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witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

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BODY AND SOUL Part 7 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I’m sorry we have to go through all this stress, babes, but it’s imperative that Duncan and Kenzie face the formidable forces of their badass mothers before they can deal with the incoming stress of the paps and the press; because that shit is coming. I both enjoyed and struggled writing Annette in this chapter; I really wanted to get Diane Lane’s performance down in this, and I do think I ultimately succeeded, but it wasn’t easy. Ultimately, Annette Shepherd loves her son, and that’s an unshakable truth. I keep thinking of Samuel as Duncan’s Jiminy Cricket, always saying something profound, Duncan’s conscience sitting on his shoulder. The smut is returning in the next chapter. They can’t stay away from each other for long and I don’t want them to and you, dear reader, probably don’t want them to, either. Here’s IN A SENTIMENTAL MOOD, which is the mood around this part too, for what it’s worth. Please reblog and like and spread around the masterpost, which won’t show up under the godforsaken #millory tag for some reason, thank you!

Duncan pressed a hand to his chin in his familiar tick, finger stressing against his bottom lip, his eyes gazing downward, not really seeing anything around him the backseat of the BMW; what he saw was Kenzie, the golden fall of her hair in the morning sun (god, I love her, an angel, he’d thought, his mind still soft in sleep), the way she’d turned over her shoulder to look at him, her round, bare ass making his morning wood even harder, the way he’d eased into wakefulness, drunk with the kind of restful, all-consuming sleep he hadn’t had in years, drunk on being pressed against her, the way she’d bitten into his finger, thrilling him, the soft feeling of the skin between her shoulders under his mouth. Her smell had filled his nose as soon as he breathed in, eyes opening to her; he felt sure he’d be content to wake every day to the scent of her, filling him, enveloping him. He was already dreading the coldness, the emptiness of his bed tonight. It made him absolutely ache. A blessing to be near her, a curse to be away from her. I guess this is what it’s like, and he shivered. To be in love.

Samuel eyed him through the rearview. “Mr. Shepherd, she is an angel. And absolute angel. You best not let go of her. I can see how special she is. I saw it right away. Like a pearl in the flotsam of the sea.”

Duncan looked up at him, grinning. “Samuel, that was lovely. And I know. And I won’t. I asked her to be my girlfriend last night, and she said yes.”

Samuel flashed his white smile, his dark brown eyes taking on the glow that Duncan knew so well from when he was a child and Samuel was one of his closest friends and dearest comforts, especially when his mother was in a bad mood. “That makes you a very fortunate man, indeed.”

“It does. I am not going to mess this up. I can’t.”

“But she is Madeline Stone’s daughter,” Samuel said, like the voice of Duncan’s conscience, probing into his private thoughts. “Whatever shall we do about that?”

“Fuck if I know, Samuel. But I’m going to tell Mom tonight. I have to try to make her understand.”

Samuel blew air in a harsh stream from his nose. “Whew, Mr. Shepherd. That is not going to be easy.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I wish you the best of luck. She is a jewel. I hope to see her often with you in the future.”

“Thank you, Samuel. Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me.”

Samuel looked at him, eyes glancing up from the road, going back to it, looking back at him again. He seemed to be thinking about something for awhile, something he didn’t say; then, he spoke.

“I do believe she is making you a better man already, Mr. Shepherd. Fortune is indeed smiling on you.” And Duncan was struck by the familiar words, so similar to the ones he’d thought to himself, spoke aloud to Kenzie in the privacy of his room with her little hand in his, their eyes gazing into each other. Deja vu washed over him in a wave again (how often will that happen now, he thought, eyes staring out the window at the city lights again, and they reflected the blue in them, making them gold, as if he were Midas, turning the world to riches, how often will I feel like time is crashing into me now, insisting I’ve known her for a thousand years), and he felt overwhelmed with the embrace of all that had happened over the past few days, overwhelmed with the hand that felt like destiny that had pushed him onto the balcony and into her orbit, as if she were a planet and he was the moon, attracted to her inexorably, brought to her by the invisible, feminine hands of the Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, he thought, spinning, weaving, cutting, if you are watching us, you Wise Women, All-Knowing, please bless us, have pity on us, mortals in love, abject to the will of the Gods. For I love her and my Fate is now sealed.

He couldn’t and wouldn’t let anything come between him and Kenzie; not even his mother.

------

Duncan stumbled through his Gardner Analytics press that day, his mind elsewhere entirely. Melody had given him an exasperated, confused, incredulous look, a what the fuck is your problem today look, after the third time he messed up his taped interview with C-SPAN at Shepherd Hall.

“Are you okay?” She asked, siding up to him as the reporter and cameraman walked away, a mixture of annoyance and concern on her face, pointing at them with her thumb. “What the fuck was that?”

Duncan pressed his hand against his chin, shaking his head; “I’m fine, just feeling disoriented today, I had a lot going on this weekend.”

Melody’s raised her eyebrows, her expression falling further. “And what exactly did you do this weekend…?”

“A lot.” He walked away from her. No doubt everyone will know soon enough, he thought as he heard her scoff behind him. But fuck, telling my mother is enough for today.

An hour later, he texted Kenzie while he was in his meeting (I’m aching for you, angel) until she stopped replying, obviously done with her lunch, and he scrolled back, lost in her messages, discontent with the physical distance between them. Mackenzie Louise Stone. He felt like he was in high school, looking down at the corner of his napkin where he drew the loops of her name during the meeting for the Foundation’s upcoming charity event; though it was less a charity event than a Gala, at $3,000 a plate and only accessible with an exclusive invitation; only for the wealthiest of DC society. His mother invited practically every A-list celebrity in New York and the surrounding proximate cities to the event for the past two years alongside the expected politicians, and it was becoming the new Met Gala in its own right; the dress code was wildly strict and staunch, themed, and well-documented by DC press (and, increasingly, by press on the East Coast in general). Duncan only half-listened to the list of preparatory arrangements, pondering her face, the shape of her mouth, her wide, bright eyes, her hair falling like ocean waves made of gold and sand, the plunge between her breasts, the sweetness between her legs, her loveliness, her sincerity, tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes, the way she had said I want you to come, baby, and how he had wanted her to grasp his neck and force him to come, remembered how she’d told him to surrounded by roses and he had, wildly, into her, hoping it would never end because it was in her embrace, ecstatic to obey her, but then he thought of how he’d wildly grasped her in his shower, his hands on her neck and his body full of pent desire and she’d welcomed him, her eyes dark, full of lust, begging for his touch, and he wondered at what secrets they’d unlock in each other in the days to come and was thrilled at the prospect, at the fantasy of her reality; she seemed to have unlocked a Pandora’s box of desire in the pit of his body and he wanted her to do with him whatever she wanted, wanted to give her anything she asked for, imagined her little clothes hanging in his closet, her pointed boots and strappy heeled sandals and her little intricate gold jewelry and her crystals and her scent lingering there among his black shirts, her gold settling into his clothing, into his life; he was far, far away in thoughts of her and her wet sex pressed against his lips, her cries of rapture, when Seth cleared his throat and said again:

“Duncan. What do you think?”

“Hmmm?” Duncan looked up, his fingers pressed to the side of his jaw, turning his eyes up from where he’d been drawing spirals languidly around Kenzie’s name on the napkin under his tonic water, where before they’d been turned down to the texts they’d exchanged half an hour ago, making him hard and restless and drifting in his longing for her and her alone.

“Something about a silver lining. The theme. For the Gala.”

“Oh.” He sat up a little, blinking.

“Angels and Demons?” Seth said, turning back to the shareholders and advisors around the table. “Diamond in the rough? Yin and yang?”

“An ember of fire in a void.”

The people around the table turned towards Duncan’s statement. He put the pen that was in his hand down, and trailed a finger along the surface of his phone in his hand under the table; all along his thoughts, Mackenzie danced and flitted away from him, gazed up at him through a field of flowers wherein she lay, laughed at him, against him, in dripping candlelight, pulled him into dappled sunlight, kissed him beneath blooming trees and in his dark bed and in the dark light of evening, glowing. Held him in the darkness. Held him in moonlight, her hands in his hair, his lips on her neck, their bodies close beyond measure.

“Gold in the darkness.” The audacity of hope, he thought. Her.

“Gold in the darkness, that’s great, Duncan, perfect.” Seth glanced at him, nodding, writing furiously on the memo pad in front of him. “That’s it.”

It’s her, Duncan thought again, blue-gray eyes flickering from Seth to the others and back down to his phone, where he knew her messages were enshrined like words scratched into a digital temple, thinking of Kenzie’s little black velvet dress, her quartz necklace in the moonlight, in the light of his bedside lamp as he pulled her into his lap in the throes of the first time they fucked and the softness of her on top of him in the bathtub with roses kissing her skin, her face shrouded in candlelight and his sight going hazy with her beauty and she was exquisite and soft as a dream and gold and the memories were like amber in him already, going solid, hard, seared onto the surface of his heart, fossils of time, a fossil of her pressed into him, no matter what happened now, he’d never forget it, gold on his black clothes, gold dust ground into his skin, the sheen of her aura, her soul, as if he’d eaten a piece of her and now the glow emanated from his body, invisible but to those who had a blacklight from the eternities, able to see the essence of a person, able to see how he was glowing from within because she loved him and he loved her and that, he thought, was the only thing, The only thing. Everything. Kenzie.

-----

Back in the warm, familiar backseat of the BMW, Duncan gazed out the darkening window at the glittering expanse of the District of Columbia, unable to divorce that image of Kenzie from his mind, the slight outline of her that he’d first glimpsed against the roses along the balcony, the lights glittering behind her, her sad face staring out into the open air, the hand of fate pressing into his chest. He wondered; what can I do to make her happy? The thought shook itself into the outline of his ribs, into the space of his eardrums, into the ventricles and veins of his blood. What can I do for her? I’d do anything for her. I’d die for her. His heart pounded in his ears; he felt as if he could feel every drop of blood coursing through his body. How can I make Mom understand how I feel about this woman? We’ve only known each other for three days but I feel as though I’ve been searching for her every day of my life until now. That this is, at last, the realization of hole in my heart that has finally been filled, like the missing mechanism of an intricate clockwork. I didn’t even know it was missing, but now I don’t know how I lived without it. I don’t know how I lived without her. The thought of living without her now fills me with so much horror, I can’t stand it. Is this what the great poets wrote about? Love, undying, all-consuming, and like the soft hand of a little death?

“Samuel, have you ever been in love?” he asked, looking up into the rearview, running a thumb absently over the surface of his phone, clutched in his hand, as if he could feel her through it. He imagined her name there, tracing its imaginary outline. He thought of her hair again, her eyes, her laughing against him after they came together, thought of her tears.

“Oh yes, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel said nothing after that, and the silence leaned into Duncan, like the weight of a heavy hand.

“What happened?”

“She married someone else, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Oh. Samuel, I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Shepherd. It was...a very long time ago. Not everything in life happens how you want it to. To be loved, even for a little while, is a great gift. To love, in its way, an even greater gift. However long you are given these gifts, you cherish them. That’s the secret to life. I’ve thought so for quite awhile.”

“I love her, Samuel. I love her and I want to make her happy. I want to do whatever it takes to be with her.”

“Make sure she knows, Mr. Shepherd.”

They both lapsed into silence, soft strains of Ella Fitzgerald (Samuel’s favorite) floating toward Duncan from the front of the car: there’s a somebody I’m longing to see / I hope that he turns out to be...someone who’ll watch over me…

Mom, I’m on my way to you, he typed into his phone. I have something important to talk to you about that means the world to me. I love you and hope you’ll understand. See you soon.

-------

Samuel pulled around the wraparound drive of the Shepherd mansion, its Colonial shutter-style windows lit with the electric candles that went on automatically around sunset (the sun had just peeked below the horizon a moment before, the last indigo fragments hovering at the skyline, small scudding clouds still visible over the hazy city starlight), between their crimson velvet curtains. The lights were on downstairs, throwing glowing light out onto the blacktop; Fine, Duncan, I’ll see you soon, Annette had replied in her text to him, and she hadn’t said anything else. Duncan felt on edge now, conscious that the moment he so dreaded was closing in on him, clenching its hands to trap him. He looked down at his phone again as Samuel idled in front of his mother’s house, and noticed a text from Kenzie.

There was a link to a gossip website (buzzpopfeed.com) with an accompanying headline attached: SHEPHERD UNLIMITED HEIR DUNCAN SHEPHERD SPOTTED AT--and then the link cut off. Under it, Kenzie had typed: Just told my mom and she isn’t taking it very well so far. I’m going to try to talk to her somemore over dinner. In the meantime, my friend sent me this. I thought you should know.

Duncan clicked the link, raising his hand to his jaw. He scrolled through the pictures (she’s so lovely, he thought, gazing at her shy expression, their hands clasped together, the fall of her hair over her shoulder, my Kenzie) until he reached the one at the bottom. Oh, no, he thought, staring at the aching kiss he was pressing into Kenzie’s face, the expression painted into her sweet features, the way their bodies pressed together. There’s no room for ambiguity with this one. He was sitting in his mother’s driveway, about to steel his nerves to tell her he wanted to date Mackenzie Stone because he was in love with her, and now this. Now he had no choice, now, it was out, no matter what he decided to do next. He wondered with a cold chill if his mother had seen the photos yet. He winced.

“Bad news, Samuel,” he said, lowering his phone. “Some pictures were taken when Mackenzie and I were at the bistro last night. Now they’re online.”

“Mr. Shepherd...it may be for the best.”

“I know you’re right. But fuck.”

“Be brave, Mr. Shepherd. That’s what she deserves. Your courage. And you know as well as I do: this is for her. She will need all your strength in the days to come. She is not from your world and she will need your help to navigate it.”

Duncan gazed at him for a moment, quietly; then, some strange sixth sense touched him, and he looked up through the window of the car and noticed, with a jolt of shock, that his mother had been standing at the balcony on the second floor that overarched the pillared front doorway, staring at him, or at least at the BMW (the windows were tinted) with a curious expression for at least a minute or more; her body had an observant sort of stiff pose, her arms crossed, her face gazing down, her brow furrowed, her lips closed. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a stillness about her that unnerved him deeply. It communicated one thing in particular to him: it was time to get out of the fucking car, Duncan.

He pulled the door open, stepping out, staring up at her.

“Hi, mom,” he called up, raising his voice enough to carry it over the steps and pillars to where she stood, staring at him, her eyes dark.

Annette said nothing. She stared at him a moment longer (his blood coursed suddenly to an icy cold stream), then she stepped away, through the second-floor deck’s glass French doors.

“Oh, fuck,” Duncan murmured. He pressed a hand through the side of his hair, looking down at his phone for a moment. He contemplated sending Kenzie a quick reply (goodbye my darling I am about to be fucking murdered by Annette Shepherd), but decided against it, slipping his phone into the pocket of his tailored leather jacket, idly yanking at the sleeves of the long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath it, taking a deep breath of the early-evening air into his lungs, blowing it out, and going up the three long white steps, into his mother’s house.

Inside it was glowing and gold, the opulent fixtures and furniture spotlessly clean as they always were, the gold-white banisters of the staircase shining in the dim glow of the electric chandeliers that extended on either side of it. He looked up the stairs and watched his mother descend; tonight, Annette Shepherd wore a black wrap-top with tailored black suit pants and black flats, the shoes she only wore at home when she was alone. Her hair was down around her shoulders in soft styled waves; her hair always seemed perfect to him, not a strand out of place, not a tangle, smooth and serene, the way her slender face often appeared even when there was a boiling river of hellfire rolling under her expression. She had no jewelry on but for the small round diamond earrings she often wore at her ears; he almost never saw her wear necklaces, as though her neck were perfect enough on its own without adornments. Her dark eyes continued to look at him, silent.

She reached the bottom of the steps, stopping before she descended entirely, so she hovered above him, just enough to look down into his face. It was a familiar power move from his mother; he was taller than she was, so she used those steps strategically, as she did in all things (how could she use it, them, anything to her advantage), to give herself leverage. She held her large iPhone in one hand; she brought it up, scrolling down for a moment, and held the screen up to him. It was the photo of him and Kenzie embracing, his lips pressed ardently against her; the picture he’d just seen for the first time in the car a moment before, the photo he knew he wouldn’t be able to bullshit his way out of to Annette Shepherd.

“Who is she.”

“Mom. Please don’t--”

“Do not fucking stall with me, Duncan. Who. Is. She.”

He regarded her for a moment, forcing himself to stare into his mother’s dark eyes; he could see the glimmer of anger there now, one she was good at hiding from years of political practice, but not forever, not from him. There was a moment of struggle that passed between them; a sort of clash of silent wills, Annette determined to have her son tell her the entire truth with not even a hint of falsehood, Duncan determined to tell her only what was absolutely necessary for fear of her wrath and shielding Kenzie from it, as well. Annette won the battle for the moment, as Duncan felt the wave of resignation wash over him. There was nothing for it. Time to rip off the bindings and air out the truth.

“Her name is Mackenzie.”

Annette rolled her eyes at that, scoffing, her composure finally fracturing. “What’s her fucking name, Duncan, her full fucking name. Who the fuck is she? Is this what you wanted to tell me about?”

She spat the word this out, her anger palpable in the texture of it, her annoyance bubbling over and clashing against him. This. She meant Mackenzie. It sent a twinge of anger through his skull, a scattering of red-hot reaction at the back of his eyes. Fuck it, he thought. I don’t care.

“Mackenzie Stone.”

He watched his mother’s eyes go wide and dumbfounded for a moment, the anger in her expression muddling to one of shock.

“Stone.”

“Yes.”

“No. No way. No goddamn fucking way, Duncan. No FUCKING way.”

“Mom. Please.”

“What could you be thinking? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She pointed a finger at him, the way she used to when he had broken something priceless or made a mess in an inconvenient place.

“She’s Madeline Stone’s daughter, and I’m in love with her.”

The flabbergasted expression fell over Annette’s sharply beautiful features again, and she reached out, it seemed, involuntarily, to clutch the banister, like she would fall otherwise. Her face drained of color (oh god, just how I imagined, he thought), cheeks seeping into whiteness.

“I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it? What am I, a teenager?”

She stormed down the remaining steps, pushing past him roughly, waving a hand dismissively at him as she turned her back towards the dining room.

“This is ridiculous, I refuse to listen to this. Forget her. I’ll make it disappear. Just stop, right now.”

“Mom. No.” He forced his voice to remain even.

She stopped abruptly, turned, eyes blazing.

“No?”

“Mom, listen to me,” he said, and he was devastated to find that he could hear tears at the edge of his voice this time, could feel emotion bubbling under his throat, at the back of his eyes. He stepped to her, reaching for her hand, grasping it (it was cold and she tried to pull it away), gaining traction, tightening there, insistently. “Please, listen to me. It’s me, Duncan. I’m telling you something important. I love her, okay? I love her.”

Her eyes, dark and clouded with her blind anger, blinked at him, her lips pressing together, her body rigid.

“I love her. I want to be with her. I want your blessing, but I’m going to be with her with or without it. I love you and I wanted to tell you because I want to be honest with you. Please don’t make me regret that. Mom. Please. Can we sit down? Can we--please (and his voice cracked, he couldn’t stop it)--can we talk about this?”

He felt her trying to pull out of his grasp again, her expression still threaded with deep anger, but she said nothing, only stared at him. He saw her eyes flicker, change, as a tear, to his dismay, fell from his eye, coursing down his cheek.

“Duncan.”

“Mom. Please.”

Annette seemed utterly confused then, her perplexity falling over her cheeks and mouth, making them fall downwards; her eyes looked away from him, across the hall, at nothing.

“Madeline Stone’s fucking daughter, Duncan.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear this. I know you hate her and she humiliated you. But this isn’t about you. It’s about me. I’m asking you to please--please--give us your blessing. If you’ve ever loved me at all, you’ll do this for me.”

She looked at him again, annoyance in her face once more until she glanced at the wetness on his cheek; remembered the tear that had fallen there a moment ago, and her mouth opened a little, her expression falling again, disbelieving. Duncan knew that his mother wasn’t used to seeing him cry; he almost never did, even when he was a child, holding in his fears and his sadness until he felt ready to explode, never feeling as though he was safe enough to let his emotions go, let his despair out. But Kenzie had kindled in him an openness, an abandon; a desire to show his emotions, to hell with what the world pinned on him. She loved him. That was more than enough.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I was coming to tell you and those photos beat me to it. But I’m telling you now because I want you to know. You can’t pretend like I didn’t tell you, because I did. I just did. I love her. Please accept her.”

“You love her.” Annette repeated his words, her tone incredulous. “You fucking love her. Jesus. Youth. Of all the women on the planet, Duncan. Madeline Stone’s daughter?”

He let go of his mother’s hand, taking a step back, brushing his fingers under his nose, the back of his knuckles against the wetness on his cheek, and turned away from her in frustration.

“It doesn’t matter whose daughter she is, Mom.”

“Oh, you think it doesn’t?” she snapped at him, walking past him, back towards the dining room. He followed her, ears ringing with the anger and sadness that had started to hum in his mind, bringing his hands together, pressing his thumb into the palm of his left hand, trying to quell it.

“When you love someone, it shouldn’t.”

“This could fucking destroy your political career. This could cause serious problems with the bill, with Shepherd Unlimited, with all the work we’ve done.”

Duncan let out an exasperated groan. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mom, how is will this destroy anything but one of your endless grudges? Your stubborn insistence on hating people who, in this case, you’ve never met...and who mean everything to me?” The dining table was set with an impressive leg of lamb with several side-dishes surrounding it; Annette had employed a personal chef, Arturo (3 Michelin stars) for as long as Duncan could remember, his meals throughout Duncan’s childhood and adolescence prepared meticulously; he remembered his school lunches looked markedly different from even his other wealthy classmates in private school growing up, featuring pan-seared greens and cuts of Kobe beef and creme brulee (Annette had insisted on Arturo making his lunches, he was never allowed to have the school lunches). Annette stopped in her tracks, mouth agape at him again. “Means everything to you? And what do I mean to you, Duncan?”

“Mom. Why do you think I’m here?”

She turned away again, storming to her seat, slapping her phone down onto the Waterford tablecloth, grabbing at the bottle of Chateau Lafite (the corkscrew still hovering around the lip, but mostly pulled up by the house butler--Ingrid, who was Scandinavian and tight-lipped and who Duncan felt sure would defend Annette with her life if the need ever arose, and who had also been with the Shepherds for three decades--though at the moment, she had wisely vacated the room, no doubt hearing the raised nature of their conversation) that rested between the two place-settings at the south end of the room, yanking the rest of the cork out, and pouring the expensive wine unceremoniously into the crystal wine glass in front of her, glaring at it as though it was the source of her anger. She set the bottle down, pushing it away from her; grasped the crystal and raised it to her mouth, draining it all in one long draught.

“Sit the fuck down, Duncan.”

He stalked over to the seat beside her (hers at the head of the table, as usual), yanked out the heavy oakwood dining chair, and sat, his hands coming together in front of him, elbows on his thighs, sitting back, glaring at her, his eyes full of gathering stormclouds. It was time use the leverage at his disposal.

“I’m your son, Annette.”

“I’m fucking aware of that. It’s the source of my ire.”

“This is what I want. This is my happiness at stake.”

Annette paused, lifting her head, setting her chin at an angle, breathing in and out great bursts, and then she let out a sigh (resignation?) that made Duncan’s nerves fizzle.

“If you do anything--I mean fucking anything--to compromise the bill or the company, I will personally push her off a fucking balcony.”

He bit his lip, anger seething through the space between his brow. Annette talking about hurting Kenzie, even in jest, made him feel absolutely mad, unhinged with resentment towards her. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how beautiful Kenzie was, how luminous and lovely, how kind and the way gold shone out of her, the light, the goodness. She didn’t know Kenzie, and she didn’t know what she was fucking saying. He was silent and still, the stormclouds still seething behind his eyes, gazing at her, hands still clasped on his lap. I won’t let you do that, he thought. I will never let you lay a finger on her golden head.

“Did you fucking hear me, Duncan.” She poured more of the Lafite into her crystal glass, glancing down at her phone (a text flashed up, the iPhone vibrating against the table), glancing at him.

“Yes, Mom. I heard you.”

“Not a thing. Not a fucking thing to compromise the institutions I have built the last twenty years. Or I will fucking get rid of her myself.”

You could try, he thought. They stared at each other for a moment again; that impassable tension floating between them once more, both struggling for the upper hand. As long as I’m alive, you won’t touch her.

“Tell me you understand what I just said.”

“I understand.”

“Fine.” Annette reached across the table curtly, grabbing the silver tongs that rested in a dish of pan-seared asparagus with lemon and ground pepper, throwing several stalks unceremoniously onto the Hermes porcelain plate in front of her. “I want to meet her. This week. No excuses. Friday, after the Foundation press conference for the Dance Center. Plume, the usual table. 6 PM sharp. She’ll be coming to the Gala with you, I’d imagine.”

He hadn’t even thought of the Gala beyond the meeting today; his thoughts had been far too wrapped up Kenzie to even bother to consider it. “Yes,“ he said, fighting to keep his tone simplistic.

“She’s telling Madeline, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Good. None of this can go forward otherwise. Now that those photos are live, we have to work hard to control the story surrounding them.”

“I’m not going to lie to anyone about her, Mom.” Duncan clenched his teeth.

“Control, I said. Containment. We can turn this into an advantage, but we have to harness the narrative from the outset.”

“There is no narrative. I love her and I want us to be together.”

“God, stop fucking saying that, Duncan. I fucking heard you the first fifty times.”

He leaned back in the chair, letting a colossal breath of frustration out of his mouth and nose. His mother could be a cruel, heartless person sometimes. A cold, ruthless, and implacable psyche, unfeeling and immovable. He loved his mother, but he hated her propensity for spite. He hated the way she was ignoring his sincerity; as if it meant nothing to her.

“I’ll call Madeline. I’ll do this for you, Duncan.” Annette took another ungraceful gulp from her wine glass, no doubt aware there were no prying eyes to critique her at the moment beyond her willful son. “But you keep this under control. You keep her under control.”

As if I could ever do that, he thought. Kenzie’s spirit is brighter than anyone I’ve ever seen. I could never control her. I can only hope to deserve to be near her. But Annette did not understand, that was clear. Whether she ever would remained unclear. But at least she had agreed, in her way, for now.

He pulled the Lafite over to his own crystal, pouring himself a generous glass.

“You’ll like her.”

Annette smiled, but it was a mirthless smile. “That was her smell on you the other day, wasn’t it.”

His eyes flickered. He hesitated.

“Don’t ever fucking lie to me again. Or I will make you regret it, my only son.”

Duncan gulped the wine, not moving his eyes from his mother’s face. Annette stared back, and her eyes were like dark orbs of obsidian, spheres of void, blackest night. He did not doubt that she meant what she said this time, and he nodded, swallowing the wine. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She used the tongs to place several spears of the asparagus on the plate in front of him, the way she often had doled his food when he was a child. He picked up his fork, his heart slowing finally, and stabbed it into one of the spears, bringing it to his mouth, her dark eyes watching him for another moment, her expression indecipherable. Then, she picked up her phone to stare at the text she’d received, and he glanced down into his pocket, noticing his phone lighting up with a text message of his own. Kenzie.

Mom isn’t happy, but I think I made her understand, at least a little. At least for now. She wants to meet you soon; I thought maybe on Friday? Duncan pressed his lips together in frustration. He couldn’t imagine it would be a good idea for Annette and Madeline to have dinner together so soon after his and Kenzie’s admissions. He couldn’t imagine how he’d orchestrate a scene that included his mother, Madeline Stone and Mackenzie, at least, not yet. The thought made him shudder with its likelihood of disaster. He looked up from his phone, noticing his mother’s eyes on him again.

“Is that her?” She asked curtly.

“Yes.”

“Eat dinner with your mother. She can wait.”

Duncan looked at Annette, stormclouds rolling in behind his eyes again. This was going to be a hell of a ride, wasn’t it? A real hell of a fucking time.

-------

Duncan had finally escaped from his mother’s clutches; she had insisted he stay later than he’d wanted to, going on and on about the Foundation, Claire Underwood’s opposition to the bill, his Uncle Bill’s chemo (I’d feel worse about his cancer if he wasn’t such an asshole all the time, Duncan thought), the Gala (“I’ll be the one to take her for a dress,” she’s said matter-of-factly, and Duncan had been unable to hide his smirk; good luck telling Kenzie what to wear, he thought, she has a unique style of her own and I would never presume to do that, and Mom, I’m giving her an expense account, and I’m not going to tell you about it, and she’s going to keep her things at my penthouse and you can’t stop her because I won’t let you), the Dance Center’s grand opening, and the inner workings of his recent projects for the front that was Gardner Analytics; a hard-working piece of propaganda orchestrated by Annette primarily, though he didn’t presume to erase his own contributions and involvement. Duncan felt as though in a few short days the trajectory of his life had abruptly switched course somehow; had been pulled into a tunnel lit by fairy lights and roses and wisps of summer air full of drifting flowers; the things he’d cared about only a few days before no longer seemed to mean anything, and his thoughts were full of Mackenzie Stone like an oasis of water in a desert, a haven of wondrous meaning in a vast expanse of nothing. His mind drifted with the Lafite ground into his blood now, and he laid his head back on the leather backseat of the BMW (Samuel was playing Duke Ellington and John Coltrane now; In a Sentimental Mood, he thought, oh yes, I am). He looked down at his phone, finally alone to text Kenzie without any interruptions or prying eyes.

Baby, I’m so sorry it took so long to text you back. It took a long time to get my Mom to a place where she wasn’t being irrational. Thank you for sending me that link; everything’s okay, my Mom has seen it already, we’ll make it through this, I promise. She wants to meet you on Friday as well; can we see your Mom on a different day? I can make time on Wednesday or Thursday, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to have dinner with both of them at the same time yet. I feel like we’re going to have to ease them both into this, and I want everything to work out okay. I want them to accept this (accept us, accept you, accept me) because it means more to me than anything else. You do.

I miss you terribly right now.

He lowered his phone, staring out at the night, and truly he wanted nothing in the world but to be with her. He felt starkly afraid at forgetting the smell of her hair and her perfume; he wished he had a piece of her clothing or a token of some kind to grasp in his hands, assuring him of her reality in a world that seemed to lack her in every instance in this moment. A world without her was truly abject. He sent a silent prayer into the sky; Fates, you seem to be the Gods for me: make her sure that I love her, because I do, I do, I do.

He felt his phone vibrate in his hand, and looked down, dazed in the rhythms of drum and piano; Kenzie.

Baby, can you come to my apartment? Please come.

Duncan sat up with a jolt, his hazy drunkenness eeking away. “Samuel, go to Kenzie’s apartment building, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel turned abruptly, without needing to change the course of his GPS; I guess he knows the way to her house already, Duncan thought, and he smiled, full of affection and anticipation. Coming to you, baby, he typed, and sat back, Ellington and Coltrane assuring him: fortune is smiling on you, the Fates have heard your prayer.

#millory #duncan shepherd #body and soul #duckenzie #duncan shepherd au #cody fern #collie #billie lourd #cody x billie #michael x mallory #millory au #house of cards au #ahs apocalypse #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #collie au #my fic

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1rmono · 7 years

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100 Reasons to Love Kim Namjoon

today is my 3 year anniversary of loving namjoon and so here’s 100 reasons everyone should love him !!!!!!!

he gave up a stable future of studying and going to college (despite being so smart) to risk everything and pursue his dream of becoming a rapper

had to fight criticism for being an ‘idol’ rapper and struggled for years with his decision and identity

when he says he loves himself !!!!

never forget this cute tummy flash !!!!!!!!

he loves all his members so much sosososo much, he always puts them before himself

WHEN HE’S LAUGHING REALLY HARD AND HE STARTS SEAL CLAPPING

that one time tae came to sleep next to namjoon and namjoon sleepily held tae’s hand and wouldn’t let go

his signature move when he takes his two index fingers and covers one of his eyes while looking deadass into the camera

HIS DOE SHAPED PRETTY CHOCOLATE BROWN EYES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

professional self-dragger, literally willingly drags his own ass

his mixtape release in 2015, every song was so important and deep and okay, it’s largely forgotten because of yoongi’s mixtape but it has so much emotion and meaning behind every song

he loveloveloves dogs !

literally has looked like the best thing the world has to offer no matter what rainbow ass hair color bighit sticks him with

that golden age when his hair was black when will that look come back from the war ://////////

you know that thing he does when he’s been rapping and suddenly breaks out into a smile and scrunches his nose and winks with one eye mmmmmmmmokay !!!!

his angry rap when his neck veins show because he’s literally putting his all into it

the way he looks in beanies !!!!!!!!! with one ear tucked in and the other sticking out

the mole on the left side right under his jawline

the fact that he literally read books on philosophy for hyyh

THE WAY !!!!!!!!! HE LOOKS !!!!!!!!!!!! IN A SUIT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

that time his speaker wasn’t working and he yelled at it and it started to work, Legends Only

the fact that he isn’t afraid to try out weird kinds of fashion and won’t hear shit about it

has been known to support LGBT since 2012

THAT TIME BTS WERE IN ISAC IN 2015 AND HE WAS EVERY MEMBER’S HYPE MAN

when he’s too lazy to wear contacts so he wears his thick black rimmed glasses :’(((((((((((

that time he had a wardrobe malfunction and had his whole shirt ripped off during that dance break and he did the whole performance holding up the sorry remains of his shirt

the fact that kim namjoon invented dimples !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! no really he did

how he is literally incapable of doing a fan sign without making it a display of how much aegyo he can fit in any given span of time and then immediately be shy and embarrassed about it

6 feet tall, he is 6 feet tall also don’t forget that he is literally the eiffel tower because nothing is taller than 6 feet just sayin

that amazing and blessed time he had silver hair and my heart literally exploded !!!!!!!!!!!

HIS PRETTY PINK POUTY PLUSH PERFECT LIPS

that time bts was doing rainism and he was the only one who didn’t know all the moves and messed up but pulled it off confidently in the end

he literally loves his mom so much i’m :’(((((((

HIS ALL BLACK OUTFITS AND THE WAY HE LOOKS WHEN HE WEARS ALL BLACK AND THE WAY ALL BLACK LOOKS ON HIM AND -

the fact that every time someone tells him to do a freestyle dance, it’s literally the same awkward robotic jerky dance with the failing arms and legs since 2013

when he tries to sing even though the members laugh at him

HE JUST WANTS TO CATCH CRABS FOR GOODNESS SAKE

his cute soft pretty pink knees :’))))))))))

in the fire era when he had that acorn haircut and pulled that shit off when will your fave ever

he reads, he has an IQ of 148, he was the nation’s top 1% in 5 subjects in high school, he -

his smile his beautiful glorious soft glowing stunning breathtaking smile that smile that you only have the privilege of seeing someone have one in a million times in your life, the kind of smile that could change the world

the way he looks in a choker the way he looks in a choker the way he looks in a chok-

okay !!!!!!!!!! but his cute squishy tiny nose so kissable n someone please bop it and pinch it and it’s soosososo cute

the way he gets his hands inky and dirty every single fan sign every single darn one !!!!!!!!!!!! why are they dirty? what is he doing ?????

THE AUDACITY HE HAS TO WINK AND BITE LIPS AT CAMERAS THE SHEER AUDACITY

the way his arms look in sleeveless tops his arms !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the way he looks in snapbacks mmmmmmmmmmmm

that time on running man when everyone was supposed to have as many boxes as possible and he literally got his box snatched from his hands and he tripped over nothing he’s the dorkiest softest boy -

SAILORMON !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

that time he wore the army khakis and outfit and i just ://////// oh my god

his side profile his perfect gorgeous beautiful angelic side profile !!!!

his obsession with ryan and how happy he got when jimin got him a ryan cake for his birthday fkdsfhgfd

legs for days !!!!!!!!!!!!!

that time namjoon was a minion for halloween

“I had to dance to survive in this cold, cruel world.”

his cute outfit in the baepsae dance practice video :((((((((((

he looks sosoososososo unbeliveably beautiful bare faced i just love him so much

that time during the hyyh prologue shooting when all the members were piling onto him and he yelled ‘MY BALLS, MAN’

his fucnkgn !!!!!!!!!! puma photoshoot binch !!!!!!!!!!!

the fact that he sang expensive girl and took the fact that he didn’t get a grammy for it like a man :///

that time they won their first award in 2015 and he was cleARLY CRYING but denied it like “i’m not crying”

THAT TIME HE LITERALLY DESCRIBED HIS ERECTION ON LIVE RADIO AIR IN ENGLISH

that one time !!!!!!!!!!!!!! bts had an outdoor performance and his white shirt got sososososooso sweaty it was basically stuck to him and see through if you don’t know what i’m talking about then goodbye

those RARE times when he smiles and sticks his tongue out at the same time !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

that time he was complaining about jungkook and the fruit flies and the weird as shit way he pronounced ‘vaccuum’

his messy friendship with jackson

the fact that he apologized for the mistakes he has made in the past and made no excuses about them

award for having the world’s cutest and flattest tushy !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i don’t know if anyone noticed but the way he holds his fingers when he’s explaining something like he puts them in awkward bent angles and they’re really long and expressive i just looooovvveeeee

that time he was doing a duet with this female singer for a show and he picked her up from the airport and held a sign with her name and got shy around her he’s the biggest gentleman DDDD:

deep husky voice like shots of pure liquid gold sends shivers down my spine ://////////

KIM DAILY

that time he held a tiny itty bitty baby frog on his index finger i dont know why it was so cute of him i just !!!

sweaty namjoon when namjoon sweats the sweat namjoon produces

that time he tried to twerk but ‘something keeps dangling’

when !!!!!!!!!! he wears tight pants and his thighs are almost bursting out of his pants jdfkkhkj

the way he says ‘baby’

EVERY ‘WHAT AM I TO YOU’ PERFORMANCE HE’S EVER DONE

that time he was asked to pick between solo and bts and didn’t hesitate for a microsecond before saying bts

THAT TIME NAMJOON DID THIS GUITAR ACOUSTIC WITH SOMEONE ELSE AND HE RAPPED SO SWEETLY MY HEART OVERFLOWED

taught himself english by listening to 10 english dvds 10 times over 3 years

special thank you to every namjoon stylist who made him wear low cut shirts

THE WAY HE LOOKS WEARING A MASSIVE HOODIE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

‘and i’m sexy like a porn star’

accepts and settles for being the least popular bts member

the way he looks when he wears headbands

when his sleeves are super long so he has sweater paws and his pretty fingers stick out slightly jdsfkshgkjfmncvb

sub par body rolls that can still make you squirm and cry :////////

once when he was the first in a lineup in a fan sign he told a fan ‘now you’ve practiced on me, you can do this in front of your real bias’

got to write in “힙합하다 1” (‘This is Hip Hop 1: South Korea, Hip Hop and Life’) which is a hip hop book for 42 top korean hip hop artists

THAT TINY MOLE BELOW HIS BOTTOM LIP THAT YOU CAN ONLY SEE IF HE SMILES REALLY WIDE

the way he looks in a tie ohohohoohohoho my gosh !!!!!!!!!!!!!

that time in the ariport the cameraman said ‘the girls love you guys’ and namjoon was like ‘thanks, we love you too’

the way he wrote about the sunset in his diary when he went to dubai

HE HAS BENDY ARMS !!!!!!!!! NO REALLY I SWEAR THEY BEND BACKWARDS

he once told a fan ‘sorry’ when she told him she got him photocard

he said that he wanted to know what it was like going to college and sometimes he feels like he missed out on that experience :///

can you believe namjoon invented having pretty hands??????? Amazing

he cares sosooso much about other people he’s always wondering how his fans are doing, what they feel like, always giving advice, always learning and growing, never stopping

“I’m still existing, still breathing. Even though I keep looking forward and run, sometimes I still look back. The path in front and behind are still far, but even so, if the people who look at me are still dreaming and picking up their strengths, that alone makes me feel good. It’s okay to live this way, breaking down, getting hurt and looking back at the past. I will live. I am living like this. Me. Us.”

#anyway the only reason this list isnt longer is because i didn't have any more time :///////#rapmon-net #kim namjoon #networkbangtan #namjoon #rap monster #bangtan #bts #personal #3yearswithnamjoon #IM GOING TO SLEEP NOW BUT ILL BE BACK !!!!

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