#forever thankful chloe got me him

[sonny-whorezik]

i hope the dinosaur tapestry really ties these together

[kailoraurelius]

Starlight

"Starlight" is defined as the light that stars produce. As a name, "Starlight" can represent dreams, aspirations, and a connection to the universe's infinite possibilities.

"You know, you can just say you hate me, dude."

Beca's sudden voice should break the still of the night, but it doesn't. It fits right in with the frost on the edges of the rooftop and the mist Chloe breathes out. She's lying in one of their sunbathing chairs, her favorite one with the yellow polka dots. Twisting her head a bit, she can see Beca is shutting the roof door, cutting off the faint sound of music and laughter from downstairs. The girls are really living up their final week in the Bella House. They've even invited the Trebles over and are, currently, having a rousing card tournament. Chloe's been judging who's winning by whether or not she can hear Amy doing a war cry.

"I don't hate you," Chloe says. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you know I hate heights and you're hiding up here." Beca pulls up the flaps of her oversized, black jacket so she can squint at the zipper as she slots it together. It's pretty dark up here, with only the light stringers from the backyard sending up a gentle glow. She misses once, curses quietly under her breath, then adds, "Don't make a short joke."

Chloe snorts. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Beca manages to make the zipper catch and yanks it all the way up to her chin in one quick move, then shoves her hands deep into the pockets. "Mhmm. And the hiding up here part?"

Shrugging, Chloe watches as Beca saunters over to her side. "I'm not hiding. Just wanted to get away for a few minutes." She motions above them. "The night sky is so pretty in winter."

Beca tilts her head back, taking in the view too. Then she sighs, a large puff of fog floating slowly away from them. "The stuff I do for pretty things. Shove over."

Chloe scooches to the side as Beca turns and lowers herself to lay down without removing her hands from her pockets. Chloe giggles, bracing her hands against Beca's back to keep her from falling. "Why were you looking for me?"

"'Ain't no party without a ginger', someone told me once."

"Oh my god, I was drunk! Let it go."

"Mm. I don't think I will, no. Thank you."

Chloe curls into Beca's side, wrapping her arms around Beca's elbow. "Really though." The warmth from Beca's body makes her realize just how cold it actually is out on the roof. She nuzzles even closer. "Why?"

Beca doesn't answer right away. She just stares up at the billions of lights above them. And Chloe stares at her. At the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone. The quirk at the corner of her lips when she finally speaks. "Jesse's had a few too many drinks. He made a joke about getting back together."

Chloe's stomach twists. An ugly, burning feeling. It isn't as strong as it used to be, when Beca and Jesse first became a thing. As they grew apart over the years, the feeling faded. "What did you do?"

"I thought of you." She says it quietly, in one breath, like a confession, and Chloe silently hopes.

"Oh." She's not sure what else to say. She knows what she wants to say. I love you and I have for forever. I love you and I don't want you to be with him again. I love you and I think you love me. Please love me. But she bites her lip and just continues to watch Beca watch the stars.

"Yeah. Oh." Beca huffs a laugh and Chloe feels the sound in the small jerk of her chest. "What's that Van Gogh quote about the stars? The one Jessica wrote on the fridge white board last week?"

Chloe blinks, thinking. "'I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream'. She got it from Emily's Quote of the Day calendar."

Beca nods thoughtfully. "He might have been onto something."

"You're dreaming right now?"

"Yeah."

"Care to share with the class?"

Beca shifts a bit and Chloe tries not to notice that they're now tilted a bit toward each other. Beca's eyes are still on the sky. But her shoulder is lightly brushing Chloe's chin now.

"I'm...dreaming of a vacation. Somewhere warm and chill."

"What else?" Chloe says, urging her to continue.

"I'm dreaming that we will never again go to Aubrey's resort."

Chloe snorts and knocks her knee against Beca's. "It was a great time."

"I'm still finding leaves in my clothes."

"What else are you dreaming of, nerd?"

"Mean. Uh, I'm dreaming of a damn good waffle in the morning. If my totally cool bestie feels up to making one?"

Chloe hums as if she's mulling it over. "Maybe some dreams can come true."

Beca looks at her then and Chloe stops breathing. They're so close. Closer than she thought they were. Beca's eyes are bright even in the dark.

"I hope so." There's something in the words. Something deeper than her joking before, something more real. Something that tastes like possibility.

Carefully, gently, Chloe says, "You say that like you have more dreams to tell me." The words fill the space between them. Hanging in the tension.

"And if I said I did?"

Chloe tightens her grip on Beca's elbow. "I'd say tell me."

Beca doesn't blink and there are stars in her eyes. "And if I said I dreamed of kissing you right now?"

And, in an instant, Chloe doesn't have to hope. She knows. "I'd say kiss me."

So Beca does. Right there on the roof of the Bella House. With frost in the air and laughter on the breeze. Chloe kisses her back with all the longing she's held onto for years. All the moments she's wanted to do exactly this colliding at once, hitting her so hard that she sees stars.

Even with her eyes closed, the night sky is so pretty.

[covenists]

Hey, I loved the lance fic you did for me, and was wondering if you do another one but like a soc media au (pref fluff). If you have time

Have a good day/night

-🪐

✦ INTERNET'S HEARTS, L. STROLL

a compilation of them being lovesick for each other on instagram.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦

lancestroll

liked by chloestroll, fernandoalo_oficial, sza, and 422,980 more

lancestroll lazy day routine

👤: yourusername

view all 241,970 comments...

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yourusername added to their story!

caption: spent some time to fly with lance. especially when kiko's around. what a great save bed 🛩️🫢

yourusername

liked by lancestroll, arianagrande, fernandoalo_oficial, and 725,293 more

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view all 246,581 comments...

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lancestroll

liked by landonorris, madelinecline, yourusername and 659,778 more

lancestroll happy 5 years anniversary to my best friend, lover, sleeping pillow, and a mom to kiko! more years to come to be with you forever, baby😚🥰❤️

👤: yourusername

view all 247,125 comments

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yourusername

liked by astonmartinf1, bellahadid, blakelively and 620,157 more

yourusername lance's version i mean...

👤: lancestroll

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ˑ⭒ʚ ִtwitter ݁.٭

ˑ⭒ʚ ִinstagram ݁.٭

lancestroll

liked by yourusername, landonorris, pierregasly, and 621,423 more

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👤: yourusername

view all 238,452 comments...

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yourusername

liked by florencepugh, sabrinacarpenter, lancestroll, and 870,686 more

yourusername happy anniversary to you too, lancey💚

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[pinkpastels113]

romance is not dead (if you keep it just yours)

also on ao3

a/n:

for @mcrololo and @shikariix <33 did i listen to paris by taylor swift and enchanted on repeat the entire time while writing this?? maybe... also thanks for the idea/encouragement to write this based on this tumblr post @pyresrpgear!! hope you like this as well :))

People often forget that you can find romance in the most mundane of things, that love exists in the most simplest of gestures.

Chloe was getting some water at the fountain in the common area of Beca’s music label when one of these moments happened.

“Shoot your shot!”

Chloe turns at the sound of the man’s voice behind her. It belonged to one of Beca’s coworkers and she can just make out him slipping behind the wall of the opening to the common area with a subtle wink before her attention lands on Beca, her wife, walking towards her, her own water bottle in tow.

Chloe grins, as she always does when in the same vicinity as the love of her life. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Beca chuckles, nervously, and lifts a hand to rub it at the nape of her neck as if working up the courage to pop the following question:

“You’re really cute. Wanna go out with me?”

Her dark blue eyes are downcast, just like that time eight years ago when they were both in their twenties in university, high on the serotonin and adrenaline of yet another win with their Bellas, after a group hug, when Beca had also asked her out with the same expression, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth and a hopeful lift to her eyebrows. 

Chloe’s heart leaps in her chest in the exact same way back then, too, now, like she had been waiting forever for that feeling, that confirmation, that Beca liked her back in that all consuming, I-might-be-sick overwhelming way that Chloe had felt towards her best friend ever since she’d joined their silly little acapella group. 

(Even though Chloe considers herself a romantic– she had been reading romance novels ever since middle school, after all– she feels like Beca might just secretly be a bigger one.)

She sets aside her water cup, reaches forward and repeats the gesture with Beca’s, in favor of taking both of Beca’s hands in hers. Beca’s fingers were cold, so she threads them together and squeezes to breathe some warmth into them. 

“Yes. Of course I would love to go out with you.”

Beca’s face lit up, like a dang near Christmas tree, and her lips quirk into a huge relieved smile just like they did when Chloe had first said yes all those years ago as well. (Pft, as if Chloe could say no.) She returns Chloe’s squeeze. 

“Cool beans.”

And it may be cheesy, and corny, and just a tad bit dumb especially since both of their matching wedding rings are digging into their skins, but it still made Chloe’s day. She already knew that nothing would wipe that dopey grin off her face for the next twenty four hours, and she’s completely satisfied with that fact.

When they got home later that day, after dinner and they’re cuddling on the couch with the heater on and a movie playing in the background, Chloe talks about it, mentioning the shoot your shot comment.

“Was he new or something? What was that about?”

Beca snorts, burying her face into the crook of Chloe’s neck where her breath ghosts over Chloe’s collarbones, “Nah. I told him that I was about to ask out the hottie at the fountain and he’s simply encouraging me. He knows that we’re married, Chlo. Just cheering me on like the dork that he is.”

“Like the dork that you are, you mean,” Chloe corrects, pressing a soft kiss to the center of Beca’s forehead. She finds the whole thing incredibly cute, even though it was small and mundane.

Who says romance is dead just because you’re married? It survives even past death, unlike those classic vows for marriage.

[russellsppttemplates]

All right there (Lance Stroll)

You don't need much - just a relaxed Lance and a comfy bed

Note: english is not my first language. I was in the mood for some fluff 🤍 I always feel and know I have to put this - for those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: alludes to media hate

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

The sun was setting over the circuit, casting a warm golden hue across the paddock as the roar of the engines had subsided, leaving a peaceful moment after the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the race as all of the teams gathered their equipment and got it ready for transport for the next destination.

Lance had just secured a hard-fought points finish, climbing out of his car happy with the race but the exhaustion was evident on his face as a tired smile broke through, sending a wink your way before he was ushered to the media pen.

You were waiting for him at the lounge area of the hospitality, book in your hands to keep you busy considering Lawrence was in a meeting and, given that Chloe had just welcomed her baby boy, no one else from the family was around. It had been a challenging race, and you caught glimpses of the relentless media swirling around him, scrutinizing every aspect of his performance and character. Today’s finish was not just a good place on the grid - it was also a reminder that he belonged among the best in motorsport.

Lance dropped you a text telling you to meet him in his drivers' room, saying that he won't be long after this last interview.

From the moment he got out of the car, Lance couldn't wait to get to you, every interview seemingly taking longer than that the last one as the reporters made sure their message got through.

So, when he finally reached the room, the tension of the day melted away as he saw you look up at him. Lance pulled you into a hug, burying his face in your neck as you hugged him back, "I couldn’t have done it without you," he murmured, voice slightly muffled.

You pulled back just enough to smile up at him, your heart fluttering as you cupped his face, "you did it, Lance, you're proving all of them wrong".

After tidying everything and gathering your things, you made your way back to the hotel, glad that you only had to fly out in the morning. Lance flopped onto the bed, his body spent, and practically melted into the soft sheets, and as you settled beside him, kicking your trainers to the carpeted floor, he sighed contentedly, his eyelids drooping.

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” you teased, running a hand through his tousled hair after a chuckle.

“Maybe just for a moment” he sighed, his breath evening out. You watched as his face relaxed, the stress of the day slowly vanishing as he succumbed to the calmer environment you found yourselves in.

You took this opportunity to grab your phone, heart racing as you tried be quick and capture this cozy moment. Even though you had the privilege of attending a race here and there, it wasn't often that you could get to be with your boyfriend like this, always rushing between flights, meetings and PR events.

You clicked a few pictures, focusing on the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, how the corner of his mouth curled up just slightly in his sleep and how it was slighty agape. He looked so peaceful and vulnerable, like a gentle teddy bear and that was a sight you wanted to remember forever.

You couldn’t resist. Each photo you took made your affection for him swell even more as you tried to keep silent, failing when a small giggle escaped your lips as he shifted slightly, pulling the blankets closer to him and letting out a soft snore. Between each click of your camera, your thoughts lingered on how the media had portrayed him lately—unfairly and harshly. But here he was, just a man, working hard and achieving great things with each race he did.

With a grin, you opened your instagram app and began to upload the photos, writing a thoughtful caption that wouldn't get anyone in trouble (you certainly didn't want the PR team chasing you down) but one that would set the media straight. You posted the photos, each one showing Lance in his most endearing moments and ones that you were sure his fans would melt when they looked at them.

As you set your phone down, glancing back at him, you felt a warmth in your chest. The world may try to define who he was, constantly throwing harsh words at him and assumptions they had no business making, but you cherished the moments where the rest of world faded away.

With the fading light outside and the soft glow of the room, you settled in beside him, gently resting your head on his shoulder as you snuggled him, not caring about the fact that you were wearing your outside clothes on the bed, “sweet dreams, my love,” you whispered, not wanting to wake him.

Somewhere in his dreams, you hoped he knew just how much he was loved - both for his racing skill and for the love he brought into your life. For the giggles he got out of you, for the way your heart fluttered whenever he called you by your nickname you only allowed him to use, for the way he carefully picked up the pieces whenever it got too much.

And as the stars began to twinkle outside the hotel room window, you found comfort in the simplicity of being together, away from the glare of the cameras and the weight of expectation. You had it all right there.

[cuddlyfunk]

The Banishment of Chloe Munson

Not everyone is cruel.

In which Eddie Munson has a half-sister.

-Word Count: 530

A/N: I kind of took a break here for a while and kind of forgot I existed… But I’m back strong with more Eddie and Chloe

Enjoy!

Eddie figured Chloe was responsible enough to go play outside on her own. He’d have been happy enough to accompany her and play whatever she wanted. She was surprisingly imaginative with her storylines playing make-believe where he was a knight and she was a dragon and they play fought until they were both too tired to keep going.

But she had been more distant lately. More focused on other people.What they wanted. What they liked. She even made Eddie braid her hair because she said every other girl in her class had their hair done.

Even with her strange behavior, Eddie trusted her. So when she waltzed into the kitchen one cold Saturday afternoon and declared she was going to go play with other kids, he told her “stay close, put on a coat and be safe.”

That was the end of it.

Until she came home crying. 

And Chloe never cried.

Eddie immediately dropped what he was doing and rushed to the entryway where Chloe stood in her tattered grey coat, her hair already fraying from the braid he’d styled for her that morning.

“What’s up, Chlo?” He asked carefully, stepping closer to her and leaning down to look in her eyes.

Chloe deftly looked away, determinedly avoiding eye contact. She rubbed furiously at her still wet eyes, trembling as she tried to hold back tears, “nothin’. It’s ‘nothin, okay?”

“Yeah, sure seems like nothing,” he rolled his eyes, “come on, tell me.”

“They don’t want to play with me!” Chloe shouted suddenly, “they’re stupid. They say I play too rough and I smell weird.”

Eddie blinked at her. While maybe he should have expected this considering his own childhood, he’d hoped somehow it would be better for her. Ostracization started early it seemed.

“Oh. I could go talk to them, if you wanted.” He suggested hopefully. 

Chloe shook her head glumly, “no, they’re stupid. I don’t want to play with them anyways.” Her words were fierce, but she sounded more defeated. Maybe it was the crying.

Eddie patted her shoulder, “well, okay. If you really feel that way, you can play with me instead.” He stood up straight and held out his hand to her.

She watched him warily, wiping away the tears on her face with the ratty sleeve of her coat, “…why would I play with you?”

Eddie clutched his heart dramatically, “you offend me, fair maiden. I am a very nice person to play with, I’ll have you know.” He grinned at her, tilting his head towards his room. “Come on. You can draw with me if you’d like. Listen to some music. I’ve still got so many greats to educate you with.”

She hesitated. But it was inevitable in the end. She took his hand and nodded. 

And so they retreated into their own little world. Where no one could judge them. No one would mind the music being a little too loud, or if they talked a little louder.

The hurt wasn’t healed. The loneliness never forgotten. But for a moment it could be soothed.

For a moment they could just be them. Just Eddie and Chloe against the world. Always and forever. 

Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my writing (specifically with Chloe) on the masterlist

Written on my phone and not proofread very well, sorry for mistakes!

[hockybish]

Jack had been somewhat enjoying a date with his current fling Chloé something or other, he didn't really know and he didn't really care, she wasn't going to last. The chick was tiktok famous or something to that effect. Chloé was kinda cute, but not as cute as ...

"Oh my god, Jack, it's her. It's really her, Flora Rae. She's so pretty. I want to be her. I bet she's super nice." Chloe pointed the popular actress who had just entered the little café.

... her

Flora Rae the famous actress. The girl Jack met when he was 18 on a trip to New York. They were young and in love. But he screwed that up after he said something he shouldn’t had.

"I'm going to introduce myself" The influencer traipsed over to where the actress. Jack could see them chatting animatedly and he sank in his seat when Chloé pointed over to him.

He knew he should have tried to stop Chloé, but he was just baffled that the girl who he still loved was there in the same restaurant as he was. She looked great. The past three years had done her well.

Three years. That was the last time he saw her. It had been three years since it happened.

Before he knew it Chloé came back in a huff. “She’s so rude.”

“What did she say?” Jack furrowed his brow. That wasn’t like her. Flora was never rude and didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Not even when pictures got leaked of her crying at a funeral.

“That’s just it nothing! She kept nodding her head but wouldn’t speak.”

They went back to their date and acted like nothing had happened. When Chloé had gone to the bathroom, Jack saw an opportunity to say something to her. Gathering the his courage he stood from the table and wandered over.

"Hi, Flora." He slid into the booth she was sitting in.

"Jack" She nodded, going back to playing with the food on her plate, suddenly loosing her appetite.

“You look good. I saw that movie you were in that just came out. It was really good.” He tried complimenting her.

“Um thanks I guess.” There was an awkward pause between them.

"I want to apologize." Jack swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbled. "What I said that night wasn't alright. I didn't mean it. You were fantastic. You were hurting, I was hurting. But that doesn't make it okay."

Flora could see he was being sincere with his apology. The words he had uttered that had ultimately ended their relationship were forever etched in her brain, and she wasn't ready to let it go yet.

"When was the last time you visited Callan? You know where he is right?" She fired back. Even though it had been years at the point, she wasn't ready to forgive how he had insinuated that she was a bad mother.

"That's what I thought" Flora mumbled when Jack shut his mouth. She thee a couple of bucks on the table and stood up. She was done. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I need to go. I want to get to the cemetery early tomorrow to see our son.”

Let me know what you think

[knight-princess]

Appreciation post for:

• Wererats. Fucked up little beasties. Do they turn into people on the full moon or did they used to be people, I can’t remember and Boorman certainly never explained. Look like roadkill and sincerely want to fuck you up. Two heads for some reason. Only appear once and are dope and real animatronics and everything I’m pretty sure

• “Chloe Allagash’s brave little man”, otherwise known just as Allagash. Insults extraordinaire. Spent like. ten years in a box pretending to be his best mate and was so committed to that bit he tried to sell it to his best mate’s other best mate and daughter. Gave up his life to fight trolls and save the gang. Hates olives. Iconic

• Madmartigan, who I spent far too long convinced was actually called Martigan and nicknamed “Mad” Martigan by all his mates. Also in a box when we meet him. Tries to feed roots to a newborn. Slays in pink. Souped up on the love potion, gains himself an enemies to lovers arc with the hot badass warrior queen

• Sorsha Tanthalos, said hot badass warrior, redemption arc speedrun, kiss in the middle of battle pro, stop listening to your evil mom and make your own choices queen. Pissed off that the dorky hot rogue confessed his undying love to her and it was just love potion. “‘I dwell in darkness without you’ and it went away???” Go off queen. You can fix that never fear. Dopest sword ever but also that would be so so sucky to get stabbed with because fuck that is a lot of serrations. Is it all that functional? Don’t know but it looks awesome. 10/10. Goes straight from being henchman to her evil mom to trying to run a whole kingdom, raise three kids and keep one of them from dying to fulfil the prophesy. Makes some dodgy decisions. Complains about it all to her (literal) captive audience. Saves her daughters life. Complicated queen

• Sorsha x Madmartigan. Enemies to lovers classic with all the fun twists. “Love her?!? I don’t love her! She kicked me in the face!” Oh you just wait buddy. Couple affirming kiss mid battle??? Oh fuck yeah, sign me the fuck up. “I dwell in darkness without you.” Wait. Was that foreshadowing

• Jade and Elora being besties. Unexpected and delightful. Elora calling her “J” nearly made me hit the cieling. You’re telling me they’ve got nicknames already??? Sign me the fuck up. I love it. Need more of it pls and thank you

• Lili of Cashmere. On the wyrms milk. Dresses like a Greek goddess. Known by the alias “the Crone” which she hates even tho she really is secretly a skeleton held together with goo and a love of drama (I’m reusing that description ok I enjoyed it too much the first time). Evil makeover specialist. A+ Lili I love you

• And last but not least, smart and sassy trolls. @lowkeyed1 is a lifesaver and provided me with the transcript for the episode bc I remembered they had some truly iconic lines but couldn’t for the life of me remember what they were. So we’ve got: “He’s not appealing, but he speaks his mind, and I suppose that’s something” of Sarris’s own brother. Of the Crone: “Is she the eldritch nightmare people make her out to be? Yes. But she has her positive qualities too.” Lol fair. The forever iconic “I deplore those who rouse rabble” and my personal favourite “yeah, cos when I said ‘I do’, what I really meant was ‘explain it to me like I’m an imbecile’.”

[halfincontextmagic]

Event Story: The Crimson ribbon for Désir | CH9

HEATHCLIFF — Hn….

SHINO — Heath!

AKIRA — Heath, are you ok…!?

The blue eyes that have just opened look around in a daze,

until they catch Shino’s gaze.

I can tell Shino’s body is stiff with nervousness.

Everyone swallowed, waiting for Heathcliff’s reaction….

HEATHCLIFF — Shino.

A warm smile emerged on his face.

SHINO — …Heath….

Shino’s dawn-like eyes swam, and closed.

SHYLOCK — …Welcome back, Heathcliff.

BRADLEY — Looks like it was a safe success.

HEATHCLIFF — Ah…. The ribbon came off….

AKIRA — Shino’s the one who took it off, you know.

SHYLOCK — He used a spell of separation to lift the spell tied to your heart. A change like earlier shouldn't happen again.

HEATHCLIFF — Shino did….

I see.

Thank you, Shino.

SHINO — I didn’t do anything to deserve thanks. I only did what’s natural.

That aside, how are you feeling? Do you feel weird anywhere….

Slowly pulling his body up, Heathcliff gently held his right hand out.

His slim fingertips wrapped themselves around Shino’s right hand.

HEATHCLIFF — Aah, as I thought…. It’s red.

I’m sorry about earlier. It must’ve hurt when I slapped you back then.

Shino’s mouth hangs open to the question directed to him.

As if he were softening the tension from the string of a taut bow, Heathcliff continued, one word at a time:

HEATHCLIFF — …I, was so, so scared.

I thought, what if I stayed stuck like how I was earlier forever.

Because, even if I’d…managed to get out of here, in a state like that, Chloe and Mitile…, Rutile and Riquet and the others would surely get hurt.

So, I’m really glad.

…Thank you, Shino.

The things that spilled out of Heathcliff’s mouth were…all concerns about someone else.

His dislike to hurt anyone and his gentle, caring nature are what make him himself.

SHINO — ………….

Even in times like these, you still….

Shino squeezed Heathcliff’s hand back with his own free one,

in such a careful way that it was as though he were holding a jewel.

SHINO — Yeah, the Heath right now is the one I….¹⁴

HEATHCLIFF — Huh?

What is it, Shino. Did you say something, just now?

SHINO — No….

It’s nothing.

Suddenly, Saku-chan seemed to have noticed something and jumped into my chest.

And soon, the world around us lit up at once.

It was a softer, gentler light compared to when we’d come here.

AKIRA — This is….

BRADLEY — Looks like we can get back safe, huh.

SHYLOCK — I can sense that we’re getting closer to Sir Snow’s presence.

And when I’d thought we were once again enshrouded in an all-white world….

The next moment, we were back in the exhibition hall we were originally in.

SNOW — Sage!

MITILE — It’s Sir Sage!

CHLOE — And also everyone! Thank god~!

RUSTICA — I am glad everyone returned safely.

AKIRA — Sorry, everyone. We made you worry.

CHLOE — Hmhm! It’s nothing. You must’ve gotten through a bigger fright than us since you were the ones who got pulled into the box, right?

MITILE — Wasn’t it a daunting place inside? I hope you weren’t put through something horrible….

HEATHCLIFF — …We’re fine.

It looks like Shino solved the issue.

SHYLOCK — Yes, absolutely.

BRADLEY — Heh.

SHINO — Fufun. Pretty much.

RUSTICA — As expected of Shino. That is a brilliant achievement.

SNOW — I wasn’t too concerned, as Bradley and Shylock were also there but….

I see, so it's Shino. You’ve accomplished quite a feat.

BRADLEY — Hey, don’t give me the ‘you’re so useless’ look.

SHYLOCK — Fufu, it’s more gratifying to think of it as a youth with a bright future accomplishing a splendid achievement.

When I spontaneously looked at it, inside the red ribbon box, laid a canvas painted over with a thick layer of white.

Mr. Klaus picked it up with mixed feelings written all over his features and bowed down to us.

KLAUS — My most sincere, deepest apologies for putting my dear guests in danger this time.

How could I ever make it up to you….

HEATHCLIFF — Oh no…. Please raise your head.

SNOW — To wizards, this is a trivial matter. To the Sage’s Wizards, all the more so.

SHINO — Yeah. Strange phenomenons are a daily occurence.

MITILE — I don’t want this kind of routine but I also can’t deny it….

SNOW — That being said, we cannot let this painting as it is, however.

Everybody’s gaze gather on the painting in Mr. Klaus’ hands.

KLAUS — Ah….

At Snow’s words, Klaus’ fingers tighten their grip on the painting.

SNOW — Don’t fret. I won’t do anything such as burning it.

I’ll just cast a spell of purification so it won’t confine anyone else.

« Noscomnia »

The painting drifted away from Mr. Klaus’ hands, floating in the air.

A purifying light cloaks the snow-white painting.

And….

AKIRA — Huh…? Isn’t the white paint kind of coming off?

HEATHCLIFF — You’re right. Isn’t this….

What reveals itself to us is the sight of a young man smiling to us.

Golden hair and a pair of gentle blue eyes. He looked just a little bit like Heathcliff, I thought.

All around the young man were painted many fluttering ribbons.

KLAUS — I never thought—that something like this could….

I never thought…that I could ever see this painting in such a beautiful state….

Mr. Klaus took the canvas within his trembling fingers.

I could see the corners of his eyes, slightly wrinkled with age, blur with tears welling up.

CHLOE — …That’s, such a beautiful person.

To have someone like this model for you is so….

I feel like I can understand why that painter person spent decades searching for him.

RUSTICA — …I agree. The depiction of the light within the eyes of the smiling model is such a splendid work.

Does it indicate the true strength of the model’s heart, I wonder?¹⁵ However, his brows are bent, like he is troubled by something….

“Are you done painting soon? Let’s take a break. You’ll tire yourself out.”

…I can even feel that gentle concern he has for the artist, can’t you?

KLAUS — …!

…How—could you tell? It’s almost as if you were there to see, on the day this painting was made….

RUSTICA — I can tell. Because I can hear it from this painting:

My beloved is such a beautiful person. And it is not only beauty that is visible to the eye, but also the inside of his heart, all of it.

KLAUS — …hg.

…I see….

Just hearing these words….

…Makes me feel like there was a meaning in holding this exhibition.

MITILE — …Now that I think about it, Mr. Klaus. You said this painting was what inspired you to hold this exhibition, right?

SHINO — What did you mean by that?

TL/n: WELCOME TO HISUSHINO MISSED CONFESSION SCENE WHAT IN THE SHOUJO MANGA IS THIS !!!!! THANK YOU FOR MY LIFE

¹⁴ To explain my biased translation choice, original sentence says 「今のヒースが......。」 (ima no hiisu ga…….), so it could be "the you right now is the one.", "it has to be this you." However, I decided to make it a follow up to chapter 8 and 4th anniversary, where Shino says that this is the Heath he likes/loves, that the kind, overly considerate, unjudgemental Heath, is the one that made Shino love him. One of the reasons why I chose to translate it like this is the Japanese confession culture, (you know the one) where people tend to word it in this way: 「あなた(の事)が—......好きです。」 ʼanata (no koto) ga—... suki desu.ʼ (i, about you— i like you. [read: romantic ʼlikeʼ] ), and the way Shino words it in this chapter sounds...well, just like that. And I wanted to convey the way it sounds SO MUCH like he was about to confess his love to Heath. because it was definitely worded that way on purpose, since Mahoyaku is a fu-targeting media.

¹⁵ 「芯の力」 (read ʼshin no chikaraʼ) is very specifically the true strength, coming from the core of the person, from deep inside their heart.

←CH8 CH10→

↞CH1

✧INDEX✧

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Cheesecake Kisses 😚 🍰 ⭐ 🌙

😚 Original story 🍰

⭐️ Ao3 version 🌙

🦋 The blonde butterfly and her human boyfriend were both at the Diaz household, happily watching an all-day marathon of their favorite TV show while snacking on slices of strawberry shortcake. 🍰

Since Earth and Mewni were now merged into one, it meant that the two teens could be together forever, and being together meant more indoor dates like these.

Star ate the last cake crumb on her plate, but her sweet tooth was still craving for more.

Turning to Marco, she instantly switches her puppy dog eyes on. “Oh Marco, could you pretty please get me another slice of cake?” Star asked, holding her empty plate at him, frosting smeared on her face.

Marco chuckled at Star.

He found her childlike nature adorable.

“Uh, Star, you got a bit of frosting there on your face.” He points to his own face to emphasize.

"I do?” she asked. Her blue eyes gaze down and she sees white icing smeared on her mouth.

“Oh, I do!" Star giggled. "Hold on, I got this.” Wiping her lips with her arm only makes things worse as a frosting mustache was now apparent on her lips. Star smiles. “There! Better?”

Marco chuckles a second time.

“Hold on," he said, taking her plate as he stood up. "I’ll get you something to wipe your face off with.” Star smiles at him. “Okay, boo!” she beams brightly.

Marco takes off into the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, Star quickly reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a cheesecake-flavored and scented lip gloss.

She, Jackie, Chloe, Janna, Pony Head, and Starfan13 spent some girl time together in the mall the other day.

As the girls passed by a few stores, Star's eyes sparkled when she saw a store that sold the lip gloss.

She knew it would be a sweet and shiny treat for her lips.

After purchasing and testing it on her lips, she became extremely fond of it.

Twisting the small white cap off of the yellow container that was decorated with the same cakes as the product was named after, Star begins to spread the sweet and glossy goodness all across her top and bottom lips.

Adjusting the lid back on, Star puts the tube back in her pocket and rubs her lips together.

She then licks them.

A hum of delight came from the artificial cakey flavor. “Mmm, cheesecake.”

“I’m back!” Marco happily announced as he returned with the slice of cake for Star and a small napkin for her face. “A cake and napkin for the lady,” he spoke in a gentlemanly tone as handed the two items to Star.

“Why thank you, Mr. Diaz,” she giggled, wiping the sugar paste off her face.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?! What is it?”

“Close your eyes. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, ya silly goose!”

“Oh, right.”

Shutting his eyes, Marco smiles, eager to receive his girlfriend’s gift.

Star slowly leans in to kiss her boy.

As she does so, Marco’ s nose detects a sweet scent.

“Mmm, something smells good! Is my surprise something sweet?”

“Maaaaybe,” Star tee-hees before pressing her lips to his and pulling away in three seconds. “Sooo," she playfully began. "What did you think? Can you guess the flavor?”

Marco opens his eyes and licks his lips. “Hmm…is it…cheesecake?”

Star imitates an over the top announcer. “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner, folks!”

The former squire snickered before leaning in to place a peck on his girlfriend’s cheek as they continued their marathon and cake eating.

You could say Star had a sweet tooth for two things: one being the slice of shortcake and two Marco’s lips. 🦋

[celestiall0tus]

Lady and the Scoundrel - Chapter 10 - Settling In

Beginning || Previous || Next

            “Chloe! There you are!” Memoria cheered.

            Chloe braced herself as Memoria scooped her up and swung her around. “It’s good to see you too, Memoria.”

            Memoria clicked. “Come. Come! Let’s get you settled in. We got your room all made up for you.”

            Chloe smiled as she followed Memoria inside. They walked through the manor to her room. She caught sight of Felix but ignored him. She knew she’d never be anything different in his eyes, so she wasn’t going to bother with him. She stepped into her room and sighed. It was about half the size of her room back at Le Grand Paris but had all the luxuries.

            “Do let me know if there’s anything you need. I had Amelie help with all this, but I still feel like something is missing from it,” Memoria remarked.

            Chloe hugged Memoria. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

            “You’re most welcome. I’ll leave you to get unpacked, then I was hoping we could go out. Have a nice lunch and maybe do some shopping.”

            “Sure, if you’re ok with Cheri joining us.”

            “Oh, of course. Which, she’s always welcome too.”

            “She knows, but she wants to give me some space to learn. Doesn’t want me to use her a crutch outside of school too.”

            “Smart girl. You do need to learn to socialize with people. It is an integral skill for any young mortal to learn.”

            “I know. I… I think I’ll be ready. I just had to�� adjust?”

            “That you did. It was a big shift, but you’re doing great. I’m proud of you, Chloe.”

            Chloe’s eyes misted over as she beamed. “Thank you.”

            “Always, Chloe. Now, get unpacked, then we can head out.”

            Chloe nodded and watched as Memoria left her. She happily sighed as she unpacked her luggage and put her clothes away. She organized her clothes in the clothes and dresser when she heard footsteps. She assumed it was Felix from the silence that came with them. Memoria and Amelie would have announced themselves long before now. She ignored him and continued to sort her clothes.

            Chloe stalled long enough before she turned to grab more of her clothes. She eyed Felix sitting in one of the armchairs in her room. She held his gaze for a moment before she looked away and continued to unpack. A few minutes of her ignoring him passed before he spoke up.

            “You’re really determined to keep ignoring me? That’s cute. You do realize you can’t ignore me forever. You’re stuck here for the holiday. That is if you don’t run back to that campus in a week, if you’re lucky.”

            Chloe didn’t answer.

            Felix tsked. “Honestly, Chloe, how long do you plan to keep up this ruse? We both know you’re going to lose your temper like most toddlers do, so just go off already. I could use some entertainment.”

            Chloe took a deep breath and remembered Barkk’s lessons on ignoring people. The best response is silence as they begin to unravel. They will throw everything at her, but only because they want a reaction. So long as she didn’t give them that, they would move on.

            Chloe moved to grab the last of her clothes, but Felix blocked her path. “Can I help you?”

            “So you can talk still. I thought your mum came back to-.”

            “Are you done? I need to finish unpacking, then I have a lunch date with Memoria and Cheri,” Chloe interrupted casually.

            Felix furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong with you?”

            “I should ask the same. You always seem to have the answer to everything. You should know what’s wrong with me, right?”

            Felix pursed his lips and didn’t answer. Chloe held her head high as she pushed past him and got the last of her clothes. She sorted them out and put them away before she headed for the door. He moved and blocked her exit.

            Chloe sighed and rolled her eyes. “What now?”

            “Where do you think you’re going? We aren’t done yet.”

            “Really? We, or you, because I’m certainly done tolerating your childish antics.”

            “What-? You didn’t call me childish.”

            “I did, and I’ll do it again because that’s how you’re acting. Now, please excuse me. I have a lunch date with Memoria, as I mentioned before. You’re welcome to come along if-.”

            “Like hell I will. Why would I want to be caught with you in public?”

            Chloe shrugged. “I offered. I’ll see you later, Felix.”

            Chloe pushed past Felix before he could get another word out. She listened for Memoria’s voice and followed it to the kitchen.

            “I’m ready!” Chloe announced.

            Memoria gasped and squeaked. “I’ll see you later, Amelie. I’m going to have lunch with Chloe and her school buddy. I’ll see you later, darling!”

            “Have fun, darling!” Amelie called back.

            Memoria and Chloe headed out of the manor. They talked down the sidewalk a short ways before Barkk joined them. Barkk squealed and tackled Chloe.

            “I saw the whole thing, Chloe! I’m so proud of you!”

            “Yeah, well, he was tame this time. I know he’s got much worse up his sleeve,” Chloe remarked.

            “Most people do, but this is huge! How do you feel knowing you succeeded?”

            “I… nervous? I didn’t go too far, did I? I wasn’t too sassy or-?”

            “Not at all. You handled it beautifully.”

            Chloe smiled. “Thanks, Barkk.”

            Memoria giggled. “Come along, girls. We have a now celebratory lunch to have followed with some shopping.”

            Barkk’s eyes lit up. “Shopping? Like clothes? Are we getting Chloe more clothes?”

            “Wait, I-!” Chloe started.

            “Yup! It’s time for a proper new wardrobe!” Memoria sang.

            Barkk yipped. “Yes! C’mon! Let’s ring in the end of a year and the start of a new one with a new you! Let’s go!”

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[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon High: Chapter 22

The shrill squawking of seagulls in the sky disturbed the slumber of the newly settled Oceanclan. Hazepaw roused from his nest, groggy and a little annoyed by the noise. But when he stretched and felt sand brush the sides of his paws, a bubble of excitement grew in his chest. That's right, we're back on the beach! He remembered and celebrated internally as he sat up to tidy his pelt. Grains of sand met his tongue, salty and earthy all at once. It felt like forever since he had so much sediment in his fur. It was comforting in a way. A sensation Hazepaw never knew he'd miss. But he'd never admit that to anyone. Instead it would remain his private joy as he got up and ready for whatever the day would bring. The sunlight outside the apprentice's den was shaded over by the protection of the Twoleg Settlement Bridge. Only the smallest of sunbeams managed to sneak their way through the cracks of the wooden ceiling. Hazepaw settled into one of those spots for a heartbeat, allowing the warmth to soak on his face and wake him. Once he was sufficiently alert, the fluffy white tom made his way to the fresh-kill pile. A few small fish and rodents lay within it. It was rather pitiful looking, and meant cats would need to go out and hunt soon. For now, Hazepaw chose three mice and carried them to the elder's den. Though he hated dealing with the old fools, he knew he'd have to feed them before taking anything for himself. Dolphintail was the first to be alerted of his presence underneath the old boat, the scent of prey luring her over. Though she didn't seem at all pleased that it was Hazepaw delivering today's breakfast. Still, the eldest of Oceanclan's ranks accepted the food she was offered, and carried it to another part of the den to be consumed. Closeby, Whisperpaw was working on taking ticks off of Chloe. The elders had gathered many during their time in the Forest Patch. Now that they were home, the old cats could be properly cleansed of the nasty little parasites. It seemed Whisperpaw was just finishing up as Hazepaw dropped a mouse at the elderly kittypet's paws.

"You couldn'ta brought a gull instead?" Chloe griped with an indignant tail lash. Hazepaw growled at the old she-cat in frustration, glaring at her sharply. Whisperpaw shook her head, silently begging him not to start a fight. After a heartbeat and a huff, Hazepaw backed away, delivering his last mouse to Oystersplash.

"Thank you," the elder mewed gratefully as he tucked into his meal. Hazepaw dipped his head to the old warrior, pleased to know at least one cat was satisfied. Then he padded back to where Whisperpaw was working. He still needed to speak with her and apologize, like Otterpaw wanted. Now was as good a time as any to make up.

"...I'm surprised you can stand to be in the same den as me right now," he remarked after watching Whisperpaw clean up for a few quiet moments. "You've been so skittish whenever I'm around."

Whisperpaw jolted at the sound of his voice, the fur on her spine standing a little. She continued to tidy up as they carried on a conversation, as if she were trying to distract herself. "Well, I can't avoid you forever..." she responded, her voice as quiet as ever. She glanced over her shoulder then back to a mousebile and tick soiled mossball she'd rolled up. "Besides. Otterpaw told me about the talk you two had."

"She did?" Hazepaw ears perked. Perhaps Otterpaw had done some of the hard part and talked Whisperpaw into hearing him out. "I...don't suppose she told you how sorry I am on my behalf, though, did she?" Hazepaw lifted his chin hopefully. Whisperpaw turned, tilting her head at him, unamused. She knew well what Hazepaw was talking about. But she clearly wanted to hear the words come out of his own muzzle. Hazepaw gave a disgruntled sigh. "Right. Ok. Well listen, Whisperpaw. I'm sorry for the way I treated you. It was uncalled for, and I really didn't mean any harm. I just wanted to help you since you've been struggling with your warrior training. But I see now the way I went about it was harsh. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me."

For a few heartbeats, Whisperpaw sat silently, expression unreadable. "I've always liked you, Hazepaw," she started, tail-tip wiggling anxiously, "but it scared me that you'd turned your bullying onto me. It hurt worse than the lashes you gave, I think. It's hard to forgive you."

Hazepaw lowered his head, shame and a bit of frustration burning beneath his pelt. "I know. I really didn't mean any harm though, honest. You're my friend. Probably my first ever," he confessed. He glanced between the elders, daring them to chime in. Luckily none of them spoke, instead ignoring the apprentices so they could have their moment in peace. "I just want you to be a great warrior. Especially with the huge pawprints you have to fill." He shifted to face the gray tabby she-cat. Then he lowered his voice so only she could hear him. "You're better than your littermates, and I know you can be a great leader for Oceanclan someday. I thought I could help you get there, by giving you some tough training. But it wasn't my place, and I hurt you. I regret it. I just want my friend back..." All of Hazepaw's words were spoken from the heart. But there was a small seed of gain planted in his speech. Though he did want Whisperpaw back as his friend, he also needed to stay in her good graces. If he upset Whisperpaw too greatly, he'd blow his chance at ever being Oceanclan's deputy. Then all the hard work he was putting in with Sea Breeze would be for nothing.

Whisperpaw twitched her whiskers. "I understand. But it doesn't erase the mistrust I feel for you. However, I don't want to lose your friendship either... I care for you, Hazepaw. But I need some time."

"I get it..." Hazepaw deflated, the hope inside him for reconciliation nearly snuffed out. He sat in silence for a few heartbeats, letting Whisperpaw's words soak in. She still liked him, at least. Not all was lost. Hazepaw would just have to work to prove he meant the words he'd spoken. Determination blazed in his belly, making the fluffy white tom swish his tail. I'll gain her trust back soon enough, Hazepaw thought confidently. He gave Whisperpaw a small smile, receiving a quiet yet apprehensive purr in return from her as she went back to caring for the elders. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, Hazepaw finally excused himself from the boat and emerged into the clearing of camp. Sandybreeze was padding nearby, her head moving in search of something. When her gaze fell upon Hazepaw, she trotted over to him. A heartbeat later, Otterpaw joined them.

"Just the cat I was looking for! You're coming with me to lead a fishing patrol." Fishing patrol? Excitement sprung up inside of Hazepaw at the prospect of fishing for the first time in what felt like forever.

"I'm coming too!" Otterpaw boasted, her joy nearly bursting out of her. Perhaps she was hyped up for the same reason. Or maybe she was looking forward to spending time with her aunt. Whisperpaw suddenly emerged from the elder's den; ears pricked, probably because of the tone in Otterpaw's voice.

"Can I...come too? Luckysong taught me a little about fishing," she mewed, glancing at Hazepaw apprehensively. She looked as though she were giving the request a second thought, regret on her features. Otterpaw brushed her tail along her friend's flank to reassure her.

Sandybreeze gave her whiskers a twitch. "I don't see why not. More paws catch more fish, after all. Come along, you three. Let's meet with the rest of the patrol."

The Oceanclan deputy led them to a pole at the edge of the Twoleg Settlement Bridge, towards the awaiting warriors. Urchinpaw was the first cat Hazepaw spotted. More importantly Troutwhisker, Seaweedfang, and Ripplesnout were there, too. They were the best fishers in Oceanclan. Surely the patrol would be bringing home lots of prey today! Hazepaw smirked with excitement, kneading his paws into the sand beneath them in anticipation.

"Looks like all of 'em," Ripplesnout, noted. Sandybreeze nodded in agreement then flicked her ear, prompting the patrol to head across the beach. A strong breeze ruffled their pelts as they walked, the chill making Hazepaw shiver. Though every day Greenleaf drew closer, Newleaf kept its grip on the world with stone strengthened claws. Hazepaw wished to feel warmth soak his fur at last, in the way cats described the hottest season doing. Then it would make swimming and fishing in the ocean more fun. Though the sand felt nice and hot, with the sun beating down upon the shore. If they'd had a moment, Hazepaw would have rolled around on it to heat him up. He knew once he got in the water the world would feel cold again. Maybe he could do it later, to prepare himself for swimming. For now, though, Hazepaw kept pace with his clanmates, straining his ears to catch the sound of the nearing ocean. As they padded along, Urchinpaw, Otterpaw, and Whisperpaw chatted idly beside him.

"Do you think we'll see any Twolegs while we're out here..?" Whisperpaw wondered, voice quivering a little.

"Doubt it." Urchinpaw shook out his pelt. "It's still too cold for them. Without any fur, the ocean is too much for them to handle in Newleaf."

"But look." Otterpaw gestured to some prints in the sand, leading up to then away from the shoreline. They were close in shape to Twoleg's lower paws. Yet there were none of the creatures in sight. "Appears two were here."

"Well they're long gone now," Minnowjaw assured in with his muzzle in the air. "They musta realized they weren't cut out for the beach beyond the Twoleg Madness season."

"And thank the Moon for that! We don't want those bumbling beasts around when we hunt. They'll scare off all the fish with their splashing," added Troutwhisker. The other cats nodded in agreement, pressing forward on their journey. Hazepaw smelled it before he saw it. The crisp, salty, tangy scent of the ocean was a glorious and unmistakable aroma. It made his mouth water. Energy surged through the fluffy white tom's limbs as he restrained himself from rushing to the seafoam. But Otterpaw beat him to the lunge, bursting away from the patrol to chase the strangely docile waves nearby.

"Race you to the water!" She called over her shoulder to her denmates. A darkness loomed within this part of ocean--something eerie that Hazepaw had never experienced before. In a flash, Sandybreeze rushed after her niece, rounding her to block the way just before Otterpaw managed to touch the water. She ushered the brown she-cat back to the approaching patrol, receiving an earful upon return.

"Are you fish-brained?" Snapped Minnowjaw.

"What made you think you could just run over and dive into the ocean like that? Have you no sense!?" Ripplesnout spat. Otterpaw lowered her ears in shame.

"Pipe down! These 'Paws still have a lot to learn about ocean safety," Sandybreeze growled at the warriors. Then her attention returned to Otterpaw. "From now on, be wary of calm, dark water. And never try to swim in it," she warned her niece more placidly. She didn't seem as angered by Otterpaw's actions as the other warriors.

"But why?" Asked Otterpaw, voice a bit wobbly. Whisperpaw moved to flank her.

"The ocean will pull you in and drown you, if you do. It's because of its jealousy, you see. The ocean is in love with the Moon. But they separated long ago. And so, sometimes the ocean takes out its resentment on us." Hazepaw recalled fables about Silverpelt, sometimes referred to simply as Moon. She was a mother-like figure to cats in most. While in some, she was a stubborn, vain character who only focused on herself. But she was an important figure in the Land's Star's history. Especially for Oceanclan. She was the reason cats existed in the first place.

"But why would it do that?" Urchinpaw lashed his tail with curiosity. "And why do we swim in the ocean if it just wants to kill us?"

"Because the ocean is part of our history. Just as it is part of Silverpelt's. And though it can be a great threat; the ocean is also our greatest ally. Swimming in it builds muscle, making us stronger than the other clans. It also provides us an endless supply of food, so that we never go hungry," Sandybreeze explained. "The ocean loves us as much as the Moon does. It just allows its resentment to cloud its judgment at times. That's why the water is dark, when the ocean aims to suck a cat under."

Hazepaw let out a thoughtful hum. This sounded like something Moonpaw would be interested in. Perhaps he could find out more about the ocean and Moon, so he could have a story to bring back to her? "Why is the ocean jealous of us?" Hazepaw questioned.

Sandybreeze let out a small purr. "Its more jealous of the partnership between the Sun and Moon than us. But because cats are a byproduct of that alliance, the ocean tends to hold resentment towards us as well."

"Can you tell me more? About the ocean and Moon?" Hazepaw's voice was hopeful. Tonight he planned to bring the story back Moonpaw, if he could.

"That's an elder's job. If you want to hear tales of ancient spirits, ask some of them later." Hazepaw was disappointed by Sandybreeze's response. He thought by the way she was explaining things, that she would be more interested in sharing her knowledge of ancient drama. But Sandybreeze was nothing if not a serious cat. Though she believed the stories told to her in youth, she wasn't the sort to waste time discussing useless information. She'd rather teach Hazepaw the truly important lessons of life. And though Hazepaw was grateful for his mentor's teachings, he did wish she could be a little more relaxed on some occasions. Still, there was no use getting his pelt ruffled now, over her not indulging him with some tale of whimsy. The patrol moved on from the shadowy area of the ocean, to a part of the beach where the waves acted more typically. Here the water was bright and blue. If they drew close enough, they may even be able to see to the bottom through the froth.

"You 'Paws go and fish over that way. The three of us will be fishing in the less rocky parts of the shore," Troutwhisker instructed expertly, gesturing with her smokey tail.

"How come we can't go swimming with you?" Hazepaw complained.

"Because you aren't strong enough yet to withstand the waves. You'll practice when Greenleaf comes. For now, work of perfecting your form," Sandybreeze responded, nodding her head to her companions to lead them away. Hazepaw growled, lashing his tail in frustration. He was sure he was strong enough to fish with the warriors! As he moved to follow after them, pain suddenly rippled through his muscles. Hazepaw cursed under his breath. Between cleaning up the temporary camp, the journey back home, and training with Sea Breeze in dreams last night, Hazepaw's body had grown a bit achey and sore. The walk to the beach hadn't helped his muscles much either. If he hadn't been pushing himself so hard, he'd be strong enough now to prove his mentor wrong. Instead, he conceded to his own limits and followed Otterpaw, Whisperpaw, and Urchinpaw over to the rocks. The waves crashed rhythmically against them, spraying the boulders with the momentum. The water was at the perfect level, deep enough to be inviting to fish, but low enough that it would not consume the rocks with each rolling wave. Hazepaw was the first to climb onto one of the slippery stones, beckoning his companions with a swish of his tail. Otterpaw jumped to join Hazepaw on his rock. While Urchinpaw settled on one of his own closeby. Whisperpaw perched on a stone between them. In the ocean surrounding the rocks, little fish swam with the current; weaving in and out of crevices, in-between seaweed and other little plants. They had no idea that they were being hunted. The conditions were perfect for a successful catch. Otterpaw was the first to give it a try, her paw raised and poised for an attack. Hazepaw observed her with delayed breath as the brown molly's lightning fast reflexes led to her successful strike. A pretty silver fish flopped on the stone between them, it's mouth gaped and shut as it tried to take breath from the air. Hazepaw grabbed it by its gills and bit hard, tasting it's delicious juices gush over his tongue. He had to resist the urge to bite down harder, realizing now he hadn't eaten before they went out today. As he sat up with a lick of his lips, the fluffy white tom wished he could take this fish as his own. But on a hunting patrol, warriors were not permitted to eat. So he slid the now deceased creature aside, taking his turn to make a catch. Hazepaw watched the water carefully, narrowing his eyes to focus on the scaly critters below. As another paddled closer to the rock, Hazepaw struck out, hooking the fish and pulling it to the surface. This time Otterpaw made the killing blow, thanking Starclan quietly for the prey before casting a paw out again. The two apprentices took turns like this for a while, successfully snagging quite a few fish between them by the time Hazepaw turned to check on Urchinpaw. The wiry black tom appeared to be struggling. Though his pelt was moist and his fishing paw soggy, not a single fish was set beside him on his rock. His face was twisted in frustration as he glared down at the water, before he once again tried to scoop something. This time he managed to pull up a fish, but he fumbled as the creature flopped for it's life. It managed to flip out of Urchinpaw's paws in the air, hurtling back down to the water. Urchinpaw scrambled to grab it, before it inevitably escaped back into the deep blue depts. With a splash, Hazepaw watched as the fish disappeared beneath the current. Urchinpaw cursed to himself and thrashed his tail, muttering something about giving up already. Whisperpaw giggled at his attempt. Hazepaw and Otterpaw exchanged a look. Then he stood, leaping onto the stone beside Urchinpaw.

"Let me show you how it's done," Hazepaw offered, shaping his paw like a hook with claws extended. He flicked an ear, urging Urchinpaw to copy. Urchinpaw did as instructed, mimicking his friend's moves. "I saw you leaning while you hunted. The fish will get spooked by your shadow if you do that. Even if they just see your fur, it'll startle them," Hazepaw explained.

"I saw you do it, though," Urchinpaw growled.

"That's 'cause fish are too stupid to differentiate objects from their colors. They see white and think clouds. Black, however? Means predator." Urchinpaw let out a chirp of understanding and nodded.

"Kinkfoot taught me darker colored cats have to be more strategic. Instead of striking the closest fish to your rock, you have to judge which fish will swim into your range," Otterpaw chimed in. She motioned for Hazepaw to switch places with her, then jumped to Urchinpaw's side. "Watch me." Otterpaw demonstrated what she had spoken of, stalking a rather large blue-ish colored fish as it swam into her reach. Carefully Otterpaw eyed the creature until she determined it was close enough to scoop. With an expert paw, Otterpaw pulled the fish out of the sea, leaving it beside Urchinpaw to kill. The wiry black tom gladly nipped it, then sat upright to try the technique for himself. It took two more tries before he was successful. But after finally getting a fish of his own, Urchinpaw seemed to find his groove. The four apprentices together managed to catch a sizable pile of ocean prey. Otterpaw had caught the biggest; the blue-ish one from her demonstration. Though Whisperpaw had surprised them all with the bonefish she'd snagged. Their fishing patrol would surely be pleased to see how successful they'd all been. Though their next challenge was figuring out how to carry all their fish to the warriors.

"I saw some Twoleg netting float past not long ago," Urchinpaw mentioned, running off to track it down. Hazepaw, Whisperpaw, and Otterpaw followed.

"Oh sweet," Hazepaw mewed.

"Well done!" Otterpaw commended once the oddly weaved vines had been found. The net was partially washed on the sand, making it easier for them to grab. Hazepaw stepped into the water to untangle the rest from the rocks, dipping his muzzle under the ocean's surface. As he did so, he felt a searing pain on his nose and shot up with a screech. A crab had clamped down on him with it's claw. Otterpaw and Urchinpaw laughed as he struggled for freedom, while Whisperpaw watched on with concern. Though the cackles of the others were infectious enough to have her stifling some giggles of her own. Hazepaw pawed at the brownish-red crustacean, trying to force it to release it's grip. Instead the crab pinched harder. Hazepaw laid down and shook his head, trying to pull it off himself with both paws. As he yanked, a rock fell suddenly on the creature; once, then twice, cracking open it's shell and killing it. Hazepaw looked up. Whisperpaw was holding the rock between her paws, glaring down at the crab to ensure it was dead. Hazepaw sat up.

"Uh, thanks," he mumbled.

"Don't mention it," was all that the gray tabby said in response, turning away to drag the net and crab back to their prey with Urchinpaw. Otterpaw came over to Hazepaw to lick the pain away from his nose. She purred, too, as if trying to soothe him. Heat instantly rose in Hazepaw's pelt from the gesture. It was sweet; almost too sweet for someone like Otterpaw. Moonpaw was more likely to show him such a kindness, especially after they'd spend some time apart. Maybe that was how Otterpaw felt too. Since she hadn't been speaking with Hazepaw for nearly a half moon, perhaps she felt a need to make up for it; by showing she still cared. Or maybe she was making up for the curtness of Whisperpaw. Still, Hazepaw wasn't going to question her actions, even if they did confuse him a little. This is... nice, Hazepaw thought. Then after a few moments he jerked away, too flustered to handle anymore.

"Feel better?" Otterpaw tilted her head. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and Hazepaw thought he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Ye..yeah," he murmured. Then he turned with a rush, motioning for Otterpaw to follow back to the rocks. The warriors were waiting for them upon their return. They were already singing the praises of Whisperpaw as she showed off the crab she'd killed, and the net Urchinpaw found. Sandybreeze approached Hazepaw, commending him on his efforts.

"I can smell which of the fish you caught. You've learned well, it seems," she praised. "And that also goes for you three," she added then whisked her tail. "Though, Urchinpaw, I will have to speak with Silverdrop about giving you another lesson or two." Urchinpaw lowered his head respectfully, grumbling in frustration under his breath. Hazepaw nudged him with a shoulder to warn him to be quiet. Otterpaw moved to touch noses with her aunt then sat beside Whisperpaw who was putting fish into the net.

"We best be heading home, before the sun starts to make the fish rot," Troutwhisker grunted. Seaweedfang nodded in agreement, helping load prey into the net.

On the trek back to camp, Hazepaw reflected on the day. Pride puffed his his chest from a job well done. His stomach growled as he anticipated the tasty meal he'd get to enjoy at home soon. And his mind began to wander to the fun he had with his friends. A longing soon grew in his chest; a familiar feeling he gained only when he missed Moonpaw. Hazepaw wished she could have been there with him, fishing and laughing along with his denmates. Would she have soothed him after the crab attacked him, like Otterpaw had? Or killed the stupid thing, like Whisperpaw? Hazepaw bet today would have been even more enjoyable if he'd gotten to spend it with her. He'd begun to feel this way a lot, whenever he'd spend a couple of days away from her. And now, with the entirety of Oceanclan's territory between them, Hazepaw wished even more that they were in the same clan. It was in that moment he suddenly decided; I need to see Moonpaw again.

[intothewickedwood]

🐈‍⬛ 🌻 😇 👥️ 🎶 for the ask game <3

Thank you so much for the asks! <3 :D

🐈‍⬛ animal

My favourite animal is a cheetah! I'm just so impressed by their speed and how they run. If I had a mutant power, I'd want it to be super speed. So I want them to teach me there ways!

😇 blorbo

Right now, my The Wilds hyperfixation is so strong I can think of practically nothing else (oopsie). But yes! I love all the Wilds girls but Toni Shalifoe is my favourite <3. Honestly, she might have taken the crown of favourite character of all time at this point. Just gaaah. Such a softie underneath all that understandable anger. Cares so much for those she loves. I love her and all the layers of her character.

Before I watched the Wilds I got really into Legacies again (by finally watching s3 and s4). Absolutely obsessed with Lizzie Saltzman! Very relatable in some regards. Absolutely hilarious! Has so much pain and so many deep insecurities.

Alice Jones from Once Upon A Time, (my beloved) <3! A silly who has suffered too much!!

Chelsea Daniels from That's So Raven. She's so endearing to me. The silliest of sillies. Raven is a very close second, though.

Natalie Goodman from Next To Normal. Relatable in an ansty way.

Peter Simmonds from Bare: A Pop Opera. So relatable. A Cinnamon Roll <3.

Kate Dalton from We Are The Tigers. Sarcasm queen.

Vincent Lin From Adamandi. They may be a murderous blorbo. But they're my murderous blorbo.

Circe from Epic: The Musical. She's just so cool.

Draculaura from Monster High. Again, so cool and I love how much she loves her friends.

Chloe Sullivan from Smallville. Big influence on me growing up. Though I probably shouldn't have been watching Smallville at 9. She just cared so much about those she loved.

Simon Tudor from Jeopardy. His character development is everything <3.

Cloe From Bratz. The biggest drama queen ever and I love her for it.

Kurt Wagner from X-Men Evolution (and just x-men in general). He's such a silly guy.

Shalimar Fox from Mutant X. The most badass, protective queen to ever.

And that's all I can think of, but they're in no particular order. Except Toni. Toni gets the number 1 blorbo badge.

🌻 flower

I don't know much about flowers but I really like the look of Plumeria.

👥️ otp

So many! I shall limit myself to one per show.

Shoni!! (from The Wilds). I think they have made it to number 1 otp status!

Snowing from Once Upon A Time. But also shout out to Curious Archer!

Mizzie from Legacies! Still can't believe they got to be endgame!! I thought it was just gonna be hopes and dreams but the way I screamed my head off!! I love an unrequited love storyline but I love it even more when it then becomes requited. He thought the world of her and then she realised she felt the same about him too and it was beautiful and I cried (and screamed).

Natalie x Henry from Next To Normal. He's just so supportive of her and would do anything to make sure she's okay and that makes me want to cry into my cereal.

Peter x Jason from Bare: A Pop Opera. Everything hurts. But their chemistry was of the charts and they were so in love and I am in pain.

Cheer Wives from We Are The Tigers. They were sooooo bad for each other but needed each other? It was a mess but I was so very there for it.

Quincent from Adamandi. I am once again in so much pain. I can't get over how beautiful the lyrics they sang were when referencing each other.

Freffy from Skins. The way he cared for Effy D,:. He would haved moved mountains just to make her smile. My heart will forever be broken over what happened to Freddie. He deserved so much better.

Dracudeen. Just the whole of 'This is Not How Or Story Goes.' There was no hetrosexual explanation for that and Clawdeen nearly died to save her!

Chlark from Smallville. Next to Simon x Chrissie, they were one of my first otps. No one did friendship like them. But I always wanted it to be more. That whole unrequited thing that was never really given a chance to become requited.

Edited to add: Chlavis! I now one cannot have 2 otps that include the same character but I always go back and forth between which I like best. Chlavis' story was so intense and traumatic but at least it ended up being requited this time around! Extremely requited!

Simon x Chrissie. Tfw the two most terrible people you'd never wanted to be stranded in the wilderness with have the most beautiful, unrushed character development and learn to care for people other than themselves as they slowly fall in love, when there was merely the shallowest one-sided crush you ever did see there before. The way they became heroes <3. And the way Simon just didn't know how to be without Chrissie but persisted in trying to save her when chances were beyond slim. I miss them so much and need to rewatch <3.

Harlan x Cyrus. They had so much chemistry and genuinely had a connection and now we'll never know what happened to them. I wish we got to know them better. Darn you Amazon!

Cloe x Jade from Bratz. It was more of a case of all the unwritten fanfiction I had in my head for them as an 11 year old. But I only let it get as gay as Monster High 2 at the time, which is actually very incredibly gay, so I don't know who my brain was trying to fool.

Lance x Kitty from X-Men Evolution. They had a really interesting connection and were drawn to each other.

🎶 musical artist

I mostly listen to musical theatre songs but my favourite band has always been S Club 7. I'm not sure I have an overall favourite solo artist. Maybe James Morrison!

Thank you again for the asks! They were such a blast to answer!

[anonymousewrites]

Adolescent Antichrist (Book 4) Chapter Sixteen

Father Figure! Lucifer x Teen! Reader

Chapter Sixteen: Adults Continue to be Clueless

Summary: (Y/N) learns about the prophecy and finally gets a win after everything going wrong.

            “You know, I really don’t like it when you get this serious,” said (Y/N) as they sat down across from Lucifer on the couch. “It’s very out of character.” They looked at Em beside them. “Don’t you agree?”

            “I don’t think I can make fun of my boss,” replied the demon.

            “Well, I can, and I think he’s ridiculous, but he should stay ridiculous because that’s who he is,” said (Y/N) with absolute confidence.

            “Thank you for that,” said Lucifer, pleased. “I do prefer having fun.” He cleared his throat. “But, uh, we do need to have a talk.”

            “This feels very official.” Eve grinned. “How exciting! I’ve never had a serious talk like this in forever.”

            (Y/N) and Em exchanged looks. Leave it to Eve to think serious topics could prove new and exciting. They were considering giving her some sort of wakeup call. (Or, (Y/N) was, and Em would create an alibi).

            “Yes, well, this is going to be hard.” Lucifer sat down. “The Detective spoke to Father Kinley.”

            “The crazy priest who tried to kill you and me?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes,” said Lucifer, heart clenching at the memory.

            Em’s eyes narrowed, and she clenched their fists. She hated that she hadn’t been there to help (Y/N).

            “What did he do this time?” asked (Y/N).

            “Kinley spoke about a prophecy,” said Lucifer. “Now…I have already accidentally participated in half of the prophecy, and although I don’t believe in prophecies, I’d prefer not to accidentally finish this one.”

            “What is the prophecy?” asked Eve, leaning forward in interest.

            Lucifer cleared his throat. “ ‘When the Devil walks the Earth and finds his first love, evil shall be released.’ ”

            “Yikes,” said (Y/N).

            “What does that mean?” asked Em. “I mean, some people think gay people are evil.”

            “Well they already got released a long time ago,” snickered (Y/N). “I mean, we’re running around.”

            Em snorted and grinned.

            “I’d prefer not to find out what it means,” sighed Lucifer. “And since I’m already ‘walking the Earth,’ I just need to handle the rest. Unfortunately, it does seem quite legit, so…” He looked at Eve. They had to break up.

            “Wow,” said Eve. “I had a feeling…Or maybe I just knew all along.”

            Is she actually going to understand? thought (Y/N).

            “Knew what?” asked Lucifer in confusion.

            “That you love me!” said Eve, smiling brightly.

            Never mind, adults continue to be clueless.

            “Right…and how exactly did you end up there?” said Lucifer.

            “The prophecy, silly!” said Eve. “I mean, if you believe it to be true, then ‘when the Devil walks the Earth and meets his first love’ means you consider me your first love. Ergo, you love me!”

            (Y/N) and Em looked at each other incredulously. They both disagreed with that conclusion. However, they did so for different reasons. (Y/N) thought that Chloe was Lucifer’s love and supported that. Em, though, considered (Y/N) to be Lucifer’s first love. After all, love didn’t have to be romantic, and the first human, first being, that Lucifer ever cared for was (Y/N). Em had seen the changes Lucifer went for to be a better person and a proper father for (Y/N). If that wasn’t love, she wasn’t sure what was.

            Lucifer stared in astonishment at Eve as she grinned, leaned up, and kissed him. (Y/N) and Em pretended to throw up.

            “Oh, my god, I can’t believe that you said it first,” said Em giddily. “I’ve been dying to say it for so long.”

            “Have you?” said Lucifer. “Interesting that you should focus on that part of the prophecy.”

            “Yeah, how about the ‘evil will be released’ part. I think that’s pretty important,” said (Y/N). “You know, just a little bit concerning.”

            “Yes, precisely,” said Lucifer. “And as that is the relevant bit, I’m afraid that means that you and I, Eve, need to, you know…break up.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Em grabbed their hand before they celebrated in front of everyone.

            “No,” said Eve, smiling.

            “No?” repeated Lucifer in confusion. He looked at (Y/N) for help, and they shrugged.

            “Lucifer, I see what you’re doing,” said Eve.

            “Do you?” said Lucifer doubtfully.

            “Yes, you’re scared,” said Eve gently. “ ‘Cause you’ve been hurt before.” She smiled at Lucifer. “You don’t have to worry, okay? I promise you that I will never, ever, ever give up on you. You know why?”

            “Surprise me,” sighed Lucifer.

            “Because I love you, too,” said Eve. She smiled, kissed Lucifer on the cheek, and left.

            Lucifer stared after her. “Shit.”

            “Shit indeed,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms.

            They were more than a little frustrated about Eve not taking this seriously and completely ignoring that she and Lucifer needed to break ((Y/N) was deciding to put all the love issues aside. They could only deal with one piece of drama at a time).

            “You need to just straight up tell her you want to break up with her,” said (Y/N).

            Em nodded. “A straightforward approach is best with people like Eve.”

            “Oblivious people,” clarified (Y/N). They brightened. “You could bring her to Linda. If she can get through to you, she can get through to Eve.”

            “I’ll pretend I’m not offended by that because it’s a good idea,” said Lucifer cheerfully. He sighed. “And I need a good idea.”

            “Good luck,” said (Y/N), waving as Lucifer walked off to call Linda and try to get this handled as soon as possible.

            “It’s a good idea, but it’s not gonna work,” said Em.

            “You’re right, but we’ve got to try everything we can,” said (Y/N).

            “Do you really think Eve is Lucifer’s first love?” asked Em.

            “Not at all,” said (Y/N) instantly.

            “You could not have said that faster,” said Em with a grin.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I mean, it’s super obvious Lucifer is in love with Chloe. He’s just having one of his insecure moments, so Eve swooped in.”

            Em looked at them out of the corner of her eye. So, even you’re being oblivious. Even (Y/N) had their bad days, and it seemed that for once they weren’t seeing what was going on. Lucifer loved them. Yes, he loved Chloe, but he loved (Y/N) as his child, and that was stronger and had come much sooner than him loving Chloe. He had always been attracted to her and cared for her, but (Y/N) was his first love—his first bit of true family on Earth.

            “Right…” said Em.

            “What?” asked (Y/N).

            “Nothing, you’re just amusing,” said Em, grinning and shaking their head.

            “What does that mean?” demanded (Y/N).

            “Nothing, Birdie, don’t worry,” said Em. They looked at (Y/N). “But do you mind if I keep watch?”

            “Keep watch?” (Y/N) looked at her in confusion.

            “The prophecy does worry me,” said Em. “Lucifer obviously doesn’t love Eve, so if the prophecy does end up being true, there could be some danger.” Em gazed at them. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

            (Y/N) turned pink. Their crush worried about them? Holy Hell, (Y/N) knew they were overdue some wins in their life, but they weren’t expecting that. “I mean, I don’t—I can handle myself, but, uh, I wouldn’t say no to hanging out.”

            Em grinned. “You can’t get away from me if you tried.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” said (Y/N), turning away.

            “Don’t get mad, Birdie, it’s just the truth,” said Em, slinging an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders as they left together.

            “One day I’m going to send you straight back to hell,” said (Y/N).

            Em just smirked. “No, you won’t.”

            “Shut up.”

l

            “Birdie!”

            (Y/N) groaned as they were woken up and kept their eyes tightly closed. “If evil hasn’t been released on earth yet, I’m not getting out.”

            “What if I said we have a solution to the Eve and Lucifer issue?” said Em, sitting down on (Y/N)’s bed.

            That made (Y/N) open their eyes, but they didn’t move. “Have they broken up?”

            “Not yet, the Linda idea backfired. She and Eve get along too well,” said Em.

            “Damn,” muttered (Y/N).

            “But I saw something interesting down in Lux,” said Em.

            “You were in Lux?”

            “I don’t have to sleep, and I get bored,” said Em, shrugging. “Also, I steal snacks.”

            “I’m not getting up if you’ve just found snacks. That’s for like three am, and it’s barely one,” said (Y/N).

            “I found Eve and Maze talking in Lux, and they were getting pretty close,” said Em, getting to the point.

            (Y/N) sat up. “Please tell me it looked gay.”

            “It was so gay,” promised Em.

            “So do we think we can push them together?” asked (Y/N). “I mean, I don’t like Lucifer and Eve, but her and Maze…I can get behind that. It gets her out of my hair, and it’s about time Maze gets some love. Eve needs some, too.”

            “I thought you didn’t like her,” said Em, amused.

            “I don’t, but I don’t think she deserves to be lonely forever,” said (Y/N). They yawned. “So, what do we do to help this along?”

            “Get Lucifer and Eve to properly break up, then get Eve and Maze to spend more time together to discover themselves.” Em shrugged. “Then they find self-love and love in each other and it’s all happily ever after.”

            “And we don’t have to deal with the drama anymore!” said (Y/N). They grinned. “Fantastic! It’s about time I get a win.” They rolled out of bed and stretched. “Time to get Lucifer to break up with her.”

            “Now?” said Em.

            “Lucifer is probably up right now having an existential crisis, so it’ll be good to break him out of that and finally stop this stupid relationship,” said (Y/N) eagerly.

            “I thought you wanted to sleep,” said Em in amusement.

            “Listen, Em, it’s worth losing a little sleep if I can handle this all.” They sighed dreamily. “Then I can sleep in tomorrow.”

            They walked upstairs into the penthouse and paused when they saw Eve and Lucifer already talking on the balcony. Em and (Y/N) glanced at each other questioningly.

            “Eve, I want to break up with you,” said Lucifer. “I should’ve said it straightaway.”

            “I don’t…understand,” said Eve. “I’ve been trying so hard to please you. I’ve made friends with all your friends.”

            “Yeah, see, that’s just it,” said Lucifer gently. “You shouldn’t have to change for anyone. And neither should I. Eve, I have been trying so hard to make you happy, too, trying to be someone I’m not. Or at least someone I don’t want to be anymore. And you deserve to be with someone that wants what you want.”

            “I want to be with you!” cried Eve.

            “And I don’t like who I am with you!” said Lucifer. He swallowed. “I don’t.” He was ashamed. (Y/N) had been disappointed in him, and he refused to let down his kid.

            “I—You don’t mean it,” said Eve.

            “I do,” said Lucifer.

            “I’m just…I’m going to give you some time. And then we can talk again. And we’ll be fine!” said Eve. She swallowed as Lucifer’s expression didn’t change. She reached up to touch his cheek, and he stepped back. Eve looked down and walked away before anything else could go wrong.

            She arrived at the elevator and looked at (Y/N) and Em.

            “You’ll find someone,” said (Y/N). They weren’t just saying that because they thought she and Maze would be cute. They were being truthful. They did think Eve would find the right person for her, and she’d discover who she was outside of dating people.

            “I…Thank you,” murmured Eve quietly. She could see (Y/N) was being kind. They were abrasive and rough around the edges to everyone almost all the time, but they were being soft. Eve wouldn’t take it for granted. She walked past and left the penthouse.

            (Y/N) gazed at where Lucifer stood, and Em nudged them forward. “Go on, talk to him. I know you want to.”

            “Right,” said (Y/N), walking out to him. “Hey.” They nudged him slightly.

            “Ah, (Y/N). I thought you’d be asleep right now,” said Lucifer.

            “No.” (Y/N) shrugged and looked at him. “Are you okay?”

            “I’m not sure,” admitted Lucifer.

            “You did the right thing,” said (Y/N). “You guys deserve to be in relationships with the right people for you.”

            Lucifer shook his head. “I don’t…That isn’t what I did this for. At least not for the most part.” He looked at them. “I want you to know that I don’t want to become who I was before I knew you. I’m not…I’m not going to become a bad parent.” A bad father to you.

            “I know. I trust you,” said (Y/N), smiling at him. “You haven’t let me down before. I don’t think you’ll start now.”

            Lucifer smiled softly. “I won’t.” I’ll be a proper father to you.

            He reached out and pulled (Y/N) into a hug. (Y/N) smiled and hugged him back. Things were starting to look up. After all, Lucifer and Eve weren’t dating anymore. There was no prophecy to threaten them anymore. (Y/N) would be safe.

Taglist:

@sammyscreencaps-13

@grippleback-galaxy-galaxy

@scarlettqueen190

@ziro-the-null-god

@sammy-13

@zeros-rot

@ceridwyn3

@technikerin23

@poetoflawed

@slytherinroyalty16

@ilse235

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[sallysgrancanwrite]

Second Chances

Masterlist.

Chloe looked over Emma’s work and then put it in her backpack. She got her lunch out of the fridge and put the lunch box in her bag as well. Emma liked taking lunch instead of eating the school lunch. She said the school served icky stuff.

“Okay run and brush your teeth really well and then we’ll go.” Chloe said.

Emma ran upstairs and brushed her teeth. She quickly came down so she could tell Grammy and grandpa goodbye. She got hugs from them all and then Chloe, Beth and Emma left. Chloe and Beth took one car because they worked the same shift.

“Okay Emma, give me a kiss and run in.” Chloe told her. “I love you. Have a fun day.”

“Hey don’t forget Aunt Beth.” Beth teased her. “I need a kiss too.” She said laughing.

Emma kissed them both and then she ran inside. She loved school. She had lots of friends and got good grades. She was very smart.

Chloe had difficulty in school and had to study harder than most to get decent grades. Emma must have gotten her smarts from her father. Michael was very smart. Chloe could see parts of Michael in Emma and it was a struggle to block it out. Block out the fact that he tried to kill her. Something she was working on in therapy.

The girls got to work and checked in. They had only been there a short while when Alan stopped in. He came and gave Chloe a single red rose.

“Hi. I thought I would grab a bite before work and see my pretty lady.” He told her.

“I thought you had a meeting this morning.” Chloe asked him.

“I do, but I have a moment to eat first.” He replied.

“What would you like?” Chloe asked.

“I’ll have two sunny side eggs, bacon and toast. And of course a pot of coffee.” Alan said.

“Coming right up.” Chloe said walking away.

She put the rose in a vase with some water. Sometimes it was hard for Chloe when he showered her with affection so much. She wasn’t used to it and it made her feel awkward. Though she knew he didn’t mean to make her feel that way.

“Order up.” yelled Chris, the cook.

Chloe went and picked up Alan’s order and took it to him.

“Here you go. Enjoy your meal, hon.” She told him.

“Thank you. It looks good as always.” He told her. “Can I get a bit more coffee?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back with a pot.” Chloe said, walking to the coffee urn. She quickly returned.

The diner was starting to fill up. Beth and Chloe both had all their tables full. They both were running like crazy. They both liked when it was busy. It made the day go quicker and the tips were nice.

“Good morning.” Chloe said to her first table. “What can I get for you?”

“I’d like some grits and whole wheat toast. As well as an orange juice..” said Martha Smithfield. Stan, Martha’s husband, was deciding between an omelet or over easy eggs.

“I’ll take a ham and cheese omelet with toast.” He finally decided.

“Okay. Thank you. It will just be a moment.” Chloe told them. “Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, please,” said Stan.

The morning rush seemed to go on forever. Alan got up and paid for his meal. He gave Chloe a hug and said they would talk later. “Let me know where you want to go. I’ll be in the office all day.” He told her.

“I’ll call as soon as I take my morning break.” Chloe told him.

She got back to taking orders and delivering food. It was keeping them very busy. It would slow down soon and they could take their breaks.

Chloe had no idea where to go for dinner. It wasn’t like there were many options in Maple Falls. There was a nice steak house that she liked. Maybe they could go there.

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 7 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 13903

chapter summary: Promotion for the film begins and Chloe comes back to him … again, this time with a request that comes maybe a little too late. Two questions are asked that alter the course of his life forever.

chapter warnings/tags: darker themes, drug-coerced physical aggression (nothing graphic, but a little more intense that in prior chapters), rough sex, casual drug use

a/n: It has to get worse before it gets better . . .

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ScreenGrab

August, 3rd

13:16:29 PICTURE UP, BEGIN B-ROLL:

CUT TO:

Focuses and unfocuses on DIETER BRAVO as he thumbs through his phone. Someone next to him out of frame says something to him and he laughs. The camera pans out to include NATALIE LORRAINE in the shot. They both sit in black director chairs. 

She mutters something else and strokes a strand of hair off his forehead. The movement is gentle, intimate. His look to her verges on adoration. 

He mouths, thank you.

CUT TO BLACK

13:18:01 

CUT TO: INTERVIEW WITH DIETER BRAVO AND NATALIE LORRAINE

INTERVIEWER: So tell me, why did you sign onto this project?

DIETER BRAVO: I’d worked with Heidi Morgan in the past and when she approached me with this, I was really taken by the story and Heidi’s direction. There was a lot to work with and I really felt a solid connection to Ben’s character arc. 

INTERVIEWER: Because of your past with drug abuse?

DB: Sure. You could say that.

NATALIE LORRAINE: You told me you liked the role because you got to play the guitar again. 

DB: When they’d let me. But yeah, that was also a big factor. I got to walk around my trailer, strumming my guitar. Too bad for everyone else it wasn’t soundproof. 

INTERVIEWER: What about you, Natalie?

NATALIE LORRAINE: My past history of drug abuse or my guitar? Oh, you mean the role. Yeah, I wanted a challenge and felt like Taylor’s struggle to balance stardom and her own past was something I could do a lot with. 

DB: You just liked the flowy, sheer dresses. 

NL: You are welcome to borrow mine. They’ll change your life. 

INTERVIEWER: What was it like working with someone you’d never met before in such an intense role? Natalie, you first this time.

NL: Oh, um . . . it was great. Dieter is a great scene partner, one of the best. He made me feel very, um, comfortable. I’ve never had a role like this before and he made the experience truly memorable. I can’t ever thank him enough.

INTERVIEWER: That’s a lot of high praise. 

NL: He deserves it.

INTERVIEWER: And you, Dieter, what was it like working with someone so much younger than you?

DB: Ah, wow, way to cut deep there. But, uh, Natalie is one of a kind. She made me feel . . . really good, about the role. I think my life has been made better by knowing her.

NL: Aw. You sap.

INTERVIEWER: The rumors say that early on in shooting you two didn’t like each other. Is that true?

DB: Rumors are always exaggerated, but, uh, yeah, early on, we had some, um, creative differences.

INTERVIEWER: How did you overcome them? 

NL: Same way anyone else does, I guess. Just . . . talked it out. 

INTERVIEWER: My time is almost up, so I gotta ask, is this real?

DB: What do you mean?

INTERVIEWER: The chemistry between you two is palpable. Are you two secretly hooking up? 

NL: No. Why would you ask that?

DB: I’m married.

NL: He’s married. 

INTERVIEWER: Ah, well, had to try. Thanks for your time. 

Movie Burn

August, 3rd

15:20:45 

INTERVIEWER: Did you have any concerns about backsliding, Dieter, after coming out of rehab so quickly? 

DB: No.

INTERVIEWER: Are you guys secretly dating?

DB/NL: NO.

Chatter Media

August, 3rd

17:17:21

INTERVIEWER: Natalie, what was your workout regimen for this film? 

NL: Adderall and American Spirits. 

INTERVIEWER: Really? You look so hot. 

NL: Thanks. I crushed up the pills into my green enema smoothie every morning. 

INTERVIEWER: Are you sleeping with Dieter?

NL: No. 

INTERVIEWER: Are you sleeping with anyone? Got any secret boyfriends?

NL: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: Oh, really? Can you tell me who?

NL: No. 

JemJem News

August, 4th

08:38:01

INTERVIEWER: Have you ever kissed outside of filming?

DB: No. 

INTERVIEWER: Ever thought about it? 

NL: Could have kissed him when he brought me a water bottle today.

INTERVIEWER: Did you?

NL: No.

Bra$h Talk

August, 4th

10:21:23

CUT TO: 

*Off-screen* INTERVIEWER: So, you don’t know where they are?

CAMERA focuses on Mark Bronson. His hands fidget with a water bottle. He’s looking over the sight-line of the camera.

MARK BRONSON: No. I don’t know. They were here earlier. 

INTERVIEWER: Do you have his number? Or –

*unintelligible*

CUT TO:

MARK BRONSON: I’m calling, but she’s not picking up. 

INTERVIEWER: Shit. 

PRODUCER: Alright. Take five. Sorry, Mr. Bronson. Give us a second.

MB: No problem. I–

CUT OFF. 

He breathes in, the powder tickling the inside of his nose, the back of his brain. Burning, like a fire ant bite. The porcelain of the toilet lid is cold against the tip of his nose, his palm. It always makes him a bit dizzy, that first one. He leans back, against the wall, careful to avoid the silver railing, rubbing his nose, and catches your eyes over the rim of the seat. 

Cold tile, stale air. Fluorescent lighting. This public hotel bathroom is not anything like the cottage in New Orleans. But it’ll have to do. You’re the only warm thing in the room. He stretches out his leg to knock his boot against your thigh. You glance at it briefly before inhaling the coke on the lid. 

“Why do they give you all the good questions, huh?” You glower, voice rough.

“Oh, you mean the ones about my stint in rehab or my arrest?”

“Okay, that’s, like, a third of the time. Most of my questions are about my ass or tits.”

Dieter smirks. “Can you blame them, baby?.” 

“And if one more of those shits ask me if I’m fucking you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I’m taking my Starbucks cup and shoving it up their asses.”

“But you are. A lot and often.” He bends around the toilet and takes your ankle in his hand. He smooths his palm up to the back of your knee, then back down. He never wants to stop touching you. You are so warm. 

“Maybe not enough,” you smirk at him, familiar enough with his every little tell to know that he’s half-hard already. 

The bite in his brain has turned to a simmer, greasy bits crackling in the fire. He tugs on your ankle, pulling you around until you’re in his lap. He settles back against the hotel bathroom wall, smiling, and cups your cheek, rings knocking against your jaw bone. Your arms fold across the back of his shoulders as your nose turns into his.

“You’ll get some good questions, eventually.”

“Yeah, when? How?”

“Just stop being a woman with fantastic tits.”

“Dieter!”

He chuckles and softly bites your jaw. You giggle and squirm, and he lets go, dropping his head back against the tile. He’s quiet. Thinking.

“How did I ever get through these things without you?” He hums, eyes closing and opening slowly. You smell like lilac and cigarettes. 

“You didn’t have to split your coke, for one.” You mutter, playfully, and he pinches your chin. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

The hand at his shoulder crawls up into his hair. 

“I know, Dieter. I know.” 

He tilts your head down as you press his up and that brush of connection, his mouth folding over yours– it sparks something in his chest. You were wrong. He didn’t need the coke if he had you. You make his skin buzz. You spin his brain around and around until he’s dizzy. He feels awake when you’re underneath him. 

Everything seemed like it had been shifted slightly to the left, since coming back. Everything was the same but nothing at all. He worries it is too plainly written across his face. He worries that the media vultures will see it, that Mark or Heidi would see it too. He worries that you will catch him staring and hate what you see in his eyes. 

The longer he is with you, the more real the shared “pocket universe” feels, the one you shared with him. That this is where he was meant to be and everything before New Orleans was someone else’s life. With you, he isn’t exactly Dieter Bravo but he isn’t himself either. Maybe that was partially because being high off and on for two weeks straight tends to cause feelings of disassociation, but it’s more than that. 

The longer he is around you, he knows he’s building his own funeral pyre higher and higher. But the farther he feels from the ashes of his life, the more he wants you. So, Dieter did what Dieter always does: he follows what feels right.

He pulls back, that ache, that need, to bury himself in you already stretching in his gut, but he has to say this. You have to know. 

“Move in with me.” 

You still. You become immobile, trapped in amber, with your hands still in his hair. You’ve never been meek, never will be, but somehow you’ve shrunk. 

“What did you say?”

His chest surges with affection. This feels right, so it has to be. But he knows you’ll run if you think he’s fucking with you. He wants to cradle you to his chest but he has to wait for the air raid sirens to stop ringing in your ears. 

“You heard me,” he says softly. He ducks his head to lift your gaze and you follow. There’s fear in your eyes. He thumbs the hinge of your jaw. “I want you to move in with me.” 

There’s much more malice in your voice than betrayed by your eyes. You sit back, away from him, on his knees, not his lap. “Move into your house with you? The same one you share with your wife?” 

“No.”

Your mouth twists and panic gets the better of you. You stand up from him and haul yourself across the small bathroom, arms crossed and eyes sharp. “So you want me to be just your dirty secret? In some sleazy apartment up town? A kept fucking woman–,”

“No.” He isn’t going to be patient with you when you’re like this. He overwhelms you in two steps– takes your jaw in his hand and again you stiffen, lips pulled into a snarl like a cornered street cat. He wraps his other hand around your wrist as if to preemptively keep you from scratching him. “Stop talking like that. Just tell me– do you want me?”

Not, do you want to live with me?

Not, do you want a relationship with me?

Not, do you want me to leave my wife for you?

Do you want me?

He doesn’t realize it but the coke is ratcheting up those dark, fringe feelings– his obsession for you, his possessiveness, his near-delirium that he cannot simply have all of you. His hand around your wrist tightens. You try and yank your jaw from his grasp, but he holds on tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. 

“Do you want me?” He hisses. 

You want to snap at him, to yell – does he understand what he’s asking of you – but you’re sleep deprived, coked out, and increasingly raw around him. The unexpected wave of emotion, of unchecked vulnerability, is surprising as it is powerful. Your knees shake. 

Did you want him? 

Did you want to breathe?

Did you want to sleep at night?

Did you want to eat food, to feel nourished and full?

Did you want to be happy?

Your bottom lip trembles. 

“Dieter–,”

“Just say yes.” His grip leaves your wrist and tenses around your waist. His eyelids hover half-closed as he presses you harshly up against the door. It’s the only bare wall that doesn’t have a metal safety bar around the edges. You feel as though you’re being dragged beneath the waves by a hurricane. “Just say you want me. Tell me you don’t want to fuck anyone else—,”

His teeth bite into your neck, as if to suck the words directly from your blood. Your touch is like electricity everywhere on his skin and any semblance of thought is slowly squeezed from his brain as his grip turns rougher and rougher. When his lips find yours, they’re still pulled back into a snarl. 

His deft fingers are tugging your shirt out of your waistband, as your hands slip to his belt, his zipper. One more time, he thinks, one more fuck and then there’ll be some clarity. 

“Say it, Natalie,” he growls and bites your earlobe not at all gently. You gasp and the noise has his cock straining against his pants. His hand rises and slides around your throat. “Say it before I take it from you.” 

“Dieter, I want–,” your voice is high-pitch, yearning, and a bit of him breaks off like an ice pick tearing up glass shards. Snik. Snik. Splinters.

His fingers around your throat tighten. Your flesh gives beneath his touch and you sputter and squirm beneath him.

“Yeah? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He’s not asking nicely, he’s begging. How do I keep you? How do I stop you from leaving me? He’s frantic about it.

Fuck, he took too much coke and now he’s emotional. Bleeding. Vacillating between rational and irrational. Wavering. He wants so much. Too much. It’s the coke and it’s making him want to eat you. 

He yanks you up into his arms, your skirt up around your waist and you gasp, the enormity of what he feels for you pressing down into you. The door shudders as he holds you against it. His warm cock wedges itself against your stomach and your thigh. 

“Baby, please, tell me– I need to know–,” 

He’s worried. God, he’s so worried. He buries his face in your chest. 

You groan, strained and overwhelmed. There might be tears in your eyes. 

“Yes, Dieter, I want you. I want you so fucking badly I can’t breathe right.”

The groan he makes is one of relief and he’s not even inside of you.

“But, please, please, fuck me, Dieter. I need to— you have to–,” 

Fighting with the fabric of your skirt, you pull your underwear to the side. He drags his hips forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. It’s wet and warm and he thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

“You’re gonna stay, right? You’re gonna be with me, after this?” He’s already out of breath, out of his mind. You nod and he thinks he might cry.

“I’ll stay.” You swallow, your eyes closed, head against the wooden door. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

One arm wrapped around your low back, and the other holding the both of you against the door, he slides up, breaching you – “fuck, fuck, fuck–,” “I know, baby, I know–,” all the way to the very end of you in a single, hot stroke. The moan you share is harsh, ragged, pained with the force of it. He feels the sound in his chest, your own pressed up against his. You knock your head back against the door, mouth open, as if awestruck that it could feel this good. 

Your knees hitched around his waist pull him closer. “I gotta– I want– more–,” 

“Baby–,” his nose turns your mouth to him and he open-mouth kisses you, tongue licking the inside of your mouth. His hands hitch you higher, cupping your hips to take even more of him, and he starts fucking you. 

That’s what this is. A good, hard, mean fuck.

The door rattles behind you and thankfully is already locked. His thrusts are deep, fast, hips punching into yours. 

“I wanna look. I wanna watch me fuck you.” He murmurs in your neck. Your eyes are closed, mouth twisted in pleasure, as you scratch his back to hold on. “But I don’t wanna drop you.” 

He wants to brand your chest with his own. 

He shouldn’t be fucking you in a public hotel bathroom, he knows, but New Orleans is gone. The light, and the white bed, and the paint, all gone. You are caught in between universes, in between realms, between what is and what should be. He doesn’t want to be here, in this one, if it means he can’t have you. If he has to go back to whatever his life was before you. This can’t be the end. 

Your moans climb higher and higher, your cunt fluttering around him. He knows he should clap a hand over your mouth, but the sounds you make dig under his skin, claw at his blood. They make him feel so good. So wanted. 

“Dieter, you’re so deep. You’re going to bruise me.” 

“Your little pussy likes it when I’m mean to her–,” he shifts his pelvis, adjusting you against the door, and grinds so hard, the tip of his cock brushes against something that has you mewling. 

He wants the leverage of the floor, to hold himself over you, to watch as he splits you apart. But the airlessness, the proximity to you, to that fucked-out look in your eyes, he can’t part with it. 

He doesn’t know how to make love. It’s been too long since he’s tried, unable to conjure the memories or the feeling to do it. He only knows frantic clawing, hot skin. But he wants to learn, for you. He doesn't know how to verbalize it, but he needs you to know. 

He turns his face from the cup between your neck and shoulder, into your cheek and catches your gaze. You lock eyes and he nearly comes right then and there. 

Maybe you already do, know.

“It’s good, Dieter,” you murmur, eyes glassy and cheeks red, “it’s so good.”  

It’s too much. Your cunt is sucking him in, shuddering around him as he pounds up into you. Your whimpers are rubbing his nerve endings raw. He has to come before he burns up. He bites into your shoulder and you wail. 

He lets go, whining– hot spurts filling your insides and his cock throbs, you moan at the sensation, the warmth, and he’s still coming as your cunt contracts, wavering, and then his hips and thighs are soaked in you. 

He wants to fold you into his ribs but instead, presses warm, wet kisses to your cheek, your flushed neck, and then your nose and forehead. Instead of pulling away, setting you down, he pulls you closer, flush against him. He can feel your thighs trembling around him, every breath ragged and heavy.

He’s shaking too.

“Natalie, I–,”

“We should get back.” You won’t look him in the eyes all of a sudden and that hurts, stings something very soft inside of him. He nods, but gives you one more kiss against the plush of your lips, his hand cradling your head, before he slowly, carefully, extracts himself and pulls his softening cock out of you. 

“That’s always the worst part,” you groan, face twisted. 

He wants you to say, that’s always the worst part– when you leave me. 

“Hurts me too,” he mutters quietly as he slowly lowers you to the ground. You wobble, but your grip on his shoulders holds you up right. He lets go of you long enough to take some paper towels from the dispenser and he offers them to you. 

Your eyes are soft as you wipe yourself clean from his sticky cum. “Thanks.”

You toss away the used paper as he turns back to the last bits of coke on the toilet. He gathers as much of it as he can and rubs it on his gums. You’re watching him through the mirror as he wipes off the rest and rubs his hands on his jeans.

“Oh, sorry, did you want any?”

You shake your head, a smile in your eyes not on your lips. 

“What?”

You reach out to him and as though magnetized, he comes to you, hand sliding around your waist and the other cupping the back of your neck. 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” You say, your fingertips rimming his collar. “What you asked before . . . it’s a lot. But I’ll think about it.” 

He nods, heart pounding in his chest. How is he going to make it through three more days of this with you? How can he keep away from you now?

“Take your time. But, uh, don’t take too long.” 

You nod up at him, bright eyes twinkling, and he bends and kisses you again. It’s brief, subtle, but it makes his ribs expand all the same. 

Your hand goes and unlocks the door. “Gimme one second. Gotta check if the coast is clear.” 

He lets you go, and you stick your head through the small crack between the door and the wall. Satisfied that you weren’t about to be tackled by reporters from The Rolling Stone, you wink at him and disappear around the corner. 

You can’t touch her out there. Only here. In the dark.

He follows you and is hit in the face with a painful, bright light from the sun’s reflection on the marble floor. His eyes watering, he walks forward, towards the shadow, the silhouette he presumes is you. 

The lobby is full of people and sounds. No one seems to have heard a single thing, haven’t got a single clue about what just went on in the very public bathroom. His eyes adjust and there you are, in the center of the hustle. You aren’t moving.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get back to the–,”

“Dieter?” 

It’s not you asking. 

It’s her. 

He’d know that voice anywhere, even if he felt like it belonged to a version of himself he had long since abandoned. 

Guests and hotel employees and camera crews weave around the three of you. 

She wasn’t supposed to come back.

Her hair is as straight as her posture, eyes hidden behind round, thick sunglasses. Her cream, wide-brimmed hat matches her pantsuit, with gold accents. In a word, she is stunning. The ideal movie star wife. 

His heart lurches. He half-expects for it to tear out of his chest and slump along the floor like a dying rat, blood splattering on the nice white marble. 

“Dieter, how are you?” Chloe doesn’t take off her glasses to address him. She hasn’t seen you yet, he supposes.

“I-I’m,” he tries to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth, “I’m fine. Good. What are you doing here?”

It’s more accusatory than he means for it to be, but his heart is still pounding in his chest, an after-effect of fucking you. 

Behind his wife, the revolving door to the hotel glitters in the slanted gold evening light as children play with it, around adults trying to get through. It makes him think of the time his mother took him to the Coney Island pier and put him on the merry-go-round. He was six and nervous because she’d be out of his sight for a minute each time the carousel turned. 

“I’ll be right here waiting,” she said with a smile. “I’ll always come back for you. It’s a promise.” 

Why he is thinking of that memory right now is beyond comprehension so he blinks, trying to claw his way through the mounting agitation. 

His tone makes Chloe stand up straighter.

“We need to talk, Dieter. About our marriage.”

There’s a gurgling sound, something smothered and choked, behind him and her immaculate face turns over his shoulder. 

You’re pale. You’re pale and afraid and he’s ruined you.

“Hello,” Chloe says smoothly. “Do you know Dieter or are you a fan?”

You blink as though she had slapped you. “A fan–?”

“Chloe, this is m-my co-star, Natalie Lorraine. We’re, uh, meant to be at a press junket right now. We got a break . . . and went to get something to eat.”

“Was it good?”

He nearly snaps his neck in half looking back at her. She still hasn’t moved an inch, only her head, her hands clasped neatly across her lap.

“What?”

“Was the food good?” She asks. “You both look a bit ill.” 

“No. Food was terrible. I recommend you avoid it.” As though you had been possessed by the ghost of formality itself, face lit with a brilliant smile, you step forward, hand outstretched. 

Chloe takes it after a moment and you shake. Dieter has to fight the urge to break your hands apart. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Chloe. I think we just missed each other at the party at Scott’s house.” 

She tenses, but not at you. “Yes, well, that was a very busy night, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” 

It’s scary, your face. How serene and calm you are. 

“I love this blouse,” you say, gently tugging on the cream silk. “It’s gorgeous on you.”

Chloe smiles genuinely and Dieter’s heart withers to his stomach. “Thanks. It was a gift from my father.”

“The artist, right? Dieter’s told me so much about you. Told all of us. Can’t get him to shut up about it, really.”

Your eyes graze him with the sharpness of a glinting scalpel before smiling back at Chloe.

Her own is stiff. “That’s what I keep hearing.” 

Why are you still talking to her? Why are you still here?

“Are you going to be in town lo–,”

“Natalie, we need to get back to the press.” He wants to haul you over his shoulder. “We’ve delayed them enough as it is.”  

“Oh, c’mon, Dieter, they can wait a few more minutes. Your wife–,”

“Let’s go—,”

Chloe’s shoulders are taught. Stretched thin. 

“I came here to talk, Dieter. When can we do that?” 

“Yeah, you should make your wife a priority, Dieter.” 

He’s losing his grip on everything. You stand by Chloe as if you were sisters. His gaze leaps to her.

“An hour. Alright? Can you wait an hour? I have to tell them something.”

“Or you can just go now. I’ll tell them an emergency’s come up.” You walk past him and pat him on the chest. He thinks your nails sting him for a second. “Nothing should come between you and the woman you love.”

He wants to take you by the wrists. “Natalie–,”

But you slide around him, waving to Chloe as you go. “Wonderful to meet you.” 

You are swallowed up into the crowd of the lobby. No, no, no, no– 

“Dieter.” She calls him back. “I have to check in, so you can have an hour.”

“Thank you.”

And he’s weaving into the crowd after you.

He’s shaking when he bursts through the adjacent private hotel room, meant for refreshments and make-up touch ups. 

It’s not a panic attack, not yet, but something is mounting in him. It’s clawing up his throat, its talons razor sharp and an inch deep. His throat burns as if he had thrown up – did he? Maybe he did? – but he’s not thinking clearly. None of this feels right. 

He’ll come up with some excuse to tell her why he suddenly vanished, but if he doesn’t wrangle back some control, he feels like he’s moments away from walking straight into traffic. 

He doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to get out.

But half of the cast of his very successful movie is just on the other side of this room, along with cameras and recording phones that would just love to get a glimpse of the Old Dieter. The barely-holding-on Dieter. The fucked up one.

Your compact mirror clatters as it falls from his hand onto the bathroom counter. He flips open the secret compartment in the back and is suddenly overwhelmed by the decisions. It feels like there’s a tornado siren going off in his head.

Are yellows uppers or downers? What did you say about the red ones? No, it’s the one with the T on the back that are uppers. No, wait, it’s – 

He hears the door open behind him, the sharp light from the window catching on the door handle and sparking in the mirror in front of him.

Fuck it. He grabs three of the ones he thinks are right and throws them into the back of his throat and swallows so hard, his teeth grind together. 

“Dieter?” It’s Mark and his gut turns over. “What are you doing–,”

There’s no point in hiding it. He knows Mark saw the open compact of unidentifiable pills. 

So much for that fucking drink among friends.

Dieter unhurriedly shuts the compact and slides it into his pocket. He can’t turn around but instead stills himself for an argument, an accusation, a reaming he really deserves, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Mark is just . . . shocked. 

“I really didn’t think that. . .” His mouth closes, as if words have failed him. “But she was right. Chloe was right. You are using again.” 

It’s not a question or an accusation. It’s just . . . reality. 

He has them all ready. The lies he tells himself – 

I’ve got it under control 

I can stop when I want

This isn’t a relapse

– but for some reason, he can’t say them outloud. Each time he tries, the words stick themselves against his throat. He can see Mark’s expression devolving into anger over his shoulder in the mirror the longer his words remain, unanswered, unchallenged. He would love it for Mark to hit him.

“I don’t get you, man. I don’t.” Mark shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. “Everything was going so fuckin’ well. Why are you throwing it all away now? Why didn’t you come to me? Or Heidi? We could have helped you.”

Dieter shrugs. Something goes dark in Mark’s eyes. 

The sun shifts and the light is now permanently blinding his eyes. He closes them and steps out of the bathroom. He swears he can hear the tune of the carousel, the jingle – something starting to give him a headache. Grunting softly, he presses a thumb to the inner corner of his eye. 

I’ll always come back for you

“Have you told Chloe?” 

Dieter shakes his head, dropping onto the edge of the bed. He thinks there’s a black spot in his vision forming in his right eye. Mark is blurry as he stands over him. 

“Are you going to?” 

He can feel something slide off of him, or into him. Either way, it’s clogging up his airways. “She’ll find out eventually. She always does.”

Mark’s mouth drops open in disgust. “That’s fucked up, man.”

The jingle is clear now. The door handle sparks like it’s on fire.

“And it’s not your fucking problem. I don’t care what you think.”

“Well, shit, Dieter, I used to think a lot of you. I really did. I’d heard all the shit you’ve gone through in the past few years and to see you on that set being the best version of yourself, I was so fucking proud of you, man. But now that I know that you’re this . . . You really fucking had me there for a second.” 

Dieter lowers his thumb from the arch of his eyebrow and meets Mark’s glare. “Now, you know.” 

Mark narrows his eyes. “Yeah, now I know.”

Dieter goes back to the bathroom to wash his hands in the sink. They feel sticky for some reason. He has nothing to hold onto. 

“When’s the next session? I know we running late, but–,”

“Nevermind about that. Canceled for the day,” Mark growls, “I’ve got a question for you. Are you fucking Natalie?”

His knees nearly give out. “What?”

Over his shoulder in the mirror, Mark crosses his arms. “I said, are you fucking Natalie?”

“Why do you–,”

“I don’t know if you’ve fucked her yet, but there is something going on,” Mark says slowly as if he hadn’t said anything, his gaze focus on the floor. “I wanted to act like I didn’t see it, but if you’re using again . . .” 

“Just because I’m high, doesn’t mean I’d cheat on my wife.” 

“If you are, just tell her. Leave her. Don’t let it go public.”

Why doesn’t he just tell Mark? Just confess. Just confess that he can’t stand being married to Chloe anymore. That you are unlike anything he’s ever known, ever felt. Sure, Mark’d be mad but maybe, with time, he’d be happy for the both of you– he knows what it feels like to be in love—

Whoa.

Where did that come from? He can’t actually– 

His knees buckle as his head spins faster and faster and he clutches the counter to stay upright. He grinds his teeth. “There’s nothing to go public about.” 

“Just go home to her, Dieter. You can still fix things–,”

“Stop lecturing me.” 

“Don’t go out tonight. We’ll all understand. I’ll tell Roxie you had other things–,”

“Why does Roxie care?” He leaps at the distraction. “Is there something going on?”

Mark clenches his jaw, but Dieter pounces the chance to see you again so soon, even if Chloe comes along. Of course she is, some part of his brain rages, she’s your wife. 

“Great. Chloe wants to meet everyone anyway.” 

“C’mon, man, don’t do this. Don’t do this to Chloe. Don’t do this to yourself. What happened, Dieter?”  He’s pleading. He’s sincere. His brown eyes are deep with concern and it makes Dieter want to vomit. 

He goes to leave – his hands only shake once – when Mark grabs him by the shoulder. 

He is physically blinded by the color red, just for a minute. 

destroy destroy destroy

He can’t even blame the coke. He wants the violence. The pain. The rips in his skin. 

His knuckles collide with Mark’s jaw and every nerve in his body roars in victory. The force of Dieter’s punch sends Mark reeling, stumbling back, and he staggers into the wall. 

more more more more!

Dieter blinks, the spike in adrenaline making him dizzy. Mark clutches his jaw, already swelling, again more shocked than angry. Dieter squeezes his fists, joints cracking, his right hand throbbing.

“This doesn’t concern you.” he says, quietly, empty of anger. “Leave me alone. Leave Natalie alone.”

He had all but admitted to the affair. He has to tear his feet from the floor, Mark’s jaw now purple, and he storms out the door, to go see his wife. 

    Chloe was always beautiful. Always stunning. She walked into a room and people stared. 

When he met her at that cast party, she was modeling for DKNY. Her boyfriend, at the time, was a photographer and given who her father is, he (like many other past relationships) had hopes that international connections would further his career. But it didn’t and the ex-boyfriend was more mad about the loss of potential fame than the end of the relationship.

Dieter hadn’t been like that. He had been successful and good-looking enough that when she told him who she was, her last name didn’t even register. Of course, it helped that he was tripping on shrooms that one of the PAs had given him, but at the time it didn’t matter to her. He looked at her like she – and she alone – hung the moon.

At least, that’s how she remembered it and, more importantly, that’s what she told him that morning in her apartment before he officially checked into court-mandated rehab. They were only six months into dating then, but when she told him, the way she told him, he felt something change. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be sober because someone else wanted him to be sober. And not just anyone, but this someone. This beautiful, smart, patient, sweet woman valued him, for some unfathomable reason. So, impulsively as always, he got down on one knee and proposed to her in that shitty studio apartment. Maybe it said something about her that she said yes– he didn’t even have a ring– but he gave her his earring and a promise. He’d do it right, when he got out, and she believed him.

And, of course, when he proposed, she didn’t know about all the cheating that had gone on while they were dating. It wasn’t like he actually loved, or even liked, any of the people he slept with, but he had done it because he was high and sex felt really, really good on ecstasy. If she had been there, he would have fucked her instead, but she wasn’t and he didn’t and it was someone else and it was one of them who eventually leaked it to the press. 

It was two days after a three week period of withdrawals that she confronted him. She was nice about it, of course. Always nice. And maybe it was because he was ten pounds lighter, his skin waxy and pale, and he could barely walk, but when he confirmed it all, she had just said, “I know you didn’t mean it.” She did cry, though. She cried and he felt like an even bigger asshole than when he threw up twice on the same nurse. She cried and he begged for forgiveness and all that self-hate and loathing metastasized in him. But, most importantly, he wasn’t alone through all of it this time. 

He took the backhanded compliments, the passive aggressive comments, and let himself be molded into what she wanted because quite frankly, he was sick of trying to figure out what he was supposed to be anyways. 

But the more distance he tried to put between his past and his future, she was there to bring it back. She was both a reminder of what he was and what he could be all at once. 

She sits, perched on the end of his bed, back straight and hands in her lap. Her wide brimmed summer hat is by her hip on his untarnished bed— how the hell is going to explain where his luggage is— and she faces the window, looking out into the late Los Angeles evening. 

She is beautiful. Painfully so. And sometimes he thinks that she likes him a little broken.

He never did get her a real engagement ring.

After seeing Mark, he left the hotel and walked until he could feel himself getting a blister, and then turned around again. It felt like it had been days since he went through that golden, twirling revolving door, but it had only been an hour. One hour exactly. The coke doesn’t have its claws so deep into him anymore. He can breathe easier. The scales have somewhat evened out and he feels somewhat like a normal person again. Thankfully, because this isn’t a conversation he really wants to have.

He doesn’t know where to sit or where to put his hands. He picks the chair by the squat desk in the dark corner and lets her bask in the fading light. He’s not sure if he’s overwhelmed by her beauty, or that she’s here and real and not just this name at the top of his phone to whom he’d fire off unanswered texts. 

He picks at his nails and realizes at some point he put his wedding ring back on. When the fuck did he do that?

“I’m sorry I surprised you like this,” Chloe says, again sparing him the scariest part of simply starting the conversation. She turns away from the window and takes off her glasses. She looks pale. “There is just a lot I want to say and I don’t think . . . I didn’t want to say it over the phone.”

“Me too. I mean. Yeah, we have a lot to talk about. I just don’t know why we couldn’t have done it at the house.” 

“You left me at that party, Dieter.”

“I took an Uber. You had the car. Where did you go? Why didn’t you come home for two–,” 

“Are you not happy to see me?” Her eyes are blazing, daring, serious, and wet. What happened that night, he thought it had ended his marriage. He truly believed that if they stayed married, it would only be in name because she wouldn’t want him after a scene like that. He was so willing to give it all up. So easily. 

Too easily.

Maybe she was right to leave. The first tendril of guilt unfurls in his chest. Of course, she was right. And he was so, so wrong. He always was.  

“Of course I’m glad to see you.” Hesitantly, he gets up and goes to sit next to her on the bed. She pulls her hand off the cover and crosses her arms. Up close, he can see she’s more than pale. Her skin is waxy and there are bags under her eyes. She’s got a green tinge to her cheeks like she’s nauseous. “But we’re in the middle of these press junkets and the movie is in post-production and . . . I just wanted more time to do this right.”

“Do what right?”

There’s a tremble of fear in her voice. He makes sure to keep his even.

“To . . . to say . . .” he watches her eyes for some sort of guidance, “to just . . . get back to us.” 

He slides his hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away. But there are tears, pouring down her face. She sniffs. 

“That’s what you want, right? You want us to be together.” 

She nods, furiously, quickly, sighing in relief. “Yes, Dieter, yes. I need us to be together. I can’t do this alone.” 

She pulls him to her and lets out a cry that churns his stomach like black, arctic waves. 

“Oh, Dieter, they’ve released some trailers and you’re so good. So good. I’m so proud of you,” she murmurs wetly into his neck. He feels her tears on the skin above his pulse-point. 

There’s a part of him that wants to curl up into her lap, put his head on her thighs, and let her imagine all the ways he’s succeeded. All the good work he’s done. But he’s fidgeting.

The bump from earlier is still feeding his anxiety to an unbearable level. He bites his tongue and rubs his hand over her shoulder, determined to keep her from looking too closely at him. 

“There’s a lot we have to talk about, Dieter, but do you want to do this with me? What do you want?”

All his life he felt like he had never been whole. As if he was just made up of tatters, just loose bits of thread that popped and unraveled over time. He’s been unraveling his whole life, but this time, with this decision, he might actually tear apart. He still loves his wife, he’s sure of it. He needs the reminder that she offers, that she embodies. Look at what you could have– 

If only he was a fundamentally different person. If only he could be something other than himself. 

It’s a coin flip, right? Only a matter of time . . . before we both fucking lose it

He’s in danger of being overwhelmed by memories.

He told himself he left because that was what she wanted. He hadn’t come to terms with the impossible idea that he wanted to leave in the first place. That he, ridiculously, would ever want to leave her.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into his lap.

“I want you to tell me what to do,” he whispers to her shoulder. “I’m not a good person without you.” 

She swallows, leans away, and wipes her eyes, runs her hands over his wrists, then the back of his hand. She freezes as she finally notices his bloody knuckles. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” he says quickly as her dainty thumb hovers over the blood, the split skin. And he wasn’t lying. He can barely feel it. He feels disconnected from his own body, like someone else is driving and he’s been locked in the trunk.

“What happened, baby?” She asks, her mouth full of tears. She sounds tired.

“Nothing. Just hit it.” It is so obvious he had been fighting, he feels bad he couldn’t find a better lie. 

But Chloe sighs sympathetically and swallows. She was always so good at picking and choosing what she decided to believe. 

“We’ll bandage it.”

“You always know how to take care of me,” he murmurs as she massages his palm. 

“You’ve come so far, Dieter. You’re an entirely different person,” she says, smiling at the blood on his hand if it isn’t there. “I’ve always known you have a big heart. One I hope you can share.”

Her big eyes damp and, horrifyingly, filled with love, she puts a hand against the back of his neck. He feels feverish, too warm, but she seems to find comfort in it.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What if we had a baby, Dieter?” She smiles gently, coyly, easily. She’s thought about this. “You and me. I think it’s time. You’re ready to be a father.” 

It’s quiet. 

He is made up of nothing but tears. He’s spent years trying to stitch himself back together with everything and anything he could get his hands on. But he is still ripped. Still torn. Still unmade. 

He gave away pieces of himself to anyone who asked because he didn’t want them anymore. But giving this tattered, broken thing to a child? To someone who didn’t ask for it?

Can’t I just be fucked up on my own?

Cheers to being fucked up on our own.

“Chloe . . . Chloe, I . . . I have to ask you something.”

She sits up more in his arms and brushes the hair out of his eyes with a stroke of her fingers, her nose pink and cheeks wet. “What is it, baby?”

Why?

Why did you agree to marry me?

Why do you still love me?

What would it take to make you stop?

“Are you happy? Happy with me?” His entire existence no longer hinges on her answer, and he cannot fathom a world where she says yes. He shakes his head, on the verge of something, as he thumbs her cheek, begging for honesty. “Why are you still here?”

For a second, a single moment in time, for the only time, with his hands on her waist, he thinks he sees the real Chloe for the first time. Not the model, or the daughter of an artist. Not the wife of a movie star, or the helpless girlfriend of an addict. He sees her, a woman with her own reality, her own version of the world and history. He sees her in stark vulnerability, an uncomplicated answer, because he’s asking questions she never considered herself. 

Fresh tears spill out of her eyes as she squeezes his wrist. “Because I love you. And you love me. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?” 

“That’s all?”

She laughs gently, the sound wet and thick. 

“What else is there?” 

She kisses his cheek and her lips are wet with tears. “You don’t have to answer now, about having a baby. Just think about it, please?”

He nods. 

He knows his answer. Well, not cognitively. It’s not there, in his head. But it is there in the pain in his lungs, in the dryness of his mouth, in the erratic heartbeat in his neck. It will be a long time before he can take apart those sensations to understand and identify panic for what it is. But it’s there. It’s there in the sensations that the world is coming apart. 

If this is what she wants, he can’t give it. He just can’t. 

They've been together for almost three years and they still don’t know each other at all. 

The hotel room is hazy, cloudy, weed smoke curling up in the corners. There’s music coming from somewhere, but he can’t really figure out where. Half of these people are strangers, shadows against the walls, and they move in and out of rooms like ghosts. Every moment in time seems longer than the next. He can feel himself crawling out of his own skin. 

It’s near midnight and Mark still hasn’t shown up.

But the downers from the compact mirror worked. Everything exists in limp obscurity. 

Chloe clings to him like she’s stuck a knife in him and if she pulls it out, he’ll bleed to death. A second doesn’t go by where she’s not touching him. This body is unfamiliar, he thinks as he handles her hips, her low back, as she introduces herself to everyone. 

First, there’s Nick and Cooper. They are stoned out of their minds, eyes glassy and red-faced, and react the way all men react when meeting Chloe. Their mouths drop as they take her hand in greeting. Cooper’s gaze slides over her shoulder to Dieter – this is your fucking wife, dude?

It makes him angry, rubs him the wrong way, but not out of jealousy. His mouth twitches as he shrugs. 

“I’ve been listening to your albums for days now! After Dieter told me you play live music.” Chloe says with her hand on Nick’s shoulder. “The Sixers are officially my new favorite band.”

“Oh, uh, wow– that’s–,”

“Do you want anything?” Dieter snaps, stepping back. Chloe’s hand slides off the kid’s shoulder. “I’m going to . . . get some water— what do you want?”

Chloe smiles and he knows he needs to unclench. He feels like the entire stretch of his shoulders is filling up the whole room. 

“Actually,” she says, turning back to the boys, “I’d kind of like something a little . . . green . . .”

Nick is instantly fumbling with his pocket as Chloe laughs. “Totally. Got a few extras right here.” 

He nearly spills his beer, before Cooper takes it from him. Nick finally manages to pull out a blunt and green lighter. Her eyes flicker up to Dieter as Nick lights the end.

“You don’t mind, right, baby?” 

“Not at all.” 

She inhales and goes to ask Cooper something inane, so Dieter flops into the couch behind her. This is going to be a long fucking night.

The blunt between her long fingers is about halfway gone, the room smelling like burnt cheese, and has become so cloudy someone has to turn on a fan, when the door opens to Samuel, Roxie, and Marie, all carrying boxes of alcohol. The crowd, the shadows on the walls, swarms. Cooper does the polite thing and asks if he can get Chloe or Dieter a drink, which Dieter declines and Chloe happily accepts. She curls up onto the couch next to him, sighing happily. 

“God, didn’t you miss this? These parties? The things we used to get up to.” She murmurs into his ear, her tiny hand clutching at his bicep and the other at his forearm. She smells like weed and an incomprehensibly expensive perfume that he can’t begin to describe. 

“Yeah. But, when did you want to lea–,”

The crowd, congregated around the new arrivals and their new drinks, has to shift when the door opens a second time. 

His nails dig into the arm of the couch, stiffening from his head to his toes. 

It’s you. You’ve changed out of your outfit for the interviews– he could venture a guess as to why– but replaced it with a long, black cotton dress, thin straps. You can’t possibly be wearing a bra. You’re barefoot, a beer bottle in your hand, someone at your heels–

“Natalie! You made it!”

You’re surrounded by the Sixers, by the shadows of people, of faces he doesn’t know, or ever remember.

Except for one. 

“Everyone, meet my friend Oliver! He’s visiting, from England. Very posh.” 

That pale face emerges above the crowd and someone wolf-whistles. He smirks. “Settle down, settle down. I’m actually very annoying, but you’ll love me anyway because I have enough ecstasy for you all to see the face of God.”

The crowd cheers.

He can’t move. Can’t turn his head away. 

Beside him, Chloe’s face scrunches up and lifts her head. “Oliver? Don’t you know an Oliver?”

“Honey, hush.” 

He can’t take his eyes off you as Oliver spins you into the center of the room, Marie and Roxie chattering about something as they slide onto the floor. 

This. It’s this moment where he actually might lose his sanity. Either that or tackle Oliver to the ground and pummel his face in until he’s more blood smears than human. 

“Thank you, darling girl. You always know how to make a man feel so welcome.” 

You giggle and collapse into an armchair across the room from the couch. You’re high. Again. Still. Always. 

“Now, you precious thing,” Oliver crouches down and taps your knee. Dieter’s hand twitches. “Where did you say your friend has gotten off to? Because I don’t think he’d like it very much if . . .”

He trails off, catching the intense look in your eye. You’ve made eye contact with Dieter across the room, eyes wide, nipping at a hangnail on your thumb with your teeth and the neck of the beer bottle dangling in your fingers over the edge of the armchair.

You look genuinely scared. Dieter’s nostrils flare. 

Good. 

Oliver stands up, oblivious and smiling through blindly white teeth. “Dieter, old boy, she said you’d be here. How’ve you–,”

His gaze falls to Chloe at his shoulder, instant recognition in his eyes. He glances back to you. Chloe, far too stoned for her own good, jerks and sits up. She gives a hazy, bleary-eyed smile to Oliver. 

“Oh my God, Oliver, it is you. I know you. You’re Dieter’s friend. Who knows the Queen of England. How is she?”

Perhaps for the first and only time in his life, Oliver is speechless. His thin-lipped mouth opens and closes, clearly not sure where to land his eyes. But then something comes over him and that mask of charming smugness returns. He bows slightly to her. 

“You are correct, ma’am. Lovely to see you. And, remind me, your name is . . .”

“Chloe,” she says, sitting up and stretching, her eyelids only half open. She offers her hand and he hesitantly takes it. “I’m Dieter’s wife.”

“Oh, are you now?” 

Oliver glances over at you and Dieter wants to throttle him. His eyes flash with malice as he turns back to Chloe and kisses her knuckles. “Well, isn’t that just a laugh? Can I get you anything? Any of you anything?” 

He’s going to combust right here if he doesn’t get a moment to talk to you. 

“Actually, let me get it. Natalie, help me carry drinks.” 

You scowl. “No, I’m fine, right here–,”

“Now.” This time he will haul you over his shoulder if you don’t listen.

Oliver, for whatever unclear reason, steps in. “I’ll stay here with Ms. Chloe, if that’s easier.”

He oozes– slides– into the cushion on Chloe’s other side as Dieter extracts himself from her arms. He balances her back and she opens one eye at Oliver. 

“You smell like peppermint,” she giggles. 

“Aren’t you frightfully perceptive? Now, tell me, has someone had too much to smoke or to drink?”

Dieter doesn’t hear her answer. He’s snatched you up by the arm– you actually, physically snarl at him– and yanks you through the crowd into the bathroom. 

Two no-names are making out in the dark. He flips on the light without preamble.

“Out.” 

They break apart, mouths sloppy and wet, and scatter like rats in a sewer. He tosses you inside and slams the door shut behind him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap at each other at the same time, glaring, scowling, breathing sharply. Everything that should be said is buried and egos flare, replacing sanity. It’s the kind of argument, an argument so loud and violent, it reeks of bitterness and shame and desperation and that fine, fine line between seething hatred and that thing that scares him more than he can possibly conceptualize. All of this is easier to say than admit it. All of this is mean and nasty and meant to cut deep. 

He couldn’t bear to hear it now, even if you did admit to anything. 

Did you wait a full hour before calling him or was it the second I was out of earshot?

Had a good time with your wife you abandoned? Everything all good now? 

This is a private party for the cast and crew. He shouldn’t even be here!

If you get a plus one, so do I!

Why did you pick him? Why? 

Oh, sorry, I thought you liked surprises– given how you fucking handled today.

What did you promise him, huh? 

They had to reschedule everything because you can’t keep your shit together. Bet your wife loved being sloppy seconds to a TMZ reporter. 

Was he even in the area or did you get on your hands and knees to beg him to come here?

He crowds you up against the sink. His throat feels raw, head still spinning. Your hands are clenched at your sides as if preparing to throw a punch or claw or scratch or bite. Why can’t you just ever be nice?

You’re falling back into old patterns. Your instinct around him is to bite, maim, draw blood. The frustrations of a muzzled, brain-infected dog. 

The back of your hips bump up against the counter and you scowl up at him. He wants to put his hands on you but he can’t tell if it's to kiss you or strangle you. Fuck you or split you apart. How did this happen? How did you end up in the exact same place you were before?

But it’s not the same. Everything is different. He’s different, and so are you. You both know all this rage, this animosity, all this vitriol was misplaced. Undefined. A language not yet translated. You were screaming and screaming, in different tongues, begging to be heard. 

He doesn’t know what he feels when he presses himself up against you, but it is a lot.

“Are you doing this to punish me? Is that it?” Dieter whispers. Your eyes roam his face, unmoored by the sudden quiet, your hand at his chest pressing and pulling. “It’s not my fault.”

Your mouth twists, your breathing stunted. His eyes are pleading, searching your face for answers, to remind him of places where he had put his lips. Your nose, your jaw, your throat–

His heart squeezes in his chest. 

“What’s that?”

There’s a shadow on your neck, colored over by make-up, but this close, he can see the purple rings. Bruises. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s seen, your hand sliding up your throat to cover them. 

“Did Oliver do this to you? Natalie, I swear to god, if he hurt you at all, tell me and I’ll–,”

You shake your head. “Dieter, he didn’t do this to me.” Your eyes are sad, but the jut of your chin balances your head high. “He didn’t bruise me.”

“Then, who–,”

His stomach plummets. The two of you relive his hand on your throat in the bathroom earlier today. The panting. The pressure. The force he used to fuck you. 

“Holy shit, Natalie, I am so sorry. I–I had no idea, why did you say anything?” 

“I didn’t want you to stop.” You spin one of your rings on your finger. “I didn’t want to leave.” 

Was this not the exact position you found yourselves in hours ago? Clutching each other, nails digging in, mouths open in want– revolving, revolving, revolving. Light swallowing light. Like a carousel. 

Your pupils are almost entirely black. He’s jealous. He wants that freedom. He wants you. 

“But you do now. You’re going to leave.” He steps away from you.

You scoff, a wet shine in your eyes. “You’re here with your wife, Dieter. You’re always with your wife. You beg and plead with me and I, like a fucking idiot, believe you. I think we know exactly who’s doing the leaving.” 

“It’s not that goddamn simple.” 

You sigh and rub the heel of your palm against your forehead. “It is, Dieter. It really is. This is it. This is the end. I can’t take not having you anymore.”

You drop your hands to your side. His heart flutters, as if slowing down.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we can fight and yell and scratch each other into bloody ribbons, but nothing’s going to change. You’re never going to leave her. Nothing’s going to happen.” You close your eyes, briefly, steeling yourself against something, hands tightening into fists. 

He can’t remember the last time he was this afraid. 

“Natalie–,” He’ll take it all back. Take everything back. He wants you in his arms.

“It means I don’t want to be around you anymore.” You open your eyes and there’s nothing there. A different person sits in your head. Someone who doesn’t care about him, at all.

There’s no anger in your voice, no resentment, or disgust. Only defeat. Only strung out, exhaustion, an ache that cannot be soothed. 

“I need you to leave me alone.”

This is not at all where he thought this conversation would go. Never thought you’d say those words. Never imagined this is what you would do. 

“Is that what you want?” He husks. Something is dragging its claws down his chest, his ribs. It gets caught on his heart and tears. “What you really want. Don’t lie to me.” 

Your eyes harden for a moment, reflective and stern. “Dieter, this is killing me . . . So this is the way it has to be. I’m sorry.”

You avoid his outstretched hands, his inevitable pull towards you, and stagger out into the crowd. He hears the music, the laughter, the sounds of chaos and rapture, and then the door closes and he’s alone in the cold, stale air.

“So I’m still skeptical at this point. Yeah, she’s gotten some things right, but hey, that it could just be a really good guess. I think she can tell I’m not really thinking this has been worth my time, so she offers to read my palm.”

He’s pretty sure he’s heard this story from Samuel before, or heard it somewhere else, or remembers it differently. But it’s all just noise to him. 

Chloe sits on the floor between his legs, her head on his knee. He absently strokes her silky hair from time to time, but it’s just something to do with his hands. Eons and ages have passed in this fucking room and Dieter just wants to go to sleep. He’s watched four people run into the bathroom to blow chunks and he thinks he can smell it from here. 

I need you to leave me alone.

I don’t want to be around you.

He tries to listen, to pay attention, tear his thoughts away from this spiral that’s haunting him. 

Leave you alone? For how long? Don’t you get that’s impossible now?

“So she takes my hand and looks at it, really looks at it. And something about this just feels different, you know, like the air has changed. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I’m being seen for the first time.”

His audience is quiet, captive. Dieter can feel Chloe sit up straighter as if fighting off sleep. 

Roxie snorts. “She’s just going to tell you an incredibly vague, possible future so now any time something even remotely resembles that path, you’ll think she’s right. Nevermind all the times she’ll be glaringly wrong.” 

Dieter knows they’ll never be friends but he’s always admired Roxie’s honesty. Her bravery. She’s shrewd and he likes that. 

“Whatever. It was special, alright? Important. I can’t explain it but it felt right.” 

“I believe you,” Marie pipes up, dreamily. “What else did she say?”

Samuel doesn’t quite look at her, picking at his palm as if it is currently under inspection.

“Well, she did say this other thing. She looks down at my palm, and do you know what she says? She says my life line is jagged. Split.”

“What does that mean?” Someone asks in a hushed voice. Dieter struggles not to roll his eyes. It’s not even a good story. The kid lost thirty bucks to a palm reader. Big whoop. 

Samuel roves his electric blue eyes across his captive audience. “Means something colossal is gonna happen to me. Means something’s going to happen to me where I’m not the same person I was. And I just know she’s right. Don’t ask me how, but I can already feel those life lines splitting, you know? You should all go get your palms’ read. It’s spooky.” 

“What did it say about your love line, Samuel?” Marie asks again, who has her head in Roxie’s lap, her feet in Nick’s. All three are so stoned it’s a wonder she can form words at all. Cooper’s been missing for hours.

Dieter isn’t sure anyone else registers the flash of desire he sees across Samuel’s face when he looks at her, but maybe that’s not the point. God, he desperately wants to leave. He doesn’t even care if he looks ashamed, or guilty, or lets everyone down. The coke has been gone from his system for hours and now the scratchy, heavy haze has set in. It makes him irritated when people breathe too loud. He tugs on Chloe’s hair but she doesn’t move. 

Samuel watches Roxie stroke Marie’s face. “She said my love line is strong.”

“So you’re finally admitting to all the bastards you’ve fathered over the years?” Roxie sniggers and a few others laugh. In his lap, Chloe giggles too.  

But Samuel only scowls. “No, asshole, it means I’m going to have a whirlwind romance. The kind of things they write books and poems and love stories about. Means my twin flame and soulmate are the same person.” 

“What’s a twin flame?”

Dieter’s mouth goes dry as his gaze slides across the small circle to the armchair. Oliver is there. And so are you. Curled up in his lap. The strap on your right shoulder has fallen off, away from your head on his chest. Your eyes are open, but you look very small. Oliver’s got his hand on your low back.

He tries to pull his thoughts away from the memory of his teeth in the crook of your neck, but he can’t. 

“Excellent question, lovely Natalie.” Samuel nods his head in a bow to you. Oliver’s finger dips across your bare shoulder and Dieter grinds his teeth so hard, his jaw aches. He rocks his head back against the wall behind him as if to physically keep himself from lunging forward. 

“Everyone knows what a soulmate is, but a twin flame is not something so well known. Because, maybe, it’s a little more difficult to talk about. A twin flame isn’t the person you’re meant to be with because you’re too alike. Too combustible. But you burn. You burn with love for this other person because it’s like looking into a mirror.”

“So it’s like fucking your clone?” Someone asks stupidly.

“No, you moron. It is not like fucking your clone.” Samuel’s face softens as his gaze brushes up against Marie’s forehead. “A twin flame is like finding your other half. The missing link in the universe. The thing that makes everything else make sense. The thing that quiets you, brings you a sense of comfort. Of wholeness. Intimacy without words, or questions, or concerns. There’s no hiding from this person. It’s a promise, a contract, with the universe. When you find your twin flame, it’s knowing peace for the first time.” 

He can’t look up. He can’t. 

He stares, relentlessly, at the back of Chloe’s head. His grip is almost firm in her hair. He cannot look up. 

He really, really, really shouldn’t. 

And yet he does. 

His gaze flickers to the armchair again.

To you.

And you’re not looking at him. Relentlessly not looking. You don’t look up.

Until you do. 

He doesn’t have a name for it.

It’s not peace. It’s not quiet. 

But it does rage. It rages inside of him. It burns him. 

For the first time since meeting you, he sees tears in your eyes. Unrestrained. Open. They race down your pink cheeks and he can’t be there to wipe them away. You’re crying while looking at him and everyone could see, but they don’t. Oliver could turn around and everyone would catch you right here, right now, with his hands on his wife, and there would be no denying anything. Who wouldn’t take a single look in his eyes and not know exactly what he feels for you?

This is the real punishment. The real pain. Why did you think he could ever leave you alone? This thing inside of him almost has a shape, a texture, a taste. It’s alive in him now. Born from denial and fed on bouts of temporary relief and half-measures, he feels it, this almost inhuman want. And he sees it all reflected back at him through your eyes. You, who came out of nowhere but who was always meant to be here, now matters more to him than he ever thought possible, now who has the power to destroy him. It’s beyond ruination, it’s nuclear war. It’s scorched earth and salting the rivers. Perhaps this is why he’s never been whole, why he tears himself on the corners and edges of his own making, because he’s been searching. Unknowingly, aimlessly wandering, hopelessly stumbling into chaos again and again– because the other half of his soul lives in another body. In a body, so much like his own, set on a path of destruction. 

A path of celestial creatures in collision, of universes collapsing into each other. Of neglected bodies seeking out in the dark that which is familiar. 

The spacial gap between the couch and your armchair is infinite, black and yawning, when he could take three steps across the room and kiss you on the mouth. But he doesn’t. 

He holds this thing tighter, lets it burn. He knows you feel it too. You turn from him, the connection overwhelming and wipe your eyes. The hole in his body he calls a chest aches.

God, he’s such a hypocrite. And a fucking fool.

“That’s so romantic,” Marie sighs from the floor. Her eyes flutter shut. Samuel watches her eyelashes against her cheek. “You get that and a soulmate? You’re so lucky.” 

“Not really,” he says quietly.

The hotel the studio rented for the press junkets doesn’t have a pool. But it does have a pretty nice rooftop bar overlooking the city. Disappointingly, it’s not open at four AM, but that’s probably a good thing. Meant to keep idiots from getting black out drunk and falling over the edge. Idiots like him.

Chloe lays asleep, four floors down, curled up in his bed, the sheets still warm from where he laid beside her for hours, white-knuckling the blankets, and staring at the ceiling. An hour after they left the party and two hours after he put her to bed, he got up and left, flinching at the sense the bedroom walls were closing in on him. 

He thought about going to find you, but he couldn’t. 

Finally, when he had managed to drag Chloe out the hotel room door, when everyone else had been so fucked up, their disappearance had gone unannounced, he pulls the door shut behind him and breathes. 

He can still hear the music through the walls, still smell it all, his mouth has been dry and cracked for hours, and the woman in his arms is nearly unconscious. But at least there’s some separation between you and him. It was too much. 

He bends down and pulls Chloe into his arms, carrying her like he did after they got married. But he can’t move. Not just yet. He tips his head back against the wall, trying to get the image of the rush of tears down your face out of his head. 

The movement stirs her and she lifts her groggy head.

“Wher‘re we?” she slurs.

“We’re going to bed, honey. It’s late and you should be asleep.” 

She smiles weakly, laughing to herself. Her feet kick as she taps his cheek with her finger. “You take sush good care o’ me. Always will. Always will love me.” 

Before he can reply, the hotel room door opens again and his black shadow steps out. 

You’ve been crying. He can smell the salt, hear the sniffles, and your red face all but confirms it. He whispers your name, a hush, a prayer and you tense as though transfixed by the shape of a ghost– you weren’t expecting him out here. You turn, eyes brightening when they meet his, but then you see her in his arms and you whimper– out loud– strands of saliva shining as you open your mouth in distress. He thinks he can physically feel his heart break. 

You’re not looking at him, but her, cradled and asleep in his arms. Your expression isn’t one of jealousy, or rage, but total and utter confusion. Why? Why her? Why not me?

“Baby, let me fix this.” He’d do anything to help you stop crying, to change your mind that you in any way have ever been second to any other woman in his life. He turns to you and Chloe’s arm brushes your shoulder. She hovers, oblivious and nearly-unconscious, between the two of you. 

“Fix what, honey?” She mutters up to him and you jerk back, as if burned.

For the third time, the hotel door opens and Oliver nearly runs you over. You swipe at your face rapidly as Dieter takes several steps back down the hall. 

“Sorry, darling, sorry,” he murmurs, nearly tumbling over, would have fallen to the ground if you had not grabbed him at the last second to hold him upright. His eyes are bloodshot and the edge of his right nostril is bright red. “How are you? Are you leaving?” 

You glance at Dieter over his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s late and I’m tired.” 

“Oh, sweet thing, I promised you a good time, didn’t I? And I don’t think I’ve quite done that.” Oliver manages to right himself and presses a thin hand against your cheek. You close your eyes, as if soothed by the warmth, by a presence if not the right one, so terrified of being alone. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Dieter stands, transfixed and silent, as another man leads you down the hallway, away from him. He can’t even make a noise, something to jostle Oliver out of his single-mindedness, something to tell you that this isn’t what he wants – not by a long shot – something to make this feel less like an all-encompassing nightmare. 

But he doesn’t and Oliver pulls you farther and farther away. You look over your shoulder once, tears rimming the soft hairs at the cup of your eyes, and it’s that face, your face of grief and desperation, that kept him awake and eventually dragged him out of bed, long after Chloe had fallen asleep. 

And so, he sits in one of the black and white booths on the rooftop bar and smokes. 

The late summer wind is warm and it plays with his hair– the curls around his forehead, along the backs of his ears, across his neck. His hair is longer than it has been in years and the wind is gentle as it goes. It reminds him of the few fond memories of his mother. When he was young. When his father still loomed so large. 

He wants to lean into it, into the gentle touch of something bigger than himself, of something that promises to protect him, to keep him safe. But when he does, there’s nothing there.

So he goes on. He smokes and he sits and he waits. He waits for the sun and for clarity and for Chloe to wake up. For the day to start all over again. 

For you to come to your senses and run far, far away from him. 

Eight AM. 

Another hotel room, all furniture cleared out. The window curtains pulled shut, no light. 

There’s a rumble, a clutter of sound, as lights and cameras are posted and aimed. The drowsy drabble of crew going through the motions, half-asleep and not yet caffeinated. It’s slow, sleepy, eyes downcast and unfocused. Light will come eventually, with the rising sun, but it’s still dark. Still blue.

The woman powdering your face does one final touch up before closing her kit and leaving. She goes out the hotel room door, another spindle sliding back into its place in the machine. The rumble around you continues. 

He calls your name, gently, softly, quietly. You don’t turn.

He picks up the coffee he got you and approaches you. 

Up close, he can see you got about as much sleep as he did. 

“Thank you.” You say loudly as a PA crosses behind him. 

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you have a good time at the party?”

“Yeah. We did.” It feels like they’re talking in code, in a foreign language that doesn’t sit right in his mouth. He steps closer to you, his heart digging into his ribcage. “Can I talk to you privately, for a minute?”

He runs a fine line; he needs to sound as if he is asking a good friend, a coworker, for a favor, but he wants you to know that your face is shredding him down to his very last atom. You have to come with him.

And maybe, because you feel it too, because you can hear the finality in his voice, because at some point the pain and insanity have to end, you nod. You motion to the interviewer– gimme five – and distracted, he nods.

You’re out the door and into the hallway when he realizes you’ve both left your coffee cups behind. Strange how something so innocuous can feel so transparent. 

He shuts the door to the room used as the make-up room, the same one as his argument with Mark less than twenty-four hours ago. The lock clicks with a snik. 

It’s been days since you both slept well, or at all. Either kept up by each other or by thoughts of each other, plagued by images and daytime dreams of waking up next to the person you actually wanted, you look wrung out. The make-up artist had done well, but he knows you. He can see your exhaustion in a way that only someone who intimately knows you can see. It’s a tiredness that goes beyond sleep, one that cannot be soothed by physical rest. It’s a bruise that refuses to heal.

Still, there has to be some sort of build up, just so he has a chance to try and put everything he wants to say in some sort of coherent order.

“How was your night with Oliver?” He asks without malice, without judgment. He’s absolutely sure he doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t want to upset you. Ease you into the thing that’s sitting in the back of his mouth. 

But he can’t anticipate just what you’ve been holding back too. Your eyes flood with tears and you shakily sit down on the bed. He immediately sits down next to you, not caring if putting his hand on your back pissed you off, not caring if holding your hand in his lap is the wrong thing. He wanted to hold you in his arms last night in the hallway, this is the concession he makes with himself. 

“Dieter, how can you ask me that?” 

His heart knots up in his throat as his hand at your back goes up to your shoulders, gently massaging your neck. He can show emotional maturity, or at least try to.

“Baby, it’s okay if something happened with him.” He swears he tastes bile. No, it’s not okay. You aren’t to be touched by another man that isn’t him– he closes his eyes for a second, holding back grief and rage. 

With a watery sigh, you admit: “nothing happened with him. He passed out the second we got to my hotel room. But even if he didn’t . . .”

You lift your eyes to him, catching and holding his gaze, before looking back down at your entwined hands on the coverlet. Your makeup is only slightly smeared as though you forced your own desperation back down the well of sadness. 

“I didn’t fuck him, Dieter,” you say slowly, quietly, words warbled from your still-wet mouth. “But I should have . . . I really, really should have because I don’t know why I’m saving myself for you. You’ll never do the same for me.”

He’s shaking his head. No, no, you’re all wrong. You’ve got this all wrong.

“I didn’t touch her.” He focused on the curve of your knuckles. How your fingers manage to slot so perfectly in between his. “After . . . after the party, she was already asleep by the time I got us back to the room.”

“What about this morning? She must have been awake then.”

“She was,” he admits. He takes a deep breath. “But don’t you understand what I’m trying to say? Baby, I couldn’t. Can’t. Won’t ever do it again.”

Your breathing hitches, caught on every single one of your ribs as it lurches up your chest, fresh tears in your eyes. 

“No, Dieter, I don’t understand. What are you saying right now? What do you want from me?”

He slides onto his knees in front of you, palms shaking as they fold over your thighs. 

“She wants to have a baby. With me.” His voice is quiet, and he can only confess to your waist. Those curves he loves to run his fingers over, his nose across. You jerk as if to pull away, a snarl in your mouth, but he holds on. 

“Dieter, you bastard, I–,”

“But I’m going to say no.” 

He looks up at you. To your face so constricted in pain and heartbreak and a delirium that only comes when the days and nights have blurred together. You’re so tired.

And he’s done. At the end of his rope. 

He holds onto you as you struggle, try to fight him, try to fight the inevitable, but he holds on and he’s never letting go. 

“I’m divorcing her.” 

You still. Go slack. Soft in your disbelief. He’s failed you if this comes as a surprise. 

Something sharp and jagged splits apart in his throat, burning him, and he drops his gaze from your face before you have a chance to see the tears well up.

“When all of this is done . . . when everything is safe, I’m asking her for a divorce.” He tips his head into your lap. His voice is sodden, damp. “Natalie, I can’t be without you anymore. Can’t you see that?”

The back of his shirt, between his shoulders, goes wet when you press your face against him. You breathe through half-sobs. 

“Dieter, what are we going to do?” 

He shudders and smooths anxious circles into your hips. He can feel you shake above him. 

“Just wait, baby, just wait. It’ll all be over soon.”

Maybe, the kid was right.

Maybe, just maybe, despite what may come, despite the countless lives that are going to be ruined and the immeasurable pain coming . . .

Maybe, this is peace.