#the fear and concern in bea's face

[bombiikki]

𝖈ross 𝖙he 𝖑ine ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!minji x fem!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you and minji were always just friends—the kind who held hands without thinking, who shared beds without question. but when feelings begin to stir beneath the surface, you’re forced to face the one line you swore you’d never cross.

𝖈ontains : friends to lovers, theyre both oblivious, and also lwk in denial, just a whole lotta fluff with like the smallest smidge of angst (but its only cuz theyre—again—in denial), hanni is in the middle of everything

𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 5.0k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : requested by anon here! when anon requested a minji fic to “feelings” by lauv i fear they cooked with the idea… i tried my best bringing this idea to life and i kinda tweaked like a few things… 😓the ending is also lwk a LILL rushed

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — feelings by lauv

the day started like all the others did, with sunlight spilling lazily through the blinds and minji’s voice in your ear. she was talking about something—maybe breakfast, maybe the dream she had about being chased by a giant toast—but you weren't really listening. not because you didn’t care, but because you knew this version of peace only came with her. it was in the way her laughter curled into the air like steam off morning coffee. it was in the way she reached out, absentmindedly fixing your sleeve like she always did.

you’d been friends for years now, and in that time, you’d become something like a rhythm—so in sync, people hardly bothered asking if you’d show up together anymore. where minji was, you were. it wasn’t planned or forced. it just happened, like gravity.

your friends joked about it constantly. hanni, especially, would nudge minji with a grin and say, “you’re basically married, you know that?” and minji would laugh, the kind that always made your chest feel warm. 

“nah,” she’d reply, ruffling your hair. “we’re just close.”

close.

you’d memorised that word by now. tucked it into your heart and let it sit there, heavy and quiet.

some days it was enough. most days, it wasn’t.

like when she called you late at night, her voice soft from sleep, asking if you could come over because her room felt too quiet. and you did, of course you did, every time. and she’d curl up next to you like she belonged there, like your shoulder was made just for her to rest her head on.

or when she texted you just to say she missed you—even if you’d seen her that morning. your heart would skip, flutter, fall. but then she’d send another message right after: “also can u bring snacks i’m starving.” and you’d laugh and tell yourself to get a grip.

because she didn’t mean it like that. she couldn’t.

still, there were moments—tiny, trembling things—that made you wonder.

like the time she fell asleep with her hand in yours on the train, and even after she woke, she didn’t let go. or how she always waited for your reactions first, before anyone else’s, like your opinion meant more. like it mattered most.

and it did, didn’t it?

minji meant everything to you. in the quietest way possible, she’d become the center of your world. and you… you were just doing your best not to drown in the ache of it all.

“hey,” her voice pulled you back. you blinked, looking up at her. she had that look again—gentle, concerned. “where’d you go just now?”

you smiled, shaking your head. “nowhere. just thinking.”

she leaned closer, propping her chin on your shoulder. “thinking about what?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you reached for your drink, pretending not to notice how close her lips were to your cheek.

“you’re weird,” she said, teasing.

“takes one to know one,” you shot back.

she grinned, and your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again. you wished it would stop or at least stop hurting so much.

later that evening, as the sky turned the color of old peach skins, you sat side by side on her bedroom floor, folding laundry while music played low in the background. she hummed along to the melody, not quite in tune but beautiful all the same.

“can i ask you something?” she said suddenly.

“sure.”

“do you think i’m… clingy?”

you looked at her, startled. “what? no. why would you think that?”

“just wondering. hanni said we’re always together. made it sound like i’m too attached.”

you laughed, though something stung beneath it. “we are always together.”

she shrugged. “yeah, but… it doesn’t bother you, right?”

you paused. your hands stilled over a pair of her socks. you looked at her—really looked—and saw that tiny furrow in her brow, the one she got when she was unsure.

“min,” you said softly, “i like being with you. it doesn’t bother me.”

her smile then was slow, sweet. “me too.”

and maybe it didn’t mean anything. maybe it was just a simple exchange between best friends. maybe she’d forget it by tomorrow.

but you wouldn’t. you never did. because every time she said “me too,” it felt like a promise. 

and every time, you wished she meant it in the way you did.

the sky outside was painted in soft watercolors—clouds trailing lazy streaks of white over a pale blue canvas. minji sat by the window of your favorite coffee shop, the same one with the peeling brick walls and mismatched mugs, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her cup.

hanni sat across from her, scrolling through her phone, legs crossed, eyes occasionally flicking up with something suspiciously close to amusement.

“you’re fidgeting,” hanni said eventually, not looking up.

“am not.”

“you are,” she said again, sing-song. “like a nervous wreck waiting for their crush.”

minji rolled her eyes. “you’re being ridiculous.”

“and right.” hanni leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “so… what’s the deal with you and y/n?”

minji blinked. “what?”

“don’t play dumb.” hanni gave her a look. “you’re always together. like, always. people joke about it. you're basically conjoined. you do everything together, talk in code, wear each other's clothes—min, come on. if i didn’t know you, i’d think you were dating.”

minji laughed, but there was something off about it—too quick, too sharp. “we’re just close. that’s it. i don’t like her like that.”

hanni’s brow lifted. “you don’t?”

“not in a romantic sense.”

“mhm.”

“and she doesn’t like me like that either,” minji added, as if to make it clearer. “we’re just… we’re good friends. we just get each other.”

hanni tilted her head, unconvinced. “right. so you’re telling me you share your fries, your hoodie, your bed, and your deepest thoughts—but there’s nothing going on?”

minji fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater. “yes.”

hanni sighed. “minji.”

“what?”

hanni sighed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “i love you, but you’re in denial.”

minji scoffed. “you’re reaching.”

“you’re repressing.”

minji scoffed. “i am not.”

“you are,” hanni said gently. “and that’s okay. it’s scary. love always is. but you don’t get to tell me you don’t feel something when it’s all over your face every time y/n’s name comes up.”

minji looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. her coffee had gone cold.

“even if i did,” she murmured, “what’s the point? she doesn’t feel the same. and i’d rather have her in my life like this than lose her completely because i was dumb enough to say something.”

hanni’s expression softened. “have you ever actually asked her?”

minji didn’t answer.

before hanni could push further, the bell above the door chimed, and minji’s head turned instinctively.

you walked in, hair a little wind-blown, hoodie sleeves too long, eyes scanning the café until they landed on her.

“hey,” you said, making your way over. “sorry i’m late. i had to chase down a bus, then realised it wasn’t even the right one.”

minji grinned. “sounds like you.”

“i’m lucky i didn’t get kidnapped,” you added, sliding into the seat beside her.

“you’d probably befriend the kidnapper,” minji teased.

“and ask for snacks,” hanni chimed in, laughing.

you rolled your eyes and leaned on the table, your arm brushing minji’s. she didn’t move away. she never did.

a few minutes passed as they settled into the warmth of each other’s presence.

then a barista approached with their drinks—a new girl, unfamiliar, with a practiced smile. she placed each order down carefully, but when she set minji’s down, she lingered.

“hope you like it,” she said, gaze fixed on minji. “it’s my favorite.”

“oh?” minji blinked, smiling politely. “thanks!”

the girl smiled wider. “you’ve got great taste.”

with one last glance, she turned and walked away.

hanni raised a brow. “well that wasn’t subtle.”

“what?” minji blinked. “she was just being nice.”

“min,” hanni deadpanned.

you snorted into your cup. “she was basically batting her lashes at you.”

“she was just being nice,” minji said, entirely genuine.

hanni shook her head. “min, you’re hopeless.”

“tell me about it…” you mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed on the foam in your drink.

minji didn’t hear it. but hanni did.

her eyes darted between the two of you. her lips curved into something knowing, something quiet.

the conversation shifted then—something light, something forgettable—but the weight of those earlier words lingered, tucked between sips of coffee and the spaces your fingers nearly touched.

and minji, who didn’t think you looked at her like that—never once noticed the way your eyes refused to look anywhere else.

the sky outside was still bright, though the air had cooled into something gentler. you and hanni stood just outside the coffee shop, the door shutting behind you with a soft chime as minji slipped back inside to grab a pastry for the road.

you hadn’t said anything yet. not really. just shared a long look, the kind that passed between people who both knew what wasn't being said.

hanni was the one who broke the silence first.

“so,” she said, sipping her drink, “how long have you been in love with her?”

you choked on your straw. “hanni.”

“what?” she shrugged, lips twitching. “someone had to say it.”

you looked away, your fingers tightening around the cold plastic of your cup. the words came out without much thought, raw and slow and aching.

“she gives me whiplash,” you said, voice low. “she’ll hold my hand like it’s nothing. she’ll fall asleep on me like i’m the safest place in the world. and then she flirts with someone else like it’s just air.”

hanni didn’t look surprised. she just leaned back against the wall and stared at you like she was finally seeing what had been obvious all along.

“she’s clearly into you,” she said.

you scoffed, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “if she is, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“you don’t see it, but she’s always looking at you,” hanni said, matter-of-fact. “like she wants something but doesn’t think she deserves it.”

you blinked. your chest felt too tight. “she told me she doesn’t believe in love. that it always ends in a mess.”

“what if she’s scared?”

“then why does she keep holding me like she’s not?”

hanni didn’t answer. instead, she reached into her bag, pulled out a pen, and started doodling on a napkin she’d saved. something small, a flower maybe. a heart cracked down the middle.

then she asked, voice soft and sure:

“do you love her?”

you froze.

you hadn’t said that word yet. not even to yourself.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe. probably. it feels like—like it’s in my bones already. like it’s been there for a while and i’m only just now realising it.”

hanni didn’t tease. didn’t grin or poke fun. she just nodded, slow and understanding. it was like she knew the feeling too well.

“you should tell her.”

you shook your head. “she’ll run. she’ll say we’re better off as friends. and then i’ll lose her.”

“but aren’t you already kind of losing her, every time she looks at someone else?”

your eyes dropped to your cup, where condensation had pooled like tiny rivers. you hated how true it felt.

the thing was, you could’ve lived with the friendship. you really could’ve.

but only if the lines were clearer. if she didn’t brush your hair back like she was memorising your face. if she didn’t text you goodnight with little hearts when she was tipsy. if she didn’t make you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was something unsaid between every touch, every lingering glance.

you didn’t mind loving her quietly. you just didn’t know how long you could survive the confusion.

“you think she really feels the same?” you asked, almost a whisper.

“i think she’s trying really hard not to,” hanni said. “but feelings are like fog. you can’t run from them forever.”

you sighed. the ache in your chest felt old and familiar by now.

“you think she’ll ever see it?”

“she already does,” hanni said. “she’s just scared to say it out loud.”

you stood in silence after that. not a heavy one, but soft and slow. a silence that wrapped around the both of you like a blanket.

then the door creaked open, and minji stepped out with a grin and a paper bag in hand. the top was folded neatly, and on it, scrawled in thick black marker, was a phone number.

hanni squinted. “is that a number?”

minji looked down, and her smile widened, sheepish and amused. “yeah. the barista. she, uh… she gave it to me.”

you blinked, words catching in your throat.

“so she was flirting,” hanni said, elbowing her. “what happened to ‘she’s just being nice’?”

“okay, okay,” minji laughed, lifting the bag in defense. “i didn’t know at the time! i’m just—i don’t know. i’m oblivious, apparently.”

hanni arched a brow, clearly holding something back. her eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to minji.

minji met her gaze, then shot her a look—playful but pointed. like she was saying see? i don’t like y/n without having to say it out loud.

“you’re hopeless,” hanni muttered under her breath.

minji slung an arm over your shoulder casually, like she always did, like it was second nature.

“come on,” she said. “let’s go eat this before it gets cold.”

you forced a smile and nudged her side. “wow, getting phone numbers and pastries. who even are you?”

“minji the irresistible,” she said, with a grin that made your heart twist.

and as the three of you walked down the street together, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could pretend the ache inside you was just part of being friends.

minji arrived at your door like she always did—without warning, without needing to ask.

“i bring gifts,” she announced, holding up a plastic bag full of snacks like some wandering hero returning from battle. 

“behold. ramen, choco pies, your favorite seaweed chips, and,” she paused for dramatic effect, “one overpriced convenience store cheesecake.”

you leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. “you trying to win my heart or rot my teeth?”

“both,” she said easily, brushing past you with a smug grin. “multitasking.”

you closed the door behind her and watched her kick her shoes off like she lived there, like this was just her other home. she knew where everything was—where you kept the extra pillows, the charger cable tangled behind the couch, the specific mug you used when drinking tea.

and it never stopped being strange, how something so ordinary could feel so intimate.

“pick a movie,” you said as she dropped onto the couch, legs sprawled out like a cat basking in the last bit of daylight. “but no crying tonight, please. my heart’s too tired to carry your emotional baggage through another sad indie flick.”

minji gasped dramatically. “i’ll have you know my taste is refined. cultured, even.”

“traumatic,” you muttered, grabbing the remote and handing it to her anyway.

she stuck her tongue out at you, then began scrolling. “fine. something light. maybe that dumb rom-com with the guy who keeps falling over everything?”

you smirked. “so, you mean the story of your life? got it.”

she swatted your arm, giggling. “rude.”

you made popcorn in the kitchen while she set up the film, the scent buttery and warm and almost enough to distract you from the way your heart clenched every time she laughed like that—freely, without walls.

when you returned, she was already nestled into your couch, blanket pulled over her lap and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“your spot’s waiting,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.

you sat down, close enough that your knees touched.

“you know,” she said, not looking at you, “if people saw us like this, they’d probably think we were together.”

your heart did a somersault. but you didn’t let it show.

“yeah,” you said softly. “they’d be wrong though… right?”

minji turned to you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “yeah,” she echoed. “very wrong.”

but she didn’t move away.

and when the movie started, her head found your shoulder, slow and gentle, like maybe it was exactly where it wanted to be.

“you comfy?” you asked.

she hummed. “too comfy. might fall asleep and drool on your hoodie.”

“it’s your hoodie,” you said.

“borrowed. indefinitely.”

you didn’t reply. your hand moved on its own, fingers brushing through her hair like a habit you’d picked up from another life.

and minji didn’t stop you.

halfway through the film, you looked down at her, her cheek pressed against your arm, her lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering with sleep.

she looked so small in that moment. so breakable.

you wondered if she ever looked at you the way you looked at her—like she was some kind of miracle.

your chest ached with the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

“you okay?” she murmured, half-asleep.

you forced a smile. “yeah.”

she blinked slowly. “you’re quiet.”

“just thinking.”

“dangerous.”

you chuckled softly. “probably.”

the movie played on, but you couldn’t focus. not with the warmth of her pressed beside you, not with the way she sighed in her sleep like she belonged here, in this exact moment, with you.

and when it ended, you stayed there, neither of you moving, the silence stretching between you like a secret.

eventually, she stood and stretched, yawning. “sleepover?”

you nodded. “duh.”

“you say that like it’s not a privilege.”

“it’s not. you’ve basically moved in.”

“you love it.”

you didn’t deny it.

minji changed into one of your old t-shirts and a pair of shorts she left in your drawer weeks ago. you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, laughing when you accidentally spit toothpaste on your own shirt.

and then, just like always, you ended up in bed—her on one side, you on the other, back to back but close enough that your feet touched beneath the blanket.

“goodnight,” she whispered.

“night, min.”

but neither of you slept. not right away.

you could feel her breathing. you could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady beat of her heart.

and somewhere in the silence, her fingers reached for yours under the blanket—just a brush, a moment, a whisper.

you didn’t pull away. you never did.

you closed your eyes and let yourself pretend, just for tonight, that she was yours.

and she let you.

the morning light slipped in soft and golden, brushing across the bed like a quiet apology for interrupting the peace.

you woke before her.

you always did when she stayed over.

minji was still curled beneath the blankets, one arm flung across your pillow, her hair messy and tangled like the petals of a dream left half-bloomed. her face was calm, softer than she ever let the world see. her lips parted slightly, breaths falling slow and even.

you propped yourself up on one elbow and watched her, heart caught somewhere between awe and ache.

how was it possible that someone could look like this—so warm, so close—and not know what they did to you?

her presence filled the room like music with no lyrics. and you? you listened.

you thought about how easy it was, this rhythm you shared. the laughter, the sleepovers, the way her clothes hung in your closet like they belonged. the way she stole your hoodies and your blankets and, without meaning to, your heart.

she shifted in her sleep, brow furrowing slightly as if something troubled her even in dreams. instinctively, you reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers light, careful.

your chest tightened. 

god, you wanted her to wake up and see you. really see you.

you slipped out of bed gently, as quietly as you could, but the moment your feet touched the floor—

“don’t go,” she mumbled.

you froze.

minji’s voice was thick with sleep, eyes still closed as she reached out blindly and caught your wrist.

“stay,” she said, tugging you back toward the bed.

you turned, heart stuttering. “minji, i was just gonna—”

“five more minutes,” she whispered.

you hesitated. “we’ll waste the whole day.”

“then let’s waste it together.”

you didn’t argue after that.

you let her pull you back beneath the covers, her arms loosely wrapping around your waist as if this was the most natural thing in the world. her head found your chest, and your hands found her back.

the world outside the window didn’t exist. just this bed, just this moment, just her.

you stayed like that for longer than five minutes. who knows how long.

eventually, the hunger crept in.

you both stretched and stumbled your way out of bed like a pair of old souls in a new morning, brushing teeth in sync, bumping shoulders, sharing sleepy smiles.

minji pulled your sweatshirt over her head. “i’m stealing this again.”

“not stealing if i let you,” you said.

“so you admit you like it.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“but you meant it.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a smile.

the kitchen smelled of warmth and the weekend as you flipped pancakes in your old pan, minji perched on the counter like a queen in her kingdom, watching you.

“you know,” she said slowly, swinging her legs, “i agreed to go on a date next week.”

the spatula paused in your hand.

you turned, heart dropping like a stone.

“what?”

“mm.” she nodded. “you remember the barista? she asked me out yesterday and i figured… why not?”

you tried to keep your face still, tried not to let the hurt show in your eyes.

“but,” you said quietly, “weren’t you the one who said love always ended in a mess?”

she shrugged, looking away. “maybe i just said that to sound smart. maybe i was scared.”

you forced a laugh, but it came out flat. “so what changed?”

minji smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“i guess i thought it was time to try. open myself up a little. and i needed to prove hanni wrong”

the pancakes were starting to burn. you didn’t care.

“prove her wrong on what?” you questioned.

minji shrugged as she muttered a “nevermind” and picked up her phone from the edge of the counter.

you turned back to the stove, trying to hide the way your hands trembled.

you wanted to ask her—why not me? why not us? but you didn’t. you just flipped the pancake and said nothing at all.

behind you, minji swung her legs and stared at the floor.  her voice was quiet when she said, “you’re not mad, right?”

 “mad at you?” you smiled softly like your heart wasn’t shattering.

“never.”

you got there just after noon, letting yourself in with the spare key minji gave you months ago. her place was warm with the scent of citrus shampoo and fabric softener, a quiet kind of chaos unfolding in every corner—clothes thrown across the bed, curling iron plugged in, a half-bitten apple forgotten on the counter. it looked like her. it felt like her.

and in the middle of it all stood minji, hair half-dried and shirtless save for the sports bra she always wore when she was trying on outfits. she turned to you like you were her last hope.

“thank god,” she said. “i was two seconds away from cancelling just out of wardrobe-related stress.”

you laughed, not quite because it was funny, but because it was her. “you’re the one who wanted to give dating a shot.”

“yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rifling through a pile of neatly folded shirts and then promptly unfolding them. “remind me again why i thought that was a good idea?”

you stepped in and gently swatted her hand away from the shirts, holding up a few options yourself. “because you said it was time to be open. and that you wanted to ‘prove hanni wrong’ or whatever. ”

she groaned. “ugh. me and my big ideas.”

but she took the shirt you held out—a dark navy button-up that brought out the depth of her eyes—and disappeared into her closet to change.

you stood in the center of her room, surrounded by the familiar. her polaroids pinned to the wall. a hair tie left on her nightstand. the book she was halfway through with your bookmark inside it.

“okay,” she said, stepping out, “how’s this?”

you turned—and felt your heart skip.

she looked beautiful. not done-up or overly fancy. just her, in that natural, easy way that always knocked the air out of your lungs.

“you look good,” you said.

“just good?”

you smiled. “you always look good.”

she smiled back, that soft, pleased kind of smile, the one that made her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. you wished it meant more than it did.

she sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging on socks, and you knelt beside her to tie her laces. she didn’t ask you to—you just always did. it was one of those little things. one of a hundred tiny acts that built a life together without either of you saying so.

“you’re too good to me,” she said, watching you double-knot the shoes.

you didn’t answer. just looked up at her and gave a lopsided smile. “i know.”

she laughed and nudged your shoulder. “cocky.”

you stood up, brushing your hands on your jeans. “you nervous?”

“terrified,” she admitted. “but… kind of excited too. she seemed nice at the coffee shop. funny.”

“that’s good,” you said, voice steady though your stomach twisted.

you didn’t know why this moment felt like a countdown. like something irreversible was about to happen.

she walked over to the mirror and started fussing with her hair. “do you think she’ll like me?”

you shrugged, fingers playing with the edge of her pillowcase. “what’s not to like?”

and you meant it. but it hurt, saying those words like you weren’t the one holding every soft piece of her in your hands.

you wanted to be the one she was getting ready for.

you watched her in the mirror. the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. the way she adjusted her necklace and tilted her head to the side to check her angles.

and something in your chest clicked. or cracked. or maybe it had been cracked for a while now, and you were just now noticing the pieces.

you didn’t want her to go.

you wanted to be the one she dressed up for. the one she texted when she got home safe. the one who’d sit beside her on the subway ride back, legs pressed close and hands brushing just barely in the dark.

you wanted to tell her.

she turned around with a grin. “okay. i’m almost ready.”

you nodded slowly. 

and maybe it was time for you to be ready too. ready to cross that line you both danced around. 

minji stood before the mirror, fingers lightly tugging at the collar of her navy shirt, smoothing down wrinkles she wasn’t sure were even there. through the glass, her eyes caught yours—eyes that didn’t look quite like themselves tonight. they were distant, caught in a quiet storm you hadn’t seen before.

you sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded loosely in your lap, the weight of something unspoken pulling your gaze away from her reflection. when minji turned, her smile was quick and easy, but there was an undercurrent of concern hidden beneath.

“hey,” she said softly, ruffling your hair with that familiar, teasing touch, “are you missing me already? what’s up with the look?”

you tried for a smile, one that might reach the corners of your eyes, but it faltered, a fragile flicker in the dim light. “me? miss you? in your dreams.”

minji didn’t brush it off. she tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully but with a seriousness you couldn’t ignore.

“you okay?” she pressed gently.

“i’m okay,” you whispered, voice steady but quiet, like you were afraid to break the fragile moment.

minji shrugged, a small, uncertain movement. “if you say so.”

she stepped back toward the door, ready to leave for her date. the air hung thick with all the words you didn’t say.

but then you moved. slipping from the bed, your hand found her wrist, holding it softly but firmly—an unspoken question, an invitation. your grip was gentle, offering freedom and restraint all at once.

minji didn’t pull away.

she turned back to you, a nervous grin curling her lips. “hey, what’s this? you know, if you want food from my fridge while i’m gone, you don’t have to ask. just take care of my place.”

her joke floated between you, but it landed nowhere.

you met her eyes, vulnerability laid bare in your own. “minji... stay.”

the words were soft, fragile, like a whispered prayer.

“stay,” you repeated, voice breaking just a little, “don’t go on that date.”

minji’s brow furrowed, confusion and something deeper flickering in her gaze. “why?”

you took a breath, heart pounding loud enough to fill the silent room. 

“because i can’t keep pretending this isn’t love. because i’m tired of waiting for maybe’s and almosts. because i want to be the one you look at like you’re home. and if that scares you, i’ll wait. but i don’t want to lose you tonight.”

her eyes softened, and the walls she built around herself started to crumble like morning mist.

“then,” she said quietly, “maybe we don’t have to go anywhere.”

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

and with a small, shy smile, she stepped closer—closing the space between almost and forever.

there, in the quiet flicker of her bedroom light, love was no longer a question or a fear. it was simply everything.

[yandere-yearnings]

Burn & Burn Again (Male Yandere!Writer x GN!Reader)

feat. Sun Vasileiou Nevrakis

♡ pt.6, approx. 1.3k words | prev. | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: implied forced isolation, implied (emotional) manipulation, beginnings of a stockholm-esque relationship, vv light suggestive dialogue at end | series warnings: yandere themes, reader is a horrendous flirt

♡ a/n: this part is dedicated to @/urprettylildoe bc it really wouldn't have been written if not for her sweet words!! thank you for everything doe <3 this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

Running water in the night woke you gentler than it used to, clock on your bedside table pooling neon into the backs of your eyes. Three in the morning — an hour earlier than usual for the steam swirling into your bedroom from the en suite. Sun always showered in the dark, temperature tipping over the edge into scalding, the only time the mellow, mellow vanilla of his body wash couldn’t lull you because the humidity was suffocating, and the sweat dried cold on you as you lay there.

There was no reason behind the anxiety that clawed your chest, in fact, ever since you’d moved in with him, Sun had been nothing but an angel. It was just that when he wasn’t in your line of sight, you could never shake the unplaceable feeling that lay low in your gut and began to manducate. Something in his eyes had always been different to everyone else’s. You thought you’d fall familiar to the gaze, but the months were dripping out your time like it was venous, and every day he looked a bit more distant from who he was when you had first met him.

You wanted to justify it for him, this strangeness that felt like a second skin forming — intangible, and yet still somehow stripping off of him in viscous strings whenever you tried to reach out and talk about it. Sun had only told you a little, after the casino; sitting on the stone steps that encircled the fountain in his garden and drunk out of his mind. His biggest fear was being left behind, and his biggest fear had cycled and cycled throughout his life so much so that Sun knew people’s backs better than he did their faces. You couldn’t hurt him anymore. You’d have rather not come into his life to begin with than do that, and who you were to him now could only be pinned on your advances alone.

You guessed he’d changed you, heart a little less selfish, and a lot more tired because of it. Even through the foreboding, you still couldn’t help but be pleasant to him; rationalise that nothing could go wrong if you treated your relationship with normalcy. Would that be enough to undo the weight of it?

In the palm of your hand, your phone felt foreign, as did the list of contacts you scrolled through. It had been weeks since you’d had a proper conversation with anyone else. Sun needed your attention more  — and you weren’t going to deny him. You knew intimately that there were cracks in the glass house he called out to you from.

Whether it was muscle memory or just that you were missing her, Bea’s name was the one that your thumb had been hovering over when you refocused. Not giving yourself a chance to think twice about it, you pressed dial and held it to your ear. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” her voice, as soft as ever, came in a groggy little whisper. Of course you’d woken her, of course she didn’t make anything of it. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” your head sunk a little further into your pillow, and the corners of the room faded from your vision until it was just the flat expanse of ceiling above you, “just wanted to hear your voice.”

The bubbly giggle that filtered through the speakers had the smile spreading on your lips. “In that case,” she said, “I should read you a bedtime story.”

“You really shouldn’t,” eyes crinkling, the breath you’d been holding cleared, “you’ve got an early morning at the bakery today, right?”

Bea hummed evasively. “Since when did you start remembering these things?”

“Since you added that cake to your menu that I can’t begin my day without,” you teased. “Really, you should go back to bed now. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s okay!” She was quick to refute, “you know I’ll never mind.” 

The shower had turned off a minute ago, and now it was just the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you as you blinked up. The yawn that Bea had undoubtedly tried to muffle reached you nevertheless, but she began to speak again before you could.

“I’ll call you soon, ‘kay? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah.” You thought about the secrets you’d been keeping from her — how even now, she didn’t know about Sun — you had more than a lot of explanations due. “Talk to you soon. I love you.”

The bathroom door opens and you cut the line before she can reciprocate, or hear the virulent tone your boyfriend takes as he pads over, plucks the phone right from your grasp. “Who do you love?”

His hair is dripping water like ink, saturating spots into the towel around his neck; face entirely unreadable even though you’re acutely aware of the fact that he’s filtering through your call log. In this variable darkness, you can make out the clench of his fist by his side.

“She’s my best friend.” Sitting up, you take his hand gently, unfurl his fingers from where they’re digging into his palm and tug him to the bed. “I’ve told you about her before.”

His shoulders seem to relax some as he settles, collarbones following a droop down that you can’t help but track. There’s a glassy clarity in his orbs when he leans closer, and he asks you with a furrow in his brow: “do you love her more than me?”

You would have begun to explain the difference between the love one could feel for a friend and the love one could feel for a partner — that they weren’t the same thing, that they could not be measured on the same scale — but Sun wouldn’t be able to understand that. He’d tilt his head at you, and think you were telling him he had competition, as he had done all the times before this.

“I could never.”

His cheek pressed to yours when you moved to wind your arms around him, cold, cold skin despite the hot currents he had been under just a heartbeat ago. His lips were soft against the shell of your ear, his voice even softer with a lacing vulnerability. “I don’t like it when you don’t pay attention to me.”

Your laugh came slightly cut from a bitterness you couldn’t pin the source of, and your digits tangled in his hair, tugged him back a bit. “Sun,” you said, “you don’t like it when I talk to anyone.”

When he blinked at you, you swallowed. Even if you had the saliva to wet your throat, you were sure it would just dry up again and your words would die trapped between the walls of your larynx. What compelled the shred of honesty you rasped out was tied to trust, to the credence that you could meet him at the same intensity as he met you. “Lately it’s like you’ve been caging me in.”

“I’ve thought about it,” he exhaled.

“What?”

Sun considers you, and then the corner of his mouth is twitching up by a fraction — the kindling heaviness dissipates just like that. “You could cage me up too,” he tips back, eyeing the exact spot up ahead that you had been focused on before, “we can make it a kink thing.”

Your brow raises. “Is it a kink thing?”

“No.” His smile drops, and then he turns away from you to shuffle through his side drawer; takes out a pen and a small notebook. “Still, you wouldn’t want otherwise,” he scribbles something down and you’re unable to catch it before the cover closes, “believe me.”

[lvnleah]

Thunderstorm Cuddles | Leah Williamson

Summary: Leah comforts her wife and four year old daughter when a thunderstorm happens during the night as both of them have a fear of thunderstorms.

Notes: had this idea before bed so this was quickly rushed!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thunder. Something you hated since you were a young age.

You laid in bed, staring at the ceiling as the rain tapped insistently against the windows. You always had been afraid of thunderstorms, the way the lightning splitted the sky and the thunder rumbled above you. Tonight, it was bad.

When you were a kid, your parents never comforted you during a thunderstorm and that’s where the problem stemmed from. You’d sit in your room alone, hiding under the covers with your childhood teddy as you waited for it to pass.

Your anxiety would overtake you, you’d silently cry as you prayed a tree didn’t fall down and crush your house. You didn’t know what caused it, maybe it's the darkness, the way it wraps around your little house, or perhaps it's the way you couldn’t control the unpredictability of it. You could never find a reason for your anxiety around it.

You tossed and turned, the rain drummed off the room of your and Leah’s house. The trees were blowing and you listened to the branches falling old the trees, each crack building your anxiety even more.

Your anxiety grew as you began to worry about your four-year-old daughter. Thunderstorms always felt worse ever since you’d welcomed her into the world.

She was three months old when you and Leah experienced a thunderstorm with her. You welcomed your daughter, Bea, in the summer so you hadn’t even had to worry about it.

Then October rolled around, thunderstorms began and Bea didn’t sleep through them. As she got older, you realised your fear had been passed onto her. As she grew older, it lessened but it was still there.

“Love? What’s wrong?” Leah mumbled, her voice laced with concern and tiredness.

"There’s a thunderstorm. I'm trying to ignore it, I really am," you whisper back, your eyes squeezed shut as tears started to brim in your eyes. "But it's so loud, Leah. I’m worried about Bea.”

Leah pulled you into her side and her hand instantly found your hair. Her fingers gently brushed against it as she held you close to her chest.

She shifts closer, her warmth seeping into my skin. "She’ll come find us if she’s scared or we’ll hear her," she murmurs. "It's just a storm. We're safe I promise."

"But what if it's not just a storm?" You can't help the panic in your voice. "What if it turns into something bigger, Le?"

Leah's hugs you tighter. "Love, you're safe. It's just rain and thunder. Nothing more."

You want to believe her. You really do. But the fear coils tighter, and you can’t shake it. "What if lightning strikes the house? What if—"

"Hey." Leah switches the light on and cups your face, her thumb brushing away a fallen tear. "Look at me. We're safe here. Our little house, it’s safe, I promise. Lightning won't touch us."

Just like that, her words become a comfort to you. You nestle into her embrace, your head on her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart. She strokes your back, her touch soothing, and you try to match your breathing to hers.

But then, a creak from the hallway. Bea stands there, her eyes wide in the dim light. "Mumma, I'm scared.” She whispers, her teddy clutched under her arm.

Leah sits up as Bea walks over to the bed. She lifts her up and makes room for Bea between you. "It's okay, bubba," she whispers. "Come here."

She lifts Bea up onto the bed, her tiny frame fitting perfectly between you. She curls into Leah, a total Mumma’s girl who always seeks comfort from Leah. "Why is it so loud, Mumma?"

Leah wraps her arms around both of you, creating a cocoon of safety. "It's just the rain, baby. When I was little, Grandma would tell me it’s the giants in the sky moving their furniture! Would you like some music?”

"Yes please Mumma, it's scary.” Bea frowns. “Wish they’d stop moving their furniture!”

You watch as Leah lets go of the pair of you, she reaches down to the draw and grabs her phone. She connects a pair of string earphones and brings up Bea’s playlist that she made when she was a newborn.

Gently, Leah places the earphones into Bea’s ears and plants a soft kiss on her forehead before planting one on yours. You tried music when you’d been in this situation before but it had never helped.

Bea snuggles tighter to Leah’s frame, sandwiched between the pair of you. Leah leans across and places a soft kiss on your lips, the thunder starts to settle a bit but you can still hear it.

Bea’s eyes slowly flutter closed and before you know it your little girl is asleep. Your heart melts at the sight in front of you.

“Try get some sleep, love,” Leah whispers, she looks down at Bea. “Our bubba’s out for the night.”

You laugh, “She looks so peaceful.”

“Maybe we should have another one, she’s perfect.” Leah smirks, making your ovaries want to burst open. You know she’s trying to distract you from the thunder so you laugh.

“Maybe,” you shrug, “maybe we should,” Her smirk replicates onto your own face. “Let’s save this conversation for the morning when we’re both awake.”

Leah talks to you for a little longer, taking your mind off of the weather outside, before you fall asleep in her arms. Just as you’re falling asleep you hear Leah whisper.

“I love you so much, gorgeous girl,” she whispers, brushing your hair back from your forehead, “can’t wait to extend our family.”

She places a gentle kiss on your forehead and you fall asleep in her arms, everything you ever wanted in life had come true. Your younger self who’d cry during storms felt at peace, the love she craved was finally being given to her.

[drizzleoftherain]

Liturgia

Chapter 17: I Try Real Hard, but I'm Caught Up by My Insecurities, I See Myself and I Look Scared and Confused

Pairing: Ava Silva & Beatrice

Ao3

There’s a playlist and a mood-board.

(*)

I have to go, I'm so sorry

But it feels so cold in here

I am just now realizing, they don't care

I try real hard, but I'm caught up by my insecurities

Pour me one more, watch the ice melt in my fist

—

When it happens Beatrice would like to say that she doesn’t expect it, but it’s the only logical outcome. 

It began small, with only a bit of hoarseness. She ignored it as she always did with things that kept her from what she needed to do. Her responsibility to the band, to their team, and to their label, paramount. Even over her own wellbeing. 

When Ava brought up the choppy voice and raspiness, she had initially excused it as exhaustion, but of course Ava kept pushing as she usually did when Beatrice wasn’t looking after herself. Beatrice had then claimed sickness and sidestepped any venture into the topic whenever Ava brought it up, her girlfriend’s doubt and exasperation crystal clear through the phone. Despite Beatrice’s best efforts, Ava had continued to voice her skepticism of them going through with the festival. Texted again before Beatrice went on stage asking her to reconsider. 

For the last two weeks she had kept her talking to a minimum, willing her voice to let her be, conserving whatever she had left for Ava’s calls or the odd comment during conversation with the band. The pain began to present itself before the flight to London and still she kept on. When they landed and made the drive to Glastonbury she drank water and swallowed Pei Pa Koa as if it could balm the now constant ache away.

When the musical director and the sound engineers enquired about the changes in her pitch and bringing everything down an octave, she shook her head and blamed it on a cough. She was adamant that she would do her warmups and scales and everything would be fine.

Everything was in fact not fine.

Glastonbury is in full swing when it happens. They’re in the middle of their set when the pain in her throat radiates to her ears. She pulls on one of her in-ears, attempting to acclimatise, every swallow feels like a knife slicing down her throat.

Camila is quick to notice her discomfort, eyes searching her face.

She tries to talk. She tries to say something, but nothing comes out. And fear takes over her immediately. 

What has she done? 

In the time that it takes her to stumble backstage the music has stopped, but no one follows at first and it’s just Levy standing there, staring at her. The crowd’s chants thrum in her chest. She needs to go back out there, she needs to finish their set. 

“Are you alright?” Levy is by her side, his eyebrows are drawn down with concern. “Beatrice, you’re pale.” She opens her mouth to speak, but again no sound comes out, the pain surges through her throat, this time angrier than before. And Levy must catch on because he’s sliding a chair across and pushing her into it. “Stay there. I need to get Suzanne.”

As he rushes through the back parts of their temporary stage the band members emerge one by one, spotting her right away. Lilith and Mary shove their guitar and bass to any waiting hand. Yasmine and Camila forge ahead, reaching her first.

“Bea!” Camila says in a panic, running her hands along her face, then her throat. Camila knows. Camila has been watching her skeptically for days. “Don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

“I noticed it too, but I just didn’t think it had gotten this bad. What do you think it is? Laryngitis?” Yasmine says, “Where’s Levy? I’m going to go get Suzann—” Yasmine stops when she reaches for her, nodding in understanding.

Mary is afraid. There’s a frantic uncertainty surging through her instead of her usual composed demeanour. Her eyes are searching between them all, trying to come up with something to do, a need to keep herself busy. “Lilith,” she says, tugging on Lilith’s arm, but Lilith’s gaze doesn’t leave Beatrice’s, “We need to go speak to the audience. We need to tell them the show can’t go on.” 

Lilith nods still staring at Beatrice, eyes luminous and scared as she blurts out “You shouldn’t have kept this from us,” before Mary is pulling at her again and they both leave.

Suzanne rushes in with Levy closely following behind, phone by his ear. If Mary was scared then Suzanne is terrified. Her eyes are huge and piercing. Beatrice has avoided Suzanne recently. Careful to not draw attention to herself whenever she is with them. Suzanne is all too aware of the implications of such an injury. What this could mean for Beatrice, what it could mean for the band, and the rest of their tour. 

“We’re leaving,” Suzanne instructs, grabbing a hold of her arm and pulling her up. “We need to get to a hospital.”

—

I feel so unstable, fucking hate these people

How they're making me feel lately

They're making me weird baby, lately

I feel so unstable, fucking hate these people

How they're making me loathe

They're making me loathe, yeah

—

The sight that greets her as she enters the green room, with cheers of the crowd still echoing through the hallway behind her, is that of apprehension. Alice’s stare is fixated at the far wall, visibly vibrating with some sort of emotion she can’t read. Her assistant defensively crosses her arms as Ava gets closer, leaning back against the wall, she looks at Emilia then drops her head down as if afraid to watch.

“What’s wrong?” Ava asks, anxiety creeping up her spine. “Did something happen?” She has a sense of foreboding, somehow knowing exactly what they’re about to tell her. 

Emilia runs her hand through her hair a few times before speaking, an immediate tell that something is, definitely , wrong. “I’m going to tell you something. I expect you to behave like an adult and be level headed about this,” Emilia enunciates every word so that her voice is clear and there can be no miscommunication, “Beatrice was taken to the hospital a few hours ago.” 

Ava’s breath catches in her lungs. There’s a sudden and unstoppable uptick in her heart rate, and it grips at her chest, a cold sliver of dread and fear dripping down her sternum. “Wha—what are you saying?” her voice cracks, and she can feel her muscles tighten involuntarily, it feels like all of her clothing is working to constrict her, to bind her in place, worried and helpless.  

Emilia exhales, taking a few steps towards her. “Suzanne called while you were doing soundcheck. Beatrice is alright. She had to be rushed into surgery for vocal strain. I have been in constant communication with Suzanne and Levy as things progressed. I’m due another update soo—”

The fury that overtakes her must be visible because Emilia recoils back after placing a hand on her shoulder. Ava feels like every nerve ending is standing to attention, a wretched anger saturating her tone and words, “You received a call during soundcheck and you're choosing to tell me now? Four. Hours. Later,” She’s spitting out the last few words.

Alice sighs, but remains quiet.

“You watched me go through soundcheck, dinner, hair and makeup and an entire concert and you didn’t tell me my girlfriend was in the hospital?!” Ava grits out through her teeth, she can feel the ruddy heat coming up her neck, quickly making its way up to her cheeks. “How fucking dare you?!”

Emilia's eyes bore into hers. “You need to keep your voice down.”

“No, Emilia I will not keep my fucking voice down!” Ava’s voice gets louder and louder with the delivery.

Without another word, Ava is pivoting towards her belongings, hurriedly grabbing at anything and everything within reach in her panic to shove things into bags. “Alice, get me onto the next flight to London. Please. Whatever’s available and fastest.”

“Hey!” Emilia is ripping the bag strap and the tablet out of her hand. “What do you think you are doing?! You are not getting on a flight, Ava. You have concerts back to back. You can’t leave. This is exactly why—”

Emilia’s voice stops in her tracks as Ava whirls towards her, crowding into her personal space, “Why, what Emilia? Why, you chose to keep from me the news that my girlfriend is in hospital having surgery and needs me?” In that moment it’s almost as if there is no height difference between the two, Ava is looking Emilia dead in the eyes, seething. “Get out of my way. I’m going to go be with Beatrice. And you are going to stay here and make all the excuses you need to. I don’t give a flying fuck what you need to say to deal with this—.”

“AVA! You cannot cancel these shows, the label is going to be furious, we are going to have to pay penalties to the event—”

“Fuck the money, Emilia. Do your job as a manager and get away from me.”

“Okay, Okay, You both need to calm down.” Alice is wedging herself between the two of them now, forcing them bodily apart. 

Ava rips the bag back out of Emilia’s hand and tosses it down. “I’m going to go get changed and then go straight to the airport. Give me my passport, Alice. Can you also pack up my hotel room and text me the details of the flight please?” Before Ava exits the room, hurrying to the ensuite bathroom, she turns around and looks at Emilia standing stock still in the middle of the room. “Emilia, you of all people should know better than to keep this from me. You know what I went through.” Emilia keeps her head down, in what Ava hopes is shame. “When I come back in here, you better be gone. I don’t want to see you right now.” 

—

@AnythingwCam

Did you guys see? Ava was spotted at Heathrow just a few minutes ago.

@Ant-Beaia

You literally cannot make this shit up anymore! Who just pushes back tour dates and goes to London out of nowhere? Do I even have to make a time log to confirm things? She’s obviously there to see Beatrice.

@LilithFan16wwwn

I can’t even deny it anymore. This is all very sus.

@Alms4theCruciforms

Do we know if Beatrice is back at home? Are we thinking Ava has gone to see her?

@Ant-Beaia

Of course she has! Just like she went to the concert last month.

@AnythingwCam

They are friends. The concert could be explained, but this? This is different. Friends don’t do that for one another.

@Ant-Beaia

THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING! But also, no way that concert can be explained! What friend flies halfway around the world to attend a concert and then flies back immediately so they can still do their own concert in time? No sane “friend” would do that. It’s time to get organised.

—

I will lay down

But they're staring, their eyes like two shining stones

I see myself and I look scared and confused

Wait, did they just talk?

Why is it too loud?

Do they wish to run to me?

Am I a smoke? Am I the sun? Who decides?

—

The plane ride is excruciating and long. Nothing holds her attention long enough to distract her. Camila had stopped updating her sometime after the first hour. Beatrice is safe. Beatrice is now at home resting. The surgery went well. They’ve been careful not to leave her alone and unattended. Ava had begged them to stay beside her. To not leave her alone. To not let her dwell on her responsibilities. 

Do not let her spiral. 

When the town car pulls up in front of the familiar maisonette, it is late afternoon, and nearly 18 hours since the incident. Ava pushes the key into the door and rushes up the stairs. The guilt eating at her with every step and second that passes by without being able to be by Beatrice’s side. 

She swings the door to the flat open and Lilith scrambles to stand from the couch, startled. “She’s in her—” she begins to say, but Ava is kicking off her shoes in record time, too focused on her destination to yell at Lilith for leaving Beatrice alone.

Lilith doesn’t follow. 

She takes a breath outside the bedroom. There’s no light coming from underneath the door and fear grips at her heart. 

As she quietly pads inside, the shutters are closed and the steady stream from a humidifier is landing atop of Beatrice’s blanketed form. She appears to be sleeping except for the very apparent movement of her shoulders shaking. 

“Bea,” she says, voice small. There’s an uptake of air as Beatrice realises she’s there. Then her girlfriend is sitting up, arms outstretched for her. Ava clears the short distance to the bed in the span of a breath, wraps Beatrice in her arms, careful not to crush her with the amount of affection spilling forth out of her, all the love and care she wants to convey. Beatrice sniffles into her ear, chest shaking as she scrambles to breathe in and cry at the same time. “You can’t. You can’t cry. Crying will irritate it further.”

Beatrice nods, but the crying doesn’t stop. As she tucks her girlfriend's head into her chest she has a chance to look around the room. There’s medication organised along Beatrice’s desk, bottles of water at varying levels of full, and a small notebook and pen. There’s an unopened suitcase by the closet and clothing thrown carelessly on the chair.

“I’m going to go—” She tries to shift, but Beatrice wraps her arms even tighter around her. Face burrowing deeper and deeper. “I need to at least tell Lilith—” Beatrice shakes her head and Ava stays. Nuzzling into the top of Beatrice’s head, she feels a sense of peace wash over her for the first time in over 14 hours. Ava whispers an “I love you” into the thick waves of Beatrice’s hair, and feels Beatrice nod in response. 

There’s a knock on the bedroom door after a few minutes. Minutes of smoothing Beatrice’s hair back from her face and carefully wiping at her tears. Minutes spent reassuring her that everything will be okay. That she doesn’t have to think about her obligations. The only thing she needs to focus on is her recovery. 

After pressing a kiss at the crown of her girlfriend’s head, she turns to find Lilith standing awkwardly between the threshold of the hallway and the room. 

“Now that you’re here,” Lilith haltingly says, trying her best to school her features to something that isn’t dread when she looks at Beatrice, “I’m going to go. She’s had her medication and isn’t due for another two hours.”

Ava nods, disentangling herself from Beatrice and making her way to Lilith in the hallway. She closes the door behind her before meeting Lilith’s eyes. She knows she needs to keep herself calm but there’s an irritation lancing through her and she knows, she knows , Lilith probably doesn't deserve it. “I asked you guys to keep her company. She shouldn't be alone, not after what she’s gone through—what she’s going through.”

“Listen,” Lilith brings up her arms in defense, “She didn’t want us in there. We all tried. Camila barged in a few times trying to distract her, but Beatrice is Beatrice. She’s headstrong and wants things her way.” Lilith is of course right. Once Beatrice sets her mind to something, that's it, case closed.

They’re by the entry from the stairs to the living room when Lilith speaks again, this time with a small smile playing on her lips. “Thank you for coming. I know that you being here will make her happy. She kept asking us to keep you informed. She knew you would worry.”

“Thank you. I appreciated it, it made the flight here less stressful, but seeing her now terrifies me. I don’t know how much help I can be. I don’t think I can—” she stops herself from speaking further. Lilith doesn’t need to hear this. “Anyways, thank you. I’ll call you guys later?”

“Please do. All our phones are on loud and next to us.” They’ve made it to the base of the steps now and Lilith is pulling open the front door. “We’re just as distressed about this as she is. Unfortunately, I don’t think any of us can help.”

When Ava makes it back upstairs Beatrice is standing stiffly in the living room. Her eyes are glassy and red from crying and two sizes bigger than usual. She’s wearing one of Ava’s shirts, it doesn’t quite fit well, Beatrice’s torso being longer than hers so her tummy is peeking out at the bottom, the sleeves a little tight around the upper arm. 

Beatrice is holding the notebook and pen in hand, and at the sight of her opens it and starts to write.

What about your concerts?

Ava sighs, placing a quick kiss on Beatrice’s cheek. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure Emilia is handling it.”

Are you sure? You didn’t have to come. I know you have responsibilities.

“Right now my only responsibility is to you.” 

Beatrice follows as she opens the bathroom door, stepping out of her clothing and turning on the tap for the shower. “Please go lie down, I’ll come join you once I finish.”

Beatrice nods before walking into the bedroom.

As the warmth of the shower envelops her Ava finally has a moment to think about something other than just getting to Beatrice. She finds her mind drifting to a place long kept safely tucked away. To years ago when her world caved in on itself just like Beatrice’s had now.

It had been devastating, tearing one of her vocal cords. Something that she should have been careful about, but just like Beatrice is now, stressed under the weight of expectation, she had kept pushing the limits as well. And it’s far too easy to comprehend what is probably going through her girlfriend’s head because she thought the same thoughts then too. Beatrice blames herself just like she did. The heavy burden on Beatrice’s shoulders is possibly even heavier than her own. Beatrice is part of a band, they rely on her, she at least only had to account for herself. 

The soap gathers by her toes as she wiggles them, nervously biting her lips at what awaits her once she leaves the bathroom. The emotional avalanche that is about to swipe an unsuspecting village that is her emotions. Beatrice needs to know she’s not alone. She needs to know that this can happen to anyone. And Ava needs to be vulnerable if she wants her girlfriend to get through this.

When she enters the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around herself and opens the closet door for pajamas, Beatrice is patiently sitting in the middle of the bed. As Ava dresses she can see from the corner of her eyes that Beatrice is writing something down again.

Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me.

“Nothing would have stopped me.” Beatrice smiles. “I should probably tell you something. I think it’ll help, but I need you to understand that I had a hard time with this, enough that I developed habits I probably shouldn’t have.”

She’s on the bed now, sitting in front of Beatrice, hands coming to run along her girlfriend's thighs, in what Ava believes is comforting. “Before we met, I was kind of a mess. I still am sometimes, and for that I am sorry. I know that it upsets you. I'm working on it.” Beatrice nods in encouragement, interlocking one of their hands. “I tore one of my vocal cords after my first global tour. I had to have surgery and I wasn’t able to sing for a year.”

Why didn’t you tell me?

“I don’t like to revisit that period of time. I still have difficulty just thinking about it, let alone talking about it. I wasn’t in a good headspace. Singing was all I had then, and not being able to do it really messed with my head. There were a lot of things I contemplated. Things people shouldn’t immediately jump to. But I loved singing. I loved that it brought me close to my mum. It gave me a purpose and an outlet for all my emotions. And when you lose that everything becomes a lot more difficult to process.” When Beatrice remains still she continues, “I think what I’m trying to say is that, yes, this is terrible and I know the weight you carry is immense, but I need you to know that you’re not letting anyone down. This was bound to happen. You’ve been pushing yourself, which we will be talking about, and there were too many expectations about how many shows you guys were capable of doing.”

Suzanne has pushed the dates back until I’m fully recovered.

“Good. She is doing what is right. The priority right now is your health, the rest will come later.” Beatrice must catch something in her face because she pulls at their linked hands and kisses Ava’s wrist. 

Was that not how it was for you?

“No,” she replies, the heaviness of this topic rearing its ugly head. “I was not given a lot of grace. Emilia—Emilia was difficult. She pushed because she wanted me to succeed. I don’t think she recognises how much damage she causes when she’s focused on trying to do what she thinks is best for me, for my career. When it happened initially, I was blamed. I was told that I had been reckless. Even though Emilia looked after me and kept up with how I was doing, I still felt alone because she couldn’t just go back to just being my parent, she now also had to be my manager. Our relationship never really recovered after that, it wasn’t until recently that we’ve started to balance everything again.”

How did you handle it?

“The truth is that I didn’t. I cried myself to sleep most nights. I watched my friends continue their careers. My tour dates were cancelled and my only outlet was being a complete menace. I couldn’t touch music for the longest time. It was difficult to write and not hum or sing or anything.” She’s looking at Beatrice now, a serious expression on her face, “I don’t want you to do that. I know you’re sensible. This will be good for you. It’s a much needed rest after the rollercoaster that has been the last two years of your life. Write if that’s what you think will help. Compose. Sit on the couch and play Mario Kart with Diego. Just don’t let it get to you. It’s just three months. Before you know it you’ll be starting therapy and everything will seem a little less daunting.”

I know. But it’s okay to be sad, right?

“Yes. That’s a very reasonable thing to be right now.”

They move to the living room after that, of course, with a lot of encouragement from herself. She refuses to let Beatrice wallow in the darkness so they turn on the TV and cuddle on the couch.

“I haven’t properly seen Eurovision in years!” She exclaims as Sweden takes to the stage. “Loreen! Didn’t she win ten years ago? She’s back!”

Beatrice nods excitedly beside her. 

I love Euphoria!

“ Euuuuphoriaaaaaaaaaaa !”

The band and I try to watch it every year, even if we have to watch it later.

“How does that go? I can’t imagine you all agree on an entry.”

The camera cuts to the singer, who is lying down squished between the small stage underneath her and an LED screen just a few centimeters above her. It reminds Ava of a panini sandwich press. A thought she shares with Beatrice who narrows her eyes at the lame comparison.

It’s basically World War III until a winner is announced.

“Who do you usually root for?”

Depends. I have to hear the songs first.

“What! Not Spain? You always root for Spain, they bring the drama.”

Maybe now I can always root for Spain.

“Good. I was holding back my disappointment when that wasn’t your first answer.”

Did you ever want to do Eurovision?

“You’re going to think it’s silly given the circumstances and where I’m at in my career, but I was mortified at the idea of having to represent my country on a world stage. The sheer responsibility of it all. I couldn’t do it.” Ava thinks the expression Beatrice is giving her is deadpan, but can’t quite make it out under the puffy eyes. “What about you? Would you have wanted to represent the UK?”

Beatrice winces.

And get the dreaded 0 points? No, thank you. That’s demoralising.

“Touché.”

There’s a noise coming from downstairs and Ava’s heart jumps. They’re not expecting anyone and to her knowledge only Camila has keys to Beatrice’s flat. Camila and one other person. 

She stands, anxiety building as the stairs creak beneath approaching footsteps and the knob on the front door turns. Beatrice is standing now as well, socks shuffling against the wooden floors as she makes it to the door just in time for it to open.

For a second Ava thinks she’s seeing double, but that can’t be because she’s not delirious, jet lagged, yes, delirious, no. 

The woman at the door removes her shoes, placing them onto the rack underneath the wooden stool and it’s all well practiced, as if she knows exactly what she is doing. Beatrice waves, taking the handles of the shopping bags from the woman’s hands to hurriedly scurry into the kitchen, depositing the bags there before sliding back into the living room in record time.

The woman catches her eyes and smiles a small smile in greeting, then looks back at Beatrice perplexed. Her girlfriend grabs the notebook from beside the record player where she had placed it, and scribbles into it, before holding it up to the woman and then turning to show Ava.

Ava <3

“Hello Ava, it’s good to finally meet you,” the woman says, extending out a hand for her to take.

When she scrambles to move forward and shake the offered hand, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place amid her sluggish, jetlagged brain and she stumbles out with, “Vivian—it’s so—it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Vivian is Beatrice’s mother. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” Vivian’s eyes flit over to Beatrice who simply shrugs in response, “but I’m glad. Are you two hungry? I went and got some shopping done after seeing the state of Beatrice’s fridge this morning.”

Beatrice nods eagerly, not bothering to linger on, or bring attention to the fact that Ava has just found herself thrust into meeting Beatrice’s mother. So far, Beatrice has been sparing with the details of her mother and her relationship with her parents. Aside from the odd mentions of heading to Vivian’s for dinner or her drop in visits during the tour, in which Beatrice only offers small tidbits of recent discussions or mentions Vivian’s new interests and hobbies in passing. 

She knows from their conversation all those months ago that the two are working towards a better relationship, treating each other with grace and understanding, determined not to be further hampered by their past. Beatrice has been working hard, processing her emotions and memories through her lyrics and with her therapist. It’s with all of these thoughts flowing through her mind that she stands there in the moment, utterly unprepared to meet Beatrice’s mother. 

The momentous occasion is not lost on her. All sorts of weird tingles are running up and down her forearm, spreading to the very tips of her fingers, and her tummy is swooping with nerves. The intense and overwhelming need to make a good impression consuming her very being.

“Ava, why don’t you help me with dinner?” 

Beatrice opens her mouth to speak, but then writes in her notebook instead.

What are you making? I saw you brought chicken.

“Congee,” Vivian replies, putting her hair into a low bun, which makes Ava smile, it’s the exact same way that Beatrice does it. They all crowd into the small kitchen and Vivian bends down to pull out a bowl from the cabinet under the sink followed by the huge container of rice that is also there. “Beatrice, I’m only going to ask you once to go sit down on the couch and rest. I won’t repeat myself again,” she says as Beatrice begins to bring the groceries out of the shopping bags, Vivian’s tone brooking no argument. “I’m sure Ava can help me with this.”

As Beatrice turns to do as she’s told, thereby leaving her alone with Vivian, she can’t help the panic that rises up at the idea of being left alone in a small kitchen with sharp knives and her girlfriend’s mother. The terror must show on her face and Vivian is quick to notice, placing a cutting board down and settling the knife on top of it before gesturing for her to come closer. 

“I’m going to soak the rice while we get the rest of the ingredients together, it’ll help it cook faster. This is Beatrice’s favourite comfort food, you know,” Vivian says without being prompted. And Ava immediately understands what’s happening. Vivian is making an effort to try to get to know her. Vivian is also about to teach her how to cook this for Beatrice. She feels a grin take over her face, pulling at her features, relief coating her insides. At the very least, Vivian wants to equip her to take care of Beatrice. 

Vivian has turned away now, busying herself with washing the rice in the sink before filling the bowl with enough water to cover the grains. Vivian continues, in part talking to Ava, part musing to herself, “Though we probably have to be careful and make this more watery than usual, and we’ll have to blend the chicken and mushrooms for Beatrice,” at that, Vivian grimaces at the thought, “Which must be some kind of sacrilege and my grandmother will turn over in her grave. Not to mention she probably can’t have ginger.” Then she’s heaving a sigh, “This will be a very sad congee experience for Beatrice.” 

Oh. 

Mama Bea is cheeky too.

And all at once, Ava begins to understand. For all the hell Beatrice’s parents gave her, all the heartache they put her through, they had still cared in their own way. 

Vivian’s role as plant caretaker, her visits to drop off fruit and a new snack for Beatrice to try, her concise summaries and insights, sent through email, of all the books she’s read recently and her recommendations towards Beatrice’s reading list. These are all Vivian’s fumbling attempts at demonstrating her care, at showing that she’s present, a quiet and steady figure at Beatrice’s side.

Dropping her voice low, likely to ensure that Beatrice can’t hear them from her perch on the couch, Vivian’s enquiring, “Ava? Aren’t you still on tour? Is it… do you have time to be here with Beatrice?” 

Answering back in an equally low voice, Ava is quick to try to dismiss Vivian’s worries, “I need to be here with Beatrice. My team will figure the rest out.” 

However, as the words flow out of her mouth, Ava is not altogether sure how her sentiment will land. While Vivian might be glad to see her here with Beatrice, her career as a now-former diplomat has definitely instilled in her some rigid expectations of responsibilities and what one must do to meet those expectations, and Vivian may not take the shirking of what is her own responsibilities so lightly. “I see”, Vivian nods in reply.

Fuck. 

What does that mean?

As Vivian chops the ingredients, she patiently instructs her each step of the way, the proper way to cut the chicken to keep it tender, how to cut the rehydrated shitake mushrooms and the green onions. Ava can tell the amount of care and patience that is going into every direction. She can picture a young Beatrice beside her mother doing the same, carefully listening and waiting for the encouraging affirmation of a job well done. One that Ava herself is eager to hear as well, but likely won’t. 

It’s fine. 

“Did you make this for Beatrice often when she was growing up?” Vivian pauses before she replies, a shadow flitting over her features before it fades away. She’s very careful with her words as she considers them slowly. “The simple answer is no. Not as much as I would have liked. I’m not sure how much Beatrice has shared about her upbringing but her father and I had very busy careers, and I’m afraid I wasn’t around much. I wasn’t always present to make her meals. Or able to take care of her when she wasn’t well.” 

Vivian clears her throat, seemingly shaking herself out of the reverie, “Next time you do this, don’t forget to add ginger. Cut it thinly so it cooks well and of course you don’t have to blend the ingredients, congee is better when everything is in little chunks. We’ll have it how it should be, albeit without ginger and a bit watery, so you’ll know what it should taste like. You can even add a century egg once everything is finished.” 

Ava nods, committing everything to memory, every little detail. Soak the rice, cut the ingredients properly, thinly, marinate the chicken, when you cook the rice remember to add soup stock or bouillon for flavour. This is how Beatrice’s mother expresses her love. No matter their past, she is here, in this moment, making sure that Beatrice feels comforted and cared for. 

“Do you have exact measurements for everything that you put in? I’d like to write them down if that’s okay? Beatrice doesn’t really like it when I just wing it and don’t do things precisely.”

Vivian laughs loudly in response. “No! I just pour until my ancestors tell me to stop.” While still chortling, Vivian continues on, “But yes, Beatrice resembles her father in that sense. He was meticulous in every aspect of life, almost to a fault. And while I am too in some respects, this way of cooking is the way I was taught. I know you might be afraid to mess up but it’s okay to just add a bit at a time and adjust to taste.” 

Vivian’s keenly watching her with interest. Oh , she realises with a start. Vivian is, and has been, observing her every move and reaction. She fights the urge to tense her shoulders under the scrutiny… she’s never met a parent before, nor has she ever cared to. 

When they finally put the saucepan on the stove to cook, it is the first moment she has to look in the direction of the couch where Beatrice is. Almost as if Beatrice has anticipated her gaze, she’s also looking back at her. They regard each other for some time, a wordless exchange passing between them. 

Eventually, her girlfriend waves in response, but with an urging of her hand Beatrice encourages her to get back to work, likely warning her that distraction is not something her mother likes. She desperately wishes she could ask Beatrice how she thinks she’s doing in front of Vivian though. 

“I caught your concert,” Vivian says, rinsing her hands in the sink, “When you came to London. I was taken away by the level of emotion you’re able to convey, transcending language as a barrier.” 

“Oh,” her voice quakes a bit when it comes out, “I didn't know, Beatrice didn’t say. I would have—”

Vivian holds up a hand. “No. Don’t be silly. I didn’t tell her. She isn’t aware of it. I just wanted to let you know.” Vivian scratches at the back of her ear, and Ava has to press down a grin at the discovery of yet another trait Beatrice shares, “Sometimes it’s hard for her and I to communicate. We’re too similar in many ways. We can either talk for hours or end up at each other's throats within seconds.”

“In general, I think it’s hard for everyone, especially family, to communicate sometimes, but it’s good to keep trying.”

“I agree.” Vivian stops to watch her for a moment, mulling over something as though debating whether she wants to voice her thoughts then says, “I keep up with everything she does. I try to follow along with her career as it continues to flourish. I can’t say that I always understand and it’s certainly not the easiest of things to experience for me but she’s happy, she’s expressing herself and that’s made everything simpler for me.”

Ava can tell that this conversation is meant for her and her alone. It doesn’t seem like any of this has been shared with Beatrice. Vivian’s clear reluctance to communicate on these matters with Beatrice is strange and foreign because growing up, before all of this , anything and everything was important for her to share with Emilia and vice versa. It’s difficult to understand a relationship that is communicated strictly through acts of service rather than words, but then again, she has witnessed it time and time again with Beatrice throughout their relationship.

When the congee is finished and Beatrice’s portion is blended, they all sit at the dining table to eat in almost near silence. Vivian clearly isn’t much of a talker, yet another trait that Beatrice and her also seem to share. They both eat their food carefully, content to concentrate on the flavours and the simple act of eating. A marked difference to how she and Emilia eat their meals together. Theirs are punctuated with a lot of shared mannerisms, gestures and colourful language. And there’s always something to talk about. So this? This is strange. And slightly unnerving.

She decides to break the silence.

“Are there any childhood stories of Beatrice I should know about?” She asks not to fluster her girlfriend, but to stem the flow of awkwardness that is currently coursing through her.

Vivian chuckles into her spoon. “There are many.” 

Beatrice nearly chokes on her food when she hears her mother’s response, but she’s careful when she coughs. Reminding herself right away of her predicament. Then, she reaches over and writes on the notebook, only showing her mum.

Vivian clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. “I’m afraid if I divulge any stories she’ll have my head.”

“What—no! Bea, you can’t. I need to know.”

Beatrice huffs, but indicates that she’ll allow it. Hastily scrawling into her notebook again. 

Nothing too embarrassing, please.

And it’s all the encouragement Vivian needs to lean forward conspiratorially. “When she was in primary school she would sneak off to read by the banks of the river near our first home. She would be gone for hours. I pretended I didn’t know what she was doing of course, but I would watch her from an upstairs window. She read most of the time, skipped rocks, and played hopscotch by herself. Once, I caught her talking to a goose but then she must’ve gotten too close, ending with her scrambling to run away as it chased her. She tripped on some rocks and cut herself, but wouldn’t say anything when she finally came home. She pretended everything was fine all throughout dinner. I tried to wait it out as long as I could but at some point I walked up to her room and got so so angry with her. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong and she didn’t want to acknowledge it.” 

“This all sounds very familiar,” Ava drawls out, playfully slapping at Beatrice’s shoulder.

“She’s still exactly the same,” Vivian says, clear affection in her voice, “Still has a healthy fear of geese too.”

Beatrice grabs her notebook and turns it towards them.

>:[ They are terrifying creatures . Vicious too .

The kettle goes off in the kitchen and Ava rushes to stand up from their impromptu Beatrice story time, which had continued from the dining table and onto the couch in the living room, a relief to her girlfriend who has sat for the last hour or so as her mother revealed story after story. From the time Beatrice had reprimanded her piano teacher over proper finger exercises and how necessary they were to a budding pianist. To the day that her and Camila had snuck out to catch a Janelle Monáe concert, because as Beatrice put it, or in this case wrote it, she’s underrated and should be as revered as her peers . 

Beatrice had padded off a short while ago to put the kettle on before washing and bringing out some of the fruits that Vivian had brought with her in the shopping bags. Vivian quickly peeling the pears with a paring knife before pushing a bowl of the softest, mushy but not yet bruised, pieces of the pears towards Beatrice and reserving the crunchier slices for herself and Ava. 

Clearing her throat, Ava directs her question towards Vivian, “Can I make you a drink? Some kind of tea? Beatrice has all sorts but—” then as if remembering herself, she waves a hand to clear the air before awkwardly muttering “—but of course you already know that.” She’s rocking back onto the balls of her heels as she waits for Vivian’s answer, feeling oddly like she’s just set herself up for a test that she now needs to pass. 

“Just one of her Senchas would be great, thank you. I’m happy to help if you need any assistance?” Ava’s politely shaking her head in response, indicating that Vivian should continue to sit with Beatrice. Before she scurries off she’s addressing Beatrice, “Bea? I’ll make you some honey water, is that okay? It’ll have to be lukewarm though to not aggravate your throat.” After receiving Beatrice’s answering nod, she excuses herself.

In the quietness of the kitchen and before she begins to gather all her ingredients and the necessary equipment, Ava releases a long breath. Again, she really wishes she could have had an opportunity to subtly ask Beatrice how she thought she was doing and whether Vivian liked her or not. Maybe ‘like’ is too high a bar for a first meeting . For all that she’s shared tonight, Vivian’s a bit of an enigma, she’s not quite sure what’s running through her mind. 

Mentally, Ava gives herself a quick pep talk, shaking off the self-doubt. She’s a Silva for Christ’s sake , they don’t back down from a challenge .

Chewing at her lip, she quickly checks through her phone’s notes again for her saved instructions on how to prepare the Sencha before gathering the loose leaf tin and the teapot. When she bustles back into the living room, one mug of lukewarm honey water and one mug of freshly brewed tea in hand, she’s met with the sight of Beatrice quickly flipping over to the next page of her notebook. 

Hmm .

Vivian’s sharp eyes are examining the colour of the tea as she brings the mug to her mouth before taking a conservative sip, enjoying the delicate flavours with her eyes closed. Her features brighten with a pleased expression. “This is wonderfully brewed, Ava.” 

Externally, Ava can’t hold back the small sigh of relief that escapes her nor the smile that spreads across her face, making sure to thank Vivian in turn, “Thank you, Vivian.” Internally, she’s whooping and skipping jovially through a meadow at earning a compliment. 

Beatrice seems just as pleased, beaming at her mum and Ava in turn.

—

(*)

Dearest, darling, my universe

Would you take me along?

To a place I can't dream with my poor imagination

With music playing at a concerningly low volume, Ava unpacks the suitcase Beatrice had previously pushed into a corner of her room. There’s piles of clothing on the coffee table and even more piles in the now almost full laundry bins. Ava has carefully gone through and used her tiresome but necessary laundry system. Delicates, whites, colours and then everything else that doesn’t quite fit. All placed into their protective mesh bags and ready for the wash.

Beatrice sits on the couch and watches as all this unfolds in front of her. She’s touched by the gesture, as unnatural as it all is for Ava—someone who barely even bothers to separate her whites and colours—to do all the laundry and remove any kind of reminder of what she had been doing all these months prior. Mere moments ago she had watched on, bemused, as Ava had held her beige shirt and swiveled between the piles of whites and colours before she had finally taken pity on her and indicated with her hands where it should go. Once the laundry is clean and has been put away, it’ll be out of sight and out of mind for Beatrice. And for that she is thankful. 

There’s a dull pain in her throat that she wants to claw at, the only reminder that things are amiss. The band has stopped texting her. Probably keeping up with her progress through Ava instead, which is probably also her girlfriend’s doing. An impenetrable, protective shield that has yawned more times than Beatrice would like during the last ten minutes.

“Bea?” Ava’s crouched down on the floor now, beside her position on the couch. Ava’s hand reaching out to fiddle with one of the cushions covers, eyes flitting up to hers, then away and then back to her gaze. Beatrice nods encouragingly. “Did I– How’d I do with your mum? Do you think she liked me, or… or… if that’s too much, she didn’t hate me right? I really did try. And–and, was it okay that I called her ‘Vivian’? I said it and then realised maybe I shouldn’t have and then I didn’t know how to politely ask if that was acceptable.” 

Internally Beatrice curses at herself for having this be the moment that she can’t speak, can’t leap to reassure Ava that she had done amazingly.

She complimented you, Ava. That’s high praise. I think she did like you, she gave me a smile when I asked if all had gone well in the kitchen. That’s about as enthused as she’s ever been in meeting a friend of mine (Cam included!). She’s never met a girlfriend before. And yes, it’s okay that you called her Vivian. She doesn’t mind. 

“Yeah?”

Yes.

Far away in the universe from Earth to Mars

Will you please go with me?

Wherever it may be, an old loneliness in search of its antonym

Ava has walked back into the living room after putting some of the clean clothing away, eyes watery from yet another yawn. Beatrice writes into the notebook then flaps her arms around until Ava notices.

There’s a chuckle before Ava makes her way towards her, pulling the message closer to her face in order to see.

Time to sleep?

“Not yet. I want to at least start a load.” With a shake of her head, Ava purses her lips and says, “ You should be in bed resting, you know? You’ve already had too much excitement today.”

One load then you come snuggle on the couch.

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” Ava turns to leave but stops when Beatrice’s hand grabs hers.

She hopes a pucker of her lips is enough to indicate what she wants, but when Ava raises an eyebrow and shakes her head in response she finds herself rushing to write a message out.

Not even a peck?

“Germs. You’ve just had surgery,” Ava replies.

Your germs are my germs.

A fond look is shot her way. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Bea.” 

The exaggerated pout she is pulling must be pitiful and endearing enough since Ava considers her for a few seconds before leaning down for a quick kiss. Then she’s gone just as quickly, grabbing one of the bigger mesh bags and heading for the washing machine in the kitchen.

Run away from the world, run on

Go to the end with me, my lover

Will it be a bad ending for us two, gone astray?

‘ Die Forelle ’ chimes out some time later, an indication that the dryer is finished. Ava doesn’t even stir in her arms, breaths deep and even as she continues to slumber. They’ve both been in a state of endless sleepy haze and Beatrice cannot find it in herself to move either of them from the cocoon of their embrace and myriad of blankets. Instead, she tugs the throw further up Ava’s shoulders and wraps her arms tighter around her girlfriend, eyes drooping closed shortly afterwards.

Crush me in your arms

Give me a lovelier kiss, lover

Love is all, love is all

Love, lovе, love, love

—

Tour Dates Pushed Without Warning: Ava Silva Spotted in London A Day After Cancellations, Fans Left Confused

Ava heaves out a sigh as the notification of a message from Emilia lights up her phone screen. 

Beatrice reaches out to cradle the nape of Ava’s neck, palm and thumb soothingly rubbing at the skin there as Ava reluctantly moves forward to grab her phone off the coffee table.

“I should probably call Emilia. We didn’t—I didn’t leave things in the best state when I left. She chose not to tell me about you until I had finished the concert and I am—I was just so angry in the moment that I lashed out. I don’t want us returning to that strained relationship we had for years… so I should talk to her. Right? At the very least to tell her I won’t be going back for a bit.” Ava’s looking back at her, catching her gaze as she seeks some kind of affirmation.

Beatrice is nodding in reply to Ava’s question, eyes wide.

With yet another deep sigh, Ava’s turning to lean heavily into her, head dropping downwards to knock gently into Beatrice’s as if steeling herself for the conversation ahead. Then Ava’s thumb hesitates briefly as it hovers over Emilia’s contact on her phone before she’s hitting the dial button and clambering off the couch.

As Ava heads into the hallway and into the bedroom for privacy, Emilia must pick up on the other end. She hears Ava say, “Emilia? Hi. Bea’s doing okay, I’m okay…” then, “I’m sorry—” right before the bedroom door closes behind her. 

—

I feel so unstable, fucking hate these people

How they're making me feel lately

They're making me weird baby, lately

I feel so unstable, fucking hate these people

How they're making me loathe

They're making me loathe

—

In the days following the surgery they keep themselves busy watching movies. Most of the movies being musicals of Ava’s choosing, something she used to find cringy and a little too far fetched and unrealistic to get behind, but Ava loves them, loves the strange reality of them, so Beatrice loves them now too. 

There’s something captivating about the way Ava watches musicals as well. She knows all the lyrics, can recite dialogue to the point of eliciting annoyed grunts from beer before she remembers herself, and will burst into dance if given the chance. The movies seem to transport her into those universes, where everything is idyllic and in technicolour. The villains are defeated, the hero accomplishes their ‘I want’ song and everything ends in a happy closing number. Or at least most musicals do, but even when they don’t end well, they still do. 

It’s a form of escapism that she has never allowed herself nor has she ever sought it out. Her form of it has always come in the shape of music composition. Notes are unprejudiced, rhythm is unbiased, and lyrics make her feel liberated. 

“ That I finally know what it feels like ,” Ava sings to her left, standing beside the baby grand in the living room. Her vocal runs are haunting, a style that is so intrinsically Ava, highly vulnerable and conveying a range of emotions, that it takes the song into another reality.  “ To be aliiiiiive, to be…aliiiiiiiive .” 

Beatrice points up with her right hand, indicating the sustained note for Ava as she continues the chord progression. 

“Wait. How? Where? You can’t just—where? On which beat?”

She holds up 3 fingers, they’re in 4/4.

“ To be aliiiiiive, to be…aaaaaaaaaaliiiiiiiive .”

Thumbs up. 

Another gesture to keep going.

“Opened my eyes, feels like the first time,” a breath as Ava repeats the chorus, “that I finally know what it feels like to be aliiiiiiiiiiiiive.”

Ava’s phone vibrates from on top of the piano, cutting through the melody at the tip of her fingers. She stops, eyes squinting in annoyance at the interruption and then at her girlfriend, before she rushes to scribble the notes down lest she forget.

“It’s just Emilia again,” Ava says while tapping on her screen.

You should check what she wants.

“There’s no point, she’s just going to yell at me.”

I would feel better if you checked.

Ava reaches out for her matcha latte, taking several long drawn out sips before begrudgingly complying. “FUCK!” She spills the rest of the drink down her collar. And it all descends into a state of chaos. The phone is unceremoniously dropped on top of the piano as Ava rushes into the kitchen while holding onto the previously white t-shirt. 

Beatrice doesn’t follow, just merely walks into the bedroom and grabs another shirt for Ava to change into before joining her  in the kitchen. 

Ava’s dabbing at the collar of her shirt in a useless attempt to remove the matcha stains. Stilling only when Beatrice’s hands come to the seam of the shirt tugging it upwards off of Ava’s torso. The ducky patterned bra waiting underneath too cute to not snort out a laugh.

“Let me try to clean it,” Ava says, backing up out of her reach. “You keep going, I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

When she gets back to the piano Beatrice spots the unlocked phone resting on it. The temptation to see what caused the commotion is particularly strong to ignore and she can’t stop herself from snooping. 

It’s two articles:

Ava Silva Spotted Strolling and Shopping Through London While Tour Remains on Hold

Too Sick to Tour, But Fine for a London Outing? Ava Silva Raises Eyebrows

She feels herself boil with incensed anger at the headlines within seconds. Both articles share the same picture, Ava in a baseball cap with the ‘shopping’ being one canvas bag with Beatrice’s prescription refills. 

Emilia

[I told you to be careful.]

[What do you expect me to do now? They’re not going to keep buying that you’re unwell.]

[The press are asking questions again.]

[You need to come back. We need to sort this out before it gets more out of hand.]

[We had an agreement.]

She shuts the phone with the sound of Ava’s footsteps. 

“I treated it with something, hopefully it works.” Ava’s slipped into the new shirt now. 

She feigns a casual shrug, hoping to pull attention away from the phone and its proximity to her hand.

“I was thinking,” Ava pulls the sheet music from the piano, “the part here, I swear that sometimes I get to be my worst enemy , we should increase the tempo.”

She gestures to continue.

“ I swear that sometimes I get to be my worst enemy. I swear this whole time, the answer's been right in front of me. ” Ava almost raps. “Then, slow again, All of the beauty and love I could not see. I see you now, I see you now. ”

Darn it. She’s cursing herself in her head. No. She can’t do it. She can’t let Ava deflect. 

Please call Emilia.

“You saw, didn't you?” After her nod, Ava sighs.

I know they’re just headlines. And we both know there’s no truth to them, but you can’t let them continue to speculate.

Ava is frustrated. “I was just trying to do something for you—this is so—I can’t even go get medicine without them—ugh!”

Call Emilia? I promise I’m okay, please go back to your tour.

“Fine. I’ll call Emilia to talk,” Ava replies, reaching for her phone. 

Emilia picks up right away, a plethora of questions ready for Ava. 

As her girlfriend’s retreating form goes into the bedroom Beatrice glances down at the piano keys in front of her, leg bouncing from the unease spreading through her body. She pulls the half finished lyrics that they’ve started, reading through each line as if it can somehow remedy the situation they’re in.

The pen in her hand moves on its own.

Flowers still look pretty when they're dying

Blue skies always there behind the rain

Oceans swallow all of the feelings

I know it's just temporary pain

—

Why do we keep when the water runs?

Why do we love if we're so mistaken?

Why do we leave when the chase is done?

Don't search me in here, I'm already gone, baby

—

“How was that?” Camila asks, one ear exposed from under her headphones. The pitch isn’t all there, Camila’s voice more easily lending itself to a more sugar-pop kind of sound, but this is the best Beatrice can do until her voice is back to working order. 

A thumbs up goes up and her friend nods in acknowledgement before continuing where she left off.

The last two months have at least been productive. She has found herself eager to get back into the studio, all the thoughts and emotions from the past year at the forefront of her mind and at the tip of her pen. Yet again, everything has changed so quickly, the pace of the industry still a puzzle to figure out, but remarkably, this, being back in the studio, has been easy. For some more than others that is.

Camila has been itching to compose just like her. Preferably without having to lock themselves away in hotel rooms at odd hours of the day. Lilith and Yasmine, though present during band time, have had other endeavours to focus on. Lilith has had several brand contracts to see through and has been flying in and out of the country while Yasmine has taken a step back, playing in a jazz ensemble when time permitted. The only one reluctant to return to the studio has been Mary, eager to utilise the sudden spare time and lack of activity to spend it with Shannon as both their lives returned to some kind of normalcy again. Regardless of everyone’s focus and activities, they’ve all been contributing to new songs and although the label hasn’t brought it up, it’s only a matter of time before they come asking for a second album. So at least now they’re more than prepared.

Camila has opened the door to the console room. “Did you hear me?” She’s about to throw up another thumbs up when Camila sighs, closing the door behind her. “I said, Mary is coming by in a few minutes, she has news for us.” And then anticipating the question, she adds, “She texted the group chat.” 

She nods.

Camila clicks her tongue. “Your daily 20 minutes can’t be up already. It’s only noon.”

I’m saving them for Ava.

Camila wheels a chair next to her own. The intention for conversation couldn’t be clearer. “So…”, Camila is wiggling her shoulders suggestively, “Lake Como…are we excited? The mountains. The lake. Or is it lakes? I’m not sure. The perfect backdrop for a romantic getaway.”

Counting the days. Is what she writes back before turning back to the audio mixing program. 

“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

Counting the days!

Camila rolls her eyes. “Have you guys decided what you’ll do yet? What will you go see? I know it’s still a month away, but everything is booked isn’t it?”

Not yet.

“Bea! You have to give me something. I want to live vicariously through you!”

There’s nothing booked other than the villa. I’m waiting for Ava.

“What about you going to see her? Did she say yes?”

I’m working on it.

Camila lifts an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

She shakes her head, focusing on the computer monitor in front of her again. If she concentrates hard on adjusting audio levels it should keep her busy enough to avoid Camila’s inquisition. And she knows it’s about to turn into one because Camila has turned into the Beatrice whisperer.

“Has Ava really not given you a response yet?” Camila prods, seemingly fueled by her noncommittal answers. 

Another shake of her head. 

“What if you just turn up? That’s romantic. She wouldn’t be able to say no.”

She sighs, opening the notebook again with more force than she intends to. Pressing the pen hard into the page as she writes.

No, it’s fine. I don’t think she would like that.

“No. It’s not fine,” Camila says, tone instantly morphing into a slightly more irked one. “Week after week I see you close yourself off. I can’t continue to watch you pretend like everything is fine when clearly it isn’t. Something is wrong. You said it yourself before she came to Munich. And even that took a lot of cajoling and needling on my part.”

Camila grabs ahold of Beatrice’s hand before she can bring pen to paper. So she sighs before she answers Camila verbally, “What do you want me to say? That I’m frustrated? She’s not ready. Except it’s been months of not being ready.” Beatrice is shrugging at noone in particular. “And I’m being patient, you know I am, God, even my mother can tell something is wrong. But how do I even begin to say, ‘hey, every day you push me away I feel like…like shit’?” 

Camila sits densely back into her chair, surprised by her outburst. It shocks Beatrice as well. How easily her inner feelings had come out. “Do you get the sense that Ava knows how you feel?” Camila asks, concern heavy in her voice and on her features.

“She does. I know she does, but we don’t talk about it. I’m—We’re both just as unwilling as the other to bring this type of conversation up over the phone or through texts. Things are so easily miscommunicated and we’ve already gotten annoyed over small misunderstandings. And neither of us want to ruin whatever time together we have so it’s—” she shrugs again, “frustrating.”

Mary has come in during the middle of her reply, but she keeps quiet as she hangs her coat on the rack. 

Camila waves as Mary sits on the couch, her attention returning to Beatrice. “So what? Are you guys really going to not talk about it at all? That’s not a healthy way to approach this.”

Mary clears her throat. “Are we talking about Ava?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“What’s happening with that pain in the ass? Did she agree to you going to see her yet?” Mary doesn’t hold back, a characteristic she normally appreciates, but hearing her be so blunt about her situation with Ava jabs at her more than it should.

“No.” 

Mary nods, but the lack of understanding is plain on her face. “Was there a plan?”

“What do you mean ‘was there a plan’?” she asks.

“You know what I mean. What’s the end goal? Are you two just planning to stretch out whatever run of good luck you’ve had? You know that’s impossible. It’s like a recipe for disaster. What was the plan going into this, what does the future look like?” Beatrice can tell that Mary is trying really hard to not lose her patience.

“I thought that if we could survive our tours then we would get a chance to speak about it. We just need to push through. Get through this hurdle. We barely had any time to be together before our tours started and I just didn’t want to bring up too much too fast.”

“Beatrice, that’s not how it works.” Mary is crossing her arms now, frustration clear, “You’re better than this. You’ve always been a planner. How did you let this get so out of hand?” She wants to scream ‘AVA’ because there’s truth in that, but she recognises she’s also at fault for allowing it to happen in the first place. Mary continues undeterred, “I know what you’re capable of doing when you set your mind to something, but this is so detrimental to yourself that it’s hard to witness.”

“Mary take a step back, that’s not—” Camila begins.

“No,” Mary retorts, “I’m so sick and tired of you babying her. Look at me, Beatrice.” And she does. “This is affecting you. I know you don’t want to admit it to us, much less to yourself, but we see it and you definitely see it. And this time around I’m not going to sit here and keep watching you let it slide, watching Ava’s avoidance hurt you again and again. Lake Como. Both of you will have time together, you guys can talk about all of this. Is that your plan?”

“Yes. I was hoping to bring it up.”

“No. You don’t hope. You’re well past that. You need to bring it up and the both of you need to sit down like the adults that you are and discuss this relationship. You need an answer. You can’t keep waiting for Ava to be on the same wavelength as you. Everyone with eyes can see she’s avoiding it.”

“I empathise with Ava, Mary. I know how difficult it is to maneuver the way she’s feeling. She’s never had to think about all this before.”

Surprisingly, Camila is the one that replies. “That’s the thing though, isn’t it? She’s not. She’s avoiding it. And she’s not considering your feelings,” she’s standing now, leaning against the console table.

“You don’t know that,” Beatrice snaps back.

Camila exhales roughly. “Exactly. Do you?” The question sits in the air for so long that Camila paces in front of them in complete silence for several moments. “Bea, you know I love Ava and I love that both of you are together, but it’s apparent that things haven’t been progressing as they should. You at least have to agree with me, us, about this.”

“I do agree. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’m happy when we’re together. I was so happy to see her after my surgery. I know she cares for me, she goes out of her way to show me as much,” she takes a breath, trying to gather her thoughts, but they’re all spilling out now in a jumble, “Spending New Years with her family was amazing. She’s so free about it with them and that gives me so much hope, but we can’t hold hands in Spain and then we can’t interact at the Grammys. It’s like she clams up and is so afraid of what everyone else will think. What am I supposed to feel about all that?” She stops to take another breath before continuing, “On one hand, I wonder if she’s ashamed and that in turn causes moments where I begin to feel uncomfortable with myself, but then I remember that it’s only temporary—”

Camila is shaking her head. “But for how much longer, Beatrice? Until you can’t take it anymore. Until you regress? That’s not fair. That shouldn’t be on you. You need to know what Ava’s intentions are. Does she want a future with you out in the public eye or is she going to continue to hide you away?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m scared to hear that Ava might not see a future where we can just be.” Her friends are both watching her carefully. “Am I not worth it?”

Camila makes a loud noise as if stung. “That’s not—you shouldn’t be feeling this way. You are absolutely worth it. You’re worth everything… Bea, you love each other. People who love each other don’t hurt each other like this.” 

“Cam is right. If you both know something is wrong, which it clearly is, then you need to talk to each other, you cannot both continue to be in this state of stasis.” 

“Can I get back to the song please?” She says barely above a whisper, “I understand what you guys are telling me. I just don’t know how to do anything about it until I see Ava.”

“Fine,” Mary grounds out. Clearly letting it go for now in the face of her obvious distress.

“Wait. Mary, you said in the group chat you wanted to tell us something?” Camila asks, sitting next to Mary on the couch.

Mary is hesitant. “I need to tell you guys something. Lilith and Yasmine already know.”

She pushes the chair towards them. “Mary, you know you can tell us anything.” 

“Before I say this,” Mary says, hand playing with something in her pocket. Mary isn’t known for her nervous fiddles which catches Camila’s attention immediately. “For crying out loud Camila, if you say anything before I speak I’m going to throw you down the stairs.”

Camila clamps her mouth shut, eyes bulging out from the lack of oxygen going through her system.

“I wanted to tell you guys in person.” Mary inhales, eyes narrowing at their bandmate’s antics. “I’m going to take Shannon out to dinner tonight and—”

Camila squeaks, zeroing in on what’s happening.

“—I’m going to propose,” Mary finishes, her shoulders settle from their previous raised position, relief washing over her. 

They both crush Mary into a hug, nearly tackling her off the front of the couch. Camila is squealing loudly as she continues to tug them back and forth in a celebratory embrace. Mary to her credit remains perfectly stoic apart from the happy glint in her eyes. This is incredible news after the unpredictability and excitement that has been the last few years of their lives. Mary has always kept Shannon and their relationship to herself, despite all the struggles.

“Can we see it?” Camila is reaching into Mary’s pockets excitedly, but comes back empty handed as Mary swats her hands away.

“You’ll have to wait. It’s only for Shannon’s eyes for now.”

—

Why do we keep when the water runs?

Ne me cherche pas, je ne suis plus la, baby

(Don't look for me, I'm not here anymore, baby)

Why do we leave when the chase is done?

Ne me cherche pas, je ne suis plus la

—

Ava pulls the blue shutters open. The morning light spills in, bringing out the warm mahogany colours of the wooden floorboards. Wide swathes of incandescence now sweep across the villa’s living room, soft and muted, just barely catching at the swirls of dust motes floating midair.

She breathes in deep, clean but slightly stagnant air, a consequence of the lack of airflow into the villa. They, well , just Ava for now, have finally made it through their time apart, their relationship limping along to July and their long-awaited holiday. Ten days of just Beatrice and herself, together, without interruption. 

A slightly nerve wracking concept .

The thought of it all brings about a heady feeling. Sheer elation at the mere minutes bridging between now and the moment she can see Beatrice, can hear her voice and hold her girlfriend. A fizzy feeling bouncing about in her stomach at the thought of being in close proximity to Beatrice again. But also a sense of unease. Nervous to discover what impacts the months spent apart and their stilted communication has wreaked upon their relationship and how it will feel to just be with Beatrice with nothing pressing at them, and no schedule to run off to. 

As she approaches the balcony doors with the intention of flinging them open, she hesitates, thinking twice about her initial desire. Ava stops with her hands on the handles, reminding herself of who she is, the dangers of being so exposed and lets go, leaving the doors closed behind her.

Continuing to venture through the villa, each shutter is opened and a breeze makes its way through without resistance. The smell of mid-Summer flowers floating through the air. It’s quiet here in the mountain side, she can only hear the distant sound of boats on the lake as they motor across the flat water below. 

Beatrice, though much closer geographically to Italy than Ava had been, has only just landed. 

Now wandering into the kitchen and rinsing out some glassware, she prepares a jug of filtered water to be placed into the fridge and two clean glasses. Beatrice will arrive soon and she’ll want to drink nice and cold water. She spies the welcome basket, piled high with fresh fruits, chocolate and wine all nestled on the breakfast benchtop, no doubt part of the villa experience. 

In the intervening months since Beatrice’s throat surgery, they’ve had to resort to phone calls where Ava speaks and Beatrice texts in reply. The few video chats that the time differences had allowed for included Beatrice scribbling into her notepad as Ava found herself drooping into a sleep deprived daze. Only recently has Beatrice been allowed to speak on the phone again, under strict orders from her vocal therapist to keep it to a minimum given the lack of ability to voice regulate on the phone. With the shoe being on the other foot, she hadn’t experienced it when she was in recovery for that year, and had been caught off guard by it. She hadn’t expected the clawing need, the hunger, to hear Beatrice’s voice.

She’s all too aware that the difficulty in communication has only exacerbated their, or truthfully, her, inclinations to avoid discussing what’s happening with their relationship, what’s next for the two of them as her tour winds down and the Cruciforms’ tour begins to pick up again. All with the ever looming spectre of the expectations of their career, celebrity, and public scrutiny above them. In short, Ava knows they need to talk, that Beatrice wants to talk and in the darkest hours of the night, she knows her impulsiveness has led them down this path. She should have given more thought to Beatrice’s concerns, those she raised in New York over a year ago now.

They will talk. Beatrice will make sure of it. And she’s determined not to shy away from it. Beatrice deserves all that she can offer, even if she is ultimately fearful that their relationship might fracture further under the weight of it all. 

She’s in the middle of folding the last of her clothing into the dresser when the crunch of tires on the gravel road below catches her ears. It doesn’t take long for her heart to make the connection, her mind slower to catch on to its meaning. Her body sends her rushing down the stairs to the front door, but her feet stop right at the end of the steps. Remaining hidden inside.

Beatrice is hesitant as she enters through the front door, satchel slung over one shoulder and duffle on the other, but spots her immediately. She’s wearing a white lace blouse paired with dark blue jeans, hair pushed back by the sunglasses resting at the top of her head. The sight of her girlfriend in the flesh, looking so vibrant and rested, overall, just so so good, drives her to momentary distraction, rendering her mute.

“Ava,” Beatrice says her name, voice whole and rich. It’s the first time she’s heard it sounding like this in a long while, the time before the surgery included, and longing surges through her, how she has missed that voice.

She clears her throat of the small lump that’s made its way there. “How was your fli—“

“I missed yo—“

They both speak at the same time, voices overlapping before falling silent to allow the other to continue. Resulting in a stiff few seconds where neither really knows how to start a conversation. Beatrice deposits both bags on the floor before taking a few uncertain steps towards Ava at the foot of the stairwell, an uncertain smile on her face. 

Whatever nervous energy they're both emitting must be palpable as Beatrice leans against the bannister on the other side, so close but not touching, eyes studying her closely. Ava knows Beatrice is giving her space. She’s allowing her the time to put her thoughts together without hurrying her.

Ava gnaws at her bottom lip and after a few moments says, “I missed you.” And it frustrates her. How is that the only thing she’s able to articulate when all she has wanted for both of them to do for months is to speak to each other, to hold each other.  

Beatrice nods, holding out a hand for Ava to take. 

The patience Beatrice is showing her, is just so characteristic of Beatrice, through and through. Ever aware of whatever she needs at any given moment. 

There’s a sting in her eyes, which should have been the first indication that everything is not okay. Then, there’s a wobble in her bottom lip, which Beatrice notices.

Beatrice is pushing off the bannister and scooping Ava up into her arms in the next breath.  

The easy intimacy between them—that indescribable force, the unstoppable pull that compels them together, present from their first meeting—comes so quickly that it gives her whiplash. The moment she’s in Beatrice’s hold, bodies pressed together from head to toe, the blundering reunion is forgotten. The wet snort that escapes her makes her girlfriend’s shoulders shake, a precious chuckle rumbling in her chest before it echoes across the silent villa. 

“I missed you,” Beatrice repeats, nuzzling her way into Ava’s neck to deposit a kiss, lingering there as she breathes in. 

(*)

Vieni con me c'è il sole esploriamo un pò la città 

(Come with me, there's sun, let's explore the city a bit)

Solo noi stranieri cuori liberi dentro i vicoli

(Just us, foreigners, free hearts inside alleyways)

A fotografare chiese e musei

(Taking pictures of churches and museums)

La gente non c'è siamo rimasti io e te

(There's no one around, it's just you and me)

È un estate magica

(It's a magical Summer)

Come turisti e poi quasi per caso eroi

(Like tourists, and almost by chance, heroes)

La vita non fa male più

(Life doesn't hurt anymore)

And it’s in the quiet of this instant, away from the scrutiny of the outside world that Ava allows herself to just be. “Are you hungry?” She asks some moments later when it doesn’t seem like they’ll move from their spot at the bottom of the steps.

That makes Beatrice grin ear-to-ear. “You know me too well, I think.”

“It’s noon,” she states, and it should be enough to indicate what she means, but Beatrice is looking at her in askance, as if her stomach isn’t about to send them both in a mad scramble to find food.

“Yeah, well it’s not like the moment—”

She tugs on her girlfriend’s collar, pulling her down for a much needed kiss. 

“Rude! I was spea—”

Ed è bellissimo che bella l'aria che c'è

(And it's beautiful, how the beautiful the air is)

Un giorno perfetto ed un estate con te

(A perfect day of Summer with you)

È dolce il vento che c'è è il giorno perfetto che sorride come te

(The wind is sweet, it's the perfect day that smiles like you)

Perfetto il cielo che c'è

(Perfect is the sky above)

È un giorno perfetto che sorride come te

(It's a perfect day that smiles like you)

Son le cose piccole che ci meravigliano

(It's the little things that amazes us)

Che ci meravigliano

[jtl07]

Did someone mention something about "breaking" shenanigans and trying new things? 👀 Let's see: sword, kitchen, pride & prejudice

i've said it once and i'll say it again: YOU TRAITOR. j/k ily bc you also put in a sword and swords are cool; ty for being my cool friend <3 (i also took some liberties because *technically* pride & prejudice isn't exactly a genre plus i am horrible with this time period in general and this came out short so. don't hate me? )

Ava hears Beatrice far before she sees her. The stately, composed gait nearly a run, heavy and Ava can't help but wince when Beatrice turns the corner to the kitchen because she's exactly as Ava had feared she'd be: brow furrowed in concern, body tight with tense worry, eyes flashing with anger.

"Keep still, Ava," Camila murmurs as she continues cleaning the wound on Ava's arm, not bothered in the least by their new arrival.

"Leave us, Camila."

"I will not, Ava needs stitches -"

"- and yours always come out crooked. I can handle it." But then, out of the corner of her eye, Ava sees Beatrice falter. "That is, if Ava will allow it."

Ava blinks at the deference in Beatrice's voice. She turns from where she'd been studying the wall to study instead the stiffness across Beatrice's shoulders, the now unreadable expression. Ava nods slowly.

Camila glances between them and sighs. She wraps Ava's arm and gathers her things, leaving the medical equipment on the table, all the while muttering to herself in a mix of Spanish and English that likely would have amused Ava if it were any other day. Any other day where she hadn't royally offended Beatrice yet again. Ava grimaces to herself, goes back to studying the wall when Camila stands and leaves the two of them alone in a stilted silence.

She's not sure what she expects when Beatrice approaches - a lie; she expects many things: anger, disappointment, sharp critique - but she certainly doesn't expect to hear a soft, "May I?" from her side.

It's the quiet tremor in those two words that make Ava pause. Nearly gasps when she finds Beatrice on one knee. There's a pained expression on Beatrice's face, pleading even. It unsettles Ava, having Beatrice so close, so intent. "You don't have to," Ava blurts out.

Beatrice gives her a look. "You didn't have to take up a sword and duel Crimson."

Ava feels her own anger flare. "She had no right -" then remembers who she's talking to. "I'm sorry. I know you - you don't need any help defending your honor." Sighs. "Especially from someone like me." She hadn't meant for the last to come out but as always whenever she's in Beatrice's general proximity, words escape her mouth without forethought; rushed truth, unchecked feelings - unmannered, uncouth -

A warmth tight around her hand stops her spiral. Brings her eyes up to Beatrice's gaze, sad and fierce and something more, something Ava can't bring herself to hope. "No," Beatrice breathes, "I'm sorry. For everything." She looks away and her hair falls across her face in a way that makes Ava want to reach out to brush it back, to feel the strands between her fingers, to feel Beatrice's eyes back on her.

She gets her wish - Beatrice takes a breath and meets her eyes once more. "I've spent my whole life alone. It's been quite the adjustment to realize that ... that maybe things can change."

Ava's breath stutters as she recognizes the words - half-finished, yet changed. Feels hope rise up into her throat; takes a chance: "When you realize that ... some things can be about you?"

Beatrice's smile is all the answer she needs. It softens everything about Beatrice, her face, her touch, the lips she presses to the back of Ava's hand. "And you," Beatrice murmurs. "If you'll allow it?"

Ava laughs, the pain at her arm overshadowed by the joy filling her chest, filling her from head to toe. "Yes, Bea. Always."

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 384. brb x oc

a/n: as mentioned before,I'll take my break once i finish the fic :,) it wont take long. thank you for staying <3 (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: just some suggestive stuff uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

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/367/368/369/370/371/372/373/374/375/376/377/378/379/380/381/382/383/

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-

He was frowning because of course he was.

They got to the hotel and he lied on the bed immediately,sure, the flight was…not great and his back was screaming in pain. It was a long ass flight, and he was somewhat glad they had four hours before his reunion.

Maybe he should just sleep.

“Baby?’ Bea calls from the bathroom,folding her clothes on her arm, “Everything okay?”

He sighs again, running his hands up and down his face, eyes locked on the blank ceiling as he tries to calm himself, “I am getting old.”

Beatrice blinks, “What? What are you talking about?”

“My back is just…killing me.”

She blinks again, then furrows her brows, tossing her folded clothes aside so she could walk over to him, “Hey,” she coos gently, slowly climbing on his lap - glad that he immediately cupped her hips - “What’s wrong? Are you really hurt?”

He tsks quietly, “...no.” he frowns more, “I think I’m finally…” and a shaky inhale, “Getting more nervous about this. About the reunion.”

Beatrice's heart sank at Rooster's words, her concern deepening as she looked into his troubled eyes. She gently caressed his cheek, her touch tender as she tried to reassure him.

"Hey," she whispered softly, her voice filled with love and understanding, "It's okay to feel nervous. This reunion means a lot to you, and it's natural to have some jitters."

Rooster nodded, his jaw clenched as he struggled to contain his emotions. "I know," he murmured, his voice strained, "...What if I don't…what if…I don’t know, what if it’s just a mistake to be here?"

Beatrice's heart ached at the fear in Rooster's voice, her own insecurities bubbling to the surface. She took his hands in hers, squeezing them gently as she looked into his eyes with a small smile.

"You are amazing," she said firmly, her voice with conviction, "And anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you, not even a glance. You've accomplished so much, Rooster, and you have nothing to prove to anyone."

Rooster's eyes softened at Beatrice's words, feeling a sense of warmth wash over him as he looked at her. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude, "You always know how to calm me down."

Beatrice smiled tenderly at Rooster, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "That's what I'm here for," she whispered, her voice filled with love, "You know that.”

He smiles, twirling a strand of brown hair in his finger, letting it go,watching as it bounced back into shape, “...I know.” he whispers “...I shouldn’t be nervous.”

“But it’s okay that you are.”

“I’ve been nervous since I got invited,Bea.” he whispers, looking at her necklace instead of her face ‘...I want to deal with this for myself, but I’m also worried this will be worse than I expect it to be.”

Beatrice listened attentively to Rooster's words, her heart aching for him as he struggled with his nerves. She reached out to gently lift his chin, guiding his gaze to meet hers with a soft smile.

"It's understandable," she said gently,, "Facing the past can be daunting, especially when it's tied to memories that aren't all pleasant…”

He exhales quietly, rubbing her sides up and down, then arching his brows, “...how did you feel before you got to your reunion?”

“Like death.”

Rooster lifts his head up “That bad?”

Beatrice chuckled softly at Rooster's surprised expression, shaking her head with a playful grin. "Maybe not that bad," she admitted, "But pretty close. I was nervous, anxious, and a little scared, to be honest."

Rooster's brow furrowed in concern as he listened to Beatrice's words, his fingers stilling on her sides. "Really?" he asked softly, "...I mean,I knew you were nervous…you told me so,honey. But…”

Beatrice smiled wistfully, her eyes reflecting memories of her own struggles with insecurity. "I may have seemed calm on the outside," she explained, "But on the inside, I was a bundle of nerves. I worried about how people would perceive me, if I would measure up to their expectations…"

Rooster's his fingers gently traced circles on her back in a soothing gesture. "You always measure up and then some," he murmured, "You're the most incredible person I know."

Beatrice's cheeks flushed at Rooster's words, feeling a rush of warmth flood her chest. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude, "But even so, I still had my doubts. It's hard not to when you're faced with your past."

Rooster nodded in understanding, his heart going out to Beatrice as he listened to her share her feelings. "Yeah," he murmured, "It's like…no matter how much you've grown and changed, there's always that fear that you'll revert back to who you used to be."

Beatrice nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with understanding. "Exactly," she replied softly, "But you know what helped me? Knowing that I had you by my side, every step of the way. Just like you have me now."

He smirks softly, “...I was deployed,babe…”

Beatrice smiled softly at Rooster's remark, her eyes sparkling with affection as she looks down. "I know," she replied with a chuckle, "But you were still with me in spirit. And your love meant everything to me, even from halfway across the world."

Rooster's smirk softened into a tender smile as he gazed at Beatrice, feeling a swell of love in his chest. "I'm glad," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity, "Because I'll always be here for you, no matter where I am."

Beatrice's heart fluttered at Rooster's words, feeling a rush of warmth wash over her. "I know," she whispered, reaching out to squeeze his hand, "And I'll always be here for you too, no matter what."

They sat together in companionable silence, the weight of their shared experiences hanging in the air between them.  Rooster leaned in to press a tender kiss to Beatrice's forehead, his touch gentle and reassuring. "We'll get through this together," he murmured, his voice filled with determination, "Just like we always do."

Beatrice smiled up at Rooster, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. "Yeah," she agreed softly, "Together."

He brings her to lie on his chest, rising and falling, as one of his hands cups the back of her head, “...I’m a bit better.’

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you are the balm I need.” he smirks, kissing her temple while still rubbing her head, “Cheesy?”

She wrinkles her nose while rubbing his chin with the back of her hand, “I love when you are cheesy.” she whispers, “It’s how I fell in love with you…and how you kept looking at me.”

“Hmmm…” he hums as she sits on his lap, his hands rubbing against her thick thighs, feeling the fabric of her jeans scrape his palms before he sighs, “Well…you are great to look at.” he says, oh he was feeling much better. Much. “And…I loved seeing you,walking around.” the reunion was completely forgotten as he played with the bottom of her shirt, “Wearing those jeans - not so different from this one,either.”

"You always know how to make me feel special," she murmured, her voice soft and filled with affection. "And I loved seeing you in your uniform, too. You looked so handsome.You're like a magnet for attention."

He smirks, “You made me have the nicest dreams even then.”

Beatrice blushed at Rooster's words, feeling a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. "Stop it," she protested playfully, swatting his arm with a grin, "You're making me blush."

Rooster chuckled at Beatrice's reaction, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's true," he insisted, "You have this aura about you, Bea. I was just a little moth, flapping around your light and fuck i wanted to burn in you." he coos, sliding his hand under her shirt, “...we still got time,right?”

Beatrice's cheeks flushed even deeper at Rooster's bold words, feeling a surge of desire coursing through her veins. She leaned into his touch, her body responding instinctively to his closeness.

"We do," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "Plenty of time."

Rooster grinned at Beatrice's response, his eyes darkening with desire as he trailed kisses along her jawline. "Good," he murmured huskily, his breath warm against her skin, "Because I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon."

Beatrice's heart raced at Rooster's words, feeling a wave of heat pooling in her core. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she deepened their kiss, their bodies melting together.

They lost themselves in each other, their hands roaming freely as they explored every inch of each other's skin. Eventually, they pulled apart, their chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath. Rooster pressed his forehead against Beatrice's, his eyes burning with intensity as he whispered, "I love you, Beatrice."

"I love you too, Rooster," she whispers “I–” she squeaks, rolling them around to pin her on the bed.

“Hmmm,i'm thinking.” he purses his lips, kissing her neck as his hands drag her shirt upwards, showing more of her soft stomach, “What I should do to you first.”

Beatrice giggled softly at Rooster's demeanor, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through her veins. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer as she looked into his eyes with a grin.

"Surprise me," she whispered, her voice filled with anticipation, "I'm all yours."

Rooster's grin widened at Beatrice's response, feeling a surge of desire coursing through him. He leaned in to capture her lips in a passionate kiss, his hands roaming freely as he explored every curve of her body.

Beatrice gasped softly as Rooster's lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she arched her back, offering herself to him completely.

Rooster grinned against her skin, his hands sliding under her shirt to caress the soft skin of her stomach. He peppered her with kisses, his lips trailing lower and lower as he worshipped every inch of her body.

Beatrice moaned softly, her head spinning with pleasure as Rooster's touch sent waves of ecstasy coursing through her veins. She surrendered herself to him completely, lost in the intensity of their passion. “Fuck…Roos…”

Rooster's hands roamed lower,unbuttoning her jeans, his touch igniting a fire within her as he teased her with feather-light caresses. She writhed beneath him, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she begged for more.

He didn’t even remove her clothes, he just slid his hand inside her panties and gently rubbed her mound. He smiles, pushing himself upwards enough to keep his eyes on her expressions. She was flushed and beautiful and looking at him through her lashes “Fuck you are so beautiful and wet,I just want to–”

“Brad! HEY MAN! YOU THERE?”

They freeze immediately, slowly turning their heads to the door. Beatrice blinked, whimpering a bit when Rooster removed his hand from inside of her, licking his fingers clean while glaring at the door, “Roos,” oh no, “Brad,wait,” he stood up with a vengeance, if there was something you don’t do, was messing with their alone time.

“Man! Come on! It’s me John!” Rooster growls “I got the gang here!”

Rooster's expression darkened, his irritation evident as he glanced back at Beatrice. She could see the frustration in his eyes, "John," Rooster muttered under his breath, his tone laced with annoyance. He turned to Beatrice with a resigned sigh, "I'll go deal with him. You stay here."

Beatrice nodded in understanding, her heart sinking as she watched as he quickly straightened his clothes and headed towards the door, his jaw clenched in frustration.

Rooster swung the door open, his irritation evident as he came face to face with John and some? Of their old friends. They greeted him with smiles and cheers, oblivious to Rooster's annoyance as they crowded into the room. Beatrice squeaked, quickly fixing herself and rolling off the bed.

"Hey, man!" John exclaimed, clapping Rooster on the back, "Long time no see! We were just passing through and thought we'd stop by to say hi."

Rooster forced a smile, his patience wearing thin as he tried to navigate the sudden influx of visitors. "Yeah, great to see you guys," he replied tersely, "But we were in the middle of something."

John raised an eyebrow, “Huh? Come on man! It’ll be like old times! And won’t it be fun to hang out before the reunion?”

Rooster's smile faltered at John's words, his annoyance growing with each passing moment. He glanced back at Beatrice, his eyes apologetic as he tried to convey his frustration without saying a word. Beatrice gave him a sympathetic look, understanding his irritation all too well. 

"John, it's really not a good time," hhe interjected "We were in the middle of something important. Maybe we can catch up another time? At the reunion?"

“What? Is the missus locking you up already?” it was a joke…but Rooster did not like it when people talked about Beatrice. He was taller, stronger, bigger than those guys were - also were they really his friends? He could barely see them as before. 

Rooster's grip on the door handle tightened, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to maintain his composure. "That's enough, John," he said through gritted teeth, "Beatrice and I have a private life, and I'd appreciate it if you respected that."

John's smile faltered at Rooster's stern tone, sensing the tension in the air. He glanced back at the other guys, exchanging nervous glances as they realized they might have crossed a line. "Hey, sorry man," John apologized, "We didn't mean to intrude. We'll catch up with you later, okay?"

Rooster nodded curtly, his expression tense as he watched the group of friends shuffle out of the room. Once they were gone, he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to Beatrice.

"I'm sorry, babe," he said softly, his voice filled with regret, "I didn't mean for that to happen. I should have been more assertive."

Beatrice shook her head, reaching out to take Rooster's hand in hers. "It's okay," she reassured him, "You did your best. And besides, it's not your fault they showed up unannounced."

Rooster sighed, feeling a sense of guilt wash over him. "Ugh….I’m going to hate this reunion,aren’t I?”

She frowns softly “...probably,honey…probably.”

[burntsaltsblog]

shiny new toy

(felix catton\reader)

chapter four

details: a saltburn inspired short story.

content warning: profanity, explicit sexual content, and mentions of abuse (physical and mental)

warning for this chapter: this chapter depicts explicit sexual content. if you are not an adult, DO NOT READ!!! the aftermath of physical violence (da) is also contained in this chapter.

MNI 18+

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

The first thing I registered was the cold, hard floor beneath me. It did little to comfort my injuries, but it was the only proof I had that I wasn't dead. And that was surprising, considering the last thing I remember was Eric preparing to slit my throat. 

A myriad of voices rang from somewhere nearby. I vaguely recognized them, but I was already gripped by the darkness, which promised to drag me back to a peaceful slumber. 

"Damnit, Farleigh. I specifically told you and Venetia to keep an eye on her."

"I did! It's not my fault she wandered off."

"And why the fuck didn't you follow her? Christ, mate, this is exactly why I needed you to watch her."

"Well, she's your fucking toy. Why the hell weren't you watching her?"

"Don't call her that. It's not like that this time, and you know it."

"Oh, do I? Because so far, it is. Tell me, Felix, when will you grow tired of treating people like objects? Because I-"

"Enough. If you say one more word, I will personally ask my father to withdraw his invitation for you to spend the summer at Saltburn. Where will you go then, hm? You'll have to shack up with one of the teachers here you've blown."

"Fucking hell, will you two shut up? Your bloody bickering isn't going to help us find Iris. I'm going outside to check the yard. Farleigh, why don't you come with me? You, little brother, can search the rest of the house."

Silence filled the air before footsteps vibrated in different directions. A door squeaked before someone above me said my name in anguish.

"Iris? Jesus, what happened?"

Warm hands braced my upper body and rolled me onto my back. It took immense strength to crack my eyes open, but I was glad I did because I saw the one person I wanted more than anything.

"Felix?" I whispered through bloodied, cracked lips.

"It's me, darling. I'm here," he said, falling to the floor and pulling me onto his lap. I whimpered quietly and buried my face in his chest, inhaling his calming scent.

Felix consoled me, tightly wrapping his arms around me to ensure my safety. "Shh, it's ok, love; I've got you."

"Damn, what happened to your face?"

I weakly craned my neck to see Farleigh and Venetia standing in Marcus Ackerly's bathroom doorway, looking equally shocked and disturbed. I suppose Eric did a number on me for people to regard me in such a way. 

"Shut it, Farleigh," Felix uttered lowly, coming to my defense. "I'm going to take her to my room so you two can return to your previous activities."

Felix stood with me, still cradled against his chest, and murmured words of comfort as my sore body protested against the sudden shift. 

"Feel better, Iris," Venetia said as we passed her and Farleigh, still hovering by the door. A small smile graced her face, but Farleigh's remained unreadable. I smiled feebly in return before relaxing against Felix as he carried me away from them and out of the house.

The walk to Felix's dormitory was quiet, and I anxiously studied his expression. It was one of stone as he tensed his jaw and ground his teeth.

"Felix?" 

His face immediately softened as he looked down at me, concerned. "What is it, darling? Does something hurt?"

Technically, everything hurt. But I didn't want to say that out of fear that I'd worry Felix even more.

"I was wondering why you looked so mad. Did I do something wrong?" 

My thoughts were spiraling out of control, and I wondered if I was burdening him too much. After all, he was taking me back to his room, so I had, without a doubt, ruined his night. I'm sure he would much rather spend his evening with a woman who hadn't just got beaten to a pulp by her crazy ex-boyfriend.  

"No, sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong," he assured me. "Someone fucking hurt you, and it kills me that I wasn't there to protect you. I should've been there to protect you."

"No, don't blame yourself, Felix. You were busy with Ollie-"

"Exactly, I was busy entertaining the pathetic fantasy of a fucking lunatic and not staying with you like I was supposed to," he growled.

"What are you talking about? What happened with you and Oliver?"

"It doesn't matter now," Felix responded briskly as he kicked open the door to his room. 

He delicately sat me on his bed and put an arm on either side of my legs, caging me in. Felix's head dipped between his shoulders, and he took a moment before speaking to calm himself.

"Iris," he started lowly, almost inaudible. "Who did this to you?"

When I didn't respond, he lifted his head, and our gazes clashed: earthy brown against forest green. 

"Who did this to you? Who fucking hurt you?" His anger was rising, and I knew the only way to subdue him was to give him the answer he wanted. 

"Is it who I think it was?" he pressed. "Was it that piece of shit who wouldn't leave you alone?"

"Yes. It was Eric," I faintly confirmed as tears blurred my vision. My throat threatened to close, but I forced myself to continue.

"He was mad about the text. He'd been watching us all night, and then when he saw I was alone, he chased me into the bathroom and cornered me there, and-"

"Fuck," Felix swore harshly under his breath. 

I wanted to say more but refrained when he dropped his forehead to mine. 

"I need you to know how fucking sorry I am, darling. I never intended to abandon you like that. I should've known that Eric would try to pull something like this." 

Regret had infiltrated his voice before the tone became more confident. "Over my dead body, will that asshole ever come near you again." 

"Felix, please, don't talk like that," I begged, shrinking away due to the topic of his death. It was something I found too utterly painful to comprehend.

"I'm sorry, love. But I'm serious; he will regret ever touching you."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, nervous that Felix would try something stupid and risk his safety. Eric wasn't worth it. 

"Don't worry. I'll take care of everything," Felix mumbled as he traced a bruise on my cheek. 

To signal that the conversation was over, Felix stepped into his bathroom. A moment later, he reappeared, holding up a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a small towel. "I'm gonna clean you up, ok?"

I nodded my head, earning a smile from Felix. He doused the towel in alcohol before coming back to stand directly in front of me. "This might sting a bit. Just squeeze my hand if it hurts." 

Biting my lip, I grasped his empty hand and was comforted by his touch.

Felix began working carefully over my face. I did my best to mask my discomfort, but when it became too much, I squeezed his hand, and he promptly leaned down to kiss my head before whispering, "You're doing so well for me, love. I'm so proud of you."

He finished cleansing the gashes on my face before moving to my hands, arms, and legs, which were covered in minor cuts due to the broken glass from the shattered mirror. 

"Almost done—just a few more minutes. I gotta make sure these don't get infected. I need my girl healthy." 

My girl

The simple phrase had butterflies erupting in my stomach. They flew widely around, and I knew there was no chance of me calming them down. 

"All done," he announced, giving me one of his gentle smiles, which I'd grown to love so much. 

"Thank you. For everything. If it weren't for you, I'd still be passed out at Marcus' place." 

Felix's face hardened, and I knew he was recalling what it was like to discover me bloody and bruised. 

"When I found you, for a moment, I thought I had lost you forever. I can't even begin to describe how fucking terrifying that was. The mere idea of losing you is something I can't bare. I need you, Iris. I need you."

His eyes were frantic as they searched my face—for what, I'm not sure—but his stare added an intensity to the air and charged it with something neither of us fully understood. But it was enticing and intoxicating.

Felix held my face between his hands, and I reached up to cover them with my own as I promised him softly, "I'm here, Felix, and I'm ok."

He tenderly kissed my forehead, and his hands, almost hesitantly, settled on my waist. He paused for a moment to analyze my reaction before placing another kiss on my temple. Gradually, Felix worked down until his mouth was under my jaw. In a daze, my head lulled back, giving him access to my neck.

It didn't take him long to find my sweet spot just below my ear. He bit down briefly before darting his tongue out to soothe the area from his assault. I moaned breathlessly and gripped his shoulders, needing something to stabilize myself. 

Felix's hands dug into my hair, pulling at my scalp and eliciting a whine from my throat. "Felix, please. I want you."

He withdrew his face from where it was settled in the crook of my neck and appraised me with blown-out pupils. "Are you sure? You've been through a lot tonight, love and-"

"Felix, I need you." I interrupted, echoing his words from earlier. My desperation oozed off me as I stared at him, wide-eyed and pleading.

Felix was quiet for a moment before he nodded and traced a finger over my bottom lip. "Ok, sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna take care of my girl." 

He leaned in and brushed his lips over mine agonizingly slow. I tilted my chin up, attempting to close the small gap between us, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Such a desperate girl."

Before I could reply, Felix firmly pressed his lips to mine, causing my thoughts to evaporate. My tongue slipped easily into his mouth, resulting in him groaning lowly. The sound traveled right to the spot between my legs that throbbed with immense need. I wrapped my arms around him, bringing him closer. But even with Felix tightly against me, I still craved more. I drew back just enough to grasp the top button of his shirt. "Off," I commanded. 

With a lazy grin, Felix stepped back and nimbly unbuttoned his shirt. He took his time shedding the material, and my eyes drank him in each second he revealed more of his toned chest. 

Once his shirt hit the floor, Felix reached for his belt buckle. The clang of metal caused my legs to snap shut and my thighs to rub together in search of friction. Felix raised a brow at me. "My needy girl looks like she's going to cum just sitting there."

I pouted at him and reached my hand out." I wanna to do it." 

Felix stared at my fussing nature before approaching me so I could touch him. "Ok, baby. You can do it. Be a good girl and unbuckle my belt."

I ruefully smiled as I wrapped my hands around the brown leather, tugging it away from his waist. I then made quick work of unzipping his jeans and dragging them down his thighs before he took over and kicked them off so they joined his shirt's place on the floor. 

My eyes grazed Felix's body in silent reverence. I was convinced he wasn't a human but, instead, a Greek God carved meticulously from stone; he had no flaw in sight. I lightly raked my hands down his chest before he took hold of them and placed them in my lap. I was momentarily confused before he began fiddling with the hem of my top. Then, his intentions became clear. 

Felix pulled my shirt over my head, and he immediately gaped at my breasts that were spilling out of my bra. He wasted no time in ripping it off and tossing it aside. 

"Beautiful," he murmured before he leaned forward and used his tongue to swirl over my right nipple.

"Oh my God," I breathed, raising my hand to curl around Felix's neck, urging him to continue. 

Felix dragged his tongue along my chest, between my breasts, and down my stomach until he reached the top of my skirt. 

"Stand up, love."

I groaned in protest before Felix harshly twisted one of my nipples. My core pulsed painfully as my eyes widened in surprise.

"Let's get one thing straight," Felix said, placing a hand under my chin so I had no choice but to meet his stern gaze. "When I give a command, I expect obedience. Do you understand?"

With glazed-over eyes, I nodded my head. Felix observed me as he ran his tongue over his lips. "That's what I thought. So be a good girl and stand up."

"Yes, sir." 

The words left my mouth before I realized it, and Felix's face darkened. "Fuck, I knew you were perfect for me." 

I rose to my feet, never breaking eye contact with him. He grabbed my hips, turned me around, and placed a hand on my back, pushing my upper body down. My cheek met his soft comforter as I felt my skirt ride up.

"I think this is in the way," Felix drawled as he eased down the zipper of my skirt and pulled the garment from my body. I turned to see his reaction as he took in the black lace panties I wore, the only clothing I had left. 

A string of curses left his mouth before he delivered a sharp slap to my ass that left behind a stinging sensation. I buried my face in his bedding and pushed my hips back.

Felix pulled my panties to the side, and I felt cool air hit my pussy. "You're fucking drenched, and I haven't even touched you yet," He said, running a finger through my slick folds. "Is this all for me, sweetheart?"

My arousal began dripping down my legs, and I moaned when I felt his tongue begin to lap it up. He licked up my legs and stopped right at my glistening entrance.

"Felix, please," I whined.

"I know, darling, I know," he mumbled, placing his hands on my ass and spreading me open. A soft cry left my mouth at being so exposed, but it was apparent I loved it due to the juices that ran from my pussy. 

Felix's tongue drew tight circles over my clit, and I couldn't stop the whimpers that left my mouth. He eased his finger past my swollen lips, and I clenched around his thick digit. 

"Fuck me, please, I begged. 

"If you want me to fuck you, you need to first cum on my face, Ok?"

Felix's words made my brain short-circuit, so I only nodded in response. He tutted at my reaction before withdrawing his finger and slapping my pussy. "Use your words, darling. What do you say?"

"Yes, sir," I cried.

Seemingly satisfied, Felix lightly pinched my sensitive bud between his fingers as he started fucking me with his tongue. I gripped his sheets tightly as if they were my lifeline. 

"So good," I mewled loudly. It occurred to me that I should probably be quiet on account of the other people living in this building, but the faster Felix's tongue worked in and out of my pussy, the less I cared about who heard. 

"Are you going to cum for me, love?" Felix asked, replacing his mouth with his fingers. Two of them eased into my sopping core and curled down, hitting a spot that had me practically sobbing my answer.

"Yes, sir."

Right as I came, Felix introduced his tongue back into my opening and fucked me through my climax. His thumb roughly worked my overstimulated clit as I gushed all over his face. Felix wasted no time in lapping up my juices, and I couldn't miss the way he groaned in appreciation when doing so. 

"Such a good girl, cumming all over my face, just like I told you to."

Felix's tongue lazily traced my entrance, but my overwhelmed state caused my legs to give out. I was thankful when he caught me.

"It's Ok, darling. I've got you," he said soothingly as he picked me up and gently laid me down on his bed. My head hit his pillow, and I gave a small sigh of contentment.

"Oh no. Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart. I'm not done with you yet." Felix said, leaning over me. His gold chain dangled in front of my face, and I watched it slowly swing back and forth, entranced. 

I snapped back to the present when Felix's fingers wrapped around the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs. He threw them over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on me. 

"Do you know how long I've thought about this? Having you naked in my bed, looking up at me with those big eyes, just begging me to ruin you." 

"Then do it, Felix. Ruin me."

My reply had him peeling his black boxers off of his body and revealing his cock, hard and already leaking pre-cum. He stroked himself a few times before reaching across the bed and searching his nightstand's top drawer. He pulled out a small, silver package, but I plucked it from his hold, surprising him.

"No, I want to feel you," I whispered.

Felix hesitated. "Are you sure? I know we're both clean, but-"

"Felix, I want to feel you, even when you cum. Especially when you cum."

My face heated at my admission, but I'd used my fingers to fuck myself too many times, thinking of Felix driving into me, raw and deep, before cumming right at the edge of my cervix, claiming me completely.  

"Jesus," Felix breathed, closing his eyes. "You're going to make me cum before I'm even inside you."

I bit my lip as I watched him spread my legs and stare at pussy, hopelessly clenched around nothing.

"What a pretty cunt. All wet and swollen. Just begging to be stretched with my cock."

Felix lined himself up at my entrance, nudging my clit and causing me to whine impatiently. I bucked my hips, silently pleading for him to fuck me.

Finally, he entered me in a long thrust; I turned my head from side to side as unintelligible words left my mouth. I knew his size was impressive, but nothing could have prepared me for how my walls stretched to accommodate him. 

"It's Ok, sweet girl. I know," Felix said as he circled my clit, giving me pleasure to combat the pain.

"You're so big," I cried, breathless.

"But you can take it, darling. You can take it for me."

Felix's praise caused me to squeeze around him, and I watched his face tense. "So fucking tight, "he groaned. "So fucking perfect for me."

After being able to take all of Felix without much discomfort, he slowly drew out before thrusting back in. My back arched, and he took the opportunity to pinch one of my nipples. I mindlessly moaned and wrapped my legs around his waist so I could take him deeper. 

Felix soon found a steady rhythm in which he fucked me. Our cries clashed in the air, and through my hazy vision, I threaded my hands in his hair, dragging his mouth down to mine. Our tongues danced together in a passionate kiss, and it only drove me higher toward my inevitable orgasm. 

"I'm close," I gasped.

Felix smirked, driving into me harder. "Yeah? You gonna come around my cock, sweetheart?"

I openly wept as Felix wrapped a hand around my neck, applying pressure to just the right spot. 

"God, you're just fucked dumb, aren't you? My girl only knows my cock and nothing else."

"Please," I cried. It wasn't a descriptive word, but Felix understood what I needed.

The pressure around my neck increased, causing a light-headed sensation. Felix pressed his other hand on my lower stomach, causing my eyes to roll back and my mouth to hang open. 

"That's it, pretty girl. You're doing so well. You're gripping me like a fucking vice."

Felix's words drove me over the edge. My cry was guttural, and I clenched around him, causing him to omit a low groan as he reached his own climax. He thrust in one final time, coating my walls with his seed in thick, hot ropes. 

Eyes closed, I fell into a satiated state. My body was numb, yet I could feel every single nerve ending. I was barely awake as Felix pulled out, whispering soft words of praise the entire time. "You did so good for me, my love. I'm so proud of you."

As I registered his words, a faint smile crossed my lips. I glowed under Felix's compliments. 

I heard him walk around his room before feeling him spread my legs. But this time, it was to clean me up with a towel. 

Eventually, a blanket was draped over my body, and Felix pulled me against him in a warm embrace. I rested comfortably on his chest; his steady heartbeat was the perfect lullaby that lulled me to sleep. 

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

chapter index

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

[teddymoon06]

Chapter 7

Title: Beneath the Surface

Chapter 7: Shattered Hope

Y/N’s POV

Hours passed since Hyun-su lured the monsters away from the rooftop. We hadn’t heard anything from him yet. The air was thick with tension, and everyone was restless, waiting for something to happen. Every minute that ticked by felt like an eternity.

I kept glancing at the door, praying that he’d come through it any second now. The thought of him out there, alone, risking his life, gnawed at me. I hated this helplessness. All I could do was wait.

Jae-heon moved around, talking quietly with the other survivors, discussing what our next move would be. He was trying to keep everyone calm, but I could see the fear in his eyes too. We were running out of time, and the monsters were getting more aggressive.

“Y/N,” Jae-heon said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, though the tightness in my chest didn’t loosen. “I’m fine. Just… worried.”

Jae-heon placed a hand on my shoulder, his expression softening. “He’ll come back. Hyun-su is strong.”

I wanted to believe him. But a part of me was terrified that I wouldn’t see Hyun-su again. That thought made my heart ache.

“I know he’s strong,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “But this is… this is different.”

Jae-heon didn’t argue. He just gave me a reassuring look and moved to help the others with reinforcing the barricades.

I hugged my knees to my chest, sitting on the cold floor, my mind racing. What if something had gone wrong? What if Hyun-su—

Before I could finish the thought, the door burst open, and Hyun-su staggered inside.

Cha Hyun-su’s POV

Every muscle in my body screamed in pain as I stumbled into the room, the adrenaline finally wearing off. I had managed to lead the monsters away, but barely. The whole time, I could feel the transformation inside me fighting to take over. I had to push it back, to stay in control.

But now, I was completely drained.

The room fell silent as I entered, everyone’s eyes on me. But the only person I cared about seeing was Y/N.

She was on her feet in an instant, rushing toward me. The relief in her eyes almost broke me. I’d never wanted to let her down, never wanted her to see me like this—weak, exhausted, barely holding on.

“Hyun-su!” Y/N’s voice was full of emotion as she reached me, her hands gently gripping my arms. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, though my legs felt like they might give out at any second. “I’m fine,” I lied, trying to steady my breathing.

“You look awful,” she said softly, her brow furrowed in concern.

I wanted to reassure her, to tell her I was okay. But I couldn’t find the words. The truth was, I wasn’t okay. The monster inside me was getting stronger, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it at bay.

But I couldn’t tell her that. I couldn’t let her see how scared I really was.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, forcing a small smile.

Y/N didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. For a moment, everything else faded away. The fear, the pain, the constant threat of death—it all disappeared as I held her.

“I was so worried about you,” she whispered against my chest.

“I know,” I murmured, resting my chin on her head. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N’s POV

I didn’t want to let go of him. Not after everything that had happened. Holding Hyun-su like this, feeling his warmth, it made me forget, just for a moment, the hell we were living in.

But we couldn’t stay like this forever. Reluctantly, I pulled back, though my hands lingered on his arms. His face was pale, and I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. He wasn’t telling me everything, but I didn’t want to push him. Not now.

Jae-heon approached us, his expression grim. “Hyun-su, we need to talk. There’s something… something else.”

Hyun-su nodded, his jaw clenched. “What is it?”

Jae-heon hesitated, glancing at the others before speaking. “We’ve found another survivor. Someone… infected, like you.”

My heart skipped a beat. Another person like Hyun-su? Was that even possible?

“Where are they?” Hyun-su asked, his voice tense.

“Downstairs, in the basement. We locked them up for now. But they’re different. More aggressive.”

I saw Hyun-su’s expression harden. The fear I’d seen in his eyes earlier was back. Whatever this meant, it wasn’t good.

“I’ll go see them,” Hyun-su said, determination in his voice.

“No!” I blurted out, grabbing his arm. “You just got back. You need to rest. Let someone else—”

“I have to do this,” he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “I need to know if… if I’m going to end up like them.”

The words hung heavy in the air. I didn’t want to think about that possibility—Hyun-su turning into one of those creatures, losing himself completely. But I could see the fear in his eyes. He was worried too.

“Then I’m coming with you,” I said firmly.

Hyun-su looked like he was about to argue, but then he sighed, nodding. “Okay. But stay close to me.”

Cha Hyun-su’s POV

We made our way to the basement, the tension thick between us. Y/N was silent, but I could feel her worry radiating off her. I didn’t blame her. I was scared too—scared of what I might see, of what it might mean for me.

The basement was dark and cold, the air damp and heavy. As we approached the locked door, I could hear something moving inside—scraping, low growls, the sound of something inhuman.

Jae-heon unlocked the door, and the sound grew louder. My heart pounded in my chest as we stepped inside.

The creature inside wasn’t fully transformed yet. It was still human… mostly. But its eyes were wild, filled with rage and fear. It snarled as it saw us, its body twitching with every movement.

I swallowed hard, my stomach churning. This could be me. This could be what I turn into.

“Hyun-su…” Y/N’s voice was soft, but I could hear the fear in it.

I forced myself to look at the creature, to study it. It was losing itself, the human part of it slipping away. I could feel the monster inside me stirring, as if it was trying to take control, to break free.

But I wasn’t going to let it. I couldn’t.

“This is what you’re fighting against,” Jae-heon said quietly. “You have to stay in control, Hyun-su. For all of us.”

I nodded, clenching my fists. “I won’t let this happen to me.”

Y/N’s POV

I watched Hyun-su as he stared at the creature, his expression tense and conflicted. I could only imagine what was going through his mind. Seeing that thing—it must have felt like looking at his own worst nightmare.

But I knew Hyun-su. He was stronger than that. He wouldn’t let this thing take over him. I believed in him, even if he didn’t fully believe in himself.

“We should go,” I said softly, reaching for his hand.

Hyun-su didn’t move for a moment, his gaze still locked on the creature. But then, slowly, he turned and took my hand, his grip tight. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

As we left the basement, I couldn’t help but glance back at the creature one last time. I hated it. Not just because it was a monster, but because it represented everything I feared for Hyun-su.

But I wouldn’t let it win. I wouldn’t let the fear consume me.

We walked back up the stairs in silence, but I didn’t let go of Hyun-su’s hand. Whatever happened, whatever came next, we would face it together.

Cha Hyun-su’s POV

Y/N’s hand in mine was the only thing keeping me grounded. The monster inside me was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but I was determined to fight it. For her. For everyone.

As we reached the top of the stairs, Jae-heon gave me a reassuring nod. “We’ll figure this out, Hyun-su. You’re not alone in this.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold on. But Y/N’s presence gave me hope. As long as she was by my side, I had something to fight for.

“We’ll get through this,” I said quietly, looking at Y/N.

She smiled, though I could see the worry still lingering in her eyes. “We will.”

And for the first time in a long

time, I allowed myself to believe that.

End of Chapter 7

Next | Previous

[kiwiana-writes]

for the au fun fact game! a leverage style heist au with alex, henry, and the rest of the super six? i'm surprised there aren't more rwrb leverage aus given how the super six is basically a pre-made heist team but yeah! i'm curious to see what you'll say 👀

Like the accidental marriage AU earlier, this is one that does already exist in my WIP folder! I'm hoping to tackle it in the first half of 2024; it takes a LOT more planning than I'm used to hahaha. So let's go.

ONE: The first time Alex comes across the famous Henry Fox, he's convinced it's a fakeout. There's no way someone that genteel, that pretty, is the sort of hitter that even the most hardened criminals whisper about with a mixture of fear and respect in their voices.

(The second time he comes across the famous Henry Fox is the day the team comes together, and if he wasn't in the room, he'd be convinced Nora doctored the footage—Henry takes out eight mooks without breaking a sweat, the lock of hair falling across his face and one scrape on his knuckle where one idiot opened their mouth right before Henry punched him in it the only evidence Henry had anything to do with the bodies lying at his feet in varying degrees of pain. Alex is impressed, grateful, and more than a little turned on.)

TWO: Nora is a terrible grifter. Absolutely atrocious. After a few disastrous attempts, they all agree that if the choices are between Nora grifting, and abandoning the con... well, you can't win 'em all.

THREE: Pez brings them together as a team, but June is their glue. She's the one who finds clients, and who keeps them... well, not honest, but on the right path.

FOUR: Henry worries, when he and Alex get together, when Nora and June and Pez are doing whatever it is they're doing, that Bea will feel like some sort of sixth wheel. He needn't have been concerned—Bea and Alex are a terrifyingly chaotic duo, Bea and June combine their big sister energy when needed, Bea and Nora occasionally disappear for a side job the rest of them know better than to ask about, and Bea and Pez gang up on Henry at any given opportunity. Some days it feels like she's the star they're all orbiting.

FIVE: Nora doesn't tell the rest of them—not even June and Pez—but she has contingency plans on top of contingency plans for when any or all of them get burned. There are fake identities living whole lives, at least according to their digital footprint, that any of them will be able to jump into at a moment's notice. The crew is her family, and she'll keep them safe.

[Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story.]

[chickensoup-4-mysoul]

herculean (drrr x f!reader) - chapter 22

Chapter 22 - Kettle Catching Pot

synopsis: you're anything but happy with izaya about the stunt he just pulled, but he's more than happy to tell you about more of his research.

word count: 2,128

warnings: description of murder

"i'm only human, i make mistakes i'm only human, that's all it takes to put the blame on me don't put the blame on me,, human - rag'n'bone man

He’s not expecting your appearance. He can try to cover up that fact, but the minuscule widening of his eyes is the only tell that you need. “(Y/N)! Fancy seeing you here! Come to rescue me from that vicious bea--.”

“Save it.” The words are curt, but your voice carries less contempt than you intend. All that comes through is pure breathlessness; astonishment. Izaya’s eyebrows knit in fake concern.

“Why, is something wrong?” His voice was level, the same way it always was when he spoke to you. Calm and collected, like nothing that just occurred mattered.

“What’s wrong is that you’re a creep!” So many words flit through your conscious, you’re not sure that the right one came out--but you stick with it because it's true. He is a creep; a creep who no one trusts, a creep that hurt Anri, a creep that tried to get someone killed. A part of you cowers in fear of his reaction. The two of you are alone. All it would take was upsetting him, and he could do whatever he wanted to you.

But instead of the piercing glare and venomous scowl that you’re expecting, you’re only granted a close-lipped smile; stretching across his face in a Cheshire-like manner. “Is that so? And what makes me such a creep?” He was unmoved, staring you down as if eagerly awaiting your next move. The regard for his reaction is dissipating by the second, replaced by pure irritation, anger even.

“L-like you don’t know…”

“No, please enlighten me! Here I thought I was doing right by you, pulling so many strings to get your request fulfilled--but if I’ve done something to upset you, I’m all ears.”

He’s stepping towards you now, arms open in some sort of grandiose gesture. You move backward to maintain a distance, strongly disliking the disparity between his eyes and smile. “Well, you know what? Forget about the request--forget about the whole thing! It’s not worth fraternizing with the likes of you…”

“And what are the likes of me?”

His advancing doesn’t stop, and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s taunting you, relishing in each moment you recoil in fear. Well, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You hold your ground as he comes closer, even stepping forward. To your annoyance, he only seems more pleased with this.

“Manipulative jerks who jeopardize the lives of others for their own gain. Sorry men who have nothing better to do than to mess with innocent people. Someone could have died today, because of you, do you understand that? You’re no better than a murderer .”

Something flashes in his eyes, something dangerous. It sends a flash of panic through you and you’re suddenly aware of your proximity to him. You stand face to face with him now, the closest to him you had ever been. You take in his toothy grin, eyes fixed on his lips as they slowly part. He savors the words, tasting them, before tossing them into the air.

“You’re one to talk about murderers.”

The facade is broken. Your brain reels too much to take in the vision, but the dancing of that poisonous voice against your ears is enough to stir you up. Stumbling backwards, you struggle to digest his words. What?

“What?”

“Tell me, (Y/N). That case file I gave you--did you notice anything odd?” 

“W-why are you bringing that up now? If you think you’re going to pull me into one of your games, you’re sorely mistaken--!”

“But you see, I haven’t pulled you into anything. You’ve walked into it yourself!” He reaches into his coat and you tense all over. Was this the end for you? Killed in a secluded alley while everyone else was distracted? You wonder what instrument he planned to murder you with; rope, a knife, a gun…

A manila folder. He holds it high above his head before tossing it on the floor in front of you. You only stare at it, hesitant to reach for it. Noting your distrust, Izaya raises his arms, nodding for you to take it. Swiftly crouching down, you pinch it between your fingers and quickly regain your guard. Eyeing him suspiciously, you slowly open the folder.

“....It’s just the same case file.” Were you disappointed?

“See anything different about it?” The man prods. He talks to you like you’re a child in need of coaxing. Wrinkling your nose, you flip through the pages. As far as you could tell, nothing was different. All of the pages were there, you could read everything…

You could read everything.

“Nothing’s blacked out…” you think out loud, momentarily losing your prideful attempt to resist his mind games. The numerous lines that you were unable to read before were now there, clear as day. “So you gave me a tampered copy. Ha-ha, silly me. Is that all?”

“Now may not be the best time, but I would like to say thank you.” Your eyebrow raises.

“Thank you?”

“For your stunning insight on this case. I must say, I’m impressed. Even I was a bit stumped, but, after our last consultation, I experienced a bit of a breakthrough. The order of the killings, the missing lock of hair, the Baseball Card Killer? You’re brilliant!”

A day before, you would have been foolishly prideful to hear those words. A naive itching within you to impress the enigmatic man that no one else could get through to. But now? The words fell flat with no effect. No, he was just trying to butter you up.

“Flattery’s not going to work. Literally, all of that was written in the case file.”

“Ah, but it wasn’t!” There’s an exhilaration in his voice that deeply unsettles you. Why on earth was he enjoying this so much?  You flip through the folder searching for the page that you knew the most. When you find it, your eyes quickly scan over the words

Leanne Clarence was found in the pool. Cause of death was confirmed to be drowning. The autopsy also revealed that locks of hair missing from the victim’s head.

“...locks of hair were missing from the victim’s head--see, it’s written right there.” You don’t even know why you’re sitting here talking to him. You could leave if you wanted to--and you do want to, so what’s the problem?

Izaya reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he holds it up to you, close enough for you to make out the writing--or lack thereof. It was a copy of the same page you had turned to, except that some lines had been crossed out--like the copy you had first gotten. “Except you hadn’t seen that before, had you?” He points his finger to the exact line you were referencing and, to your perplexity, you notice how half of it was blacked out.

Leanne Clarence was found in the pool. Cause of death was confirmed to be drowning. The autopsy also revealed ______________________________________.

Your brain stops running for a moment, thrown off by the revelation. “W-well, I made an inference, so what! I probably saw how pretty her hair was in the picture and had the theory...what does this have to do with--?”

“Show me those pictures, if you’d please.” Scoffing at the interruption, you flip to the next page. Maybe if you just played along for a bit, he’d let you go. Glancing over the three girl’s pictures, you point out Leanne’s picture, deadpan staring at the man.

“See? Pretty blonde hair.” Izaya leans closer to the page, presumably to get a closer look. He appears to be in deep thought, humming inquisitively with a creased brow. You huff impatiently--what on earth was there to contemplate? 

“How’d you know that was Leanne?” Your heart rate spikes through the roof as his face splits into a smirk once again.

“Stop messing around! The pictures are labeled, her name’s right--” You turn the page towards you again, ready to point out the name to him. However, when you plant your finger on the page, all you hit is blank white. 

There were no words anywhere on the page.

You blink slowly, as if in the brief moment that your eyes close, the print would appear. No, that didn’t make sense. You could’ve sworn the pictures were labeled. Maybe it had been somewhere else in the file--a description of each girl, a brief detail that let on to their identities. You continue to look through the folder, ignoring Izaya’s obviously growing amusement. Suddenly, the folder is swiped from your grasp. “H-hey!” You shout indignantly, seething at the man who now dangled the folder between his fingers.

“One more thing, (Y/N), and I promise I’ll set you free.” You scoff, crossing your arms. Taking that as compliance, he goes through the folder himself. The pace at which he flips each page is infuriatingly slow. Finally, he stops, planting a finger on a page before glancing up at you. “You said this to comfort yourself and you weren’t even thinking...but I found it quite fascinating. About the brutality of the stabbing. Do you remember?”

“It’s not exactly in the forewings of my memory at the moment.”

“Well, let me remind you!” His voice rises with glee, his eyes pinning you in a way that makes your blood curdle. He pulls something from his pocket--a simple cellphone. You raise a brow, silently questioning him. He gives no answer, simply pressing a button.

“..not brutal enough to get blood all over the crime scene.”

Wait...was that…?

“Hmmm, but perhaps the killer was able to book it after stabbing his last victim—that would be an easy avoidance for the mess.”

No way.

“It wasn’t his last victim though….Sorry—I just mean…he, er, strangled the last girl without getting blood on her, right? So the stabbing couldn’t have been that bloody.” 

“You recorded our conversations!?”

“I record all of my conversations--it’s kinda part of the job.” You could slug him across his nasty, smirking face--but you were more frustrated with yourself. How could you not have thought about that? How foolish you were...but it shouldn’t matter because you never said anything bad in the first place! You open your mouth to say so, but Izaya cuts you off, reading from the page in front of him.

“There has not been a confirmation regarding the sequence of the victims’ murders, investigators have reached a relative consensus that the culprit drowned Clarence in the pool, then stabbed Harker to death in the kitchen after strangling Hall next to the pool.”

stabbed Harker to death in the kitchen after strangling Hall next to the pool.

“Looks like you and these investigators are having a little disagreement...I wonder which one of you is correct!”

“It wasn’t his last victim though ...he, er, strangled the last girl without getting blood on her, right?”

So many thoughts were swirling through your head and you could feel yourself getting dizzy. Your lips scrambled for words, but no rebuttal came to mind--because what exactly was he insinuating? A murder that happened four years ago? You were a teenager, probably in school. Just because you had some random theories...doesn’t mean that you…

“You knew about Leanne’s missing hair, you knew the victim’s names and faces, you knew the order of the killings. Independently, these things could be a coincidence, but all together?”

This is crazy.

“It seemed outlandish at first...but I actually dug up so much crucial information, thanks to your request!”

You didn’t.

“The middle school certificate from the same city where the murder occurred, the school photo from the same high school that the three victims attended, the same name as the fourth victim that is still missing to this day…”

You couldnt have.

"It all checks out--the culprit drowned Leanne Clarence, ripping her hair out in the process. They then proceeded to stab Katherine Harker to death, before finally strangling poor, poor Renee Hall...but it wasn't the family's housekeeper, no. Nor was it Matthew Hall, Renee's drug-addict uncle. It wasn't even the infamous Baseball Card Killer..."

You didn't do it.

“Thats right--the culprit of the Three of a Kind Murder Case, the savage brute who took the lives of Renee Hall, Katherine Harker, and Leanne Clarence, is none other than you...(Y/N) Brigall!”

You didn’t do it. You didn’t. You didn’t. You didn’t you didn’t you didn’tyoudidntyoudidn’tyou didn’tyoudidn’tyoudidn’tyoudidn’ty oudidn’tyoudidn’tyoudidn’tyoudidn’tyoudidn’tyoudidn’t

The mantra flashes in your head over and over again like error windows on a computer screen. The words ring loud and earnestly, begging to be heard--begging to distract you from that lone, powerful voice beneath it all. The one that was getting through to you the most, no matter how much you resisted it.

You couldn’t resist it.

It was you.

[pcrfidia]

semi plotted starter for @ttheagcd ft. henry

social media is all abuzz with the news that hrh prince henry george edward james fox-mountchristen-windsor is visiting the states this holiday season with his best mate percy okonjo. the two have been spotted visiting several charities supporting children and youth, donating both time and money. rumors are they'll be joined by nora holleran later in the trip. does this mean the pair will be attending alex clermont-diaz's annual new years eve blowout again this year?

henry doesn't know why he let pez talk him into this trip. america carries too many memories and they skirt far too close alex's territory for henry's comfort. maryland is on the edge of dc and there's the fear that their paths will cross at one of the many events scheduled near the heart of the american government.

he knows pez has spoken to nora, even if his mate's been keeping the topic of their conversations a secret. to spare him more heartbreak, he supposes. henry doesn't talk about why he wanted to leave the lake house so quickly. the fear he felt when alex confessed what he truly wanted for them. it broke the illusion he'd been under in the time they spent together. he couldn't have what he really wanted and alex deserved better.

there's talk of a party and pez doesn't give him any details and that's fine with him. it's simply another schedule someone has made for him. he'll put in his appearance and smile like he's not falling apart inside.

it's not until their limo is gliding through the streets of dc that henry understands where they're headed. he turns to see pez studying him. it's the most serious he's ever seen him and he bites back on the harsh words that threaten to snap out. he takes a breath to steady himself, calming a bit. "did you and nora plan this?"

pez shrugs as the car draws closer to the white house. "bea and june might have also been involved."

of course. henry's fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. that his friend and sister had calculated something like this without him knowing was absolutely diabolical. none of them knew why he had broken things off with alex and he staunchly refused to answer any questions when brought up. he retreated back into himself and settled in to what would be his future. the spare. forever in his family's shadow.

but it seems his friends have other plans for him. he sees the concern on pez's face and the slightest shift that maybe he regrets pulling henry into this. henry sighs and rolls his neck, shifting his shoulders. preparing himself as he does for any public appearance. he won't fall apart just by being in the same room as alex. with the amount of people who crowd under the tent at the party, it would be easy to disappear and pretend everything is all right.

"tomorrow on the plane trip home, we're going to have a discussion on what is an appropriate surprise."

when the door of the limo is opened for them, henry climbs out, his professional mask slipping into place. he smiles for the cameras, slings an arm around pez's shoulders and leads him to the entrance of the party tent.

he could do this. it's just one night.

[alicesbread]

Lil Bea x Ich fanfic I just wrote at 3 am becouse yeah (TW: Self harm, vomiting and self image issues).

I could feel their eyes on me. Everyone was staring, but not in the way I wanted. They were horrified. Shocked. Speechless. I didn't understand why, and for the longest time, I didn't understand what was going on. Maxim yelled at me, and I froze for some seconds, before I ran upstairs as quick as I could.

I felt horrible. I felt a weird pain in my chest, and cried as I felt the need to throw up. I closed the door of my room behind me, letting the tears roll down my cheeks, as I threw the wig on the bed. The dress. The stupid dress. This was supposed to be a wonderful, memorable night, but now, it was ruined. I felt like a fool as I went into the bathroom, and knelt down in front of the toilet, nauseous as I cried. I don't know how much time I spent throwing up and crying. It felt like the longest, and most horrible time.

I scratched my arms as I cried, until i peeled off some of my skin, and I started bleeding. There were many bleeding spots, and it hurt like hell, just like my burning throat. But I didn't care about that all. I was a fool. A total idiot. After I totally emptied my stomach and had nothing left to vomit, I just sat in the corner, hugging myself and crying until I had no tears left, shaking in pain and fear.

I felt my heart stop for a brief second as someone knocked at the door. I was scared. Genually scared. I was supposed to be the main character of the party, and I was supposed to be downstairs, greeting people and celebrating. I looked horrible. Devastated. My heart raced, and I remained silent as my anxiety grew bigger and bigger. I just wanted to dissapear completely. Then, the person outside my room finally spoke up.

–Darling? Are you alright? It's me, Bee, can I come in?

Her voice, normally firm and kind of masculine, sounded very soft, and I could hear her concern. Oh, Beatrice. What would she think of me now? I looked pathetic. I remained silent, still shaking. After some seconds, she opened the door. At first she looked around, not seeming to find me in my room. I sighed.

–I'm here...

I said, almost in a whisper. She quickly heard me, and walked into the bathroom. I still remember the concern on her face as she saw me there, on the floor, looking like a total mess. She covered her mouth with her hands, as she quickly knelt down in front of me.

–Oh, dear...

Her eyes were sweet, and full of concern. I felt my heart break a little when she looked at me like that. She quickly hugged me, with one of her big, bear hugs. I didn't complain at all.

–I'm so sorry, dear... You couldn't have known...

She explained to me that Rebecca had worn that same dress to the costume ball the year before her death, and I suddenly understood everything. I felt even worse. Rebecca. Always Rebecca.

–Oh my God... I'm such an idiot, I should have known...

She quickly shook her head, still hugging me.

–No, of course not... You didn't know, it's not your fault...

She stayed there for a while, as I enjoyed her gentleness and warmth. She finally pulled away and looked at me again, even more worried. She caressed my cheek.

–Dear, have you been throwing up? You look so pale...

That's how she was. Beatrice did not have filters, and she didn't hide her thoughts. For once, I thanked that quality in her. I nodded slowly. She sighed, concerned.

–Oh, you poor thing... You must have been feeling very bad, sorry for not coming before, there was so many people...

I shook my head.

–It's okay, don't worry about It...

She looked down, thinking for a second, before sighing again.

–Alright... Come on, we need to clean you up, you're a mess, darling. Brush your teeth, I'll get the bath ready and pick another dress you can wear. You'll eat something downstairs, alright?

I nodded slowly.

–Thank you, Bee...

She cupped my face with her hands, and kissed my forhead.

–No need. Now, come on, let's get you cleaned up.

I did as she said and brushed my teeth. I didn't realize how much I had vomited, for now that I was finally a bit more calm, I noticed the emptyness in my stomach. She picked a pretty dress from my wardrobe, and filled the bathtub with warm water. We stood silent for a while, as she carefully helped me to remove my dress. I suddenly felt very ashamed for having her see my body. I didn't like It.

I think she saw that, somehow. She was very perceptive.

–Oh, come on, don't be like that. You don't need to be ashamed, you're pretty just like this, dear.

I don't know why, but Beatrice's compliments were better than any other person's. Becouse she was always honest (maybe a little too much), so whenever she said a good thing, I knew she meant it. I knew it was true in her eyes. I tried my best to smile, before stepping into the bathtub, and letting out a small sigh as the warm water touched my skin.

I closed my eyes, trying to just forget everything. Now, it was just me and her, her and me. And she was not an enemy. She was by my side. She was my friend. That thought helped me calm down a little. She helped me wash myself, and I found myself comforted by the gentle touch of her fingers on my skin. It felt very nice. She suddenly noticed the wounds on my arms, and her eyes widened in concern.

–Oh... Oh my god, dear, did you...? Oh my... These look horrible...

And there it was, my poor Bee being extremely honest once again. But... Somehow in the good sense. She looked at me, with those brown, deep eyes of hers. They were more tender and careful than Maxim's, and in other situation, they would have been happier, as well.

–Did you... Do this to yourself...?

I felt a hint of guilt in my chest. I didn't realize how much I had been scratching myself, and now that I looked at it, it was a pretty big thing. It hurt. I nodded slowly.

–I'm sorry...

My voice was very weak and quiet, but I couldn't help it. I felt like a small kid that's been caught doing something bad. For a second, I was scared that she would be mad at me. But my thoughts vanished when I felt her hand gently on my arm.

–Please... Don't be sorry. It's... It's not your fault. Just... Don't keep doing things like this, okay? Don't hurt yourself anymore.

I nodded slowly, and she sighed. She went to take a small emergency kit that she always carried with her, and started treating my wounds. It hurt, and I flinched a couple of times. But her touch was very gentle and careful, and she finally finished and put some bandaids on my wounds, after cleaning them.

–Thank you.

I smiled slightly, and I whispered. She smiled a little bit as well. Then our smiles faded. We stayed like that for some time, just enjoying the silence and the calm, between eachother. I don't know how it happened. Or when, or why. But just a few seconds after, I found my lips on hers. We were kissing.

It wasn't weird for friends to kiss, of course. We had kissed eachother before, but this time was different. We weren't greeting eachother, or saying goodbye to eachother. That kiss made no sense at all. We had no reason to kiss. I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I simply craved affection from someone. But there I was. Her lips felt soft and warm against mine, and I felt my heart flutter and I realize how good her kisses actually felt.

There was no resistence. No protest. No surprise. She just kissed back, without any visible hesitation or doubt. I wrapped my arms around the back of her neck, bringing her closer to me as I kissed her. It felt like I was kissing her somehow... Hungrily. Like I was craving it. Like I needed it. I stopped questioning the why. The how. There was no reason, but I enjoyed it. I loved It. That's everything I needed to know to keep kissing her.

After we pulled away, there were many questions in my mind. Like why my cheeks felt so hot. Why I had liked it so much. Why my heart was racing like never before inside my chest. Why I felt like I was in heaven. And why I could feel butterflies in my stomach.

I looked up at her, nervously. How would she react? Was she as confused as I was? Was she mad? Was she disgusted? Not a word came out of her. But the slight scarlet color of her cheeks and her sweet smile said everything for her. We stood there for a while, and then we laughed.

(for the 2 people in the Bea x Ich community: you're welcome 💋💋/j i know this is shit i'm just eepy)(also my first language isn't English don't judge me)

[quill-pen]

Scrooge Fanfiction Masterlist

One-shots (Start off as ScroogeXReader then changes to ScroogeXOC as the insert became hr own characters but the idea remains the same)

~Blessing SFW: Scrooge reassures his reader!wife of his love and adoration for her.

A Christmas Confession pt. 1 SFW: On their first Christmas as a married couple, Scrooge and Reader host a Christmas party and put the children to bed with dreams of Santa and sugarplums dancing through their heads.

A Christmas Confession pt. 2 SFW: Still on their first Christmas as a married couple, Reader finally comes to clean to Ebenezer about her feelings for him, despite how she fears his rejection. His response is incredible.

~Not Over Quickly NSFW: While sharing a passionate night with wife!reader, Ebenezer makes something happen that's never happened before.

Making TikToks with Ebenezer pt.? SFW: Modern AU--Ebenezer suggests making a TikTok with you and surprises you with what the subject is.

~Sexy, unnamed fic inspired by prompt 1 NSFW: A snuggly, bookish evening turns a little steamy because Bess just can't keep her hands off her handsome hubby.

Custard, Strawberries, and April Fools prompt inspired 2 SFW: Just a lovely spring picnic between a loving and sweet couple.

~Welcomes Home prompt inspired 3 SFW: Ebenezer returns home to find Bess away. Yet even in her absence, she manages to welcome him home.

Cute, untitled fic inspired by prompt 4 SFW: A sugary sweet moment between our OTP.

~Just so Punny NSFW: Scrooge really does not appreciate puns.

A Good Cowgirl NSFW: Bess is a very good cowgirl--just ask Ebenezer.

~Like George SFW: Some insight into Bess' relationships with some of the main men in her life.

Toddie vs. Ebeness NSFW-ish: Just a comparison of two of my favorite ships in my Scroogeverse.

~She-Wolf NSFW: Just a little passionate doggy-style between our wolfish soulmates.

A Good Man SFW: Ebenezer Scrooge is a good man; Bess just wishes he could see it as easily as she can.

~Somewhere Out There SFW: Bess goes through a rough break-up with her fiancé.

The Queen's Protector NSFW: Bess receives some unwanted attention from another man and Ebenezer comes to her aid.

~Storm Shelter SFW: Bess goes into a spiral after a suffering flashback from her childhood.

Fear the Big Bad Wolf SFW: Ebenezer comforts Bess and makes promises to her after she reveals threatening information.

~In Your Corner SFW: Bess has a rough morning and Ebenezer comforts her.

~Boss (continuation of 'In Your Corner') SFW: Bess finally lays down the law with her housekeeper.

A Father's Regret SFW: Jacob Marley pays another ghostly visit.

~Domesticity SFW: Bess finally makes Scrooge Manor her home.

Deep NSFW: Those hands are magical.

~ Bess SFW: A sorry attempt at poetry based on the moment Ebenezer meets Bess for the first time.

Forever SFW: A comparison of Bess' and Ebenezer's wedding and Bea's and Jacob's wedding. From both the women's and men's perspectives.

~Powder Room NSFW-ish: A short little drabble/thot about our minxy otp.😉

A Good Day to Die NSFW: Another short drabble about some spicy office lovin'.

~A Quiet Evening SFW: In the Sims Scrooge timeline, Bess and Ebenezar--also known as Wolf--share a romantic evening together.

The Wolf & The Moon SFW: Another sorry attempt at poetry.😬

~Tattoo SFW: A little ficlet about a conversation between modern!Bess and Ebenezer concerning scars and tattoos.

Goosebumps SFW: A little poem-ish drabble about our dear former miser through the eyes of his beloved wife.

~Red NSFW: A small drabble centering around a pair of lingerie and the color red. Featuring our beloved wolf-motifed couple.

Pearls SFW: Ethel Cratchit never liked pearls. But she still wanted them because of what they'd come to symbolize for her.

~Blue Moon SFW: Blue moons should be blue. And come in pairs.

Angel SFW: A poem by our favorite former miser as he slowly realizes his love for a freckle-faced, blue-eyed, black-haired American.

~My Bess NSFW: A steamy moment of passion between our favorite pair.

Meet the Scrooges pt. 1 SFW: In the Sims 4 Scroogeverse, Ebenezar--a.k.a. Wolf--finally takes his new wife, Bess, to meet her in-laws.

~ That's Why They're 'The Wolves' NSFW: A little thot set in the Timeless Scroogeverse concerning why our favorite couple are called "The Wolves".

Jealousy SFW (but littered with crude language and overall toxicity): Bess gets engaged. She is thrilled. Oliver and Abigail are not.

~My Big Sister by Millicent Sullivan-Scrooge SFW: A draft of a report Millie writes and reads in one of my fics.

The Declaration SFW: In the DND Scroogeverse, ex-warrior-priestess Bess puts herself between the werewolf she loves and those who would threaten him.

~Draped in Moonbeams NSFW: Ebenezer comes home to a rather lovely surprise awaiting him in the master bedroom.

Timeless Firsts with the Girls: Kisses--Addie SFW: In the Timeless Scroogeverse, Addie tells the girls her experience of being kissed by Tom Jenkins for the first time

~The Milkmaid Dress NSFW: In a modern Scroogeverse, Bess buys a dress and her beloved hubby takes it upon himself to leave a review.

A Red Sunrise: A Timeless Scroogeverse Tale SFW (unless you're squeamish about blood and menstrual issues): On Bess first official weekend staying over at her beau's, she has an unexpected visit from Aunt Flo.

[st8rrywrites]

SEVENTEEN - CHAPTER TWO

FEMALE OC - SKYLAR SLADE

BLURB: What lingers in the darkness should be left alone. Especially when its least expected. Being seventeen never had its perks and this was one reason why. What do you do when you feel like someone is coming after you and all you can do is plague those thoughts alone?

WARNINGS: mentions of suicide, mentions of paranoia, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks.

WORD COUNT: 4050 words

-

CHAPTER TWO:

The night club was far from pleasant. The sweaty atmosphere of a bunch of drunk teenagers all swaying and shoving into each other whilst the dim lights leave barely any sight to see where you’re going wasn’t down Skylar’s street at all but she wasn’t doing this for her, she was doing this for her friends. All she had to do was stay here for two hours minimum and she could be back underneath her sheets, laughing about how the night actually wasn’t that bad and that as much as she couldn’t face the outside world she was going to have to put up with it and act like every other human being on this earth.

Five minutes into the night, she had already excused herself to go to the bathroom to calm herself down and reassure herself that everything would be okay. It wasn’t as easy as you would think to calm her racing heart down, the booming sounds of the music from the speakers echoed in her chest. Another banging could be heard. Maybe she was hearing things? No this was definitely happening in real time.

A meek voice pulled Skylar out of her trance, “Skylar? Are you in there?”.

Rose’s voice questioned, silently wishing that her friend wouldn’t just trap herself in a stuffy cubicle all night. Rose wanted Skylar to have fun, its all she wished for. No-one should have to go through the crippling anxiety Skylar felt but Rose has always thought she could pull Skylar out of that black hole and hopefully experience the only few good days she had left until she would be turning into an adult. Now was the time she had to face her fears for if she didn’t then she would be stuck forever. Gathering herself, she steadily opened the cubicle door to be met with a soft face. One of concern laced with empathy.

“Come on, let’s go get some drinks and soon enough your worries will be behind you, don’t worry about being left alone, I’ll be by your side the whole night.” Rose shared.

Those words in themselves made Skylar feel less anxious, setting off towards the bar with her best friend right by her side.

When it came to drinking, Rose went all out. Especially at home. When she would have gatherings, she would make all sorts of concoctions. Bloody Mary’s, sex on the beach’s, jelly shots, and then the basics, cider, vodka, champagne, wine (red and white), lager, you name it and she had it. So Skylar just got handed whatever Rose knew was her favourite.

Walking back to the group after what had just gone down in the past ten minutes was embarrassing to say the least. Even if Skylar didn’t show it on her face, her body language made it very clear. But her friends were understanding, that’s who they were.

The whole group consisted of six people in total, There was Leyla who was the oldest of the group, Bea, who was the second oldest, then there was of course Skylar who was surprisingly the third oldest in the group which you would never of guessed, Rose was the fourth oldest, Belle was then the fifth oldest, and then Rory was the youngest of the group. Every single one of them had made Skylar’s life considerably better in high school and to be honest if it wasn’t for making those friends in high school, she would be so lost right now. Skylar was closest with Rose which was already so telling but she adored each and every one of her friends because deep down she knew that people actually did care for her. It was just hard to come to the realisation that this was the case because her whole life the voices in her head had put her down so hard that she got used to them, so trying to dig out of that deep hole wasn’t easy.

Leyla already had her license, she passed when she was still seventeen, which opened up endless amount of opportunities for the group to do. However, that excluded Skylar from all of this because she was too in her own head that she couldn’t make time to go out with her friends. Even if she did go out she would just be too engrossed inside her head to make out all the conversations that were pooling around the group.

When Skylar had first met Leyla, she was scared, not in a bad way, just that Leyla was known a stranger to her. When she first joined, Skylar peeked down. It wasn’t Leyla’s fault at all! It’s just that this was a whole new person that’s just come into her life and it takes a long time to fully be herself around strangers. It took quite a while to even feel comfortable to speak properly whilst Leyla was around, but when she did, she realised that there was no judgement on her part of who Skylar truly was. Leyla was a really put together person, even if she didn’t think so herself, Skylar thought it was admirable. Keeping down a job, working long hours, and still being able to go out and have fun. That in itself was something Skylar could only dream of being able to do. On top of that, she was gorgeous. She had the confidence, style, and the looks. Which yet again is something Skylar wishes she could have.

To say Skylar despised the way she looked was an understatement. She hated her face, her body, her hair, any aspect that other would compliment would be flushed out straight away because she couldn’t believe it. She felt like lies were the only thing that could spew out of her friends or family’s mouths sometimes. How could someone hate themselves so much? It was pretty easy for her to feel like that, it felt like a second hand thought to her at the end of the day. No-one has taken a picture of her in years, she hates it. She can’t ever describe the feeling of when she looks back on a picture, it’s an indescribable, hopeless pit. ‘Do I really look like that?’, ‘Everyone else looks like how I see them, so is that how I truly see myself?’, ‘I feel sick’, is what ran through her head so much that she stopped even taking pictures of herself. She’d push the thoughts aside. If she wasn’t taking a picture, or someone else was, or avoiding any reflective surface, then she could go on about her day and only picture what she looks like. Which she was contempt to her, that’s how she liked it.

One memory that sticks, is when everyone was round at Rose’s house. Everyone was chatting away whilst Skylar was still coming down from an anxiety attack. She hadn’t seen her friends in so long that that was the thing to cause her attack in the first place. She thought she had well and truly lost it. If she can’t even stick around her friends without having an anxiety attack, then how was she going to get a job? Once the panic started to settle, she felt herself grow more happy with being there, catching up with how her friends lives were going. After about roughly an hour and a half, a few people were tipsy or drunk. ‘This is fun’ Skylar thought to herself. She even started bringing up dancing and Leyla was so down to do it with her. Grabbing the remote, she put on the just dance version of Rasputin. Now anyone who has done this dance would know that it’s a lot of movement, it indeed was. Bea had joined in at this point and we were all filming it and giggling to themselves, just letting the burdens of what was to come tomorrow and the days after off their shoulders. You could tell that Leyla was drunk, and Skylar was tipsy, it was heaven. Maybe one of the only times she actually felt free and could be herself in the limelight of her friends. By the end of it all three of them were panting and trying to catch their breaths. Bliss. The only word that could be used to describe that moment. She had completely forgot that she was acting to her true self. Leyla on the floor, spread out and Bea taking pictures of her whilst laughing at how funny she looked right now, whilst Skylar was sat back down just reminiscing on what had just happened. That was one of the memories she could remember vividly where her and Leyla had a good time together.

Bea was only a few days older than Skylar, back when Bea had joined school late, she was the talk of the year, and hell, Skylar understood why. Bea was the person only people could dream of being friends with. The thing Skylar admired the most about Bea was that she had gone through so much and still managed to flash a smile on her face. Honestly, one of the strongest people she knew. Every time everyone would hang out, she always checked up on Skylar if she noticed that she was being a bit more distant or away in her thoughts, Skylar would never voice that her words alone made her feel better. Just the simple check up truly made Skylar believe that the doubtful thoughts of having no-one that cared for her would vanish in a second. There was a huge difference between the girls who were only a few days apart in age. Going out. Most nights, Bea was out with all types of different friend groups. Skylar only knew this because she would sent multiple pictures and videos of what she was doing at that time. FOMO – fear of missing out, was a massive part of Skylar’s life. It had pretty much been a burden since she turned the ripe age of thirteen. Jealousy was normal for any teenage girl. But she just couldn’t shake the feeling when she would see each and every picture/video that ‘what was so wrong with her that she couldn’t be like this and live this life like Bea was?’. Overall, she was just grateful that their paths had met. Being in the last year of school, you don’t expect anyone new to be joining the year because this is the year where you take your GCSE’s, and it would be a tough struggle to catch up with the previous years of learning in only less than one. And by the end of the year, Bea had worked extremely hard to achieve the grades she wanted, and everyone was so proud of her for how she had adapted to the whole new environment and just put her head down and tried her best. If she had never moved schools in the first place, she would of never of met Bea. It always puzzles her when she thinks about it because like everything, if you hadn’t done that one thing then you might not be where you’re at right now. Bea knew all the gossip, even if Skylar never had a clue who the people she was talking about were, it was slightly amusing to see what people around her were getting up to.

Then there was Rose. The one Skylar was closest to. Skylar had met Rose back in year seven through mutual friends, however, they didn’t become friends until year eight and from then on they were practically inseparable. Except for year nine. But we don’t talk about that incident. Rose had always been there for Skylar, every single time she had been swept over with her depressive states, to each and every panic attack she’d experienced. At the end of the day, Rose seemed to be able to help Skylar in making her overcome the worries that would flood through her head. They had met on one instance before high school had even started but Rose would never remember that. She had the poorest memory ever.

The summer before the nerve wracking start at high school, Skylar had gone with her sister to a trampoline park. They were queuing up ready for their hour slot at the park when she overheard a minor conversation in front of her. It was something along the lines of “I can’t wait to start at Trinity High School!”. Now this was what perked Skylar’s ears up in the first place. She was going to the same school as these two girls in front of her. As soon as she had heard the words come out of their mouths, her head whipped around to look straight at her sister, the same bewildered facial expression was plastered on both of their faces. She still remembers vividly that Rose had dip dyed pink on top of her natural blonde hair, and the other girl had dip dyed blue on top of her also natural blonde, wavy hair. Not even a year later, and she would be friends with one of these girls and would introduce her to the best friendship she’s ever had.

Skylar admired so much about Rose. The list could go on for hours if she wanted. If she had to pick only one though, it would be her ability to stand up for herself. Any sort of confrontation or argument that fizzled it’s way into Skylar’s life, caused her immense amounts of distress. So much distress that it could make her physically sick.

However, Skylar never felt as if she had to hold back when explaining her various fears to her friends, especially Rose and Rory who understood the darkness depression and anxiety brought to lives. It was something Skylar could hardly put into words. Some days it would be a specific feeling lurking behind her almost similar to the feeling of forgetting something and feeling all eyes on you as if you had made a huge fool out of yourself, when in reality you were alone in your teenage bedroom. Or in Skylar’s case, she always was. Alone. In her teenage bedroom. Other days this feeling crept in front of her as if it was the only thing she could feel or think about. It was almost as overwhelming as drowning. The feeling of needing to breathe, but all the air was sucked from your lungs and the water was rising. That was until Skylar realised there was no water, and it was just a feeling she would have to become familiar with. Fortunately for her, Skylar had certain friends which could help her with this, draining the water from the pool she was drowning in. Removing the plug. Adding more oxygen. Skylar often felt alone in this world. Like the only girl in the world, even if swarmed around by people. It was a feeling she could only dream of escaping. But these friends made it just that little bit easier of being alone. Alone but not lonely.

There was one instance, when Skylar’s phone was blowing up. Her friends messages. Constant. Yet this drowning feeling wouldn’t escape. She was being dragged under. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop pouring. Just as she was on the verge of ending it all. Drowning. For real. She checked her messages. Almost immediately. Rose would call this fate. “Always remember everything happens for a reason Skylar, it will lead to better things” is what Rose miraculously tried to enforce into Skylar’s brain no matter how long it took. Always so persistent. She looked at her messages. Floods of questions Skylar couldn’t even process of answering right then. “are you okay?” “how are you?” “what’s up?” “why aren’t you replying?” “what’s wrong with you?” what’s wrong with you. A question Skylar could only dream of having the answer to.it was that moment Skylar realised she wasn’t okay. She thought about those questions for hours that night. Laid in her now cold bath water until her fingers were wrinkly. Am I okay? She thought to herself. She was tired. So tired. Her body almost as if on its own was slowly sliding into the water. Her face almost engulfed by a layer of water, until her phone rang, and rang. And rang. She shot up, answering it without even looking at the caller Id.

“what is it.” She demanded

“hi love, just checking in. I haven’t heard off you for days, I was about to send out a search party.” Rose giggled.

“I’m busy, I’ve got to go” were the only words that slipped out of Skylar’s now dry mouth.

“okay.. well please stay in tou-“ rose attempted to reply, but instead she was faced with the ending of the call due to Skylar’s anxious cancellation of the call.

Guilt.

 Guilt was another feeling Skylar couldn’t escape. She felt bad for how she reacted. Out of impulse. As a defence mechanism. Guarding her true feelings. Like an armour. A shield. All she wanted in that moment was to pour her heart out to rose, all her friends. The whole world even. But she couldn’t. there weren’t enough words in the English dictionary for her to express her thoughts. So she shut them off. Everyone. Everyone who helped her. Or at least tried to.

It happened that night too. Skylar had just finished her 7th drink of the night. The feeling of freeness and euphoria others often felt were masked as anxiety and paranoia as she scanned her eyes over the crowded club. I need to get out of here. Now. Her only thoughts as she glanced at her friends smiling beside her. Without another word she walked towards the green exit sign lit above the door. The sign she noticed straight away. Almost as if it was her aim to follow it the whole night. As she took a few more steps she felt her arm being slightly pulled behind her. She turned around in confusion, until she was met with the faces of all 5 of her closest friends. Rose, Bea, Leyla, Belle and Rory.

“and where do you think you’re going?” boomed Bea.

“Skylar come have a drink!” Leyla beamed as she offered her a selection of bottles of alcohol in her hands, in which she only imaged were bought for her by the variety of men she was flirting with most the night.

As Skylar thought about what to reply, the truth or a lie? The only words that left her mouth, ever so quietly were; “ I cant do this. I’m sorry. My mums outside, I’m going home” she lied. Her mother was in fact not outside. Or on her way.

She now had to find a way to get home, as quick as possible.

Great, Skylar thought.

If only she could teleport.

As Skylar felt the cool fresh air brush over her, she let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. Her muscles relaxed, almost automatically as her eyes scanned around the empty streets and alleys she was faced with before her, for any signs of transportation. Bus stops, train stations, taxis. A dodgy white van slowly driving past even. She would do anything to lie in the comfort of her own bed right now. As she realised there were no forms of getting home in the snap of a finger as she hoped she reached for her phone which she for once didn’t have glued to her hands, as her parents like o refer to it. “maybe if you went outside once in a while and got off your phone, you wouldn’t feel like this.” Like this. What even is this feeling? She glanced down at her phone – which was on do not disturb ( like always) – and momentarily rolled her eyes as she was faced with the fact it would be almost impossible to go find a way home at 2;44am in the small local area 2 miles away from her house.

Skyla never referred to her house as her home. She believed home was a feeling more then a place. There were moments where she believed she was there. Little snippets when laughing until she couldn’t breathe with her best friends or listening to music until her eardrums could most likely bleed in her bedroom. But the more she overthought, the more she debated whether she’s ever really felt at home.

Walking was out of option. It would take her two hours to walk home, a twenty minute drive. But a two hour drive.

If only she could teleport.

She began to search on her phone for possible solutions. She tried everything. Buses, trains. She even attempted to find the courage to ring a taxi service in which she was glad was out of service due the fact it was a bank holiday. Great. Thoughts of doubt flooded her mind as she contemplated going back in to her friends until they left. That was also out of the picture. She couldn’t face it again. Walking through the doors, alone. Searching through the sweaty crowd for her most likely drunk friends until they felt the need to finally leave. In which, in this case wouldn’t be for hours knowing her friends.

As these thoughts circled through her mind she looked down on to her phone with the aim of calling one of her parents, preferably her mother to pick her up with hopes that she’d wake up within 2 rings. She took a deep breath in as her finger hovered over the call button, just wishing her mother would understand.

After the first 17 calls, unanswered Skylar began to think walking or crawling at this point may be the only way to return to her comfort zone.

If only she could teleport.

That was until she saw the puff of smoke float past the corner of her eye, in which she’d bet on her life the she saw it and felt the presence of someone next to her. Someone unfamiliar. She creeped to the left, where it came from. No one was there. Okay that was weird. It’s not like Skylar didn’t already feel like her sanity was slipping away slowly, but something about this instance just felt so unlike anything she had felt before.

In the end, she decided to just sit patiently and anticipate when her friends would appear, stumbling out of the club.

Two hours later ( the amount of time it would of taken to get back to her house), Skylar’s ears perk up at the familiar sound of one of her friends giggles. Thank god. She had started to feel a throbbing pulse pulling at her head an hour ago, as she had been resting them in between the comfort of her own two legs. Too afraid to face the outside world again after the incident that had happened just mere hours ago.

“Skylar?” Rory questioned whilst in a fit of giggles as to why her friend was out here, crouched down on the filthy ground, in the freezing cold.

“What are you doing out here? Why are you still here?” Belle asked timidly.

Because the state that Skylar was currently in, didn’t look approachable in the slightest. Her whole body quivering as she looks up to five pairs of eyes, all with the same worn on expression, like they had just copied and pasted one facial expression and slapped it onto all their faces. Every one of them except Belle were drunk off their heads, so this whole situation just turned to mush in their brains and instead of asking any more questions, they set off towards the car. All except Belle, who helped Skylar off the floor and held on tight to her trembling figure as she lead them in the direction of where everyone else was heading.

‘Who was that?’

‘Surely there was someone there right? Or do I really need to start worrying about my sanity?’

‘Why won’t this god awful feeling go away? It feels like something is about to go terribly wrong.’

Were what ran through her head as she studied the outside world as if to ask if they had the answer to these questions. Something was seriously wrong and even her friends could tell which was a sign in itself.

[drizzleoftherain]

Liturgia

Chapter 9: La ambición, delirio de grandeza hizo en mí un ser martirizada porque estaba locamente enamorada

Pairing: Ava Silva & Beatrice

Ao3

There’s a playlist and a mood-board.

The face looking back at her isn’t her own. 

In all the ways that mattered to the outside world Beatrice was the vision of perfection. The makeup artists had done an impeccable job hiding the dark bags under her eyes, courtesy of the lack of sleep from the night before. She wasn’t sure how she was even standing right now, probably through sheer force of will and copious amounts of coffee and energy drinks. Eyebrows fiercely drawn straight across, makeup minimal but striking, and hair in a tight bun to better suit the head piece mask combo she would wear later.

Her eyelids and eyes were the only signs of the things that were wrong. Still puffy, still red, still within a moment's notice of tears bubbling up again. Lips red with both rouge and the incessant need to nibble. The gown hugged her waist in an uncomfortable manner, constricting, but the pain was a punishment she welcomed. It reminded her that she was still there, still tethered, that she was a physical entity with sensations.

The broken glass shards reflected back the late afternoon sun coming through the hotel room window, catching her eyes occasionally. She felt as fractured and as despondent as her dress appeared. It was an odd but perfectly accurate representation of herself. The dress covered almost every part of her with the final piece, the headpiece, suffocating her completely.

 The voices in the room were starting to make their way into her ears again. Camila was quarreling with Levy on whether the flower above her hat was secured enough for the red carpet. Beatrice was sure it was just an expression of nerves rather than an actual fear. If the flower fell then it fell. They knew they couldn’t stop moving once they began their demonstration. 

Don’t stop moving. 

Don’t stop. 

Don’t.

It was like the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on her. When would she have the time to stop? Was that even possible anymore? It all just seemed like an endless race. To what? She doesn’t know. None of it seemed worth it anymore. It could be due to how fatigued she was or the fact that she was probably one erroneous event away from exploding. 

“Bea?” Camila was beside her, looking at her through the mirror. Eyes concerned, “You’ve been quiet all day, is something the matter?”

She wants to let everything out. She wants to express how much everything has escalated. How she couldn’t keep up with their precipitous rise to fame. How she was literally hanging on by the smallest fucking thread in the world. How deeply in love she was with Ava, and how it felt like an injustice that her heart couldn’t burst through her chest like she wanted it to and be free to scream it out into the world. How unexpected it had all been and how much her mind was struggling in its attempt to keep up. And how years of emotional trauma was currently keeping her from everything she wanted, everything she has never dared hope for.

What she says though is not that. “I’m fine, Cam. Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Camila is looking at her skeptically, as if she hasn’t been a witness to her slow and equally fast unravel. “This isn’t just about last night though. I’ve seen this look day after day now, I know something is wrong and you’re not letting me in, you’re not letting any of us in.”

“I’m fine.”

“Beatrice, you’re not fine. Is it us? Are we doing something to cause this?”

Yes . Once again in her life everyone was expecting too much of her. She saw the signs, she knew she was beginning to shut down and withdraw into herself. It was easier this way. The feeling of nails scraping against the walls of her mind and heart, fighting to stay as her emotions unwillingly receded back into that metaphorical box. Safely away, where no one could reach them. Where they couldn’t hurt her or others.

“No.”

“Are you stressed about what we’re about to do?”

Yes . They were about to do something unheard of in Met Gala history. Completely going off theme on purpose. To spite everything the event stood for. They could be persecuted for this. And yet, she had wholeheartedly agreed because it had been the right thing to do. They had the platform, the message needed to be heard. Did people want to hear it? Well, that wasn’t up to her.

“No.”

“Is this all too much?”

Yes . Every time the band’s career moves ahead, she retreats. She sacrifices, they reap the rewards. She gives, everyone takes, even Ava. Leaving nothing behind in their wake. She was starting to think that staying her course, keeping to her original life plans had been the best choice for her. A simple life playing piano for the London Philharmonic was starting to sound pleasant and perfectly quaint.

“No.”

“Beatrice.” Camila is losing her patience. “Is it Ava? Is it someone else? Did they hurt you?”

Yes . Ava was never part of her life plans. Ava has caught her off guard. The person she had least expected to turn her life upside down was currently doing so. They should have never met. She should have kept her distance. She should have said no to Ava joining her in Paris. She should have thrown the note with her number away. 

She should have. 

She should have. 

She should have.

And yet she hadn’t. Because Ava has wound herself so tightly around her heart that even just attempting to remove her would leave remnants behind, just like ivy does to an old stone house. The roots burrowing strongly and without meeting any resistance, deep into her, covering her completely. Shaping its way into the house, creating a new adaptation of the house, forging a new future and dreams. And the only way to remove ivy is with a blaze, a blaze she was unwilling to strike nay incapable of. 

“No.”

Lilith and Yasmine are quietly watching the exchange and Beatrice is grateful for their silence. 

“I want to listen to anything you have to say. Please, just speak to me, to us?” Camila was supplicating with both her eyes and voice. Words an echo of what she had heard from Ava last night. “None of this is worth it if it doesn’t make you happy. It’s not worth it if we lose you in the process. If this doesn’t make us the best version of ourselves, then, let’s stop.”

She wants to reply, to say anything. To admit that yes, at some point she had lost herself along the way. That maybe this had all been too much, too soon.

Mary comes to them then, setting her hand on Camila’s shoulder. “Camila, I think you should let Beatrice be.”

“No!” Camila is grabbing ahold of her hand, and the force of her grip is so strong, that she can feel the pressure all the way to her chest. “I love you, Beatrice. You. Not some idea of you. Not what the world perceives of you. Just you. Every bad thought you’ve ever had, every sadness, every hurt. Let me help you…let us help you.”

Beatrice gapes. Not here, not now, she thinks. She was not ready for this. She had not yet recovered from the conversations with Ava and now Camila was seeking to lay her bare, in front of everyone. She feels her breath begin to quicken, her legs beginning to shake in place. Camila’s words are ringing in her ears. 

“Cam–”

“I’ll go with you to every therapy session if you think it will help. I’ll hold your hand. I’ll wait outside for you. I just want you to be happy.”

Her heart squeezes painfully inside her chest. The gown constricting her, suffocating her. She knows Cam is right. She does need help. She can’t get past this herself. The past few days have shown her that in stark relief. But not now. She can’t talk about this now. Not if she wants to make it through the evening. To perform as Beatrice, Beatrice of the Cruciforms . 

“We’re all about to have a very long night. We can talk it out once we come back to the hotel.” Mary says, extracting Camila from her side. She turns then, making eye contact through the mirror, “Beatrice, enough. This ends tonight. Whatever it is.”

Beatrice watches their retreat in the mirror, and silently mouths “ Enough. ”

They’re all dressed and ready to go once their cars arrive. She’s the last to leave the room, the hair tie on the dressing table keeping her there. Eyes glued to it. It is just a hair tie. A meaningless, simple object not having any kind of significance outside of Ava and herself. She could easily leave it behind if she wanted to. 

Levy enters the room searching for her. He doesn't attempt to make a snide remark like he usually does, his voice is delicate, “Descartes, we’re ready to go.” 

She nods to him. Then, the eyes go back to the hair tie. She grabs it, walking to Levy. “Please give me this when we change, it’s important.”

As soon as she vocalises those words, she feels a sense of relief. A rush of elation sprouts within her.

He looks at the item in his palm, it seems a lot smaller when he holds it. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

Her hand is on the handle of the room door when he speaks again. “I think she’ll wear hers too. Doesn’t seem to ever take it off, just like you. And I know because I told her she would get an ugly tan line.” He puts the hair tie into the pocket of his jacket, close to his heart, where there’s a beautifully folded handkerchief, and pats it a few times. “It’s safe with me.”

Her eyes go to the ceiling where she attempts to blink away the moisture gathered in her eyes, she can’t ruin her makeup. She collects herself, nodding back to Levy and opens the door, stepping out of the room to the waiting band members.

—

They’re at the corner of 5th Ave. and 81st St, waiting. The sun is beginning to set. The roads have been closed down for the event, the only cars allowed through are for guests who are being dropped off at the start of the carpet and it’s not red, it’s white at the center with muted green at the edges. She can see Levy’s retreating form as he crosses the road and makes his way to the museum. 

There are police and security guards everywhere she looks. Personnel in suits with ear pieces patrolling around the exterior of the museum making sure that everything is running smoothly. The press are scrambling to get pictures of celebrities as they exit their cars. Entourages surround and follow close behind them, designers, managers, publicists, and assistants.  

Suzanne is with them, she’s conversing with Robert Wun, phone in hand, anticipating Levy’s confirmation that everything is a go. She can’t see any of her bandmates’ faces, but she knows they’re as nervous as she is. Lilith isn’t even being Lilith, that’s how tense it is.

Crowds are being held back by temporary barriers, snapping photos of anyone who looks like they’re in attendance. There’s protesters outside holding signs with messages objecting to the event. The police are gathered around them as they shout and the media congregates around them.

Suzanne holds her shoulder and says, “Levy is ready.”

She breathes, looks at her bandmates and steels her shoulders. With a turn of her heels, Beatrice is off. She crosses the avenue and heads in the direction of the museum, Camila, Yasmine, Lilith and Mary following close behind. Suzanne and their designer close on their heels. She swallows everything down, the nerves, the melancholy, the fear and exchanges them all for unbridled strength. 

Inside Beatrice beats a thrum of anticipation. Ava is waiting . The sooner she completes this task, the sooner she can see Ava and let her know . As she reaches the other side of the street, Beatrice the person is replaced by Beatrice the leader of The Cruciforms. The noise from the throngs of people increase dramatically the closer she gets. The flashes from cameras are pulsating and flashing off every available surface. The baroque strings from the song is the first thing she hears then the bass makes its presence known. 

Levy had done it. Now, it was up to them. 

They strut up to the entrance of the carpet as the first verse of the song begins.

(*)

Être seul c'est difficile et là, ça fait des années

(Being alone is not easy and it's been years since my last time)

Et de juger c'est facile, surtout quand on n'y a pas goûté

(Being judgemental is much easier, especially when you've never tried it)

Le plus dur, ben, c'était la première fois. Puis le plus dur, c'est de savoir quand s'ra la dernière fois

(The hardest part, well, it's the first time. And now what's hard is to decide when the last time will be)

They walk past the security at the entrance, ignoring the calls for them to wait their turn. The last thing she hears is Suzanne trying to calm the situation along with their designer. She can barely see the carpet stretch before them, each side littered with various photographers, interviewees and news outlets all covering the event. All being kept at bay by barely standing barriers covered in real white roses and various other foliage.

Everyone around them is taken aback by the song currently blasting throughout the temporary enclosure. The celebrities stop in their spot as they march along, occasionally getting double takes as everyone's attention is consumed by their presence and their outfits. She overhears the press yelling for an answer as to who it is that they were photographing, with many attempting to follow them up the carpet instead of staying at their designated spot. 

“Who are you!?” 

“Over here!” 

“Turn this way, please.” 

A cacophony of noise. 

C'est vrai, j'suis pas contre un peu d'tendresse de temps en temps

(I'm not against a little tenderness from time to time)

Et puis cette fois-ci, ben, j'pourrais l'faire en l'insultant

(Maybe this time around we can do it with me insulting her)

Oui tout est négociable dans la vie, moyennant paiement

(Yes, everything is negotiable in life, if you have the money)

En plus j'suis sûrement son meilleur client

(And after all I'm probably her best customer)

Suzanne kept to their right side, signaling for them to continue, to execute the vision. After everything was done, they would quickly change and not reveal their identities. Beatrice was sure news would spread quickly, and their identities would be revealed in time, but, hopefully the message would come across before that.

They are about to make a left turn into the long stairwell that leads to the immense museum entrance. Everyone at this point has clued in that something is happening. 

“Stop for People’s Magazine.” 

“Are they wearing Robert Wun?” 

“Interview for New York Times?”

“Hey you! Is this a band?” More than a few murmurs of ‘who are they?’ 

Celebrities around them stood forgotten behind their wake as they began to ascend the steps. As she took the first few steps Beatrice made the mistake of looking to her left, coming across the sight of Ava, her eyes beginning at her heels and the state of unrestricted skin that spanned upwards. Completely opened for everyone to gaze upon. The beautiful Iris Van Herpen dress and all its white tulle mesh wrapped around her a lot like waves when they crash into sand and spread, the sea foam creating intricate spirals.

The dress was freeing and revealing unlike hers. And the contrast between them put things into perspective immediately. It was unavoidable thinking about it. There was Ava completely open for the world to see and appreciate and here she was covered in fabric with glass shards that threatened to cut. 

Pourquoi tout le monde me déteste?

(Why does everyone detest me?)

Alors qu'c'est moi qui les nourrit

(I'm the one feeding them)

Leurs vies seraient bien plus modestes

(Their lives would be way more mediocre)

Sans moi, elles s'raient pourries

(Without me, their lives would be shitty)

Le lit et la sécurité ont un prix Madame

(A place to sleep safely, that has a price, madame)

Ben oui dans la vie tout se paie. On n'te l'avait donc jamais appris?

(Well, of course, in this life, everything comes at a price. Did no one ever tell you?)

There was an arm draped along the right side of Ava’s waist. And her eyes followed the plain and boring black sleeve up, past the bowtie, landing on JC’s eyes. And she felt it, the moment her heart constricted in her chest, and then she fought back the urge to break away from their undertaking. She wants to go to Ava. She wants to take up her rightful place next to Ava. It should be her with her arm wrapped around Ava’s waist, holding her close. The green monster stirred and puffed inside her. Her eyes descended to find Ava’s, she was looking straight at her, expression pained, her chest rising and falling faster than before.

Beatrice tore her eyes away and continued to climb. They were almost there. Whatever feelings were threatening to burst through the seams needed to wait for this to be finished. In that split second, she had affirmed her choice. She was choosing Ava. Nothing was going to stop her anymore. She had hurt herself enough. She had hurt Ava enough. JC was merely a temporary impediment and nothing to be afraid of. She could hold on for a little while longer, and then she can finally grab Ava and tell her she’s chosen her. That she’s in love with her. Maybe they’ll sneak away early like they usually do and wander the streets of New York.

The noise was bordering on being overwhelming. She had tried to check on the others but could barely even see what was in front of her. There was too much to process, from the shouting, to the globes blinking rapidly in front of them, to the lack of breath and the thoughts that had immediately consumed her the moment her eyes met Ava’s.

Mais, OH!

(But, HEY!)

Laissez donc ma maman

(Leave my mom alone)

Oui je sais. C'est vrai qu'elle n'est pas parfaite

(Yes, I know she's not perfect, it's true)

C'est un héros

(She's a hero)

Et ce sera toujours fièrement que j'en parlerai…que j'en parlerai

(And I will always speak of her with pride…I will speak about it)

Halfway up the stairs she stopped at the dead center, the members coming at her sides all in line for the photographers to grab what would probably be the only shots of their outfits unobstructed. The flashes went off for what seemed like an eternity but they knew to stay absolutely still until the cue from the music told them to turn on the spot and ascend once again.

The harpsichord began again, beginning their cue to turn. 

J'suis un fils de pute, comme ils disent

(I'm a son of a whore as they say)

Après tout c'qu'elle a fait pour eux

(After everything she's done for them)

Pardonne leur bêtise

(Forgive them, they're dumb)

Ô chère mère! Ils te déshumanisent

(Oh dear mom! They dehumanize you)

C'est plus facile, les mêmes te courtisent et tout l'monde ferme les yeux

(It's easier for them, but they also court you and everybody looks the other way)

Their steps in beat with one another as they turned their backs to everyone and left the carpet behind them. Suzanne and Robert Wun would follow behind. Levy should already be inside with the outfits they would change into along with a few stylists to assist with their hair and touch up their makeup.

—

“You need to relax, you’re raising my blood pressure from the amount of gawking you’re doing,” Levy says while stabbing at the salad in front of him.

They were all finally at their table after a very stressful and panic-filled restroom take over where gowns flew, undergarments were exposed, and a potential black eye for Levy, which hadn’t materialised yet, courtesy of Camila had occurred. Camila had been remorseful for all of two seconds before Levy yelled ‘you look like the downfall of society’, then got another elbow in his direction, this time to his ribs.

“I’m not gawking. I am admiring from afar.” Beatrice replies, chastised, but unrelenting in her mission.

Levy leans into her ear, “Well, you look like a pervert!”

“Keep your voice down.”

Yasmine and Camila are deep in conversation excitedly discussing the celebrities they had seen, barely able to keep to their inside voices in their exhilaration. They have the table to themselves, apart from Robert Wun who is sitting next to Suzanne, engaged in animated conversation about the aftermath of their stunt. Yasmine thinks she’s being slick with all the pictures she’s covertly taking, Beatrice was sure Jude Law saw the flash go off. Lilith is busy pretending like she’s above it all and she’s not here but Beatrice has seen her react several times to Yasmine and Camila’s conversation and Mary is solely focused on texting, again.

Ava was sitting a few tables away from them, caught up in a conversation with Alice. She couldn’t see JC from her angle, but it seemed like Ava was barely paying him any mind. 

They were in the Egyptian wing of the Met, sitting a short distance away from the Temple of Dendur. Behind Beatrice was an immense floor to ceiling glass wall that during the daytime would allow sunlight in from Central Park, but right now was moody, with an endless view of the night sky.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Beatrice angles her upper body towards Levy, “How do I approach her? We didn’t exactly leave things on the best terms.”

“Maybe an icebreaker.”

“An icebreaker? But–but…but I don’t know any pickup lines.”

“I didn’t–”

“Shhh!” She picks up her phone, desperately typing into Google.

“But I didn’t–”

She smushes her hand into his face, “Shhh!” An action that is reciprocated immediately. “Hey!”

“You stop!” She swats at his hand. 

“What about… ‘I’m not even playing cards but somehow I pulled a Queen?’”

“That's a hard no.”

Beatrice sighs, scrolling through her phone, “If you and I were socks, we’d make a great pair.”

“Stop.”

“If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

Levy rolled his eyes. “I have asked you THRICE now! Stop!” He stabbed threateningly in her direction with his fork, “Don’t you dare open up the conversation with Buzzfeed pickup lines!”

“This must be a museum because you’re a work of art?”

“Oh my God. Fine. I’ll allow it, under the circumstances.”

She sets her phone down and grabs her fork, eyes darting back to Ava’s table. “I'm suffering romantically right now, and you're not being the least bit helpful.”

“The idea of me helping you in that department should scare you... a lot.” She’s poking at her food. “Wow, this must be serious. Normally you eat like a bear waking up from hibernation.” She looks up at Levy, scandalised. “Nom nom.” Levy wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“She’s just so…” She makes an inhuman kind of noise that’s meant to represent everything going through her head and heart. “How do I even go over there? She’ll probably want to throw her plate at me. And honestly, I don’t blame her. She’s perfect. It’s just like the fates to have played a prank on me. I’m going to be undone by a pretty girl with red lips. Half of the time I’m rendered speechless when I’m near her. Like, how do I even exist next to her without spontaneously combusting?” Levy opens his mouth, but promptly shuts it again as she continues, “I’m actually so uncool. I have been keeping all the stupid inside since we met, and then she looks at me, with those eyes that completely dissect every part of me and I have to pretend like I don’t want to have her babies.”

“As stupid as all those pick up lines were, consider me invested.” He sets his fork down, eyes looking intensely at her, “But that was disgusting, never talk to me like that again.”

Beatrice huffs,“I’m going to go over there and say good evening, and then I’ll ask to speak to her in private. Hopefully she’ll agree and maybe I can break the ice with a pickup line, she might find it cute and not strangle me on the spot. And then…and then I’ll go from there. Not dead. But if I die please cremate my body and disperse me somewhere peaceful.”

“Okay.” Levy is attempting to put his hands by his hips, but the sitting position is making it difficult so he settles for hands atop the table like an outraged lemur. "I've never heard someone say so many inane things, one right after the other, consecutively, in a row."

Yasmine and Camila speak over each other. 

“They’re serving dessert.”

“OMG. Is that Alexander Skarsgård?!”

“He is dessert.”

“Levy, you have a boyfriend.”

He exhales, “I'm not in a place right now to be emotionally available anyway.”

—

Ava has been sitting at her dinner table sneaking glances in the direction of Beatrice’s table. Camila keeps popping up out of her seat like a meerkat, bobbing up and down in her attempt to sneak a peek at some celebrity. Alice, seated to her right, keeps trying to catch her eyes, to dissuade her from looking while balancing a conversation with Emilia next to her. 

The salad in front of her sits untouched as JC’s fingers run along her flared white sleeved arm again in an attempt to get her attention, but her eyes flit back to the table, taking in what she assumes is a figure-hugging full length black gown that Beatrice has changed into. The dim light is making it difficult to make out the entire outfit, but she can see the plunging neckline from where she is. The dress is understated, but timeless, and the way Beatrice carried herself so confidently added to the effect the entire outfit was having on Ava. Beatrice’s lazy waves fell on her bare shoulders and a stunning diamond necklace adorned her neck. Even across the room, the aura that Beatrice exudes is electric. 

“...it has caramelised pecans,” JC says, but she only manages to catch the end of the sentence.

“What?”

“The salad, Ava. Don’t you want to eat something? You probably haven’t had a chance to eat anything today.”

She grabs the fork purely by instinct because the conversation requires it, and begins to eat. “Right. Yeah.” 

The backlight coming from the temple and the shadows of people passing through it is enough to distract her from the table she wants to look at. Stagehands were currently setting up for the performances that would take place later that night. She was among the few that would sing and she had chosen one of the new songs from her album, a bolero inspired piece close to her heart. Her eyes strayed again, falling upon the subject of the song. Beatrice smiled at something Camila whispered in her ear. Beatrice looks happy . Camila was now gesturing excitedly. Lilith’s arm reaches up to pull Camila down gently, pressing her into her seat. 

“Ava?” Emilia is speaking to her now.

“Hmmm?”

“Nervous about the performance later?”

“A little, I’m looking forward to it actually.”

JC kept trying to grab her hand. “You haven’t said much about the album. Other than the music video, I know nothing about it.” She kept her left hand busy, playing with the fork in her hand. “Is that what you’re performing tonight or something different?”

“Different, that’s for sure.”

“Tell me about it.” JC insists. And she wants to appreciate that he’s trying to make some kind of attempt to listen to her, to be interested in her music but she’s too distracted or too absorbed by her thoughts to give him the attention he wants.

“It’s a love song.”

“How novel!” His endeavour at a joke annoys her more than it should. 

She can’t be angry at him for it though, he doesn’t know how much this song had hurt to write. Or the circumstances that preceded it. This song, among others, had been her outlet during those two months of radio silence from Beatrice. They completely took over previously planned tracks for the album, quickly replacing them.

She places her fork down, and begins to fiddle with the hair tie on her right wrist.

“It’s about a brokenhearted lover who has been betrayed.”

“So not a love song, then,” He teases.

Alice waits for her reply, watching her carefully.

“It’s a love song,” She asserts. Twisting the hair tie round and round by the jade flower. She sees JC’s eyes drop down towards it and stills her movements. 

It’s midway through dessert when Beatrice stands from her table, catching her eyes. She looks down reflexively, ashamed for having been caught. Everyone is chatting around the venue, moving from table to table, greeting friends and colleagues alike. The first of the musicians have taken to the stage, a string quartet, to get things started. 

“Good evening.” Beatrice has appeared right beside her. A small smile on her lips as she greets their table. 

(*)

Baby, when I see you up close

The wonders of the world don't come close

The sight of Beatrice so close, in that dress, robs her of her breath. It was figure-hugging as she had deduced, but nothing could have prepared her for the view of the neckline up close. She could even see the three freckles just to the right of…

They all greet Beatrice. Ava misses the beginning of the conversation, so caught up in her own thoughts as she eyes Beatrice. She finally tunes in while Emilia is complimenting Beatrice on the exquisiteness of her gown and the tailoring to her body. Beatrice is cordial in answering the table’s questions, but seems evasive when replying to Alice’s question about where she was during the carpet frenzy. Alice is as unconvinced by her reply as she is. It was Beatrice on the carpet, she was sure of it. Actually, there was no denying it. It had been all five of them.

Beatrice says her name and their eyes meet instantly. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

The way you hit me with those eyes

 I can't escape it, time

We can take it, love

We can make it all night

She ignores the swoop in her stomach as Beatrice’s gaze stays on her. No, she can’t agree to this. She shouldn’t agree to this. It had the potential to cause a scene and Emilia was here. Not only that, the possibility of them even having any kind of privacy in such a setting was basically impossible.

“Can it wait? I’m close to performing.”

“I’m afraid not. It’s kind of a life or death situation.” Beatrice is being cheeky, which is something she hasn’t witnessed in awhile. “I promise to have you back before Alice begins to miss you, or she turns into a pumpkin.” Alice flips Beatrice off, cooly regarding her. 

Dammit . 

Take me everywhere

I swear I have the patiеnce

I wanna trace my hands across your frecklе constellations

Let me let your lips be my destination

She stands, patting down the corseted lace mini dress. Beatrice takes in her gown, honey brown eyes slowly coming up to meet hers, throat moving as she gulps. “You look resplendent.”

Ava feels her face flush and her ears get hot. Somehow, Beatrice manages to balance sounding like a seventy year old and looking like sex on a stick. 

Alice calls out after them, “Don’t take too long Cinderella!” Emilia is too immersed in conversation with Iris van Herpen to pay her any mind. JC is looking after them with a quizzical look on his face. 

Beatrice leads the way, guiding them to a quieter corner, inside the Egyptian Art wing. It’s as quiet and private a spot as they are going to get. Beatrice reaches out, cradling her right hand, thumb stroking at her wrist, next to the flower. Beatrice’s hand feels a little clammy. Beatrice bends forward, turning her wrist to face upwards before placing a lingering kiss on her pulse point. Her breath hitches and her heart thunders at the unexpected move. She sees rather than hears Beatrice take a deep breath in. “Did you fall from the heavens? Because you look like you walked out of a dream. My dreams.” Beatrice’s eyes light up in glee at her own joke.

God fucking dammit.

Oh my God, it's happening again

I feel myself falling back in

Ava’s mouth drops open unbecomingly. “Wh-Wha- Is this some kind of fever dream?”

Gravity has got me holding tightly, 

I might be

In a little over my head

“Are you tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

“Are you having a psychotic break?”

“This must be a museum because you’re a work of art,” Beatrice winks. 

“This is literally a museum of art,” Ava remarks drolly.

Beatrice pouts in response. Ava has to literally tear her glance away from the adorable sight lest it render her incapacitated.

There is a joy emitting from this Beatrice that is standing in front of her, she doesn’t know quite what to make of her. She hasn’t seen Beatrice this open, this uninhibited since the freak snow storm in London. 

A thought occurs to her.

“Are you drunk!? Have you been drinking?”

“I’m drunk on you. I promise that’s the last one. I’ve just had a few sips…for courage.”

Beatrice reaches forward and strokes a lock of Ava’s hair, tucking it neatly behind her ear. “You looked breathtaking in your gown outside, all eyes were on you.” Then, softer, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you .”

At that Ava arches an eyebrow, “No, pretty sure all eyes were on you...”

Beatrice reddens, “You knew right away didn’t you?”

Ava hums in reply.

I think you understand what’s on my mind

The way you hit me with those eyes

She knows they’re running out of time. Beatrice isn’t getting to the point and soon she will need to go prepare for her performance. 

“The moment I saw you… I wanted to go to you, to be beside you. But…but then I saw him. I promised myself that I would finish the carpet. We weren’t supposed to stop for anyone. And then I would come to you.”

What in the hell is going on? The last 24 hours with Beatrice has been some of the most confusing, conflicting, enraging moments of her life. And yet, this Beatrice almost seems like…

“What is this back-and-forth? You’re giving me whiplash.” At that, Beatrice’s face drops. 

“Ava, I am sorry. I am truly regretful for my behaviour.” Completely deadpan, she offers, “I will fall to my knees and seek absolution at your feet if you wish it of me.”

Ava huffs. “What was the point of pulling me aside if you aren’t going to be serious? Did you have anything meaningful to express?” Shooting Beatrice a narrow stare, she steps away and walks towards an exhibit, feigning interest. 

What the fuck was Beatrice up to?

She hears the hurried click of Beatrice’s heels approach, a warmth engulfing her from behind. Beatrice’s arms tightly wrap around her waist, pulling Ava into her. Beatrice’s body solid behind her, lavender perfume permeating her senses, head nuzzling close to her face, her waves spilling over into Ava’s face and vision. In a quiet whisper Beatrice says, “Please. Don’t go.” 

Ava moves to disentangle herself creating space between them. Her hand rests atop the glass cabinet, housing various lapis jewels. It almost seems like… but no, she can’t be fooled. Beatrice isn’t serious. Beatrice has been sending her mixed signals, and she can’t keep doing this to herself. 

Beatrice steps up to right of her, left hand wandering to her own. Beatrice’s amber flower knocking into Ava’s jade one. She hears Beatrice take a deep breath in. “I would prefer it if we didn’t cause bodily harm from 19 stories up.” Their fingers are brushing, unable to restrain themselves. “Therapy may prevent litigation.”

At that, Ava whirls around to face Beatrice, eyes searching. Her fingers are grabbing at Beatrice’s, pulling her closer. Hoping. Wishing. Wanting. “What changed?” 

“I don’t want to keep hurting.” Beatrice’s fingers intertwine with her own. She’s looking up at Beatrice, the slight height difference apparent even in heels. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Take me to your mountain high

Your river, your valley wide

Take me where nobody’s been before

Approaching footsteps sound. “Time to bewitch the crowd, Cinderella,” Alice calls out from the hallway entrance.

Grimacing, Ava pouts at Beatrice, “Sorry, Prince Charming, it’s midnight and the pumpkin has called,” Ava teases as she turns to go. After taking a few steps away, Ava turns and walks back to Beatrice, stroking her hand down the length of Beatrice’s bare arm, down to her fingertips, she leans in into Beatrice’s ear, “Is that Versace you’re wearing? Because it’s going to be on the floor of my bedroom later tonight.” With a final wink, Ava strides away. 

I wanna hide in the covers, 

discover your body slow

I wanna follow your fingers forever and ever,

oh-oh oh

‘Til there’s nowhere left to go

“Wait Ava!” Beatrice calls out, hurrying to get in front of Ava before she enters the hallway. Leaning forward, she presses a gentle kiss to the apple of Ava’s cheek, careful not to leave a mark. “Go and be amazing. I’ll be watching… and maybe after we can sneak out early? Wander around the city for a bit?” 

“Absolutely,” Ava breathes. 

With that, Beatrice bestows upon her the most beautiful crescent eyed smile in the world. 

‘Til there’s nowhere left to go

—

(*)

El oro pudo más que mi dolor

(Gold was stronger than my pain)

No tuviste compasión de mi agonía

(You had no compassion for my agony)

Tú sabiendo que mi alma se moría

(You knew that my soul was dying)

Con amigos entre copas te reías

(You laughed between drinks with friends)

There was a single microphone stand in front of Ava as she performed. Her hands moved about as if trying to articulate the meaning of the song. There were moments where her eyes shut, concentrating on sustaining a long note or in an attempt to give more emotion to the lyrics.

As Ava performed, Beatrice couldn’t help the thoughts that inundated her head. And so what if she was currently comparing Ava to the goddess Isis, as she sang in front of the temple built and dedicated to the deity. No one could stop her, not even herself. Isis, renowned for her charm, powers of transformation, and ability to enliven the natural world, was Ava to Beatrice, a goddess straight out of mythology.

La ambición, delirio de grandeza

(Ambition, delusions of grandeur)

Hizo en mí un ser martirizado

(Made of me a martyred being)

Porque estaba locamente enamorado

(because I was madly in love)

Mujer, yo no merezco esa bajeza

(Woman, I don't deserve such baseness)

Ava’s eyes found hers, left hand pointed in Beatrice’s direction, then landing atop her heart. A smirk appears on Ava’s face as she turns her head towards the band on stage. What was up with that smirk?

Each performer was required to do three songs of their choosing. Ava had chosen a more simple approach than that of the other performers with minimal choreography, wanting to set up the mood for the night ahead. So far she had sung along to the more traditional flamenco songs that were popular among the crowd, with only a few other musicians joining her on stage to play the guitar, drums and for this song specifically a few brass instruments.

The temporary lights pulsated along the beat of the music, adding to the intimate and romantic nature of the song, but there was something about it that wasn’t quite effervescent. There was a delivery in Ava’s voice that made Beatrice think the song was sorrowful. She didn’t know the song. Hadn't heard it before in Ava’s collection. And she had heard the finished album months ago, this hadn’t been part of it.

Espero con el tiempo justiciero que retornes buscando una ilusión de amor

(I hope that with righteous time you’ll return looking for an illusion of love)

Y volverás a mí, así lo espero

(And you'll return to me, that's what I hope)

Así lo espero, mujer sin corazón

(That's what I hope, heartless woman)

Maybe if Ava is hungry they can just grab a bite to eat and then take a romantic walk by the East River. But, it is late though. Almost 11pm. Maybe once they’ve managed to sneak away, they should just walk along the outskirts of Central Park, and go back to the hotel. That would be enough. To finally be alone with Ava, to just hold her hand without any disturbance or anyone watching, like they have been these last few days. She of course has a lot of explaining to do as well. They had time. Neither of them have schedules tomorrow, they can talk all night if they have to, among other things.

“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” JC says, appearing next to her, leaning close to her ear in an attempt to be heard over the music. She has to fight the urge to visibly cringe away from the stench of alcohol on his breath and person. 

She subtly sidles half a step away.

She turns and nods a single nod in agreement, “She is.” She needs to find a reason to leave this conversation immediately. It is clear JC has been drinking heavily since she had greeted him at their table alongside Alice and Emilia. 

She chances a look at her table in the hopes that her mental outcry for help will be heard and one of the members will beckon her. She puts bets on Yasmine. 

“You’re here with your band,” He slurs out, snapping his fingers a couple of times, “the…crucigrams? No? Cruci-something. Kinda forgettable.”

Whatever is bothering JC and causing him to consume so much at a public event is not her business so she stays quiet. Hopefully his publicist will come by soon and defuse the situation. 

“Champagne?” A waiter walks up proffering the champagne glasses to the both of them.

JC dismissively shakes his head and waves the waiter away. 

“No, thank you.” Beatrice replies, not at all surprised by his arrogance.

“She always manages to captivate everyone in the room, doesn’t she? She really makes everyone feel special, even when they’re not. She has her fun and then walks away.” JC turns towards Ava, gesturing at her as she finishes up her song, looking smug. “But I like her. I think I can finally get her to stick around and make me an honest man.”

“I think Ava will be too preoccupied with her promotions and an album release to be focusing on making you an honest man. ” Beatrice retorts, unable to hide the snark in her tone. 

Thunderous applause fills the air, everyone cheering Ava as she concludes her set. Ava is seen waving at the crowd as she runs off the stage. Stagehands swarm the stage, quickly setting up for the next act.

“She might not have time but I do. I’m in between albums. I can follow her around once she’s on tour. I’m willing to do that, can everyone else ?” JC’s eyes seem to be making an attempt to focus intensely on her, but the alcohol has made them hazy and droopy.

JC proceeds to take a sip out of the tumbler of rum and coke he’s holding loosely in his grasp.

Beatrice subtly sighs, her eyes roving around the hall. Where the hell was Levy when you needed him? Would anyone catch her silent plea for help, someone, anyone? Her stupid upbringing was keeping her rooted to this spot, engaging in this exchange with this douchecanoe.

“Look. Let me be honest with you and spare you the hurt down the track. She’s just playing with you. She’s magnetic and attracts everyone to her but she doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re only worth her interest momentarily. She has her fun and then she’ll be over it,” JC nods to himself and murmurs almost half underneath his breath, “Someone like you will never keep her.”

(*)

[A loud record scratch reverberates through the hall]

Nobody pray for me

It been that day for me

WAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY

Yeah, yeah!

“Pardon?” At JC’s words, Beatrice tenses. Crossing her arms across her chest. 

The action draws JC’s eyes downard, he focuses on her hair tie. “Hmm. I thought so.” A wry smile creases its way across JC’s face before smoothing back into an almost feral grin. 

“JC, this has been an absolute pleasure but I’m going to head back to my table now. Have a good evening.”

Beatrice begins to walk away.

“You two are never going to work, you know? You’re fooling yourself otherwise.”

Beatrice swings back towards him “What?” Stepping closer back to JC.

I get way too petty once you let me do the extras

Pull up on your block.

Then break it down,

We playin’ Tetris

“You’re never going to be good enough for her. Ava? Ava is brilliant. She’ll choose someone that’s at her level.” JC scoffs. “You’re what? A one hit wonder so far? Soon you’ll fade out of the public’s eye, and you’ll lose all sparkle and appeal and then Ava will vanish. No one will even remember you in 5 years. Give it another 10 years and you’ll appear on those ‘what happened to them?’countdowns. Or… or you’ll get really lucky and you might be able to muster enough interest for those sad, pathetic nostalgia tours and dig yourself out of the desperate pit for a bit.”

“Wow... JC. Rarely does anyone leave me speechless at their lack of decorum or self-restraint. That truly was an insightful revelation into your character. I am going to be walking away now before you say anything else or I say something I have the decency to regret later. Also, you really have no idea what you are talking about. I am good enough for her… Not that I need to justify myself to you.” 

“Yeah? Then why was she fucking me last night?” JC downs the last of this drink and raises the empty glass towards her in a cheers. He grins. “If you’re good enough, why did she choose me over, and over and over again?”

She feels her face drain of blood, eyes frantically roaming, looking for an escape. From across the room, she sees Ava hurrying towards her and their eyes meet. Something must register in her gaze as Ava breaks into a run, pushing through the crowd to get closer to her. 

She needs to get to Ava .

She needs to speak to Ava . 

Beatrice takes a few steps in Ava’s direction, but then feels the hard grip of JC’s hand wrap around her left wrist, squeezing down tightly. Her bruise erupts in pain.

“Get your hand off me!”

I’m imagining.

So tell me what the fuck is up? What's happening?

“We’re not finished talking. Tsk. How discourteous of you. What would your parents think of you and your manners?”

If I quit this season, 

I still be the greatest

Funk

Spinning around, Beatrice wrenches her hand from JC’s grip, his fingers catching onto the hair tie and it snaps, she watches the amber flower fly up and bounce onto the floor, as if in slow motion. 

My left stroke just went viral

Right stroke put lil’ baby in a spiral

JC approaches again, arm outstretched towards her. Beatrice thrusts the heel of her right palm forcefully into JC’s right armpit, feeling a pop, and then using the momentum to propel him around her body before slamming him into the ground. She feels the give as his shoulder dislocates when he hits the floor. 

Soprano C,

We like to keep it on a high note

It’s levels to it,

You and I know

Heavy droplets of tears roll down her cheeks as Beatrice sobs, bending down to pick up the broken elastic tie and searching the floor for the amber flower, finally spotting a half by a glossy Christian Louboutin, and the other a few centimetres away. As she picks up the broken pieces, murmurs along the lines of ‘what the fuck was that?’, ‘who does something like that?’, ‘what happened?’ interspersed with JC’s audible groans of pain reach her ears. As Beatrice straightens up, she realises that phones are aimed towards her, capturing the aftermath, eyes narrowed at her in disgust, people shaking their heads and cries for someone to call the medics in. 

Ava’s panicked visage swims into her eyesight, frantically scanning her body up and down “Beatrice! Bea– are…are you hurt?” 

There’s a constant ringing in her ears now, making everything feel sluggish and disorientating.

Beatrice vaguely registers the arrival of her bandmates and Suzanne and Levy, who are immediately trying to wrest the situation under control.

Medics have now arrived and are tending to JC.

Bitch, be humble (Hold up, bitch)

Sit down (Hold up, lil'— hold up, lil' bitch)

Be humble (Hold up, bitch)

Sit down (Hold up, sit down, lil’— sit down, lil’ bitch)

Be humble (Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up, lil' bitch)

Bitch, sit down (Hold up, lil’ bitch)

Be humble (Hold up, bitch)

She can hear voices trying to get her attention, entreating her to calm down. An arm, Mary’s arm, moves into her eye line, reaching for her. She stumbles back a few steps. She can feel her heart beating double-time, her chest is rising up and down rapidly, struggling to intake enough air into her lungs.

She feels herself begin to stammer. A panic attack is imminent. Everyone’s too close, everyone is crowding her. Everyone is suffocating her. 

Levy turns and says, “Ava, get her out of here!”

Ava is reaching forward slowly, Beatrice flinches away at the first touch but Ava smooths her palm soothingly over her forearm, it’s nice and warm and solid. It grounds her. Ava is gently shushing her, vocalising quiet steady noises. Ava grasps her hand loosely and begins to lead her out of the Egyptian wing.

Dazedly, Beatrice follows Ava as she leads her through the corridors, emerging into the Great Hall. 

Right now my sanity is gone, it's vanishing.

The Great Hall. With an exit. Beatrice can escape from here. With a start, she awakes from her stupor, wrenching her arm away from Ava. She hurries towards the entrance leading out to 82nd Street, realising too late that although the throng from earlier has died down the street is still filled with a crowd waiting to see celebrities departing, paparazzi, protestors and security.  Shit . Turning on her heel, Beatrice sprints up the heavily decorated stairs towards the 2nd floor.

I know I do this to myself, it's damaging.

—

Ava follows the whimpering. 

When Ava finally catches up with Beatrice, she has passed through a series of galleries all resembling a maze, showcasing various classical works of art spanning decades, centuries. Beatrice is standing in front of a painting, it’s small but from a distance Ava can tell it’s a Monet. 

Beatrice is muttering brokenly to herself while fiddling with something in the palm of her hand. Stepping closer to Beatrice but still maintaining enough distance to give her breathing room, she hesitantly asks, “Beatrice? Are you ok? What happened? Talk to me.” 

Beatrice’s broken mutters get louder and stronger. Ava strains her hearing to try and pick up on what Beatrice is saying, “It’s…it’s broken.” She’s looking at the painting closely, eyes going between both ends of the bridge depicted in it. Ava follows her gaze, but curiously her eyes land on the lilies floating on the pond instead.

“What’s broken? Let me see.” 

Beatrice turns, walking to the available bench a few meters from the painting and sits. She joins her on the bench, waiting for any kind of move from Beatrice, she slowly opens her right palm, revealing its contents. It’s Beatrice’s hair tie but the elastic is stretched and broken and the flower is split into two pieces.

Ava gasps. 

 “I…can’t fix it.” Beatrice says, looking down despondently at her palm.

Ava hesitantly reaches out, gently holding one half of the amber flower between her fingers. “I’m–it’s…it’s okay.” She lays her palm along with the piece back atop of Beatrice’s hand, sandwiching the hair tie between their grasp.

Beatrice nods, a couple of sniffles escaping as they sit there cradling the broken hair tie between them. 

“Ba-Bea, Bea…it’s okay,” She corrects herself and gives Beatrice’s hand a soft squeeze. “Give it to me. Here, take mine.” She tenderly pulls at the elastic of her own hair tie, looping it over their joined hands and onto Beatrice's wrist. Raising Beatrice’s arm upwards, Ava bends her head down and kisses the pulse point of Beatrice’s wrist, right next to the jade flower. She holds their hands to her lips, putting as much love as she can to the kiss before drawing back and picking up the pieces of the broken hair tie, clenching it in her palm. She feels the broken pieces jab into her hand. “I’ll fix it. I promise I’ll fix it.” 

Lifting her head and looking at Beatrice’s face, Ava is surprised to see a storm raging within Beatrice’s honey brown irises. A whirlwind of emotions flits across her face - hurt, confusion, sadness, anger, jealousy, suspicion, anxiety all warring before anger ultimately wins. A silent fury seems to consume Beatrice’s being, her figure becoming rigid and her entire person vibrating from the intensity of her emotions. “It can’t be fixed. You broke it…you broke us.” 

“Wha-what?” Ava stammers out. 

Beatrice’s hands are clenched at her sides. “When you told me to leave last night, what did you do?” Her tone was hostile, ready to cut at a moment's notice. 

Ava inhales sharply, breathing out her reply, “He told you.”

“I asked to stay, I wanted to stay, but the first thing you did, no, the first person you go to is him?!” Beatrice stands up abruptly. “And you fucked him all night? Over and over and over apparently.” She’s beginning to pace back and forth in front of Ava, who is still seated. “You made me think… no, I believed. Stupidly, I believed that you wanted me.” Running a palm down her face, Beatrice is brushing away moisture pooling in the corner of her eyes. “I guess you weren’t too tired for him, were you?”

“No! Beatrice. No. No.” Ava too stands up, reaching towards Beatrice beseechingly, “I did sleep with him, yes. But I immediately regretted it. I got up and left and came back to my room and sat there disgusted with myself for what I had done.” Ava makes a grab for Beatrice’s hand but Beatrice snatches it back out of her reach. “I didn’t stay with him. Please. You have to believe me. It was a brief lapse of judgement.” 

“Right, of course!” Beatrice scoffs, “Believe you? How could I possibly believe you right now?”

Ava looks straight at Beatrice. “You’re the one I want. You know this.” Eyes carefully eyeing Beatrice’s facial expressions, “Have I not made it clear? How can I make it more clear to you?”

“Yeah? If you don’t want him then why is he here as your date?” Beatrice is putting more space between them now, hands clenched at her sides, shoulders tense. “It’s so convenient isn’t it? He’s always there, just waiting in the wings. The moment something doesn’t go your way, you turn to him.” 

Ava moves towards Beatrice, “You know that’s not true at all.”

“Fucking great! JC the comforter. JC! JC! JC!” Beatrice’s hand gestures angrily, her freckles standing out even more with how red her face has become. “Who can take you out to dinners and follow you around on your tour. JC who has time. JC who isn’t a hard choice. JC the available. JC, a guy!” 

“What are you talking about?! You’re everything I want. You’re all that I’ve thought of since you carried me back to the hotel that night. Since you helped pick up my hair as I vomited. Since–”

“He’s not the pathetic, sorry excuse of a person who lets her band down, who lets her family down, who royally fucked up tonight and ruined everything she’s worked for. All for what? For some girl? A girl whose first instinct is to go and fuck someone else?” Beatrice creates space between them again and this time Ava doesn’t close the distance.

(*)

You always think you know me best, you don't

I need you to listen, but you won't

“You have got to be fucking joking right now. Where do you get off saying that to me Beatrice? Who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you are to me?” 

“Apparently nothing given your actions!”

“I just, I cannot believe you. Don’t you trust me? Why is it your default to always mistrust me? Do you go through life distrusting everyone?” Her hands are up now as well, gesticulating wildly with every point. “You’re twisting the truth to fit into some illusion in your head. Why is your self worth so low that your immediate reaction is to lash out at me?”

“My self worth?! Why do you keep bringing that up? You think because you’ve known me for eight months it means you have the right to comment on that aspect of my life. I’m not something that needs to be worked on!”

“You’re fooling yourself if you think that. Only a few hours ago you were telling me you would go to therapy, for yourself, and for us. I have given Beatrice. I have given to you over and over and over. I’ve been so patient. Every time I try to walk away, you fuck me over. What a fucking joke right? Fool me once and all that? At this point, it’s like fool me a hundred times.” She’s running her hand repeatedly across her forehead, “I must be the biggest idiot in the entire world. All I have ever done is follow you, follow your lead. You retreat a step, I take a step forward.” 

“I never asked you to! You took that upon yourself. I just wanted to focus on my career, on the band, on myself. But you came in, sweeping me along under the wake of Tsunami Ava without a second thought. It’s always been about you. You. What you wanted. You didn’t for a second consider if it was what I wanted too. I wasn’t ready for you. I wasn’t ready for this!”

Hand on heart, I always put you first

Even when it's more than you deserve

I moved my world to fit you in

I let you leave, I let you back in

You had your go, now, baby, it's my turn

“Really?! You act as if you weren’t a willing participant. To say the very least. Behave like an adult Beatrice and own up to your actions. Oh, Beatrice is so damaged. Oh, Beatrice is afraid, I better tiptoe around her fucking feelings because they’re so precious. Guess what? You’re not the only damaged one. I just hide it better.” She pauses, taking a breath, “Do you even know what you did to me? What you do to me every time you deliberately walk away? Every time you don’t respond? As if you don’t care? As I’m not worth your time? I sit there, wondering, and waiting. Waiting to see if you’ll ever show up again. Wondering if you care enough to show up. Because people who care don’t leave.” 

Beatrice is stunned into silence.

“People who care don’t just walk out on their families in the middle of the night, leaving their child who just lost her mom. People who care don’t die and leave their kid behind. I sit there, wishing, waiting. Hoping. Hoping she will walk through the door again and that this will have all been a nightmare. I would give it all up in a heartbeat for her. So don’t fucking sit there like you are some kind of tortured soul that no one else understands. All you’ve ever done for me is give me hope and then rip it away time and time again. What kind of person are you? I have worked so hard, for so long, to try and get over this. Then you go silent, refusing to answer any form of communication, and I’m right back to being seven years old again.”

Without a moment to allow Ava’s words to land, Beatrice says, “You want too much. You’re asking too much. I can’t give you what you want. This was always a pipe dream. It’s time to wake up now Ava. We can’t work. We won’t work. I can see it, JC can see it, Alice can see it, everyone can see it. You see it. You just won’t admit it.”

“I am doing what is right. I’ve done the best I can. It’s never enough. It’s not enough for you, it’s not enough for the band, it’s just never enough for anyone. It’s best to just cut ties now. That’s why I left that morning. I made the decision to end this. Whatever this is. We have different dreams, different paths. We’re too busy for each other. This was a lull in time. Soon, we will just resent each other and end in bitterness. Is that how you want it to go? To go through all that and end up hating each other? I don’t have anything more to give.”

“You fucking asshole! You were going to leave me again!? Without a word. Without discussion.  Without even considering my feeli–”

“You’ve probably never even dated a girl before, Ava. How do you know this is what you want? Have you even considered how this would affect our careers? Your career? Let me guess you probably haven’t, have you? Because that’s how you are! You don’t ever stop to think before you do things. You’re impulsive and then you make your mess everyone’s problem too.”

As Beatrice continues Ava clutches the broken pieces of the hair tie between her hand, she can feel its broken edges cutting through her skin. “I–”

“Look at what’s happened tonight. I lost control. I’ve endangered everyone’s careers, I’ve probably ended mine. I lost control and made an embarrassment of everyone, I’ve shamed my parents - what must they think of me? All because of you. All because of my error in judgment. I can’t let this go on. I choose the band. I have to choose the band.”

“Beatrice, you always think you know what’s right and you don’t actually stop to ask others what they want, what they think is right. They don’t blame you Beatrice. I spoke to Mary. Mary doesn’t blame you. The album is finished. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. Please. The only thing stopping you. From this. From us. Is you. But you just keep walking away. This is hurting me. This is breaking me. I have lost too much. I have lost too many people to lose you too.”

“Why do you even fucking care what Mary or the band thinks! You think that just because you help with our music video that everything is forgiven. Why do you care? We’re nothing to you. Why do you continue to wrap yourself around me?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!” She pauses, shocked with her own declaration. Beatrice is befuddled, “Beatrice, I’m in love with you…I have fallen in love with you and I haven’t been able to let myself truly feel that. Isn’t that fucking sad, that this is how I say those words to you. All I want to do is embrace my feelings for you but all that’s given me is small pockets of happiness amongst all the pain.”

“You’re not in love with me. You can’t. You can’t want this. You don’t want this. It’s wrong,” Beatrice responds flatly. 

“Don’t you dare tell me how I feel!”

Beatrice is shaking her head, “You can’t be in love with me. I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?! There’s no letting me. It’s too late, it’s done.” Ava reaches forward, hoping Beatrice will reach for her. When Beatrice makes no movement, she lets her hand drop back down to her side. “I know that you’re in love with me, too. Why are you fighting this? I know how you feel. You can’t help yourself, your actions betray you.”

It’s quiet.

“I heard you that day at the studio, I heard the song.” 

“What song?”

“ You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart and bewitched me. ”

Beatrice turns to the painting again, “It’s not about you.”

“Really? It’s not about me? Beatrice…you’re breaking my heart.” Beatrice doesn’t respond. “Okay, enough.”

Forgive me for the words I'm 'bout to say

I'm about to hit you with the worst of me

“You’ll never be happy,” She chokes out, trying to stifle her sobs.

Ava’s heels echo as she makes her way through the gallery of mazes again, eyes jumping from painting to painting, dissociating. The artworks change from the colourful depictions of life of the impressionists to that of despair and beautiful morbidity. Her eyes landing on one of Goya’s Los Caprichos etches, specifically the The Dream of Reason Produces Monsters , a self portrait of Goya asleep, surrounded by monsters, thoughts, dreams, imagination. 

As she emerges through the grand archway Alice is waiting for her at the top of the stairs. She doesn’t stop, quickly descending, “Release the album.” 

“What? Ava, what are–”

“Release the album.”

At the bottom of the steps Alice whirls around blocking her from advancing forward. “You can’t do that, Emilia will kill you.”

“Alice. Release the fucking album!”

“I won’t–” Alice looks at something behind her, “Okay, let’s go.” That’s the last thing I’ll do. 

This is the way the world ends. 

This is the way the world ends. 

This is the way the world ends.

Not with bang, but a whimper.

[trkking]

Rafting in Himachal: Transforming Doubts into Confidence!

Picture yourself gliding through crystal-clear waters, the majestic Himalayas towering above, and the adrenaline of battling rapids surging through your veins. River rafting in Himachal Pradesh is more than just an adventure—it's a thrilling test of courage, skill, and teamwork. 

For many, the thought of facing roaring rivers may seem daunting, but it's also an opportunity to overcome fear and embrace the challenge. With every rapid you conquer, your doubts give way to confidence, leaving you exhilarated and craving more. Ready to dive into this unforgettable experience? Let's explore what makes rafting in Himachal truly life-changing!

The Potential Challenges People Face Doing River Rafting in Kasol

While the idea of river rafting in Kasol can seem thrilling, it's natural for beginners to have concerns. One of the popular rafting spots in Himachal is Kasol, where the Beas River flows fiercely, offering an adventurous ride. 

However, these very rapids may pose challenges like:

Fear of strong currents: The Beas River in Kasol can have unpredictable currents, which may cause anxiety, especially for first-timers.

Cold water temperature: Himachal Pradesh's rivers can be quite chilly, particularly during the winter or spring months. For some, this may be a deterrent to taking the plunge.

Physical endurance: Rafting requires a level of physical strength and stamina. Paddling through rough rapids may feel exhausting for people not accustomed to it.

Safety concerns: The natural fear of accidents or capsizing can add to one's hesitation about river rafting.

These challenges, though real, can be overcome with preparation and the right mindset. Remember, tackling fears is part of the adventure!

Safety Tips to Tackle While Doing Rafting in Himachal

Feeling safe is essential to building confidence in any adventure activity, and rafting is no different. Here are some key safety tips that will help ease your mind and prepare you for a thrilling experience of rafting in Himachal:

1. Wear a life jacket: No matter how good a swimmer you are, always wear a life jacket during rafting. It is a must for both beginners and experts.

2. Listen to your guide: Your rafting guide is your best friend. Follow their instructions carefully as they are trained to navigate the river and handle tricky situations.

3. Know the river class: Rivers are rated based on their difficulty. It's important to choose a river that matches your experience level. For beginners, a Class II or Class III rapid is a safe bet.

4. Dress appropriately: Himachal's rivers can be cold, so wearing a wetsuit or quick-dry clothing will make the experience more comfortable.

5. Stay hydrated: Rafting can be physically demanding. Keep yourself hydrated and eat well before your adventure.

These safety measures boost confidence and ensure you have a safe and enjoyable ride!

Rafting in Manali: Adventure at an Affordable Price

Among Himachal's most renowned rafting destinations is Manali, which offers a combination of stunning scenery and exhilarating rapids. The good news for adventure seekers is that rafting in Manali is also relatively affordable. The River Rafting in Manali price can range between ₹399 and ₹499 per person, making it an accessible adventure for budget travellers. So, you don't need to break the bank to enjoy an exciting rafting experience while soaking in the beauty of the Himalayan rivers.

Whether you're rafting in Manali or Kasol, you'll find the thrill unmatched as you navigate through the frothy rapids with the majestic mountains as your backdrop. The journey may have its doubts, but by the time you complete the ride, you'll leave with a sense of accomplishment and newfound confidence!

Ready to transform your doubts into confidence? Grab your paddle and hit the water in Himachal Pradesh!