“Madame X. Madame X. Madame X.
And by Madame X, he meant Jordan Hennessy.”
Hiii I decided to draw Jordan as Madame X bc of that chapter. It was so beautiful and I was giggling the whole time.
(In one or two weeks and I’ll publish a tsc fanart, so if anyone is interested I hope you’ll like it)
Tag List : @arangiajoan @adoravel-fenomeno
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no thoughts head empty, just the Lynch brothers and their loves
(PT.1) DECLAN:
He stood up and laid a hand on her forehead. Not hot. He knew it wouldn’t be, really. He was already touching her, so he used it as an excuse to slowly tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.
Her grin tugged wider as she guessed, correctly, that he was looking at her.
Just for tonight, he thought. He’d go back to being dull as soon as the sun came up.
He felt like laughing. He didn’t know why. If it was because she was funny, or if it was because he was laughing at himself because he was an idiot, or if it was the way her wide grin was so infectious when she made a joke.
“If she comes,” Declan said, “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of if something happens to Hennessy.”
Now he laughed for real, a considerably less even sound, and he looked away from her as he did, as if he might muffle the truth of it by so doing. This was obviously not a sound he meant to hand out to people.
She shifted her head on his chest; he tilted his chin. She felt his breath suck in.
“I had different intentions for our next d … get-together,” Declan said
He liked how he looked on her arm
She laughed with delight, and he memorised the sound
Jordan Hennessy was art in front of art in a room that was art in a building that was art in a life that was art, and Declan told himself he had only come here to get his car back.
“I’ll utter your name when I paint something with it.” “Say it now,” he said, and he nearly let himself smile.
Matthew leapt gratefully into the conversation as Declan looked at the two of them. He felt so content in that moment... He liked this life so well.
He laughed, explosively, turning his face to do it, and she laughed, too.
“If you want to know more,” he said, “call me.” “Smooth,” she said. “Well done.”
She was crushed against Declan and he against her. For a moment she looked at him and he back, and she saw bright intrigue in his expression and knew he saw it mirrored.
“Is that a—” He could see her thinking hard. “Stubenrauch? Right?” “Reinhard Stubenrauch.” He was absurdly pleased that she knew. He was absurdly pleased to be here with her. He was absurdly pleased.
Madame X. Madame X. Madame X. When Declan slept, he dreamt of her.
And by Madame X, he meant Jordan Hennessy. He couldn’t get enough of her.
He felt a bright humming energy all through him... His life in black and white; this moment in color.
Declan could feel the awfulness rising in him, combining with that desire to put his fist through the wall, combining with just plain desire for Jordan Hennessy and everything she represented
He couldn’t see what she was doing, but it was no hardship to sit quietly and watch her work.
He’d pulled so many strings for that Tyrian purple... What an idiot.
This was perhaps what Declan liked the best about all of this, about Jordan Hennessy: She could handle herself. He’d never had an equal—he’d never even known he wanted an equal, and now that she was there, he liked it.
For one second of one minute of the day, he didn’t run the probabilities and worst-case scenarios and possibilities and consequences. For one second of one minute of the day, he just let himself feel. There it was: Happiness.
Jordan ducked under his arm on the wheel in order to sit on his lap. He matter-of-factly sorted out her voluminous ponytail as she leaned her head back on his chest to gaze up at the shifting evening sky. He bent his head prayerfully, eyes still on their destination.
Jordan Hennessey. He couldn’t stop thinking about her
He hated everything. He couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t have it in him to love another dream. It hurt too bad. Loving anything did.
Fuck, he told himself. Do not fall in love with this girl.
and the absolute best
“By the time we’re married,” Declan said eventually, “I want you to have applied for a different studio in this place because this man’s paintings are very ugly.”
Her pulse gently skipped two beats before continuing on as before. “I don’t have a social security number of my own, Pozzi.”
“I’ll buy you one,” Declan said. “You can wear it in place of a ring.”
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