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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 month ago

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The meritocracy to eugenics pipeline

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. After that, it's LONDON (Jul 1) and MANCHESTER (Jul 2).

It's kinda weird how, the more oligarchic our society gets, the more racist it gets. Why is the rise of billionaires attended by a revival of discredited eugenic ideas, dressed up in modern euphemisms like "race realism" and "human diversity"?

I think the answer lies in JK Galbraith's observation that "The modern conservative is engaged in one of man's oldest exercises in moral philosophy; that is, the search for a superior moral justification for selfishness."

The theory of markets goes like this: a market is a giant computer that is always crunching all kinds of "signals" about what people want and how much they want it, and which companies and individuals are most suited to different roles within the system. The laissez-faire proposition is that if we just resist the temptation to futz with the computer (to "distort the market"), it will select the best person for each position: workers, consumers, and, of course, "capital allocators" who decide where the money goes and thus what gets made.

The vast, distributed market computer is said to be superior to any kind of "central planning" because it can integrate new facts quickly and adjust production to suit varying needs. Let rents rise too high and the computer will trigger the subroutine that brings "self-interested" ("greedy") people into the market to build more housing and get a share of those sky-high rents, "coming back into equilibrium." But allow a bureaucracy to gum up the computer with a bunch of rules about how that housing should be built and the "lure new homebuilders" program will crash. Likewise, if the government steps in to cap the price of rents, the "price signal" will be silenced and that "new homebuilders" program won't even be triggered.

There's some logic to this. There are plenty of good things that market actors do that are motivated by self-interest rather than altruism. When Google founders Larry Page and Sergey Brin developed their Pagerank algorithm and revolutionized internet search, they weren't just solving a cool computer science problem – they were hoping to get rich.

But here's the thing: if you let Larry and Sergey tap the capital markets – if they can put on a convincing show for the "capital allocators" – then the market will happily supply them with the billions they need to buy and neutralize their competitors, to create barriers to entry for superior search engines, and become the "central planners" that market theory so deplores. If your business can't get any market oxygen, if no audience ever discovers your creative endeavors, does it matter if the central planner who decided you don't deserve a chance is elected or nominated by "the market"?

Here's how self-proclaimed market enthusiasts answer that question: all Larry and Sergey are doing here is another form of "capital allocation." They're allocating attention, deciding what can and can't be seen, in just the same way that a investor decides what will and won't be funded. If an investor doesn't fund promising projects, then some other investor will come along, fund them, get rich, and poach the funds that were once given to less-successful rivals. In the same way, if Google allocates attention badly, then someone will start a better search engine that's better at allocating attention, and we will switch to that new search engine, and Google will fail.

Again, this sounds reasonable, but a little scrutiny reveals it to be circular reasoning. Google has dominated search for a quarter of a century now. It has a 90% market share. According to the theory of self-correcting markets, this means that Google is very good at allocating our attention. What's more, if it feels like Google actually sucks at this – like Google's search-results are garbage – that doesn't mean Google it bad at search. It doesn't mean that Google is sacrificing quality to improve its bottom line (say, by scaling back on anti-spam spending, or by increasing the load of ads on a search results page).

It just means that doing better than Google is impossible. You can tell it's impossible, because it hasn't happened.

QED.

Google wasn't the first search engine, and it would be weird if it were the last. The internet and the world have changed a lot and the special skills, organizational structures and leadership that Google assembled to address the internet of the 2000s and the 2010s is unlikely to be the absolute perfect mix for the 2020s. And history teaches us that the kinds of people who can assemble thee skills, structures and leaders to succeed in one era are unlikely to be able to change over to the ideal mix for the next era.

Interpreting the persistent fact of Google's 90% market-share despite its plummeting quality as evidence of Google's excellence requires an incredible act of mental gymnastics. Rather than accepting the proposition that Google both dominates and sucks because it is excellent, we should at least consider the possibility that Google dominates while sucking because it cheats. And hey, wouldn't you know it, three federal courts have found Google to be a monopolist in three different ways in just a year.

Now, the market trufans will tell you that these judges who called Google a cheater are just futzers who can't keep their fingers off the beautiful, flawless market computer. By dragging Google into court, forcing its executives to answer impertinent questions, and publishing their emails, the court system is "distorting the market." Google is the best, because it is the biggest, and once it stops being the best, it will be toppled.

This makes perfect sense to people who buy the underlying logic of market-as-computer. For the rest of us, it strains credulity.

Now, think for a minute of the people who got rich off of Google. You have the founders – like Sergey Brin, who arrived in America as a penniless refugee and is now one of the richest people in the history of the human species. He got his fortune by building something that billions of us used trillions of times (maybe even quadrillions of times) – the greatest search engine the world had ever seen.

Brin isn't the only person who got rich off Google, of course. There are plenty of Googlers who performed different kinds of labor – coding, sure, but also accountancy, HR, graphic design, even catering in the company's famous cafeterias – who became "post-economic" (a euphemism for "so rich they don't ever need to think about money ever again") thanks to their role in Google's success.

There's a pretty good argument to be made that these people "earned" their money, in the sense that they did a job and that job generated some money and they took it home. We can argue about whether the share of the profits that went to different people was fair, or whether the people whose spending generated that profit got a good deal, or whether the product itself was good or ethical. But what is inarguable is that this was money that people got for doing something.

Then there's Google's investors. They made a lot of money, especially the early investors. Again, we can argue about whether investors should be rewarded for speculation, but there's no question that the investors in Google took a risk and got something back. They could have lost it all. In some meaningful sense, they made a good choice and were rewarded for it.

But now let's think about the next generation. The odds that these billionaires, centimillionaires and decimillionaires will spawn the next generation of 1%ers, 0.1%ers, and 0.0001%ers are very high. Right now, in America, the biggest predictor of being rich is having rich parents. Every billionaire on the Forbes under-30 list inherited their wealth:

https://ca.finance.yahoo.com/news/forbes-billionaires-under-30-inherited-203930435.html

The wealthy have created a system of dynastic wealth that puts the aristocratic method of primogenitor in the shade. Every scion of every one-percenter can have their own fortune and start their own dynasty, without lifting a finger. Their sole job is to sign the paperwork put before them by "wealth managers":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

Yes, it's true that some of the very richest people on Earth got their money by investing, rather than inheriting it. Bill Gates's investment income growth exceeds even the growth of the world's richest woman, L'Oreal heiress Liliane Bettencourt, who never did anything of note apart from emerging from an extremely lucky orifice and then simply accruing:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-the-21st-century/

But Bill Gates's wealth accumulation from investing exceeds the wealth he accumulated by founding and running the most successful company in history (at the time). Doing work never pays as much as allocating capital. And Gates's children? They can assume a Bettencourtian posture on a divan, mouths yawning wide for the passage of peeled grapes, and their fortunes will grow still larger. Same goes for their children, and their children's children.

Capitalism's self-mythologizing insists that the invisible hand owes no allegiance to yesterday's champions. The mere fact that the market rewarded you for allocating capital wisely during your tenure does not entitle your offspring to continue to allocate wealth in the years and centuries to come – not unless they, too, are capital allocators of such supremacy that they are superior to everyone born hereafter and will make the decisions that make the whole world better off.

Because that's the justification for inequality: that the market relentlessly seeks out the people with the skill and foresight to do things and invest in things that improve the world for all of us. If we interrupt that market process with regulations, taxes, or other "distorting" factors, then the market's quest for the right person for the right job will be thwarted and all of us will end up poorer. If we want the benefits of the invisible hand, we must not jostle the invisible elbow!

That's the justification for abolishing welfare, public education, public health, affirmative action, DEI, and any other programs that redistribute wealth to the least among us. If we get in the way of the market's selection process, we'll elevate incompetents to roles of power and importance and they will bungle those roles in ways that hurt us all. As Boris Johnson put it: "the harder you shake the pack the easier it will be for [big] cornflakes to get to the top":

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/nov/28/boris-johnson-iq-intelligence-gordon-gekko

Which leaves the servants and defenders of the invisible hand with a rather awkward question: how is it that today, capital allocation is a hereditary role? We used to have the idea that fitness to allocate capital – that is, to govern the economy and the lives of all of the rest of us – was a situational matter. The rule was "shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations": "The first generation makes it, the second generation spends it, and the third generation blows it."

That's the lesson of the rags to riches story*: that out there, amongst the teeming grubby billions, lurks untold genius, waiting to be anointed by the market and turned loose to make us all better off.

In America, these stories are sometimes called "Horatio Alger" stories, after the writer who penned endless millionaire-pleasing fables about urchins who were adopted by wealthy older men who saw their promise and raised them to be captains of industry. However, in real life, Horatio Alger was a pedophile who adopted young boys and raped them:

https://newenglandhistoricalsociety.com/horatio-alger-hundred-year-old-secret/

Perhaps your life was saved by a surgeon who came from humble origins but made it through med school courtesy of Pell Grants. Perhaps you thrilled to a novel or a film made by an artist from a working class family who got their break through an NEA grant. Maybe the software you rely on every day, or the game that fills your evenings, was created by someone who learned their coding skills at a public library or publicly funded after-school program.

The presence among us of people who achieved social mobility and made our lives better is evidence that people are being born every moment with something to contribute that is markedly different, and higher in social status, than the role their parents played. Even if you stipulate that the person who cleans your toilet has been correctly sorted into a toilet-cleaning job by the invisible hand, it's clear that the invisible hand would prefer that at least some of those toilet-cleaners' kids should do something else for a living.

And yet, wealth remains stubbornly hereditary. Our capital allocators – who, during the post-war, post-New Deal era were often drawn from working families – are now increasingly, relentlessly born to that role.

For the wealthy, this is the origin of the meritocracy to eugenics pipeline. If power and privilege are inherited – and they are, ever moreso every day – then either we live in an extremely unfair society in which the privileged and the powerful have rigged the game…or the invisible hand has created a subspecies of thoroughbred humans who were literally born to rule.

This is the thesis of the ultra-rich, the moral justification for rigging the system so that their failsons and faildaughters will give rise to faildestinies of failgrandkids and failgreat-grandkids, whose emergence from history's luckiest orifices guarantees them a lifelong tenure ordering other people around. It's the justification for some people being born to own the places where the rest of us live, and the rest of us paying them half our salaries just so we don't end up sleeping on the sidewalk.

"Hereditary meritocracy" is just a polite way of saying "eugenics." It starts from the premise of the infallible invisible hand and then attributes all inequality in society to the hand's perfect judgment, its genetic insight in picking the best people for the best jobs. If people of one race are consistently on top of the pile, that's the market telling you something about their genomes. If men consistently fare better in the economy than women, the invisible hand is trying to say something about the Y chromosome for anyone with ears to hear.

Capitalism's winners have always needed "a superior moral justification for selfishness," a discreet varnish to shine up the old divine right of kings. Think of the millionaire who created a "Nobel Prize sperm-bank" (and then fraudulently fathered hundreds of children because he couldn't find any Nobelists willing to make a deposit):

https://memex.craphound.com/2006/09/07/nobel-prize-sperm-bank-human-tragicomedy-about-eugenics/

Or the billionaire founder of Telegram who has fathered over 100 children in a bid to pass on his "superior genes":

https://www.cnn.com/2024/08/26/tech/pavel-durov-telegram-profile-intl

Think of Trump and his endless boasting about his "good blood" and praise for the "bloodlines" of Henry Ford and other vicious antisemites:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2020/05/22/trump-criticized-praising-bloodlines-henry-ford-anti-semite/5242361002/

Or Elon Musk, building a compound where he hopes to LARP as Immortan Joe, with a harem of women who have borne his legion of children, who will carry on his genetic legacy:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/10/29/business/elon-musk-children-compound.html

Inequality is a hell of a drug. There's plenty of evidence that becoming a billionaire rots your brain, and being born into a dynastic fortune is a thoroughly miserable experience:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

The stories that rich people tell themselves about why this is the only way things can be ("There is no alternative" -M. Thatcher) always end up being stories about superior blood. Eugenics and inequality are inseparable companions.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/20/big-cornflakes-energy/#caliper-pilled

#pluralistic #eugenics #meritocracy #phrenology #good blood #oligarchy #hereditary meritocracy #lucky orifices

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theemporium · 10 months ago

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[10k] an investigative study into the mysterious fish that saved his life; by oscar piastri with the assistance of logan sargeant, google searches and a crush that makes a man blind to the obvious signs that his coworker is a mermaid.

happy birthday @scuderiahoney!! for one of my fav people and one of my fav spirals we have had together<3

inspired by this moodboard

warning: mentions and descriptions of drowning!! idk why that wee bit went angsty but it did so be warned!!

THE PREFACE

Oscar Piastri never considered himself a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy, but more of a ‘never have a plan’ kind of guy instead.

He likes to let fate guide his decisions, or at least that’s what he told himself. That the universe was looking down at him and putting him where he needed to be.

Because it was fate that he read the wrong room number, ending up in an ocean wildlife conservation lecture rather than the mechanical engineering one he was meant to be in.

Because it was fate that he found a map, with a small seaside town circled, in the glovebox of the secondhand car he managed to save up and buy.

Because it was fate that that very seaside town had one of Australia’s biggest ocean conservation programmes that was currently accepting applicants.

Because it was fate that the dodgy, beachside cabin he bought for ridiculously cheap ended up being home to a stray dog who would become his best friend.

Because fate was the only explanation for so many things in Oscar’s life that he never planned to happen nor did he believe would’ve just happened if he followed along the way he was. He chose to believe that there was some superior being up there that was making sure he was sticking to the path that was meant for him.

And so far, it hadn’t led him astray.

In fact, all things considered with his mother’s constant questioning and uncertainty of him moving so far from home for the programme, things had been working out pretty well for Oscar.

He enjoyed the routine he had settled into in the almost year of being in one of Australia’s most picturesque, scenic seaside towns.

Every morning he woke up just before sunrise, when the sky was breaking into pinks and oranges and yellows. He would shuffle his way into the kitchen, pouring a bowl of kibble for Buddy and a bowl of cereal for himself before taking a run along the beach (that was essentially his front garden) until the sun was in the sky. Some days he hit the water, most days he tried to stop Buddy from eating the jellyfish that had washed up on the beach.

He would have a quick shower, put out some more food for Buddy before riding his bike fifteen minutes towards the water park (because unlike the others, he listened to Sebastian’s talks on lessening your carbon footprint).

He would greet Alex and George by the door, the two already arguing or disagreeing about something or the other.

“Alex, they have to show you proof of university ID to get a student discount!”

“They looked trustworthy!”

He would pass by the gift shop where Lando would be sitting on the cashier counter, swinging his legs back and forth and fiddling with the speakers to play whatever music he was feeling that day.

“I’m telling you, Aussies love country music, Osc. You’re clearly the odd one out.”

Some days, he would pass by Charles and Max by the tourist booth, bickering back and forth about the customer shows and tours for the day.

“I can’t dedicate thirty minutes of my tour to you, Charles.”

“But the penguins have learnt new tricks!”

Other days he would pass by the labs where Sebastian would stick his head out, waving at the boy and throwing some weird and wondrous fact at him.

“Hey, Oscar, did you see that the squid killer parasite was treated successfully last week?”

And some days Sebastian stayed in the lab, the door closed and locked behind him which told Oscar and the others that Mark, the park’s owner, was visiting.

And by the time Oscar reached the staff room to drop his stuff off in his locker and prepare for the day, Logan would’ve somehow hunted him down and began yapping his ear off about something or the other before he eventually brought up his favourite topic.

The crush Oscar had on you.

“You must be happy this morning,” Logan commented offhandedly as they left the main building, heading down towards the animal habitats.

“As opposed to every other morning when I’m always angry and upset?” Oscar deadpanned, shooting the American a look.

“Just thought you would’ve had a small mood booster after seeing the rota,” Logan shrugged, but there was a mischievous and knowing glint in his eyes. “Heard you were on the late shift.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh.”

“On the late shift with a certain someone,” Logan continued. “Someone you happen to—”

“Do you have to do this every time?” Oscar asked, deadpanned.

But Logan was already nodding. “Yes, it brings me great joy when you try to act nonchalant and then lose your mind in front of her.”

Oscar scoffed. “I do not lose my mind in front of her.”

“Hey, guys!”

Oscar felt his mouth run dry when he turned his head to find you already out on the dock by the dolphin enclosure. It was embarrassing the way his brain went blank, the way his eyes were glued to you—your outfit no different to the uniform both he and Logan and everyone else wore—and not a single coherent thought could leave his mouth.

He felt Logan jab him in the ribs, kickstarting his brain and letting out an awkward garble before he managed to blurt out, “Heyo!”

He wondered if jumping into the tank with the dolphins would save any of his dignity.

“What he meant to say was hey back,” Logan called out, far too smiley as he tried to hold back his glee. “You’re out here early.”

“I was teaching Rufus a new trick,” you explained, something quite fond in your voice as you turned to smile at the dolphin who was currently nudging a ball towards you. “And then Gizmo felt left out so I played with him a bit too.”

Logan raised his brows. “With one ball?”

“I’m creative,” you shrugged. “If you were working in the dolphin enclosure, I would’ve taught you my tricks, Sargeant.”

“Well, you can always teach Oscar!” Logan said, giving his friend a slightly rough slap on the back which caused him to stagger forward. “I’m sure he would love to learn anything you wanna teach him!”

Oscar shot Logan a glare.

Logan only grinned wider.

“I’ll see if I can make him a dolphin whisperer,” you teased, lighthearted and playful and unaware of the lingering tension between the two boys. You turned to Oscar with a kind smile on your face, one that kind of made his brain go fuzzy. “It’s been a while, Piastri. I’ve missed working with you.”

And Oscar could feel his cheeks burning up but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he mirrored your smile, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“I’ve missed it too,” Oscar replied, sincere and genuine.

He did. He really did. Because despite all of Logan’s taunting and teasing about Oscar’s crush on you—which was very much real—he also appreciated you as a friend. He had since the day you both started, anxious and eager and leaning on each other for support since day one.

Just somewhere along the line, Oscar managed to catch some feelings he couldn’t quite shake away. But it was fine. He had them under control. He had long ago accepted they wouldn’t be requited and he would let them run their course before the friendship returned to normal—whilst you were none the wiser.

“The dolphins missed you too,” you added. “That’s just ‘cause you feed them an extra herring.”

“I gotta bribe them!” Oscar defended. “You have some secret bond with them. It’s not fair.”

You snorted. “Well, lucky for you, you’re on swimming duty. Get that wet suit on, Piastri.”

And then, you flashed him a wink and turned around and—

Yeah, Oscar was far from moving on from how he felt about you.

But it was fine. Because Oscar Piastri was the kind of guy who let fate take the reins for him.

Because fate led him to this town. Because fate led him to this job. Because fate led him to you and all the others he had bonded with to make a dysfunctional but supportive family.

Because it was fate that led him to making one of the biggest discoveries in his life.

…

THE SIGHTING

It was as normal as a morning could be.

He had woken up a little earlier than his alarm, a weird and unsettling feeling in his chest that he brushed off as the few hours of sleep he had managed to get. Buddy wasn’t much better, not as eager to get out of the house as he usually was when Oscar stood by the door for their morning walk.

It was a little chilly, enough to warrant Oscar wearing a jumper as they wandered down the beach until Buddy felt a little more relaxed and playful.

But by the time they returned to the house, Oscar was still wired with some restless energy itching under his skin and still three hours until his shift started at the park.

He thought a quick go at the morning waves would help settle the feeling buzzing through his body before he started scratching at his own skin.

The water was cold and refreshing and definitely washed away any last dregs of sleep that Oscar had been clinging onto. The exhaustion was long gone, now replaced with a different type of adrenaline that made him seek out the waves that made him work for it.

It was still early, far too early for many people to be on the beach. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon and Buddy was still half asleep on the beach by his towel, no real rush to join Oscar in the water any time soon.

Everything was fine.

Everything was normal.

The morning sun was starting to shine through, but instead of fluffy, white clouds like the forecast had assured, large, dark clouds were taking over the barely blue sky. It was disconcerting, especially when the waves seemed to be getting rougher.

He took one glance down at his watch, assuring himself he had enough time for one more wave before he headed back to shore to get ready for his shift at the marine park. With a deep breath, he narrowed his eyes at the water and began paddling with his hands.

The wave didn’t look too big or risky. It should have been an easy attempt, one that Oscar could do with little to no thought on a day with good weather. But the wind was stronger than he realised, the water more temperamental than he assumed and it didn’t take Oscar long to realise that this wave wasn’t going to end well.

But the panic didn’t start setting in until the wave washed over him, knocking him off his board with little time for him to take a breath before he went under. He could feel the current tugging his body in different directions, pulling his arms one way whilst the leash around his ankle pulled him in the opposite direction with his board.

And no matter how hard he kicked his legs and propelled his arms, he couldn’t seem to get any closer to the surface.

It hit him that he was absolutely fucked when he could feel his lungs starting to burn.

Buddy would be left on the beach, whining and crying out for Oscar until someone found him. Or, god forbid, the loyal dog would try to swim out and find him himself. Oscar was all he knew, the only family Buddy had ever known and it was clear that the dog loved him. It made him feel a twisted sort of pain at the idea of leaving the dog behind.

People at work would be confused when he didn’t turn up for his shift. Logan would probably be the first to notice when he spends far too long waiting for Oscar in the staff room, watching the clock with a frown. The blond would probably offer to drive out to his house to check up on him. Charles would probably offer to join and might even offer to drive if he could see the boy’s hand shaking too much. He wondered if you would join.

Sebastian would probably have to call his family back home, to tell them. His stomach twisted into something bitter and awful at the thought of leaving his family behind, of never being able to hug his mother again or tease his sisters or surf with his father.

His body stopped fighting at one point, too tired to even attempt to reach the surface. But his brain kept going, kept haunting him with the life his family and friends would lead whilst he continued to float and float and—

And then he saw it.

It was blurry, his vision dotted with black and white blobs as the overwhelming urge to close his eyes took over his body. But he saw it. He saw the flashes of orange, the scales glimmering in the little light under the surface. He saw a fin and scales and then—

Skin.

And hair.

And arms reaching for him.

And he swore he saw the features of a human face staring back at him, but before he could even try to force his eyes to focus, everything was going black and Oscar let it happen.

…

The first that hit him was how fucking cold he was.

The second was—

Well, the second hit him when his eyes blinked open, barely giving him a chance to acknowledge the people surrounding him before he coughed, emptying out the saltwater that was still stuck in his lungs.

He could feel someone’s hand soothing his back, the action almost relieving if it weren’t for the fact Oscar swore he couldn’t stop shivering.

“Let it all out, honey, atta boy,” a woman’s voice soothed as Oscar laid on his side, panting heavily and trying to wrap his head around everything before he felt a furry head pushing against his own.

“Hey, Buddy,” Oscar breathed out, his lips twitching as he let the dog practically throw himself on top of Oscar even if it was still a little hard to breathe.

“Smart dog you got there,” the woman spoke up again and Oscar finally turned his head to find a kind-looking woman smiling down at him. It took a few seconds before he realised she was wearing the paramedic uniform. “He managed to drag a couple out of their car to come help you. They are the ones who called us.”

Oscar blinked. “You swam out?”

The woman frowned a little. “Of course not, honey. The waves seemed to have washed you in. You were lying out on the beach when we got called out.”

“I—” Oscar blinked again, his confusion growing as he stared out at the ocean for a few moments. “Right. Of course.”

“Do you remember what happened?” The kind paramedic asked.

“A little,” Oscar admitted. “I was surfing and the wave took me under. The current started dragging me further out. But then I saw—” Before he paused. Images of orange scales and a human face flashed in his mind but there was a voice in the back of his head that told him to stop, to keep that to himself.

“Saw what?” The paramedic prompted.

“I don’t know,” Oscar eventually said as he shrugged. “I think I blacked out after that.”

“I see,” the woman nodded, though he couldn’t read whether she believed him or not. “Think you can stand up? We just wanna do some standard tests, make sure you are alright. Then maybe someone you know can come pick you up.”

“No need, my house is just there,” Oscar said as he nodded towards the cabin in the distance. “I feel fine, I promise—”

“Procedure,” the woman said with a sheepish smile. “C’mon, it won’t take long. Promise.”

And true to her word, it hadn’t taken long.

Beyond some tests to prove that he knew his name, had basic motor functions and wasn’t concussed, he was allowed to head back home with Buddy by his side and a blanket wrapped around his body to try and maintain what little heat he had left.

His body was running mostly on muscle memory as he shuffled into the house, pulling the blanket off (against better judgement) and starting to unzip his wetsuit so he could peel it off his body like a second skin.

He was smiling down at Buddy, who had refused to leave his side, when he felt a sharp prick against his finger. He winced, lifting his thumb to his mouth without second thought before glancing down to see what had nicked him.

His eyes widened comically large when he saw an orange scale stuck to the side of his leg, sparkling and glistening the same way he swore it had under the water. The attempt of removing the wet suit was quickly abandoned as he glanced around the room, swearing under his breath before shuffling towards the kitchen.

Buddy followed, whining and huffing as Oscar slammed cupboards doors open and shut before finding a small container. He leaned down, grabbing the scale as gently as he could before transferring it to the container.

“M’telling you, Bud, that thing out there saved my life,” he spoke, his voice still a little raspy and raw. “I don’t know what it is but it wasn’t a normal fish. And I’m gonna figure out what the hell it is.”

With all due respect, Buddy looked at his owner like he was insane but Oscar didn’t seem to notice.

…

“I need you to look at something for me.”

Logan let out a high-pitched scream, his body reacting quicker than he could keep up with and causing him to fall out of his seat before he noticed Oscar standing there, a frown on his lips. The blond let out a curse, his hand pressed against his chest as he let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Fucking hell, dude, don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” Logan grumbled before pausing, scrambling to stand up and really focus on Oscar this time. “What the fuck are you doing here? You should be resting!”

Oscar blinked. “I’m fine.”

“You almost drowned,” Logan said slowly, like he was explaining the point to a child.

“Yes, Logan, I’m aware,” Oscar deadpanned. “I was there, believe it or not.”

“I—” Logan let out a deep breath. “You’re insane. Like actually insane. I think you lost too many brain cells because you shouldn’t be out of bed, let alone at work—”

“I’m not here to work,” Oscar corrected before flashing his friend a grin. “I came here because I need your weird fish encyclopaedic knowledge.”

Logan stared at him. “Be honest with me, did your board hit your head?”

“Shut up,” Oscar rolled his eyes before gesturing to the jar he slammed on the table before Logan fell off his seat. “Look.”

Logan frowned a little, picking up the jar and peeking inside. “I know you work with dolphins but I’d at least hope you know that’s a fish scale.”

Oscar shot him a look. “I know it’s a fish scale but I need to know which fish it belongs to.”

Logan blinked. “You think I’d be able to take one look at this random scale and tell you which fish it belonged to?”

“I mean,” Oscar shrugged. “Yeah. Kinda.”

“You’ve been hanging around the dolphins far too much,” Logan murmured.

“Listen, whichever fish that scale belongs to saved my life,” Oscar started.

Logan stared at him like he had grown a second head. “A fish saved you from drowning?”

“Yes.”

“And you are sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“Oh my god,” Oscar huffed. “Look, I know what I saw. It had a huge orange tail but it also had…like…skin and hair.”

“Very commonly found in marine animals,” Logan deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” Oscar said, his lips turned downwards. “And think, if it is a new kind of fish and you help me discover it—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Logan muttered, waving him off. “For the record, I still think you’re going insane but I’m your friend so I’ll help you out.”

Oscar grinned. “I knew you’d help.”

“You owe me lunch though,” Logan added. “I dropped my burrito when you scared me.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Fine, deal.”

…

THE INVESTIGATION

Despite his concern, Oscar managed to convince Sebastian to let him come back to work the next day (after saying he would be bored out of his mind at home) with the condition that Buddy be allowed to join him at work considering the dog had downright refused to leave his side since the accident.

George and Alex had been awkward at the front. They had been less than subtle at their surprise that he had come into work so soon, and in turn, had been dreadfully unprepared in the etiquette of how to talk to your coworker friend who had almost drowned and died less than twenty-four hours earlier.

Lando had been no better, downright asking him if he met God in the few minutes he lacked oxygen under water before being washed back out to shore. He hadn’t understood why Oscar—and even Buddy—had stared at him blankly.

Charles had been a little more sympathetic, though oddly protective of the boy. He had been a little fussy at Oscar coming in so early, insisting that he would make sure the boy had proper breaks and meals, even if he had to talk to Sebastian himself. Max had rolled his eyes at the other boy’s antics but clapped Oscar on the back and said he was happy he was alive.

Even Logan had been cautious around the boy. Despite his agreement to help search for the fish that saved him, he still constantly looked at Oscar like he had downright lost his mind. And maybe he had.

The only person who seemed to be acting remotely normal towards him was you, or at least it felt that way.

“You know, Rufus really missed you yesterday.”

Oscar raised his brows as he walked down the pier towards where you stood, two buckets of fish in each hand. “I think we must be talking about different Rufuses.”

You rolled your eyes, though it seemed quite fond as you patted the spot next to you as you sat on the edge of the dock. “He likes you. He just also likes teasing you.”

“That’s easy for you to say, he is a little prince around you,” Oscar commented, smiling softly when Buddy rushed towards your side, nuzzling you fondly.

“There’s my favourite dog,” you cooed, taking Buddy’s face in your hands and pressing a smacking kiss on the top of his head. “Such a handsome boy.”

Oscar chose to ignore the fact he was feeling oddly jealous of his dog of all people.

“You’re just a dolphin whisperer,” Oscar said eventually, looking out at the two rescue dolphins that were currently chasing each other with a red ball between them. “I don’t get how you do it.”

You shrugged, but your smile was mischievous. “If I told you, I would have to kill you.”

Oscar snorted in response. It would have been embarrassing if it didn’t make your smile widen.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between the two of you with Oscar watching the dolphins and your attention on the needy dog now half-sprawled across your lap. You waited a few moments before you found the confidence to speak up again.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, your fingers tangled in Buddy’s fur as the dog sighed happily. “I mean, obviously you don’t have to answer that but if you want to talk about it—”

“I’m okay,” he answered with a kind smile. “It was…weird.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Weird is an understatement.”

But Oscar just shrugged his shoulders. “I was lucky, that’s what I’m choosing to focus on.”

You nodded but you didn’t say anything in response. You didn’t get the chance as Logan came barrelling down the dock, a huge grin spread across his face and a bunch of scuba equipment in his arms.

“Dude, you won’t believe what Seb let me borrow!”

Oscar’s eyes widened as he quickly scrambled up, shooting Logan a look that he didn’t seem to understand.

“Don’t worry,” Logan rolled his eyes. “I didn’t tell him about your mission to find—”

But Oscar reached over to smack his hand over Logan’s mouth before the boy could continue, laughing awkwardly as he looked over his shoulder at you. “He doesn't know what he’s talking about!”

You glanced between the boys, eyeing the scuba equipment curiously. “Hiding some top secret mission from me?”

“No, of course not!” Oscar quickly blurted out. “It’s just…something stupid.”

You raised your brows. “And requires state of the art diving equipment?”

Oscar just laughed nervously.

Logan finally managed to push Oscar’s hand away, something mischievous and cunning shining in his eyes as he glanced at Oscar before looking at you. “You know, we have spare equipment. You could totally join us tomorrow—”

But before Oscar could intervene, you were already responding.

“Oh no, I can't swim.”

Logan blinked. “What?”

“I, uh, mean,” you laughed, awkward and stilted as you quickly stood up, almost tripping on Buddy as you did so. “I swim. I can swim. Just not well.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Well, Oscar could always teach you—”

“No, no, don’t let me hold you back,” you insisted before clearing your throat. “God, would you look at that! I should go get some more fish. Bye, guys!”

Neither boy got a chance to say much before you were running down the dock, heading towards the main building. Logan watched you for a moment before looking down at the two full buckets of fish by his feet.

“Well, that wasn’t weird at all,” he deadpanned.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re reading too much into it.”

Logan gave him a weird look. “Dude, she’s literally lying. It’s a part of the entry requirements to be able to swim and be fully lifeguard trained.”

“Well, maybe you made her uncomfortable and she felt the need to lie,” Oscar retorted.

Logan rolled his eyes. “A man in love is a blind man.”

Oscar shook his head. “Pipe down, Shakespeare, and show me what Seb gave you.”

…

As it would turn out, aimlessly diving around the area Oscar almost drowned was a useless and fruitless endeavour.

Who would have thought?

Logan, clearly, considering the boy had been insisting as much since the two of them waddled back into Oscar’s cabin, their wetsuits drying out on the balcony and the heavy weight of exhaustion on their shoulders after the hours of searching was something that was not there.

“Maybe it needs a purpose to show itself,” Logan suggested as he slumped down on the couch, happily letting Buddy jump up and join him. “Maybe you need to almost die again.”

Oscar shot him a look.

“Right. Too soon. Sorry.”

“No, I—” Oscar paused, shaking his head and letting it drop. He was too tired to deal with it anyways. “That is not a theory we are going to test.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Logan shrugged, settled against the soft throw pillows Oscar’s mother had insisted he needed to buy to make his place seem a bit homier. “What’s your plan anyways?”

Oscar frowned a little in confusion. “For what?”

“When you find this fish,” Logan stated. “Like, what are you gonna do? Say thank you and move on with your life?”

“Well, no, I—” he paused for a moment. “I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s a weird fish.”

“And diving the depths of the ocean will get us nowhere except having a very boring hobby for the next fifty years,” Logan deadpanned. “Describe the fish again. Maybe we can note down some main features and do some research. There’s probably something on the internet.”

“I don’t know,” Oscar shrugged, turning his attention back to whatever scraps were left in his fridge that he could somehow make a meal from. “I have never seen a fish like this.”

“Because you know every fish ever to exist.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“C’mon, just try,” Logan whined as he reached for his phone, muttering out a small ‘sorry’ when he had to manoeuvre Buddy on his lap before he pulled up a new tab. “We have orange scales, big, skin and hair-like features—”

“It was skin and hair.”

“Yeah, sure,” Logan murmured as he continued to add a few more details Oscar had told him before hitting search. He waited a few moments, looking through the top searches before he let out a loud snort. “Okay, maybe you were right. Maybe googling is useless.”

“Why? What does it say?” Oscar asked, reaching for the jar of pasta sauce that seemed to be shoved towards the back of his cupboard. For the sake of his rumbling stomach, he decided not to linger on how long it had been back there for.

“It says you’re looking for a mermaid,” Logan snorted, his amusement clear in his voice. “I mean, come on! Like any sucker would believe that.”

However, when he turned his head to see if Oscar was laughing along with him, he found the boy staring back with a contemplative look on his face.

“No,” Logan groaned, leaning his head back against the pillows. “No, Oscar, we are not—”

“It might be,” Oscar argued back.

“You need to get your head checked,” Logan grumbled.

“Just find as many reliable sources on mermaids as you can whilst I make lunch,” Oscar retorted, waving him off as the American let out a squawk of protest.

“He’s gone insane. My best friend has gone insane.”

“I can hear you.”

“Good!”

…

“I can’t believe these words are about to leave my mouth—”

“You don’t need to say that everytime.”

“But how do we know we are dealing with a mermaid and not a siren?” Logan questioned as the two of them sat on the dock by the dolphins, sandwiches in hand as they enjoyed their lunch break whilst entertaining Rufus and Gizmo with the new toys Sebastian had ordered.

“Because it would have killed me if it was a siren,” Oscar responded matter-of-factly. “If it was a siren, they probably would have eaten me.”

“Should we really be saying it? Wouldn’t it be a she?” Logan asked, but before he could even wait for an answer, he was continuing. “And how do we know she speaks English? Like, she could speak some ocean language. Maybe you need to start speaking fish so you can thank her if we find her.”

Oscar blinked. “Speaking fish? Really?”

“What? I am just making assumptions here,” Logan murmured. “It’s not like there’s a lot of accurate and reliable sources for mermaid logistics and habits.”

“Well, she is also probably a human living in this town,” Oscar pointed out. “So, I think my chances of her speaking English or any other human language is high.”

“So you think,” Logan muttered under his breath.

Oscar glanced down when he felt a nudge against his foot, smiling when he felt Rufus nudge him. “I wonder if she can speak to fish.”

“Hm?”

“Like, imagine how cool it would be to be able to talk to different sea animals,” Oscar commented as he leaned down, his smile widening when the dolphin lifted his head up to meet Oscar’s hand.

“Well, your girlfriend is the dolphin whisperer,” Logan teased, nudging the other boy’s side with his elbow. “She could maybe teach you something, help you practise your fish language before you find your knight in scaly armour.”

Oscar could feel his cheeks burn. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you wish she was,” Logan sang.

“Plus, some people just have a special knack with animals,” Oscar shrugged, watching as Rufus continued to nudge his foot to gain his attention. “She’s one of them.”

“A shame she can’t swim with them,” Logan muttered.

“Oh my god, get off her back with that,” Oscar groaned.

“I am just saying—”

“Stop saying it.”

“—it’s a little weird that—”

“You’re a little weird.”

“—she was so dodgy about her swimming and then ran off—”

“You are reading far too much into it.”

“—like she’s hiding something!” Logan exclaimed.

“Who’s hiding something?”

Both boys let out a scream, whipping their heads to find you standing a few feet away, looking far too amused at the expressions on their faces. You raised your brows, glancing between them and watching the way they both floundered for a response.

“Were you talking about little old me?” You asked, a dramatic gasp following as you placed your hand over your heart.

Oscar’s eyes widened. “No, we just—”

But before he could even come up with a half-assed, lame excuse to try and sell, a large splash of water hit the three of you. The water was cold and a shock to the system and the almost mocking laugh of Rufus as he swam away was the cherry on top.

Oscar glanced down at the soggy sandwich in his hand before shifting his attention to you, noticing the way your eyes widened in panic.

“Hey, you look a bit pale,” Oscar started but you were already starting to walk backwards.

“I have to go!” You blurted out before turning on your heel and sprinting down the pier.

“Wait!” Oscar frowned, ignoring the odd look Logan was giving him as he began to chase after you, watching you make a beeline towards the main building.

He could feel his legs burning as he tried to catch up, as he chased you through the windy footpaths of the park, only to find himself at the main building with the door still locked and you nowhere in sight.

He called out your name, his teeth starting to chatter a little as the water seeped into his clothes and hung heavy on his frame.

But you were nowhere to be seen.

…

“Do you think there is a way to find the human version of the mermaid?”

Oscar barely lifted his head up from his phone, glancing down at the series of unread messages he had sent to you over the course of the last few days. Sebastian had said you called in sick, saying you needed a few days to recover from your cold without giving it to anyone.

But Oscar wasn’t buying it.

“Because maybe we just need to look for the very obvious clues.”

Of course, there was the potential option that you really were sick. It was quite chilly the other day and Oscar’s mother always did say that wet clothes and chilly weather were never a good combination. It was why his first message was staged as a simple wish for you to get better, seeing if you would reply to him.

You didn’t.

“You know, like people well affiliated with fish. And maybe avoid water. And maybe have a suspicious background we don’t know about.”

The following messages had been sent by accident. His thumb had been hovering over the second message when Buddy bumped into him and made his thumb hit the screen. And then, with the embarrassment already settled, he found himself sending a few more to follow up.

But still, he hadn’t heard a single word from you. Nobody had.

“It does make me wonder if your kids would come out as mermaids or fully human though.”

Oscar blinked, head snapping up to stare at Logan with a bewildered look. “What?!”

Logan huffed. “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying?”

“No, clearly not. Though, if you’re talking about how mermaids reproduce then I’m glad I zoned out,” Oscar deadpanned.

“You should have a lot more interest considering your girlfriend is a mermaid,” Logan retorted.

Oscar blinked. “Come again?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t see the signs?” Logan prompted.

Oscar shot him a look. “I don’t see the signs.”

“God, love really is blind,” Logan sighed, shaking his head. “The signs are right in front of you, dude. She’s the one you’re looking for. Maybe. Potentially. It’s mostly a hunch.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Oscar scoffed. “I know her. I know her better than you. And I know that isn’t her.”

“In denial your girlfriend is a fish?” Logan teased, nudging his foot against Oscar’s shin only to let out a wince when Oscar kicked him back.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I’m not in denial about anything!”

“Who’s not in denial about anything?”

Oscar’s head snapped around, his cheeks burning when he found Charles and Max standing at the door of the staff room, looking between the two younger boys with a questioning but amused look in their eyes.

“Nothing!” Oscar flashed them a strained smile. “Truly nothing. We are talking about absolutely nothing.”

Max raised his brows. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Well—“ Oscar laughed, another half-assed lie ready to leave his lips but Logan bet him to it.

“Oscar is just in denial about his lady fish!” Logan blinked, realising what he’s been saying. “I mean his friend who’s a fish! I mean, his lady friend who likes fish. She isn’t a fish. No one is a fish but fish!”

Oscar shot him a look.

“You know?” Logan laughed awkwardly.

To his credit, Max looked positively delighted like their misery was great for his amusement. But Charles looked downright concerned, looking at Oscar with a solemn look as he walked around the table. He placed a hand on Oscar’s shoulder and gave him a small squeeze.

“We will fight your fish fetish together,” he said in a completely serious voice.

Logan choked.

Oscar blanched. “I do not have a fish fetish!”

“It’s fine, accepting it is the first step and we will get there together, yes?” Charles said with a kind smile. “You’re not alone, Oscar.”

“I’m not there at all,” he retorted.

“You have a support system here, Oscar,” Charles said. “We are your family too.”

Oscar groaned, his head slumping down to rest on the table. “Logan, I’m not going to kill you.”

“Logan is your friend and he just wants to help,” Charles continued, patting the boy on the back like he was trying to comfort him.

It was safe to say he wasn’t focused on your lack of response to his messages after that.

…

THE REVEAL

It was actually totally by chance that it happened that morning.

Just before his shift ended the day before, Sebastian had managed to catch him on his way out, ranting away about storms and stocking up and eventually ending his ramble by asking Oscar to come in early for his shift tomorrow to help deal with the morning feeds in case they have to shut down the park for the storm.

He had agreed, assuring the older man he would be at the park before the sun had risen before he left.

The next morning, he had been cursing his past self as he dragged himself out of bed and forwent his usual morning swim for a quick walk with Buddy before cycling towards the park.

He was barely awake as he sauntered towards the staff room, putting his things away and just barely noticing your locker was already full before he made his way out towards the dolphins where he assumed you would’ve started.

After all, Sebastian never said you two couldn’t work through the breakfast shift together.

Oscar still felt a bit half asleep and bleary when he saw you at the bottom of the pier, talking away to Rufus and Gizmo. It made him smile, listening to whatever you were saying without even really processing it.

In fact, it was because he was so entranced that he almost missed it at first.

“Okay, one more but then you’ve gotta have your breakfast,” you sighed, shaking your head fondly at the two dolphins before lifting your hand.

It took a second for Oscar to even realise there was a massive ball of water floating in front of you. It took a few more seconds to realise it turned to ice seconds later. And he was already rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself by the time you threw it into the water, letting the dolphins chase after it.

He stood at the bottom of the dock, mouth agape and heart thundering in his chest that he missed whatever you said to the squeaking dolphin before you dove head first into the water.

His body kicked into action by that point as he sprinted down the pier, yelling out your name and already trying to shrug off his coat so he could dive in after you, only to pause when he saw something in the water.

Not something—you.

It felt like deja vu as he stared at you under the water’s surface, stuck between confusion and awe. It was still dark but somehow the scales of your tail still glimmered in the water, dancing and shining and downright mesmerising. It was orange and gold and yellow and just breath-taking to see when he wasn’t losing oxygen. He watched your hair flow behind you as you swam effortlessly beside the dolphins like you belonged, like you were meant to be in the water.

It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.

He had barely picked his jaw up off the floor by the time you rose to the surface again, your eyes widening as you saw him kneeling on the pier staring out at you.

You gulped a little. “Oscar, it’s not what it seems—”

“It’s you,” he interrupted, though his voice was soft and awestruck. “You’re the mermaid. You’re the one that saved me.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t need saving if you hadn’t been an idiot surfing when it wasn’t safe,” you retorted, almost defensive as you squirmed under his watchful gaze.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are so—”

“Scary?” You supplied.

“Beautiful,” Oscar corrected with a small frown.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say.

His eyes drifted down once again, his eyes lingering on your tail and the way it swayed gently to keep you above the surface. It was long, much longer than he realised the last time he saw you. But it was there and it was real and it belonged to you and—

It was overwhelming.

And it was also deeply annoying that Logan was right.

Oscar opened his mouth. “I have so many questions I want—”

“I’m sure you do and I will answer them but,” you flashed him a sheepish smile, though the defensive tone in your voice was still there. “Not now. Later. Promise.”

Oscar nodded, a little dumbly. “Come back to mine after work?”

You nodded back, your smile a little strained. “Yeah, of course.”

…

“Would you like some tea?”

The wind howling and the rain pattering against the window from the storm managed to break some of the awkward silence as you sat in Oscar’s living room, picking at the skin around your nails and avoiding eye contact with him completely.

“Uh yeah,” you nodded. “Tea would be nice.”

Oscar nodded before shuffling towards the kitchen, grabbing two mugs and putting the kettle on before he glanced over his shoulder to peek out at you.

He smiled a bit as he watched Buddy trot towards you, letting out a whine and knocking your hands away from each other and instead placed his head on your lap until you started scratching behind his ears instead.

“He’s a bit of a clinger,” Oscar warned as he wandered back into the room, two cups of tea in his hands as he placed both on the coffee table before taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch. “If you give him too much attention, he will never let you leave.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“You’ll think twice when he starts chewing your shoes because he wants to go out in the morning,” Oscar retorted.

You let out a soft laugh in response.

He watched you for a few moments as you cooed at the dog in front of you. You had told him you’d make your way to his house, considering Oscar’s shift ended half an hour earlier than yours and he had only driven a bicycle into work.

He had tried to be really casual and nonchalant about the whole thing, pretending like his mind wasn’t spinning all day since he saw you in the water. It got a lot worse when he got home, practically pacing the cabin and wearing a hole into the carpet as he kept glancing at the clock—so often that even Buddy started whining about it.

And then, just minutes before the rain started, you were knocking on his door and walking into his house and—

He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He wondered if he was meant to be the one to drop it.

“So, a mermaid, huh?”

And maybe it was the shitty icebreaker or maybe it was the nerves catching up with you, but you couldn’t help but snort.

“Really?” You teased, finally looking at him with something that felt oddly close to fondness. “That’s what you start with?”

“I panicked,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “And…I don’t know how much you want to share.”

“Most people would be demanding answers,” you told him, your voice a little defensive like you expected him to be the same.

“I’m not most people,” he responded before pausing. “Wait, other people know?”

“Well, no,” you confessed before shrugging. “I just assume people would demand answers. I sure as hell did.”

Oscar’s brows furrowed together. “You haven’t been a mermaid your whole life?”

“Since I was sixteen,” you told him, shaking your head. “It’s a long story. Full moons, sea caves and a very confusing attempt at a shower the next day.”

His lips twitched upwards. “And you’ve hidden it this long?”

You nodded.

“That must be exhausting,” he murmured, his chest tightening a little at the idea that you had been carrying this secret alone for years.

“I’m used to it by now,” you answered honestly with a shrug. “Plus, technically speaking, other people don’t know but other creatures do.”

Oscar blinked. “You can actually speak fish?”

You shot him an odd look. “Well, it’s not really a universal language amongst all fish but I can communicate with them.”

“And control water,” Oscar blurted out, remembering what he saw that morning.

You smiled softly. “Being a mermaid has its perks.”

“The park is a risky place to work,” Oscar commented with a frown. “Aren’t you scared of constantly being exposed?”

“Like the other day?” You huffed, shaking your head. “I’m usually quite safe and I’m careful. Rufus was just being a dick.”

“He…knows?” Oscar said slowly, like his brain was still catching up with the fact you could speak to marine animals.

“He’s very demanding during our morning swims,” you admitted with a soft smile. “He also has very strong opinions and can be quite pushy with them.”

Oscar raised his brows. “And what was he getting pushy with this time?”

You fell silent, your attention quickly falling back to Buddy.

He frowned a little. “I won’t judge, whatever it is. Unless it’s like a mermaid-slash-fish insider thing I wouldn’t understand, then I totally get it but—”

“It’s whatever,” you quickly interrupted, your smile seeming a little more put on and strained. “It’s not true, anyways.”

Oscar’s frown deepened but he didn’t say anything as he nodded. It was only in the moments of silence that he realised how heavy the rain had gotten, with the drops sounding like harsh patters against his window.

“Fuck,” you murmured with a frown. “It’s going to be impossible to get home.”

“Home as in…a house or a sea cave or…?” Oscar started to trail off, having the decency to look a little embarrassed when you shot him a look.

“I have a place on land,” you confirmed, though he could hear the amusement in your voice. “Although considering the fact I have seconds before I change, I won’t even be able to make it out your front door before I grow a tail.”

“You can stay here,” he blurted out before he could second guess himself. “If you want to. I don’t mind. Neither does Buddy.”

As if on cue, Buddy let out a soft bark of agreement as he nuzzled his head against your lap.

You looked at him. “Are you sure? Because I—”

“I’m sure,” Oscar confirmed with a nod. “You can take the bed, I don’t mind taking the couch. Although, you may have to deal with Buddy trying to cuddle with you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Oscar, I can’t kick you off your own bed.”

“I don’t mind,” he repeated with a shrug. “Plus, the couch can be tricky to get comfy on if you don’t know the exact way to sleep and I’m used to—”

“I’m not letting you sleep on this couch,” you said, pausing for a moment before sheepishly smiling. “No offence.”

His lips twitched. “None taken.”

“We can—” You paused again before straightening up in your seat. “We can share the bed. It’s just one night, no?”

Oscar blinked.

“Friends can share beds, right?” You added, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Uh, yeah,” Oscar blurted out. “Yeah, totally. Absolutely. We can so do that. No problem at all.”

He was fucked.

…

All things considered, Oscar thought he was doing pretty well until the two of you actually had to fall asleep.

He gave you some spare clothes to borrow and took the gentleman’s route of letting you use the bathroom first. He let you choose your side of the bed and borrowed some of the throw pillows from the living room to act as a barrier to make you a little more comfortable. He had even made sure Buddy was squished on his side of the bed so he wouldn’t disturb you.

But then, the silence settled between you both after he had turned the lights off and climbed into bed and not even the pattering rain could ease the suffocating tension.

“Logan knows,” Oscar blurted out.

You blinked, turning your head as though you could see him in the dark. “What?!” There was a pause. “You told him?”

“What? No!” Oscar quickly corrected. “No, of course not. He guessed it. Kinda. He was, like, forty-seven percent sure you were a mermaid.”

You frowned. “And the other fifty-three percent?”

“That,” Oscar snorted a little. “Was him being confident that mermaids didn’t exist at all and I hit my head during the accident.”

“You almost did,” you confessed.

Oscar swallowed before turning his head to look in the direction of where you were lying. “Thank you,” he whispered in a softer voice. “For saving me. You really did save my life and you didn’t have to.”

There was a small pause before Oscar felt you reach over the wall of pillows to take his hand. “I would’ve never left you hanging, Osc. You’re my friend.”

He squeezed your hand a little. “Right, friend. Of course.”

Another moment of silence passed between you two.

“You know I would never tell anyone your secret, right?” Oscar whispered, something about the moment feeling soft and quiet. “Even with Logan. I’ll throw him off your tail, stop him from bothering you.”

A laugh slipped out. “Off my tail?”

His cheeks burned but he smiled. “The pun was unintentional.”

You hummed before responding. “You’d actually do that?”

“Of course,” Oscar confirmed, genuine and sincere. “You’re my friend.”

“Right, friend. Of course,” you repeated when nothing else came to mind.

And once again, the silence settled between you but it was thick and suffocating and desperate to be cut and—

“Rufus wanted me to be honest with you,” you blurted out, squeezing his hand a little like it was the small sign of comfort you needed. “That’s what he’s been bugging me about. Gizmo too, actually.”

Oscar frowned a little. “About telling me you’re a mermaid?”

“No. Yes. Kinda.” You took a deep breath. “They wanted me to be honest with how I feel.”

“I didn’t realise they were licensed therapists,” Oscar commented.

Your lips twitched. “They are delusional like that.”

“Whatever you wanna say, m’not gonna judge you,” Oscar murmured, squeezing your hand to solidify his point.

“I like you,” you whispered.

“Yeah, I like you too,” Oscar replied casually. “And nothing you say can freak me out. I promise.”

“No, Oscar, I like you. Like like.”

“Oh.”

“Fuck, sorry,” you swore under your breath as you moved to pull your hand away. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position—”

“No, I just—” Oscar let out a huff. “Wait a second.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you listened to him shuffling around on his side of the bed. It took a few seconds before you realised what he was doing, throwing the pillow wall on the floor and reaching for the lamp on his bedside table before he turned to you.

“Better,” he murmured before reaching for your hand again. “You mean it? You like me?”

“Are you really gonna make me say it again?” You winced a little.

“I mean, it would help me redeem my response beyond a pathetic ‘oh’,” Oscar confessed, his cheeks flushing pink as he bit back a smile.

You watched his expression closely. “And what would your response be this time?”

He swallowed harshly, gaining what little confidence he had left in himself before he chickened out and second-guessed himself. “I would say I have been pretty much in love with you since the day you accidentally trapped me in that huge fishing net and had to cut me out with a shitty pair of craft scissors.”

Your brows furrowed together. “But that was our second day working together—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Oscar repeated with a grin. His eyes dropped to your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes, squeezing your hand as we spoke. “I like like you too.”

“Even if I’m half fish?” You asked, watching as Oscar’s expression grew adoring.

“Even if you told me I had to live on a dinghy for the rest of my life to be with you,” Oscar confessed.

“That,” you paused as you laughed a little. “That might be one of the weirdest but most romantic things someone has ever said to me.”

“You should see me flirting after a few drinks,” he deadpanned, not bothering to hide his smile as you rolled your eyes fondly.

“Just kiss me, Piastri,” you murmured.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he nodded before slipping his free hand to cup your face before leaning down to kiss you.

You let out a happy sigh, pulling your hand free so you could wrap both arms around his neck and tug him closer. Oscar rolled closer, keeping his weight off you as he deepened the kiss and smiled a little at the satisfied noise you let out.

It was soft and sweet and adoring and made your whole body feel like it was on cloud nine by the time he pulled away, strands of hair falling in his eyes and a gentle expression pained across his face.

“We should probably sleep,” Oscar murmured.

“Yeah, we probably should,” you nodded in agreement.

“Glad you agree,” he hummed.

“Totally,” you responded.

Neither one of you could bite back your smiles as you leaned in for another kiss.

…

THE AFTERMATH

“This is cheating.”

“How is it cheating?”

“Okay, maybe it isn’t cheating but it is unfair.”

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement as you lightly flicked your tail to splash the boy sitting on his surfboard. He let out a small noise of annoyance but he was still smiling, looking down at the seashell in his hand with utter love and adoration.

“My gift seems lame in comparison now,” Oscar grumbled as his thumb smoothed over the ridges of the shell.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” you retorted, leaning on your crossed arms as you leaned on the edge of his board.

“Yeah, well, I bought your gift and you literally dived to the depths of the ocean for mine,” he replied but he still held the shell with a great sense of protectiveness, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Thank you, babe. I love it.”

“Thought it would look cute for your collection,” you grinned back, sighing happily at the ease and relaxation written across his face. It had been an intense few weeks at work and this was the first mutual day off the two of you had. You almost forgot how much you loved seeing Oscar so laid back and stress-free.

“It’ll be the best one in my collection,” he grinned, staring down at the shell for another few seconds before reaching for the small zipped pocket in his wetsuit. “Okay, close your eyes.”

You rolled your eyes but did as you were told, holding your hands out as you listened to the sound of the zip. You waited a few moments before you felt cold metal hit your palm and tried to bite back your smile.

“I know the mermaid magic has a whole mind of its own but I thought maybe this would be one thing you can wear both on land and in the water,” Oscar confessed, and you could hear the hint of nerves in his voice. “Something from me, so I can be there with you when you are deep in the ocean getting me cool shells.”

You snorted a little, but the amusement was quickly replaced by awe and surprise once you opened your eyes and spotted the silver locket in your palm. Your thumb traced over the necklace, smiling a little when you noticed the gem was the same shade of blue as his favourite board—the same one he was currently sitting on—and Buddy’s eyes.

“Oscar,” you whispered when no other words seemed to leave your lips.

“Open it,” he prompted.

You gently clicked the locket open, your smile widening when you noticed a picture tucked into the frame. Staring back at you was one of your favourite photos of you, Oscar and Buddy on the beach that a passing local had taken for the three of you when you were out one morning for Buddy’s morning walk. It had been one of your and Oscar’s favourite photos, considering it was currently framed and sitting on his bedside table and another print tucked into his locker at work.

You looked up at him, your chest feeling so warm and tight and full with all the love you had for the boy. “It’s beautiful.”

“Perfect for you then,” he murmured with a grin before nodding his head. “Turn around, let me put it on for you.”

You listened easily, moving your hair over your shoulder as the boy reached around to place the necklace on before clasping it together. Your fingertips brushed over the locket as you glanced down at it before turning to look at him. He was already staring back at you, his expression soft and fond and so full of love that it almost made you wonder how it took you so long to confess your feelings when he had been staring at you like that long before you started dating.

“I love you,” you murmured, your heart warming at the sight of his cheeks blushing at the same three words you have said countless times to the boy.

“I love you too,” he replied easily before leaning down to kiss you. “Happy one year anniversary, baby.”

“Happy one year, Osc.”

#oscar piastri #formula one #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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mckitterick · 5 months ago

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also the Firefox browser can be configured to be completely AI-free (unlike Chrome, Edge, Safari, etc, which are drowning in AI nonsense)

I'm sure most of ya already knew this. 💚 I try to do the best I can at reducing my carbon footprint but companies make it so hard these days and they shouldn't. They should have options to opt out of using as much AI as you can or all of it. And to the people who don't know this and think like Trump where you're gonna get "beachfront properties" 🤦‍♀️...I hate to tell you this but that's not what is going to happen. What will happen is MASSIVE sinkholes, tsunami's, earthquakes, wildfires, volcanic eruptions, severe winds and rain and snow; it's not just a rise or decrease in water. It can cause an environmental apocalypse that will reduce the world to nothing but rubble.

#search engines #browsers #Firefox #duckduckgo #conservation

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tricktster · 5 months ago

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ugh i hate that it would truly be a big mistake for me to post anything material about my job on here because it could theoretically come back to bite me. You know, conservative industry, close scrutiny, clients probably unimpressed by the fact that the person they are entrusting millions of dollars to (me) has an online presence at all chiefly because she wrote an E rated 425,000 word undertale fanfic (also me).

Given the foregoing, please don’t speculate or guess at what my job might be because god forbid you get it right and it somehow pops up in a search engine in a way that’s identifiable and i lose my clients and all this grad school debt is for nothing, that would be quite bad and i would like to avoid it tyty. Anyway.

All this to say that I witnessed one of the single funniest things I’ve ever seen yesterday, and summarizing it as “Extremely important person unexpectedly projectile vomited into the open arms of a different extremely important person (neither of whom had met each other before this incident) in the most formal setting imaginable, and they both sprinted out of the room and were never seen again, and this nearly caused a chain reaction of all the other very important people puking on each other, but after about a three minute break to clean up everyone else just resumed like nothing happened except the very important person sitting between the puker and pukee had to cover their entire face with their winter jacket… and then the power went out” really doesn’t do it justice.

It was so gross. I am still laughing.

#emeto tw

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justinspoliticalcorner · 1 year ago

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Ilana Berger at MMFA:

Google is allowing right-wing propaganda organization PragerU to run climate-denying ads on its search engine even though the tech giant previously committed to prohibiting ads that feature claims that contradict the “well-established scientific consensus” about climate change. In 2021, Google updated its ad policy to prohibit ads for or on content that “contradicts well-established scientific consensus around the existence and causes of climate change.” Yet, nearly three years later, Google is still profiting from ads that contain climate change misinformation. When Media Matters searched for phrases like “climate change,” “global warming,” and “climate crisis” on Google Search, the search engine returned PragerU ads that promised its website reveals “the truth about climate change” — or what it calls the “fake climate catastrophe.” “Climate policies are causing inflation and keeping poor countries trapped in poverty,” the ad-description text read. “Get the facts with our Climate Change and Energy playlist.”

[...]

PragerU is deeply rooted in climate change denial

Along with the Daily Wire, PragerU is financially dependent on generous donations from fossil fuel billionaire Farris Wilks. Recently, PragerU Kids, a PragerU offshoot that produces conservative “educational” content targeted at school age children, has partnered with five different states to bring right-wing propaganda into public school classrooms. Media Matters reviewed PragerU Kids’ ”educational” content and found it was rife with misinformation about climate change. In one video, a cartoon narrator explains why embracing climate denialism is akin to participating in the Warsaw uprising, when Polish Jews attempted to liberate Warsaw from German occupation during WWII.

Google profits off of right-wing propaganda factory PragerU's climate change denialism ads.

#PragerU #Dennis Prager #Google #Climate Change #Climate Change Denialism

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insert-witty-user-name-here · 5 months ago

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One more thing, if you have capacity, please consider donating to advocacy organizations working to protect our rights.

Sorry to be the bearer of bad news on an already bad news day, progressive advocacy organizations have seen their funding slashed since the election.

Lots of folks know about big orgs like the ACLU, HRC, BLM, Planned Parenthood, Amnesty International, and Trevor Project. These are incredible orgs doing good work.

Here are some smaller national orgs that don’t always get attention but are doing important work and could use some extra money:

Arab American Institute

Asian Americans Advancing Justice| AAJC

Autistic Self Advocacy Network

Black Alliance for Just Immigration

Black Voters Matter

Equality Federation (specifically donate to your local chapter! Organization serving LGBTQ+ people)

Immigrant Defense Project

Lambda Legal (legal agency for LGBTQ+ individuals)

Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law

League of Conservation Voters (environmental protection organization)

Mexican American Legal Defense Fund

Advocates for Trans Equality

National Council of Jewish Women

National Disability Rights Network

National Immigration Law Center

National Women’s Law Center

Native American Rights Fund

REFORM alliance (justice reform organization)

Reproductive Freedom for All (formerly NARAL Pro-Choice)

Sierra Club (environmental protection organization)

Advocacy organizations could really use your support to fight these upcoming attacks.

Where we saw an outpouring of rage and support in 2016 from big political donors, that sadly hasn’t happened this time.

Last, noting local organizations are always best to donate to though can be harder to find.

If you’ve got time, I’d do some research and type into a search engine your state or city+ issue you care about+ advocacy organization. Browse their website and social media and see if they fit your vibe!

Wait there are even more awesome orgs doing awesome work if you have a specific interest! Give these groups a follow.

American Atheists

American Humanist Association

CASA (specifically donate to your local chapter! Organization serving immigrants)

Common Cause (multi-issue)

GLSEN (formerly Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network)

Interfaith Alliance

Jewish Council for Public Affairs

LatinoJusticePRLDEF

League of Woman Voters (specifically your local chapter)

MomsRising (multi-issue, just moms who want to protect their families 🩷)

PGLAG (formerly Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays)

Public Citizen (multi-issue)

Red, Wine, and Blue (group of moms who fight book bans locally)

Sikh Coalition

The Arc (organization that serves the disability community)

The Innocence Project (justice reform organization)

The Sentencing project (Justice reform organization)

Voto Latino

YWCA (specifically donate to your local chapter, organization that serves women)

Unite Against Book Bans

United We Dream (organization to protect DACA)

Union of Concerned Scientists (environmental protection)

Zinn Education Project (organization that supports an accurate teaching of history)

I hope this massive list also helps shed some light on how many brilliant people there are in this movement ready to fight for the rights of everyone.

Onwards. ❤️

#us politics #donald trump #trump administration #fuck trump #to vent into the abyss for the moment #I am beyond frustrated with big so called progressive donors #who remain convinced Harris lost because ‘the left went too far’#and are instead funding ‘middle of the road orgs’ that I don’t think will protect our most vulnerable

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donnerpartyofone · 7 months ago

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I should really be ashamed to complain about this but since there's nothing left of this world anyway (TL;DR everything is so remarkably shitty now down to the smallest little annoying details, exponentially shittier than it was five and then ten years ago, and it's fucking crazy-making):

For work, I need to watch a movie that I know is on Prime. I go into Prime and look up the one-word title. It gives me a short list of "top results", not including my movie. Under "top results" is a slew of other lists of movies, broken down by varying made-up subgenres; at a glance, none of the titles even contain the word I searched for, and none of them have anything to do with what I specifically want. I close the Prime app and open Plex, whose search function immediately tells me that the exact the movie is in Prime, and links me to it. By clicking the link in Plex, I am able to watch the movie on Prime.

I don't know what Prime is thinking. There seems to be an assumption that when I look for one exact thing that I know I want, that that's not really what I'm doing -- I'm actually secretly saying "Uh, I dunno, just like, pitch me something, find something to sell me on, I don't really care." How the fuck is that better business? Because Prime refused to serve me something that I explicitly asked for, in favor of pushing a whole bunch of shit I don't want but that it assumes is more popular with other people, I almost didn't use their service at all. There was no world in which I was going to give up on my actual requirement and just allow myself to be forced into some other unrelated, unwanted waste of time. And this is not because I'm such a frugal and conscientious consumer, I'm not really that smart even, but I wanted A SPECIFIC THING and if I didn't get it, then that would be the end. Why is there no way for me to get the FULL MATCHING RESULTS, why is there only "top results" and then a bunch of shit I didn't ask for? When did the search function just become like a random, vaguely-related recommendations engine? How is this supposed to help Prime get my business? I mean really, I didn't enjoy this experience, but how does this strategy even serve their own corporate greed?

YouTube does a similar thing to me where it will notify me about a new video from one of my subscriptions, and if I click on that, the app opens with the video playing in a little tiny reduced window shoved to the side of all these browsing options. Like as soon as I say "yes, I want X," YouTube instantly doesn't care; it only wants me to keep shopping around for other stuff that I have not said "yes" to already. It's like a bad boyfriend who isn't interested in what you actually consent to, he's only interested in what he can bully you into, that you would have otherwise avoided.

(I guess the physical-world equivalent would be the type of consumer who is in a permanent, almost subconscious retail therapy spiral, where they do way more browsing and buying than they do using and enjoying. The person's home is full of unopened packages and they probably wind up re-buying a lot of stuff because they don't even know what they own. This is probably every company's ideal customer now, and maybe this is why if I order an item from an online store, that store will email me every single day to try to make me buy the same exact item again, as if the thing I want is only the pleasure of buying, rather than owning and using the item.)

It drives me crazy when I see these arguments online about how you're a stupid idiot if you think that the internet is shittier and more intensively commercialized than it used to be. I think it's often that the cohort of people who are really techy and net-savvy overlap with people who are a little conservative in that way where they are instantly enraged if they hear some soft-hearted rube complaining about the dominant system. If this type of person sees a post by some glum little liberal about how the internet used to be more fun and easier to use, they will immediately shit right on top of that guy's head just to be spiteful, often using a small armory of data to gaslight the plaintiff into thinking that their problems are imaginary. It's the same as that thing that happened recently where a bunch of mean-spirited libertarian-flavored blogs started making all these posts explaining that the American economy is doing awesome and anyone who thinks that inflation is happening is a stupid piece of shit. Which was like, OK fine, all those graphs and numbers you got from right-wing think tanks look great; I take it back, there's no inflation or whatever, but now you have to give me a different word to use to describe why I can't afford anything anymore and everyone I know is in a constant, desperate search for a place to live where they won't starve.

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liquid-bonhomme · 3 months ago

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Hi Lily!

Hey girlie. See you've been perusing the blog again. See you actually Googled some shit once you finally caught on Carney was our new PM, huh sweetheart? Okay, let's check your homework.

Swing-and-a-miss again there with Bloc there, love. Though, I could see why you could get "politically hard to define by conventional standards of left and right wing" and "centrist" mixed up there. If you twisted my hand I'd call them a rightwing* party-- emphasis on the "*." But, good try.

Big ol' research fail here though Lil'. There are actually 16 registered federal parties-- and way more that aren't registered or have withdrawn:

https://www.elections.ca/content.aspx?section=pol&dir=par&document=index&lang=e

I can see that you've finally fucking did even some bare basics googling here Lily. You're at least half way grasping how the fucking House of Commons works now. Good for you.

Though I can tell you used ME as an uncited source here, darling. I'm glad you found my political analysis that useful.

Again, though, Lily. The OLD tory Cons were neoliberals. Pierre Poilievre is authoritarian right. They are not AS authoritarian as the Republicans (yet), but they are meandering in that direction. You hate Pierre Poilievre, and you love calling people fucking nazies. I would not declare PP a nazi (yet), but he is for sure flirting with it.

You called ME a nazi. What the actual fuck Lily?!

Ya still seem to be failing to grasp it was the NDP that was most responsible for the policy you keep praising the fucking liberals for. They were using the fact that the Liberals have had minority to their advantage to get that shit through.

And the Libs were STILL fucking fighting them on it:

https://nationalpost.com/news/politics/how-ndp-ended-deal-with-liberals

If I am not spilling hairs here as to how Lily words herself, this information is all, technically, accurate.

I can see you did some barebones fucking research Lily. Here is the tinfoil gold star you're looking for for once not being too lazy to use a search engine. Bravo.

With that said though, Lily, you're like a kid trying to make word count in an essay. This is not a demonstration of your political knowledge. This is basic info about the party YOU support. And frankly, this is not compelling or useful information as to why the Liberal Party deserves support.

The NDP ain't going to win this one, gents. They're down to 12%. Ain't gunna be no Orange Wave. I am going to IMPLORE people to vote NDP anyway since they've been able to do a substantial amount just with the seats they have that I want them to keep and/or get more-- but. It'd be disingenuous to call the Libs the "lesser of two evils." I have lost faith the Libs will EVER make this country better when they're not being strong-armed into it. But I have at least some reasonable faith they will not make this country worse. Not like the Cons right now, who have been infected with a bad case of Opps-all-political-corruption-herpes by America.

What you are describing though, that you refuse to name, is neoliberalism. Socially progressive/neutral but fiscally conservative capitalism is kissing the line to straight up soft-core neoliberalism (as well as being an oxymoron, but. )

All depending on your definition of "progressive" and "fiscally conservative."

"Social liberalism" is probably one of the most nebulous, meaningless political identities you could possibly adopt. It's not committal on the matters of equality vs. Equidity. Makes no exact economic ideology known. Gestures generally to a vague sense of individual liberty with no guiding like to the practical realities of that vision.

Because it was an idea born in a dying world of monarchs. When capitalism was an actual tool to breaking apart the long-standing class structures and causing a paradigm shift. An idea that was the coffin of all feudal kings.

But Lily, dearest darling beloved Lily-- to use a metaphor that's likely going to go over your head here:

First Cronus killed his father Uranus for becoming a tyrant, then Zeus killed Cronus for the same. And though Zeus went ahead and literally fucking ate his first wife Metis to try and prevent her boring a son who was destined to kill his tyrannical self in kind, it's already written in fate.

Feaudism beget capitalism, capitalism beget socialism. The father lives, the father fails, the father dies at the hand of the son. Welcome to the history of civilization 101.

Side note before you go back to writing weird incest fics about Digimon, or whatever you're doing with your time now-a-days:

Next time you decide to make an ass of yourself talking about Canadian history on your stream, maybe mention that:

Tommy Douglas? The man you called the "greatest Canadian who ever lived?" He didn't just create our Healthcare system Lily, he was the founder of the fucking NDP. Maybe give his famous Mouseland broadcast a listen sometime:

youtube

Maybe don't fucking gloss over that John A McDonald is the architect of Canada's worst crime against humanity, the Residential Schools. Or that he murdered Louis Riel. He's only our first Prime Minister by stupid technicality anyway. Maybe don't blindly parrot right-wing talking points if you don't want to be accused of being a rightwinger.

#lily orchard #lily orchard critical #liquid orcard #anti lily orchard #lily peet #lily orchard stuff #lorch posting #youtube #eldritch lily #cd call #cd call critical #canada politics #canadian history #canadian #canada #elbows up

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drizzleoftherain · 3 days ago

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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