virgil smiled. He didn’t quite believe in love at first sight, but if that was how Patton felt, who was he to argue?

“Whatever,” Logan huffed.

“We should watch a movie tonight!” Patton smiled.

“Normally I’d say yes,” Logan said, “but Virgil really needs to work on his sentience. Riley isn’t doing well there.”

“Okay, hold on,” Roman said. He looked uncharacteristically serious. “Say we do get Virgil up and about. What then? Is he gonna see Riley and immediately know how to help?”

Their eyes all fell to Virgil.

He hesitated. “... No.”

They were quiet.

“But- But it could still help, right?” Patton asked nervously.

“I mean, sure, it could.” Virgil shrugged one shoulder. “But the only way to help them is for them to build up their own sentience.”

“But they don’t want to,” Logan insisted.

“They’re like, ghost-suicidal!” Roman cried.

“Yeah, well.” Virgil held up his hands.

“We need something to motivate them,” Roman mumbled. “Logan, you aren’t enough?”

“Apparently not,” he grumbled.

He shrugged.

“Now, Roman,” Patton scolded, “romance isn’t everything. If Logan was the only reason they were motivated to get better, I’d be worried!”

“I think it’s that they don’t think they can,” Logan said. “They don’t have any faith in themselves.”

“Then we need to show them that they can!” Roman declared. “Which involves Virgil building his sentience, so he can float down Riley’s alley, and flaunt their ghostliness! Problem solved!”

Logan wasn’t so sure that would work. But… He didn’t have another plan. So he stayed quiet.

“We might not have too much time,” Virgil said.

“What do you mean?” Logan asked.

“Just, if they don’t make progress soon, they could… Regress.”

“Regress?” Patton frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“They’d go back into their loop, and we’d have to start from scratch. Only- Well, we wouldn’t be able to break them out again.”

“What?” Roman whispered.

“How is that protecting them?!” Patton cried. They had tears in their eyes.

“Because it’s easier to go through the same trauma than to experience new ones,” he said.

Logan glared down at his lap. That… Would not happen. Not to Riley.

“Lo?” Pat asked, sniffling. “Where are you going?”

He grabbed his backpack, full of the books he had ordered for Riley. “Going to Riley.”

“Logan, that won’t help anything-”

He was already gone.

___

Riley sniffled into their knees. The kids were throwing beer bottles at them.

They had wandered in, drunk, and were now screaming about some monster. They were recording again.

They were always recording.

Every day, it got harder to hide.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

The kids looked back at Logan, who was glaring at them from the entrance.

“Yeah?” One of them laughed. “The hell are you going to do?”

Logan pulled the knife out of his pocket. The same one he was carrying the day he met Riley.

That was all it took for the kids to bow down. Logan’s knife glinted in the moonlight, his determined glare staring them down. They stumbled past him, but Logan grabbed one of their shoulders.

He snatched the still-recording phone, and deleted the video off the device. He shoved it back in the boy’s hands.

When they were gone, Logan pocketed the knife and knelt in front of Riley. He pulled Riley’s hands away from their face, and pulled them into his arms.

“I hate it when you leave,” Riley spat, gripping onto him. “I hate it!”

“I know,” he lied. “I know. Come on, stand up with me.”

“What? Why? I can’t go anywhere.”

“Just stand up.”

They stood up, and Riley’s legs were shaking.

“We have to get you out of here,” Logan said. “So I need you to please work with me.”

“Okay,” they whispered.

“Hold out your hands.”

Riley did so. Logan reached into his backpack and pulled out one of the books he bought, a thinner one. It was a very short collection of Edgar Allen Poe stories.

Riley’s eyes widened. They were so focused on the book, that they didn’t recognize Logan trying to gently settle it in their hands. Whenever it started to fall, Logan would catch it.

Then, finally- Finally -after a half hour of this, the book stayed. Only for a second, and they both fumbled before Logan caught it, but it stayed. They both saw it.

Logan looked up and caught their eye, and they both grinned.

They spent the rest of the night celebrating. Riley laid down with their head rested on Logan’s soft thighs as Logan read, his voice careful and soothing.

“That’ll never happen,” Logan promised. “It doesn’t even make any sense.” He brushed Riley’s hair back with his fingers. “We’ll get you out of here. We will.”

“Logan,” Riley swallowed, “could you do something for me?”

Logan immediately got nervous. He wasn’t good at favours. He always did them wrong, somehow.

“Could you leave the books with me?”

He blinked. “Of course. Why?”

“So that you have to come back,” they said. “To get them. And so I can practice.”

“Are they working?”

“... They haven’t, uh, not worked yet. It’s too soon to tell.”

Riley smiled a little. “You’re the boss. You know more about this than I do.”

“That’s ironic,” he laughed. “Get some sleep. I don’t know what sleep deprivation can do to a ghost, but let’s not find out.”

“Stay with me until I fall asleep,” they said, and it was almost an order.

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll haunt you.”

He really hoped they would.

___

Virgil was sitting in the kitchen while Roman’s mother cut up some lemons.

It was dangerous. Not a smart move, really. He could go visible any minute now. He wasn’t anywhere near poltergeist level.

But controlling his form was getting easier, and it was exhilarating.

But he couldn’t get that far.

He stood up and came around to the counter, picking up the knife Roman’s mother had left. He ran his finger along the blade and-

“Shit!” He snapped, dropping it.

It cut him!

He snatched a paper towel and wrapped it around his finger as blood pooled out. It dampened the paper towel with red, and then disappeared.

The doorbell rang and Virgil went to see who it was, grinning. He pulled the door open and yanked Patton inside.

Patton squeaked. “Verge?”

“Look!” He shoved his finger in Patton’s face, ripping the paper towel off.

Patton gasped. “Oh no, how did this happen? Are you okay?!” He inspected the cut carefully.

“Patton, the knife cut me!” He sounded way too excited.

Patton looked at him. “Uh… Yeah, babe. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah!” He grinned.

Patton was so confused. “Sweetheart, I need some context.”

“I’m a ghost, Pat. I used to just sink through the floor! Knives shouldn’t be able to cut me!”

“Does this mean…?”

He grinned, nodding. “I’m getting more sentient.”

#sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #logan sanders #loceit #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #the witching hour

48 notes · View notes

trouvelle · 5 years

Text

Striking Balance (II) // Emogust 14.08 — Character A protects Character B

A/N: I couldn’t hold back from writing more of this, so here’s part II. Please bear with me! I sincerely hope you like it. And I’d like to apologize in advance if there are some parts that are confusing and not canon to Avatar: The Last Airbender / The Legend of Aang, it’s probably because I made some stuff up in this fic. DCMK Emogust 2019—Character A protects Character B, @mintchocolateleaves @sup-poki !!

The sun is infinitely brighter outside, warming their clammy skins as they walk away from the inn and into the heart of the town. It’s barely past sunrise, but time moves quickly during this time of the year, especially when they’re scouting the location for a missing person.

River Village is lovely and peaceful. Everyone greets each other even when they are all the way across the street, children are running around carefreely without a hint of worry on their faces. It seems like everyone here is on first-name basis.

This section of the market is probably the most crowded part of the town, Shinichi observes. There are merchants everywhere, selling all kinds of things—there are fruit stalls, jewelry stalls, liquor stalls, and one that catches Shinichi’s eyes is the one with stacks of scrolls displayed on the table. Ran herself can’t hold back from walking toward one of the stalls to get a better look at the robes.

Shinichi doesn’t blame her. They’ve been on the move for a while. They do have extra clothes but Ran is unable to wear most of what she brought from home because the climate is very different in this part of the world.

Kaito has also advised them to ditch their distinctive Water Tribe kimono-like tunics because they attract unnecessary attention, and to start wearing outfits with more of Earth Kingdom’s elemental color in them (It’s green, and Shinichi is not a big fan. “It’s not that I like wearing green either,” Kaito retorts). They do have some coins to spare, so he gives her a nod as a green light for her to purchase something for herself.

Ran makes her choice rather quickly. She has her eyes on a fairly beautiful piece, with a pale green dress as the under layer and a sleeveless outer tunic in a contrasting dark green. The booth owner is quick to give her the price, and it was a ridiculously high number. Ran, being the sweetest soul, is already reaching into her pocket to pay when Kaito pulls her by the arm.

“You’re gonna overpay for that piece of cotton; you don’t look like you’re from this area. He purposely offered you a higher price and squeezed all the profit he can get.” Kaito clicks his tongue in distaste, after watching the way Ran is about to close the deal on what would have been her new tunic.

“Think about it in a positive way, maybe he has a big family to feed.” Ran, although kind of surprised, is unaffected by his remark.

Kaito only shakes his head and mouths, “Watch me.”

He makes his way down a few stalls and stops by another one that also sells tunics and other apparels. He picks a set of bright green and yellow bundle, smooths his hand over it back and front to get a feel of its texture, and proceeds to drop the stack of garment on the counter. He sees Ran and Shinichi in the corner of his eyes, watching him as he starts talking to the man at the booth, both of whom ended up chattering animatedly. Kaito then hands half a roll of coins (Ran turns to Shinichi, gobsmacked, “That cheap?”) to the man as his payment.

If Shinichi isn’t paying close attention, he wouldn’t have caught the tiny, but swift movement of Kaito’s fingers. A gust of wind suddenly blows in the stall owner’s face and he reflexively squeezes his eyes shut. Within that second, Kaito has already had an extra scarf snuck into his other pocket. When the owner has both his eyes opened again, Kaito is already waving him a goodbye, to which he cluelessly waves back.

He skips back to Ran and Shinichi, trying to hold back a smirk on his face, to eagerly show them his achievement.

“Next time, let me handle our shopping necessities,” Kaito now allows the smirk to consume his face, rubbing his victory.

“How’d you only pay such a small amount? What did you even say to him?” Ran asks, genuinely curious as to how the airbender closed the deal.

“You just have to be extremely charming when swaying a deal your way.” Kaito doesn’t try at all to hide the smugness in his voice, tossing the two-piece garment and with the addition of a stolen scarf over to Ran. “Consider this my thanks for healing me.”

Shinichi stays silent, as if he’s deeply contemplating the logistics of Kaito’s way. Kaito suddenly gets nervous.

He is so used to manipulating store owners, coercing them to his benefit, and even goes so far as to steal sometimes. His skillset is what Aoko and him rely on the most, to get through their days. It’s either resorting to his tricks or having no food, nor clothes, nor any place to stay. He wonders where Aoko has been taking shelter for the past few nights. Does she need new clothes after the disaster? Should he get something for her so when he finally finds her, she has something to change into? But if he goes around to steal again with Shinichi and Ran watching him...

Kaito knows the two waterbenders probably think what he does is immoral, but he does it without any regret.

“We could actually save some money.” Shinichi comments.

Kaito lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His face breaks out into a large smile. Despite Shinichi’s Mr-Right-attitude, Kaito is starting to respect him. In the past week that they’ve been together, he has learned that Shinichi’s cautiousness has actually done them nothing but good. Kaito has never caught him off-guard, not even once.

So when Shinichi stops in his tracks and doesn’t respond to either Ran or himself, Kaito is sort of amused. They’ve reached the east end of the market. There are no more stalls up ahead, only a marble fountain and what seems like a vast area of woodland behind it.

“I’ve been here before!” exclaims Shinichi. “It’s been a few years, and I think a huge part of this town has been reconstructed, along with the market. There used to be a dome over there,” He points at the north end of the market, “Maybe it was demolished. But I know that fountain when I see it. And that was an area I frequented as well.” He explains, jerking his chin to the direction of the woods.��

Young Shinichi loved tagging along with his father. Being one of the Elder Advisors of the Tribal Council meant Yusaku had to do rounds of their whole territory, all the highs and lows of the village. Shinichi made sure he woke up early enough every day to go with his dad on his morning rounds.

His father always had stories to tell him; about why this igloo hut looked different from that one, why the Palace is always glimmering even during cloudy mornings, what the big giant pendants around the necks of some of the older girls are. “They’re betrothal necklaces, Shinichi. It means they’re getting married soon,” explains his father. When he was out to play with Ran later that day, he very enthusiastically told her about the ugly betrothal necklace she eventually had to wear in the future.

It soon became more than just rounds. His father eventually had to sail away twice every month, leaving North Pole for a few days. Shinichi had heard rumors about the possibility of an upcoming war, he should’ve known that his father was one of the few delegates that were tasked to go out there, then come back bearing reports.

He wanted to go with him, and so he did.

It seemed that the trips his father had gone off to, were to the same town every single time. Shinichi didn’t bother to find out the name of the town, but his father told him that they were in a village in some part of the Earth Kingdom. He was beaming with pride, for certainly no one else around his age had ever been out of the realm of North Pole. He couldn’t wait to go back home to tell all his friends about how he had been to Earth Kingdom.

When his father was called in for the meeting in the town dome, Shinichi wandered away from center of the town, past the loud voices echoing from the mine, past the small downtown area and shops, past the sporadic houses that dot the outer edges of the town and into the woods.

He ran around and explored as much as he could, anything to make for a great story later back home. He loved the feeling of his feet padding gently on the soft earth floor beneath him. It’s very different from the cold, rock-hard ice that he was used to. There were so so so many trees here in Earth Kingdom, Shinichi thought in glee.

He came back with his father the following week and then after, and he always made sure that he had enough time to play in the woods. Never had he seen another person in the woods—they were not that deep, but surely confusing, free of trails and pathways that mar their surface (besides the main road going east, but that’s more south than where Shinichi always was), which was why he’s surprised when he chanced upon a monstrous lizard this time.

Shinichi analyzed the creature, a mere few feet away from him. This was a Beaded Basilisk Lizard, if he remembered his father’s words correctly. “Beaded Basilisk Lizards are carnivorous and venomous, and they chew their venom into their prey,” his father told him once.

This lizard stood about four feet taller than him, even if he ran with all his might, it would definitely catch up to him within a few steps. Maybe he could splash some water to the lizard’s eyes and quickly hide from its sight? That will definitely work, he thought, that’s why Dad always makes me carry this water pouch everywhere.

He slowly reached downward to his water pouch, ready to guide the water out... only to find that it’s empty. Dear Holy Spirit of the Ocean and Spirit of the Moon, he grunted inwardly. He totally forgot that he had drunk all his water supply because running around and climbing trees up and down was tiring. Way more tiring than all those waterbending training back home.

A distant sound moving in a pattern toward them caught both his and the lizard’s attention. Shinichi used this chance to hide behind the largest tree within his range. His thoughts raced, but the adrenaline forced to keep him moving. He chanced a peak around the tree.

Something jumped out of the trees and landed next to the creature. With a loud cry, it—he, Shinichi realized—drew on his sword, slashed the creature on its right leg and quickly ducked to avoid the whipping of its tail. The dark-skinned boy looked no more taller than Shinichi himself, and he was winging a sword half his size.

Judging by the amount of blood, Shinichi observed that the sword left a fairly light wound on the creature. The other boy took no notice of this and kept jumping here and there, as if encircling the creature to slash its limbs as often as he could. Then Shinichi realized that the boy wasn’t trying to cut off any of part of the creature. He was trying to inflict as much injury as he could on it, possibly to slow down its movements. Or at least he was, until its scaly and beady tail smacked the boy on his knees. He was inevitably flipped over in the air and landed on his back, his sword strayed out of his reach.

A sharp intake of breath almost choked Shinichi, and without even thinking he stood out from the trees and yelled, “Hey!”

The creature turned his attention away from the dark-skinned boy. Shinichi felt like he just swallowed a boulder at the way it’s now staring at him with a deadly intent.

He didn’t wait to see what it would do, just turned and started running as fast as his feet would take him. He ran past thickets of thorns that scratched his pants, and small trickles of blood ran down, but he hadn’t time to think of it, couldn’t even feel the stinging pain as he pounded the earth beneath him. If only he was an earthbender, he thought, he could throw huge chunks of rock at the lizard. Or better yet, dig a hole to hide in.

Just when he felt it was catching up to him, he heard a gurgle, the kind that builds bile up in the back of someone’s throat, followed by the hard thunk of something hitting the ground. Shinichi tried to stop himself, but skidded across the brush and fell to his hands and knees, panting.

He took a moment to catch his breath and pushed himself back up onto his shaky legs, and walked the few paces to where the creature was flailing around, blood pouring from the back of its neck. Not a minute later, it turned to another direction and scurried away, its humongous beady tail whipping weakly behind it.

He watched the other boy, seemingly not much younger or older than him, who had jet black hair with equally thick eyebrows. He had the tip of his sword plunged lightly on the ground he was standing on as he rested his weight on the hilt. The boy turned around, scanning the forest. After making sure that the creature was really gone, he walked towards Shinichi.

“You’re from one of the Water Tribes?” was the first thing the boy said, his mouth curved up into a smirk.

“What’s yer name? Why are ya here?” He continued to press on unabashedly.

Shinichi replied with a scowl, “I’m Kudo Shinichi, from the Northern Water Tribe, the oldest one. And my father is here for the Delegatory Meeting.” He felt no obligation to give an answer, but he wanted the other boy to know that he is not to be underestimated, that his father is of importance.

“Ah, ya mean that meeting in that giant dome?” asked the boy with his lips stretched in a grin.

“Who are you anyway?” Shinichi asked, brows furrowed. He felt his annoyance slowly melting away at the easygoing behavior the other boy was displaying.

The boy regarded him with something akin to excitement in his eyes (Shinichi was a little confused, how could this boy be this relaxed after having just encountered a monster?), before answering, “Name’s Hattori Heiji.”

“You’re not an earthbender, are you?” Shinichi voiced his suspicion. This boy, Heiji, was wielding his sword the whole time. What earthbender would do that when they were literally on the ground?

Heiji shook his head. “I’m more of a.. Warrior, I guess.” He said with a twinge of confidence. He started walking back to the direction of the town, dragging his sword beside him, and Shinichi jumped into step with him.

“Heh. Did you know that that creature is a—”

“Beaded Basilisk Lizard.” Shinichi finished Heiji’s sentence. He turned to look at Heiji with a smug smile. “Just because I’m from the Northern Realms doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about the variation of creatures here, you know.”

Heiji pondered about it for a second. "I’m not saying that you don’t know anything. But I certainly think that I know more than you do."

Shinichi snickered. “I know waterbending. All you can do is wield a sword.” Seriously, he was suppressing the urge to stick his tongue out.

“Oh yeah?” Heiji’s voice seemed like it was raised by an octave, followed by a howl of laughter. “Then why didn’t I see you do any of your water magic on that Basilisk Lizard earlier?”

“I was thirsty and ended up drinking my water supply,” admitted Shinichi lamely. He crossed his arms and shot Heiji a look, “I didn’t have that much water on me to begin with. Didn’t think I would have to fight today... but I do can waterbend! I’ll show you when we get to the town fountain.”

But once they got back to the town, he heard their signature Northern Tribe foghorn blow—a sign that their ship is about to leave. His father would be mad at him if he was late, and possibly forbid him from coming along for the meeting next week. But Shinichi wanted to come back, so he did the logical thing and started to make his way down to the pier.

“I really am a good waterbender. I’ll show you next week!” Shinichi called out. The last thing he saw was the massive grin on Heiji’s face, mirroring his own. Things were going to be so much fun the next time around.

During his waterbending lessons, he was more determined than ever. He even skipped his daily morning rounds with his father as well as his playtime with Ran, just for extra training. He had to get better in the next few days, preferrable before next week. He was going to show that Hattori boy how powerful his waterbending was.

Over the next few weeks, he quickly found that he enjoyed spending time with Heiji more than any of his friends. Well, except Ran, but she’s different from the rest. Heiji knew a lot more things than any of the kids back home and they could end up talking about so many things that he couldn’t even bring up to his friends. Most of the things Shinichi knew came from his father, but he wasn’t sure how Heiji knew as much as he did. Sometimes they would bring their heated discussions to some of the town people—awakening laughters and bringing ruffles to their heads—when all they wanted was to know who was on the winning side of the argument.

He was kind of disappointed when Heiji told him that he wouldn’t be able to meet him in the woods every week anymore. He didn’t specify where or why he was leaving, but both of them had parted ways with their heads and noses high.

They were really young then. Shinichi had no doubt that he would meet Heiji again.

Many years have passed, Shinichi muses.

“Say, Shinichi, isn’t this where you said your best friend from the foreign land lives?” Ran’s voice gently pulls him back from his thoughts.

“Ah,” Shinichi nods, scratching the back of his head. Back then, he was always so pumped after their playtimes and whenever he got back home he would always tell his everyone about the cool things he and Heiji did. Shinichi’s mother thought he regarded that boy with such adoration and at one point started referring him “Shinichi’s foreign best friend” although Shinichi himself always denied it outright. “I don’t think he lives here anymore. I don’t even think he ever lived here.”

Kaito’s interest suddenly spikes. He takes a moment to evaluate Shinichi, taking in his face and his seemingly ever bored expression. “You had a best friend?” He chuckles, and Shinichi kind of feels mocked.

“We’re more like... rivals.” Shinichi settles with a shrug, no anger or annoyance in any ounce of his body, the corners of his lips tugged up in a grin, “But I guess you could call us that.”

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puppyluver256 · 4 years

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Feelin’ musical and in an AU mood tonight

I wanna talk about Arcana Lily more but, like, in terms of music this time. Cuz Persona fans know how great the music in that series is, and I wanna associate parts of Arcana Lily with really cool music that isn’t just a “chill relaxing stuff that Habit prolly plays over the Habitat’s PA system” sorta deal...though some of ‘em would be that, of course (and also the SFM soundtrack is lovely and most of it is on my relaxing playlist, apart from the one that y’all know isn;t ;-) ). So here I goooooooo with rough approximations for the mood I’m going for. Well, a couple examples are Exact, but at that point it’s just SFM soundtrack. X3

Real world stuff Walkin’ around town (decided to name said town Laurel Heights): Your Affection (and yes I know this is sung by a Japanese vocalist while SFM--and thus this AU--takes place in the states, you don’t think my FK would be at least a little bit of a nerd and regularly listen to music from anime/video games? because they absolutely would) At school (calling it Astiris High School): Trainer School Hangin’ out with friends: Daily Life (for daytime hangouts) / New Lumos (for nighttime hangouts) Part-time jobs: ONBS Building Home: The Terrace

The other world “Eden” General non-affiliated Eden: PSA Hesperides, the Garden of Loneliness: Divine Bloodlines, or maybe this Gametal mix of Bloody Tears (guess this hints to whose Garden this would be without even having to drop a name huh ;P ) Nysa, the Garden of Indulgence: A Deep Mentality (and also while I’m on the subject, please take a listen to the Dancing Moonlight remix of this, Lotus Juice works magic as always) Themyscyra, the Garden of Fear: GaMetal’s remix of The Ultimate Show Avalon, the Garden of Scent: The Enchanted Earth / The Sleeping Village Ram Setu, the Garden of Regret: Ancient Cistern Lemuria, the Garden of Secrets: Rush Hour The Habitat Biarmaland, the Garden of Smiles: The Apartments Final Garden (not naming because super spoilers in case I write fic of this): Collapsing Time Rift (WARNING: there’s a rainbow overlay cycle on this vid and that might cause some eyestrain if you look at it for too long, it’s subtle and doesn’t cycle too quickly but jic)

Battle themes Normal battle: Theme of Bayonetta - Mysterious Destiny (it’s the instrumental version that was used in Smash, not really too invested in looking up the lyrical one oops) Miniboss (in specific Gardens): Tomorrow Is Mine (another Smash instrumental) Side bosses (like just from wandering around the outer parts of Eden or as part of s-link questlines): Let’s Dance, Boys! (another Smash version, not specifically labeled as instrumental so dunno if it’s originally got lyrics to it or not) Garden boss: Killing Two Birds Battle with Habit: Doctor Habit (because of course) but like...mixed in a less frantic way, I guess? Or maybe there’s a better way of thinking of this idk. Also tempted to throw in the Smash mix of Mad Monster Mansion, but that’s moreso just part of me sometimes still getting mental images of him in Smash and not anything really serious. XD maybe that one would signify he’s not really taking things seriously? Final battle (again, not clarifying anything for potential super-spoilers): Death Wish (WARNING: video has flashing effects that might cause eyestrain or MUCH WORSE idk how serious the effect would be for you just take precautions and maybe like scroll down to the comments section if you click this and that’s a Thing you need to watch out for) The inevitable superboss fight with Carla because this has happened with every Velvet Room assistant since Elizabeth and like hell am I keeping paper lady out of this: Aria of the Soul (Ultimate mix)

#smile for me #persona #arcana lily #jess the music fiend #technically #it's all links but it's also all music #and no i don't why i made a big chunk of the battle themes from freaking bayonetta #*know why #i've only played a little bit of the first one but even so bayonetta music is great

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witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

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BODY AND SOUL Part 17 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: So I did a very rough outline of everything else I want to happen in this fic and I’m gonna tentatively say we’re halfway through it; I don’t know how long any given part is until I write it, so that might be wrong, but we’ll see! I at least have an endpoint in mind, though there’s a lot of stuff in between that endpoint and now, so never fear, Duckenzies, Duckenzie aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I listened to ODESZA’s album A Moment Apart a lot while I wrote this chapter; that’s an album about LOVE for sure, so it’s very Duckenzie (I love Boy especially, a song that is pure Cody in my eyes--as rapturously beautiful as he is). I LOVED writing about Duncan putting Kenzie’s clothes away; clothes are such a big part of my life and are so important to me and they tell such an intimate story about a person, and clothing continues to be an important theme in this fic. The framed picture of Kenzie and Madeline is based on a real photo of Billie and Carrie (@hi-ilovedamien used it in one of the Instagram edits she made for my fic). The one of Kenzie and Claire is based on the fact that Billie and Leslie are super close IRL and love to go to Disneyland together (follow their Instagrams for plenty of proof on that one), and the one of Kenzie with her father is based on on this photo of Billie and her dad Bryan Lourd. Everything Duncan picks out for Kenzie on Agent Provocateur’s website is really from them except for the rose choker: this is the white lingerie, this is the black lingerie, this is the kimono, this is the sleeping set. The rose choker is real, it just isn’t from AP, but I included it there anyway because they do have a choker section on their website. Here’s Duncan’s Givenchy sunglasses. Stoked to finally include mention of Duncan’s private plane, it’ll show up more in the future. I couldn’t find a mirror that looks quite like theirs: this is about the right size, so imagine it gilded in gold grape vines, and you get the idea. I found Duncan’s study desk, by the way. The peacock clockwork in Stapleton’s Antiques is something like this but bigger and just the peacock. Frederick isn’t an AU, he’s my character, but he definitely has some weird ancestry and a belief in the occult; he knew the mirror was magickal in nature, though he kept that mostly to himself. His story about the Vicountess isn’t quite accurate, but she was indeed a witch. Jack Rose is a real whiskey bar in DC and my friend/coworker Christina told me about it, so my including it is a nod to her because she hasn’t watched APOCALYPSE or HOUSE OF CARDS and doesn’t even know who Cody or Billie are and still listens to me talk about this fic CONSTANTLY at work and at least pretends to be interested, thanks babe, you are great. I had a lot of fun including Tyler, my Taylor Lautner AU, in this part, and based his look on this photo from when he and Billie were still dating. Here’s Claire’s dress at the bar. Here’s Nat King Cole’s THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU, a very Duckenzie song. Regarding the sex: Duncan enjoys doing what Kenzie tells him to do more than anything--any domination of her is always tinged with her needs. They’re both switchers in the bedroom (you’ve probably noticed), but Duncan does what Kenzie wants him to do, important to keep in mind--she really enjoys the ways he dominates her, so she asks for those things, but the decision is primarily hers and he follows her leads. Once you’ve been having sex for awhile, you start to notice that once in awhile, you have a really fucking great orgasm among a bunch of other pretty great orgasms, and the fucking great, lost-in-nothing-for-awhile, screaming-involuntarily-because-its-that-fucking-intense kind are the kind of orgasms Duncan and Kenzie have in this part. I hope all of y’all reading along have an orgasm like that at some point in your lives, cuz it’s always one for the books.

Duncan had watched Kenzie run away from him, down the hall to the elevators--which somehow slid open immediately, as if to mock him in his longing--and ached. My Persephone, leaving me; only to return to me later, her hair full of flowers, her skin smelling of nature, trees, the clear air, and sweet herbs. Kenzie’s eyes gazed across to him as the doors slid shut once more, and they were golden and green, her little mouth smiling, her tawny hair over her shoulder, the roundness of her thighs visible above the long black boots--he blinked, the vision of wings, the vision of her wings flashing across his eyes again, residue from the dream--it had been so vivid, so bright, and the emotion in him had been overwhelming, like a storm. And then she was gone, and he was staring at the doors, breathless with her memory. I know we can’t always be together, but god, the hole she leaves when she isn’t tucked under my arm. It’s like a raw wound. He turned from the entrance of the penthouse, letting the door swing shut behind him--not realizing his hand was at his jaw, trailing over his lips. The darkness he’d felt coiled in the pit of him in that dream rested there still, along the lining of him, with a sticky and sickeningly heavy residue--the divinity of her light in it still tingled along the edge of of his mind, the smell of her hair dancing through his fingers, and he lifted his fingers to his nose and breathed in--roses, vetiver, geranium, and the sweet muskiness that was the crook of her mouth and the space between her legs. Now she is everywhere here, he thought, satisfied, looking over at the little bowl he’d handed her an hour ago, now empty of granola and fruit and in the sink, silver spoon resting inside it, wet with the residue of milk and berries. Now there is a small gold lining in every corner of this place, painted with the finest brush, and it dazzles me.

He thought of the tears they’d shed against each other in the darkness of the room that was now their bedroom as their bodies had shuddered in release; the terror and wondrous beauty of the realization that no, I haven’t been dreaming words into her, the words and emotions and colors I’ve felt have really been coming from her, and somehow, beyond all understanding, sometimes, I can hear Kenzie’s thoughts and feel what she is feeling, and the gold I see is her soul, kissing into me with the most tender of touches, shivering down onto me like a paper-thin wave of sunlight. And god, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever fucking felt; it’s more beautiful than anything I can see with my eyes, it’s like a boon from beyond time, and my body and soul are abject and amplified in her. The words and feelings I’ve felt towards her, from her--they feel as though I’ve pulled them from deep memories, as if I’ve begun to awaken from an ageless sleep I’ve slept for eons, and she was there at the beginning of that sleep, and now, having finally woken, she is here again, as it was always meant to be. Duncan found himself lost in these thoughts, hands trailing through his hair, as he leaned down to where he’d left his smooth black iPhone on the nightstand, idly opening the Instagram app and going to Kenzie’s profile--already I miss her face, already I want to look at it again, anyway I can. @kenzielouwho. Duncan noticed she’d now amassed over a million followers--his heart twinged with a vague worry, thinking of the man who’d gotten into the Post building yesterday, her little tear-stained face pressing into his shirt, the trembling in her body, her cheeks white, eyes haunted with shock. A million strangers and how many of them want to hurt her? His blood felt cold, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling. If only I could shield her from every hurt, always. If only I could be sure she would always be safe. The thought of Kenzie being hurt filled him with a terrible dread, a nameless emotion beyond terror, beyond despair--a sorrow that felt like a dagger plunging into his ribs and rending his body in two. But Duncan pushed the fear out of him with a stern hand, the voice of reason in his mind cutting it off. Your Kenzie is marvelously brave and as beautiful as the full moon rising on a clear night, as the stars turning in the heavens. Trust her. She can do this. She can be in this world. She has a heart made of melted gold, you’ve pressed your lips to it, and you know she is stronger than you are. With her, you will create wonders. You will move mountains.

He went to the photo she’d taken and posted the night before--the two of them in the shadowy backseat of the BMW, neon lights drifting across his cheek and her forehead, her wide eyes, framed by heavy lashes, staring out at him; his profile pressed to her, his expression serene. The longest day, the greatest love. Oh, beloved. Kenzie. Truly you are my greatest love. My only love. The One. He scrolled idly through the comments; scores of heart emojis and reaction faces and stunned, excited comments, some bitter towards her, and Duncan felt twinges of resentment around his heart at them--you don’t know her light, you can’t know, whoever you are, how dare you, as if you know her and you fucking don’t--even though he knew these emotions, sent out into the ether, were essentially useless. Most of the comments, however, seemed genuinely positive--some bordered on obsessively enamored, fervent, worshipful. #Duckenzie are forever love one said, followed by neon hearts that matched the colors falling across his and Kenzie’s faces in the photo.

I want them to adopt me followed by a long line of sobbing emojis

You are the most beautiful couple of all time, King and Queen of Earth

They’re like something from a fairy tale, I can’t even handle it asfajhdlghslgha

@DUNCANSHEPHERD PUT A RING ON IT

Shepherd Unlimited: now the most powerful company AND the most powerful couple in the world

#DUCKENZIE FOR PRESIDENT(S) SCRATCH THAT WE ARE NOW A MONARCHY

I wanna be right in the middle of that Duckenzie sandwich like fuck my bi ass up

Their energy is too powerful to even look at, I’ve gone blind

Duncan clicked through to his own profile; he’d amassed another 20k followers since the last time he looked at it, bringing him past 8 million, and he gazed down at the two photos of her that were his most recent posts, each with over 170k and 180k likes; one of Kenzie sleepily leaning against the backseat of the BMW in afternoon sunlight; the other of her gazing down happily at the succulent in the oversized tee shirt, damp hair on her shoulder. I could look at these all day, he thought. But Duncan remembered, looking up; he’d asked if he could organize her things, and she’d said yes. The thought of putting Kenzie’s little clothes in his closet thrilled him, made his head hazy, made him hard; Duncan stood, bare feet feeling the thick rug that extended far around the bed--he moved beyond it to the dark hardwood, reaching for her clothes on the hanging rack in the corner. He turned toward the doorway for a moment, eyes falling over the wall beside it; that’s where the mirror should go, he thought. The side of the bed facing it clearly; and the hook we’ll hang from the ceiling above it, the hook will be right in front of it, close, so we can fuck there, standing, her little arms extended by the soft rope and her body stretched out to me, and she can press her sweetness down onto my mouth and I can watch myself eat her, watch the pleasure in her eyes and the tremble of her body, prostrate to me there, I can watch my worship, I can see every delicate turn of her and be smitten again and again, besotted in her, angel baby…

Duncan shivered and turned back to her clothes, hands trailing along in them; the smell of her rose off them in a delicate wave, and he felt drunk on it. He carefully lifted the hangers up, taking only a few pieces at a time into the closet, gazing down at them; her beautiful little dresses, babydoll and bodycon and with flowing skirts, and long-sleeved button-downs and turtle and mock necks, low-cut blouses and high-necked form-fitting tops and v-necks and wrap tops, some with prints of flowers or celestial bodies or patterns, and some lovely dresses in white and cream and sand, but most of them in solid, earth-tone colors. He lined them beside the new things she’d bought and hung in the closet the other day; he felt greedy, wanted more there, wanted the whole closet to be full of her things so he could stare at them and smell them and drink them in; wanted her gold on everything. His eyes fell over the red dress he’d gotten her at Nancy’s shop--the one that had kindled feverish lust in him, made him press his fingers between her legs and coax her into an orgasm on his lap, and he thought of the fall of her hair and her little teeth when she smiled and laughed and the bob of her throat when she was sad, tears streaking down her cheeks, and he shivered again. She is so beautiful. It makes my heart fucking ache. He thought of her pressing kisses between his shoulders this morning; you aren’t dark, baby. You aren’t. Duncan thought of all the things he’d done at his mother’s bidding for the furtherment of Shepherd Unlimited; thought of the app that he knew was mining people’s personal information, the hidden overseas accounts, his Uncle’s attempts to unseat President Underwood; he wondered if, in this case, it was wrong to hope his Uncle’s death would come soon. If one man causes so much suffering to others, is his death truly something to mourn? Only when Bill was gone would they be able to reshape Shepherd Unlimited into something that could cease harming others and begin to aid them. We have so much, he marveled, staring at the delicate pieces of Kenzie’s wardrobe, having finished hanging everything from the rack across from his dark monochrome clothes on the other side. How can I not have seen it before, really seen it, and known that I needed to reshape the company to help the rest of the world? That’s what I’m meant to do. I see that now. Kenzie has brought not only her light across everything in my life; she’d kindled the desire in me to further that light to touch as many people as I can. The Fates have blessed us, and I think they expect us to share those blessings further. She was meant to open my heart and my eyes to everything. Kenzie’s clothing juxtaposed sharply with his; the earthy tones of her, the shadowy tones of him. Persephone comes to Hades in his dark realm and kisses sweet flowers into his mouth, bringing him back to life from his cold death-state. She kindles the latent embers of his soul; stokes them back to a burning fire in his heart.

For her. It’s all for her. All for you, Kenzie. My body and my soul.

Duncan continued to move Kenzie’s things carefully into the closet with studied reverence; he had always been neat by nature, having been raised by a meticulous mother and taught that discretion was of paramount importance, coordination and careful study the measure of one’s mettle, and he organized the clothing in the boxes according to style and function and then by color; starting with whites and moving down through the rainbow to gray and black at the end. He moved on to two other boxes that held her shoes; the strappy sandals she was wearing them they met (he cradled them affectionately), little kitten heels he knew she wore to work sometimes, suede boots in black and saddle, more heeled sandals and flat sandals and black heels with pointed toes; Duncan loved how small they were, marveled at the size of her little feet, and carefully lined them on the shelves he’d cleared for them on the opposite side of the one that had dozens of pairs of his black boots and dress shoes along it. He marveled, shyly, at her, seemingly, scores of pairs of panties (some silky, some cotton, in every color and style he could think of--brief ands bikini and lacy and thongs--and a particular box that seemed to have only comfortable boycuts, most of them with period stains, and he carefully placed those in a bottom drawer together) and the loveliness of her bras; soft and silky, their small cups sliding through his fingers. Looking at her underthings just made Duncan long to buy her more--he thought of her in lacy, flowing lingerie, a garter belt and suspenders and a lacy chiffon robe, her chestnut hair falling around her shoulders, the Tiffany moon at her throat, glittering in low light, and his mind grew hazy with the sweetness of the thought. He looked down at the little labels on one of the bras and on her panties, committing her size to memory. It’d been a long time since he’d bought lingerie for a woman (most of the romantic attachments with women in his life up until now hadn’t lasted long enough for him to do something so intimate for them)--it had been for Misha, ancient history--and Duncan vaguely hoped, thinking as he slipped on a pair of black cashmere socks, that Kenzie wouldn’t mind him picking out something so intimate for her; she was so fierce in her own stylistic preferences, after all. But now that he’d carefully looked at her wardrobe, he felt sure he knew what she would like, and what she wouldn’t. Her clothes are a little piece of her soul; the way my clothes are a little piece of mine. They tell a story about her; the story of her gold aura and her bravery and how hard she works, the way she guards herself, the trembling delicacy of her emotions, with what she wears, the lovely scent of her and the shape of her and the interest she has in nature and in colors, in space and stars and celestial images, in cuts that flatter her body and make her feel comfortable and make her feel attractive. It’s a lovely wardrobe. If I didn’t already love her, I would after I saw it this way, this closely; if I’d seen this wardrobe out of a hundred others, I feel I’d know it on sight as hers, even if I’d never met her. I don’t know I know that, but I know. Duncan looked inside some of the other boxes the movers had stacked along the wall; some had books in them, more of her little jewelry boxes (one was a little gold-embossed, mirrored tray full of tiny rings, another a Victorian-style box with bracelets inside, including the twisting one she’d worn the night he first saw her on the balcony); one had her constellation bedspread, others her beautiful little tchotchkes; her moon alarm clock, crystal towers and geodes and incense and other lovely things that felt like her and looked like her and smelled like her to him, delicate, gold-sheened: an array of tiny china birds, her moon and sun wind chimes, framed pictures of her with Madeline (Kenzie was sitting on her lap, clutching her mother’s face close, eyes turned down, and Duncan’s affection for her fell over him in a wave again), one of her with Claire at Disney World (both of them in Mickey ears holding Mickey ice cream bars, grinning with happy abandon), and another with her in a black dress, golden hair over her shoulder, and an older, balding man with a friendly smile; clearly her father. He looked over them lovingly, but didn’t presume to move them--she could put them anywhere she wanted, where she wanted them, because this space belonged to her now, too, and anything of hers was a boon to him, a bright little piece of her blessing a space that had been cold and empty of warmth to him for so long.

Duncan went out to the vast space of his open living room in the quiet daylight, stepping over to where the Bouguereau prints stretched between Dike and Nike, his arms crossed in contemplation; he’d always found them beautiful, but now they seemed unearthly in their beauty to him; each of the aspects of the cycle of the day reminded him of Kenzie now; each one was her, her turning her body under him in the shadow of the evening, her lifting her face to kiss him, her reaching across his body to put her little hands around him, the aspect of her sleeping face against the pillow. He hesitated, contemplating going into the study to look at The Youth of Bacchus, but stopped himself; something about it was tied irrevocably to her now, and he longed to look at her looking at it instead; the wondrous affectation of her eyes moving over it, entranced. I should look up the next auction at Sotheby’s, he thought. That blank wall in the bedroom...and our birthdays are soon. I want to dedicate more than the Gala to her. I want to dedicate art, all the beauty I see, and my life, to her. She deserves absolutely everything. She deserves a painting of her own, one that reminds me of her, given with all my love.

Duncan went to the low leather couch, opening his Macbook there and glancing at his emails, but not opening any of them, even though he noticed a very important message there that he’d been waiting for; from the President’s secretary, in reply to a correspondence he’d begun a few days before. He saw the first line in the preview; President Underwood has agreed to see you on Thursday. Midday is best, around 2 PM. She isn’t feeling up to talking for very long--and then it cut off. Perfect, he thought. Just need to get in the door. He went out of his email and opened a new tab, typing into the bar at the top of the screen: agentprovocateur.com. As he scrolled through the models in delicate lingerie, Duncan’s thoughts were full of Kenzie; her golden hair falling down her back, her eyes on him over her shoulder, the round rise of her ass and her gorgeous, curvy hips under his hands, the tiny hairs around the lips of her sex, the roundness of her little nipples growing hard under his fingers, her delicate collarbones, the space under her ear that fit so well into his hand, the softness of her there under his lips, her wide hazel eyes, flecks of gold and bronze whirling in their depth, framed by long eyelashes that battered into his heart when she looked at him--he felt continually swept away under her gaze, as though it took him again and again into another world, one where they were alone and undisturbed, free to look into each other for ages and contemplate the wonder of the other. My Kenzie. My heart. The half of me that was ripped away, the half of me I found again, somehow, miraculous, trembling like rain on roses, my heart whole again.

Duncan chose two full lingerie sets for her. One was in black, with intricate, criss-crossing geometric embellishments in transparent tulle along the bust and suspenders, with long, sheer black stockings. The second was sheer nude with white flowering lace embellishments and white banding, with bows on the suspenders and the front of the panties, the breasts exposed (I can’t wait to press my mouth against her there through the tulle, feel the beating of her heart under her breasts with my lips while she watches me in the mirror, tied up nice and tight), and sheer stockings. The thought of Kenzie wearing them set a bonfire in the center of him; made the back of his neck tingle, coiled heat between his thighs. Duncan went to the section titled cuffs, chokers and bodychains, his skin humming, his breath catching as his eyes fell on a thick, black buckled choker with a silver stemmed rose attached to the front of it. He imagined Kenzie wearing it, staring up at him as he tied her wrists into velvet ropes, and he felt another wave of dizzy desire wash over him. Oh, fuck, baby. My little rose; roses on the balcony, roses in the bathtub, roses here on this table that I got for you because they remind me of you, my rose. I’m going to fucking devour you. To him it seemed as though the choker had been made just for her--the better for me to adorn her in worship. He added it to the cart, imagining the look in her eyes when she opened the telltale pink box and saw it nestled between the tissue paper, and Duncan felt himself harden with a shiver. Be patient, she’d told him. He wondered when she would tie him up. Duncan looked down at the screen again, coming back from his thoughts.

He also picked out a short black silk kimono with a tying sash and flowing lace embellishments at the hem and sleeves, and a sleeping shorts-and-top set in pink satin with straps and black lace around the open neckline. As much as Duncan loved Kenzie sleeping in his graphic tees, he couldn’t help but feel she deserved something more beautiful to wear to sleep; as beautiful as she was, as delicate and fascinating. And I have my own selfish reasons, he thought, blushing unbeknownst to himself in the quiet morning light, going to the checkout and typing in his Black AmEx card number, choosing next-day shipping. She’s so fucking beautiful and I want to see her in finespun beautiful things that look like they came from heaven like she did before I carefully undress her, over and over and over, and kiss every inch of her body for as long as she’ll let me. Duncan thought of his dream of her that morning again; the wings from her back, the iridescence of the halo that hovered around her, the serene expression in her eyes, like galaxies turning in their obscure orbits; they’d been in some celestial ether, a clouded place of blushing colors, and he had knelt before her, stunned by her. The dream had felt...not like a dream, somehow, in that it was real, in that it was the past, or the future, or something that was happening somehow; something that had happened in another time, or was going to happen, or was going on in this moment in some other place. Duncan felt dizzy--the details of the dream were slipping away little by little, but he tried to grasp at the image of her in it; paint its outline onto his memory. If I can remember just that, the halo and her wings and her face looking at me with such love and concord, so much compassion for me, a dark and lowly creature. That’s enough.

Duncan leaned back from his Macbook, hitting the home button on his phone, clutched in his palm, going into his contacts absent-mindedly, thoughts still on the dream of Kenzie, and highlighting a certain name there. Frederick Stapleton. Frederick had been the most trusted antiques dealer for the Shepherd family for two decades. He’d found Duncan’s mahogany study desk (19th century--Kenzie sitting on it, naked, staring at me with velvet rope) and had been curating Annette’s personal collection for the better part of his career. He’ll know where I can find what I’m looking for. Duncan hit the call button and held the phone up to his ear. It rang four times, then a warm voice floated through.

“Stapleton Antiques.”

“Frederick, it’s Duncan Shepherd. How are you?”

“Ah, Duncan, what an unexpected surprise. I’m well--very well, actually, we recently got in several exquisite pieces from 17th century France, if you’re in the market, though I deign to part with them, honestly, they are so exceptional--”

“Frederick, thank you, no, I have a very important request.”

“I’m listening. You know I love a challenge.”

“I need a mirror. A very large standing mirror. Gilded would be ideal; something beautiful….something exceptionally beautiful. Maybe 8 or 9 feet.”

There was silence on the other side of the phone for a few moments, then a satisfied chuckle from Frederick; he was well over 80 now, but Duncan was pleased to hear the vibrancy of his voice through the phone; still full of life.

“I think I have just the thing. Can you come by today?”

“I can come right now. Thank you, Frederick, I knew I could count on you for this.”

“You, of course, were right, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Half an hour?”

“Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I think you’ll be very pleased.”

“See you then.”

Duncan hung up, standing and slipping his phone into his back pocket, fingers idly trailing through his hair, coming down to rest around his chin as he went to the closet, choosing one of the dozen pairs of Yves Wyatt black boots on the rack of his shoes towards the middle of the walk-in’s length; he turned for a moment, staring again at Kenzie’s little shoes he’d lined carefully on the opposite shelf, his gaze zeroing in on the sandals he remembered untying delicately from her feet, his lips on the red stripes they’d made on her ankles, that first press of their bodies together, whiskey making him bold in the face of her loveliness. His skin felt hot and flushed; nervous energy was sliding along it, his anticipation singing. He’d never known Frederick to be one to boast; if he said he had what Duncan described, he had it. God, I still wish my mother hadn’t insisted on fitting her today like this, though, Duncan thought with frustration, choosing a pair of Givenchy aviators from one of the adjacent shelves that held his dozen pairs of black designer sunglasses in varying styles. I wish she could come with me, if she doesn’t love it absolutely it isn’t good enough. It has to be perfect. The thought of them being able to spend the whole day together tomorrow was humming in the back of his mind, a secret thrill of joy and relief. Our first whole day together, just the two of us. Nobody to tell us where we have to be. God, I hope she likes those pieces I ordered. She’s going to look so fucking beautiful in them, I might just fucking die. Duncan thought vaguely of looking at his emails before he left, but a heightened kind of abandon was building behind his temples. It can wait. Everything can wait. Kenzie is more important than all of this, any of this. She told me she wants me to do this today while she’s gone, and her wish is my command, my duty. So emails, fuck off.

Duncan slid the aviators over his eyes, switching his phone out of his pocket to call an Uber Black, sliding his Ferragamo wallet into it instead, and left the penthouse, letting the long black door swing smoothly shut behind him, his thoughts full of her, her gold-flecked hazel eyes. Whatever you want, baby. Anything you want.

------

Duncan arrived at the antique shop about twenty minutes later--Stapleton Antiques was a stylish, squarish mid-century brick building partially hidden by two very old oaks on either side of its eaves, a well-kept secret with almost exclusively seven-figure clients. They didn’t even have a sign; you either knew what it was, or you didn’t. Duncan thanked his driver and stepped out of the Mercedes that had picked him up, the anxious energy humming along under his skin again. He glanced down at his Movado, eyes skirting over the edge of his sunglasses; it was just a little after 2 PM. He wondered idly what Kenzie was doing, how she was faring with his stern mother, how she was feeling. He pulled his phone out on the sidewalk and opened his text messages, sending one to Kenzie.

Hope everything is going okay, baby. I think I found the mirror. I’ll send you a picture in a minute when I get inside to look at it. Please tell me what you think, if it isn’t perfect, I’ll keep looking. He hit send, hesitated for a moment, then typed again.

I realized tomorrow is our first full day together without any interruptions. I was thinking we could go to the beach. What do you think? We have house in Yarmouth, around Cape Cod. We can just go for the day and fly back with the jet. It’ll be just us: just me and you. It’s supposed to be sunny and beautiful tomorrow. I just wanna hold you and kiss you in the sand.

He saw the telltale bubbles appear under his message almost immediately; Duncan marveled at the way his nerves thrilled at the prospect of her answer. All I want is to be near her, to talk to her, to listen to her speak, to read her words or look at her. Nothing else is so wonderful. Nothing.

Kenzie: WOW, baby, that sounds AMAZING! Yes!!! I didn’t realize you had a jet, though I guess I should have assumed that. That sounds so perfect, like a dream. I’m not with Annette anymore, I’m at Morgan’s studio, the designer Claire works for. Erik’s here. He’s going to help us decide what I should wear for the Gala and Morgan’s going to make it.

The bubbles appeared again, and then another text.

Your mom and I got into an argument. I mentioned you’d told me that you’re going to be co-chairman of the company when your Uncle passes away. She didn’t like that very much. I’m sorry I said something but she was trying to bait me again and I lost my temper and told her I deserve to know important things about your life. She left after that and Erik and I went on with the dress planning alone.

Of course they got into an argument, Duncan thought. You’re the one who fucking demanded Kenzie come do this fitting with you, Mom, and then you storm out. You treat her terribly and expect her to just put up with it. Not my Kenzie. He tried to quell the anger the immediately rose in him towards his mother and took a deep breath, shutting his eyes; changing Shepherd Unlimited is going to be an uphill battle the whole way. Thank whatever gods may be that I have Kenzie by my side now.

Baby, he replied, it’s okay. You DO deserve to know, you’re right. And eventually she’s going to see that too. My mother is a very stubborn person but I know she wants what’s best for me. She just needs to accept that what’s best for me is you. I’m so glad Erik is still with you. He’s trustworthy.

Duncan lowered the phone in his hand and stepped into the brick building, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them into the dip of his shirt; the musty smell of very old wood enveloped him, but the interior was meticulously clean; anything displayed in the front (chests and Tiffany lamps and crystal chandeliers) had been polished to its clearest, cleanest sheen, and Duncan’s eyes immediately fell on the gigantic golden clockwork peacock in the center of the room. This peacock had been here since he was a child; it had jeweled emerald eyes and it moved its head back and forth from its wing feathers on the hour, a chime erupting from somewhere deep inside it to mark the passage of time. The clock was very old; Russian, 18th century. Duncan had always loved it, and it had been at least two years since the last time he’d personally set foot in Stapleton’s. The sight of it immediately transported him back in time to when Frederick used to give him tiny caramel candies while he waited for his mother to look at whatever fine thing she’d asked Frederick to find. He’d stare at it for hours, the taste of the caramel in his mouth, the sight of the the golden peacock fascinating his eyes. Duncan thought of Kenzie’s gold aura; I have to bring her to see this peacock sometime, he thought. She would love it so much. And Frederick would love her. Of course he would love her. Everyone loves her. Kenzie is an angel and everything she touches turns to gold.

He stepped up to the peacock, gazing at it in his nostalgic drift (it was still right now, 2 having come and gone), and he was brought out of it by a warm voice to his right; “There you are, Duncan, come this way,” and he turned to see the back of Frederick’s head, white hair surrounding a shiny bald spot, already vanishing through the side-doorway to the back area, an area only ever seen by those who had gained the Stapleton’s trust and loyalty. Duncan glanced at the peacock one more time (Kenzie) and pushed the curtain in the doorway aside (it was heavy and red and velvet and smelled like the backstage of a theater). The back room was much dustier, and always in various states of disarray; this was where the new pieces came first and were sorted and appraised and cleaned. Frederick was in the far corner, an area comprised of mostly stacks of wooden boxes with precious cargo, still nailed shut, rolled Persian rugs, and a large antique dresser that seemed to be in the middle of being cleaned; against the wall was a very long black curtain, visibly dusty, draped over a huge squarish shape; taller than Duncan by several inches.

“Duncan, it’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been far too long,” Frederick said. His half-moon glasses rested at the bridge of his nose; his eyes were very dark brown behind them, as if they held great depth, long secrets, tomes of ancient knowledge. Duncan had always thought so; had always felt as thought Frederick knew things that most people didn’t, spending all his time with the artifacts of lives long lived and gone on to the next plane, yet leaving the residue of those lives behind in the objects they had spent their time with. Frederick brought his wrinkled hands together, the curved silver handle of his cane resting in front of him on its four-pronged clawed feet, his white-bearded face breaking into a smile, tiny crows-feet crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“It has, Frederick. It’s nice to see the peacock again--and you. I was thinking about how you used to give me those little candies. Thank you for that.”

“You look very well, if I may say so, Mr. Shepherd.”

“I’m in love, Frederick.”

“I can tell. It’s shining out of you like a lighthouse. Quite a sight, I must say. Is this mirror--this great mirror of gilded loveliness--meant to be a gift for the one you love?”

“It is.”

“In that case, I think I really do have the right piece for you. It’s very...special.” Frederick spread his hands apart at this statement, stepping carefully, slowly, his gait stiff, using the cane with a silvery curved hook at the end, towards where the black curtain fell over the shape that leaned to the wall. “It’s quite singular, really. As the story goes, it belonged to a Viscountess in France, a few years before the start of the Revolution--1778 or ‘79, we’re not certain. Her parties, they say, were akin to how the Greeks imagined the hedonistic revelries of the Bacchanalia. Some say she worshipped Satan; others believe she was a practitioner of witchcraft, others still believe she was another kind of divine being; a Maenad, a handmaiden of Bacchus, a nymph of Dionysus, she of the wild ways. Whatever the truth--and likely she was nothing more than a woman unchained by society’s expectations of her--the mirror survived the rages of the Revolution, several sea voyages and World War II in a Belgian basement during its German occupation, among other things. The mirror, some say, will kindle the deepest desires of those who stare into it long enough--desires that transcend earthly passions, desires that touch the divine. In any case: the piece itself is truly one of a kind.”

With that, Frederick pulled carefully at the edge of the black curtain; Duncan saw a small cloud of dust lift from it as it fell away, and wondered how long the mirror had waited here along the wall for him; felt acutely, suddenly, that its wait had been for him, for them, for him and Kenzie, for the time when they found each other again, and he shivered as the curtain fell away. The mirror beneath was huge, a vast square of reflective energy; it stretched along the expanse of the wall, as long as it was tall--he stepped closer, almost involuntarily, to study its intricate details; the carvings that stretched along the framing, gold-embossed, were of the tendrils, vines, flowers and fruits of grapes; the nectar of the wine god. The mirror’s surface seemed untouched by time; it was still as clear as a pool of spring water, unblemished by the ages, and it stretched at least 8 feet long; the entirety of the room behind it illuminated in its reflection. Duncan reached out with a careful hand and ran it along the left side of the frame; the soft gold-and-bronze plating was cool and smooth under the tips of his fingers; they tingled, and he shivered. He stared at his reflection in the flawless surface; his sharp blue eyes, the stubble around his jaw, the rise of his lips, his hair falling behind his ears in soft waves. I’ve been waiting for you, the mirror whispered, in some secret, obtuse deja vu, into the center of his mind. I was preserved for the time you were together again--preserved by magick. By a strong spell that stood the test of hundreds of years. I belong to her. To the woman you love. I was always hers and I am always meant to be hers. Just like you.

“Frederick...wow,” Duncan murmured, glancing over his shoulder in the mirror’s reflection at the old man. “This is...more than I could have hoped for. It’s extraordinary. It’s...ethereal. Like it came from another world.”

“I knew it wouldn’t disappoint you. It’s been in the collecton for quite sometime--I never felt inclined to show it to anyone. I felt as though I couldn’t part with it. Until now, that is. For some reason, it feels as though it was meant to be yours all along. Isn’t that strange.”

“Can I please take a picture of it? I need to show it to her. I need to make sure it’s...it has to be perfect.”

“Certainly, Duncan. I’ll be at the front desk. Take your time.”

Frederick left, turned on his spindly silver-hooked cane as Duncan watched him through the mirror again; something in it seemed to shimmer in his gaze for a moment, as if a wave of gold passed over the surface, and Duncan was filled with a strange feeling, as if a rising tide had coursed down into his veins, swirled around his heart, pressed into the lining of his mind; as if something had fallen into place. He breathed deeply; the mirror was one of the most beautiful objects he had ever seen, and the thought of it in their bedroom, facing their bed, Kenzie’s golden hair falling around her shoulders in her reflection, her body turning in her beautiful little clothes, or naked, the softness of her skin in low light, her wrists tied tightly together and her arms extended to the ceiling, her form stretched towards it, her eyes shining out of its surface at him as he revered her body, its reflection of her a worship of her loveliness, filled him with fire. All for the worship of you, beloved. Oh, Kenzie, Mackenzie, my love.

Duncan pulled his phone out, stepping back several feet to include the entirety of the gigantic mirror in the photo; he smiled a little at his own reflection, his Givenchy sunglasses tucked over the front of his button-down, hair falling a little over his forehead, out at Kenzie, on the other side of the city, and added it to a text to her. Baby, it’s unbelievably beautiful. The picture can’t really do it justice. It seems like it was always meant to be ours. And it’s HUGE, 9 x 9 feet, he typed. He hit Send.

He looked up at it again as he waited for her reply; Duncan’s hand went to his chin involuntarily, his thoughts muddled by the beauty of this great object in front of him, his soul shaken by it. How had Frederick come upon such an extraordinary object, and how had it remained here until this very day, falling into his grasp this way? It seemed like Fate again to him; it seemed heavily destined. Duncan couldn’t imagine any other explanation. Like seeing Kenzie on that balcony among the roses, his heart struck with a longing he could not begin to fight, every sound fading and the starlight illuminating the fall of her hair, the shape of her shoulders, the jewels at her throat, and her eyes looking up at him from beneath the fall of her long lashes, stopping his heart. The mirror seemed to know him immediately, recognize the shape of him, as if it had beheld him before. As if I stood here before, in another room and another time and another place, but stood here in its gaze, and it remembers me now. He shivered again. His phone chimed, and he looked back down, tearing his eyes away from the colossal shape of it.

Kenzie: Duncan, oh my god. I can’t believe that’s even real. It’s AMAZING. It looks like it came from another world. Baby, I’m speechless.

Her echo of his own words sent a cold finger down Duncan’s spine. It really does, he typed back. I thought the same thing. It’s yours now. I can’t wait to see you, angel. I can’t wait to see your beautiful reflection in it.

Kenzie: Dunny, baby. I love you so much. Morgan made the most beautiful sketch for my dress...I can only imagine how gorgeous it’s going to be. I want it to be a surprise. Claire and I were thinking of getting a drink after we’re finished with Morgan and Erik--do you want to meet us somewhere? xxxxxxx

Duncan stared down at the X’s, his heart pounding. Dunny, baby. He thought of the day they’d planned tomorrow; the beach and sunlight and solitude, the promise of being wrapped in her arms all day, responsibilities forgotten and faraway. He thought of them finally alone in front of this mirror in their bedroom, Kenzie tied up under his hot, eager hands, thought of the lingerie he’d bought her that was soon to arrive in delicate pink boxes, and his body ached for her. Kenzie, I love you too. I can’t fucking wait to see that dress. Meet me at Jack Rose around 5?

Kenzie: That sounds good, baby. See you soon. She left the lipstick stain emoji at the end.

Duncan turned away from the mirror, his eyes lingering over its exquisite beauty for another moment, and went through the red curtain, to buy it from Frederick Stapleton.

-----

Duncan had made another purchase from Frederick before leaving the exclusive antique shop; a heavy, gilded ceiling hook made of bronze alongside a very long bronze-link chain that he now carried in a cloth bag clutched in his hand as he stepped outside. He vaguely mentioned something to Frederick about needing to hang a very heavy chandelier; if Frederick suspected it was for something else, he did not let on, just nodded and brought Duncan to an area that had dozens of antique hooks of varying sizes and styles. Duncan stepped into the car he’d called, asking the driver to take him back to the penthouse--he’d made arrangements with Frederick to have the mirror delivered within the hour, and there was still his email, unchecked today, that needed to be taken care of; not just coordinating his upcoming meeting with Claire Underwood, unbeknownst to Annette and his Uncle, but the confirmation of his Post interview with Kenzie and Ben Wilder next week. God, that mirror, his thoughts drifting away from emails, I want her to see it as soon as possible. It belongs in our bedroom. It has to be there when she gets home tonight. Frederick had given him a strange look before quoting the price to him; Duncan was still wondering what the look had meant, but he’d only asked for $100,000 for the mirror (the mirror to end all mirrors, Duncan thought); an extraordinarily low price for a piece so storied, unique, and rare. Duncan had balked at the amount--”Surely it’s worth more than that, Frederick.”

“It is.”

“Then why?”

“It’s meant to be yours.”

Duncan stared at the old man, studying him for a moment; Frederick stared back casually, decisively, as though his decision had come and gone and it was no longer something he could recant.

“This woman you love. It’s a gift for her, you said.”

“Yes. It is. She’s…” Duncan trailed off, looking away, feeling moisture gather in his eyes; words failed him, and he pressed his lips together, fighting off the wave of emotion that had crashed into him. She’s my one true love. She’s my soulmate. She’s the other half of me. The thoughts oscillated in his mind, filling him with blushing ardor. He pressed his hand to his chin, along his bottom lip, overcome.

“Mr. Shepherd. As I see it, the mirror is being returned to its owner. That’s all that can be said. All my happiness goes with it, to both of you.”

Duncan looked back up at the other man, and he nodded and smiled, because there were no more words to be said; Frederick was right. The mirror had, somehow, always been Kenzie’s; and now it would be a monument to her, an altar in her temple, a reflection of her staggering gold.

-------

“Anchaly, I need someone from maintenance to install this hook and chain in the bedroom ceiling tomorrow while Miss Stone and I are away,” Duncan said, coming up to the small man’s desk in the foyer of the high rise, setting the cloth bag carefully in front of him. “It’s for a chandelier. Oh, and I have a very large delivery arriving soon. Please allow them up into the penthouse. I’ll be at dinner with Mackenzie.”

Anchaly gave him a wry look, eyes dancing. “Of course, Mr. Shepherd. A chandelier. Lovely.” Duncan smiled at him in turn, not speaking; then, he turned and stepped to the elevators. Anchaly was very discreet, but the lobby had several other residents hanging around that afternoon--the last thing we need is someone to eavesdrop and blab to tabloids, I can just see the headline now: DUNCAN SHEPHERD AND MADELINE STONE INSTALL KINKY BONDAGE HOOK IN SEX DUNGEON. He snorted into his hand, unable to help himself, the elevator closing behind him; mercifully empty. He wondered, idly, what Kenzie’s dress looked like. With her by my side at the Gala, it’s going to be an incredibly memorable night, he thought. I hope they take a thousand pictures of her just to spite Mom. Everyone will see us together; no one will be able to deny anymore that Kenzie is meant to be in this world, that she shines brighter than anyone. That she’s a fucking goddess. Duncan came into the penthouse, tossing his sunglasses and wallet and phone onto the side-table by the front door, pressing a hand through his hair as he sat down at his Macbook on the low leather couch, fiddling with his Movado. The last of the work now; then just him and Kenzie for the rest of the night, and all of tomorrow.

-----

An hour or so later, Duncan stepped into to open space of Jack Rose’s Dining Saloon, a spacious whiskey bar with a truly impressive bar stretching the entire expanse of the space; wall to wall bottles of every shape and size, and the emphasis, of course, on whiskey. He thought of that first night again, a week ago (only a week?), when Kenzie’s little voice had said “Whiskey,” when he’d asked what she wanted from the bar and he’d gone hot and cold with the intensity of his desire for her, her fingers brushing against his when they clinked their Old Fashioneds together; when she’d agreed to go back to the penthouse with him, he thought he had to be dreaming. How has Fate smiled so on me. Duncan had often come here to have a drink alone; the bartenders knew him and most of the patrons left him alone (they were used to famous clientele), and they had the best whiskey selection in DC; his eyes scanned the long, open bar, searching for Kenzie’s telltale tawny hair or Claire’s short blonde shag. He spotted them towards the end, sitting in the high bar stools--Claire’s back was turned to him but he could see she was wearing a coral-colored summery wrap dress covered in blue, pink and gold catalina flower print, her legs crossed, a dry martini with two olives cradled in her hand, elbow resting on the back of the chair--and (my Kenzie) Kenzie was across from her, knees turned sideways in her seat towards Claire, the white stretch of her thighs visible between her mini skirt and long boots, and her hand was around a cocktail tumbler--a mint julep, from the sprigs of fresh mint he could pinpoint from this distance. Claire’s head was obscuring her face, but Duncan could see the angle of Kenzie’s chin was turned up to a man who stood a few inches from the backs of their chairs. The man was average, height-wise--shorter than me by a couple inches, I’d say, Duncan thought with a petty twinge of triumph--with shortly trimmed black hair and olive skin; he had a round, handsome, friendly face; he was physically fit and standing casually near Kenzie, a coiled, nervous energy in his stance, but with a measure of familiarity, as if they knew each other. He wore a white button-down with several of the buttons toward the top undone, exposing a measured stretch of skin along his neckline, and tailored slacks in navy blue with dark-colored plain-toe Oxford shoes. His hand was in one of his pockets, a pint glass half-full of dark beer in the other, and he was smiling at Kenzie as she spoke up at him, and something about the way he was smiling at her made a hot dagger of jealousy stab into Duncan’s temples.

Who is that.

Duncan pulled his sunglasses away from his eyes, shoving them into the dip of his short-sleeved Ferragamo shirt, pushing a hand along the side of his hair, stepping quickly to the corner where his girlfriend, her best friend, and this annoyingly charming person were huddled. Stop smiling at her, he thought at the man, a slight edge of embarrassment at the immediacy of his jealousy creeping into his mind. Something about the smile was full of warm affection; this man did know Kenzie, and this man cared about her, or else, he had cared about her--they hadn’t noticed Duncan yet and the man laughed a little at something Kenzie said...and the twinge of jealousy flared in Duncan again. He came up close enough to catch the man’s eye; they turned a little, eyes skirting between Kenzie and Duncan, expression softening with curiosity and wary recognition and vague enviousness, and Kenzie’s gaze fell on Duncan as the man stepped back a little, the small smile she’d been giving him widening as her bright hazel eyes fell into Duncan’s. Duncan’s heart twinged with immediate affection; Kenzie is so beautiful. Like a star with the rest of us orbiting around her.

“Hey baby,” Kenzie breathed, and she hopped down from the bar stool, pressing against him immediately. Duncan’s arms came around her and he couldn’t push away the possessive bloom of need that opened in him at the feeling of her hair against him and the smell of her skin and the soft incline of her lips and lashes from the bottom of his eyeline, and he leaned down to her and kissed her, open-mouthed; kiss me, Kenzie, kiss me, he thought, sheepishness at his inability to stay calm mixed in with his desirous abandon for her. She returned the deepness of his kiss for a moment and then pulled away, and he could see the blush on her cheeks at his neediness in front of the two pairs of eyes that watched them on either side; Claire with an expression of amusement (well, at least someone’s having fun, Duncan thought towards her) and the man with a skirting mixture of envious interest and awkwardness. “Hi baby,” he replied, breathless with the taste of her and the bitterness of his jealous rush. “Sorry I’m a little bit late, my car got stuck in the rush hour drift. Hey, Claire. You look lovely.”

Claire’s eyes drifted between the other man and Duncan, and she said “Hi, Duncan. Oh shucks, stop,” with a grin. She dipped the edge of her martini glass up to her mouth and took a long sip, as if to steel herself against the conversation she was about to witness. Kenzie looked between the two men for a moment and Duncan could see the blush in her cheeks deepen; she hopped back into her bar stool, facing him, clutching his arm for a moment, then held her hands out in short “ta-da” movement towards the dark-haired stranger. “Duncan, this is Tyler. Tyler Landau. Tyler--this is Duncan Shepherd.”

“Everyone knows who Duncan Shepherd is.” Tyler pulled the hand he’d had in his pocket out, holding it out to Duncan and giving him a small half-smile. Duncan grasped it, staring into the other man’s face for a moment; rather than feeling as though he disliked him, Duncan could immediately see a likability in Tyler, an affable evenness of temper. This is Kenzie’s ex, he knew in a rush, remembering the way they’d clutched each other in the shower as she told me about the man she used to love. This man. She loved him once. She lost her virginity to him. She used to kiss him, my Kenzie...she was tangled in his sheets for three years...

“Kenzie’s told me about you,” Duncan said. “A pediatrician, right?”

“Still in Residency, I’m afraid--3 years in. Not convinced it’s actually ever going to end.”

“Tyler’s here with some of his coworkers--it’s such a weird coincidence,” Kenzie murmured, her voice rushing with nervousness. She tucked a wave of hair behind her ear, pulling her mint julep up to her mouth, and Duncan felt a wave of affection for her. “He saw us come in from where they’re sitting over there and came over to say hi,” Kenzie gestured to a low table on the other end of the bar; Duncan glanced back and noticed a group of young professionals that all looked to be in their late 20’s, casual-dressy like Tyler, chatting amiably over cocktails and appetizers--a few of them met Duncan’s gaze with curious interest; he knew they recognized him. Duncan turned back. “DC feels oddly small that way sometimes,” he said. “Tyler, can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to--”

“I insist.”

He crooked a finger at the bartender, who was eyeing him knowingly--it was Murphy, the ginger-bearded head bartender, who Duncan knew of many a drunken evening. “Murphy, can I get two of the Four Roses single-barrel year-100? Two rocks for each.” “You got it, boss,” Murphy replied, briskly setting up two tulip-shaped whiskey glasses. “Nice to see ya, Duncan, it’s been a minute.” “Same to you, Murph.” Murphy passed Duncan the two glasses across the smooth marbled surface of the bar; Duncan handed him his Black AmEx, and turned with the glasses to hand one to Kenzie’s ex. You have to stay calm, he told himself. You can’t let your insecurities in. Kenzie’s with you now and she deserves your even temper. Imagine if it was Misha or Evan, and how strange you would feel.

“Thanks, man,” Tyler said, draining the rest of his beer and leaning on Kenzie’s opposite side (don’t touch her, the thought flashed through Duncan’s mind despite his attempts to quell it) to set the empty pint on the bar, reaching for the tulip glass Duncan held out. As he’d assumed from a distance, Duncan was a couple inches taller than Tyler; they had similar builds, though Tyler was vaguely stockier. “That wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it. I don’t want to impose on your evening…”

Too late, Duncan thought. But now that you’re here, I’m fucking curious, I can’t help it.

“...it’s just been awhile since Kenzie and I saw each other, and I’dve felt weird about it if I didn’t come over to say hello.”

“Don’t apologize, I understand.” Duncan held out his glass. “Cheers.”

Tyler leaned out to clink his against the edge of Duncan’s; Kenzie and Claire made similar motions, and Duncan could see the tiny tremor in Kenzie’s hand. She’s freaking out. He swallowed a mouthful of the whiskey, savoring the warmth of it in his throat, and reached out a long hand to press it into Kenzie’s knee. She put her little fingers over the incline of his wrist, her eyes looking up into his, and he saw the trepidation hiding inside them. I don’t know if you can hear me right now baby, he thought, concentrating on the gold flecks swirling in her gaze, but if you can, be calm, okay? Everything’s okay. He seems nice. I can see why you were with him. I love you. Duncan saw Kenzie’s expression soften just a little, the stiff position of her shoulders smooth downwards. He was struck with the longing to press his fingers through her hair, touch the little star charms on her necklace; he moved closer to her, between her seat and Claire’s, his back to the bar, facing Tyler, and kept his hand there on her knee, taking another sip of the whiskey; it was flooding into his senses, and he felt his tongue loosen.

“So you and Kenzie dated for three years.”

Tyler’s eyes skirted between Duncan and Kenzie, hesitating. When Kenzie didn’t say anything, staring down into her mint julep, he replied. “Yeah, while we were at school. But it was just one of those things, huh, Kenz. There aren’t any hard feelings from me.”

“No, no--there aren’t from me either.” Kenzie’s gaze skirted between him and the her ex boyfriend (his eyes are as different from mine as one could conceive, Duncan thought, russet and warm), giving them both small smiles. Her fingers squeezed around Duncan’s hand, and he squeezed her in return, possessiveness clasping at his heart again, pushing guilt through his gut.

“I’ve seen some of the stuff about both of you in the news lately--I was pretty surprised to see Kenzie all over social media all of a sudden,” Tyler went on, shifting on his feet a little, “...how long have you two been seeing each other, anyway?”

Kenzie looked up into Duncan’s eyes as she replied. “A week.” But it feels like longer, doesn’t it, baby. It feels like we’ve always known each other. He felt her thought drift into him with a swirling, warm pressure. Yes, baby. It does.

“A week that’s felt like a month,” Claire interjected, “since twenty things have happened every day since. I can’t even believe how much I’m seeing Kenzie online now, it’s so surreal.”

“Yeah, actually, now that you mention it, Claire, I saw the two of you are a trending topic on Instagram and Twitter for, like, four days now,” Tyler said, grinning. “That must be weird for you, Kenz. Your mom always said you wanted attention until you got it, then you didn’t want it anymore.”

Duncan bristled at the familiarity of the words Madeline had spoken to him over their dinner at Busboys several days before. “Madeline’s a fucking delight,” he said, eager to be part of the conversation. I know her too, Doc. “We had dinner the other night and I was totally enamored with her.”

Kenzie looked up at him with a radiant smile bursting across her face; Duncan moved his hand from her knee to the small of her back under the slat at the back of the bar stool. Wildly, the thought of her hand clutched around his throat flashed through his mind; the way she’d straddled his lap in the BMW that night on the way back to the penthouse. You better do as I say. Duncan wondered with a flash of heat pulsing in the pit of his stomach if she’d ever commanded Tyler that way--if Tyler had melted in her hands. It wouldn’t matter who it was, he knew. Anyone would bow to her.

“Once, Madeline took Kenz and I to this weird Cirque du Soleil show in Vegas,” Tyler said, his expression the amused look of someone remembering a fond memory. “And she’d smoked some hash with us before--because it’s fucking Madeline--and then she started having a bad trip in the middle of it and started yelling about pink elephants everywhere, pink elephants staring at her with beady eyes, pink elephants with too many balloons and they made us leave--we were just standing on the sidewalk fucking howling by then, remember that, Kenz--”

Stop fucking calling her that, Duncan thought, an annoyed jab flashing through his mind again. Stop being so fucking familiar. Duncan looked down at Kenzie and noticed the amusement in her face, the giggle of remembrance around her mouth. The memory of her affection for him, he knew, and it made him ache. “Oh god,” she said, and he pressed his fingers into her a little, the ache spreading through his arm. “That day was insane. I forgot about that, I laughed so hard I fucking cried, we had to practically carry her back to the hotel.”

Duncan took another hard sip of the bourbon; it was heady and wildly heavy and it made his skull pound. He looked up at the man across from him again as she spoke--Tyler’s hand was back in his pocket, and Duncan noticed the way his dark eyes fell over Kenzie’s loveliness--the cascade of her gold hair, her little mouth grinning, her tongue slipping between her teeth, bringing her glass up to her mouth, her arm tucking under her little breasts in amusement, toying with the star necklace that dipped down there. He didn’t break up with you, Duncan realized, his heart twinging. You broke up with him. He still loves you, doesn’t he. Why wouldn’t he? Everyone loves you. I love you. I love you so much it fucking hurts.

“I need to order some fucking food,” Claire said, breaking up the amusement between Kenzie and Tyler, to Duncan’s relief. “Where did that bartender go?” Duncan turned, catching Murphy’s eye from down the bar, waving a little; Murphy came back, cocking his head towards them. “Oh, thank god,” Claire murmured. “The perks of having the famous person in your crew. Can we get the shared supper plate, please?”

“Oh, oh, I want the chicken skins too, please,” Kenzie said excitedly, and Duncan noticed she’d drained her mint julep out of nervousness; “And two more of these,” he said, pointing to Kenzie and Claire’s empty glasses. Murphy nodded, grinning; Duncan understood why, both Kenzie and Claire were lovely, their energy warm and infectious; but Kenzie’s glow was iridescent, intoxicating, throwing her brightness around this corner, pulling the eyes of the room in. Tyler watched her with eyes that couldn’t seem to hide their longing--and Duncan felt another twinge of intense jealousy towards the man who had first known her bed, who had gotten to spend so many days with her, who had a wealth of memories with her that Duncan, no matter how many memories he would build atop them, would never be privy to.

“Well, I think it’s time for me to go back to my table,” Tyler said, as if he sensed the roiling shadow of Duncan’s thoughts. “Kenzie...I wish you the best in everything, always. Duncan, thank you for the drink, I really appreciate it. Claire, it was nice to see you again.” Tyler leaned forward over Kenzie’s little face, and before she could react, he kissed her cheek quickly, eyes closing--then he lifted away from her and nodded a little at Duncan, staring at him evenly. Then he drained the last of the whiskey from the tulip glass and set it carefully on the bar, giving the three of them a little wave, and turned back to his table where his coworkers beckoned to him. Duncan watched his back retreat for a moment before turning his face down to Kenzie, who stared up at him with the same expression of concern; he leaned his mouth down to her, hand at the back of her hair, and pressed her into him, needy with relief that the other man had gone away, unable to stop the onslaught of emotion that washed over him now.

“Well, that was fun,” Claire said to them, staring innocently up at the hundreds of bottles lined along the bar, pointedly away from their passionate kiss that continued to extend. Duncan didn’t care. He’d waited all day to kiss her and then her fucking ex boyfriend had appeared and he was starving for her now.

“Baby,” Duncan whispered down into Kenzie’s ear as his mouth fell away from hers. “I missed you so fucking much today. Wait until you see it. Just wait. It’s the most beautiful--”

“Oh, Duncan,” she whispered back into him, her hands coming around his face. “Dunny, I missed you too, baby, I’m so sorry about that, I never expected him to be here--”

“Shhh, it’s fine,” Duncan kissed her again, with shuddering softness this time. “It doesn’t matter--”

“Excuse me, Prince Duncan and Princess Kenzie, but y’all are making me clutch my pearls right now,” Claire interrupted them as Murphy brought them fresh drinks, a waiter close behind with the tray of charcuterie Claire had ordered for them; Kenzie’s chicken skins in their other hand. “Can’t wait for some photos of this moment on BPF tomorrow, I’ll make sure to send them to you as your official press secretary, Kenzie.”

Kenzie gave her friend a shy gaze but clapped a little, delighted, at the food. “Oh my god, I’m so fucking hungry, I forgot to eat all day between fighting with Annette and trying to figure out the dress. Oh baby, wait till you see it--it’s going to be so wonderful--”

Duncan smiled down at her, sliding into the seat on her left, the tide of his relief riding over him with the richness of the aged whiskey he’d just drank, reaching out to the charcuterie and plucking an olive from one of the little bowls, slipping it into his mouth. He pushed his hand through the wave of her hair, skin tingling from the contact with her he’d longed for and had had to postpone. “And wait ‘till you see this mirror, baby--”

“Mirror?” Claire was eavesdropping, her eyes dancing, reaching for crackers and slivers of aged cheddar on the big plate, sipping at her second martini. “What mirror?”

“Duncan found this amazing mirror today for the penthouse--” Kenzie opened her phone and showed Claire the photo Duncan had sent her earlier. Claire goggled at it, her mouth falling open. “Holy shit, that’s incredible. All the gold, like, how big is that thing, wow, that’s fucking extravagant.” She gave Kenzie a coy look. “Wonder what you’ll do with that, hmmmm.” Duncan slipped a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his grin, but he knew Claire saw; she wiggled her eyebrows at them, mock-seductive. “Your own personal movie theater, huh?” Kenzie blushed, biting the nail of her index finger as Claire giggled at her, and Duncan was struck with the desire to pull her against him, cradle her in his arms with protective need. “Oh, by the way, Duncan, I rode in the BMW with Kenzie over here and Samuel is a fucking dream, I wanna marry him now.”

“He’s single,” Duncan said, only half-jokingly. “Somehow, impossibly.”

“He doesn’t have time to date when he’s carting your ass around all the time,” Claire retorted, and Duncan laughed a little. “Touche. He needs more vacation time.” Duncan’s eyes fell over Kenzie devouring one of the chicken skins clutched between two fingers in her little hand, then skirted behind her to where Tyler sat on the other side of the restaurant with his table of pediatric co-residents. Duncan could see the other man’s dark eyes falling back over to where they sat the end of the bar; especially over Kenzie’s gold hair, the incline of her back. Duncan brought his hand into her lap again, riding high up on her thigh; Kenzie giggled a little, swallowing; “Baby, that tickles.” She brought her lips up against his, wiping her hands carefully on her napkin before she pressed her fingers against his jaw on either side, pulling him against her. “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth, and he closed his eyes, smelling the sweetness of her perfume and the grease and the whiskey and mint on her lips, loving the scent of her and the texture. She loves me, Duncan thought with relief. How am I so lucky? She loves me, I love her, loves me, I love her, she loves me...

--------

They��d driven Claire back to her Dupont Circle apartment, about a fifteen minute walk from where Kenzie used to live. Claire was quite tipsy and Duncan had carefully helped her to her door, her arm threaded through his to keep from falling; she’d sat in the front seat with Samuel, the partition open so they could all talk together, and Duncan could tell his driver was quite taken with her; you say you wanna marry Samuel, but I think he wants to marry you, Duncan thought, watching his chauffeur and Kenzie’s best friend flirt, his hand in Kenzie’s lap. She was gazing at him with a contented, quiet look in her eyes; waiting for us to be alone, me too, baby, he thought towards her. Claire had hugged his neck (as was her way) as he deposited her at the door of her apartment; “I know you saw what I saw,” she said, leaning down to his face conspiratorially, her words slurring a little with all the gin from her martini having settled in, the sharp scent of it in his nose. “And I always suuuspected their break-up was one-sided. Tyler was giving her googly eyes, big ones. But here’s the thing, Duncan--she issin love with you. Like, I have never seen her SO happy in my whole LIFE, and I’ve known her since she was fucking up volleyball serves in high school. You’re gonna marry her. I know it.”

“Goodnight, Claire,” Duncan let go of her gently, smiling at her and nodding, and Claire stood there dazed for a moment, lost in the drift of the alcohol, then she gave him a little salute, like she was a private saluting a sergeant, and twisted the doorknob, falling inside. Duncan tried to shake the whiskey out of his head, too, the cool evening air helping a little as he walked back to the BMW; he slid back into the backseat, noticing Kenzie was already pushing the partition button, allowing them privacy from Samuel, the last obstruction to their solitude.

“Baby, I--you know I had no idea Tyler would be there--” she said in a rush, but he broke her off gently.

“Kenzie, of course. I know.”

“I could hear--I could hear you. The intensity of your thoughts. It was all around me. Like a ring of fire.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I tried to push it away, tried to bury it--”

“No...I sort of...I liked it.” Kenzie’s face came close, hovering under his chin; her mouth open, anticipating. Tonight Nat King Cole’s rich voice floated from the speakers, somewhere in the background of the golden sphere of her little body, finally so close to him: you’ll never know how slow the moments go...till I’m near to you...I see your face...in every flower...your eyes in stars above…Her eyes stared up into his (flecks of gold, bronze, dark sunset in a forest), her voice low and sweet, her breath shallow, and her other hand was falling down his chest to hover along his stomach and then at his hip, just above his crotch, the tips of her fingers brushing him with aching hesitation. “I...I liked that you were so jealous. I liked that you needed me so much, want me so much...like you were going to burst into a bonfire. Like you couldn’t bear it...like...when you wondered if I’d touched him that way--” It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you...my love...

“Kenzie,” he breathed into her. “Touch me. Please, baby.”

She reached up so her hands fell on his jaw and in his hair, and he was pulling her against him, hands harshly clasped on her hips as the BMW drove the short distance back to the penthouse, falling into her in the dark.

“He still loves you,” he spoke between their kisses, gasping, his hands falling down the velvety feeling of her boots and back up to the bareness of her thigh, the curve of her hip and the tiny dip of her waist, his eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of her for fear she would shake his soul again with her loveliness, her otherworldliness, the taste of her enough to drive him into a state of mad emotion, threatening to make him unable to speak, the scent of her falling down into his senses, filling him up, sucking his breath away. “I could tell by the way he looked at you, baby. He wished he could go back to when you were his. I could see it.”

“Duncan, it doesn’t matter. I only love you.”

He sighed into her; Duncan felt tears prick at his eyes. Her mouth was so soft in the dark it was like the delicate petals of a flower under his lips, and his heart was swollen with the sounds she made, her tiny moans under his hands, the hum of her breathing in his ears in the shadows; he longed to breathe something into her, an admonition of passion and adoration so sincere, so entire, that it would dispel all doubt from her mind for as long as they lived--he wanted her to know the depth of his love would never fade, that he would worship her until the stars faded from the heavens and the sun burned away into darkness, but how could he? How could he find words? “I love you,” was all he could whisper, his mouth on her chin and the incline of her throat, “I love you, I love you, Kenzie--”.

The partition floated down and they broke apart, achingly, reluctantly, and he could see Kenzie’s little frame shivering with the intensity of her breathing in the dark; they hadn’t noticed the BMW had pulled up to the high-rise and had been idling, quietly, for several minutes.

“We’re home, Mr. Shepherd, Miss Stone,” Samuel said quietly, his eyes skirting over their dishelvement, their harsh breathing. Ushering us on to the quiet solitude of our bed, Duncan thought with a warm, vague knowledge. He nodded at the other man. “Thank you, Samuel. We’re taking the jet to Yarmouth tomorrow, can you pick us up around 9?”

“Very good, Mr. Shepherd. Miss Mackenzie, it was a pleasure to drive you today. Anytime you want to listen to Stevie, you let me know.”

Kenzie’s little smile broke over her cheeks in the shadows; “Thank you, Samuel. It was wonderful to spend time with you today.” Duncan opened the door and slid out, reaching down for her hand, anxious for her touch again. She slipped her small fingers between his, the sound of her boots on the sidewalk clicking in his ears, the soft lights of the street lamps falling over her small frame. He pulled her gently with him, wishing in that moment that he could snap his fingers and they’d suddenly appear in the bedroom, where he knew that vast, quiet, gold monument to her was waiting. Jerry pulled the door open, nodding to them without speaking; Anchaly was away from his desk at the moment, and Duncan silently thanked the Fates (Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos)--every interaction with anyone else was a distraction from his desire to show her what he’d found for her today, the thing he’d found that was already hers. In the elevator Kenzie let go of his hand and stepped to the opposite side, and they stood there across from each other, staring, the elevator’s mirror reflecting their profiles from the corner of Duncan’s eye--Kenzie leaned her ass against the smooth gold wall, parting her legs a little, bringing her hands into the dip of her crotch, not moving her eyes away from his face. Duncan’s hands gripped the rail behind him, the tension in his body rising, his need to feel her again making him dizzy.

“How was your day today, baby?” he said quietly.

“It was...long. Good. Sort of. Your mom--god, she hates me.”

Duncan bit his lip as the elevator climbed, his eyes on the flushed shimmer of her cheeks; 22, 23, 24. “We’re going to work on it, okay? We’re going to make her see.”

Kenzie nodded at him, a tiny smile at the corners of her mouth. “My dress, baby. Just wait. And Erik was lovely.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear; his heart shuddered.

“Mmhmm, he is. I can’t wait to see it, baby.” The elevator dinged, the doors sliding apart. Duncan reached for her but Kenzie--ugh, she’s so good at that, it makes me insane--slid away from him, looking at him back over her shoulder as she walked ahead of him to the penthouse door, her little teeth shining out of her mouth at him, a glint in her eyes. “Come here,” he said, needy.

“Come get me,” she replied, slipping her keycard into the slot by the door; it beeped and she swung it open, disappearing inside. Duncan groaned softly; fuck baby, I will. He fumbled with his wallet, snatching out his own key, hurriedly jamming it into the slot and yanking the door open; Kenzie had already kicked her boots off and was trotting around the corner in her little bare feet, towards the bedroom, hair shimmering. The penthouse was cool and quiet with evening; the diamond-drop chandelier reflecting the low lamps in the living room, his eyes skirting over her succulents along the sink, and he could see one of the little lamps in the bedroom had been switched on--as he followed Kenzie, kicking his own shoes off, he heard her gasp as she stopped dead, facing the wall that was obscured from this angle by the doorway. He stepped through, seeing her hands come up to her cheeks, her mouth snap shut, her eyes grow wide. He glanced to where she stared--there it was, this silent speculum of time, its carvings dipping softly in the shadows, vines, fruits and flowers, its clear reflection of them snatching his breath as he stepped up beside her. Duncan marveled for a moment at the difference in their heights--her little golden head only reaching to just below the bend of his shoulders, his hands obscuring her under his touch as he reached for her--and yet, he thought, your greatness astounds me, beloved. Your wonders are confounding to me, your secrets endless and each one more precious than any riches. She continued to stare at their reflection as his arms came around her from behind, pressing his stomach gently into her back, fingers falling around the dip of her elbows, tightening, desirous, his face falling into the crook of her neck, his eyes looking up into hers through the mondo glass that stretched before them. He shivered a little at his own gaze--a blue fire raging in the center of him, every ember of it for her, reflecting outwards.

“Duncan, this…” He felt her shudder violently under his hands, and he moved his fingers down to cup around her breasts, clutching her, longing to soothe the shaking in her limbs, pressing soft kisses against her ear.

“It’s yours, isn’t it. It belongs to you.”

Kenzie’s eyes grew clouded as he said it, puzzled, but acknowledging, lost in the confusion of her sudden knowledge that he was right.

“It’s...I know it from somewhere. Like it used to be mine. How can that be, baby? How can this be mine?”

“I don’t know, Kenzie. But I knew it too, when I saw it. I knew it was yours. I knew it was yours...I don’t fucking know, baby, in another life. I knew it.” He turned her into him, aching for her mouth--she pressed into him, impossibly small and soft and delicate, smelling of roses and the gathering desire on her skin--and Duncan’s hands pushed under the fabric of her shirt, his fingers trailing along the soft skin at her spine, the rise of her ribs.

“I feel like I’ve looked into it before.”

“I know. I do, too. I don’t know how that’s possible. When I looked into it--” Duncan moaned into her as she pushed her hand into the waistband of his clothes, her fingers sliding down to grasp at the shaft of his cock, growing hard and pressing into the fabric, straining. “--it felt like I’d looked into it before.”

“I need you, Dunny.”

“Kenzie, angel--”

“Stare at me in this mirror and fuck me. Do it, right now.”

Duncan couldn’t stop the burst of lust, like the unexpected, painful dusting of an electric current, that danced across his mind as her command fell into his ears. Yes, goddess. He gripped her arms harshly, pulling her neck roughly into his mouth, biting down on the sensitive skin there--Kenzie cried out, quickening the heat in his groin, and Duncan brought his thumb into her mouth, which had opened for him, pressing it into her little tongue forcefully. Her eyes fluttered and she sucked; “Yes, angel,” he murmured, “Suck.” He used his other hand to push at the mini skirt around her waist, yanking it down from her hips where it pooled around her ankles, exposing the silkiness of her dark underwear. Kenzie stepped out of the skirt, parting her legs against him; he slipped his hand into the waistband of her panties and pressed his fingers, demanding, into her sex, and she arched into him, moaning into his thumb still pressed to her tongue, the vibration of her throat sending lightning bolts of sensation through his body. He moved his hand out of her panties and his finger from her mouth and stepped back, willing himself with every ounce of resolve he had, and she whimpered, leaning into the emptiness where his hands had been and his heart ached terribly.

“Baby,” he breathed, reaching up to work at the buttons of his shirt, “Take off your clothes. I’ll watch you, you watch me.”

Kenzie nodded, lifting the hem of the collared shirt over her head, tossing her starry necklace on the floor, her hair falling over her bare shoulders as she let the shirt drop after it; Duncan finished the buttons of his own shirt and let it fall, fingers fumbling at his belt buckle as he watched her unhook the back of the little bra she wore, exposing her breasts, covered in the goosebumps of her arousal, and her little fingers slipped down to slide the waistband of her panties off, stepping out of them, and suddenly, she was naked in front of him, her eyes shining with anticipation of the return of his touch. Duncan watched her eyes watch him push his pants and briefs down, exposing his cock, now hard with his arousal, then her gaze slid up into his and he paused at the demand inside them. Fuck me. I command you.

He pushed into her roughly; pushed her back, her tiny body sliding against him with wild lightness; pushed her until her back and her ass fell against the cold, smooth surface of the mirror, pressed her against it, their mouths crushed together, tongues entwining, his fingers brushing up into her cunt, hard, insistent, her little fingers gripping his cock, pulling him against her, and then Duncan lifted his hand to her throat and gripped her there, turning her cheek so his mouth pressed into her ear roughly, and he said “I’m gonna fuck you now, baby, so turn around and put your hands on the mirror.”

“Uh huh, baby, yes,” Kenzie whimpered, and he loosened the harsh grip of his fingers so she turned her body toward the mirror, pressing the palms of her hands into the smooth glass, leaning so her ass lifted towards his groin, her hair falling down over her shoulders and back, lifting her gaze to stare at him in the reflection. Duncan returned her gaze in the mirror as he gathered her hair in his fist, twisting it once around his hand, drunk with the reflection of their bodies hovering together, and her head jerked back a little, a moan falling from her little mouth, her eyes fluttering. “Unng, baby, yes,” she mewled, lifting her hips back towards his erection, and he was struck with another hot wave of need at the sound she had made, wanton and supplicant to him. Then, he pushed his cock, hard and sudden, down into her, and she let out a cry that shook hot drops of avid thirst down his spine. Duncan pulled harshly at her hair (your beautiful hair, your golden hair baby, in my fist, all mine) and plunged in and out of her warmth, and Kenzie cried out again and again, his moans falling into her--her eyes closed and Duncan jerked her head back a little, demanding. “Look at me, Kenzie.” Her eyes snapped open to him; the green hue was deeply present, shining out at him, ethereal and haunting. “That’s right. Look at me.”

“Uhh, baby,” she moaned, and he slipped his palm under her chin and brought her head back and kissed her, hard, his lips bruising into hers, his fist still around her hair, his cock buried in her; then he looked up at the reflection of her, tip-toed, mouth open, eyes turned up to him, breasts shivering, palms flat on the mirrored glass, her body bent into him. “Down, baby,” he said, letting go of her hair to carefully ease her onto her knees with him by her hips, her hands sliding slowly down the mirror’s surface until both of them were kneeling in front of it. He pulled back on her hips, moving slow, still buried inside her, and Kenzie’s hands fell to the floor, to the dark wood between the rug and the edge of the mirror. Duncan brought his hand up around her neck again, looking into her eyes in the mirror; “I love holding you here,” he murmured to her, fingers clenching on her throat, and rebounded his efforts at pounding his length into the warm dip of her cunt, pressing her legs outward, demandingly, with his thighs until she was trembling, prostrate, spread, her tiny body crushed into his and totally at his mercy, her mouth trembling up at him in the glass, her cheeks flushed with need. Duncan slipped his index and middle fingers deep into his mouth, slicking them with spit, then pressed them down into her ass, working them harshly back and forth as he fucked her, his concentration smooth and unbroken and utterly demanding of her; Kenzie spasmed and her mouth widened and her eyes rolled back into her head, and a long bead of drool ran from the corner of her mouth, glittering in the reflection, her senses abandoned in the forceful movement of his fingers inside her.

“Look at us,” Duncan commanded her, and Kenzie’s eyes widened from her desirous haze as he continued to work at her cunt with his cock (so hard, I’m so fucking hard baby, so hard for you, filling you up like this, god you feel good, like I’m meant to be inside you always) and her tight asshole with his long fingers, her shivering body totally at his beholden to him, supple under his insistence, “look at us fuck, baby, watch me fuck you like this--”

“Duncan, unnngh,” Kenzie murmured, “I want you to fuck my ass, baby,” and Duncan’s eyes rolled back at that, rolled back with the rocking burst of fervor her words kindled in him. He could see the glistening trail at her chin where she’d drooled and he wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but didn’t; a secret gift for him, her supplication, her abandon for him.

He pulled out of her and she whined, piteously. “Stay there. Do not move, angel,” he said, and Kenzie froze, eyes staring into him from her reflection. He pushed himself up, his achingly hard erection illuminated in the mirror’s watchful, long eye, and went into the bathroom where he knew Kenzie’s jar of coconut oil was sitting on the counter beside the squarish shape of her perfume. He eased a hand along his cock as he did, slick with the wet of the inside of her vulva, concentrating on it, bringing the jar back out with him to where he saw her still kneeling obediently in front of the mirror, her ass shivering almost imperceptibly from the memory of him pounding against her a moment before, the memory of his fingers, her legs still achingly spread. He stood there over her for a moment, gazing into her eyes in the mirror’s reflection again; this fucking mirror is something extraordinary, he thought, where did it even come from, and it’s going to be in our room always now, fuck, it’ll make me hard every time I look at it, seeing you in it makes me want to die in your eyes, baby, and Kenzie was nodding at him, her mouth open again; she’d heard him. “Yes, baby, yes,” Kenzie said, “Yes, it makes me so fucking wet for you, baby, fuck me again. Fuck me. Do as I say.”

He knelt again, obediently, unscrewing the lid on the oil, plunging his fingers into it and rubbing his hands together; the feeling of it was achingly cool and slippery, the bittersweet smell of it drifting into his nose, and he slathered it along his length so his cock shone in the low light; then he rewet his hands with more of it, rubbing it harshly into the lining of Kenzie’s vulva, up into her ass again as he pressed his fingers into her until she was soaking wet with it and glistening under his hand, and she bucked back into his touch, moaning again, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head, her fingernails scraping along the dark wood in front of her, the dark green and gold of her eyes staring into his of blue fire embers. Beloved.

‘Fuck my ass, baby,” she said, letting her little mouth hang open as the words fell from her lips, and in her eyes he saw both the command and the subservience of her desire; saw that she demanded it of him, but also saw her acquiescence; her complete adoration, the adjuration of her love, and the fire of her need to bring him pleasure. I would do anything she told me to do, I would die for her or kill for her, but she would do anything for me, too, she will prostrate herself to me, and be happy to do it, and command me to command her and will obey me when she wants to because it gives her pleasure to do it, and I will obey her in all things, command her to her liking and for her joy, and he knew this utterly.

Duncan let his cock hover over the tight pucker of her ass for a moment more, pulling his fingers out, and they shivered against each other, eyes locked, their thoughts cascading against each other: My Persephone, give yourself to me, your Hades, give me your flowers and your heart and your body and your soul, and I am lost to you forever, for all of time, I am yours now and always, yours alone, I am lost in you, I am yours, body and soul. Then he pushed into her, shockwaves coursing through him at her tightness around his length and they both moaned, overcome with it. Kenzie whimpered with the combined adulation of intense pleasure and low pain, moving her hips under his hands, pushing him further in, almost subconsciously; wanting more from him; wanting him to fuck her deeper, immediately. Duncan moved into her, carefully; he looked up to see both their mouths hung open, lost in the sensation of him inside her this way, their eyes glossy with yearning. “I’m gonna fuck you harder now, angel,” he heard his voice say, low with promise, and Kenzie nodded and let out a little sound that was some combination of a sigh and a moan, words beyond her in this moment. He moved his hips, building up a stronger rhythm-- and he saw Kenzie’s tongue loll out of her mouth as he did, her senses overcome, saw a line of moisture drip down from her vulva onto the carpet in the mirror’s reflection where her cunt pulsed, empty of him but still hungry and building on its desirous need with the wild sensation of his long, aching hardness burying itself in her tight asshole, spreading her to the breaking point.

“Unnng, baby, you’re so big,” she whimpered, and he eased his hands down her back, his fingers coming over her hip to rub into her soaking clit, his other hand coming up to clutch the back of her head, golden hairs tangled in his fingers. “You’re so fucking big, baby, you’re filling me up to the edge, I can’t--I can’t--” She bucked into him again, his cock sliding down into her ass almost to the shaft, and Duncan wondered how long he could hold on, not very fucking long, baby, I don’t think I can, and saw his tongue flick out and lick his lips as she watched him, his need for her overwhelming.

“Kenzie, baby, you’re so tight, angel, you feel so fucking amazing, your little ass around my cock like this, fuck--”

“Go on, baby, fuck me good,” Kenzie smiled a little at that, her head turned up to him, and Duncan was struck with her beauty again, the gold coil of his orgasm falling down through his body bit by bit, struck with the intensity of his love for her, struck by her nature, her spirit, so staggeringly exquisite. “Fuck me good and make me come for you, I’m so close and I wanna come while I stare into your eyes in this gorgeous fucking mirror, baby--” and his fingers pressed down with more insistence into her clit, adoring the sound of her voice, his hair falling over his forehead in his reflection, a moan escaping his lips, his throat bobbing in need, then Kenzie was crying out and shaking violently into him, overcome with his length buried in the wild sensitivity of her ass, her orgasm swooping down onto them like an unseen predator, its hungry jaws closing around her and he held her under a strong, careful grip and watched another long line of moisture drip down from her shivering cunt to the carpet from her reflection in the mirror, her release falling, her voice bleeding into a shriek tinged with a sob as she lost herself in the intensity of her climax, and Duncan felt his eyes roll back as his orgasm rushed forward--”I’m gonna come, Kenzie--is it okay--” and Kenzie was murmuring “Yes, baby, fucking yes, come in my ass, Duncan, baby--” and he did, the heat of it bursting out of him into the wetness of her in a stream he could feel with sharp, scalding clarity, all his need and desire pouring out of him into her, his shudders long and low and prickling along his mind with insane euphoria, and inside the intensity of the orgasm was a darkly powerful energy that was rare--it seemed to coax every droplet out of him, burying itself inside her, needy to belong to her, desperate to be a part of her. All this time they stared at each other; Kenzie’s eyes full of whirling drops of gold, his strangely bright, lit from behind with a blue brazier, and Duncan felt again that he could see the gold ring of her halo, see the delicate outline of her soul, her nature, her spirit, so brilliant and so beautiful and so erotic and heavy in his hands that he felt faint with its weight. Their orgasms drifted out into quietness--their bodies heaved into each other, then shivered into long, overwhelmed breaths, then shuddered down into small, even sighs, and all that time, he stared into his Kenzie, and she stared back into him, the mirror like a bridge between the deepest parts of both of them, like a window into who they were in another world, a divine world full of unspeakable beauty, a place where they were together, also, and exalted in delights far beyond those of earth.

Then the spell seemed to dissipate, and Duncan and Kenzie fell back to solid ground, back into themselves; Duncan crashed back into his own psyche, and he eased himself out of her, wincing a little at how sensitive his cock felt now, wincing at the redness he’d left on her skin; turned her carefully, with terrible gentleness, laying her down, easing himself onto the rug beside her, propping himself up with one long arm as his hand fell along her cheek and her head lay down against the carpet, eyes staring up at him, languid, hazy, her little arms tucked into her stomach, hands falling down between her legs to probe gently at the ache of his worship. Duncan brought his trembling mouth down to her nipple and sucked at it, just for a moment, hand on her hip; then he moved back to gaze at her again. “Kenzie, are you okay?”

She sighed, and her smile sent bursts of gold dust around his heart. “Oh, Duncan. Yes. I feel so good, baby. I could die right here, I feel so fucking good.”

His own smile fell against the shape of her. “Take a shower with me, okay, baby?” he pleaded. Kenzie nodded, sighing again, and Duncan paused for a moment, then pushed himself up, gripping her gently under her arms, lifting her as if she were just a doll; Kenzie weakly brought herself up into his grasp on the balls of her feet, and Duncan steadied her as she stood, wobbly, against him, her tiny body folded into his arms as he pressed kisses into her forehead against her hairline, into the sweet scent of her hair.

In the shower Duncan pressed his hands softly into her, sponging sweet-smelling jasmine soap down her back, soothing the ache of him from her body, his face pressed into the soaking fall of her hair, pushing it gently aside with worshipping hands, rubbing softly at her neck, between her shoulder blades. Kenzie was quiet, and Duncan knew she didn’t want to speak right now, innately; her mind was full of dazzling bursts of gold light, and it was all he could see of her in this moment, and he felt her joy, the effervescence of her happiness, the intensity of her affection, overwhelming her. “I can’t wait to hold you on the beach all day tomorrow, baby,” he whispered into her ear, bringing the soft sponge around to the front of her body, pressing it first with aching gentleness down between her legs and then around his cock, now limp with release, and Kenzie sighed into his neck and nodded, still not saying anything, but Duncan knew she felt the same way, felt her gold emotions pressing into his skin, blessing him.

As they folded against each other (naked tonight, damp hair against the black pillows, her arms tucked into his chest, their feet touching, in their bed) Duncan felt himself drift away almost immediately in sleep, the darkness falling all around them, and he knew Kenzie was drifting away too, could feel the soft settling of her body against him, the sweet smell of her skin filling his senses, only the moon’s waxing eye falling down on them--and he didn’t know it, but that night both he and Kenzie dreamed about being together in that other place, that place of exalted delights far beyond those of earth, though in the morning, neither of them remembered.

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hopevalley · 5 years

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I just want to thank you for keeping this public. I have promoted you on Twitter and will continue to do so. I want to help in any way I can.

I debated all morning on how to reply to this. I know this is reference to Melinda making her blog private for Tumblr users only, and I think it’s important for me to express my opinion on that situation.

But first: thank you for the Twitter promotion! I have a Twitter account, but I admit I rarely use it (because I find it confusing to use lol). It’s @july_skies !

Regarding Melinda’s decision to privatize her blog: I support it. She works hard on her content and deserves to feel that people who like it will be capable of supporting it in a direct way (reblogs specifically). Nothing sucks more than making stuff and seeing that nobody’s looking at it or enjoying it, and whether or not that’s what it seems like to (general) you, that’s how it comes across when people don’t reblog her stuff. It’s depressing. It’s like she’s throwing her hard work right into the void.

While I’m on the subject, I’d like to talk about content creation a little more, to help give you guys a better idea of fandom and your place as a consumer of fanworks; I know a lot of you might be new to the concept, and you can’t know if nobody thinks to tell you.

For my “credentials,” let’s just say I’ve been a content creator for more than half my life and there’s something we lifers call fandom participation or fandom engagement. They are more or less the same thing, and the terminology boils down to us answering this question: “How is the fandom at large engaging with our content?”

In the last handful of years, participation is down across the board. When I first got into writing fanfiction I’d get at least 40 comments on anything I wrote. Many of my works ended up with 60+ comments on them!

Now I’m lucky if anyone comments at all, especially in this fandom. Again, it’s a problem everywhere, but I still get comments on fanfic I posted five years ago in other fandoms; meanwhile, this one remains relatively silent.

I post on AO3 for two big reasons. 1) ACCESSIBILITY. AO3′s site layout is easy to read! It’s easy to format! It’s friendly to people with issues seeing small print! And then we have 2) I do it to give people the option of commenting anonymously (in case they’re shy or nervous).

Having an account there isn’t required at all. People just choose not to engage with me when I post fanfiction.

It feels bad to spend hours of your time on something only to see 0 notes/comments/likes/reblogs/whatever on it later. Four ‘likes’ doesn’t feel that good either. Did people actually like it? Are they pity-likes? Do they even care? People mindlessly ‘like’ a lot of things; maybe they did that with your content, too. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy seeing ‘likes’ but a ‘like’ is more or less an acknowledgement that they’ve seen the content, not that they enjoyed it or want more of it.

Also, likes/kudos don’t draw in more readers: comments do. When a reader’s scrolling down the front page of their favorite AO3 fandom, they click on the ‘fics that look like they might be ‘good’ and even though it’s not always TRUE that the ‘best’ stories have the most comments, a lot of readers filter by the number of comments!

Comments tell other readers: this is worth checking out!

Let’s look at a quick example of one of my ‘fics:

This is from my AO3 account, a random WCtH fanfic. It’s not a long one, but it’s not short either. It’s a reasonable read in terms of time spent to read it, and as you can see 185 people clicked on it, 14 people ‘liked’ it (kudos are “likes”), and I have two comments: one of those comments is @trash-god and the other is me replying to her comment.

Her comment isn’t ‘less than’ because she’s a close friend, but she and I spoke at length about this story on Discord and her comment was just a nice little ‘addition’ to that conversation. Sure, the story’s about characters not many people care about, but look at that: 185 hits on the story. 14 likes. And only one person who read it took five seconds to leave a comment? Really? What about the 13 other people who ‘liked’ it?

What this says to me as a creator is that the ONLY person who is going to comment is the one person who might feel obligated to, and if that’s the case, why don’t I just save my stories to show her privately? Why bother posting them out into the void to hear nothing but silence from everyone else?

This is the direction that @whencallstheheart is coming from. What’s the point of spending hours creating these things when nobody interacts with you? Posting to silence feels bad. And look, to put it into perspective, editing gifs to post, writing fanfic, doing write-ups, maintenance of a blog, site, or social media presence: it’s super time-consuming.

Melinda and I both work full-time jobs as it is. My job hit full busy season and I’m even getting overtime now. I’m in training to take over the department next year and I’m tired at the end of the day. When I get home I have eight cats, a house to take care of, and a spouse, not to mention my in-laws live right next door and need help sometimes. We also have a property we just planted 1500 trees on by hand that we have to monitor, and my husband owns a house we rent to someone that needs work done on it, too. Sometimes, life is busy.

And don’t get me wrong! I enjoy creating, just like I’m sure Melinda does. I feel awful if I can’t “create.”

But if my choices are:

work for five hours on a fanfic or episode write-up only to get 4 likes on it, OR

play a video game or watch a movie or read a book or sit on the deck watchin’ the sun go down while I work on a crocheting project…

The latter definitely appeals to me more knowing I have to get up in the morning to go back to work again. My time is worth something. Neither Melinda nor I are getting paid to create this content. We put it together for free, in what spare time we have, in the midst of our own chaotic lives. My website costs me a chunk of money every year to keep up and running ad-free, and I could get all 1500 trees weeded in the amount of time it takes me to put together an episode write-up or decent fanfic.

All content creators ask for in exchange for their free labor is a sense of community, and that can be anything from:

comments on fanfics you enjoyed, even if they are just to say, “I read this and enjoyed it.”

messages that say, “I really like how [this edit you did] turned out.”

reblogs on Tumblr, retweets on Twitter, emails to website owners

you can even create your own blog and use it to begin conversations with those creators!

You guys have been pretty good about engaging with the show itself through us, but don’t forget to engage with the content you enjoy seeing that comes about because of the show.

Fandom content keeps the show alive even when it’s not currently airing, and supporting content creators keeps them creating. Everyone wins, then!

To talk specifically about written content...

Readers are the ones who ensure more material is created. Hands down.

And again: I love writing!! I DO. I’ve been writing seriously for more years of my life than I haven’t been writing seriously! But it’s disheartening to post a fanfic and get my one obligation comment.

Now, it’s fine if you don’t read fanfiction or even enjoy it. It’s also fine if the things I’ve posted aren’t to your specific tastes. Trust me, I get it; nobody is obligated to comment on my fanfiction, and I don’t want anyone to feel that they should be.

But please know this: if you do enjoy something, whether it’s fanfic or edits or something else, you NEED to engage with it, or it WILL disappear. People don’t like talking to walls. It’s frustrating and it isn’t a good use of their time.

(This is one of the reasons I haven’t bothered doing a novelization of the series. It could be fun, but for 0 comments it’s not worth spending the time on.)

Again, you guys have been great when it comes to engaging with the show material, particularly while the show is airing. It’s been fun speculating with you and hearing all of your different thoughts. I know sometimes Tumblr doesn’t make it easy to communicate, either, and you’ve all done a great job of getting around that.

But in between seasons things get slow on this blog and it’s hard for me (or anyone running a blog) to feel motivated to provide content of any sort if you’re not going to take the time to engage in it.

I’ll never mark this blog as private, but if I get to the point where I can’t get any engagement from the fans, I’ll shut it down. The point of having a “fandom blog” is to interact with other fans.

I enjoy providing content to you guys, but if participation drops off to nothing, I’ll be taking that as my signal that the audience is gone and my time would be better spent elsewhere.

So if you’re here and you’re enjoying things, don’t forget to take a little time out of your day to let your content creators know! Not just me and Melinda, of course, but your favorite people on Instagram, Twitter, and other sites as well. ♥ You might be surprised how happy they’ll be to receive interaction from other fans.

And another plug for fanfiction, because 1) they always get the short end of things considering how hard it is to amass the creative energy necessary to tell a good story, and 2) I noticed it’s the #2 page on my website getting visited: if you’ve enjoyed anything you’ve read for When Calls the Heart, tell the author! Here’s the section for WCtH on AO3! Is English not your native language/you’re not confident in your ability to write English? No worries! I’ve gotten many thoughtful comments in other languages and from people who spoke limited English, and trust me: I treasured every one. If you’re just not sure how to comment on fanfic, send me a message and I’ll give you some tips!

I don’t intend this as a slight against my anonymous friend up there AT ALL; I think it can be hard to be in fandom, especially if you’re newer to the scene. There’s a lot of history that’s long gone by now and missing out on it means it’s harder to step into fandom without also accidentally stepping on toes.

Sometimes we take for granted that we have an almost unlimited supply of fanfiction, gifs, memes, blogs, and so on at our disposal. But none of that comes from thin air and it never did. It’s the cumulative hard work of millions of people throwing their hearts and souls into something they’re passionate about in an effort to engage with other fans.

I hope this helped put things into perspective a bit!! Sending love at all of you that stuck around this far; I know it was quite a bit of a ramble LOL!

#when calls the heart #anonymously asked #answered mail #thank you for the kind comment but here's my perspective #in the hopes that you'll understand melinda's a little more #the lack of engagement gets me down too tbh #if i felt people would comment on and want to talk to me about #a novelization i'd start writing it tomorrow

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lindsaydoeslanguages · 5 years

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The Ultimate Guide to Using Genius for Language Learning

Genius. You know, that lyrics website with the viral memes spawned from their sometimes very odd YouTube ‘Verified’ interviews. Not exactly the first thing that comes to mind when you think of language learning. But, it could be worth adding to your bookmarks. Here’s my guide to using Genius for language learning.

Spoiler alert before we dive right in. What I found in my research for this post is that this is only a useful technique for popular songs, and even then it’s not guaranteed to be a useful tool. But…when it does work, it works really well. So that’s why I’m sharing this with you.

Free Music Study Pack

Do you like to use music for language learning? You’re in luck! Loads of people love the Netflix Study Pack I made a while back, so I figured it would be a helpful addition to your study resources to have a (free!) Music Study Pack too.

Click the image below to get your copy now.

Step 1: Picking Your Artist

Like I mentioned above, this tool doesn’t work for everyone. So toss aside that obscure Korean indie band and embrace the mega huge K-pop, just this one time.

When I tested this for artists in a few languages, I found varied luck with Rosalía, Stromae, BTS, and BLACKPINK among others.

So to pick your artists, first start with a song you actually like (always helps). Then search it on Genius. Simple!

I’ll be using Rosalía as my example for this article.

Step 2: Read the Artist Page

When we look at Rosalía’s artist page, we’ve got links to her most popular song lyrics on the right side, and any video content featuring that artist and a short bio on the left.

For Rosalía, we’re really lucky because the bio is in both Spanish and English!

Also, we’ve got a couple of videos. These are in English but we do get to hear bits of Spanish when she recites lyrics.

Step 3: Song Lyrics and Description

We’re going to click on MALAMENTE because that’s the most popular, so likely to have most annotations, comments, and other helpful stuff.

First of all on the next page, you’ll see the lyrics and a short overview of the song to the right with any additional information not applicable to specific lyrics, but to the song in general. It’ll look like this:

You might also spot translations under that description on the right. Again, we luck out here and have English, French, and Italian. But more on that later.

Below that (out of view on the image above) you sometimes get a little “What has the artists said about this song?” section, with links and explanations too.

Related: 12 Spanish Bands and Singers to Learn Spanish (If You Hate Reggaeton)

Step 4: Annotations

After a first look through the lyrics to check what you already understand, click any lyric that’s highlighted grey (which on this song is all of them, but on others may be less).

When you do this, you’ll now see annotations on the right side, including comments underneath. It’ll look something like this:

Most will likely be just words but some will include links out to sources, videos, and more about the song. For example, on the chorus of this song, we get a video embedded with a 30 minute explanation from Rosalía responding to a YouTube video analysis of the song. It’s like meta meta meta.

Step 5: Translations

Coming back to the main page, after really diving into the lyrics and annotations (hopefully including some target language annotations!) you can check out the translations.

You might get some additional annotations on the translation, but probably not as much. Here’s the English translation, which has a couple of additional annotations explaining a Spanish expression and an Andalusian expression. You likely wouldn’t find these on the original lyrics.

Personally, I still prefer Lyrics Translate when it comes to translations. Hopefully Genius will improve in this area in the future, but it’s all community led so depends on that.

Step 6: Community

As I just mentioned, Genius is quite community-led in terms of annotations and translations. To support that, certain regions and countries have public forums. And, of course, the majority of posts will be in the language(s) of each region.

Here’s a full list of those forums.

To take a look at one, simply click and scroll down the right side bar that appears until you see ‘Genius Forum’. Click that.

Here’s what you’ll see…

Another useful community feature on Genius is this list of users who have submitted their language info.

You can use this list to click through to their profiles, which lists their annotations. This makes it easy to find songs with annotations in different languages. Woohoo!

For example, here’s the Spanish Community Leader’s profile with their pinned annotations starting on the right side.

Step 7: Learn Song Terminology Vocab

There’s a really helpful list here of song terminology vocabulary in different languages. (And it really gets me thinking how well this format of website would work for learning multiple languages…!)

Things like verse, chorus, bridge etc. Take a look…

Step 8: Contribute yourself!

Quite advanced with a language and feeling really confident with your knowledge of a song or two? Try contributing annotations yourself!

Much like you’ll see when you start searching for annotations of lyrics, this could be in your target language or native language.

This is the one step of using Genius I haven’t tried myself yet, but feel free to give it a go!

Here’s some key community guidelines to get you started.

Free Music Study Pack

Ready to take music and language learning even further? I’ve made you a little something: the Music Study Pack.

This Study Pack gives you worksheets to use before, during and after listening to your new favourite song. So you’ve supported throughout. And it’s totally free.

Click the image below to download your free Music Study Pack.

Watch me Walk You Through All This!

I made a little video showing you how I used Genius with Rosalía’s MALAMENTE. Take a look here to see how this all works in reality.

youtube

Related: The Ultimate Guide to Spotify for Language Learning

The post The Ultimate Guide to Using Genius for Language Learning appeared first on Lindsay Does Languages.

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#Language Learning

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harryandmolly · 6 years

Text

like the back of my hand - 2018 (part one)

Summary: a relationship within a collection of moments

Warnings: language, sexual references

Word count: 10.6k (ish)

July 4, 2018

The first time he sees her she looks like the drunken reality version of a fairy tale.

She’s wrangling a truly enormous golden dragon pool float with a wingspan of about 10 feet, reaching from the edge of the pool to try to drag it closer. He notices her hair first. A sweeping wave of reddish gold falls over her fair, heat-pinked skin. By the noises she’s making, he knows she’s frustrated. Her curtain of hair is too thick to see through. She’s short and strong – he can see the tone in her arm muscles as she reaches and holds her balance with dancer-like precision. Her legs are striking, too, thick and white and sculpted. Before she even turns around, he hears the words in his head.

Oh, fuck.

And then she does turn around and seats herself delicately on the back of the dragon, taking her bottle of Stella Artois Cidre with her for the ride. She kicks off the side with little pink toes and makes a jokingly strained face as she paddles out beside a petite blonde sitting nervously on a float shaped like a rosé bottle. His heart rattles when she laughs at something the rosé girl said. Her whole body convulses with it. She’s probably a little drunk, but she looks so alive. Her full lips drop open and a cackle rolls out. She clasps at her chest and holds her drink away to avoid disaster. When she calms down, she seems to feel his eyes. She looks over. He waits for a shock of recognition on her face. He feels his heart stumble yet again when she smiles politely, a ghost of curiosity in her gaze. She might recognize him vaguely but she doesn’t know who he is.

He isn’t the tortured “I just want to be normal” artist. He really doesn’t mind that every woman he meets these days knows him, his face, his music, parts of his story. He gets off on the rock star aspects sometimes. But this time, this girl, something makes him react differently. He’s enamored. Every new little thing he notices in that span of ten seconds he spends staring at her makes him want to giggle.

His friend has to grab at his arm to get his attention. With only a few pre-gamed beers in him, he’s able to refocus. He meets his friend’s friend Casey, a twenty-something lesbian feature film producer who lives in the host house with five roommates. Casey has big white teeth, short cropped hair and a thick southern accent. She’s friendly and tells him she likes his music, especially “Lost in Japan.” He thanks her graciously and compliments the house.

“It’s a little crazy, honestly. All of us can’t believe we get to live here. Where are my other roommates? Uh…. I think Emily’s inside with the weed. Caroline’s over there,” she points to an outdoor sectional next to a set of glass doors, “Sammi and Lilly are in the pool—”

He doesn’t hear anything else when he sees who she pointed to. Dragon girl and her smaller, frecklier rosé friend have locked arms to keep from floating away as they discuss something that looks important, if not just interesting. He doesn’t know which one is Sammi and which is Lilly but he needs to find out.

In the pool, she’s listening to Sammi tell a story about paying her brother and his friend in tequila and wine to move her into their current house. She looks up at the back of the tall curly-haired guy that walked in. She can feel celebrity on him. He didn’t roll up with an entourage or make any kind of entrance, though. He looks very normal, but too hot in that “he’s definitely famous” sort of way. She can’t place him, though. She scrolls through her mental rolodex of things she enjoys that were meant for a youth audience, given that he looks younger than her – Disney Channel shows from when she nannied? Old Teen Wolf guest star?

“Sam,” she hisses, nodding in his direction, “Is he… somebody recognizable?”

Sammi looks over her shoulder and clocks him. She turns her head back, blue eyes wide under curly lashes, looking genuinely shocked. “That’s Shawn Mendes.”

“Oh! Right! He did that sad song from the new Fast and the Furious movie?”

“No,” Sammi laughs, “That’s Charlie Puth. Shawn Mendes did “Stitches” and “Mercy” and stuff like that.”

“Oh!” she cries again, slapping the water with a flat palm, “Yes! I love “Stitches.” Shit, I should be talking quieter. I guess Casey knows him.”

“I think Casey knows the guy with him, I think he was here at the Memorial Day party.”

“God, look at us with our A-listers at our house,” Lilly hums, looking impressed with them. Sammi matches her expression and wiggles her eyebrows.

“He’s young, though, right? Like 17?” Lilly continues, eyeing him cautiously.

“I think he’s older than that,” Sammi murmurs as their floats drift closer to where Shawn and Casey and company stand.

“I hope so,” Lilly whispers. Sammi snorts a laugh and kicks at her float. Lilly kicks back and Sammi squeals, clinging to the edge to keep from unseating her bottle. The noise catches Casey’s attention.

“Guys, these are two of my roommates, Sammi and Lilly. Ladies, my friend Greg and his friend Shawn.”

“Hi,” Sammi laughs, weakly reaching up a hand while she stays close to the edge for support. Lilly giggles as she watches them shake. Since she’s too far from them to make contact, she waves.

She wants to slide off the dragon and hide underwater when he smiles at her. His cheeks are a little flushed, perhaps from the heat or the alcohol. He has the slightest divot in his chin. His hair has just enough product in it to look really cool. He’s tall, too, over six feet, she guesses. Too bad he’s a teenager.

She floats closer to the edge of the pool and reaches a foot out to hold onto the stone, her legs separating a bit as she does. He has a question or a comment ready to engage them but loses it entirely.

“You wanna get in?” Greg prompts, angling his head at the pool.

“Yeah,” Shawn croaks, looking away from the legs he wants to be crushed and killed by, “Let’s get some beers.”

They stroll off to the coolers. Casey bends to reach Sammi when she sits up.

“You know Shawn Mendes?” Sammi hisses. Casey grins and bobs her head.

“I didn’t think he was coming. No, I mean, I know Greg through Kingsley. I’ve never met Shawn.”

“How old is he?” Lilly whispers. Casey shoots her a dangerous look.

“He’s 19, girl. Get in on it.”

She barks a laugh in response. “19. Please. God. The last thing I need.”

Casey, ever wise, raises an eyebrow and cocks her head. “I dunno, dude, I’m gay as they come and I can see the appeal there.”

“As can every teenage girl in this country between the ages of 13-18. I have to grow out of that sometime.”

Casey cedes, throwing up her hands and noticing another group of friends to chat with. Sammi turns the rosé bottle toward Lilly.

“I think you should, too,” she mentions, feigning casual. Lilly rolls her eyes.

“Can you imagine? God. Maybe he’d write a song about me,” Lilly teases.

Sammi opens her mouth to respond when Greg and Shawn return, beer bottles in hand, stripped down to bathing suits. Shawn, after quick consultation with Greg over the coolers, takes his shot and sits on the edge closest to Lilly.

“I like your dragon.”

She looks up at him and down at her floatation device. “Oh, thanks,” she chuckles dryly.

“The rosé floaté is cuter,” Sammi argues playfully, jumping in when she realizes Lilly is going to turn in on herself and not engage.

“I think the unicorn floating beer koozies are the cutest,” Lilly replies, using the excuse to hunt for one as a way not to look at him and feel her resolve turn to mush.

Shawn picks up the one bobbing against his leg and hands it to her with what he hopes is a smooth half-smirk. She takes it with a smile that barely resembles a smile, her eye contact with him shorter than with a passing stranger. He feels a little defeated, so he sucks down half the bottle of beer in a gulp.

Slowly, though, as he and Greg ease their way into the cool water to stand with Sammi and Lilly on their floats in the shallow end, occasionally reaching out to hold them as they threaten to drift, the dynamics shift. Lilly opens back up, much to Sammi’s delight and encouragement, and actually does crack jokes and ask questions and make prolonged eye contact, though still more with Greg than Shawn.

“So are you just in town for 4thof July or?”

Shawn doesn’t realize the question is directed only at him until he looks up and sees her big blue eyes looking straight at him.

“Oh! Uh, no. I’m here for a couple meetings. We’re planning stuff for 2019,” he says, bobbing his head casually.

“That’s intimidating. I don’t even have a plan beyond my next sip of cider. Do I get another? Do I stop? Do I lie back on this dragon and contemplate the meaning of my existence?”

He cracks up at her dry humor. “I don’t know about your existence, but I’m getting out to grab another beer. Want a refill?”

She smiles at him genuinely, her lips curling up as she tilts her head affectionately. “Yes please.”

She drops the last sip down her throat. He watches it as she swallows and feels himself do the same. His fingers brush hers as he takes the empty bottle. She pretends not to watch his back muscles pucker and flex as he lifts himself out of the pool. She also pretends not to google him while he fetches their drinks. He hopes she didn’t see the little jog-skip he does to return to her faster. She does and hopes he doesn’t see her blush in response.

They spend hours together like that in the pool, trading positions – Sammi on the dragon, Greg on the bottle, Lilly and Shawn sitting together on the edge. Shawn on the dragon, Sammi on the bottle, Greg and Lilly keeping them from floating away as they talk about anything. Sammi’s boyfriend Drew leads her away around sundown. Greg, upon realizing Sammi has a boyfriend, wanders off but encourages Shawn and Lilly to stay. His blessing doesn’t matter by that point. By hour five, Shawn had found his soul mate.

He’s enchanted to say the least. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight but damn if this wasn’t the closest to it he’s ever felt. Every shift of her body on the ledge of the pool makes his heart kick up a beat. Every time she swishes her feet in the water and comes within inches of brushing him feels electric. Every question she asks him seems like the most thoughtful, most important thing in the world. She teases him, she listens to him, she smiles at him, she confides in him. She is perfect.

She is trying so hard not to see it. He’s a 19 year old that looks 22 and she doesn’t think that is at all fair. She also hasn’t been kissed since 2014 which strikes her as more of the same. He watches her every move closely in a way that feels less predatory than boyishly fascinated. She feels beautiful and a little powerful. When he takes her hand to help her off the float and lead her out of the pool in search of burgers and hot dogs, she should’ve let go immediately. It isn’t fair to her or to him to linger, but he is becoming addictive.

She does retract her hand from his much larger one when they reach the stairs. She takes the railing instead and notices the contrast between the cool metal and his radiating masculine heat. She still feels it behind her, though, as they climb the stairs. He notices with a sigh that her hair smells like chlorine and strawberries. It’s drying into sticky chunks on her peachy back. He wants to gather it all in his hands and run his fingers through it while he sings to her.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

He shuts that thought down before it went anywhere sappier.

They eat together on the sectional outside her bedroom, wrapped up in the house’s beach towels. He has a burger, she has a hot dog. They share a bowl of chips and salsa. He asks about growing up as an only child, she asks about Toronto. After another two drinks each, he leans in closer and she lets him with the excuse that the fully set sun is reducing her visibility. He asks her about her unfinished screenplay. She asks him about what he’s writing.

He’s drunkenly convinced they are in love by the time they’re climbing the stairs with the rest of the party stragglers to reach the balcony for fireworks. He stands close behind her while they burst, watching her face more often than the actual light show. Emily dutifully shoos everyone back downstairs for the rest of the party. The palm tree twinkly lights come on now in the full darkness, giving the whole pool deck a romantic glow. He can’t help himself. He brushes his hand against hers as they walk down the stairs. He reaches out to open the gate and starts to say something about being really happy he tagged along with Greg when he feels the locking bar swing out and hit him right in the lip.

“Oh, shit,” Lilly groans as Shawn gasps and grabs his mouth. The other partygoers don’t seem to notice.

“Fuck, I did this literally twice this week alone. C’mon, I have an ice pack in my room.” She ushers him back up the stairs and down into the basement.

He’s embarrassed, but hell, he gets to see her room.

She seats him on the bed calmly and almost maternally. He looks around, poking the inside of the offending wound with his tongue and wincing. Her room is stylistically a little bare; he can tell she just moved in. She has white pillar candles in the fireplace as decoration which he thinks is cool. He likes that her bedspread is yellow.

He looks up at her sheepishly as she hands him the blue freezer pack wrapped in a paper towel.

“This thing’s been getting a workout,” she jokes, sitting beside him and watching as he brings the ice pack up to meet his reddened lip. She bites down on hers and scoots a little closer to him, her brain hazy but aware enough that she has a man in her room, sitting on her bed.

“Am I bleeding?” he murmurs, his eyebrows pulling together as he lowers the pack. She leans in to inspect, shaking her head.

“No, just a little swollen. Keep the ice on it.”

They’re silent for a few slightly uncomfortable minutes. She wonders if this means she really can’t kiss him now. What, is she crazy? Of course she can’t.

He pulls the ice pack away again and licks his lips. He looks at her. She smirks.

“Yup. Still pretty.”

He blushes and ducks his head.

“You have such pretty lips,” she confesses, letting out an aggravated sigh. He shivers and grins at her, opening his mouth to respond when he sees her face go blank.

“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with me?” she says to herself, deadpan, “You’re a 19 year old rock star.”

“Well… thank you for calling me a rock star,” he begins uncertainly. She snorts.

“This is so not a good idea for me,” she says again, mostly to herself. He doesn’t pick up on that.

“Why not?” His voice is a little pouty, and a little hurt underneath that.

“Because I’m not ‘casual kiss at party’ girl. And I just moved here. I don’t even have friends yet. If I don’t have friends yet, I shouldn’t be kissing the ones I just made, that’s bad planning.”

“You don’t have to be ‘casual kiss at party’ girl.”

She shoots him a look that shuts down wherever that could be going. “You’re 19. The only girls in your life right now are ‘casual kiss at party’ girls. As it should be.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“No, I guess you had to get into it a little to write the songs you do,” she concedes, folding her legs towards him. He does notice that.

“I get what you might be thinking. It makes sense. But I don’t do this a lot,” he says gently.

“What, run into iron gates with your perfect, pouty man lips?” she groans, falling back onto the bedspread and grabbing at her Olaf pillow pet.

He chuckles and looks at her fondly. “Casual kissing at parties. I don’t do it a lot. I’m not ‘cool music industry’ guy. I just… I saw you tonight on the dragon and talking to Sammi and I felt like my stomach fell out.”

She’s not used to being told anything like this. She’s trying to decide whether to believe him or decide he’s saying what he needs to. His eyes are earnest. She pulls herself back up to sit and sigh.

“You’re fucking adorable.”

“Thank you, so are you.”

“But I’m not mature enough for this. So I’m not kissing you, Mendes.”

He shrugs, resigned. “That’s ok. The universe seems to not like the idea of my kissing anyone tonight.”

She looks up him. His eyes are turned down to his lap and he looks a little bummed. She wants to suck that swollen bottom lip between her teeth and feel him moan. She shakes that idea off and instead brushes a hand through his hair.

“Stupid universe.”

She holds onto her resolve long enough to get him back upstairs with the rest of her roommates and the remaining guests. He was among the last to leave, her number as his parting gift.

He doesn’t wait 24 hours to text her. He waits 9 – just after he wakes up on the hot, dry morning of July 5th. He thanks her for a great party and tells her he’ll be back in town in a few weeks and he wants to see her.

I’d like that. And now I’ve listened to your music and definitely won’t mix you up with Charlie Puth again!

He lives for that text. Even as they continue their conversation, he scrolls back up just to look at it and laugh.

Ok I just listened to “Mercy.” First of all, I fucking love it. Second of all, who hurt you??? I’ll fuck ‘em up.

He responds to tell her it’s not about a girl, actually.

Bullshit. Don’t protect her.

He insists it’s about loving something that’s difficult, like his music career. She begs off.

An hour later, she texts him again.

I just watched your Carpool Karaoke. I think I’m in love with you now.

He responds, are you just watching every video of me on youtube???

Maybe, she replies.

He loves that idea.

++++++++

August 12th, 2018

“So you really thought I was Charlie Puth?” he sighs.

“Yes. I mean, no… I mean… listen—”

He interrupts her flustered babbling with a laugh so she knows he’s teasing her.

“I knew you both existed. It’s not like I had never heard of you. I knew there was a Charlie Puth and a Shawn Mendes but I didn’t know which one of you was which. If he had come strolling into my backyard, I would’ve wondered if he was you. But Sammi told me who you were before I could make a fool of myself.”

“Thank god for Sammi,” Shawn replies. It sounds like the end of the conversation. With a pang, she realizes she doesn’t really want him to hang up.

“I gotta go, it’s so late here and I have to try to knock out a few hours of sleep. I’m glad I accidentally called you though,” he laughs, standing with his phone and walking to the trash with his empty food containers.

“I really enjoyed it, call me on purpose sometime and we can continue our discussion about why people should’ve been listening to Zenon, girl of the 21st century the whole damn time.”

He barks a laugh and it shakes one out of her in response. She bites her lip as he settles and waves goodbye, signing off with a nod.

++++++++

August 17th, 2018

“So you have a song on the soundtrack but never saw the movie?! C’mon, Shawn,” she groaned, tipping her head back against the cushion. When he asked to Facetime her a few days later, she was in bed watching old Gilmore Girls episodes and feeling sorry for herself when an interview she booked with a film production company was abruptly canceled because they hired someone else.

Lilly decided stepping outside felt more neutral than sitting in bed, even though the sun was going down. And he was snuggled up on his hotel room couch in Tokyo in a hoodie looking like absolute boyfriend material.

“I know, I know, that’s bad,” he laughed, nodding and ducking his head shamefully.

“The movie’s so good! Actually, the second one’s even better. And the music is better in the second one.”

After a moment of quiet, she realized what she’d said. She fixed her gaze back on the screen and saw him look mock offended. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Oh my god! I didn’t mean that.”

“You definitely did though,” he chuckled.

“I mean… listen, your song wasn’t in the movie. Maybe that was what it needed, that would’ve put it over the top,” she babbled.

“Sure. Ok.”

+++++

August 20th, 2018

Shawn: God I haven’t been to the beach in so long

Lilly: Well, we should go when you come back. I’ve been meaning to go out and see Malibu. You down?

Shawn: Hell yeah, Malibu is dope.

She can’t believe how excited she is to see him again. Every time she feels her mind wander to how he looked in her pool with a beer in hand, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the conversation with her, she chants the number 20 in her head.

She remembers being 20. During her 20th year, she changed her major to journalism for no good reason and fell madly in love with a very damaged boy named Bennett who treated her like garbage. She cringes when she thinks of herself at 20.

She knows it’s not fair to assume he’s as stupid as she was then, or even to suggest that she is a pillar of wisdom now at 24. But he’s also a pop star. When he left her room that night after returning her ice pack and planting a kiss on her cheek, she looked him up on Tumblr and found the multitudes of women lusting after him as she expected. That kind of attention makes her nervous. He has no reason to be interested in a serious relationship and she’s secure enough to admit that’s what she wants at this point in her life. But she can’t deny how much she already likes him. She’s sure if she spends more time with him and sees the speed at which his life moves, it will erase any idea of more from her mind.

But as she’s cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway with him in her passenger seat looking out the window and grinning hard, it’s difficult to imagine feeling differently.

He’s picking through her iTunes playlists, gently teasing some choices and praising others. They bounce between classic rock, country, top 40 of various eras, and, at her insistence, some of his music.

“I just bought your entire discography for the purpose of forcing you into my own personal Carpool Karaoke. So sing, monkey!” she cries, slapping her hands on the wheel as they get stuck dead in traffic again somewhere around Thousand Oaks.

He’s laughing. She has such a sharp wit, he can’t help but delight in it. He gives in, because he thinks she just really wants to hear him sing and he wants to make her smile, maybe show off a little.

“Ok, fine, which one do you want me to sing?” He feels himself going pink and turns his face to look out the window at the disgruntled travelers.

She debates internally, bobbing her head back and forth. “Well, I really like “Stitches” because I’ve actually had that song for a while but the last few days I’ve been really into “Nervous.””

He nods once and selects it from her playlist. “”Nervous” it is.”

She bounces in her seat, grinning from ear to ear, nodding as he starts getting into it, belting it out just for her. Soon they’re both blushing and enthralled by each other but pretending not to be. When he finishes the song, she’s biting hard on her lower lip to tamp down her smitten smile, shaking her head.

“Thank you for indulging me. You… are a very good singer.”

He snorts and sits back, satisfied, and thanks her quietly. He’s silent for a comfortable minute, then he gets an idea. “I wanna hear you sing.”

“No, you don’t,” she corrects him, widening her eyes at the road, not daring to look at him. Her reaction only makes him push harder.

“Now I really do! Come on, pick a song.”

“No.”

“Pick a song or I pick for you.”

“Pick any song you want, you can’t force me to sing.”

“No, but if I put something on you really like you’ll start singing anyway.” He grabs her phone and starts perusing her options. “Ok… oh shit, yeah, One Direction, perfect.”

“Oh my god,” she giggles nervously, knowing he’s right.

“What’s your favorite One Direction song?”

She sighs dramatically. “I mean… if you’re going to make me sing, I want it to be something I can actually sing well enough.”

He’s shifting in his seat with excitement, his black board shorts crinkling. “Ok, what are we picking, eh?”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes at his accent. “Maybe… Taylor Swift?”

“Ok,” he nods, tapping on her phone to pull up some options. She feels her heart throb harder. He scrolls, impressed by the amount of songs she has to choose from.

“Do “You Belong with Me.” I can… kind of sing that. I think. We’re gonna find out. I hate you, by the way.”

“Shut up and sing,” he snaps jokingly. When the song starts, she shakes her head.

“Wait, no, no, not this one.”

“Oh, come on…”

“No, do “Fearless.” I can do “Fearless.” I’ll do “Fearless.”” Her words stumble out fast and a little scrambled. He would feel bad about putting her on the spot, but she’s so cute when she’s nervous.

The instrumental part starts and she’s trying not to smile but the way he’s looking at her is making that hard. The first verse is well within her normal range. She croons along seriously, trying to show off whatever talent she honed in her short-lived vocal classes back when the only thing she wanted to be in life was Hayley Williams. She’s watching the road carefully as the verse opens up to the bouncier, louder chorus. She raises her voice along with Taylor’s and sees him smile wider in her periphery as she gets into it.

She turns sincere around the bridge and leans her head back, reaching up into falsetto. He tilts his head back too and watches her, fascinated. He wants to press repeat when the song ends and make her go again. Even better, he wants to make her sing every song on her phone. When it fades out, Lilly purses her lips and ducks her head.

“That was really good,” he insists, wondering if she doesn’t know. She sighs, knowing he really couldn’t say otherwise.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll keep my day job. Just kidding, don’t have one.”

He notes the way she deflects with humor. He shakes his head, hoping maybe if he keeps singing, she’ll join him. They flip through more songs in her summer playlist. It’s heavily populated by country artists he doesn’t know. She is pleased to educate him. When “Driving All Night” by Jake Owen comes on, they’re both quiet, bobbing their heads as the Pacific comes into view.

“You should cover this song,” she murmurs shyly, glancing at him.

“You think?”

“Yeah. I love this song. It’s so sexy and romantic. And you’d sound better than Jake Owen anyway.”

He pulls out his phone. She doesn’t think anything of it until he opens his notes app and looks at her earnestly. “What’s it called?”

“You’re writing it down?”

“Yeah, I’ll give it a shot. What’s it called?”

She’s baffled, giggling. “It’s “Driving All Night” by Jake Owen. You’re gonna cover it just because I told you to? That’s too much power for me.”

He smiles. “I won’t post it anywhere. I’ll just record it and send it to you.”

She takes a deep breath and exhales. It’s hanging there between them. He’s being so sweet to her, they both know what he means by it. He decides to try to tone it down a little.

They arrive at Zuma Beach, marveling at the lack of people despite the gorgeous summer day. It bodes well, though, for keeping them out of the tabloids. He insists on paying for parking since she drove. She winks at him when he hands her his platinum Amex to hand to the parking attendant. He rolls his eyes and snickers at her.

They set up to the left of one of the lifeguard stations with chairs and towels. They settle in next to each other facing the water and Lilly moans.

“This is amazing. I’ve been here five minutes but I think it’s my new happy place.”

“Agreed. This is awesome.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, heads tipped back with small, sleepy smiles on their faces. Shawn doesn’t seem worried about being recognized. She tries not to look around to see if anyone has noticed him.

“Tell me something,” she whispers, turning her head to him.

“What kind of something?”

“Tell me… something you’re excited for coming up.”

“Uhm, well, I’m doing a bunch of festivals this summer. Going to Brazil and a couple other cool places I haven’t seen yet.”

“That sounds fantastic. I’d love to go to Brazil.”

“You like to travel?”

“Love it. I’ve always had the bug but it bit me harder when I went to London. Can’t stop thinking about it now.”

They talk about his favorite places and hers. That turns into college stories and early tour stories, which morphs into love lives and what they were like as kids and how they feel about their families. If he wasn’t half in love with her already, he is now. After two hours of flowing conversation, he stands and runs his hands through his hair. She admires his back and ass, tilting her head. He turns to look at her and she lets him catch her staring.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases.

“Gorgeous,” she admits, nodding and fanning her face, “And so is the beach.”

He sighs and reaches for her hand, tugging at it.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The water.”

“But what about our stuff?”

“Not many people around. No one’s clocked me yet. We’ll watch it. C’mon.”

She lets him help her out of her seat but drops his hand as they head to the water under the guise of adjusting her suit. She marches ahead of him and now he gets to admire the expanse of pale skin she probably hasn’t been protecting with sunblock all that well today. She shakes her hair out from where it sticks to her sweaty back and chest. It’s salty and matted from the sea air, making her look like a mermaid on legs. His breath actually, physically catches in his chest looking at her.

“Oh, it’s cold,” she declares in confusion, her eyebrows pulled together.

“It’s not bad,” he insists, wading in up to his waist without hesitation.

“You’re too Canadian for your own good,” she replies, shuffling after him, not to be outdone. She flaps her arms and hisses when she walks in a little deeper. He resists the urge to drag her into his chest and cradle her against his bleeding warmth.

He kicks off over a wave and it catches her a little further back, pushing her backwards and swallowing her up to her shoulders. He laughs at her reaction. She splashes him, he splashes her back. She wants to grab him and lift herself onto his broad, defined back and let him take her wherever he wants. In fact, that thought haunts her throughout the day.

After a while, they head back to the chairs and dry off. He reminds her to reapply sunblock. She asks him about writing songs, about his celebrity friends, about home. He asks her about her own writing, about her best friend Lauren, about her dreams.

The sun begins to hang low and the beach empties out. She’s reminded of their long drive back inland and of his plans early the next morning.

“I don’t want to go,” she confesses, the sincerest he’s seen her all day.

“I know. This was a perfect day.”

She feels an odd connection to Malibu now and an even stronger one to Shawn. She thinks in the course of a few weeks he might’ve accidentally become one of her best friends. She doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want him to leave and forget about her. She doesn’t want to go so far from the ocean again.

“Let’s come back here,” she insists.

Her hair glows redder in the sunset. He goes as far as to cup a hand around her cheek and place a quick kiss on her forehead. “We will. I promise.”

They sing “Malibu” by Miley Cyrus and “Hotel California” by the Eagles together on the way home. They order a large pizza for dinner and eat all of it. He leaves in an Uber after they had both fallen asleep watching Must Love Dogs. He wakes her up when his car arrives and tells her not to get up and that he’ll be back in a few weeks. She misses him as soon as he’s gone.

++++++

September 1st, 2018

“If you knew how many women on the internet want you to tie them up, you would be amazed.”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me that,” he whines, plucking at a thread in his jeans.

“Seriously! Spanking, breathplay, daddy kinks—”

He interrupts her, whirling his head around even though his phone was pressed to his ear and no one was paying attention to him. “Lilly, I’m in public.”

“Keep a straight face,” she teased.

“You just said ‘daddy kink’ to me, how am I supposed to keep a straight face?” he hissed, slumping into the lobby couch, willing himself to disappear.

“This is how millennials and gen Z’ers discover their sexuality and embrace it. They read, they write, they draw. It’s a beautiful thing and you get to be a part of it.”

“Is that how it happened for you?” he whispers curiously.

She’s quiet for a minute, debating what to tell him. “I mean, yeah. Nothing is the same as personal experience but when you’re reading it, you get a sense of what interests you.”

“Makes sense,” he agrees, his voice begging her to elaborate.

“I’m not going to start listing off my kinks, Shawn, so get that out of your head.”

He laughs. “Worth a shot.”

Their beach day was almost a distant memory now. They start talking on the phone and FaceTiming more. They’ve got the long-distance friendship thing down pretty well by this point. She’s impressed by how much time he’s able to make for her. She knows better than to expect this all the time. She knows she’s lucky to get what she can from him now when he’s just touring festivals and not flung into a new city every day for months on end like he will be next year on tour. She also knows he’s been writing heavily, which puzzles her because he just released his third album.

The next time he’s back in town, she has another adventure planned.

“I’ve decided to get my first tattoo.”

“Really? Awesome. What and where?” he asks, rubbing his chin and smiling goofily, glad she can’t see him. He gets a flash of a few locations he’d like to see one on her and blushes.

“The inside of my left foot. I’m getting a silhouette of Peter Pan, Wendy, John and Michael flying.”

“That’s perfect for you, that sounds great. When are you going?”

“That’s the thing. I want you to come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re an old pro with the tattoo thing. And you have strong hands that I probably won’t break if I squeeze too hard.”

He laughs. “The hands are the moneymakers, you can’t break those.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be gentle with you, Mendes.”

He shivers as the implication and smacks his palm against the wall to refocus. “I actually got one of my finger tattoos in LA. I can call him for you, he’s really good.”

“That would be great, I was going to ask you for a recommendation.”

They set the date according to when Shawn would be back in town the next week. He springs for an Uber, claiming her foot would hurt too much to drive after she gets inked. They sit and wait while the tattoo artist prepares, Lilly’s bare legs bouncing wildly as she stares off at nothing.

“You ok?” he questions, reaching out to her knee to still her. His big, hot hand does get her attention. Her skin jumps a little. She smiles wearily.

“I’m a tough chick, I can handle a little pain, but I’m a little worried.”

“I know, I get it. It’s really not all that bad though, I promise. If I really hated it I wouldn’t have gotten five.”

“But maybe you’re way tougher than me,” she argues.

He snorts. “Doubt it. You do Orangetheory. You’re way tougher than me.”

She bumps his shoulder with hers playfully. The tattoo artist leads them back and sits them down, readying her foot for the stencil.

“Worse comes to worse, you don’t finish it all today. If it’s too much, you can come back,” Shawn reminds her, leaning in to watch as the artist stencils it the way she wants.

She takes a deep breath as he turns the needle on. Without looking away from her foot, she reaches for one of Shawn’s hands and holds it between both of hers. He squeezes her fingers supportively when the needle makes contact. She gasps gently, her lips popping open as she lets out a ragged breath. He knows he shouldn’t be aroused by her face and her noises while she’s in pain but he bites his lower lip anyway, committing them to memory.

She sandwiches his hand between hers. He scoots closer to her in his chair, feeling more welcome. She shoots him a faltering smile.

“You ok?” he murmurs. She nods in response.

“You have tiny feet,” he points out, cocking his head as the tattoo artist smiles.

“My feet are average sized, thank you,” Lilly replies dryly.

“They look little. How tall are you again?”

“I’m 5-foot-2.”

“You’re so tiny,” he marvels, stroking the outside of her palm with his trapped fingers. She’s silent, holding herself together.

“You’re doing so good, I was crying by now when I got my first one.”

She glares at him. “You told me it doesn’t hurt that much.”

“I lied.”

She chuckles and he feels better, knowing she’s relaxing. She sits back in the chair while the artist works. Instead of staring intently at the needle, she distracts herself by staring at Shawn.

“Were you a nerdy looking kid or did you grow up good looking?”

The tattoo artist and Shawn both snort a surprised laugh in unison.

“What?” Shawn chuckles.

“Like, were you one of the kids in middle school or whatever it’s called in Canada that all the girls liked? Or did you grow into that?”

“I… no, no, I had braces for almost 5 years. I was terrified of girls. I was not a kid girls liked,” he explains.

She furrows her brow and purses her lips at him, flinching when the artist moves to another spot on her foot. She squeezes Shawn’s hand harder. He smiles.

“I want to believe you but I don’t think I do. I see you now and I can’t believe you weren’t cute growing up.”

“I’ll send you pictures,” he promises, nodding at her. After a few seconds, he asks, “Why are you asking this?”

She looks embarrassed. “I’m suspicious of boys that grew up knowing they’re hot. There were guys I went to school with that were horrible because every girl in class had a thing for them and they just never grew out of being cocky little shits.”

“And you’re worried that’s me?”

“That sounds bad. I don’t think you’re a cocky little shit. You just seem too good to be true sometimes.”

Shawn looked a little smug, covering her clasped hands with his free hand. “And then you remember I’m 20 and that’s why you won’t go out with me.”

The tattoo artists covers up a laugh with a cough. Lilly’s eyes blow wide open. This thing between them is not something they acknowledge. Shawn seems playful enough about it, so she decides to engage.

“I feel like I was a different human being at 20. I’m not saying I’ve reached enlightenment now at 24, that’s stupid. I just—”

“I know, I’m just teasing you.”

“It’s less about your age now than it was,” she admits quietly. He looks interested now. This is new information.

“I thought at first there’s no way I could relate to a 20-year-old on any level other than very basic friendship. But you proved that wrong. So I guess if I’m being really honest with myself, which I am because I have an electric needle in my foot, the only thing left of concern is your job.”

Shawn ducks his head. The tattoo artist looks like he’s not paying attention at all, which makes him good at his job.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Shawn whispers, looking bashful and a little hurt. Lilly shuts down, worried that her honesty was too much. She keeps his hand in hers, rubbing it absent-mindedly as she continues to stare at the tattoo.

She and Shawn are quiet for the rest of the session. She can only imagine what the tattoo artist must think. When it’s finished, Shawn leans in to take a good look. She’s smiling at it fondly.

“It looks great,” he murmurs, sounding distracted. She releases his hand. He flexes it and marvels at the pinkness of his skin from having it grasped so tightly. He looks at her, “Are you happy with it?”

“I am. Blissfully happy. It’s perfect.”

Shawn helps her stand after they work to carefully bandage the spot and put her shoe back on. He holds his arm out to her for support as he walks her out to the Uber. She doesn’t really need it but she takes advantage.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” she tries once they’re on their way back to Burbank.

“I should get back to my hotel, actually, I have to catch a red-eye.”

She feels awkward around him for the first time since she refused to kiss him in her bedroom while he had an ice pack on his lip.

They arrive at her house. He asks the driver to wait as he steps out and meets her by the front steps. He pulls her in for a hug and it’s warmer than she expects. She presses her face into his neck and hopes he feels what she’s trying to say through the action. He pulls back and pecks her forehead.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises, opening the door to climb back into the car.

“When will you be back?” she almost whines.

“It’ll be a little longer. Probably six weeks.”

She looks hurt under a brave face. It makes his stomach turn. It also goes to prove her point about his job as an obstacle to their relationship. He dips his head in the car and doesn’t watch as she walks up the stone steps under a curtain of bougainvillea.

++++++++

October 14th, 2018

“Sometimes when I miss you the most I watch your music videos,” she admits, two glasses of red blend deep.

He raises his eyebrows at that idea. “Yeah? Which one’s your favorite?”

“Well, I hate “Stitches” because you get the shit beat out of you.”

He laughs heartily at her bluntness. He sips his beer and relaxes against his hotel bed headboard, gazing at the skyline. He can’t remember where he is anyway, so he closes his eyes and imagines sitting in her bed with her head in his lap, hair spilling in every direction.

“I didn’t ask which ones you hate,” he reminds her.

“I really like “Nervous.” It makes me smile,” she whispers, pulling Olaf to her chest and pecking his white, sparkly forehead.

“I like “Nervous,” too.”

They’re both quiet, ignoring the meaningful silence between them.

“You know what’s not fair?” he pipes up.

“Hmm?” she hums through a mouthful of wine.

“I don’t have videos of you I can watch when I miss you.”

She sighs. “I’m not an international superstar.”

“Send me some.”

“I don’t know that I have many of just me… hold on, let me put you on speaker.”

He waits as she scrolls through her phone.

“Wow, I really don’t have any videos of myself. I have some stupid drunk snapchats—”

“Oh, I definitely want those,” he laughs, straightening up at the idea.

“Like, my drunk lip sync game is strong.”

She’s going through videos and giggling to herself. He’s perfectly content to just sit there and listen.

“Oh my god, SEAN!” she cries suddenly, her voice a moan of longing and nostalgia.

“What?!” he asks, alarmed.

“Oh! Not you, sorry. My college friend Sean. I haven’t talked to him in a long time. He works for Apple now.”

“Oh, ok,” he chuckles, dragging back another gulp of beer.

“Oh my god, I’m such a fucking lush,” she laughs, alarmed at the number of drunk videos she has, “I’m sending you all of these because they’re all hilarious. And now I’ve gone too far back into 2008, not a good look.”

“No, send me those, too.”

“From when I was 13? Hell no.”

“That sounds like gold, honestly.”

A few more seconds of scrolling and she sighs once again, aggravated. “Sorry, bub, I have very little for you. Certainly not of the quality of your music videos.”

“That’s ok, send me what you have and then just do new ones.”

“Of what?”

“Of whatever. Of you at home, hanging out, cooking, singing—”

“I know better than to send you video of me singing.”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, “Don’t do that, I’ll be too tempted to post it.”

“So I need to document more of my life to share with you.”

“At least for a while until I get back to LA.”

“How much longer?”

“Two weeks.”

“I’ll see if I can hold myself together until then,” she teases, releasing her empty glass of wine on her coffee table, “But for now, it’s time for bed. I’m glad you had a good show. I miss you, pal.”

“I miss you, too. I’ll see you soon. Sweet dreams.”

And she does send him videos, usually when he’s least expecting it. He got the first one in the car on the way to the airport to return to Toronto. It was a two minute diatribe about the heat wave in Los Angeles and her despair at finding her car to be registering 118 degrees when she went to Ralph’s for groceries. She blew him a kiss thoughtlessly at the end of the video. When he was alone in his own bed that night, twitching and sleepless, he re-watches the last thirty seconds, thumbing over the status bar on the bottom of his phone a few extra times to watch and hear the loud kiss.

He gets another when he’s just waking up in Pickering while visiting his parents. She’s gone to Malibu without him and his heart aches at the idea. Though a little guilty, he’s also pleased to see she didn’t light up there the same way without him. She walks him around Zuma Beach for almost 10 minutes, rambling about nothing. He watches that video in full 3 times that day.

His favorite is one he gets while out in the city with his buddies, he can’t remember where exactly. She’s lying in bed on her side curled up so she looked like she was talking to him during one of their unplanned sleepovers. She’s telling him about the girls she met from Emily’s musical and this conversation they had about their place in the industry as women and their insecurities and their strengths. She tells him how she stayed quiet during the conversation, partly in an effort to let these wise, wonderful, talented women have their say and learn from their words, partly because she thought if she started talking, she’d explode. She looks right into the camera lens during this video and it’s startling to him the hole he feels in his chest at her pleading gaze.

“So, really what I realized is as much as I liked listening to these women talk, I realized I didn’t want to talk to them as much as I wanted to talk to you. So come back to LA, your second home, to your partner in crime and your beach buddy. I miss you like crazy. It actually hurts me. Ok I’ve had an emotional evening and if I start talking about how much you mean to me, I won’t stop. Not that you don’t deserve to hear it and be reminded of it regularly, but it’s almost 2 AM and I’m trying not to be that girl anymore. So, as always, I love ya and I’m proud of you every fucking day and you make me want to be great.”

++++++++

November 5th, 2018

“So like… with Harry, it’s like…” she trails off, grinning. He feels his stomach churn at the idea that she might talk about him this way when he’s not around, “It’s like he’s an old friend who I love but never get to see or talk to anymore. When he shows up anywhere on Tumblr or whatever, I’m like, ‘aw, I love Harry.’ But Niall…”

He sits up when he sees the devilish look on her face. “But Niall what?” he prompts, sounding uneasy.

“But Niall is my mans,” she says simply, blushing at him through the screen.

He rolls his eyes. “God. This is why I can’t take you to industry events, y’know, because I’m worried you’ll kidnap him.”

“I wouldn’t, I definitely wouldn’t, but I would shamelessly bat my eyelashes all night until he either gave in to my advances or asked me if I had some kind of condition.”

Shawn bursts out laughing at that, imagining the scene. “Yup, yup, I’m never going to take you to meet him.”

++++++++

November 28th, 2018

She’s focused on trying not to drop her phone, coffee mug or purse as she wrangles her way into her bedroom, the sun beating down on her exposed neck. She pushes inside and right away, there’s something wrong. There’s a large black suitcase resting against her dresser. Alarmed, she looks up and sees him at the far end of the room. He’s shedding a leather jacket on her chair, looking both delighted and guilty.

“What are you—”

He interrupts, “You ruined my surprise! I was going to hide and scare you.”

“Fuck, Shawn!” she cries, dropping her belongings on the dresser and racing for him, deciding to launch herself into him when he holds his arms out to her. He catches her easily and spins her as she locks her arms around his neck. He has her a foot off the ground and slows their twirl, eventually lowering her slowly until her feet touch the ground. He buries his face in her neck and keeps her there. When he can finally stomach it, he pulls away, stepping back with his hands on her shoulders.

“Why are you crying?” he laughs, brushing her arm playfully.

She wipes at her eyes, shaking her head. “Because I’m fucking surprised, goof, you weren’t supposed to be here for two days. I was going to pick you up from LAX like a dutiful best friend. I was going to order sushi so we’d have it ready when I brought you home.”

His heart flutters both at her idea and the mention of her home as ‘home.’ Like it was sort of his, too. “I’m sorry. That sounds like a great plan. If you want, I can call an Uber and go back to LAX and we can try again.”

“No, this is better,” she insists, planting her face back into his chest, make-up smearing on his white t-shirt.

“I missed you,” he admits, rubbing her back gently, rocking them.

“I missed you somethin’ awful,” she agrees, stepping away and pushing at his chest, “You were gonna scare me?”

“Yeah, I was going to hide in the wardrobe.”

“Wow, you had a scheme.”

“I had a whole plane ride to plan it out.”

“And how is it you’re here two days early?” She sits in the middle of her bed. He follows her to prop himself on the edge, not wanting to get too comfortable without her permission.

“Well, don’t get too excited, because my meetings got moved up. So you don’t have extra time with me, it’s just sooner than we planned.”

“I’ll take what I can get, Mendes, you’re a busy man.”

He shrugs. “I’ll always make time for you.”

She cocks her head and smiles, unsure of how to react when he says those sweet things to her. She doesn’t get the sense that he’s actively trying to wear her down. She thinks he’s just saying what he means. She wonders if he’s in love with her.

He leans forward, eyebrows raised as if to tell her a secret. She leans with him.

“I brought my guitar,” he whispers. She jolts back, clapping her hands.

“Yay! Now I can finally learn to play and then seduce Niall like I’ve always wanted,” she jokes, kicking her legs out and biting her lip.

“Funny, funny girl,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes as he gets up off the bed to get his guitar case.

She watches him as he bends down to unlock the case, her eyes wandering to the inch or two of his Armani boxers that peek at her from above the waistband of his jeans. She bites her lip again, her heart still pounding from the surprise of finding him in her room.

“God, I love that you’re here,” she whispers earnestly. He lifts the guitar and turns to her, smiling shyly.

“Good surprise?” he asks.

“Great surprise,” she confirms with a nod, scooting back on her bed until she hit the mass of pillows in front of her headboard. He wants to crawl on top of her and never leave. Instead, he picks up the guitar and starts plucking out something he learned for her.

In a flash, before he can even start singing it, her head snaps up from her gaze on his fingers and she widens her eyes. “Is this…?”

“Lights out, I still hear the rain…” he begins, singing at her through a satisfied smirk. She buries herself deeper into her pillows and covers her mouth and nose with her hands.

Up to that point, she couldn’t have imagined loving that song more than she had for the last ten years. But he learned it for her, he took the time out of writing and touring to learn her very favorite song by her very favorite band just to sing it for her. He sings the whole thing perfectly and emotionally, shutting his eyes and nodding his head and getting into it. When the last note fades out, he rests a hand on the guitar and smiles sheepishly.

“You are something else,” she laughs shakily, sitting up from the pillows. Her face is all red. He wants to cup it in his hands and stare. He holds onto the guitar a little harder.

“You wanna learn “Jasey Rae?”” he offers, gesturing at the guitar.

She blinks, tempted. “No, I want to learn one of your songs.”

His heart pounds as he shifts in his seat. “Ok. Which one?”

“Which one is easiest for a beginner?”

He laughs. “None of them.”

She rolls her eyes and reaches out to poke at the strings under his fingers. “C’mon, I know you want to hear me sing your music.”

He’s busted. He shakes his head, giggling bashfully. “I give. Let’s learn “Like To Be You.””

“Oh, hell yes, duet time. Let’s High School Musical this bitch.”

He rolls his eyes at her uncanny ability to twist his romantic gestures into humor. He still has another trick up his sleeve, though.

“C’mere,” he gestures, kicking off his shoes and spreading his legs. She raises her eyebrows. He pats the space between his thighs.

“Come there?” she chokes.

“Come sit between my legs otherwise I can’t show you where your fingers go.”

She looks suspicious but crawls over to him, stopping when she’s a breath away from his lips to turn and scoot back into his chest. He lifts the guitar over her lap and lays it down to show her different parts of it. He shows her the strings and names them and shows her how to use a guitar pick. He positions his head over her shoulder and guides her hands, singing quietly as he shows her the first few chord progressions. She picks it up quickly.

“Did I ever tell you I played the harp when I was little?” She’s looking down at the guitar when she says it, cheeks going red.

“Really?” he laughs in disbelief.

“Yeah. For two years. I wanted to play an instrument no one else I knew did so I picked the harp. My mom and I took lessons together.”

“That’s fucking adorable,” he coos, resting his head on her shoulder. She spares him a glance and shrugs gently, not enough to shove him off.

“So you’re gonna be a pro, then. Ok now put your fingers here and here,” he explains, demonstrating by moving her hands around for her.

“I get worried I might lose you a little,” she sings authentically, light and airy in her falsetto he’s grown to really love. He harmonizes with her. She falters slightly at the unexpected addition, grinning at him as she continues, pulling herself back on track. He nods along, impressed by how well she knows the words.

She struggles with where to put her fingers, but she’s motivated and it helps that she knows the song. Slowly but surely, she puts it together and within a couple hours can play it through at a slow tempo. When she runs it through solidly the first time, he wraps his arms around her and shakes her.

“You did it! You’re a fuckin’ rockstar!”

She squeals and burrows back into him, delighted at his enthusiasm. He wiggles behind her and manages to squeeze his phone out of his impossibly tight back pocket. “C’mon, let’s get one on video.”

“Nooooo, Shawn, no Instagram, not with me all snuggled up to you, Lauren will never let me hear the end of it.”

“Not for Instagram, just for me, ok?”

The look of sincerity on his face breaks through her resolve quickly. She nods and he goes to great lengths to set it up, perching it on the mantle above her fireplace and sitting behind her as she strums.

It sounds nice. Julia Michaels’ voice is heartbreakingly beautiful; the recorded version of the song aches with want and frustration and guilt and regret but with Lilly, it’s different. This is the closest they’ve come to discussing their relationship since the day of the tattoo snafu. She’s singing honestly and with the grace of someone with a nice voice who is paying more attention to the guitar parts she learned pretty quickly. He’s staring at her the whole time, bobbing his head and singing to her and with her quietly. When the song ends, she looks up at him with a grin and looks to the camera.

“We did it!” she squeaks, throwing her arms out. He laughs and stands up from behind her, walking to end the recording and put his phone back.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, patting her ankle.

“Are you kidding? Thank you! That was great. And hey, now you can take me on tour and we never have to be apart,” she teases. His demeanor shifts a little.

“I have to talk to you about that, actually.” Her eyebrows raise in anticipation.

“I wrote a new album,” he explains quietly, clearing his throat and looking down at his crossed legs.

“You released a new album in May,” she laughs, her voice on edge due to the look on his face.

“No, I know, and we won’t release it for a while, but I wrote it. And… the reason I’m telling you this is… because a lot of it is about you.”

She stares at him blankly. “A lot of it?”

He bobs his head back and forth noncommittally. “All of it.”

“All of it?” She’s trying not to panic, he can see it on her face.

“It just… came out,” he babbles, waving his hands frantically, “Like lyric vomit. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never written this many songs myself before, much less about one person. I didn’t know what to do. I was calling Ryan and Teddy and Ed trying to figure out if I was just fucking crazy or what and I sent them the stuff I had and they said it’s good, it’s like, really good, they say it’s my best stuff. And I didn’t know what to do because we have this… thing, this fucking elephant in the room at all times and I had to tell you because I’m so excited about this music but it’s… it’s all about you.”

She’s just staring at him, her heart beating faster with every word that spills from his panicked mouth. She looks down at the guitar which feels really heavy all of a sudden. She hugs it closer like a shield between them.

“Is it… I mean… what kind of songs are they?”

He hesitates. “Romantic ones…?”

She’s quiet for a while. It’s killing him, but he doesn’t dare speak. She wiggles uncomfortably.

“Well, I can’t wait to hear it,” she whispers, her smile shy and apologetic. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“I’m excited to play it for you. When it’s… y’know, done.”

He leaves for a dinner with people from his label. She sits on the edge of her bed for a while, gnawing on her top lip and staring at the tile floor. It occurs to her now how badly, how irrevocably she may have screwed this up.

Taglist: @the-claire-bitch-project @crapri

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