#so I’ve been doing a lot more stuff lately because I fractured my toe

[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

[readfelice-blog]

moominland chronicles elf . its not you, its me.

Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and howlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.

It's late today, well i mean there is no set time, but im slow, on this gorgeous early autumnal sunday, i dozed till 15h, getting up intermittently to empty my washing machine, tug at my hair (vinegar makes it sticky? I'm trying to find the perfect all natural solution to shampoo because I’m no poo now : https://www.nopoomethod.com , in fact i’m practising a very loose version of alchemy in my house, trying to find drinks that energise but don't make me anxious, cleaning solutions for my body and for my house that bewitch the nostrils and incinerate grease / kalk. Essentially I’m just concocting weird stuff, hunched over materials collected around the city, boiling my hell broths in ikea pans, surrounded by recycled jars).....

Lets press on…...

Yes, my morning, my intro to the day, I was up so late because I was up last night so late, till 4am, painting and listening to sweet feminine soundwaves in my kitchen, getting it done in my way, step by step. Because now I’m working a 5 day week again, my days are 3 hours long, 5 at a push, 6 in the most extreme cases, so now I’m back to burrowing out time where i can find it, because now i have my teeth dug in to a big project, a big project that will be realized, for the first time since may May last year.

May last year:

I killed myself, artistically, me artistically is the majority of me.

My whole life has been sewn into my practise, my method, my way of understanding and redistributing everything that comes into my life, and May last year I moved out of the house I shared with my ex husband , moon, and into a shared flat, to embark on a restorative journey. Me and moon were not doing well in our little cramped caravan, we were at each other's throats incessantly, already broken up, him with a new partner, me in full swing of frantic madness, fuelled by bottomless bottles of booze.

Day in day out in my studio, I slowly turned my 450sq ft basement into a mermaids cave, drunk on 8% cider, night after night, sticking black bin liners to the walls with double sided tape, hanging spirals of bubblewave to the ceiling, spray painting floor tiles, screaming at the camera on my iphone half naked, making terrifying life size dolls and cry singing to myself, emphatically paranoid and fractured, writing letters to a man I’d never met who I thought could save me. It was my last great project, I created a film I can never show my parents and documented myself throwing my life away, in my wedding dress, shadowed by the virgin: a wreckage, a car crash, a lot of footage I haven’t been able to edit because I haven’t got the equipment to do so.

It's all stored on a clunky hard drive bundled up with the moon, he saved it for me, without him I would of lost it because my laptop, his laptop, broke in the middle of me editing it and since then its been untouched. I’m afraid the hours of video that follow me dancing around everything i’d ever owned up until that point, rigorously chucking it all in more black bin liners. When I can find a place to edit everything and the capacity in my mind, then I can piece it back together and show it to the world.

Since May last year, I have totally uprooted my life, moved out of London, had a very strange, sometimes beautiful, sometimes harrowing time with my family in Devon, rolled through Turin, Cork, Helsinki, chasing the man I’ve never met, blocking the man I’ve never met at the behest of my friend in Cork, defending and understanding my art more deeply in Helsinki, and finding Tove Jansson. Her bronze bust on the door of the studio she used to hold, her gorgeous expanding black and white prints in the mumin cafe that towered in the sky under artificial light, her room in the museum of Modern Art, her soul in the botanical gardens amongst the families having lunch together.

It's been a glorious invigorating illuminating intrepid journey (I’ve been writing a hip hop song recently, can you tell?) but its not been anything monumental in terms of creation and since May last year is the longest time I have gone without a major project in my life, for possibly my entire adult life, bar being at uni, where conversely I was more orientated towards squat parties than art making.

So here I sit now, with a great big juicy exciting idea inflated in a giant balloon, ready to be released into the atmosphere, the only snag is that it needs to be manifested into real material, which means a lot of work, and so, I find myself back in a place I’d forgotten about.

That's the very good thing about having such a long break, is now I can totally observe what happens to me when I’m in this phase: it’s quite extreme from a fledgling perspective.

Not fueled by booze this time, but instead concocting things to give me a buzz that I can buy in the supermarket (don’t drink to much valerian, it gives you a bad tummy, im not drowsy or euphoric I just feel sick from the after affects and rancid smell) and developing my cleaning routine to be the most streamlined and creative that it can be, to give my art sustenance.

But if I could I would lock myself away from the world in a cabin far up on a mountain and painfully draw out everything in a more concentrated form, the cleaning is fine for now but it's hard to concentrate when I have to go to peoples houses and deal with their kalk as well, it might be one of the factors in why the whole thing is so stressful, but I have the suspicion that it will always be stressful, even if I ever get the luxury to entirely dedicate my day to working on my art.

The big thing I’m noticing is incessant, almost intolerable paranoia, that someone will steal my idea and present it to the world before I’m done. I notice it now and then I turn and look at my past and see its infected traces throughout my history, it's a big driving force in getting the work finished and I’m starting to see that I cannot share or talk about what I’m doing when I’m in the midst of it, but all i want to do is share and talk about it, hence why that cabin would be a better place than a city I’m not fully established in.

I know it’s unreasonable, untrusting, maybe even unkind of me, to believe that someone would steal something like this from me. I know that sharing ideas is healthy and loving and makes the world go round, but this paranoia is totally immovable and so I just accept it and try to satiate it, hoping by feeding it homemade remedies that it won’t make my life worse.

But these big idea’s, they come upon me, I don’t choose them, all the strands of my life and experimentation ferment slowly and then one day I wake up and I know what I have to do, then as I start to do it it grows and morphs, develops, things come and go from my wall, until I have reduced and finelined the parameters of a project, that's where I am now, all the mental groundwork is laid, its just the creation that's left, I’m now half way through the musical aspect of it but not halfway through the visual and I need to amp up, because it must be done by November the second, so I can take it to Turin with me, so I can deposit it at the gates of hell, so I can complete a cycle, so I can be free to make blue music and who knows what, maybe try something formless, kind and organic - that's not for me to know yet though.

Once it rears its great dense head, I am in its power, I am in the throng of obeying my art and that's a lonely place to be. It's lonely being an artist, some of us are collaborative and collective and have communities, but I’m not among those right now, this project, lets just call it by its name for here in : восем acht ocho : is not something I can share and make with others, it is a process of me picking up the pieces of my life, of giving praise to the moon, who has saved me and supported me so many times. I must give praise to him finally so I can move on and give praise to myself.

So I sit in my house and dutifully work back and forth between paint and ableton, singing and faux performing in my hallway in between, performing to my very tolerant invisible neighbours that must think I’m some kind of banshee from a deep buried part of the world. I sit in my house alone, I reject all the invitations extended to me, I retract from the life I am building to some extent and just hope the friends I have been finding will be understanding, though it's hard to explain to someone that I can’t come because of something I am choosing to do myself. It's not work related in terms of my bread and butter, Its not health related, I’m not resting, I guess a lot of people won’t understand which is perhaps why I feel compelled to try and somehow explain myself in this blog today.

I must make this work, it is not a choice, I am in my house alone because this idea has bound me up and demands my care and attention, because for the first time in over a year I can make work again and make it with diligence, create something on a large scale. It means that Berlin is working, this is the change I was looking for, because I feel like I have a future again, whilst the 100’s of drawings, paintings, books, trinkets from my life decay in some junk yard close to London, I have the space to bring new art into the world. It’s really a glorious turning point in my life so far.

I am still terrified that it will all collapse in on me at any time, but there are ways of fighting this paranoia, careful planning, creative problem solving, and probably just not talking about the details of what I am doing anymore until it is finished.

Phew, nothing enlightening this week, more of an attempt to bridge the gap between myself and the life that flows around me. I’m now off to edit my most current track on ableton then do some line work and probably make up some mixes of citric acid / bicarbonate of soda cleaner for the week ahead.

We just have to do what we must, and be grateful when we know what it is we must do.

#big ideas #realisation #self growth

[samayla]

So... if any of you were wondering, I am not dead. Just having an utterly rotten week. 

I had that bad migraine flare that started late last week, and it really stuck around. A final round of meds Wednesday morning seems to have finally knocked it out. I think a bunch of my triggers all piled up on me at once. 

Crazy-stressful meeting last Thursday. Ten people around a single table in a 6′x10′ room, at 82*F, for nearly two hours, talking about things no one was comfortable talking about, several of us with people we didn’t even like. 

The flickering lights at my other job, which have been replaced, without my even saying anything, so I guess I got all worked up about that conversation for nothing.

A new para in my classroom. She’s really great, but it’s still stressful because for the first few days, I’m doing my job and teaching her how to do hers, and dealing with tantrums from a couple of my boys who don’t want to work with anybody but me. That may sound egotistical, but these guys really are so dependent on schedule and predictability, that any little change is a big deal. She doesn’t do things exactly the way I do, or as smoothly as I do, so they get worried or just plain mad.

The weather has done an about-face again, too. For the last few days, that has meant lots and lots of bright spring sunshine glaring off of melting heaps of brilliantly white snow. Even if the glare hasn’t triggered my migraines, all the squinting certainly hasn’t helped. Plus the sunshine has made the kids crazy!

A customer came in on Saturday, soaked in Axe body spray. Seriously, that stuff should be outlawed.

On top of all that, I’ve picked up an extra three shifts at the store this week. My boss’s dad is in the hospital, so she and her husband (the other boss) have been out of the state for most of the week. Plus, one of my coworkers is sick, so everyone else has really pitched in to pick up the slack. 

We’re also trying to get the garden going for spring, which is a lot of work that I simply do not have the energy for. I feel really bad for not helping more, but just getting out of bed in the morning is hard lately.

And then, on top of everything else, for the last few weeks, I’ve been dealing with increasing pain in my left foot. Finally coming off of pain-killers from the migraine flare, and then overdoing it majorly in putting away this week’s order in the cooler (lots of up on tip toes, down into a crouch, twist to stock from a shelf behind me... all while carrying cases of drinks), I woke up this morning with intense enough pain that I spent my one morning off in Urgent Care, getting checked out because I thought I had a stress fracture that had given out. Turns out it’s a case of tendinitis instead, but knowing that doesn’t help the pain any... 

So, long story short, I’m busy and tired and grumpy and sore, and I have not worked one bit on Gemini or the Jonathan Strange oneshot since my last update, because I’m a terrible person.

#whining #HobbitGemini #migraine #tendonitis #tendinitis #idk how it's supposed to be spelled #i thought o #but my computer gets angry about that about half the time #and suggests i

[misschaii]

I disappeared again; A Holiday Saga.

Sorry guys. I haven’t been very active in the last several weeks. I’ve een stressed over Thanksgiving, Christmas, present shopping, car payments, work stuff, all that jazz. And I’ve had a lot going on the last month or so. We had some of Manuel’s family visit right before Thanksgiving and they were here for a week and a half and then there was a party like every other day and it was just exhausting being around that many people but I was still aroundish. Then they left. 

Then I was sick for a week and a half. Didn’t have a voice for like 3 days. Got betterish but my throat and ears keep hurting almost every day like I’m on the verge of being sick again but not quite there. I tried to work on CC while I was sick and made a smidge of progress but I was just too tired to focus on it. 

Not to mention work has been crazy busy since it’s closer to Christmas and that’s been stressful. I’ve had a lot of long getting-out-of-work-late-and-took-no-breaks- kind of nights. It isn’t my boss’ fault. As a supervisor, I will sacrifice my breaks if it means that I can get more work done. I hate taking breaks knowing that there’s other things I could be doing.

And my friend Kim has been baiting me into playing Overwatch with him after I get off work till like 3/4 in the morning. (Damn you) He’s also gotten me back into console gaming and I’ve been playing The Division with him too and I’ve been playing The Fractured But Whole in my Kim-is-at-work-or-out-drinking-so-I’ll-play-by-myself time. I go through phases of playing a lot of console stuff and neglecting my PC and then phases of solely spending time on my PC and forgetting I even have a PS4. Anyone else do this?

And boy howdy, my interest in anime has been reactivated! So many good shows this season. I’d love to gush about them in another one of my recommended Anime series posts if anyone would like me to! 

And not to make even more excuses but on top of poor life decisions by staying up too late, I’ve been sleeping in too much, I don’t feel energized and ultimately I’m just stressed out and my depression/anxiety has had a bigger influence on me lately because of just how utterly tired and stressed I am right now. I’m hoping after the holidays I’ll feel better cause no family, no parties, no events and work should slow down.

And on a good note, I officially hit 1800 followers and I’m so incredibly happy and blessed and excited but I’ll be real with you. It’s intimidating. It’s hard to put into words but even though I’m so incredibly happy that I’ve gained like 300 or 400 followers in the last couple months because it reaffirms the decisions I’ve made and the things I’ve done, it’s incredibly daunting. I’m scared I won’t deliver enough or I won’t be able to keep up or upload enough often enough. Thankfully I’ve yet to receive a single negative or demanding message but I still worry. I know it’s silly but I wanted to share.

And last but not least I broke  my goddamn pinkie toe last night. 

Tl;dr: I’m a crazy person that’s also human. I’m tired, stressed, anxious, depressed, overworked and over feeling this way. I’ll work on my projects again soon enough just please be patient. 

#text #text post #nonsims

[akitarusx]

Name: Morgan Gender: female Star sign: libra Height: 182cm (6ft) Put your music on shuffle, what are the first six songs to pop up?: 1. HUMBLE. - Kendrick Lamar 2. Lithium - Evanescence 3. Back 2 U (AM 1:27) - NCT 127 4. Lukewarm - PENTAGON 5. Trade Mistakes - Panic! At The Disco 6. Attention (cover) - Jinho Grab the nearest book, turn to page 23 and write line 17: i don’t have a book in my room because all my stuff is currently in storage so i’ll just say stan talent stan pentagon smh Last time you played air guitar?: uhhhh…..i dont keep up w/ that ldfjsajfjasfjas im sorry idk

Celebrity crush?: excluding yanan?? uh hh hh ….. i’ve currently been having heart eyes over Changkyun in Monsta X a lot lately. What’s a sound that you hate/love?: i hate really loud slurping or smacking while eating. i mean i hate it in general but sometimes you have to so if you’re quiet with it it’s not as rage-inducing but i live around people who do it loudly and all the time and it makes me wanna die. i love the sound of rain, the ocean + wind, and wind through pine trees. Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?: yep and i honesetly don’t know if i do or not i mean i dont actively think about it a whole lot Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?:

I do drive! I have never crashed. Thank God. I’ve had plenty of close calls, though.

What was the last book you read?: i haven’t read a book in awhile but if we’re being technical i last read a textbook for an english class i had Do you like the smell of gasoline?: yes sometimes Last movie you saw?: uhhh …. cheesy christmas movie idk the name but mom was watching it Worst injury you’ve ever had?: When I was like 13 I tripped up some stairs with my clumsy ass and somehow it like really fucked up my right foot. Like it tore part of my big toenail off and there was blood everywhere because of how hard I had hit it into the brick stairs. I wound up with like mini fractures in the big toe and the toes beside it and couldn’t walk properly for over a month. I think the toes beside it had some fractures but like it was nothing that would end the world lol. Just enough to cause me a shitton of pain. Any obsessions right now?: hmm right now i’m really fixated on BTS jamming to Demi’s performance at the AMAs she was one of my first faves and bts was my first kpop group and so it just. makes me really happy lol Do you tend to hold grudges against people who’ve wronged you?: if it’s like a severe wrong such as…forgetting a birthday and you’re family then yeah i get pretty bitter. if it’s like minor things like oh plans cancelled etc my feelings might be hurt but i dont hold grudges cause shit happens In a relationship?: nope! _______________ SECOND VERSION Appearance: uhhh i’m sorry i’m not v comfortable answering this :\\ i’ll keep it basic and say brown eyes brunette hair that’s a little past my shoulders and 6ft tall

Personality fairly antisocial but like. with my 2 best friends you wouldn’t believe that lol. and online i can be fairly social but i get extremely awkward and conscious of everything i say / share privately. like it’s rough posting selfies to my twitter even though i have plenty of friends i’ve had for years there fjdfjdjd. when i’m with my friends i’m the complete opposite of how i am with others. i try to stay quiet and keep my mouth closed around others, but when with the girls i’m embarrassingly loud n able to laugh n stuff. so just basically antisocial, desperately nice, and usually desperately wanna be more social but lose my social meter quickly. i’ve learned to force myself over the years but i usually go home wanting to kms fdsdfjdsjsfj idk i like memes and i think im funny idk how to answer this phew Abilities: shitposting

Experiences: i’m not quite sure what this means lmao My life: currently trying to get into college sigh

Relationships: no romantic relationship

two irl best friends chey and daisia

long distance best friends dani and drav

good relationship w/ mom ??? Random stuff: -was a culinary student had to leave the college because of finacial issues

-i have a dog and a cat

-dog’s name is ace, cat’s name is siobhan _______________ THIRD VERSION Relationship status: single and probably gonna be forever single cause ya girl can’t learn to stop stressing for one f**king second and always thinks everyone hates her

Fave colour: uhhh currently i’m obssessed w the light purple i keep using everywhere but typically it’s green lol Lipstick or ChapStick: yanno i used to be a big lipstick person but chapstick/lipgloss is fine for me now Last song: games - demi lovato Last movie: don’t remember the name it was some christmas movie Top 3 shows:

Supernatural (it’s got its issues and it’s pissed me off so many damn times but it’s got a special place in my heart because it brought me closer w/ a really good friend of mine), Arrow, and Stranger Things Top 3 ships: i dnt rlly focus on this lol

i tag: @kimbeokjin​ @yeo1​ @twicetagrm​ @naganoprince​ @hu1taek​ and @butawitcher​

#shut up m #ask games #also you guys dont gotta do this if you dont want lol

[letdecemberburninflames]

Top of Our Class

Chapter 7: Fifth Year

Fic Type: Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter Crossover, (half)Elf!Reader, Slytherin!Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: Some sensual stuff. Also, cute as shit.

Draco slides open the door to your compartment, collapses on the bench opposite of yours, and pulls out a book. You roll your eyes, why couldn't you ever ride the train undisturbed? You ride in silence, Draco is reading an Alchemy book, and you are drawing a sketch of the view out the window, but you finally need to break the tranquility.

"I thought you never left the company of Crabbe and Goyle?" You say.

Draco looks up from his book. "They've been annoying me more than helping me, and Blaise is off snogging some girl, so here I am being interrogated by you."

You roll your eyes, "I need to change into my robes, and this is my compartment, so I'd like to stay in it." You say.

"Go ahead." Draco says, but he makes no effort to move.

"That means get out Malfoy." You say, looking at him.

"But this is technically my compartment too." He says, his smirk becoming broader.

"Never mind, I'll go to the back and change."

Once you get back to the compartment, you see Draco has left. You sit back down happy, but after a few moments, Draco comes back in, "Miss me?" He asks.

"Actually, I was hoping you had tripped and fallen off the train." You reply.

"Aww, I was just changing."

"Wait," You say, "If you left the compartment, then what was the point of kicking me out?"

"Just to annoy you." He responds, that familiar smirk on his face.

---

Mary Beth cornered you in the hallway on your way to Ancient Runes class. You hadn't spoken to her all summer, and you weren't about to start now, even if she wanted to.

"Y/N I really miss hanging out with you, and I'm really sorry if I offended you." She glanced down at her shoes.

This was good. She was crawling back to you, make her suffer! "I'm sorry too. I was just so jealous of you and Cho and I just didn't want to lose you as a friend." Wow. Where did that come from? The words had come tumbling out of your mouth so fast you hadn't even known you'd said them till she hugged you.

"Thanks Y/N. I really am glad we're friends again." You nod shortly as she steps back. "We never stopped being friends." You reply with a smirk.

---

In fifth year, Professor Umbridge was introduced into the school, and her lack of talent in teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts class became increasingly obvious. You missed Professor Lupin, and wished that he would come back. What did it matter that he was a werewolf? You knew that there was something going on, Draco was no fun this year, he was too busy being a suck-up to Professor Umbridge, and Harry Potter seemed to have his own gang. Then there was the fact that Fred and George made a dramatic exit to set up a joke shop, and everyone seemed extremely possessive of their Galleons. You spent the whole year utterly confused, and you kept being knocked off by Draco, who was always too busy to talk to you and was dating Pansy Parkinson. You always had the Quidditch matches to look forward to, and the upcoming one against Ravenclaw was going to be great. Besides, Emma and Molly kept you company most of the time anyway.

---

You open your eyes, try to sit up, then let out a groan of pain as a shooting pain spiraled up your side, and let your head fall back down onto your pillow.

"Lay down Y/N, you're going to reinjure yourself!" Madame Pomfrey bustles over to your bedside and you realize that you are in the hospital ward. It all comes flooding back suddenly, the Quidditch match, the Bludgers, the fall. "You took a nasty tumble dear. Fell from nearly 60 feet! I'm surprised that you aren't dead, the way those games are played nowadays. But you survived, though goodness knows how, with only a few broken ribs, a fractured skull, and a broken leg." You groan again as you attempt to roll over, but Madame Pomfrey pushes you back down flat, but not before you see the door to the hospital ward open. You turn your head to see the team striding towards you, mud splattered and with brooms in hand.

"Did we win?" you gasp out, your chest stabbing with pain.

Flint stares down at you, "Of course we did. Malfoy caught the Snitch just after you scored that point."

"The Ravenclaw team is a joke, we won by a landslide. I'll get those two Ravenclaw Beaters, two Bludgers at once, you should be dead, Y/N! They'll pay for that one." Adrian frowns.

"Hold on, where's my broom?" you say, trying again unsuccessfully to sit up.

"Uh, well it, uh kind of got blown off into the lake when you fell off and um, you know the squid, uh well needless to say, you'll need a new broom." Miles looked uncomfortable.

Just as you were about to let him have it, Madame Pomfrey bustled up to them and shooed them away. "She needs rest, now out!" 

You groan again, your leg is hurting badly. After a few minutes the hospital ward doors burst open yet again, and Molly and Emma hurry over to your bedside.

"I made you a Get Well card." Says Molly, and puts it on the table next to the bed.

"I heard what happened to your broom." Emma frowns. "How are you supposed to fly without one?"

At that precise moment Madame Pomfrey rushed over flapping her arms. "I said no visitors, she needs rest! Now go!" and without further ado she hurried Emma and Molly from the room. 

The only hope of getting a new broom was as a Christmas gift from your mother and father, but it probably wouldn't be a Nimbus 2001. Or you could ride your old Cleansweep 6, but you would really rather not. Mary Beth didn't visit you till later, it was her team that had lost the match anyway, so she probably had been trying to avoid your gloating and teasing.

---

"Checkmate!" you exclaim happily as your knight smashes Malfoy's king.

"How do you do it?" he asks incredulously while studying the chessboard to see how you won.

"I've had lots of practice. My grandfather loves chess so whenever I visit we play. He's taught me tons of tricks." You reply.

"I can see that." Malfoy frowned, still trying to figure out how you beat him. It was very late and you were nearly the only ones left in the Common Room. You and Malfoy were playing wizarding chess by the fire; it got especially cold in the dungeons in the winter.

"Hey Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?" you ask tentatively.

"Sure." You take a deep breath. No one, not even your best friends knew this, and it was a risk telling him.

"Um, well, I uh, I'm not uh fully human."

"What?" Draco looks up from scooping the chess pieces into a bag, his grey eyes questioning, but bordering on frostiness.

"Well, my mother is an Elf. Not a house elf, a Mirkwood Elf." You say quickly and his look of horror fades. "They do magic, so I'm still pureblood, I'm just not completely human."

"Well." Says Draco, looking ruffled, "That explains your talent on the Quidditch field, and chess, and the reason you've got the highest grades in Slytherin, and why you're so pretty, and..." he trailed off.

"Just please don't tell anyone and please don't be mad at me because I'm not..."

"Human?" He nods. "Well if you think I'm going to stop being friends with you because you're better than anyone else, you're wrong."

"Hold on a second, did I just hear you call me pretty?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No, of course not I..."

"Yes you did, I heard you. I don't care and I know it doesn't mean anything, but no one's ever called me that before except Blaise, and he just, well you know."

Draco nods again. "Watch out for Blaise, when he gets his eye on a girl..."

"I know that, but we've made up and we're just friends, I can handle him."

"If you say so." He stares off into space as if there was something he just remembered. "Well, it's getting late, I think I'm going to head up to bed now, see you at breakfast."

"Goodnight." You reply as you gather up your chessboard and pieces and head towards the girl's dorm.

---

"You really shouldn't do things like that Emma; you're going to hurt yourself!" Molly stared up, arms folded across her chest, at Emma who was dangling upside-down from a branch of a tree in the courtyard, laughing.

Mary Beth looked up from her book and said, "Since the branch is suspended at an eighty-nine degree angle, and the drop from the branch is about four feet, and she's dangling at about ninety degrees with the wind blowing at around twenty mph, the probability of her getting hurt is..." You smile. Today the four of you were going down to Hogsmeade and you planned to visit as many stores as you could.

Emma dropped down onto the snowy ground, still laughing. Molly stamped her foot impatiently. As you walked towards the village, cold winds whipped snow into the air, stinging your face, and despite your best efforts, you were still cold. The four of you hurried into The Three Broomsticks for some mugs of warm Butterbeer. With a sigh Emma drops into a chair and pulls off her gloves as Molly goes to order the drinks.

"I can't wait for the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match next week!" you say excitedly as you pull off your green-and-silver Slytherin scarf.

"Yeah, get ready to have your asses kicked!" says Emma, grinning at you.

"No way! Slytherin's going to win for sure." You flip your H/C hair.

"I can't believe we lost to you." Mary Beth chimes in disappointedly.

"Neither of you should be counting your dragons before they are hatched." Says Molly, while setting the drinks on the table. "Hufflepuff may very well win this year."

"Yeah, right." You and Emma say together, laughing. You take a swig of your Butterbeer and it warms you right down to your toes.

"I'm not even sure they've ever won the Cup." Says Mary Beth thoughtfully.

Molly frowns at her, "We beat you in last year's match."

"Yeah, but that was technical!" retorts Emma.

"Meanwhile Slytherin beat all of you." You smirk at them.

"I want to go to Zonko's." says Emma abruptly and she stands to leave. You pull yourself out of your chair, dreading the cold walk as you pull on your gloves. The four of you walk out into the bitter cold, thinking of the warm fire that blazed in the joke shop.

---

You were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas again this year; your parents were going to America again. You wake up Christmas morning with a pile of presents on your bed. It was the typical, a new drawing set, a dress, and sweets from home, stuff like that. Molly sent you the new leather gloves you had wanted, Mary Beth had given you a book on the ancient Egyptian wizards, since she knew you loved learning about them, while you received a box of Turkish Delight, your favorite candy, from Emma. But at the bottom of the heap was a long, narrow box. You look at the tag and frown to yourself. 'To Miss F/N L/N' was all it said. You tear into the package, unwrap the parcel and laugh with delight. A new broomstick! It was the same model as you had before, a Nimbus 2001. Just what you needed, you had been using the school's brooms since yours had been destroyed by the giant squid.

---

It was springtime again and you were at your favorite spot by the lake. Well...kind of. Instead of sitting in the shade of the tree you were doing your homework up in the topmost branches with Tundra, where no one could bother you. It reminded you of the times you spent climbing trees with Legolas in Mirkwood. A slight breeze blew through your hair as you finished your paper on concealment charms for Professor Flitwick. You breathe in the fresh cool air and stare out at the glistening blue lake. The giant squid was basking in the warm shallows, and schools of fish darted here and there. You think back to your last Hogsmeade trip with Molly and Emma and laugh. Emma had tricked Molly into eating a fudge covered cockroach, with some help from you of course. When Molly had found out what she had eaten she screamed right in the middle of Zonko's! Mary Beth had laughed so hard her Butterbeer had come up her nose! You run a hand along Tundra's back. He was a very large cat now, not fat just very fluffy. He purred happily. A sudden rustling of leaves sent Tundra scurrying up to the next branch, he never was very brave.

"Go away Draco." You frown down at him from your perch.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What are you doing here? And why is Pansy with you?" you ask suspiciously as you slide down to a branch above where they were standing, Tundra following timidly.

"None of your business, now go!"

"No way, I was here first!" You say glaring at him. Then you look at Pansy, then back at him. "Oh. I'll be leaving now." You say, realizing why he was there. You feel a flush creep up into your cheeks. 

You clamber back up for your Charms homework then jump down from the tree and hurry away to the castle. You were glad Pansy had finally caught Draco's attention; you were really tired of constantly setting them up.

---

It was the last day of school, and tomorrow morning you would be going home, all you had to do was endure one more day of classes. After lunch Draco slipped a note into your hand. You unfolded it during Transfiguration that afternoon. "There is a meteor shower tonight. Do you want to watch? –D.M." You scribbled your answer, "Isn't that at midnight?" on the back on the note, folded it up and the origami bird fluttered back across the room to Malfoy. He scrawled something on the wing of the bird and it soared over and landed back on your desk. "Yes, so? If you want to come, meet me by the tree next to the lake at midnight." You quickly tucked the note into your notebook as Professor Snape's eyes swept the classroom, landing on the note for a second before moving on. One of the perks of being a Slytherin was that since Snape was the Head of House he let you get off easy.

---

"You came." He sounded surprised.

"Of course I came, now let's get this over with. It's quite late." You stifle a yawn. He grins and collapses against the base the tree. You sit down next to him and wipe your hands on your jean clad legs. "This is a bit clandestine, don't you think?" You comment as you watch the stars.

"Maybe a little." Malfoy smirks back. You sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him in silence, gazing up at the seemingly falling stars for a while. You shivered; it was a bit nippy out.

"Are you cold?"

"Kind of."

Draco slipped off his cloak and draped it around your shoulders and you smiled up at him.

"Thanks."

You continued to watch the celestial show; it was so pretty with the full moon and stars reflecting in the surface of the lake. You yawned, it was late, and you were tired. You curled up on the ground with you head in Draco's lap. He smiled down at you, eyes twinkling, before turning his eyes back to the sky, running his hand through your hair. He was dating Pansy, and yet he had invited you to watch the meteor shower.

"Hey Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this a date?"

"I don't know, is it?" He stared down at you before looking back up at the sky.

You watch for a few more minutes contemplating his response before you speak again. "The meteor shower is over, and it's getting late. We should head back." You sat up and ran a hand through your hair, you didn't want to know. Malfoy stood and pulled you up with him. You were a little disappointed that this would probably be the last time you saw him all summer. You went to bed that night dreaming of swimming in the sea under the summer sun.

---

You glanced around at all the people bustling around Platform 9 and 3/4. It was noisy with the sound of owls screeching, cart wheels squeaking, and students talking. You had ridden on the train with Molly, Mary Beth, and Emma as usual, but you had just stared out the window as they talked. You were tired from getting to bed late due to Malfoy's late night meeting. You stood by a wall, waiting for the line to get through the pillar into the Muggle world died down before you joined. Your parents would be waiting for you, and you couldn't wait to get home. You pulled out a book and began to read.

"Y/N."

You look up. Draco is standing in front of you, with a rather expressionless look on his face. "Yes?"

He has his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "So about last night ..." he begins tentatively, but you interrupt.

"You shouldn't have asked me since you're dating Pansy." You frown. "She might keel over and die if she finds out that you asked me out. Or where you just doing it to get her off your back?" You raise an amused eyebrow.

"It seems that overnight I've forgotten how infuriating you are." He smirks and shakes his head; his nose is almost touching yours. 

You want desperately to back up but there's a solid brick wall behind you and you can't slide over because there's a pillar on your left and Malfoy's arm is pressed against the wall behind you on your right. His hand lifts to trace your jawline, and his pale hands are icy cold.

You answer softly, almost sure you're blushing, "You would think that, wouldn't you."

He grins at you before leaning in, his lips brushing yours softly. His bottom lip was well below yours, an open-mouthed kiss. Something like an electric shock spirals down your spine, and he pulls back, smirking, before kissing you again. This time you kiss him back. You he keeps kissing you, each kiss more deep and passionate than the last. He runs his hand through your hair; your back is pressed against the wall. He smirks, and you know he can feel you breathing hard, pressed against him. He bites your lower lip playfully, and when you gasp he slips his tongue in. He tastes sweet, like candy, his soft lips warm, despite his cold touch. He kisses you one last time before pulling back, grey eyes with that familiar glint.

He smirks at you again before speaking. "I have to go. I'll see you next year." He disappears into the crowd, leaving you rather shell-shocked.

You talk little on the ride home with your parents, wondering why Draco had kissed you. And even more confusing, why you kissed him back. He had been dating Pansy Parkinson, still was as far as you knew. He didn't even like you. Sure you were friends and teammates, but... There were so many questions running through your mind and there didn't seem to be answers for any of them. You had no idea why, you didn't like him, or did you? Another unanswerable, mind-twisting question that would nag at you all summer.

#draco #malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #slytherin reader #hogwarts #Harry Potter #magic n shit

[sighfrancisco]

i was tagged by @idiosyncraticmagic to do some stuff !!!

Age: 18

Birthplace: La Porte Hospital in La Porte, Indiana. i don’t know either man my parents were med students they lived in a lot of regrettable locations

Current time: 3:25AM EST

Drink you last had: root beer

Easiest person to talk to: @tornad001 / danny but don’t tell him, he’ll think i love him or something

Favorite song: this is such a hard question but i have an emotional & relatively constant love for “the night we met” by lord huron (and yes, origin of love from hedwig has a spot in my heart)

Grossest memory: i could write a beautiful shakespearean sonnet comprised only of my gross memories. i could fill books with each and every disgusting horror that i have encountered in my comparatively short life. i could scream to the heavens in excruciating detail the intricacies of nasty. the fabric of nastiness itself, if you will. however, if i have to narrow it down to one and one alone, i guess i’ll go with when my then-infant sister, unable to catch up to me with her useless baby legs, pulled down her diaper and began flinging her own literal human shit at me.

Horror yes horror no: I think I’m just going to go with “eh” on this one. I don’t like how they often demonize mental illness and kill off minorities for no reason and fuel the white savior complex and perpetuate misogynistic stereotypes, etc etc etc, but i could say the same for a lot of media. like, they don’t scare me, but i’m not super into them either? i’d rather watch something hysterically funny, because a) that’s a much more achievable emotional extreme and b) a more pleasant one

In love?: ye

Jealous of people?: nah

Killed someone?: myself…?

Love at first sight or should i walk by: no, bc the word for that is lust. love is a choice and takes effort sometimes and develops over time

Middle name: jade. unless i decide on the name jude for myself, because danny has threatened me under penalty of death if my name is honest to god jude jade

Number of siblings: 3

One wish: for this upswing in mental health to last. the updward trend of recovery to continue. the special people in my life staying in my life forever, or at least for a very long time.

Person you last called: maria, my exstepmom/surrogate mom, to ask for advice about my heart tumor that i was diagnosed with today and am totally fine about by the way and am no way paralyzed by anxiety for, haha!

Question you are always asked: “So like…what is your identity exactly? like, i’m not trying to be rude, i just wanna understand. like…what…aaaaare you.”

Reason to smile: whales exist. my socks had whales on them today. me nick and danny sat at bojangles for like 2 hours talking about things of substance. later danny and i talked for a long time about world building for my gay vampire project, and he taught me an entire genetics unit in under 2 hours. life is okay right now

Song you last sung: the somewhere over the rainbow/what a wonderful world mashup while playing it on my uke

Underwear color: Black granny panties bc i cant afford the cute new underwear that i deserve

Vacation: i’m fuzzy on what this means? my next planned trip is a road trip with some of my best pals from here to michigan to get my car, and we’re stopping in pennsylvania on my birthday so i can revisit my favorite museum ever, the mütter museum of medical oddities. as far as my like ideal vacation or whatev, i really just love beig with my friends, and i really, REALLY want to go whale watching someday.

X-rays: teeth (dentist and ortho), right wrist for a suspected fracture, left foot for a toe fracture & then again for a suspected toe fracture, probably my right hand again at some point for one of my many finger fractures, knee for what turned out to be a meniscus tear, abdominal CT for chronic and severe digestive issues (which revealed no digestive inflammation but showed a fucking tumor in my heart! im kind of stuck on this right now),

Your favorite food: uh fuck dude i dunno i kinda tend toward comforting/easy to digest foods like mashed potats & fries but i’m also a huge sushi fan but mostly i prefer liquids which is unfortunate

Zodiac sign: Leo by the old chart, Cancer by the dubiously accurate “new” one (tho cancer is more accurate)

Top ten songs I’ve been listening to lately:
1) Sober II (Melodrama) by Lorde 2) San Francisco by The Mowglis 3) Piece of Me by Britney Spears 4) When They Fight, They Fight by The Generationals 5) The Lament of Eustace Scrubb by The Oh Hellos 6) the In The Heights soundtrack as a collective entity 7) similarly, the come from away soundtrack 8) The Chain by Fleetwood Mac 9) FloriDada by Animal Collective 10) History by One Direction (a bop tbh)

danny tagged y'all but we have the same friends so @rictusernpra @toutlebruit @thelyssymarie @nickyooze y'all are up

#personal #about me #ask meme #thanks ari #i'm sleepy and have an exam in five hours but also i'm anxious as hell and took an ADHD med so i'm #the most awake #i'm gonna build a fucking deck #i'm gonna use that as my manic/brain too fast/productive anxiety tag from #now on

[creepypasta-fictions]

The Teacher (pt. 1)

“Breaking news: Another body has just been found 15 miles from the local police station, in the marshes. The young boy’s spine was fractured, and his legs had been bound together. Upon examination of the crime scene and the body, police and forensics have found no evidence whatsoever in this case, much like the previous 5 victims. It appears as though we have a very meticulous serial killer operating in our county, who continues to baffle police every time he strikes. A public warning must be issued before we get the chance to find another body-“

Susan sighed, switching off the TV. She yawned and stretched her weary legs, deciding it was time for her to go to bed. Her eyelids were already becoming heavy, and she had been watching TV for a few hours. She was particularly focusing her TV on criminal programs, and things law related, as she was only two days away from starting her law degree. She was really excited about it, since it was a passion of hers; she just so happened to turn on the news late night when the broadcasters on CNN were talking about a serial killer on the loose, which just so happened to be relevant to the 18-year-old. She trudged up to bed, brushed her teeth and climbed inside.

But it was always at the back of her mind (as it would be if there was a serial killer in your community) that in her tranquil, peaceful and almost boringly ordinary city of Cambridge, Massachusetts, 6 people had been found dead with patterns, but no explanation. She shrugged it off, she was far too preoccupied with her upcoming course to focus on something she had seen on CNN. After all, it was often accused of being ‘fake news’. Susan allowed herself a good nights sleep as she knew it would be mandatory if she was going to do well.

***

“Susan!” “Amy!” The two best friends charged towards each other pushing frantically through the overpopulated halls of Harvard University. They had finally been reunited as they had not seen each other since last semester of high school ended. “How have you been all summer?” Amy asked with a huge grin on her face. When she smiled, she flashed her pearly white teeth. Susan shrugged. “Eh, I’ve been doing ok. Really bored, though. I’ve missed school,” Amy sighed, rolling her eyes. “Susan Higginson, you’re always missing school! You’ve always got to be doing something practical, like reading a book or watching a murder documentary, like would it kill you to get outside and live a little, even if it was only once in a while?” She wrapped her long, tanned arm around Susan’s shoulder as they began walking down the corridor. Susan rolled her eyes back at Amy. “Oh what, you mean like YOU, Amy Parker?” She said sarcastically; as she and her best friend were literally polar opposite. They always had been, ever since they had met in 6th grade. Back then, Susan was a recluse, with braces and round glasses which she still wore to this day. She always maintained the same hairstyle, too; her straw-blonde pigtails tied tightly up with rubber bands, ending just past her shoulders. In fact, as far as attire went, Susan had managed to maintain the same aesthetic she had in sixth grade; the “nerd” or “loner” as she had been previously described. A backpack full of novels or crime magazines, textbooks and binders, that was all Susan felt as though she needed in life. Amy Parker, on the other hand, was a flamboyant “sass queen” as many of her friends described her. She was a beautiful woman, bursting with confidence and a sense of humour, not to mention her looks were quite something. With long shiny brunette locks, an hourglass figure and piercing blue crystals for eyes, Amy’s contagious good vibes that radiated off of her from the sun, allowed her to befriend anyone she wanted. She made sure to be a part of everyone’s friendship circle, even the loners, like Susan. In fact, she had always had an outstanding friendship with Susan. With Susan’s intelligence and Amy’s consistent exhuberance, they were a dynamic duo.

“So what have you chosen to study?” Susan asked Amy as they began walking. “Are you gonna call me a copycat again if I tell you I chose law?” Susan burst out laughing. “Aims, you don’t have to follow me everywhere you go. You should follow your own dreams and ambitions. You even told me that you wouldn’t ever go near that “geeky stuff” as you put it.” Amy rolled her eyes. “I know, but I changed my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I still think it’s kinda geeky, and I’d much rather be doing business studies and textiles, but like you said, I’m following my dreams. And the law teacher IS the man of my dreams,” “For fucks sake Amy, you don’t choose a course at fucking Harvard University just cause you think the teacher is hot! Think about your career and studies!” “Listen here sweetie, there’s time for that. And it’s also time for you to get your head out of those criminal magazines. We’re only 18, we’ve got plenty of time to spare!” “The course is extremely difficult,” Susan warned. Amy punched her lightly on the shoulder in a playful manner. “Oh don’t get me started with the lectures, Susan, I know you’re way smarter than me, your results from your finals prove that much, but do you have to rub it in my face all the time? Why don’t you have a boyfriend, again?” “Because I’m not interested in that sort of thing. I’m more interested in progress in life. We need to get jobs and earn money for ourselves; we can’t expect to just find a random guy who will do everything for us, and pay for everything. That’s not how the world works Amy.” “Ok you can stop now Susan. I get why you’re lonely,” “Oh, shut up!” “But I’m not kidding; this law teacher is smoking!”

***

Susan, Amy and the rest of the law class sat down at their desks in their new classroom. Looking around the room, Susan was able to identify several posters with well-known serial killers on there, as well as court hierarchies, and a lot of things generally to do with criminal law. The teacher’s desk was fronted by a crooked wooden chair, which looked like a rocking chair. The desk itself was filled to the brim with papers; poking out drawers here and there. And then he entered the room. Amy shook Susan’s shoulder in excitement, her long pastel pink nails digging into her friend. Long and slow footsteps penetrated the awkward silence, as a pair of pointy black leather shoes appeared. They were noticeably large; almost a third longer than the average human male foot. They also curled upwards slightly, giving him the appearance of having curly toes. His legs were so long and thin; he looked as though he was walking on stilts. Although despite his long legs, his abnormally large feet still appeared to be disproportionately long. A very long black jacket, almost like a cloak, swung just below his knees. This really gave an indication of how tall he was; he was easily around 6’5, maybe even taller. A crooked, pale, skeletal hand with nails bitten down past the skin, reached for the registration book. Susan couldn’t see very well underneath the “cloak” he was wearing, however it seemed as though he was wearing a tuxedo and a black silk tie underneath. He sure takes his job seriously, she thought. When the man turned around to face the class, Susan was taken aback by how creepy his face looked, much more creepy than his strange enough body shape. He was pale enough to have been painted, his ears were so huge and elf-esqué that he looked like a cross between Mr Spock, the joker, and David Bowie. His eyes were a peculiar shape and colour too, an unusual bright emerald colour, and they were cat shaped too. All of these strange features were accompanied by shoulder length jet black hair and a large, crooked nose. What the hell, were the three words that were going through Susan’s mind as her eyes flickered between lovestruck Amy and this mysterious gothic man. This couldn’t have been the teacher Amy was on about, no, no, no, but her face gave it all away. How odd; he was the complete opposite of her usual type of guy, (well, what Susan had come to know over the years). Yet without looking too far around the room, it was clear that this man had a certain charisma about him, that seemed to attract all the young women in the room. The gaze that Amy was holding towards him, was replicated by all the other girls in the room, except Susan. From her perspective, when he entered the room, a gust of chilly air entered with him, blowing right into her face. And it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Hello, students…” The even more sinister voice boomed throughout the classroom. It took a lot of people’s ears by surprise. It was the lowest voice Susan swore she had ever heard. It was so deep, she felt the floor vibrate with each syllable. He let the “s” on the end of “students” trail a little, so it almost sounded like a hissing noise. Every single vibe he seemed to give was just of a villain. And the girls, especially Amy, gushed over it. He was the mysterious “bad guy” teacher of Harvard University. “My name is Mr Blackburn, and I am your lecturer for this law class. Welcome to Harvard. Shall we begin our first lesson?” “Oh yes please, sir. Let’s get right in to it,” Amy giggled out loud. The whole class, including Mr Blackburn and Susan, turned to face her with the dirtiest “what the fuck” looks on their faces. Although of course Mr Blackburn’s face was the worst. “Excuse me, miss?” He snapped half-heartedly. “Amy, it’s Amy Parker, sir,” she giggled. Her face was pink now; but Susan knew it was for the wrong reason. She could sense some serious tension going on between the two of them. The lecturer cleared his throat. “Well, excuse me, Ms Parker, didn’t your first elementary school teacher tell you not to call out in class?” Amy raised her eyebrows in shock. In response, the lecturer raised one eyebrow in an extremely unnerving fashion. Now that he was practically leaning over their desk, Susan felt the sweat trickle from the back of her neck, and for a much different reason than Amy. She looked around. The whole class were staring at Amy, most of them stifling giggles. But everyone flinched back into reality when the lecturer snapped his fingers abruptly, marching towards the front of the class once more.

“Now class, this is criminal law, and so we are going to start off by talking about mens rea when it comes to murder. Would anyone care to tell me the meaning of the term “mens rea”?” Susan sighed in relief; she knew the answer to this question. However, she was beaten to it, as Amy’s hand shot up before everyone else in the class. Mr Blackburn stared starstruck Amy straight into the eyes. “Yes, Ms Parker? Would you like to tell the class what mens rea means?” “Oh, um… well you see, sir, there’s been a lot of murders happening around here lately, in Cambridge, and I was wondering if that would be a good topic to discuss first-“ Amy was interrupted by the loud slamming of a crooked white hand on Mr Blackburn’s desk. “Excuse me, Ms Parker, but I am the teacher here. Therefore, I am entitled to direct my students, not the other way around. Would anyone else care to help Ms Parker out, as her mind is clearly somewhere else this morning?” “You’re an idiot,” Susan whispered to Amy, before sticking her hand up. Mr Blackburn pointed right at her. She was terrified that she might stutter and he might be abrupt with her just like he was with Amy. She hated that so much. “Um, mens rea is the psychological aspect of murder. Actus reus is the guilty act, accompanied with mens rea, which is the guilty mind. Put these two together, and you can charge a defendant with murder however proving mens rea is extremely difficult, whether it be direct intention, oblique intention, or subjective recklessness or negligence,” As soon as Susan finished her last shaky sentence, the teacher broke out into a devilish grin, revealing his rotten fangs for teeth. “Well done, Ms…” “Ms Higginson.” Susan stuttered out. “Well done, Ms Higginson.” The teacher marvelled, but it was in more of a sarcastic tone, possibly used to mock Amy. Amy leaned over to Susan and hissed in her ear, “You’re such a swot!”

***

It had been two weeks since Susan and Amy had arrived at Harvard university to study law. During which time, you’d expect the students to get to know their teacher at least a little bit, but not in this case, unfortunately. About 90% of all conversations between Susan and Amy were solely focused on Mr Blackburn. Susan would talk about how ‘creepy’ he was, or pass remarks about his strange behaviour in class, why he chose to call out Amy at every given moment. She found it very peculiar that Amy still hadn’t taken the hint that the teacher didn’t reciprocate her feelings. In fact, he was completely cold towards her. How blind could she be, Susan thought. She tried to drop subtle hints and insinuations to Amy that she was no longer in high school, and this wasn’t a ‘teacher crush’ love story; this was a genuinely weird teacher with some hang-ups, and a low tolerance for unintelligent pupils. More importantly though, she began wondering why he shut down the subject every single time a mention of the recent murder spree in Cambridge was mentioned. Although she tried her best to shrug it off that the case wasn’t too widely known, and he didn’t have enough knowledge in order to deal with that kind of thing. Right now, her priority was calming Amy down.

***

'Breaking news: A 7th victim has been found; 19-year-old Aidan Anderson. The body was dumped in a nearby cavern amongst some rocks. The killer appears to have used a similar technique in committing this crime that we have seen in the past; including bondage, severing of the spinal cord, and some form of intoxicstion. so it’s definitely the same killer, according to forensic pathologists. What’s difficult to tell is really how he killed that victim, as the spine is servered, although they all appear to have been strangled and intoxicated with a unique sense of musky perfume. No evidence linking anyone to these crimes is yet to have been found.’

***

“Would anyone in the class care to give us an example of the difference between oblique intention and subjective recklessness?” Mr Blackburn’s demonic eyes scanned the classroom for any volunteers. There were none, besides Amy, however he did not even glance in her direction.

“Mr Blackburn, sir, that serial killer that’s currently on the loose sounds like he’s pretty reckless!”

The teachers eyes glowered at Amy, who was no longer giggling. The stare was so chilling, it was as though he had the eyes of a snake. “Ms Parker, murder is not funny. It is a serious crime that must not be confused with recklessness. And how many times do I have to call you out for making unnecessary comments in class!” His gaze softened as he turned towards Susan. He flashed his creepy grin, the one she hated the most, she almost had an aneurism.

“Ms Higginson, do you have anything relevant to say on the subject of recklessness manslaughter?”

Susan cleared her throat awkwardly. “Recklessness is about unjustifiable risk taking. Oblique intention is either intention to cause bodily harm, not in the case of murder, or when the defendant knows it’s a virtual certainty that their actions will cause the death or serious harm to their victim.”

“Thank you, Ms Higginson. Perhaps your notes can be of use to Ms Parker, correct? Would you mind copying them up for her?”

“Oh, I can do that myself sir,”

“Susan will make a better job of it.” The teacher snapped.

Amy was silenced.

***

The two were seated in the library, and Amy was copying Susan’s notes up from the lesson.

“Susie, I don’t understand why he hates me so much? I was just trying to impress him and have a sense of humour!”

“Well maybe he’s not the 'sense-of-humour kind of guy that he LOOKS like!” Susan rolled her eyes at Amy.

“Sarcasm isn’t funny.” Amy snapped sternly.

“And you getting a grump on over one stupid fucking teacher isn’t funny either. Especially when you know deep down you try way too hard to impress him.”

Amy raised her brows. “I do?”

Susan nodded. “Look, you’ve always wanted me to be honest with you, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I suggest you stop immediately with the 'unnecessary comments’ as he describes, in his lessons. He’s a fucking weirdo anyway. What do you see in him, you know he’s way too old for you. Not to mention he’s actually hideous!”

“Shh! Not so loud! And yeah, I know Susie, but he’s just got this aura about him, and I’ve never found that in anyone else before.”

“You sure that’s not just because he’s a creepy vampire looking ass?”

“I get it, Susan, he’s not your type! But why should that stop me from having a sense of humour.”

“You may joke about it but in all seriousness what if it was your family-” Susan was cut off by Amy springing up aggressively in a tantrum from her chair and throwing the notes in her face.

“What the hell, Amy?!”

“You stop right there! You can be so annoying at times. Keep your notes; I’m going!” And with that she marched out, leaving Susan completely dumbfounded.

***

It had been three days since the dispute between Susan and Amy. Susan couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was growing extremely worried. The observant 18-year-old had noticed he seemed to have a pretty big influence on a lot of people, almost everyone in the class. In fact, every single girl that had been gushing over him in the past 2 and a half weeks (mind you that was the entire class with the exception of Susan) , he had shut down in some way or another. Was she the only one who saw the creepiness in him? Oddly enough, you’d think a shitty teacher like that who didn’t seem to care for the interests of his students, would completely out you off of the subject in which you were studying. However, with Susan, it was the opposite. With each passing day, she was becoming more and more intrigued with the concept of 'Actus Reus’ and 'Mens Rea’ in criminal law. It was as if she delved into the mind of a real lawyer, and that boosted her low confidence slightly, which had been pretty shitty especially since she had her dispute with Amy. Bored with her essay, she switched on the TV.

'Breaking news: The killer has struck yet again, still managing to retain his anonymity. Not a fingerprint to be found. The victim has been identified as Nicole Partington, a law student at Harvard University who was tragically struck down by what appears to be a crow bar, strangled, and then poisoned to death. All these clues point to the same person. If anyone has any concerns or clues in which might help us catch this killer, public helplines have been open 24/7 and the police encourage all to come forward with new information in this case.“

With a shaky hand and even shakier breath, Susan switched off the TV. In complete and utter shock, she dropped the remote to the floor. Nicole Partington was in her class at law; she had seen her merely 6 hours ago, heading off down an alleyway to go home after her law lesson. She had been very helpful that particular lesson, volunteering to help out Mr Blackburn, but of course, being shut down. More importantly, though, she was one of Amy’s best friends. Susan wondered if Amy had heard about this, and if so, how she was handling it. The next thing she knew, she was grabbing her jacket and car keys, running to her car, and speeding down to Amy’s house.

***

Knock knock knock

Sighing, Amy swung open the door. She was faced with a very distrsssed looking Susan. After looking her up and down, and recognising that she had most likely rushed here, she stepped aside. When the two sat down on the sofa, they sat in silence for about a minute, before Susan plucked up the courage to say something.

"Nicole…” she choked out. “Nicky Partington,”

“My friend from law class. What about her?”

“She’s dead,” Susan stuttered, biting back tears.

“No she’s not. I saw her today in law. She was really enthusiastic and motivated, I don’t understand… she can’t be dead. She’s my best friend…”

“Amy, I thought I was your best friend.” Susan croaked.

“Well I thought the same thing,” Amy replied. “This can’t be real!” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Susan pulled her into her side. Amy rested her head on Susan’s chest. Her heart was beating almost as fast as her own.

“I saw it on the news. I saw her walking down an alleyway on her way home from University,”

“Where did she go?”

“She disappeared off before I had the chance to watch anything happen. Apparently her body was found within the next hour.”

“What the hell is going on!” Amy yelled out loud, standing up.

“I don’t know, none of us do, but we should figure something out-”

Amy shook her head. “No! NO, Susan. We shouldn’t 'figure something out’ because there’s nothing we can do! What if it’s you next! This guy seems to be targeting law students! I told you yesterday to stop playing detective,”

“But the police aren’t having any luck. And like you said, what if it’s one of us next?”

“They’ll get him, surely. They have to,” Amy was shaking now.

“That’s what we’d all like to think,” Susan said as she walked towards the door.

HEADS UP: I hope you enjoyed part 1 of 'The Teacher'. I've got some ideas for Part 2, but it's not set in stone yet, and I don't have a draft for it, meaning it could be a few more days at least until it's published. If any of you would like to give me ideas or prompts for how you'd like to see the story map out, all ideas are welcome and most reasonable ones considered.

Thanks for reading!

-Talia

#short horror story #teacher #creepypasta #writing #crime #vampire #serial killer #mass murder #detectives #law #law students #harvard