#finding out the girl you been crushing only has that pride sticker because she lives in the pride ring 😥

[ckducky]

Bi-Pure Coincidence

#hazbin hotel #Charlie Morningstar #charlie x vaggie #chaggie #vaggie #fan comic #gay girls #hazbin charlie #bisexual #Lesbian #pre season 1 #comic #not me making a whole comic out of a minor background detail #finding out the girl you been crushing only has that pride sticker because she lives in the pride ring 😥 #Finding out the girl you been crushing on is also Bi 😍

[kisafavi-17]

Jack:

- football star

- quarterback

- friends with newsies in middle school

- HELLA TALL

- openly bisexual

- he/him

- seems scary but is really nice

- had a small fling with sarah

- RED BULLLL

- average student

- creator of blog

- junior in high school

- just turned 17 in february

- teachers love him

- massive flirt

- loves horror movies and will put them on to have background noise

- HIS REAL NAME IS JACKSON BUT CALL HIM THAT AND HE WILL END YOU

- lives with medda

David:

- straight A+

- honor roll gate kid

- taking 5 AP classes

- gay and on the ace spectrum

- major social anxiety

- new kid

- met jack first

- closeted/didn’t know

- tutor to most newsies

- has a older sister sarah (by 1 year) and younger brother les (10 years old)

- he/they?

- editor of the blog (once joined)

- mentally ill

- scared of spot

- sophomore taking junior classes

- 15 years

- reads romantic novels to understand women

- has feminine products on him at all times

- FEMINIST

- has sensory issues

Race:

- pothead

- always has nic of some kind

- TRAUMAAAAAA

- always horny

- flirts with all

- attracted to few

- very openly gay

- gets bullied a lot

- on-scene reporter for the school news blog

- barely passing

- he/they/she (doesn’t care really)

- swears A LOT

- met spot in 4th grade

- sophomore (got held back a year) 16 years old

- is down for anything

- lives with jack at medda’s

- is the meme lord

- does. not. sleep. (or sleeps all the time no in between)

- has dyslexia and reads wattpad or redit

Spot:

- either really rich or really poor

* Rich:

- daddy’s money

- old family friends with jack

- arranges interviews with people for the blog

- on baseball team

- picks on boys

- REFUSES TO MAKE FUN OF GIRLS

- lowkey feminist

- internalized homophobia

- drives a porsche… a BRIGHT RED porsche

- he/him (says nor/mal like a douche tho)

- HELLA DEPRESSED

- takes “performance enhancing” pills

- secretly hangs out with the newsies

- junior but really young

- david is his tutor

- lowkey really dumb

- refuses to read anything. ever

- IS NOT FUCKING SHORT!!!

- he’s like 5’10 (says hes 6’0 tho)

- real name is thomas

* Poor:

- TRAUMATIZED AFFFFF

- wears zip-up hoodies with black skinny jeans

- beat up black vans

- emo

- also a really young junior

- hot topic is his ✨home✨

- everyone is scared of him

- the “quiet kid”

- he/him

- closeted bi pref men

- race is his only friend

- occasionally smokes weed

- oldest sibling of 3 (twins one of each. 5th grade)

- has a job no one knows about

- works as a waiter at a dinner an hour from school

- IS. NOT. SHORT.

- HE. IS. LIKE. 5’11.

- gets into fights and never looses

- secretly simping for race

- protects the newsies

- writes anonymous articles for blog

- ✨black eyeliner✨

- always has painted fingernails

- B+ average

- real name is sean

Sarah:

- book worm

- LESBIAN

- she/they

- loves the book worms

- reads anything and everything

- does photography for school blog

- definitely does theater/choir

- owns wattpad

- writes on wattpad

- definitely simping for fictional characters

- has tried a vape once

- lightweight

- tall

- like 5’8.5

- mamma mia fangirl

- loves DC movies

- has every girl/boy crushing over her

- therapist friend

- always has everything you need somehow

- met jack at a party

- doesn’t allow ANYONE to pick on david along with jack

- cottage gore ascetic

- loves disney

- drives a blue subaru

- is on the high school dance team

- hates the term “UwU”

- is a 16 year old junior

Blink:

- on football team

- still has eyepatch but no one cares

- gayyyy

- dating mush

- PDA

- funny af

- is a really old sophomore

- 16 years old (a january baby)

- camera man for race for blog

- besties are bumlets, mush, and jack

- only one without family trauma

- has twin sister

- has the funniest laugh ever

- volunteers at homeless shelters

- cinnamon roll🥺

- real name is dylan

- hornyyyyy

- has smexy pics on snap

- harry potter fan

- griffindor

- TWITTER WARS

- starts beef for no reason

- watches horror to freak mush out

- it works

Mush:

- hates horror movies

- is dating blink

- is on the wrestling and dance team

- people tease him for being on the dance team

- 15 year olds sophomore

- wants to be a veterinarian

- owns a chicken for some reason

- no one knows how he got a chicken

- chickens name is Kentucky (hehe)

- is a cinnamon roll 🥺

- body dysmorphia

- has eating disorder

- nicknamed sunshine (brought to you by blink)

- has braces

- has mainly girl friends and everyone thinks he’s dating them

- he/him

- pansexual

- civil rights activist

- hates when blink gets hurt

- is a crackhead some times

- is a vegetarian

- works lighting for blog interviews and reports

- PDA is not his thing but he doesn’t mind it

- BOTTOM WHO LOOKS LIKE A TOP

- people think he’s a crybaby when in reality, he rarely cries

- loves disneyland and disney in general

- friends with everyone

- is the matchmaker

- cuddle bug with blink

- mostly C’s and B’s on his report card

- real name is aaron (hehe)

- is a romantic so… mush

Bumlets:

- emo vibes

- on dance team

- is secretly good at soccer

- gamer boi

- has only been in one long term relationship

- is broken hearted

- keeps to himself

- they/he

- pansexual

- had a crush on blink for a bit

- has crushed on every newsie at least once

- is pretty chill

- 15 year old sophomore

- currently single

- taking AP classes with david

- is like really smart

- reads AO3

- doesn’t like wattpad

- plays CoD and halo

- rages when he games

- LOVES GRILLED CHEESE

- scary dog privilege (owns a pit bull)

- pit bulls name is kiara

- knows how to ballroom dance

- romantic boi

- doesn’t open up easily

- knows how mush got his chicken

- friends with poor spot

- is a writer for blog because he can actually spell

- real name is lucas

- has depression hence “bumlets”

- surprisingly really strong

- ✨flexible✨

Skittery:

- one of the oldest newsies (terms of joining)

- only talks to bumlets and jack

- doesn’t like david to much

- has a RBF

- is 16 (turns 17 in august)

- is a junior

- smokes cigarettes

- doesn’t have social media

- is on the varsity water polo team

- ✨rings galore✨

- tries to be cool

- has 2 cats

- cats are cheesy and monica

- has an older brother in college

- works at 7 11

- is not looking for a relationship

- he/him

- straight ally

- tried being gay but didn’t work out

- drinks white wine

- always stressed

- decent student

- A- average

- friends with all the coaches

- headphones are his lifesaver

- is a very numb human

- always has cold skin for some reason

- even in like 100 degree weather he is still cold to the touch

- had facebook then deleted it because hack found his account and spammed it

- historical fiction type of dude

- is the one who finds all of the info to give to writers/reporters for blog

- loves bumlets dog

- drives a toyota prius

- real name is jefferson

- no one but jack knows how he got the name skittery

Crutchie:

- was in a car accident

- real name is charles

- has social anxiety and dyslexia

- should get picked on but jack doesn’t let that happen

- soft boi

- technically isn’t a newsie but shows up to the meetings

- is a emotional support teddy bear

- is the assistant director for the school plays

- best friends are jack, sarah, and mush

- only has instagram

- terrified of heights

- occasionally sleeps over at meddas

- adults love this child

- they/them

- gay

- loves disney

- knows the entire hunchback of notre dame movie by heart

- is 14 years old

- freshman. the only freshman newsie

- child of the group

- goes to all of his friends game or competitions to cheer them on

- is really short

- like REALLY SHORT

- says “rawr” a lot

Medda:

- jack and races mother

- (A SINGLE MOM WHO WORKS TWO JOBS WHO LOVES HER KIDS AND NEVER STOPS WITH GENTLE HANDS AND THE HEART OF A FIGHTERRRR IMMA SURVIVOR)

- is a voice actress

- has been in disney films

- “if you’re going to drink id rather you do it in the house” mentality

- hates the idea of nicotine

- on the PTA

- has annual passes to disneyland

- loves all the newsies

- wants to adopt poor spot

- is in her late 30s to early 40s

- she/her

- straight… kind of

- she says she’s straight but by definition she’s pan

- civil rights activist

- has an ACAB sticker on her car

- PRIDE FLAGS EVERYWHERE

- if the sexuality/gender exists in the lgbtq+ community, she has their flag

- likes gardening

- will never use the wrong pronouns

- doesn’t really eat at chain restaurants

- not afraid to kill someone who hurts one of the newsies

- i’m serious

- she’s tried

- ….

Les:

- in 5th grade; 10

- friends with poor spots siblings

- is friends with the newsies

- loves medda

- is like another crutchie without the trauma/depression/anxiety/etc.

- asks david if him and jack are dating

- he knew david was 💅 before david did

- loves it when one or all of the newsies picks him up from school

- everyone loves him

- got picked on for having a “looser brother”

- spot (both poor and rich) picked him up one time with david. said “if you have a problem with les, you got a problem with me!”

- les was never bothered again

- gets lifted onto the guy’s shoulders all the fricking time

- loves feeling tall

- wants to play football like jack

- is very smart

- is ridiculously fast

- he has the fastest mile time in the whole grade

- teachers pet

- doesn’t have many friends his age

- brags about the newsies to his classmates

#livesies #newsies live #racetrack higgins #davey jacobs #david jacobs #jack kelly #incorrect newsies quotes #sprace #newsies 1992 #1992sies #spot. is. tall. PERIOD

[tyrustrash]

Double Rainbow

Hey, all! Here’s my first Julie and The Phantoms fic! @caro-reads @random-nerd-3 I tagged y’all cause y’all seemed interested in the idea. It’s also on AO3 if anybody wants to read it on there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726482

He thought once he told them everything would be alright. His parent were assholes, which he figured they would be. That night had less yelling than expected, but just the right amount of disappointment. His father called him every slur in the book as he threatened to make things physical and his mother just cried and wondered where she went wrong. He gathered up everything that he thought was valuable before he stormed out of the house due to his father’s orders.

He walked to the closest park and rested on one of the benches. The rain came down hard. Good for him because it covered up his tears. He didn’t know what to do. He knew that his father wouldn’t immediately be open with having a gay son but hoped he would lighten up because they always told him they would always love and support him. He guessed he wasn’t the only one that lied.

With the flash of lightning, Alex jumped from the bench. He nearly dropped his phone on the concrete sidewalk. Without thinking about what he would say, he called one person he hoped wouldn’t be like his parents.

“What’s up,” the voice on the phone said. He knew Luke would answer even if it was late.

He couldn’t form a complete sentence due to his sobs. “Lu-Luke. I c-can’t. Please.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” The concern in his voice seems sincere. It made him hope that it was real. “Just breathe. Tell me what’s going on.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t come out to him. He just lost his parents and he wasn’t ready to lose his best friends. “My parents just kicked me out.”

“What!” His shouting was loud enough to fill up the empty park. “What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?”

Alex got even more upset that he couldn’t tell him the whole truth. “I’m at Frankly Park, in the rain.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What are you-” He couldn’t finish speaking because Luke hung up. He wanted him to stay on the phone longer. He wanted him. He wanted someone that would care about him.

A few minutes later, a car pulled up to the sidewalk. He recognized it as Emily’s car. He walked to it and got in the passenger’s seat. He noticed Luke in the driver’s seat with the most worried face he has ever seen.

“I’m sorry for getting the inside wet,” Alex said without looking at him. His voice was so faint that it felt like a ghost talking.

“I don’t care about that,” Luke told him. “I care about you. What happened? Are you hurt? Do I need to get Reggie?”

Hearing him mention Reggie made him begin crying again. It just hit him that his friends were all he had left and he couldn’t mess things up. He didn’t know how to tell them, nor did he know if they would even be cool with it.

“I just need somewhere to stay.”

“I know a place.” With that, Luke drove off.

A short drive brought them to a garage in a neighborhood. There wasn’t a house attached to it. Walking inside, there was some sort of setup for playing instruments with some couches on the side and a little bed area on the top floor. Alex looked at it in awe.

“What is this place?”

Luke went to the fridge and gave Alex a bottle of water. “Welcome to Sunset Curve’s new rehearsal studio. I was going to show you guys this weekend as a surprise. The original owners didn’t need it anymore and let me buy it off them real cheap. I wanted to set things up before we actually got started in here.”

Alex sat on one of the couches and took it all in. He looked up to the partial second floor which only consisted of bedroom supplies. He figured he could stay there. “Thanks for getting all this.”

“No problem.” Luke sat next to him. “My parents wanted us to find a new place because they wanted the house to be quiet. You can stay here as long as you need.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Nah, it’s our space now. You’re free to crash here for however long you need.”

Alex couldn’t be more grateful. Luke went out of his way to find them this space and was okay with him living there. Without thinking, he leaned over and gave him a hug. When Luke placed his hands on his back, it made Alex pull away quickly. He just realized he gave his male, and straight, friend a super close and tight hug. It got him thinking if he gave off any signs.

“It’s okay,” Luke said. “If you need a hug, I’m open. I don’t mind.”

Before he could let out any more tears, Alex got up and made his way to the bed on the second floor. “It’s alright. I just need to rest and clear my mind.”

Luke nodded and headed out. Before closing the door, he looked Alex in the face and said, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m all ears. And don’t ever forget that I love you. Reggie loves you. Hell, even Bobby to an extent loves you. You have people here for you.”

When Luke left, Alex started crying again. He thought about what Luke said. Would they really love him when he comes out? Would they end up being like his father? The world didn’t like people like him and most didn’t bother hiding their hate.

His father would make snarky remarks all the time about gay people and make it known that he believed straight was normal. One time when they saw two guys holding hands, his father covered Alex’s eyes and cursed at the guys because he thought they were going to poison him with their disease. When Alex asked what was wrong with them, his father simply explained that they were sick and needed help. When Alex said that he thought nothing was wrong with that, his father took him to church and had him pray for an hour until he caved and said what his father wanted to hear.

He remembered the first time he felt feelings for another boy. He was in eighth grade and there was a particular football player that he gravitated towards. Unfortunately, the football player happened to be his only friend at the time. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but to stare at him whenever they spent time together. He felt his insides shake just thinking about him. He finally understood what the other boys were talking about when they talked about girls. He worked up the courage to start a conversation with him to explain how he felt, but before he approached the boy, he saw that he had an anti-gay poster in his locker. That crushed his spirit and ended their friendship. Now he was worried that his current friends would think the same. He never heard them say anything alarming, but people could put on a show. So much was running through his mind that he needed to let it out somehow. He grabbed his journal and started writing exactly what his heart felt and every emotion running through his body.

Even though he shouldn’t, he wrote about what would happen if the guys ended up not liking him. He wrote about how much their friendship meant to him and how hurt he’ll be if they kicked him out. He wrote an apology to them for lying and not having enough faith in them. After a few tears hit the pages, he placed it on the little table and went to sleep.

A few weeks passed and Alex has yet to come out. He’s been alright around the guys and grew closer to them because of their extra time together. He felt safe with them, or that’s what he thought.

Over time in the garage, Alex has bought different rainbow and Pride-themed things to place around the garage to see how the others would react. It wasn’t much, just some cups, plates, blankets, and stickers for their instruments. It was his way of giving hints without saying anything, and to see if they would mention anything. He made sure that they didn’t see him bring it all in. He almost bought glitter but thought it would be too much.

One day, Alex was on the couch playing air drums when Bobby and Reggie came in and went to the fridge. They poured some orange juice in the rainbow cups.

Reggie took a sip and nudged Bobby. “Hey, man, do you know where all this random rainbow shit came from? It’s getting a little too fruity in here for my liking.”

Alex’s ears perked. He started feeling his heart sink lower into his stomach.

Bobby groaned. “Dunno, but hopefully more don’t show up. Don’t want to be turned.”

Bobby laughed and Reggie stayed silent as they made their way to the rehearsal area. Alex wanted to die. He didn’t want to believe that his only friends had those thoughts. He started having more thoughts the other day when Luke said he never wanted to think about kissing another boy. Alex stayed quiet as he listened to Bobby and Reggie.

“What does that mean?” Reggie asked. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad.”

Bobby shook his head. “Yes, it would. Do you think that that’s right?”

“I mean,” Reggie said, which made Alex worry even more. “I don’t know. With everything the news says, I don’t know exactly what to think, but I do think a little that being homosexual is weird. I mean, girls are hot. I don’t know why guys wouldn’t be into them. However, it’s none of my business what they’re into. And I’m not going to assault them or say anything to them either.”

“I’ll say something.” Bobby’s voice was cold. Alex took note of Reggie’s facial expression of confusion. “As you said, girls are hot. Guys are supposed to like girls.”

“Says who?” They all turned to the backdoor and noticed Luke in the door frame. His tone was a mix of sarcasm and pissed off. “I didn’t know there was a rule stating who we had to like?”

“Come on, man. Don’t defend them as if you’re friends with them. I heard what you said. I remember our talks.”

Alex for sure wanted to die. His heart raced faster knowing that the three of them had talks where they expressed their dislike for people like him. He wanted to get up and run away, but that would look too suspicious.

Reggie got between Bobby and Luke. “Guys, let’s just calm down and talk reasonably.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about what the two of you have said to me, especially since all this rainbow shit started showing up.”

Luke approached Bobby. “Look, I didn’t really mean anything that I said. It was all for fun.”

“What did you say?” Reggie asked.

Luke rubbed the back of his head. “It was nothing. Just some jokes about how the queers like to shove themselves down our throats. That I feel like they check me out when I go to the gym and felt uncomfortable. Nothing serious. But it’s not as bad as what Bobby says.”

Bobby chuckled as if he wasn’t ashamed. “Yeah, but at least I have the balls to say something. Those freaks shouldn’t be out in public. I shouldn’t be afraid to be shirtless at the beach in case one of them tries flirting with me. If I catch one of them even thinking about me, I’ll beat the crap out of them. Those faggots can rot in hell.”

That was it. That was the final straw. Alex started hyperventilating and tried leaving. He stumbled on his way but managed to get out. He didn’t make it far, only to the trees behind the garage. Gasping for air, he passed out.

When he woke up, he was shocked. He was back in the garage and was on the bigger couch. He looked over and saw Luke and Reggie sitting at the table, both seem interested in something. Upon closer look, his eyes widened when he realized they were reading his journal. His heart couldn’t catch a break today.

He couldn’t do anything because they saw him. Their faces look like they’ve been crying for a while. Luke still had some tears rolling down his cheek. Alex’s feet couldn’t move for some reason when they started coming towards him. Next thing he knew was these two straight guys giving him the tightest hug that he has ever had. Alex joined them in the tears.

“We’re so sorry,” Luke said without letting go. “We’re so freaking sorry for what we’ve said. What Reggie and I said truly were meant as jokes, poor and tasteless jokes that shouldn’t have been said.”

Reggie was next. “We love you so much, Alex. We’re sorry for being the worst friends ever. We understand if you hate us. But let me tell you that you are our best friend and we never meant to hurt you.”

Alex’s sobs filled up the garage. He didn’t know what to believe. After hearing all the hurtful things that they have said, it was hard for him to be around them. But he could tell in their voice and face right now that they were genuinely sorry.

“Why?” Alex asked as he broke the hug. “Why would you even say those things? Or even think those things? Are you only saying this now because I’m your friend?”

Reggie got down on his knees and took one of Alex’s hands. “Alexander Oscar Cobb, you are our friend no matter who you are. We were monsters for what we’ve said, and we’re truly sorry and we want to change.”

Luke got down next and took his other hand. A little tear left his eye. “We don’t know why we said those awful things before. Please, you have to believe us when we say that we don’t hate you and we don’t hate others like you. We were just stupid boys that listened to the wrong crowd.”

“What about Bobby?” Alex asked as he stood and walked across the room. The other two followed him.

“He’s out,” Luke said. “We kicked him out of the band and the friend group. We don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Yeah,” Reggie chimed in. “He saw nothing wrong in his thoughts and didn’t want to change. He continued talking shit when he found out the truth.”

Luke moved to be in front of Alex and looked him in the eyes and said, “We promise to never make a dumbass comment again. We’ll learn and grow and do whatever it takes. You’re not just our friend, you’re our brother.”

So many thoughts ran through Alex’s mind that it felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t risk making the wrong move, but he was pretty sure he was going to be happy.

“Thanks, guys,” Alex said as he took their hands again. “And I promise to be honest from now on. Your words mean so much to me and I hope we can all use this as a learning experience.”

At that, they had another group hug and gave supportive remarks to each other. Alex turned his head and stared out the window. He smiled seeing the double rainbow in the sky.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfiction #gay #lgbt #ao3 #fanfic

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 8 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Whew, okay y’all, Duncan and Kenzie are dragging me along at a breakneck pace, trying to tell me everything at once and I’m trying to get them to slow down so I can organize everything, but I can’t stop writing this fic. I’ve been forgetting to eat I’ve been so wrapped up in it. I keep trying to take a break for a day but I don’t feel like doing anything else half as much as I feel like writing. That��s an amazing feeling I haven’t had in...a really fucking long time, years and years. I have to thank some of you again for your love and attention to me and this story: @nat-de-lioncourt, @impiorumrequies, @carousallie (thanks for your tips about cool DC places, darling!), @ladywriter94 (who had a fucking dream about Duckenzie, oh my god, a dream I’ve vowed to make into a scene at some point), @ghostwithangeleyes (who made this edit a few days ago!), @icouldrun, @hi-ilovedamien (who made this which I fucking love and is writing an amazing Millory fic of their own that you should definitely read, Dichotomy), @killcort and @amanda-d0000, Thank you. There’s a lot of stressful stuff coming up for Duckenzie regarding outward pressures; the good news is, they have each other. Here’s Billie Holiday’s BODY AND SOUL, which is a song I had never heard before until a few days ago, though now I feel like it’s as integral a part of this story as any other song I’ve listened to or included as inspiration (and her name is Billie too; how amazing is that). I based Madeline’s little china dolls on the work of an existing artist, but I looked for her to link to it and couldn’t find it again; if anyone knows of an artist who modifies china dolls so they’re little grotesqueries, let me know, because it’s probably the artist I was thinking of. Like Annette, I found Madeline (who is based on Carrie Fisher) challenging but ultimately rewarding to write; she sees the world very differently than Annette, and it was important for me to communicate the differences in Duncan and Mackenzie’s upbringings with their mostly-single mothers. I listened to Rihanna’s KISS IT BETTER a lot for the sex. As ever, if you’re reading and enjoying, your comments and reblogs are everything to me.

Kenzie pulled at the latch handle on her mother’s hardwood front door, stepping inside warily, practically tip-toeing. She was immediately enveloped by the warm, wonderfully inviting, deeply nostalgic smell of her mother’s homemade spaghetti sauce; a smell she seemed to be able to pinpoint in her dreams sometimes (smells in dreams, always weird, she thought). It juxtaposed sharply with the sinking feeling now nestling deep into her guts, the foreboding feeling of being a disappointment to her mother, who she couldn’t help but idolize in her own secret way; couldn’t help but want to impress, make proud, bring contentment.

She moved slowly through the doorway, setting her satchel down by the door, slipping her kitten heels off and checking with a soft tap of her hand that her phone was still tucked into the large pocket of Duncan’s cardigan, then moved past the staircase and into the living room, with its large oak-framed fireplace and soft, squishy, jump-in-there mulberry-colored couch, gazing at the odds and ends of her mother’s house, the tchotchkes that defined so much of her mother’s energy in her head. Her mother loved weird paintings in particular; things that looked like other things; on the mantel was her growing collection of delicate china girls that had been reconfigured to feature odd anomalies; one girl had tentacles growing out of her arms, another was holding her own disembodied heart with a hole in her chest, one had a gaping hole in her side, her arm on the little porcelain patch of grass at her feet, and a dazed, zombie-like expression, her mouth a mess of blood and gaping teeth. Kenzie had bought a couple for Madeline one Christmas while she was still in college, seeing them in an online shop by an independent artist; their defiant monstrous femininity was Madeline always in Mackenzie’s eyes, and they’d made her think of her mother right away. Over time, Madeline had acquired more, and now they formed a small monstrous army there. On the wall over the fireplace, her eyes dusted over the large gold coin that was her mother’s Pulitzer prize; a prize Madeline had earned at an absurdly young age for a now-legendary editorial on her struggles with bipolar disorder. Kenzie scrutinized it with a mixture of pride and longing; she was already 24, older than her mother had been when Madeline had been awarded the prize. She wondered if she’d ever win something so prestigious for her writing; couldn’t stave away her doubt that she wouldn’t. Who cares, make art anyway, because it’s for survival, it’s for your own heart and soul, the memory of her mother’s advices past pushing between her ears. Momby, who was in the kitchen, banging pots and pans with pointed slamming and slapping; Momby, who was mad at her.

Kenzie slipped her hand into her pocket, her little fingers closing around the familiar smooth rectangle of her iPhone in its gold case, thumbing the moon sticker; thinking of you, Duncan, her memory flashing back to his lips under her ear (leaving an invisible gold tattoo) before she slipped away from him into the car outside Le Diplomate, the moment now frozen in time by a stranger’s camera, her heart ramming into her ribcage, her body immersed in liquid fire. I have to make Momby understand.

She entered the kitchen where to the right she saw Madeline at the sink, past the fridge, staring at the water falling from the faucet into the stainless steel pasta pot she held steady under it. Her lips were pursed together, her expression neutral, far away. She glanced over her shoulder at Kenzie, who stood in the doorway in her knee-socks, making her hands into fists and then relaxing them, hesitant. Glanced, looked back at the pasta pot, glanced back again, silent, on the edge of her anger, but unable to find words for it.

“Momby,” Kenzie started.

“Mackenzie, how could you be so fucking naive?”

The words stung her like a slap in the face.

“Men like that--” Madeline began, and Kenzie walked past her, tears already stinging at the corners of her eyes (oh god, Kenz, not already), trying to hide her face from her mother, trying to find footing in her slowly disintegrating composure. She cried so easily with her mother; maybe it’s because she usually felt so safe to. But not right now. Right now she wanted to hide in a hole until Madeline decided she forgave her daughter. Right now, Kenzie wanted to fast-forward to everything being okay, because it had to be. She couldn’t bear the idea of not being with him now. A sharp, imaginary spear of pain jabbed into her chest as Madeline finished her words. “Men like that will take everything away from you, they will try to control you and make you their slave and they will try to crush your spirit, Mackenzie.”

Kenzie jerked one of the squat wooden chairs from the round kitchen table in the corner and sat, setting her fingers against the edge of the table, gripping that edge for dear life, eye fixed on the brick wall behind it, refusing to look her mother in the eye. Kenzie, do not cry, do not fucking cry, don’t do it, you stupid crybaby bitch, don’t fucking cry--

But it was too late and she could feel the tears coming, pushing themselves out of her lower eyelids like a tide coming in to shore; she was powerless to stop them, just as the shore was powerless to stop that tide, that ocean wave. She felt the first of them course down her cheeks, and her lip trembled.

“Momby,” she whispered. “I love him.”

She looked over at her mother then, more tears falling down her cheeks now; Madeline stood with her back to the sink now, the faucet still running, her arms crossed, her expression full of fury. She saw her daughter’s tears, and her face crumpled a little; enough that Kenzie could see her falter internally, double-back on her anger, try to go forward with it again, and become stuck in an in-between of emotions.

“Mackenzie. My dearest. You don’t know him yet.”

“Momby, I will get to know him. Please listen to me.”

“Annette Shepherd has tried to ruin my career, destroy my credibility and my livelihood, she has tried to smear my personal life, tried to discredit my work, Annette Shepherd is an evil bitch--”

“Momby, this is not about you!”

Kenzie shocked herself with the shrillness of her scream; her voice rising until it seemed to shake her entire body as it came out, rocking her back from the edge of the table into the seat, and she turned her body to her mother, her own anger now finally having risen, the tears still stinging their way down her face. Her mother’s face went white with shock, and she fell into a stunned silence. For a few minutes, the only sound was the water running over the edge of the now-full pasta pot, and the tick of the little classic black Kitty-Kat clock against the wall leading to the dining room.

“Momby,” Kenzie said again, and her voice cracked a little--she hated to fight with her mother so much. She hated it, it punched a hole through her heart, it fractured her spirit and filled her with abject sadness. “Momby. Please. Let me make my own mistakes. You have to let me. You made mistakes too. Don’t I get to make any? Can’t I--” Her face collapsed, unable to stave off the sob building in her lungs any longer, and she gasped as it burst out of her. “Can’t I figure out myself if this is a mistake or not?”

Her mother’s face softened, her arms unfolded, and she turned, shutting off the faucet, moving to where Kenzie sat with her body now shuddering as she cried.

“Kenzie Lou,” her mother said, and she reached out to grasp Kenzie’s hand. Kenzie immediately felt enveloped in the warmth of her mother’s now-wrinkly touch. She gasped out a little sigh of tear-clogged air, forced herself to speak between her hitching breaths.

“Duncan isn’t his mother, Momby. Please, believe me. Why can’t you trust me?”

“Oh, sweet pea.” Her mother pressed her other hand over Kenzie’s, so both grasped her fingers. “I do trust you. But sometimes you feel blinded by something--by someone. Sometimes you can’t see what’s going on because you’re looking at one tree in a forest.”

“Momby, that’s not what this is.”

“How do you know?”

“I feel it. In my heart. In my spirit. He loves me and I love him and we want to be together and I love you so much, but I’m going to be with him whether or not you like it, Momby, and I’m an adult and you need to let me do this.”

Madeline let go of her, standing again, moving back to the sink, dumping the overflow water out of the pot, bringing it over to the stove, lighting it, grabbing the salt off the rack beside the stovetop, her expression exasperated again. Kenzie wiped at her teary face with the sleeves of Duncan’s cardigan, sniffling, feeling pitiable and tired.

“I’m not stupid, Momby, and I need you to trust me. I need that from you.”

Madeline shook salt into the water, still not saying anything, still pressing her lips together, her eyes unreadable behind her squarish black glasses, shoving the container back onto the rack; grabbed the glass bottle of olive oil beside the rack, shaking it hastily into the water next. She was thinking. She was listening; at least, I think she is, Kenzie hoped. I think she’s listening to me now.

“I know in my heart that this is what I want.”

“And what if he betrays you, my sweet Kenzie?” She could hear the edge in her mother’s voice; the edge of tears. Her own tears sprang back into her eyes, threatening at the corners. Oh Momby, she thought, don’t cry.

“You experienced pain, you were betrayed, and you came out the other side, you survived,” Kenzie replied, and her hand slipped down into her pocket again, clutched her phone in her wet fingers. Duncan, please, be true to me. Please, promise me I’m not doing this in vain. “If that’s what my path is, I have to see it through. Momby, you know, I was with Tyler for three years. I never once felt this way about him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Like my eyes are finally open. Like I finally understand.”

“Like you understand what?”

Kenzie stared evenly at her mother, who was now facing her again, hands resting against the back of her hips. She saw the moisture behind her mother’s glasses, could see the searching expression in her mother’s eyes behind the shield; knew that Madeline was as prone to tears around her daughter as her daughter was to her. And Kenzie knew that her mother was listening. Kenzie stood up, padding over to her mother on soft, earnest feet; she reached her arms around Madeline’s stiff body, burying her face in the crook of Madeline’s neck, pressing into her. She felt her mother soften in her embrace; felt Madeline’s own arms come around her little frame, hand coming up to stroke her hair.

“What it means to love someone,” Kenzie said into her mother’s skin, and her tears came back again, falling along the shoulder of Madeline’s indigo sweater, like little pearls of rainwater.

They stood that way for a little while; Kenzie could hear the soft hiss of the gas stovetop under the spaghetti sauce (simmering for hours now, filling the house with its rich, spicy smell) and the pasta pot, the soft ticking of the cat clock’s tail, back and forth, and the rustling of the trees outside in a drifting wind. A car passed by on the street, its rumble indistinct. And she could hear her mother breathing softly against her; feel the weight of her mother’s warm hand in her hair. And she knew: eventually, this would be okay. She knew with a startling certainty that sometime, someday, her mother would accept Duncan, and it filled her with emotion again, silent, still, and overwhelming.

-----

Madeline had driven Kenzie back to the train station after dinner; over her mother’s wonderfully spicy garlic meatballs and long handmade pasta, her mother had insisted on meeting Duncan this week; if it were up to Madeline, Kenzie thought, she would drive to his penthouse now, an accusatory finger in his face as soon as he opened the door, provided she could get up there without a doorman hurriedly chasing after her. She couldn’t erase the worried tone of voice her mother used for the rest of the meal; couldn’t erase the apprehensive gaze hovering on her mother’s face. This will take some time, she told herself, trying to reassure her frayed nerves. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was any lasting relationship. She wondered at her appetite, expecting it to have dissolved entirely over the stress between them, but she found she was starving; I guess I only ate half my lunch, she reminded herself, and no breakfast, didn’t have time for Duncan to make me eggs and toast again, and she felt wistful, wanting to go back to that first morning they spent together, the memory crystallizing in her psyche now; set to last forever. There will be so many days for us to have breakfast together, she told herself. God, I could die of happiness, I can’t believe it still.

She glanced at her mother, who was quietly staring out at the road, not speaking, lost in her own thoughts. Kenzie pulled out her phone and sent Duncan a quick text; she was disappointed to see he hadn’t yet replied to the last one that had included the link to the gossip website. 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? She put the phone back in her pocket, determined not to stare at it in hope for a reply. He’s at dinner with Annette, she told herself. He’ll reply when he can. Her mother pulled into the station’s parking lot, the waxing half-moon scattering its light down on the platform.

“Kenzie Lou, promise me you will keep your wits sharp.” Her mother had grasped her hand before she got out of the Jeep, tightly, insistently. “Promise me you will keep your head. Words are just that; words. It’s action alone that proves affection. And I don’t mean just the bedroom kind.”

“I promise, Momby,” Kenzie said, squeezing her mother’s hand, unable to suppress the smile that spread over her face at that last part. “I promise I will.”

My heart is already lost in him, Momby, she thought. And in his bed. But my wits are always my own.

Kenzie waved a little as the beat-up Jeep Cherokee drove away, and her mother laid a light tap-tap on the horn (the way she always did) as the headlights turned to the street and the car accelerated behind Kenzie, drifting away into the waxing moonlight. She turned toward the station platform, seeing the glowing lights of the approaching train, still a quarter of a mile down the track; she held the strap of her satchel in one hand against her leg, and the other hand she used to pull her phone out of the big pocket of Duncan’s cardigan again. She’d noticed her mother looking at her clothing several times over dinner, and though Madeline hadn’t said anything; Kenzie could tell her mother knew the cardigan was too big for her; that Madeline knew it was his. But fuck it, she thought. I told her. It was awful. But now she knows. She pressed the home button of the iPhone, heart in her mouth, hoping Duncan had replied by now; but to her dismay there were no new text messages on her phone. She lowered her arm, thumb absently stroking the phone screen, her heart sinking. She realized in a wave how tired she felt; not a physical tiredness as much as an emotional ache. Her soul felt tired with all that had happened; her heart wasn’t used to being tossed back and forth this way, and now her body ached; ached with the hug she’d shared with her mother, ached with the come-down of adrenaline, and most of all, ached because of Duncan--the ardent touch of his hands and mouth and cock, but also the ardent immediacy of his desire and his soul, and they way they had touched her, touched her in the deepest part of her being. She felt lost in the depth of feeling that had surrounded her for the past few days; the thought of sleeping in her bed alone tonight made her want to burst into tears again, as if nothing at all had happened, as if she was now supposed to go back to things as usual, supposed to sleep somehow, supposed to bring herself down from the highest peak of heaven, back to earth, unbothered.

As the train pulled up, rustling Kenzie’s hair into her eyes and against her cheeks, she felt the swell of an incomprehensible emotion fall into her, one that felt like a door opening, or a book falling open, or the rush of air that comes before a storm. She felt lost in the feeling for a moment; a feeling that had no definition, no name, and no intention of explaining itself to her. She slipped her earbuds on, and, too exhausted to choose, hit the shuffle button in her iTunes library; as she eased into one of the long, flat seats along the side of the train, she heard the sweet voice of Billie Holiday slip into the buzzing space of her mind, calming her, sweet and understanding, full of that emotion she had felt, unable to name. My days have grown so lonely, for you I cry, for you dear, only...why haven’t you seen it, I’m all for you, body and soul...Kenzie closed her eyes, letting Billie’s voice wash over her, the train pulling her along, back to her empty little apartment, through the waxing moonlight.

What lies before me, a future that’s stormy, or winter that’s gray and cold...unless there’s magic, the end will be tragic, and echo a tale that’s been told, so often...my life revolves about you, what earthly good am I without you?...I tell you, I mean it, I’m all for you...body and soul...

-------

Kenzie made it to the door of her little studio apartment, its familiar gold moon swinging back and forth as she pushed it open with her elbow, and uncaringly dropped her satchel on the floor; it teetered and fell over, spilling her Macbook to the side, a pen, a tube of chapstick, a packet of tampons and the little bottle of Tylenol she always carried scattering out. Who fucking cares, Kenzie thought, and she walked over to her bed, sat on the edge, kicked off her shoes, pressed her fingers into her eyes, and felt the involuntary shake of a sob escape between her lips. The silence settled around her, enveloping, like a thick blanket; she suddenly felt unable to breathe, felt more tears coursing in an unstoppable stream from her eyes, pressing her fingers in harder, relishing the cold feeling of her fingertips against the hot tears. She wondered with a sudden, horrible, shaking fear if Duncan was going to leave her, if his mother had managed to somehow sway him to drop her, dump her unceremoniously; wondered if Annette had convinced him somehow that she wasn’t worth anything after all, that his reputation was more important than dating some two-bit mediocre journalist, that he, the wildly beautiful and wildly rich and wildly perfect Duncan Shepherd, didn’t need her, didn’t love her, and didn’t want to see her again.

Oh no, she thought, as she felt the despair of her wildly derailing thoughts pressing into her throat and her lungs and her ribs. Oh no, oh no. And Kenzie couldn’t stop herself; she started to cry, cry so hard she thought she might break into a hundred pieces, cry so hard, tears falling like tiny crystals through her fingers, that she thought she might never stop. She imagined that her long, fraught argument with her mother tonight had all been for nothing; that that pain and the ache of her mother’s disapproval had been for naught, and the feeling that had washed over her that everything would be okay in the end was a fraudulent one; that the feeling had been a lie. She thought of his passionate kisses and his beautiful hands and wondered if they, too, had been a lie; if somehow she was as stupid and as naive as her mother had worried she was...and as Kenzie cried, she heard the trumpet of her phone ring out in her pocket.

She pulled it out, eyes wet and blurry with her tears, her mind aching. Duncan.

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.

Kenzie’s breath hitched; the sob there stopped abruptly as the wave of aching relief washed over her. It means more to me than anything else. You do. I miss you terribly right now.

For a few heartbeats, she read the text again; one more time after that. Then, she typed.

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

For a moment her breath shuddered through her body from the comedown of her tears; and she stared at her phone, her mind blank of everything but her hope.

Duncan:  Coming to you, baby.

Her heart slammed into her ribs the instant she read it, against the edge of the bottom of her throat. Whoever is listening, she thought. Thank you. Oh god, goddess, Fate, thank you.

------

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later when Kenzie heard the buzzer for the front door ring; it resonated in its shrill little voice through her apartment. She had been in the bathroom, trying to dry the worst of the tears and dab the worst of the redness from her cheeks and her nose; she turned, achingly, resigned to her tear-stained face, and practically ran to the button by her front door that unlocked the buzzer; she waited there, not moving at all, as if frozen, listening; she heard the front door snap open with a jerk, heard the sound of his pointed gait, the click of his boots in the hall, and then the insistent knock on her door, once, twice, three times.

“Baby,” she heard his low voice murmur, and she yanked it open, feeling her face crumple again, to her deep dismay; she couldn’t stop the feeling of relief that washed over her in more tears as she looked up into his face, flushed with what seemed to be the aftermath of him running up the sidewalk from the car, into her building; a curl of his caramel-chocolate-dark hair had fallen over his brow and his eyes were clouded with concern as they gazed at her tear-stained face, his expression one of desperate longing.

“Duncan--” she murmured, but that was all she had a chance to say; he had enveloped her in his arms with an entirety that stole all the breath from her body, pushing her back with aching gentleness, kicking her door shut behind him with one of his black boots, his mouth reaching down hungrily to hers in a burning kiss, the fingers of his left hand falling down to cradle her waist, the fingers of his right coming up to her neck, under the base of her skull, holding her face to him with aching softness that made her body vibrate with an immediate burst of feeling that sent waves of heat into the sensitive folds of her sex.

:”Oh, baby,” he whispered into her. “Oh, Kenzie, don’t cry, please don’t cry…” His voice made her tears threaten to flow again, though, despite his words; they were full of ardency, achingly gentle, and blasted with the tenderness of his own sadness and longing. He was afraid too, she realized, lost in his mouth and the warmth and pressure of his hands. He was scared, too.

“I thought maybe your mother--” she started to speak against him but he shushed her, with that aching tenderness, that insistent need to soothe her. “No, baby, no,” he said. “Nobody will ever come between us. Not her. Not anyone. I swear.” His hand came up from behind her head, his thumb trailing over the incline of her jaw, over her lips, over the tenderness of her sore cheek. “We’re together now. Me and you. Only me and you.”

She nodded, unable to speak, her hands clutching at the thick smoothness of his leather jacket, leaning her face into his hand, full of such relief and warmth and sweetness suddenly that she felt faint with it; faint with the immediacy of him, where before her apartment had been cold and empty and void of him, faint with his realness, faint in the weight of his embrace. But then her head cleared; her sense sharpened, as if someone had turned a light on inside her; had turned up the volume of her spirit, had pressed a shot of adrenaline into her heart, and she pulled his face down to her, demanding, hungry; he came to her eagerly, a little moan escaping into her from his mouth, and she felt his aching need press against her belly; she pulled him over to her bed with its blanket covered in constellations, and she pushed him down insistently, needy and unselfconscious in this moment; she wanted him to know that he was hers now, she felt it acutely; there was a sort of possessive rawness growing behind her thoughts; she didn’t want to share Duncan with anyone anymore tonight, she wanted him to be hers now, and hers alone.

Duncan had leaned up a little on one elbow to look at her, gazing up at her from where he lay on her coverlet with hunger shining out of his gray-blue eyes; hunger, and that same look of wonder, of reverence, that had so thrilled and frightened her before. That hair still fell over his forehead; his beauty filled her with a demanding ache that she wanted sated, and she was going to make him give her what she wanted, and she felt, without any doubt, that he would give her whatever she wanted, with devotion.

“Baby, I want your tongue inside me.” Kenzie stared into Duncan (her boyfriend, her lover)’s eyes as she said it. She moved her hands down beneath the hem of her dress as his eyes followed, pulling the waistband of her black panties down; her nerves thrilled at the soft groan that came out of him towards her as she stepped out of them.

“Yes, baby, please,” he whispered, trying to reach for her.

“Not yet. Lay back.”

He looked at her, a thrill of gold light flickering through his gaze. Then he lay back as she had instructed, his eyes never leaving her face. She could see the rise of his erection under his tailored slacks; she could see his neediness, and it thrilled her.

She pulled the turtleneck dress over her head, throwing it onto the floor, her hair cascading around her bare shoulders now; she unhooked the clasp of her cream-colored bralette, letting it fall to the ground as well, her eyes never leaving his. His expression was divine; entranced. He was so beautiful; she wondered if she’d ever be able to look at him without feeling as though her body was simmering under a fire; his beauty pierced into her, causing her bare skin to burst into goosebumps as she stood there in soft light and shadow falling from the bathroom doorway, naked but for the thigh-high socks she’d been wearing all day; she pushed them from her knees, keeping her eyes locked on his.

“I want you to fuck me with your mouth, baby.”

“Yes, Kenzie. Please.”

She smiled at that; please. She liked that.

“Ask me again.”

“Please, Kenzie. Please let me fuck you with my mouth.” His expression was achingly sincere; he was truly begging her, and she loved it so much. She laughed a little, delighted. God, I love this, she thought. Him asking for it like this. This fucking Prince, begging to eat me.

She climbed on top of him; his hands came around her, but she pushed them gently down and he followed her lead, lowering them, gazing at her in desirous wonder. She moved up carefully, slipping over him so her knees came to rest on the coverlet on either side of his head, the softness of her ass sitting on his chest, right over his breastbone. He let a soft moan fall from his lips again; “Oh, baby--”

“Shhhh,” she insisted. He quieted. She slipped her hands around his wrists, bringing his hands up so they rested against her lower back, just at the incline of her ass. Then she lifted her hips, feeling the lips of her labia stretch, wet with her arousal, gazing down at him, expectantly.

“What do you want, Duncan?” she whispered, smiling, hovering there.

“I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he replied, eyes gazing into hers; she saw the wild, rough abandon buried in them; an abandon that was for her, and her alone.

At that she pressed down onto his mouth (that beautiful mouth, holding the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen captive), feeling the edge of his teeth graze against her clit, the warmth and wetness of his tongue press into her, slide up into the sweetness between her folds; she felt his hands move down to cradle her ass, clutching at her tightly as he buried himself between her legs, and it made her body shudder with a violent knowledge; he was going to make her come and he was going to make her come hard. He moved his head so she fell up and down onto him, each insistent lick of his tongue into her core rocking her body back in a haze of sunbursts behind her eyelids, fireworks, rolling thunder breaking into shocks of lightning.

“Ahhh, Duncan, baby, fu-uuuuuuuck---” and her words bled into a groan of wordless, overcome sensation; he was working himself into her so utterly that she felt like she was a spool of thread unraveling into warm water; the heat building down at her sex where his mouth sucked at her with insistence was causing her mind to hum with warning, hum with the threat of an onslaught of sensation she wasn’t sure she could prepare herself for. The press of his large hands clutching at her ass, the weight of his tongue pressed into that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves, moving down again to probe into her swollen pussy, licking up again, hard and soft, rough and then achingly gentle, and she shuddered; she felt her release coming from behind a corner, rushing up. His eyes came up to stare into her again, as if he could feel her climax approaching, she looked down into their blue depth, and that was what sent her over the edge, tumbling into the abyss of them: she screamed and her body rocked back with an involuntary spasm that stretched into a prolonged convulsion, clutching his skull, pulling his hair back, pressing her core down into his mouth with so much force she worried for a moment that she’d suffocate him; and he moaned under her, sucking the wetness that dripped out of her down his throat, eagerly, keeping his mouth there as her orgasm eked out of her in waves; she gasped as he continued to lick at her overly-sensitive, now-swollen clit, as if he was loathe to leave it.

Kenzie collapsed down into the crook of Duncan’s shoulder; she continued to moan, her orgasm still hovering around the corners of her eyes, her body dissolving into a post-coital daze; tears pricked at her eyelids again, and she felt them course down her cheeks; will my tears ever end tonight? she thought, overwhelmed in her release. Her body continued to shudder under his gentle hands as he moved them, softly, up and down her skin; caressing her breasts, her waist, the bumps of her ribs, the incline of her hip bone, the soft skin of her upper arm, the indentation of her throat, and all over again, starting at the beginning.They gazed at each other, blinking slowly, not speaking; Duncan’s mouth was wet with her release, and she pulled him down to her; he kissed her deeply, the taste of her mingling between them again (like that first night), and clutching her hand in his larger one, tracing his fingers through hers, slowly.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Fuck me now.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, hesitant, delicate. She nodded; said “yes”; she sat up, pulling him with her, pushing his leather jacket off his shoulders (he yanked it off, lips connecting with hers again) and she pulled his soft long-sleeved black shirt over his head; he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them and and briefs off together in a fluid motion, kicking his shoes off, pulling his cashmere socks off his feet; he turned to her, grabbing harshly onto her legs at the back of her thighs, yanking her down the bed to press against him, his naked cock shuddering between his legs against her skin, and stood at the edge of her bed, holding her legs together and her knees up so the back of her thighs were resting against his the front of his, her feet brushing against his shoulder. He lifted her a little; and then he buried his length in her sensitive cunt, groaning, and held her legs up as he pounded into her, his knees bumping into the edge of her mattress with every thrust, burying his entire length deep into her again and again; she gazed up at him, her mouth open, unable to look away; Kenzie felt like an invisible thread had extended between them, tying them into each other indistinguishably, souls threaded through one another.

Duncan gasped, pausing for a moment, gripping her tightly, staring into her, his chest heaving, still buried inside her; “fuck me from behind, baby,” Kenzie said, and he smiled (baby that smile that smile, eat me up) and pulled out of her, soothing her body down, and using his strong hands he flipped her over; she moved so she came up on her knees, hands pressed into her coverlet so she was on all fours; she moved her ass up just a little, so it was higher, against head of his cock, expectant.

He grasped her around the neck (“oh god baby,” she gasped) and right under the space beneath her left breast, and he buried himself inside her cunt, his mouth finding the small space under her ear. “Fuck baby, this feels so fucking good,” he moaned into her. “Fuck, you’re so lovely, baby, fuck, I love you--” and she gasped against the weight of his hand which he tightened a little, tightened and made little stars come out under her eyes, “Fuck baby, I love you too,” she cried, “fuck, keep your hand on my neck that way, fuck that feels so good--” and he steadied his grip so his fingers splayed out and covered the front of her throat, possessively.

Duncan’s cock was wildly hard; Kenzie could feel the way it was stretching the lips of her labia, stretching her to the edge, burying itself so deeply into her she felt him bumping against her cervix with little dazzles of vague pain--he thrust into her again and again, hand steady on her neck, the other reaching down to her clit again; he pulled her up so she was pressed flush against him, her little body prostrate to him, his fingers working between her legs, lips still on her neck, hand still at her throat, and as he shuddered into her, coming deep inside her (“Kenzie, angel, I’m fucking coming--” and a longer “Fuu-uu-ck, fuck me, fuck” into the skin of her neck) she felt a second wave wash over her; an orgasm of smaller power than her first, like short tides bursting over a rocky shore one after the other, and she whimpered into his hand around her windpipe, shaking.

This time they both collapsed back onto the bed, hands coming around each other with need, holding each other between trying to catch their breath; “are you okay, baby?” Duncan whispered against her forehead, where a sweet film of sweat gathered along the hair at her temples; she could see sweat glistening on his forehead, too, and along the incline of his jaw.

“I feel so fucking good, baby,” she replied, hazy, quieting. “Do you feel good?”

“God, so fucking good,” he laughed, his lips falling on her shoulder blades, his hands trailing along her arms. Then his expression shifted, became serious.

“Kenzie, I’m so sorry I made you worry. I’m so sorry for not texting you sooner; today was terrible, neverending, but that’s not an excuse. I promise I will never ignore your messages or disregard them. It kills me that you thought the worst; that you were sad because of my lack of perception.”

“Duncan, it’s okay. I was just...blowing it out of proportion...today was just, so long--”

“Baby, no.” Duncan shook his head, hands falling down the wave of her hair, twisting his fingers through it. “No, I’m sorry. I should have texted you before I went to dinner and I didn’t. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Kenzie nodded against his hand, closing her eyes, sighing. How are you real, she thought towards him again; how are you mine.

“I need to text Samuel to tell him to come back in the morning--” Duncan sat up a little, his eyes questioning, asking her. Kenzie felt a thrill course through her--he’s going to stay here with me tonight.

“Okay,” she said, smiling at him, hand trailing down his arm. “Yes. Please sleep with me here tonight.” And he nodded, leaning down to kiss her, and she felt like she was dissolving into the waning moon that hung in the window, dissolving into him, and both of them melting into the stars on her bed.

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

[lalka-laski]

Have you ever lived in a mobile home?: Nope

Have you ever had your bedroom in a basement?: Not technically, although there was a period of time where I slept on a futon in my basement for several months. I can’t remember why exactly? Maybe just wanted to switch it up.

Do you think it would be cool to have a lion as a pet?: Uhhh... fuck no.

How many times in the past week have you eaten fast food?: I had Moe’s last night and may or may not have indulged in some Mcdonald’s today... 

In the house - shoes, socks, slippers or bare feet?: Bare feet. I’d choose to be barefoot even outdoors most of the time if I could. Although I have to admit lately I’ve been wearing these soft, fuzzy socks that aren’t TOO warm and feel more like silk on the inside.

Do you consider dogs inside or outside pets?: I don’t know shit about dogs but it’s my understanding that almost (if not all) breeds need some amount of outdoor activity? 

Do you read books for pleasure?: It’s one of my favorite hobbies. Although sadly, I haven’t had much interest lately. Too little energy, too much depression!

What’s your favourite piece of furniture in your house?: I get the most compliments on my coffee table and my bookshelf. I’d be more inclined to say my bookshelf is my favorite, because it has a cool design and I’ve decorated it in an interesting way. It’s certainly not “stuffy!” 

Have you ever had a crush on a friend’s parent?: HA, I LOVE HOT DADS. 

Do you prefer carbonated or uncarbonated drinks?: I love me some diet soda but overall, I prefer uncarbonated drinks. I love lemonade (all kinds of flavors), juice and iced teas.

Favorite thing that you can see up in the sky?: The stars and moon always call to me

Would you like it if they sold disposable undies in a pop up box?: GIRL WHAT LOL. See a doctor if you need that!

French fries. Yay or Nay?: I have to be honest, french fries aren’t my favorite. If I have other options for a side dish, I go with those.

Wood floors or carpet?: Wooden floors are so much chicer. I have carpet on every inch of my apartment except for the kitchen and bathroom, and I just find it unappealing. 

Would you rather eat at the table or in your room?: We eat dinner at the coffee table. I have a dining room but my table is a high-top with bar stools and it’s just not conducive to a nice sit-down meal. We have a dining table in storage but no chairs for it. It’s been on my to-do list for a looong time because I’m sick of eating dinner in front of the TV!

A teacher says she’s noticed you’ve looked sad, do you confide in her?: I have actually had several teachers and professors confront me about this. (I don’t hide my emotions well). And I’ve been honest every time.

Would you rather have a gooey cinnamon bun or awesome cheesy pizza?: Wow fuck you for even asking this question. I guess I’d choose the pizza because I don’t have much of a sweet-tooth and pizza is my ULTIMATE weakness. But cinnamon rolls are a real favorite of mine so... I’m torn and hurt. 

Do you like the sound of birds singing when you wake up, or is it annoying?: No joke, nothing enrages me more! When I lived with my sister she told me that she woke up every morning to the sound of me in the next room over yelling “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? SHUT THE FUCK UP!” at the birds outside my window. I have little tolerance for being woken up earlier than planned...especially by a goddamn bird. 

You fill your best friend’s Xmas stocking, what do you put in it?: I’m gonna choose Adam for this question since I know they’re reading it right now: I’d put some fresh herbs/plants for medicinal/therapeutic purposes, fairy cards, some cool lesbian pride pins or stickers, candles, cat toys, good chocolate and specialty coffee!

You fill your OWN stocking, what do you put in it?: Candles, lotions, bath bombs, face masks, nice pens! 

If someone gave you a kitten, would you keep it?: Well I’d probably fall too in love to give it away...

What’s your ideal activity for a rainy day?: Read, write, craft, clean, binge TV shows etc etc..

Favorite type of cracker: Ha I funnily just had a conversation about this. Townhouse crackers are the only way to go! Ritz crackers suck.

Banana sandwich..yum or yuck?: Peanut butter and banana sandwiches are bomb!

Bagels or English Muffins?: Bagels all the way! I hate english muffins actually. 

Do you like or hate to buy new shoes?: I don’t care for shoes at all. So. 

Do you keep your phone on you at all times or forget it a lot: It’s always within reach. I have never “forgotten” it.

Is there a turntable and vinyl records in your house?: No but I’ve always wanted one. 

Do you enjoy doing things outdoors?: I wish I was more outdoorsy 

Which of your parents do you laugh more with?: Both, honestly. They’re funny people.

Have you ever been to an open casket wake or funeral?: Weird, a scene with an open casket funeral was literally JUST on the screen. But yes, I have. 

Would you like to get married one day?: I plan to 

Who mows the lawn at your house?: I live in an apartment

Where do you keep your phone at night?: I usually fall asleep while I’m scrolling on it so I wake up with it somewhere in the bed.

Do you feel comfortable asking your parents or grandparents for money?: If it really came down to it and I had no other choice. But I’d prefer not to. So I guess I wouldn’t feel “comfortable” about it.

What’s the last thing you lost?: I misplaced a photo I wanted to put on my fridge. But I just found it!

After a date, do you call your friend to tell them how it went?: When I dated, yes of course. Well, I’d text them. 

Upcoming event you are dreading?: Whenever it is I get asked back to work...

Do you do more surveys during the day or night?: It’s my evening routine, usually while Glenn watches shows that I don’t care about

Smoothies? Bubble tea? Fancy coffee? None of the above?: I’m not super keen on any of them tbh! Five things you need to throw out: I just recently did a big purge (QUARANCLEANING!) so I don’t have much left to throw out.

Do you like the toilet paper your family uses?: Ha, how topical of a question... 

[sending-the-message]

The Unicorn by Ilunibi

There’s little else in this great big world that can make a little girl in the ‘90s more excited than goddamn stickers. Glittery Lisa Frank nonsense by the roll, bought in needlessly pricey gift sets that peppered the caps of the pink aisles, princesses and My Little Ponies; hell, I used to get excited about the stickers that came on the fruit my mom brought home, or the foil stars my kindergarten teacher stuck to my spelling tests. I was a goddamn ferocious sticker collecting machine, and nothing made me or my friends more needlessly excited than badly printed cartoon characters on shitty adhesive paper.

Nothing.

In fact, the pecking order of my childhood group of friends was usually decided by who had the largest, most unique, most vibrant collection on the whole block, in the same way that some of the boys used their trading cards. She who had the newest set of rainbow dalmatians and sparkling pink horses was essentially the alpha female, and the more glitter and holographic film we had to show off, the better. We’d pile together in our living rooms with shoe boxes of treasures and try in vain to compete with the reigning champion in the neighborhood: my cousin, Rebecca.

Rebecca was different than the rest of us. She wasn’t a resident of that impoverished corner of town, but she was a frequent visitor. My aunt and uncle had barreled their way out of the slums through a combination of hard work and luck (which they’d never admit to), so Rebecca had a lot more at her disposal than a bunch of first and second graders who scrounged together their allowance to buy a couple of sheets of stickers from the drug store. No, she was the cool, older kid with literal boxes of untouched sheets and rolls of Disney characters and multicolored unicorns and cute puppies and fuzzy kittens. And, while she wasn’t in any way mean or unkind to us, she was an absolute scrooge with her collection. I suppose I would be too if the situation were reversed.

We could marvel at her recent acquisitions, but we couldn’t actually touch. Trading with her was like talking to a brick wall, because she was more there to gloat than to take part in our mad scramble. Occasionally, if the wind blew in exactly the right way and the sun was aligned properly with the planets, she’d bestow upon us a gift from her hoard, though I could never peg whether it was goodwill or showing off. It doesn’t matter. She gave me a rainbow shark for my birthday and I still have it stuck in my drawer of sentimental junk.

Additionally, she was very particular about her stickers. I can’t think of time when, at the end of our sessions, she didn’t comb the entire room just to make sure that everything was in its place. I’m not sure how an eight-year-old girl manages to memorize exactly how many sheets of identical Casey and Caymus stickers she has, but it never failed that she would always notice if something was missing. Sometimes, things got mixed up and we’d have to sort through our own piles to find the errant stickers, and sometimes we’d spend half an hour looking under furniture until we found where it fluttered to. She was anal about it.

Which is why it shocked me when she left for the day and I discovered she’d forgotten one.

It was a regular day of our swap meeting, sitting beneath the picture window of my mom’s living room, the only anomaly being that Rebecca seemed more than a little under the weather. The other girls who could make it wrapped up early because their moms needed them home from lunch, but Rebecca lingered until well into the evening until her parents finally picked her up. She counted out her sheets, we spent way too long looking for a missing dragon she’d got from a fifty cent machine, and once she was satisfied with her inventory, she packed up everything and left.

Only, as soon as she was out the door, I noticed something sitting where she had just been. It was on white wax paper and was the size of a Skittle, but it was a fluorescent yellow that caught my eye immediately. I dove on it out of curiosity and a weird sense of first-grade desperation. I didn’t care that, technically, it was stealing. I just cared that Rebecca had somehow missed one of her treasured stickers--probably because she was too sick to notice or care--and I could add it to my own collection.

It wasn’t anything impressive: a yellow circle with the tiny, awkward silhouette of a unicorn on it. In any other situation, I’d think it was the dullest thing I could ever cram into my pile, but it was Rebecca’s. That made it special.

As I shuffled it into my shoe box of wonders, I justified it to myself by repeating the mantra that, if it meant that much to her, she would have noticed it was gone regardless of how ill she felt. Maybe it wasn’t even her who dropped it. Maybe it was Cathy or Ashley or a girl from a previous get-together, and I know all of my friends wouldn’t mind if I kept something as insignificant as a teeny, tiny, pinkie-nail sized sticker with a poorly drawn unicorn on it. If they did bring it up, I’d just give them one of my gold stars or weird, bug-eyed smileys from the doctor’s office. In my mind, it’d balance itself out.

Predictably, after half an hour of gloating to my stuffed animals, I did what any kid would: I completely forgot about it. That unicorn sticker was lost in the fog of dressing up a Beanie Baby in doll clothes so he could have a lovely night out at Pride Rock with his girlfriend, bootleg Hello Kitty. By the time my mom forced me to take a bath and ordered me into bed, the unicorn sticker was barely a blip on the radar, at least until Rebecca finally called me out on my theft.

Or, normally that’s how it would go, except for the fact that I barely could sleep that night. I was plagued with nightmare after nightmare, waking up to stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, feeling like something was glaring at me. I’d always doze off again, but the dreams would go on like a sick, twisted clip show: finding Rebecca eating my neighborhood friends alive in the kitchen, watching my dog get slowly crushed by a car, drowning in the river beside my house. And it just went on and on.

And on. And on.

For days.

To say my mother was concerned by my night terrors was an understatement, but less of one than to say I was scared when I realized she would react to smells and glimpses of something dark that seemed to ooze around in our peripheral vision. You see, as the days marched on, the nightmares seemed to persist in small, strange ways once I woke up. I’d catch a whiff of vinegar and sulfur out of nowhere and watch, horrified, as my mother’s nostrils would flare and her brows would furrow in confusion. I’d see strange shadows slink around the wall, always bolting out of sight if I looked to them and, eventually, I’d watch my mom whip her head around to seek out the culprit, too.

It took almost a week for me to put two and two together, my house gradually becoming more and more unwelcoming and my sleep becoming less and less restful. I probably would have never figured it out if I hadn’t knocked over my box of stickers while staggering tiredly across my room. Amidst tears of frustration and kid-friendly curses that wouldn’t get me grounded, I started putting everything back into place and stumbled across that goddamned unicorn.

It was just as boring as I remembered it, lemon yellow with a awkward silhouette like some kind of girly Batman logo. I stared at it, it stared back, and then I got a whiff of something sour that was so strong that my eyes watered. I blinked and looked down, only to see a blank yellow circle staring back from my palm.

I screamed. I was too young to really register how crazy it sounded and too trusting in the idea that my mom would believe me, and she opted to chalk it up to sleep deprivation. She practically manhandled me to force a Benadryl down my throat, telling me it was for my own good, that I needed a nap, that she’d find a way to get me to the doctor within the next couple of days.

I fought valiantly, but was out like a light within a few minutes.

And I awoke in a nightmare, huddled in my bed, the floor stretching for miles and miles and the walls climbing up to the stratosphere. The only source of light was an ethereal ball of what looked like fire but, somehow, less substantial. It ebbed and flowed and glowed and the shadows seemed to dance with its erratic undulations, twisting and squirming like snakes and monsters. Some of them seemed to have faces, but they burned away in the light.

Fire or no, it was cold. I huddled beneath my blanket, breath creating clouds in the air as I stared, transfixed, at this strange ball of energy. Something dark began to grow inside of it, a shadow that wouldn’t melt, and as it expanded, the orange light grew brighter and more golden, almost radiant. I squeaked and tried to run as I saw four spindly legs, a long and crooked neck, and a jagged horn, but my body was paralyzed when it let out a horrifying scream.

Have you ever heard a horse when it’s angry? It’s petrifying. Terrifying enough, actually, that it was the basis for a dinosaur roar in many films. Loud enough that it makes your ears pop and your head throb. I clapped my hands over my ears and felt blood pool in my palms as it grew louder and louder and louder and louder. I screamed back and it drowned me out, one voice becoming two becoming three.

Though there was only one solitary creature standing in front of me, one twisted and deranged unicorn that jittered unnaturally and bent at weird angles, its voice came from everywhere. In its screams, I began to hear whispers, then words.

Threats.

Threats spoken in languages a six-year-old shouldn’t know, yet somehow I understood. Threats of what would become of me and my family, and lists of everything it knew I cared about. It detailed what it would do to everyone from my favorite toy to my family dog to my best friend to my long-dead grandmother who it shrieked, triumphantly, it could reach even though I would never see her again. I saw flashes of white walls and cups of medicine and a woman, with hair and eyes and skin like me, hanging listlessly from a pipe by her bedsheets with a toppled chair beneath her feet.

“This is what happens,” it told me. “This is what will happen. This is what I am. I am your worst nightmare.”

The screaming only stopped when I felt a horrible pain. I awoke on the floor in my room--my real room--with my mother at the bedroom door, pale-faced and hoarse. My face was sticky and warm, my left eye wouldn’t open. As I tried to push myself up, my mom screeched in a way that would have put the unicorn to shame.

She got me to the doctor that day.

The official story was that I’d fallen out of bed, and maybe I had. Cracked my head on the nightstand and nearly gouged my eye out, but caught my brow instead. They gave me a little clamp because it was too swollen for stitches and, as per usual, a sticker to help me feel better. I stared at it on the ride home, knowing what it was that I had to do.

When the weekend rolled around and we had our little trading party, Rebecca came to gloat, as always. The neighborhood girls clamored around her most recent additions, like a whole new set of glow-in-the-dark aliens and a few sheets of Disney heroines. They ooh-ed and aah-ed and thankfully paid no attention to my bruised and battered face as I sat there, fist clenched around that fucking unicorn as I struggled to force a smile. I couldn’t help but notice how much more alive and refreshed and energized Rebecca was as she flittered around, grinning and happy.

Not like she was when she made me scour the living room for that goddamn dragon sticker the day I found the unicorn.

She had done it on purpose, hadn’t she? She’d left that thing in my house trying to get away from it and look what it had done. Anger was my fuel as I waited for her to turn her back, grabbed a box of her stickers, and chucked the unicorn in. I shook it for good measure, so the tiny thing would settle somewhere in the bottom where she would probably miss it.

And she did. Somehow, despite every odd against me, she missed it. When she left for the evening, she only did a quick check for anything that could have fallen, packed her boxes under her arm, and left with a cheerful wave. I couldn’t even feel remorse as I watched her go; in my mind, it was justified. In my mind, I was playing tit-for-tat. If she was willing to throw her little cousin under the bus, then maybe little cousin had every right to dish it right back at her.

I slept very soundly that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. A miracle, my mother called it, though I knew the truth. I still know the truth.

And I think Rebecca does, too.

I visit her sometimes, out at the ward. She’s not very responsive and more than a little prone to falling asleep mid-visit, but sometimes when she looks at me, there’s a glint of hate and fear and disgust that I can catch in her eye, and envy and spite hidden deep in her voice. It’s like she wants to tell me that I should be in her place, that it should have been me whose childhood was robbed from her.

She wants to tell me, but she can’t. She won’t. She’ll never admit what she did, because she wants me to feel like she is the victim in all of this, that she never once tried to sacrifice me to whatever the fuck that unicorn really is. She doesn’t want to admit that I won.

Or maybe, just maybe, she’s guilty. She knows what she did and I’m a constant reminder of it, the only family member who ever visits and the only one who stays to talk. Maybe she hates me because I remind her of what a monster she is, perhaps even worse than the unicorn ever could be.

And maybe? Maybe that’s the worst nightmare of all.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story