#too many narrow streets and hairpin turns

[freebooter4ever]

my friend watching me pull up to their house: "its wrong that you're not in calcifer" (calcifer is my tiny blue fire demon car that i used to zip everyone around in here). also i just noticed that my rental is from toronto. i guess its better if random strangers assume im from canada than ohio.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VIII ║ Concentric

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

 { << Part 7: Contrary | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: You and Dieter come full circle.

Warnings: Shenanigans, fighting, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), face sitting, safe unprotected sex (be smart kids!), multiple orgasms (f and m), cumshot, cum play, size kink, light spanks, yearning, mentions of food, fluff, feelings, no use of Y/N

Word count: 11.5k (it's only fitting that we break the word count record on the last chapter!)

Note: October 2013. That was the last time I finished a WIP, and that one took me 6.5 years. Years, I kid you not. So please forgive me for being extremely melodramatic and emotional about finishing Consent in just over 5 months.

I thought I was done with fanfiction and writing, and I've never been happier to be proven wrong. I wouldn't have believed it if you told me the next series I'd complete would be about a man called Dieter Bravo. You've all been the most incredibly supportive readers, and I'm so lucky to count many of you as friends. I don't know what I've done to deserve you. Thank you, thank you, thank you - this is for all of my fellow Dieter Bravo hoes (affectionate) ❤️ 

I had a lot of help for this chapter. To avoid any spoilers, I will be thanking everyone at the end of this chapter.

There’s always a jarring sense of disconnect when you land in a country you’ve never been to before. Even more so after a red-eye, a connecting flight you almost missed and a long drive from the airport to the little seaside town you’ve seen so much of in Ana’s stories.

It doesn’t help that you’ve been wide-eyed the entire journey, your head too loud to switch off.

The sleep deprivation makes it doubly surreal to see the mountains, the Tyrrhenian Sea and picture-perfect towns zoom past the car window. To feel the sunshine on your face as your taxi eases around hairpin turns on the coastal roads, then down narrow streets - barely squeezing past the summer crowds - as your destination draws close.

The car purrs to a halt in front of a charming pink-orange house that looks like something straight out of Under The Tuscan Sun, where Ana is waiting impatiently. She nearly rips off the door handle and throws her arms around you as soon as you clamber out of the car.

‘I missed you!’ you mumble into her hair.

‘You too, bitch!’ she squeals, dragging your suitcase off the sidewalk. ‘Let’s get you unpacked and showered. We’re going on a cast and crew sunset cruise in a couple of hours, so you can finally meet Richard Linklater. I hope you brought something pretty to wear!’

You didn’t pack much summer attire with you to Calgary, but you did bring your trusty yellow dress from that night, which feels like a lifetime ago - if not from another one entirely. The shower perks you up somewhat - at least you don’t smell like an economy plane cabin anymore. You’re putting on your makeup in a futile attempt to cover up the dark circles under your eyes when Ana comes back to the apartment.

She hands you an espresso and a cannoli, which you take gratefully. ‘Thank you so much. My biological clock is so confused, I don’t know when I last ate.’

‘Don’t worry, hon, there will be plenty of food and drink on the boat,’ says Ana. Eyeing you over critically, she runs a makeup brush or two over your cheekbones, and dabs some colour onto your lips. ‘You look great. Shall we?’

The town is absolutely darling, and you have to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not actually dreaming this. The weathered cobblestones are slippery beneath your leather sandals as you trail behind Ana. Your tummy rumbles at the smell of sweet tomatoes and baking bread, and you can’t help but run a hand over beautiful summer fruits as you walk by stalls on street corners, brimming with produce. Exuberant Italian conversation surrounds you, and you lose yourself in words that you don’t understand.

Your breath catches when you round a corner and the blue sea comes into view, the fresh scent of salt and summer in the air. With her arm hooked through yours, Ana leads you across the water front, pointing out her favourite restaurants and watering holes, clearly having settled well into her workplace these past months. You’re distracted when you spot a familiar low wall, recognising it as where Dieter and Constance posed for one of their many Instagram stories.

Distracted, you nearly walk into Ana when she stops abruptly in front of an extravagant-looking yacht, spread over two levels, her arms outstretched in a flourish. ‘Ta-da! The perks of the movie being financed by a rich local guy - free boat trip every weekend!’

‘Fancy,’ you remark, suddenly nervous that you’re underdressed for the occasion.

‘He’s newly divorced too,’ she adds with a wink. ‘And stop fussing, you look fantastic. Come on, I see Richard - I’ll introduce you!’

The boat is fairly full, people bustling about with drinks and canapes in hand. Despite being jetlagged and incredibly starstruck, you manage to somewhat hold it together when Ana introduces you to your favourite director. She offers to get you a cold drink and leaves you to chatter with him. You talk about your favourite movies of his, his career, and a bit of yours, before someone shows up at his elbow to whisk him away. You shake his hand and thank him for his time, and he gives you his business card before he takes his leave.

The boat pulled away from the port while you weren’t looking, sailing smoothly towards the calm, open sea. You glance about, trying to look nonchalant and to keep your breathing under control. Now that you’ve met your hero, you have to contend with the fact that you came to Italy for something else.

Someone else.

A voice catches your ear. Familiar and gruff, drawling in a bored monotone.

There’s no dramatic swell of music in your ears, or the fading of the world until it’s just the two of you and no one else. It’s almost anti-climatic, really. 

You tilt your face towards the upper deck - and there he is.

One of his signature earth-tone t-shirts (you know he has more than one) hangs comfortably off his broad shoulders, sunglasses hooked at the neck, dragging the ragged neckline low. The sea breeze ruffles his curls, longer than they were on Resurgence, the sun bringing out undertones of gold. He’s chatting to a man - or rather, being chatted at - leaning his weight on his elbows on the bannister, scratching at his beard, wearing his usual air of indifference. 

One look and the clocks turn. It takes you right back. You remember exactly what it’s like to be that close to him, to be wrapped up in the broadness of him - the feeling of his body warmth, how soft his t-shirt is when you rest your cheek on his chest.

You haven’t moved a muscle, but somehow, his head turns just a fraction, and he finds you.

If not for the physical distance between you, you’d be convinced that he’s reached inside you and squeezed your heart with the whole of his hand until it stopped pumping, blood roaring inside your ears with nowhere to go. His stare - bewilderment and awe and hunger - pins you to the spot.

And you know. You just do.

They are the same eyes you woke up to so many mornings. First thing when consciousness seeps in and you blink away the last remnants of the night before, his arms around you or yours around him. Through thick lashes and peeking from under heavy eyelids, syrupy-slow with sleep as they sweep over the contours of your profile, lips curling into a warm smile.

Yours.

He’s long stopped listening to the man, and even from where you are, you see him grip the wooden railing tight, disturbing his rings, the same ones he always wears.

Then she appears.

An Aperol Spritz in each hand and a small plate of canapes balanced awkwardly on the sides of her wrists, she nudges his side hurriedly with her elbow, her platonic tone carrying despite the rush of the sea. ‘Oi! Grab your drink, dude. Come on - it’s slipping!’

The naked panic on his face only reaffirms what your intuition tells you.

Ana finally returns to you with chilled champagne, grumbling about the crowds at the bar. Taking a glass, you turn to her and nod towards the upper deck. ‘So - Dieter and Constance.’

‘What about them?’ she asks innocently, taking a big gulp of bubbly.

You watch as Dieter furiously whispers into Constance’s ear. Her eyes widen in obvious excitement, darting everywhere until they settle on you for the briefest second before she schools in her features. You hear Dieter hiss, ‘Don’t be so freaking obvious, Jesus Christ.’

You fight the urge to giggle - and you never giggle. An Oscar winner and an Olivier nominee walk into a china shop and they’re about as subtle as two bulls after a red flag.

You turn to Ana and ask conversationally, ‘They’re not really together, are they?’

She shrugs, poker face firmly on. ‘Don’t know what you mean, hon.’

‘Ana,’ you put on a serious tone.

Never one to stand her ground under pressure, she surrenders far too easily. ‘Fine, they’re not! Before you yell at me, it was all Dieter’s idea. And I’m sorry it upset you, but I’m not sorry that it worked! I’m not going to apologise for helping him get you back.’

The words tumble out of your mouth before your head catches up. ‘He wants me back?’

It’s beyond strange to acknowledge aloud what’s between you and him for the first time. You’ve never even articulated it to yourself.

Ana beams, bumping shoulders with you. ‘You better believe it, hon.’

Your head feels like it’s filling up with helium and any second, you’ll be lifted off the wooden deck. You’re so fucking confused - should you be angry that he basically tricked you into coming here? Should you be elated that he went to such lengths to get you here?

There are no answers, but there’s booze. Lots of it. 

So you bring the glass of champagne to your lips and tip your head back, draining the flute until there’s nothing left.

‘Whoa! What are you doing?’ squeaks Ana as you plant the empty glass on a cocktail table nailed to the deck.

Crossing your arms, you say, ‘You’re right, his little ploy worked. But if he thinks he can mess with me without paying for it, he’s got another thing coming.’

‘For fuck’s sake, can’t you two just talk to each other like normal people for once?’

‘Ana, I was miserable! For weeks!’

‘Girl, I’m gonna give it to you straight. Even if he didn’t pull this Constance bullshit, you would’ve been miserable anyway because you broke up with him!’ She clasps her palms together in a desperate prayer. ‘I’m begging you, can you two please just make up!’

You hold out stubbornly. ‘Not until I’ve messed with his head at least a little bit.’

‘This is not what I signed up for,’ Ana grumbles.

You laugh and drape an arm over her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. ‘It’ll be fun. I promise. I flew all the way here, I deserve a little restitution.’

She whines. ‘Hon, come on, what am I going to tell Dieter?’

You hold up a stern finger. ‘Nothing. You can’t tell him that I know, you owe me as much. I also need you to distract him while I talk to Constance.’

She frowns. ‘Constance? What are you planning?’

You wink and turn to leave without giving her an answer.

Ana watches you go with a long-suffering sigh. She’s taking a deep glug of champagne when Dieter ambushes her, startling her into a coughing fit.

His usual air of chaos has intensified exponentially, she can almost feel it physically vibrate off of him. He spills Aperol everywhere when he asks with his hands. ‘What the fuck, Ana?’

‘What?’ she shoots back defensively.

‘Why didn’t you tell me she was coming? Are you double crossing me?’

‘Double cross - what does that even mean in this context?’

Dieter’s not interested in her answer though. His eyes are darting about, looking for you. ‘What’s she doing here? Did our plan work or did you tell her?’

Technically, you found out on your own, so Ana is comfortable lying through her teeth. ‘I didn’t! She said she came to see me and to meet Richard, that’s it.’

He’s talking to himself now more than anything. ‘She must suspect something, but I don’t think she knows about the whole set-up.’ Pausing, he pokes her in the side in a warning. ‘You can’t tell her that you know I think she knows.’

Ana’s eyes nearly roll behind her skull in exasperation. ‘Couldn’t if I wanted to. Here’s a bright idea - why don’t you go talk to her?’

Dieter’s frown deepens as his determination hardens. ‘No, fuck that. She broke up with me. I’m not going to be the one giving in.’

Ana waves in a frenzy to get someone’s attention to refill her empty glass, letting out a cry of relief when a server starts making their way over. ‘What do you mean by not giving in?’

Dieter swigs his glass clean and sticks it out to the server to fill it up. ‘Keep doing what Constance and I were doing. Until she cracks.’

‘Just so we’re on the same page, this entire weekend, you’re going to keep pretending to date Constance and throw it in her face, instead of just making up? What could possibly go wrong?’

‘Way to be supportive, Ana.’

She gives him dead eyes in response. If only Pete was here to back her up. Speaking of whom - he’s really missing out big time. She’ll have to call him to fill him in tonight.

Dieter half-turns to leave, but something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. He does a double take, craning his whole body forward and squinting dramatically to take a better look. 

‘Ana, why the fuck is my girlfriend talking to my fake girlfriend?’

Constance is not hard to find, with her willowy figure and luscious curls billowing in the wind. She seems to have recovered her composure from when she first spotted you, and when your gazes meet on your approach, they give nothing away. 

‘Hi Constance,’ you say casually in greeting.

She plays it cool with a polite smile. ‘Hi there. Have we met?’

‘I know you know who I am, Constance.’

She blinks her doe eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, I really don’t think I do.’

You shuffle in closer and say under your breath, just in case someone overhears. ‘I know you were in it with Dieter - his little plan to get me jealous. Ana told me.’

The mask melts so quickly that you can’t help but find it endearing. Dragging you by the elbow into the privacy of the cabin, a sincere crease in her brow, she confesses, ‘About that, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t want to do it at first, I swear. But he’s so smitten with you and he was just about ready to try anything to get you back -’

You shush her and grab her free hand. Both of you have just enough alcohol in your systems to feel the pull of the universal, sisterly bond between drunk women, despite having only met thirty seconds ago. You reassure her, ‘No, please don’t apologise. I’m not angry - well, a tiny bit mad at him for messing with me, but not at you.’

‘But I feel so bad,’ insists Constance. ‘You must have felt strongly enough to have flown all this way. Please, if there’s anything I can do.’

‘Listen, if you want to make it up to me - you could do me a favour.’

Constance nods solemnly. ‘Anything.’

You grin mischievously. ‘Will you help me get back at Dieter?’

Dieter mopes in his corner on the upper deck, growling and hissing at anyone who dares approach, drowning himself in Aperol Spritz. He doesn’t particularly like that stuff, but when in Rome and all that shit.

From his perch, he can see and hear you laughing loudly at something Constance says to you, champagne in hand, having a whale of a time.

There’s no two ways around it. His plan failed. Ana’s right. You came to see your friend, not him. If you did and knowing you, you’d be doing something to get his attention. You’d be trying to make him jealous. You’d be mad, spitting flame and venom.

You’re giving him nothing. You haven’t even deigned to glance his way after you locked eyes for that brief moment.

But… you’re wearing that dress. Surely you haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you showed up in his trailer wearing that -

Another peal of laughter pulls him from his thoughts. He slurps on the straw until it gurgles at the empty bottom of his glass.

You didn’t expect to like Constance. It turns out she grew up in the same county as you, just a few towns over, you even share a few distant mutual acquaintances. You chit-chat about everything - your schools, the local beaches, working with Dieter. 

The boat has anchored in the middle of the sea for the sunset, and you’re sitting on the deck at the back with your feet dangling in the cool water, sandals by your side. You marvel at the view - the beauty of this place is unreal. Village houses hug the rugged shoreline, stacked one on top of the other in gravity-defying fashion up the steep cliffside, dramatic mountains rising above behind the town. The setting sun throws a rose gold tint over the valley, the sky burning orange.

Even if you don’t go away with what you came for, this could be enough.

Constance giggles drunkenly, looking over your shoulder. ‘He’s watching you again. You’ve really riled him up.’

You resist the very great temptation to take a peek. But you know Dieter - the longer you hold out, the better the payoff later.

There’s a scrape of footsteps and Ana appears with her phone out. ‘Selfie time, bitches!’

‘How’s Dieter?’ asks Constance, shuffling over to make space for Ana.

She sighs. ‘So confused. When will you put him out of his misery, hon?’

You shrug. ‘He can hold out a little longer. Constance, remember, you have to keep up the whole charade for maximum effect, ok?’

She wrinkles her nose. ‘It would be weird doing it in front of you though.’

‘Are you a working actress or not?’ you tease.

Ana chortles, and Constance raises her glass. ‘Alright, alright, I’ll do it - for you. To new friends.’

The three of you clink glasses clumsily, bumping shoulders and cackling at everything and nothing at all. 

You’ll drink to that.

When the yacht docks, spontaneous dinner plans are made, with those wanting to prolong the evening revelry wandering down the cobblestone streets to a trattoria frequented by the cast and crew.

The dozen or so of you sit at a long, rickety table under fairy lights, the plentiful food and drink illuminated by candles dripping wax as they burn low. Easy conversation, a mix of English and Italian, ebb and flow over the course of the slow dinner.

You’re sitting in the middle of the table, flanked by Ana and directly opposite Dieter, with Constance to his immediate left.

The actress keeps her promise to you, practically dousing Dieter in PDA. She’s feeding him pasta, handing you her phone to take photos of them kissing and practically sitting in his lap. He’s unresponsive, staring at you openly throughout dinner.

It takes all of your resolve to not give in to meet his eyes.

The street gets rowdier by the hour, and the group thins after dessert and limoncello is served. When an impromptu band shows up and starts playing music right next to your table, Constance tries to pull Dieter to his feet for a dance, but he’s like dead weight, pouting and somehow burrows himself deeper into his wooden chair. Unperturbed, Constance grabs Ana instead, joining the raucous crowd gathering on the sidewalk.

It’s just the two of you left at the table.

You finally let yourself look at him, finding his gaze already trained on you. You took it easy on the wine over dinner, allowing the rich food to soak up all the alcohol you had on the boat. But you still feel buzzed enough to do something bold.

Scooping a generous helping of tiramisu and bringing it to your lips, you lick the underside of the spoon, collecting the cream on your tongue, before pushing it into your mouth. Your eyes flutter close as you moan around the spoonful of smooth mascarpone and coffee-soaked biscuit.

Dieter’s jaw goes slack, and you spot the pink tip of his tongue between his parted lips, his chest rising and falling quickly. Leaning forward, you reach out and trace your index finger up the back of his hand until you reach his ring with the black gemstone. He doesn’t try to hide the shudder that runs like a current through his body.

The power you so easily wield over him is both sweet and heady. You decide to push him further, leaning your elbows on the table and drawing your shoulders together, making the neckline of your dress gape and your cleavage pop.

The way he stares is gasoline to the fire under your skin.

When you speak, he demonstrates that he still remains somewhat in possession over his faculties as he drags his gaze up, with considerable difficulty, to your face.

You wear a bright smile, and your tone is syrupy sweet. ‘You’re one lucky guy - Constance is amazing. Honestly, I think you’re perfect for each other. I’m so happy for you, Dieter.’

He echoes your words, slowly. ‘You’re… you’re happy for me?’

You blink, butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth as you answer, ‘Yes, I am. So happy for you.’

He stutters, before his words peter out. ‘But - but you were meant to be -’

‘Meant to be what?’ you prompt.

When he doesn’t reply, you give him a pat on his hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Dieter.’

He’s so stunned that he doesn’t react as he watches you go. 

Dieter thinks for a second, the pasta and pizza and bread having absorbed enough alcohol from his bloodstream for him to dig deep for some clarity within himself. He re-runs your words in his head, a deep frown on his brow.

Hold the fucking phone.

He scrambles onto his feet so hard that his chair hits the pavement, and he runs after you.

He crashes through the crowds half-blind, angry Italian cursing thrown his way, until he leaves the ruckus behind. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, but by some miracle he spots yellow, and with one last push, he throws himself in front of you, wheezing and leaning heavily on one hand against the wall to block your path. 

You’re staring at him in genuine concern. ‘What are you doing? Are you ok?’

Finding his voice, he opens with an apparent non-sequitur. ‘You do impulsive things when you’re mad. You know that, sweetheart?’

You brows knit in confusion. ‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

You humour him, arms crossed. He knows that you probably think he’s just drunk. ‘Ok. Like what?’

‘Like flying 6,000 miles to see me.’

‘I’m here to see Ana.’

Dieter shakes his head slowly, a smile unfolding as he begins to find his footing for the first time since you appeared out of thin air and turned his day upside down. ‘She sold me out, didn’t she? Constance too. I should’ve known they’d be on your side.’

You snort. ‘You’re talking crazy, Bravo.’

He crowds you against the wall, meeting no resistance as your back hits the stone, and he coaxes. ‘Admit it, sweetheart, and I’ll give you everything you came for. I just need to hear it from your pretty little mouth.’

You hold your tongue stubbornly, but he sees your pupils dilate and senses a shift in the crisp evening air.

He grins, finally establishing control over the situation, which sobers him up like nothing else. You’ve tortured him all day - it’s time he has some fun. 

Leaning down to your ear, he growls in a register that he knows will get you wet for him. ‘Tell me you came for me, sweetheart. And then maybe - I’ll make you cum for me.’

You just about lunge at him, but he holds you in place with hands around your upper arms, crowding you, drunk on the power now that the tables have turned. He wags a condescending finger at you, tapping the tip of your nose. ‘Uh-uh-uh. You heard me, sweetheart. C’mon, four little words. You can do it.’

That does it. You bare your teeth at him, panting as you struggle in his grasp. ‘You’re such an asshole.’

Dieter makes a buzzer noise. ‘That’s four words, but not the right ones.’

‘Over my dead body,’ you spit at him.

He tuts. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, no deal. Well, I guess I better go -’

He lets go of you and spins on his heels, but he doesn’t even get to take two steps when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist and haul him around with surprising force. 

He deliberately knocks into your body, hands landing on your waist and his weight holding you in place. You all but snarl at him, ‘Don’t you fucking dare walk out on me again.’

There she is, he thinks to himself, chest swelling with pride at the fire in your eyes.

He runs a finger down the side of your cheek, the gentle touch in direct conflict with the words that come out more affectionately than he intends. ‘You never make things easy, do you? You get off on making my life hell, hmm?’

Your eyes soften, but you still run your mouth brash. ‘You don’t like it easy, Bravo. You’d get bored.’

He chuckles, and leaning in to brush the tip of his nose along yours, he tries again. ‘Did you come all this way to see me, sweetheart?’

He isn’t gloating, or trying to trip you up.

You cup the side of his stubbled cheek, and you decide to let him in. ‘Of course I did, you fucking idiot -’

And then he’s kissing you.

Your hand is tightly wrapped in his as he leads you through a maze of alleyways, as if he’s worried that you would bolt. You won’t though - you’re done running. 

The strain in your calves begins to make its presence felt after several flights of stone steps, the long journey earlier today kicking in as the adrenaline fades. You yawn and Dieter notices, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

‘Almost there, sweetheart,’ he promises you, dragging you against his side with a hand on your hip, taking some of your weight. 

You watch from under drooping eyelids as he turns the key and opens the door to a two-storey house. A lone lamp glows in the corner of what appears like a comfortable sitting room, but you’re too tired to be curious to look around. 

Dieter steers you up cool tiled steps, having helped you out of your sandals. He all but pushes you up to the bedroom, hands firm on your waist so you can focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. 

The mattress is soft and welcoming as you flop down nose first, muffling your groan as you give in to the exhaustion that you’ve been putting off all day. He chuckles, rolling you onto one side of the bed. 

‘Let’s get this dress off, shall we, sweetheart?’

Even in your prone state, you attempt to put on a coy smile, pushing the straps off your shoulders. ‘You know you want to.’

He chuckles, turning you over to find the zip and pulling it down. He mock admonishes you, ‘Keep it in your pants, woman.’

Dieter feels almost bashful peeling your dress off, baring skin that he hasn’t touched for too long - he has to wait a little longer for that. You never sleep in your bra, so he unhooks that too, averting his gaze, and grabs a comfortable t-shirt from the dresser.

‘Arms up, sweetheart,’ he cajoles, and you comply despite grumbling sleepily. The t-shirt slips easily over your head. 

It’s a warm night, so he lets you stretch out above the duvet as he strips down to his boxers. He opens the window to let in a cool breeze to bring down the temperature in the room. It’s been baking in the sun all day. 

Dieter shuffles onto the mattress behind you, no hesitation when he tucks your body under the crook of his arm. He breathes you in, nose in your hair, a deep calm settling into his bones as he feels your steady breathing. He tightens his grip on you and lets sleep claim him. 

You’re not sure if it’s the church bells or the light streaming through the patio doors, but it’s a clean awakening, your eyes snapping wide open as you take in the bedroom you barely saw last night before passing out.

It’s strangely comforting to see he’s brought with him across the Atlantic the same mess that you became so used to. Inside-out t-shirts and shorts draped on chairs and flung carelessly onto random spots on the floor, where they’ve stayed. A glass of water half empty on his bedside table, his reading glasses and a couple of rings next to it. One slipper at the foot of the bed, the other nowhere to be seen.

You look down at the t-shirt you’re wearing. It’s one that you often borrowed from him for bed, and it makes you smile.

Following the smell of fresh coffee and bread, you pad quietly downstairs, admiring the rustic living space flooded in morning light, the open patio doors leading to a lush garden, letting in a soothing draft.

Dieter is perched on a bar stool at the counter in the open kitchen, already dressed for the day. He looks up from his phone when you approach, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he beams at you, and he breathes out something like relief when you slot into the V of his thighs without any trepidation.

‘What’s this? Dieter Bravo out of bed and dressed before,’ you pause and squint at the clock. ‘Ten in the morning?’

‘Not just that,’ he gestures at the breakfast spread on the table with a proud puff of his chest. ‘I provided.’

You smirk and rest your palms on the top of his thighs. ‘No Deliveroo around here, huh?’

‘It’s sink or swim, baby. Got pretty hairy for a while.’ He grabs a paper cup and pushes it into your hand. ‘Got you a cappuccino from my favourite barista. Try it.’

‘You have a favourite barista? Not just a favourite cafe?’

‘Of course. I have a favourite barista for cappuccino and another one for espresso.’

‘That might be the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever heard.’

He gives you a wink. ‘I’ve put down roots here, baby.’

‘Dieter Bravo has roots?’ you quip. ‘Do you even speak the language yet?’

He replies in an exaggerated Italian accent, complete with hand gestures. ‘A leetle beet, bella signorita.’

You laugh and take a sip of the cappuccino, sighing deeply at the rich, roasted flavour. ‘Thank you, this is delicious.’

Rough palms rest on the small of your back, pulling you flush against his chest. His eyes are warm and open as he confides in you, ‘This job’s been really good for me.’

You run your fingers through his curls. ‘I know. I can tell.’

‘And Calgary’s been good for you too?’

You nod, and you hesitate for just a moment before you answer, ‘They’re going to offer me a contract for the second season.’

It’s not that you’re trying to catch him out, but you watch his reaction closely. You see nothing other than excitement before he presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. ‘That’s my girl.’

Suddenly quiet, you go still, and your change in demeanour doesn’t escape him. He pats you playfully on the bottom to get your attention. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’

It’s hard to meet his stare when you’re trying to find it within yourself to get the words out. You fixate on a small stain on his shirt instead, rubbing your finger over it.

He waits patiently, and to give you an out, replies lightly, ‘Couldn’t get the stain out. It’s ragu from my favourite place in town - I can take you there if you want.’

‘I’d like that,’ you smile gratefully.

But the thing is - you don’t want out. You want in. 

You take a deep breath and take the plunge. ‘Dieter - should I sign that contract?’

It’s the longest five seconds of silence, and it takes all of your self-control to not twist around in his grasp and run up the stairs. Finally, he leans in to kiss you deeply, and you’re glad he’s holding you up when your knees give.

He pulls back and runs his thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Can you hold out for another two weeks?’

You wish you didn’t answer so quickly, but you can’t help the breathless yes that slips out. Of course you fucking would.

Dieter holds your gaze. ‘Just so we’re clear - I want to be in the same place as you, sweetheart. Or at least close enough to commute to you. Is that ok?’

You nod, a stupid grin breaking across your features. ‘Yeah, that’s ok.’

‘Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,’ Dieter winks at you and grabs a paper bag from the kitchen counter. ‘You’ve got to try this.’

You peek inside and ask skeptically, ‘Is that… a doughnut?’

‘No, it’s a bombolone.’

‘Out of all the Italian things I haven’t tried, you picked the most American -’

He shoves the sugar-covered pastry into your mouth to shut you up, laughing as an indignant squeal catches in your throat. You bite into the pillowy doughnut, a thick smear of the chocolate filling spilling out and painting your lips, sugar crystals sticking to the mess.

Dieter wrinkles his nose jokingly. ‘You look so hot like this, sweetheart.’

Swiping at the chocolate from the corner of your mouth with your index finger, you push it between his lips. His eyes darken immediately as he sucks on it, the mood in the room swinging instantly into familiar territory.

Running your tongue across your lips, you put the rest of the doughnut in its bag and lick the sugar from your fingers. ‘I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet.’

His big hands dip underneath your shirt again to cup your bottom. He raises an eyebrow at you inquiringly. ‘Oh? Why not?’

Your back arcs and you rub your ass into his touch. ‘Because this pussy hasn’t been eaten in a very long time.’

His eyes snap shut at your words as if they physically pain him, impatient hands now sliding up your front to cup your bare breasts. ‘Fuck, baby. Is this the first thing you think about in the morning, you filthy girl?’

You kiss him sloppily, more tongue and teeth than anything, and Dieter pushes you away to hop off the stool, pulling off your shirt in the one smooth motion. He runs two fingers along the seam of your panties, smirking at the wet spot he finds. ‘Did no one else take care of this pussy while I was away?’

‘You know there’s no one else,’ you whine, letting him walk you into the living room, until the back of your knees hit the sofa.

‘Good,’ he growls into your ear, spinning you around and pushing you onto your knees into the cushions, hands on the spine of the sofa. Possessiveness clouds his mind as he runs his gaze over you every inch of you. ‘All mine.’

Slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, kissing the back of your thighs. You writhe under his touch, the scrape of his beard on your sensitive skin making you shudder. You moan, ‘Dieter. Please.’

Spreading you open, he tells you through clenched teeth, ‘I can see how wet you are, sweetheart. So pretty.’

‘Don’t tease,’ you beg, feeling your pussy flutter around nothing, your ass in the air as you grip the sofa tightly. ‘I need -’

You break off in a moan when Dieter closes his lips around your clit in a wet suckle, dragging the broad of his tongue through your core messily. His nails dig into the swell of your hips to hold you in place as you writhe, dipping into your pussy to taste you. Too long. It’s been too fucking long since he’s had you.

He traces his tongue along your contours patiently. He’s waited so many months, he can hold off the want to fucking devour you just a little bit longer. The tip of his tongue draws insistent circles on your clit, your hips undulating while you chase your pleasure. He feels a tremour run through your body before you bury your head into the sofa, muffling your cries. 

Oh no, that won’t do.

He brings his palm down in sharp clap on your pillowy cheek, making it jiggle. You gasp, head snapping up and around to glare at him. ‘What was that for?’

He shoots you a dirty grin, chin already shiny with you. ‘Wanna hear you scream, baby.’

You pin him with an audacious stare. ‘Make me, then, Bravo.’

As if he isn’t already rock hard, he has to bite down on his bottom lip to wrangle himself under control. He groans, ‘Can’t just go around saying shit like that, baby.’

You smirk, knowing exactly what it does to him, enjoying his desperate little whimper. You shift to widen your stance, knees sinking deeper into the sofa, teasing him, ‘What was that about the screaming again?’

For one second, you think you’ve pushed too far when Dieter draws clear from you completely. Before you can protest, there’s a scrape of wood on stone as he pushes away the coffee table clumsily. Leaning on the sofa, his long legs splayed in front of him, you can see the clear outline of his erection through his shorts. He lays the back of his head on the edge of the seat, meeting your panicked eyes when you look down at him between your legs.

You squeak. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

He grins, reaching up to nip your inner thigh with his teeth. ‘You want me to make you scream, right? Come sit on my face, baby.’

Holy fuck. You hear the metallic zing of a zipper being pulled down. Dieter’s eyes squeeze shut, his neck muscles pop, and you feel his hands move, out of sight. ‘I’m so fucking hard for you, baby. Please, ride my face while I stroke myself -’

‘Oh god,’ you grit out when you lower yourself onto his tongue, hips jerking when he grips one of your thighs almost painfully, grunting as you slide wetly on his tongue. Looking down, your lips part when you catch him watching you with a frown of quiet concentration as you grind down on him, too keyed up to find any sort of rhythm. It’s messy and crass, desperate above all else.

You know you’re drenched. Almost embarrassingly so. One of your hands drops to tangle in his hair, curls sticking to his forehead as his hairline beads with sweat.

‘Baby -’ You’re out of breath as you feel your orgasm building. ‘I’m close - oh god, Dieter -’

His fingers close around the plump flesh of your ass, and with a violent shudder, you’re thrown over the edge into a heaving, knee-shattering high, your slick and his spit dribbling down the inside of your thighs as you scrabble for air. Collapsing bonelessly onto the spine of the sofa, you feel Dieter wipe his saturated chin on your skin, leaving a cool trail, and you jump as if it burns you.

His whispers tickle the shell of your ear as he climbs onto the sofa behind you, cradling your smaller frame with his. ‘You came so hard, sweetheart. Such a good girl.’

You groan indulgently as he wraps himself around you. One hand finds your breast, and the other dips between your legs, a growl rattling in his chest when his fingers slip uselessly over your sodden pussy, unable to find any purchase.

‘All this cum for me,’ he hums, crooking two fingers to gather your slick before bringing them onto his cock, which nudges you just above your ass, stroking it languidly. ‘I missed you so much, baby.’

You nearly stumble over your words, too highly strung. ‘I missed you too. So fucking much.’

One hand turning your cheek, he claims your mouth possessively, sliding his tongue in to mark you with your own taste. Heat spreads across your skin as he caresses your lips sensually slow, his hand sliding down to hold your throat gently. He feels rather than hear your breath catch before you swallow thickly, the movement intimately pressed up against the tips of his fingers.

Sliding his cock through your wet folds, he pushes two fingers into your mouth to wet them. He fucking loves the feel of your tongue on him - anywhere on him. Mindful of how sensitive you are after you came, he runs the lightest path from your clit to your entrance, then up again.

‘Have you been touching yourself while I was gone?’ he asks gruffly.

‘Yes,’ you admit without putting up any resistance.

‘Stretch that tight pussy with your fingers?’

At your frantic nod, he retorts with a feral edge to his voice. ‘You pretend it was my cock instead?’

Gasping when you feel him notched at the mouth of your pussy, you cry out, ‘Yes!’

‘Well, you must have one hell of an imagination. How could these little fingers -’ he grabs you by the wrist and sucks on them, one by one, leaving them spit-soaked, before wrapping them around his throbbing cock. ‘- stretch you even a fraction of how my dick does?’

You flush at the filth tumbling out of his mouth, and you’ll be damned if you don’t give as good as you got. You smirk, ‘Why don’t you find out?’

‘Don’t have to ask me twice, baby,’ he grins into your shoulder, and one thick finger slides into you.

You feel his smile falter and his teeth dig into your skin instead. He groans into your ear, ‘Sorry to break it to you sweetheart, but you’ve been doing a pathetic job.’

You squeeze your hand around his cock and he lurches against you, grabbing you in a silent warning. You blink sweetly at him. ‘Stop gloating and do something about it then.’

Your smile falters when he pulls out of you, only to reenter with two fingers, and your chin drops to your chest at the fullness as he fills you. His ribcage vibrates with a satisfied hum against your back, sweat building up where your bodies meet.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he says, mouthing sweet kisses down your spine. ‘You’re doing so well for me. Good girl.’

Taking a deep breath, you do, and he eases in even further, eliciting a sharp gasp when he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. He works into you at a steady pace, sometimes shallow, sometimes knuckle deep, until you start to pant, your hips twisting in pursuit when he draws out of your wet heat.

‘Harder,’ you demand, and he tightens the arm wrapped around your waist, pumping in earnest, teeth bared as he draws increasingly loud squelches from your cunt. He hisses when he feels you begin to clench around him, whimpering, ‘Fuck - fuck I’m gonna come again -’

Dieter wraps his whole body around you as you thrash in his arms, desperate sobs racking your frame as he rambles in your ear. ‘That’s it, let go, baby - this beautiful pussy’s getting my fingers so wet - gonna make you feel even better with my cock -’

Suddenly, the room spins and you’re lying on your back, Dieter’s weight pinning you to the soft cushions. You arch up lazily to kiss him, enjoying the heft of him on your body.

‘You ok?’ he asks almost sheepishly, nuzzling your neck. ‘Too much?’

You don’t skip a beat when you retort with a flippant shrug. ‘Honestly? Not enough cock.’

You grin at his splutter to your response. With a low growl, he grinds the underside of his erection against your folds. ‘That fucking mouth is gonna get you into trouble some day.’

You reply cheekily, ‘Sometime this morning would be preferable.’

Dieter reaches down to wrap your legs around his waist, lips on yours. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone else, but I can wear a condom if you want me to.’

You shake your head adamantly. ‘I want to feel all of you.’

Pushing your legs open wide, Dieter positions himself over you, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. 

‘Look at me, sweetheart,’ he whispers, and pushes in.

Your noses knock together as he bites out a harsh fuck, rocking into you inch by inch with patient strokes.

‘So big,’ you moan, burying your nose in his shoulder. You feel his arms tremble as he holds himself over you. ‘You feel so good inside me.’

He grunts as he bottoms out, taking a second for you to adjust around him. ‘Are you still on birth control? ‘Cause there’s a very real possibility I’ll blow my load any fucking second -’

You take him by surprise when you bring a palm down onto his ass cheek in a sound slap. ‘Don’t you dare, Dieter Bravo.’

He grits his teeth at the sting that lingers on his skin and goes straight to his cock. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

He doubles down and fucks you hard, dipping his head to draw wet circles around your nipples with his tongue before biting down on the underside of your breasts, making your back arch, allowing him to fuck into you even deeper. You can only take him, hands around his neck, your lips clashing together in a wet tangle of tongue and teeth. You moan when he slides his hands under your ass, lifting your hips to change the angle. He plants his knees and thrusts into you feverishly, making your tits bounce to the rhythm.

Looking up at him, backlit by the soft morning light, you scrape your nails on his scalp, pulling at his curls until his eyes shut with a groan. His beard is scratchy on your fingertips when they draw a line down his strong jaw. You watch the endearing lines on his face crease as he watches you back, a small smile breaking through the intensity for just a moment before it gets too much again.

His knuckles on your hips turn white and the vein in his neck throbs. ‘I can’t hold on. Where do you my cum, sweetheart?’

‘Inside me, please,’ you plead, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips as he ruts recklessly into you.

His last thrusts shove you up the length of the sofa, and you watch as Dieter throws his head back when he comes. His hips crush against yours as he chokes on broken moans, spilling into you. But instead of winding down, he keeps pumping into you even when you feel his cum leak - hot and sticky - out of your cunt.

You look up at him, confused. ‘What - what are you doing?’

‘I’m still hard,’ he pants, eyes screwing shut from overstimulation, his body wound up painfully tight. ‘Oh god, fuck, I think I’m gonna cum again, baby -’

‘My tits - cum on my tits,’ you demand hurriedly.

He pulls out of you, and you feel his spend dribble and pool onto the sofa below. Cock in hand, Dieter clambers upwards, knees on either side of your hips as he strokes himself frantically, his tanned skin flushed with a sheen of sweat.

‘Ready, baby?’ he pants as he braces above you.

You nod and push your tits together, the visual sending him over the edge. He cries out your name, and you watch with your lips wantonly open as lewd, white lashes spurt over your nipples, the swell of your breasts, dripping into the valley of your cleavage.

With one last, strangled whine, Dieter collapses half onto you and half onto the couch, and you beam proudly at how absolutely wrecked he looks. You did that. You stretch languorously, and his gaze follows intently as beads of cum drip from your breasts and down your sides in thick streaks.

‘Look at you and your multiple orgasms,’ you tease, shuffling closer to peck him on the lips.

He grunts. ‘Didn’t wanna get upstaged by you, sweetheart.’

You shiver when he brushes a finger through the mess he made on your tits with a deep groan of satisfaction before pushing himself up with great effort, and settling himself between your thighs. Pinching your folds together gently, he groans as a pearly bead of his cum oozes out of you, feral eyes meeting yours. ‘I love seeing my cum all over you and inside you, baby.’

Glancing down at the wet patches on the cream-coloured sofa, you quip, ‘I don’t think you’re gonna get your rental deposit back, though.’

Sidling up to you, he kisses you and grins. ‘Totally worth it.’

The next time you wake up, it’s definitely the church bells ringing for the evening service that rouse you.

‘C’mon sweetheart, it’s dinner time.’

You turn to Dieter’s voice and pout sleepily. ‘What?’

‘You passed out after we took a shower, and I didn’t want to wake you for lunch,’ he recounts the missing hours to you. ‘Ana brought your suitcase around, by the way.’

You swing your legs off the side of the bed and stretch with a yawn. ‘She’s the best. We need to buy her dinner or something. Constance too.’

Dieter pulls you onto your feet to nuzzle the side of your neck. ‘Nope, sorry - you’re mine this weekend. Especially since you’ve already spent about half of it passed out cold.’

You roll your eyes and wriggle out of his grasp to unzip your suitcase, bending over to rummage through it for something to wear. ‘Hardly my fault that I find jetlag more compelling than your company, Bravo.’

He grins when you yelp at the smack that lands on your ass. ‘Hurry up, sweetheart. I’ll take you around the neighbourhood, and we can get pizza from my favourite place for dinner.’ 

Your stomach answers for you with a comically loud rumble. ‘Yes please, I’m starving.’

The streets look different in the dying daylight. You bask in the twilight sunshine, senses in overdrive as you take in the surroundings.

Dieter lets you drag him into a gelato shop to get a refreshing frutti di bosco in a cone, which you both take turns licking and biting into as you stroll through the neighbourhood. Then he ducks into a tiny deli to get some burrata and prosciutto in case you get midnight munchies later. As you get closer to town, the crowds start to thicken, and Dieter feels you shrink into yourself.

Brushing a kiss to your temple, he reassures you, ‘There’s no paparazzi here, sweetheart. I’ve been here for three months and no one has recognised me even once.’

Your shoulders relax. ‘And your fragile Hollywood ego lived to tell the tale?’

He pulls a squeal from you when he dives in for the last bite of the cone without warning, sucking melted purple gelato off your hand.

The pizzeria is tucked away on a side street, tiny tables and stools lining either side of the entrance, and there is no sign above the door. Stepping inside the dark interior, it’s piping hot with three men behind the counter, rolling out dough and cooking pizza in a wood fire oven, trading rapid-fire Italian.

A man with grey hair and an impressive handlebar moustache exclaims when his eyes land on the two of you, stepping from behind the counter. ‘Dieter! Amico mio, vieni qui!’ || ‘Dieter! My friend, come here!’

They embrace like life-long friends, the older man babbling Italian at him while he babbles back in English. You’re absolutely certain neither of them knows what the other is going on about.

Dieter gestures at you. ‘Lorenzo, I want you to meet my girl.’

He makes a delighted noise and kisses you flamboyantly on both cheeks. ‘Questa è tua moglie, vero? Buonasera, signora Bravo! Che bella coppia!’ || ‘This is your wife, yes? Good evening, Mrs. Bravo! What a beautiful couple!’

Dieter winds an arm around your waist and tells you proudly, ‘This place makes the best pizza in town, and they don’t even have a name! I found it one night when I was drunk off my ass. The best margherita I’ve ever had. Am I right, Lorenzo?’

The Italian smacks his lips in a chef’s kiss as if in agreement. ‘Voi avrete i bambini bellissimi! Te lo giuro!’ || ‘You two would have the most beautiful babies! I swear!’

‘Lorenzo says it’s something about the flour they use in the dough. Or was it the yeast?’

A wistfulness creeps into the Italian’s tone, and he suddenly leans forward to grip your chin between his thumb and index finger. You suspect he’s not exactly on the same topic of yeast. ‘L'amore è bello. Voi mi ricordate me e mia moglie defunta, pace all’anima sua!’ || ‘Love is beautiful. You remind me of my deceased wife and I, God rest her soul!’

Dieter claps his hands together to wrap up the unilateral, bilingual conversation. ‘Anyway - can we order the margherita and artichoke? Takeaway, please.’

Lorenzo lets your chin go and presses a kiss to his hand, then dispatches it heavenwards. ‘In onore della mia amata moglie, Maria, Includo gratuitamente un regalo speciale! I miei colombini preferiti!!’ || ‘In honour of my beloved Maria, I will include a special treat for free! My favourite lovebirds!’

Dieter pays for the order and a couple of limonata from the fridge, and you retreat outside to wait for your dinner. Sitting down on a low stone wall opposite the shop, you take a sip of the fizzy lemonade and remark, ‘Now, that’s what I call a character.’

He beams and laces his fingers through yours. ‘Isn’t he great? I want to move here someday.’

Your eyebrows reach for your hairline. ‘Really? Dieter Bravo living la dolce vita? Leaving behind the lights and vices of Hollywood?’

Before he can answer you, a piercing screech sends your heads spinning around to see Ana running down the street towards you, shouting and waving, ‘Hey, lovers!’

You laugh as she smothers you in a hug while simultaneously fiddling with her phone. ‘Oh my god, you guys are fucking adorable. One second, one second -’

You shriek when she brings up her phone to show you who’s on the screen. ‘Oh my god, Pete! We miss you!’

He waves at you through Facetime. ‘Babe, I cannot believe I’m not there to witness this first hand. It’s not fair! Let me see you two together!’

Ana grabs the phone and angles it so you and Dieter are both in the shot, and sing-songs, ‘Kiss cam, lovebirds!’

You roll your eyes. ‘Ana, we’re not just going to -’

You’re cut short when Dieter ambushes you with a full-mouthed kiss, and you hear both Pete and Ana squealing excitedly.

‘What are you doing? These two don’t need any more encouragement!’ you chide halfheartedly when he finally draws back, releasing your lips with a wet pop.

Dieter points at Pete through the screen then at Ana. ‘We’re keeping it under the radar for now, okay? No leaks to the papers or any of that shit.’

Ana nods solemnly. ‘Lips are sealed.’

‘I’m totally not screen recording this right now.’

You narrow your eyes at the phone. ‘Pete - ’

‘I’m joking, I swear!’ he protests. ‘Totally not crossing my fingers behind my back.’

Lorenzo appears with three pizza boxes even though you’re sure Dieter only ordered two, and he shepherds you on your way while speaking Italian, presumably saying something to the effect of eat it while it’s hot.

Ana waves, heading in the opposite direction. ‘I’d invite you for drinks with Constance and I later, but I doubt Dieter would let you out of your sight for even a second.’ 

‘She’s staying in my bed till Monday morning. Naked.’

‘Dieter!’ you admonish.

Ana laughs and winks at you as he impatiently drags you away. ‘Have fun, lovebirds. I’ll see you back stateside!’

And Pete gets the last laugh. ‘Don’t you forget - I called best man!’

A spiral staircase winds up to the rooftop you didn’t know existed, and you gape at the view from the top. The sea laps in the distance, blue and orange, waves rippling as if in slow motion. The rest of the town sitting on lower ground is laid out below your feet like a chaotic streetmap, the dinner-time ruckus a muted buzz in the distance. 

The terracotta tiles are sunwarm beneath your bare soles as you set the rustic dinner table under the canopy. Dieter appears at the doorway with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses.

‘I forgot the water. Do you want some?’ he asks.

You step around him and peck him on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’

You hum to yourself as you traipse your way back upstairs with a jug of water and two glasses full of ice from the kitchen. Dieter lines up the three takeaway boxes side by side, and rubs his hands in anticipation for the big reveal. ‘Alright, ready for the best pizza of your life, sweetheart?’

‘Go on, then,’ you grin.

He’s barely cracked open the first box a sliver - you catch a glimpse of a perfectly baked crust - before he snaps it shut with a panicked, ‘What the fuck?’

You frown. ‘What’s wrong?’

He pinches the bridge of his nose, the other hand on his hip. ‘Lorenzo - he pulled a prank on us.’

You reach for the box to see for yourself, but he snatches you by the wrist. You sigh, ‘C’mon, Dieter, I don’t care as long as I can still eat the pizza without getting food poisoning. I’m actually going to faint from hunger.’

He lets you go cautiously, holding his hands up soothingly like he’s trying to talk you off a ledge. ‘Just - promise me you won’t freak out, okay?’

You cross your arms. ‘You’re actually scaring me now.’

‘It’s not a declaration or anything. I didn’t ask them to do it.’

You’re about this close to stamping your foot like a child, but you take a deep breath and reply, ‘Dieter, seriously. I promise I won’t freak out, just -’

You trail off when he opens the box and you stare down at the contents.

It’s a heart-shaped pizza.

Any and all apprehension bleeds out of you as your shoulders quake with laughter. You open the other two boxes, which are identical in shape, with different toppings. Turning to Dieter, you pull him in by the scruff of his shirt to plant a kiss on his lips. ‘I love it.’

The relief is clear in his features. ‘Really? You’re not gonna flip and run off in the middle of the night?’

‘Unless there’s a diamond ring baked into the cheese - no, I won’t,’ you give him your word.

Dieter winks and kisses the centre of your palm. ‘Oh, you should be so lucky, sweetheart.’

Making yourself comfortable on the cushioned bench, you pat the space next to you. Reaching out for a slice of what smells like the best margherita you’re about to have, you sniff, ‘Be quiet and eat your pizza, Bravo.’

Pouring red wine into your glass, Dieter rambles on conversationally, ‘So… since you like heart-shaped pizza, does that mean I can get you heart-shaped cookies? Heart-shaped donuts? Heart-shaped marshmallows -’

Using his own trick on him, you shove the slice that was destined for your plate into his mouth instead to shush him. He spills wine everywhere in his haste to put the bottle down, and you laugh as he sputters. 

His mouth full, he shakes a finger at you as he chews and swallows. ‘I’ll get back at you for that, just you wait.’

You smile sweetly and grab another slice. ‘I’d like to see you try, Bravo.’

Pulling you flush against him, he looks down at you playfully, but his eyes are soft. ‘I will always try, sweetheart.’

And you know he will.

Rebecca is enjoying a rare evening alone. Coco is over at a friend’s pool party and won’t be home until after dinner, and Hank is still at the office. She flops heavily onto the outrageously expensive sofa she so rarely gets to enjoy, kicking off her high heels, when her phone buzzes. She arches an eyebrow when she sees the name on the screen.

‘Hello, darling. Long time no speak.’

‘Hey Becks. Listen, do you have any TV roles for me?’

‘Not even a hello, how are you, dear agent?’

She shakes her head fondly as he parrots back word by word, ‘Hello, how are you, dear agent?’

‘TV, you say?’

‘Something that will stick for at least a couple of seasons, in LA. And make sure it’s something edgy.’

‘By edgy, do you mean something that might have an intimacy coordinator role that needs filling?

‘Yes.’

‘And does that mean you want me to take your name out of the hat for the next Spielberg movie?’

There is no trace of doubt in his reply. ‘Yes.’

‘Alright then. I’ll have a scout around and send you some options in the next few days.’

‘Thanks, Becks.’

She smiles into the phone. ‘I’m happy for you, darling. Send her my love, please, and we’ll have you both around for dinner soon.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Will do.’

Two weeks later, a package arrives at your flat in Calgary, and you hand in your one-month notice the next day.

A covering letter to the contract directs you to an address in Sherman Oaks to drop off the documents in person the next weekend. You’re not aware of any studio offices in that particular part of town, but you need to go back Stateside to sort out something at your bank anyway, so it’s not particularly out of the way.

You slow your car down to the crawl when your phone announces that you’ve reached your destination. It’s clearly a residential area, and you double check the address - you’re definitely at the right place. Maybe it’s the HR director’s home address. You’ve been to far stranger places in your career, so you shake it off and walk up to the modern, white-washed house that sits on two floors, with a minimalist garden in the front.

You glance about at the tidy hedges after you press the doorbell, and you hear footsteps approach at a leisurely pace. You put on a professional smile in anticipation.

The door opens, and your jaw drops.

‘Hello, sweetheart.’

Before you can make heads or tails of the situation, the envelope in your hand slips out of your grasp and you launch yourself at him. Dieter staggers backwards with a laugh, his hands full of you and his lips on yours. It’s been three weeks since you said your goodbyes at the airport in Italy, with promises to see each other when filming wraps for the both of you in another month or so.

You can’t resist slapping him on the chest in rebuke for showing up unannounced. ‘What are you doing here?’

He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Thought you’d appreciate a house tour now that you’ve signed up to the project.’

You look around, taking in the dark wooden floors and high ceilings painted white as he scoops up your abandoned papers and closes the front door. ‘What house tour?’

‘I told the studio you’ll be living with me. It’s the only reason they hired you, by the way, because we’ll be saving them accommodation costs.’

You know he’s trying to get a rise out of you, so you don’t give him the satisfaction of a quick-tempered answer. Instead, you cock your head to one side, and purse your lips. ‘How did you know I want to live with you?’

His answer is unexpectedly forthright, and it hits you right in the stomach. ‘I don’t, but I hoped you would. I want to live with you.’

Rocking onto your tippy toes, you reach for him, but before your lips meet, he stops you, brandishing a piece of paper in your nose. ‘One minute, sweetheart. Since we’re now both employees of this show, we should really sign this Relationship Consent Form for HR before we do anything else.’

You blink and take a mental step back, suddenly alert. His smile is perfectly benevolent, which is suspicious in itself. He’s trying to pull something, you just know it.

But you go along with it. ‘Sounds like the responsible thing to do. You got a pen?’

Right on cue, Dieter pulls out a fancy-looking fountain pen and his glasses from his shirt pocket. ‘Voila. This way, sweetheart, we’ll do this in the kitchen.’ 

The foyer opens up into a large and modern kitchen space, with a marble counter separating it from the dining room. You like it - it’s not as coldly sleek as the apartment you shared while filming on Resurgence. It looks homey and lived-in despite knowing for a fact that the most Dieter’s ever used it for is pouring milk into a bowl of cereal.

He pulls out a chair for you at the dining table, even pushing your seat in before settling opposite you. You keep a watchful eye on him at this show of gallantry. Pointedly ignoring you, he smooths a hand over the consent form sitting in front of him, uncapping his fountain pen dramatically and putting on his reading glasses.

With a clap of his hands, he announces. ‘Ok, here we go. Fill in the name of Party A.’ He spells out yours letter by letter as he scribbles. ‘And Party B: Dieter Bravo.’

From where you’re sitting, his handwriting is barely legible and absolutely not contained to the pre-drawn lines.

‘I can do the writing, if you want,’ you offer, eye twitching at the mess.

Dieter smiles at you. ‘I got it, sweetheart, thanks.’ Clearing his throat, he reads the first question out loud. ‘Are Party A and Party B engaged or intend to engage in sexual intercourse?’

He looks up at you, as if expecting an answer. You frown. ‘What?’

‘You have to say the answers out loud.’

‘What?’

He taps somewhere on the piece of paper. ‘To consent, you have to say the answers out loud. Says right here.’

You sigh heavily and reply, ‘Yes.’

Dieter scrawls the answer with a flourish, and moves on to the next question. ‘Is the frequency or intended frequency of said intercourse between Party A and Party B expected to be equal to or exceed once a week?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are Party A and Party B engaged in or intend to engage in an exclusive sexual relationship?’

Your answer comes out sharper than you intend as your patience wears thin. ‘I fucking hope so.’

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look up. ‘That’s a yes, then. Are Party A and Party B engaged in or intend to engage in an exclusive romantic relationship?’

You cross your arms suspiciously. ‘An exclusive romantic relationship? That’s an actual question in the form?’

He points somewhere in the middle of the page. ‘Yes, it says right here.’

‘I’m sorry, why does the studio need to know that?’

He sighs. ‘Sweetheart, it’s a simple question - yes or no?’

You shift in your seat, feeling vulnerable, but you answer in the affirmative. ‘Well, I mean, if I’m going to be living with you - yes.’

The smile he gives you nearly reaches his ears, and you smile back, before he looks down at the form and continues, ‘Now, this is an interesting one. Is Party B’s genitalia the most substantial Party A has ever had in terms of length and girth?’

Not even Dieter can keep a straight face.

You growl, reaching across the table to rip the piece of paper from his hands while he howls with laughter, reading glasses coming off. ‘Ugh, Dieter Bravo! You’re so fucking juvenile!’

He’s literally wiping tears from his eyes. ‘You should’ve seen your face, sweetheart. You were taking it so seriously.’

You run a critical eye over the form. It was obviously done in Word and printed out at home since the margins are all off. ‘You used Comic Sans? Comic Sans? You might as well have written this in purple crayon!’

‘Hey! Don’t judge a consent form by its font, sweetheart.’ He rounds the table and grabs it from you, pinning it onto the kitchen counter with his pen. 

‘I forgot one last question, it’s an important one,’ he says, and you squeak when he lifts you up onto the cold marble surface of the kitchen counter by the back of your thighs. Close enough to bump noses, his breath hot on your lips, he asks, ‘Does Party A consent to being thoroughly railed on this kitchen counter by Party B right about now?’

Grabbing the pen sitting next to you, you scribble carelessly over the sheet, before tossing it somewhere behind you without looking. It floats languidly, landing feather-light on the kitchen floor, soon joined by hastily half-unbuttoned, half-unzipped clothing and underwear. 

Your answer to Dieter’s question - all his questions - is scrawled across the page in a clear, emphatic hand.

Fuck yeah.

[ the end ]

Very long note: This wasn't the easiest chapter to write, but then, I guess finales never are easy! Having said that, I already knew what the last scene was going to be when I decided to make this a series, and it was surreal to finally see it typed out in black and white.

I also made sure the supporting cast - Pete, Ana and Rebecca - each made a cameo in this last part. They've been so important to the plot, and your reaction to these OCs makes me so warm and fuzzy inside. I'm very happy with the way this chapter turned out eventually - I hope you are too!

I've left things fairly open in this finale. I don't feel like Dieter and Reader have to make any grand declarations to each other, or to put a label on anything, for this stage of their story to be complete. This also gives me the space to explore their relationship in further instalments. While I don't see another full-fledged series in this universe, there will definitely be drabbles and one-shots in the future.

Before I lose my shit and start crying up a storm, I need to give credit to these lovely people who helped me with this chapter.

❤️ First, I want to thank Cristina @pedropascalsx for making the gif set for the last ever sneak peek. It really set the tone for the finale, and I will cherish it forever.

❤️ Second, thank you Kat @katareyoudrilling for helping me with the Italian translations. Your notes were so detailed, I loved learning about the language from your explanations.

❤️ Third, the heart-shaped pizza idea came from a reblog @hquinzelle left for a previous chapter, and it's been stuck in my head since! Thank you for letting me use this idea for this chapter.

Lastly, thank you to every single one of you who have interacted with this fic in any way. I have been blown away by your love and support every step of the way. Thank you for taking a chance on this story, which started off as a horny one-shot (and my first time ever writing smut), and ended up a short series that I'm so proud to have written for this beautiful mess of a man and - most importantly - for all of you❤️

Ok I'm going to go bawl my eyes out now.

[quirklessidiot]

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title : minazuki [17.5: Gojo Y/N] pairing : gojo satoru x f!y/n Genre: angst, arranged-marriage au, mystery/thriller, mature, enemies-to-lovers-ish, and very slow burn (canon compliant-ish for ch-0 to the anime)

Summary: In which Y/N L/N is placed under a union she has no choice but to partake for the sake of her survival.

Warnings: heavy action, violence/gore (anti-hero!y/n), attempted suicide, man slaughter, blood, mentions of rape and abuse, unjust social systems, mentions of black market, attempted kidnapping, mentions of murder (beheading), mild horror, language, bystander (!) notes: long awaited chapter of our gal oof :”) this is more fast pace since y/n has more action scenes since shes on the run.(this is my first time writing action help.)

series masterlist|| taglist closed ||

chapter summary: love. such a small word for such a big feeling.

Week I

Ten minutes.

Under no circumstances did you make it known that you knew you were being followed by that man in a black shirt. With a presence and figure too hard to ignore, you maintain your distance on the crowd, making sure to blend in with the collected buzz around you.

It’s begun.

The haunt to have Gojo Satoru’s wife.

You make sure to avoid bumping people, not wanting to look frazzled or panic. There's a pump of adrenaline, the thrum of your own pulse due to the rise of your blood pressure. You didn’t expect it to be that quick, by the most, you had thought you had three days to lay low. News of your disappearance must’ve broken out quickly. Inside rats could’ve done a job. You wonder just how much you’re in for now. How many of them? 

You take one sharp left, trying to find an alleyway good for the plan that you started to frame in your head. 

Nine minutes.

The place you were staying at was already nearby, you didn’t want him to know where you lived. With his large stature, you’d have an advantage in landing a hit. If this was a kidnapper, the weapon would be a gun and it would most likely only have one or two bullets loaded, better yet, he might even leave it blank. He could also have a dagger which would be alright since that would mean close hand to hand combat, something that you had an edge with as well 

They wouldn’t hurt you.

They needed to have you scratch free, at most.

Unless if this was someone who wanted to force Satoru out, you pressed your lips together, weighing down the likeliness. Being tortured and rape would be a high chance just to gouge a reaction, maybe they’d even try to cut a finger or strands of your hair and send it to your husband after.

Seven minutes.

Your gaze narrows down to a dark alleyway behind a strip club, the sketchy and dim environment would be perfect along with the booming and random sounds of music from the inside mixed with the babel of voices caused by the strangers of the street. This would have the racket you were about to cause turn to white noise. No one would be crazy enough to go behind here to check it, as well.

People wouldn’t be stupid enough to go behind here unless they were trying to take a quickie with one of the women inside. You retreat behind the dark paths, your hand is on the hairpin that’s tucked safely in your pockets.

You lean back on the moist brick walls, the smell of garbage and cheap perfume creeps into your senses along with small pats of the aircon that dampen your shirt. You continue to stay silent, gripping on the pin. Waiting for him to approach you.

Six minutes.

His heavy boots press on the wet pavements yet you don’t even move an inch.

He seemed to be a third grade by the looks of it.

Five minutes.

Time and who gets to land the first hit is essential.

Steadily, as he stops in front of you, with a knowing grin and a direct eye-to-eye contact like a prey caught in a predator's trap, that’s when you land one harsh blow to his kneecap.

“Shit.” he mumbled, you don’t even hesitate and strike him in the throat while he’s trying to recover, a painful wheeze escapes his mouth. 

Any moment, he’ll try to release his curse technique.

Four minutes.

“You fucking bitch.”

Your jaw tightens as you bend down to a fighting stance, enveloping the hairpin with that ghastly sanguine substance. With absolute no reluctance and with the very intent to kill, you swing it downwards.

He scruffily dodges it, taking out a dagger and encasing it with blue cursed energy. 

He’s looking rather confident yet you keep up your ministrations. You duck, hastily taking one of the garbage tin covers as a shield when he tries to stab you.

Three minutes.

Their’s that stench of sweat mixed with the rain that’s falling from the caliginous sky. You charge towards him, switching the grip of the pin on your dominant hand as you jump and wrap your legs around his waist.

He tries to get rid of you, banging you against the hard walls as you try to hit his nose persistently with your elbows.

“Get off me, you-” he doesn’t even get to finish his muffled sentence as you start jamming the pin at his head.

Repeatedly.

The color red spurts out and drizzles down your flesh, mixing with the rain water and the sheen of sweat that’s collecting and pouring down form your temples. The world turns silent like it was only you in your own personal pandemonium.

Your gaze turns dark at the savagery unfolding itself in front of you.

Two minutes.

His burly body turns loose, blood oozing down from his lacerations. You didn’t even realize that you skewered him to the point of unrecognition. Skin teared open like you had just cut some paper with his innards exposed due to the abrasion of your cursed technique.

You’ve grown sloppy.

Back then, this would be easy.

The lack of proper training is evident and if you had a hard time taking a third grade, you’d surely have a harder time to take care of the stronger ones in the future.

Tokyo, around you, continues to be alive as you let out a couple of uneven breaths.

One minute.

You search for his pockets, making sure to take the identification cards and the cash inside then take his dagger. With ease, you drag his body to the side and once again, with his own weapon, you encrust it with your own technique and begin your work.

Getting rid of the evidence that there was even a body to begin with. Your technique eats him bit by bit. The metallic and rancid taste from your lip along with the throbbing bruise that forms on the back of your head slowly disappears as you heal it yourself. 

There is truly no turning back with what’s going to happen to you these next few days. They’ll be coming after you like little rats from the sewers. He’ll be the first of many killers who’ll want you for their own sick interest.

You’d also have to wonder what you’d do if an actual licensed jujutsu sorcerer comes by, you couldn’t just kill them like you did with this one.

When all that’s left is his soiled clothes, you take your shirt off and throw it on the dump along with his. The consequences are at the back of your head since no one would probably even bother. Individuals from the underground market are more or less just commissioned with no proper identities.

No one would go searching for a missing criminal and they wouldn’t even suspect you because they were beings with a red mark plastered on their backs. At the end of the day, this was a business of the survival of the fittest.

In other words, they’re the perfect victims for this sort of ending.

You walk towards the back door of the strip club that seems to have led to an empty dressing room. You don’t even bother to glance or pick so eagerly, instead you just grab one of the discarded shirts and drop an expensive pearl on the table.

You blow out one stiff breath.

What a night.

zero.

Week II

Humans and curses have always existed hand in hand.

Since the dawn of creation, wherever men went, they grew next to them like weeds. They were considered to be humanity’s greatest enemy, the boogeymen, the monsters that terrorized and hid under children’s bed. It’s no surprise that there was a special order dedicated to eradicate such disgusting beings     jujutsu sorcerers.

They fought them, usually these were life and death battles. Many were not so lucky. Body bags would usually be delivered on a day to day basis to their families and relatives along with the tearful goodbyes and vengeful promises to avenge the deceased. They were known to be vile and wicked, the ones responsible for the destruction and disappearance of money.

Most importantly, they were known to be beings with no absolute conscience. 

All they knew was to bring spoliation.

“I think she was right, Yu.” it’s been a week since you’ve disappeared, you’re aware that everyone’s out to have you back next to your husband but after everything you’ve found out, it didn’t seem right to sit still. You knew you had to finish everything once and for all. The villain who lives in your body would not shut up, if she’s able to try to control your body at random times, you’re afraid of what Satoru might see when you’re unaware.

He, out of all people, should never know.

“I think obaa-san was right,” you whispered, “I probably shouldn’t have been born.” Your grandmother knew, everyone knew before you. You take one huge gulp, wondering why they chose to never tell you. What were they planning to achieve with your ignorance regarding everything? Ever since Sukuna Ryomen had divulged everything, there was a sudden alteration of beliefs. You were forced back in a deep fissure of two cliffs, falling with knowing nothing about what’s going to catch you at the bottom.

Unknowingly, when you had accepted that technique, you also warranted yourself a deal with a devil except you didn’t know what you signed your life upon.

Stupid girl.

You should’ve known something was odd.

Life is never cheap for beings like you. Living on borrowed time with a power you were unaware of obviously came with reverberations throughout your life, you should’ve realized since the very beginning that there will never be a quiet life for you. That this was just some illusion you concocted in your head in order to give yourself comfort, “I don’t…” Your body feels heavy these days, sleeping in cheap motels with one eye open each night with a piling body count because everyone seemed to be quickly aware that Gojo Satoru’s wife had gone missing and they appear to believe that taking you in would evoke a good enough reaction from the shaman, “I left him, Yu...I couldn’t tell him…” He must’ve loathed your existence now and as much as it pained you to see the very man you considered your other half, someone you trusted to have your back, and made all the problems seem to dissipate with his presence. It’s only proper if he did and moved on. You just couldn’t hurt your husband. 

It had come to that one crucial point that in this dance of love with knives painted at each other's backs, you wouldn’t hesitate to ram yourself on that very cold steel just to not hurt him.

Anything but that.

How were you going to tell him that what was going on with you now was his family’s fault? that the unknown entity that lived in your body wanted to kill the very man you considered to hang the stars and the moon up in your night sky. Among the tribulations you’ve encountered in your life, this was the most grim twist you’ve ever encountered.

How generations of pure hatred stemmed from Satoru’s family and if you ever tried to reveal yourself, the Gojo Clan would be the first to have your head in a pike to save their face. You trusted your husband enough to defend you but what then? What comes after? More bloodshed? You’d have innocent people come to your defense, poor Megumi is sure to never turn his back on you, you couldn’t have him hurt.

Your stare turns vacant, the smile that was once filled with authenticity and pure unadulterated joy for the man you hoped to safely stay next with is now replaced by a worn out one as you face Yu Haibara’s grave. The only man you can ever tell your secrets to because a dead man told no tales, “...and now, I don’t know what to do…” you confessed, the pink carnations looking bright and colorful despite the contrasting environment around the both of you.

For the first week, you just sat alone in the sooty motel room, staring at the grimy and scratched off walls with a dagger on hand, pondering if you should just stab your head to let the voices in it shut up. 

The voice said to come home and kill your husband in his sleep along with committing a clan massacre.

Have every member of the Gojo Clan be erased from history just like what they’ll do to you if they knew of you.

“I could kill myself now…” you mumbled, continuing the monologue, “No one has tried for some odd reason before but I don’t mind doing it because I’m not even suppose to be here…” the act of self slaughter would’ve been easy but something was holding you back, was it the fact that you couldn’t accept permanently hurting your husband? Clinging onto that very small light of hope that you could have that December wedding with everyone you love if you could find a way to stop the anomaly that’s happening in your body despite it being a long standing conundrum.

“Just help me decide, Yu…” you could only plead, beseeching for an answer from the tombstone because you were truly lost. For the first time, you had no answer nor plan for this, “I don’t even know where to start…I don’t even want to hurt him too deeply, please just let him forget me and hate me… He doesn’t deserve me and my problems...He’s innocent, good, and I...”

Ever since the beginning, you knew he didn’t deserve someone like you and that should’ve been a proper wake up call. If Gojo Satoru was the sun, the angel, a hero of justice, and a god of mercy, you were the polar opposite.It’s almost funny how he’s painted as this obnoxious individual while you were together. It was all you through and through.

There is obviously no answer from the stone, just the cool rasps of the wind slapping your cheeks as if reminding you of the very promise you made when you had first met him at this hour. You only feel your eyesight turning blurry, the tears pooling, laughing at yourself and the macabre thoughts you’ve conjured up in your head, “I...That’s right...I can’t die…” you drop down to your knees, crying, “I...I should find a way...I have to repent, death is too easy for someone like me… and with what I did to you and Hana, I can’t take the easy way out…” you shut your eyes tight, roughly rubbing the tears away. 

If you had passed, it shouldn’t be with your own hand. 

A resolution was born that day, you wouldn’t rest until you truly ended everything with you and if you had to die just to finish it along with the family secret, you’d do just that.

Week III

Their is only silence, murder, and mayhem.

It's been three weeks since you’ve left home.

Your eyes are engrossed in the man that had his back pressed against the walls, the dagger on your hand is light and the jeans you wore are tainted in deep scarlet as you bend down to match his eye level. Unlike him whose face had only been filled with absolute terror for what’s to come, there's an air of nonchalance and coolness on you as if you were just taking a small walk in the park, “Don’t-Don’t kill me…” He wheezed with the remaining energy he could muster out, “I didn’t, I didn’t...please have mercy, I-” he tries to beg for his life as if it would help his current predicament yet you remain unfazed. 

You wondered just how stupid this fellow could be, offering an alcoholic drink laced with sedatives? Did he think you were that simple-minded and weak? You’d never trust someone, especially an individual like him who made money selling illegal goods. 

You tilt your head slightly to the side, giving him one good look before you plunge the dagger on his dermis, he only lets out another ear-splitting scream yet you don’t even flinch at his response, “Angels give mercy…” you sighed, twisting the blade on his thigh before taking it out again, “It’s a shame devil’s don’t do that…” his blood taints your blade, the crimson-thick substance trickling down.

“Please...” He starts to cry from the pain, pissing his pants due to the malignant presence in front of him and the pain coming from his perforated thigh. There was no way that you knew which places to stab but it seemed like you just knew where to make him hurt and bleed. He had made the miscalculation on the thought you were easy. You looked like you wouldn’t hurt a fly when you had asked him if he knew where to get that certain product and offered to pay it with golden south sea pearls, “I-I have the katana, I can give it to you for free even-” he tries to babble, in dispense for his life.

“For free? You know money wasn’t the problem...” you clicked your tongue, you cared little for the price because you were more focused on what he just tried to pull on you, “What were you trying to achieve first when you offered me that drink? Were you planning on spiking it? to sell me, after?”

You’re getting tired of this, of being treated around like cattle. No, you’d never be back to that sort of mess ever again. You have a bounty on your head, many would want to find and have their own way with you. If that was the case, you wouldn’t mind having to kill each and every single one of them since they were getting in the way of your little expedition.

He shakes his head abruptly, “No, No...I wouldn’t...Please I...Please let me go…I’m sorry, I’m not- I’m not going to mess with you again-” you perforate his skin again, making sure that there's enough force for it to go deeper than earlier so it would seem like he was stuck on the spot. He lets out another painful howl like a dog that’s been run over, “I, please-please there's also instructions…” he tries to assert his claim, striving to prove he was more useful alive than dead, “... and if you kill me now you won’t be able to know how to use it….or things like you can’t touch that with your bare fingers because apparently you’ll die-” he tries to notify you, gibberish spouting out of his lips yet you only ignore his warnings.

You turn to the item wrapped in violet cloth.

The product that you’ve been looking for these past two weeks is finally within your arms length. Albeit, you’d have to be careful, judging by the person’s crazy mumbles. You pick it up from the ground and carefully unwrap it from the cloth and there, with all its glory, is an old katana. you run your hands carefully at the red saggeo before taking it out of its black scabbard.

It’s old and rusty, it doesn’t even look like it could be used at your dispose because it seemed dull, “You stole this from a Japanese clan in the early nineties, right? The gojo’s?” you asked him, your eyes trails down, observing its edges, unlike the previous blades you’ve used, this wouldn’t get damaged immediately, “How do I know this is the real one?”

“T-That’s...That’s the real one! I swear on my life!”

Did this man not know the weight of his words?

You throw your head towards him, pointing the sharp end on his nose without even missing a beat.

The man’s eyes double in size as he tries to shrink back but only pain shoots up from his muscles when he tries to move. His face turned ashen, lips trembling like an animal ready to be slaughtered in the wild as he watched the katana turn into this cardinal, disgusting, and viscid liquid substance, “W-Who...What are you? What are you going to do to me?” he stammered.

No wonder it seemed tarnished, this was something specifically used for your technique and if it ever landed on the hands of the enemy, it would be deemed useless.

“You swore on your life.” you only retort casually, with one good swift, you stabbed his hand. Nothing else escaped his lips when he saw the acid gradually corrode his skin. The man’s body jolts up like a shock of electric thunder passes through, the pain has him passing out in shock.

You thumbed down his blood that befouled your upper lip. The katana returned to its normal corroded state, no traces of it being used. A small sigh escapes your pursed lips, eyes shut tight to give yourself some time to breath and gather yourself. It has grown to be a habit for you to do this after. You’re too scared that you’d get lost in taking such lives like they were just bothersome ants crawling up your body.

You store the blade back to its scabbard before wrapping it back to the cloth. Counting down your breathing as you did it. Then, you take the pearl from your pocket. In a second, it’s engulfed in the familiar scarlet substance. 

You, squeezing his cheeks between your fingers, forcing open his mouth before letting him swallow the expensive pearl, “...twenty…” you mumbled to no one in particular, body turning inert as you took note of the body count.

The small pearl would start to eat away his esophagus and eventually his stomach. It’ll be a slow and painful death that he won’t even know how to save himself if he ever did wake up and they would only know his actual cause of death until they opened him up in the morgue.

Without even turning back, you put the baseball cap on again and take a postcard that’s been rumpled beyond recognition from your pockets. The very same one addressed to your grandmother. You had to admit, she was smart enough to have this laying around with the travesty of it being gifts given to her. It turns out, she wasn’t trying to project how much she wanted to see the world but she was looking for something else, instead.

It seemed like you’d be making this trip earlier around since you had the weapon in hand.

Week IV

You didn’t expect a trek in the mountains. By the fourth week, you’re in an inconspicuous area in the far north. You’ve had an additional ten assassins on your tail, it seemed like even the elders had gotten involved already and they wanted their precious power gem back. Your body had grown weak from the weeks of evading and the new environment you were in. 

There were no beds of comfort, dresses and garbs in silks were nonexistent, even your hair had been chopped so unevenly in order to avoid them spotting you so easily. If you’d look at yourself in the mirror, you probably wouldn’t recognize your gaunt appearance anymore. The perfect doll that they tried to craft was long gone. 

Thirty.

You’re drowning in carnage and gore. You’re more than shocked that it was possible to kill so many actual human and breathing beings in the span of three weeks but they just kept coming and scratching their way up from the depths of perdition. Assassins and people who wanted to have you in the black market. The very people who wanted to harm you would be killed by your blade, it was so easy to have their bodies get eaten by Minazuki. 

There was no news of a mysterious serial killer on the loose by the very least, not even missing cases. With the overuse of your technique, it’s no surprise that it contributed to your mental problems.

How the voice grew louder, the visions of those who passed before you getting stronger.

If it didn’t help your case, the Tokyo police were also trailing behind you. A part of you felt mildly relieved that Gojo Satoru was still hoping, that he still had lingering attachments for you despite what you did.

Yet you’re so close to the goal.

If you could finish this by December, maybe then     your posture suddenly stiffening, stumbling slightly when the realization kicks you in the face. There's a brief reminder that clinging onto false hope would be dangerous. Your mental state is at a frangible place as of right now. At times, you’d wake from a nap to find one eye inundated by tenebrosity like the bitch inside of you demanded to get your body.

You couldn’t have Satoru see you like this.

You stop in front of an old cave; it had been a tourist attraction to mountaineers and geologists due to it’s amazing speleothems yet it closed to the public due to unforeseen accidents that had happened around here in the year you were born. 

In other words, it was the very place you needed to be in. 

You drop your large gym bag outside, taking out a small hairpin and tucking it in your pockets along with taking the katana out of it.

You blow out one even breath, your heavy footsteps press on the soil as you step into the darkness of the unknown. You don’t even bother to bring a flashlight because you know it wouldn’t work. Your grip on your blade is tight in one hand, your chin lifted and muscles tightening on your torso as you're fully inside.

The outside seemed so far away as you made your way in the cold cave, civilization no more yet your stride becomes more purposeful as you keep walking and then you hear it.

Footsteps behind you, matching your pace as if it was mocking you and what you were about to do.

“Huh,” it’s your own voice, “So you decided to go this far…” yet there's something so sinister about that tone, it sounded just like the very same one you’d use when you were out to commit different atrocities, “...Y/N, was it? I remembered naming you that...”

You’re thrown off by the sudden breath running down your neck and the cold hands that run through your skin and before you know it, she pushes you to the ground. You feel something rock hard hit your head, your vision turning blurry, “Sleepy time, Y/N...your fault for going to the place where that fucking Ryomen tried to kill me…” you only realize then that your mind had just been playing tricks on you.

There was no one behind you. She was trying to take advantage of the situation. She was at her strongest here, her place of her own despair and resentment. The very location where Ryomen Sukuna had almost won over her.

Taunting her probably wouldn't be the best suit but if you aren’t quick, she might just leave you here to bleed.

“You gonna fucking kill me?” You laughed loudly, she was stopping your reversed technique from working so the trauma to the head would have you dead in a while, “You fucking sure about that, you bitch? After all that breeding you went through? To create the perfect host for you? You can’t do that…” You spat, trying to threaten her.

Through those visions, you’ve come to realize why no one tried to escape their fate nor had they tried to break the curse.

It’s because they were only strong enough to be Minazuki’s host.

They weren’t strong enough to actually use her because if they even tried, they’d only eventually die. Suicide wasn’t an option as well. The fucking bitch had full control over their bodies because they weren’t mentally strong enough to fight her, some had become detached to the point where they had willingly given themselves up to her. They didn’t turn to curses, as well.

All she did was feed you lie after lie because that's what she is at the end of the day — a fucking curse that's only meant to throw hellfire at you just to get what she truly wanted.

She did not seek vengeance from the Gojo Clan, she wasn’t the sentimental type. She just wanted to kill every jujutsu sorcerer she could get her hands upon.

You let out a hoarse cough then a last laugh, “You can’t fucking kill me…”  Your vision slowly turns blurry, overconfidence still running through your veins.

With everything you’ve seen, you’re aware she wants you very much alive.

Yet when your wound doesn’t heal and the pain continues to push through, you’re starting to do a double take.

Despite this, the smile never escapes your lips when the familiar blue eyes of your husband are the last thing you remember and that sheepish grin you’ve grown to fall in love with, his touch, the whispers of I love you under the beautiful rays of the sunlight and the dim light of the moon, tufts of his hair that you missed running your fingers to, “Sorry Satoru,” you apologized, thinking he’d hear you. In a way, it seems like you will be dying alone as you earlier planned when you were sixteen, albeit, you’re ahead of schedule though, “...guess we won’t be having a wedding in the winter, after all…” you muttered. It would be best if he didn’t find a body.

He’ll be fine. Your husband will find a better partner. Someone who won’t ever leave his side.

This would finally be the end and it would be poetic for Minazuki to die here in the cave with you.

After all, you both were never supposed to exist.

Your eyes shut tight, ready to fully and finally embrace death like an old friend.

Why were you so scared of it in the first place?

Is it because of the unknown? The unanswered mystery that followed it and that you didn’t want to experience yet?

Or better yet, it might just be because you hadn’t openly experienced how life and the world was supposed to be like. Living behind closed doors ever since you could feel the ground on your feet, away from everything and everyone. You were not even given the chance to be an actual viable and living individual.

Yet in those few months that you’ve spent next to Gojo Satoru, there is that inkling of realization that life, despite it being so short and fleeting now, is just as beautiful when it was spent with someone who truly mattered in your eyes. It was like the flowers that bloomed in adversity after months of patiently waiting for it. It’s a series of instances that you wouldn’t trade for a long solitary existence.

There is also that final wish, that if you were to ever meet your husband in another life, it would be different and you would not need to hide nor hurt him at all.

Then darkness eats you up.

When philosophers had described what came after, there were certain beliefs that encompassed that bracket from reincarnation, to spiritual realms and what not. There was even the belief of judgement day but you knew from all of this, you’d only go forth one destination and it's common in every faith or theory.

Hell.

You expect fiery pits and whatnot but when your eyes shoot open all you see is red, it isn’t hot as you expect it to be. There were no pitchforks or chains like the mainstream media had shown or foretold in books and shows that Satoru had you watched with him. No lucifer or Hades ready to give out your eternal damnation or punishment. All you see is a girl who looks exactly like you in a black kimono, eyes laced with pure darkness, and two red stripes across her face. Unlike Sukuna who smiled like a menacing curse, there's a look of flatness laced in her features. A discerning eye that was trying to wager if you were worth all of this.

“You…” you only mumble, you don’t have a weapon with you. It’s just you standing there amidst a pile of bones. You suppress a shiver.

She didn’t kill you.

“Hm,” she only mumbled, tilting her head to the side. Her presence had been overwhelming that if this were any other person, they’d be sunken down to their knees, begging to be spared yet you feet remain planted on the spot, “You’re so self assured.” it doesn’t come out as a compliment, more of as an insult.

“You didn’t kill me.”

She pokes her tongue out to express her disgust, “Even until the end, you still thought about your husband.” she saunters down her throne, humming and walking towards you. She’s the very spitting image of you, it was like you were looking at yourself in the mirror, “How typical…”

“You know how strongly I feel for him.”

She rolls her eyes like a child, clearly dismayed by your answer. Her attitude had reminded you very much of your grandmother whilst you were younger. It was another thing you had found out, most often, she’d be the one in control of your grandmother's body even during that night you had killed her, it was her you were actually fighting. Your grandmother is strong yet she wasn’t powerful enough to take control of her own body. So at random moments, Minazuki would switch.

“I was thinking that the beating I gave you would be enough when you were a kid…” her shoulders slumped forward, stooping down to take one of the human skulls and tossing them up in the air, “It’s a shame you came out more human than I imagined you to be…”

“Was watching me and all the other women before me get raped, abused, and humiliated not enough for you?” an ugly twist to the mouth to remind her of how she remained to be a bystander throughout all those years.

“I got what I wanted from them…” she only chuckles, “Don’t be so angry, you weren’t even there…” she tilts her head to the side, “You’re the luckiest one among them, Y/N...All you ever experienced was a couple of unwanted gropes and verbal harassment...they, on the other hand…” she shakes her head, clicking her tongue in faux sympathy. It was almost sickening when you knew what had happened.

Purposely, this curse in front of you enjoyed those scenarios because she was born from a sick and twisted love herself. It only fueled her very core and made her stronger thus making it harder for the next hosts to hold her, “You ever wonder where you got your name, Y/N?” she continues, ignoring your harsh gaze, “That was the name of my okaasan... the concubine that the Gojo Clan wanted to bury...she’s forgotten throughout history since she was a nobody, did you know that?” she taunts.

“You don’t care for her.” you spat.

“You wound me.” she dully replied, proving your point,  “After all that training I put you through? All that for a man who might just end up-”

Without even thinking, you prance at her, grabbing her by the collar of her kimono. Intense eyes never leaving hers, ferocity eating you up when you defend your husband, “Don’t be stupid,” you dangerously mumbled, words sharp enough like their was intent to pierce through her, “Michizane Sugawara is Michizane Sugawara…” you snarled,  “And Gojo Satoru is Gojo Satoru...two very different people...” 

She only leans forward, not even the slightest bit fazed by your speech, “Yet you’re here, right now. Are you scared you might just end up like my okaasan?” she suddenly giggles, slapping your hand away, “The six eyes and the limitless technique creates a fragile being, your husband might just lose his head any minute now. It could be a random day, any moment especially after you finish this crusade you tried to make up in your head…You come home...then what? All it takes is just one bad day...” she starts jabbing her finger at your temples, roughly, “Then you end up just like the very doll you hate to be, just like the original Y/N... no more freedom for you…”

You forcefully take her wrist, pinning her down.

“You’re just saying that because you’re afraid of what I’m about to do.”

“What are you going to do Y/N? Kill me?” Her eyes are only filled with frenzy, “You can’t fucking do that as well…” she whispers, leaning closer, “We’ll always be together, you can never run from me… I am you, just as much as you are me…”

“Not if I find Michizane Sugawara and offer his head up to you on a silver platter.” you threatened her, teeth gritting. You could feel her body stiffening and turning numb beneath you, “That’s right...Let’s end this once and for all...I promised to end you with me and I’ll do just that now that I have the proper answer…”

“Don’t be foolish, you can’t kill him-” she sneers followed by a bark of laughter, with the easy push from her, you're thrown across, hitting the hard surface. She slowly sits up, “No one can kill him… He’s around the same level as Ryomen Sukuna if he was at its peak and you think-” you spat the blood and sat up, matching her grin.

You were just as bat-shit crazy and willing to go so far.

“And if I do? If I hunt that bastard down and cut his head properly? It means I kill you too, right?”

Ryomen Sukuna’s words are remembered. He wasn’t able to completely slay this one since he didn’t root out the proper weed. If he had then he’d be saving generations of women who didn’t deserve this treatment. You may not have been born but at the very least, you wouldn’t need to face such problems like this.

“Not if I gate keep my technique-”

“Then kill me now.” you simply uttered, tilting your head, “I have no children, no one to pass the technique to… You can’t control my body because my mind…” you point at your temple, “Will never be yours… You need someone willing, someone to say yes...It’s a shame I’m not giving you jack shit… I rot, you fucking rot with me...”

She was clearly angry, ready to release her vexation upon you but you had all the trump cards in your hands. You can only laugh at her face. What good would a dead body be without your proper approval?

You’ve always wondered why she wanted to switch that little bit of humanity you had left since you were a child, why she wanted to kill Gojo Satoru, and why she continued to taunt you in your dreams. She wanted you to cling onto her. She wanted you to make her your last hope, your god.

She wanted to live forever and continue her reign of terror.

It’s a shame you didn’t easily succumb to such things.

“So, what will it be, Mi-na-zu-ki?” you collect yourself, slowly standing up, “Are you going to kill me in this cave? Or do you want to gamble with me? If I give up and willingly give you my body on the way to find him, I’ll even let you keep it.”

You watch her nostrils flare, her vein pulsating as she flexes her fingers to a tight fist.

Everything comes to an end with you now.

taglist (had to remove ageless blogs sorry, i actually only noticed this now sike, if u wanna be back on the taglist, dont hesitate to send me a pm and tell me ur age <3);; @shokobuns​​​​​ ;; @aprosperlys​​​​​ ;;  @menacanela​​​​​​ ;; @shutuptenguu​​​​​​ ;; @imuziawi​​​​​​ ;; @senjuasuna​​​​​​ ;; ;; @jjkdilfs​​​​​​ ;; @kageyamakock​​​​​​ ;; @pjofics​​​​​​ ;; ;; @cowward​​​​​​ ;; @tsumuuwu​​​​​​ ;; @gojojogo​​​​​​  ;;  @fiona782​​​​​​  ;;  @hinaamaya​​​​​​ ;;  @taihjj​​​​​​ ;; @menacanela​​​​​​ ;;  @roione​​​​​​  ;; @kgojo​​​​​​   ;; @archonssun​​​​​​ ;; @gyubit17​​​​​​ ;; @cupieyeri​​​​​​ ;;  @enesitamor​​​​​​   ;; @lavandula-stuff​​​​​​ ;; @yuutaokkutsu​​​​​​ ;; @rogueofbullshit​​​​​​;; @kiyoojima​​​​​​  ;; @daiawritss​​​​​​ ;;  @cosmeti​​​​​​ ;; @wasurenagusaa​​​​​​​ ; @gomchan​​​​​​ ;; @rinnieroulette​​​​​​​ ;; @pissbbyai​​

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls. 

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods. 

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires. 

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past. 

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him. 

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places. 

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease. 

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone. 

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely. 

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-" 

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue. 

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you. 

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?" 

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium. 

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back. 

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..." 

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. 

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy. 

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 13: Filled emptiness (Part 3)

Warnings: addiction, mentions of murder

Author notes: here is part 3...! It is a quieter part compared to the previous one, I hope you’ll like it!

We went back early enough for me to take a small shower and trade my shirt for a clean one. The doctor wanted to meet me in front of the dorms at half past seven, which also allowed me to have breakfast. While I was getting prepared, Dazai had gone to his bedroom to rest, but I was convinced he had most certainly fallen asleep. He rarely did sleep, even when he felt exhausted, so I hoped he could at least close his eyes without becoming an easy prey for his nightmares. I took a deep breath and exited his apartment to start my day, which would be the first of my therapy, too. I had not slept at all, yet I felt more energised than ever, and determined to finally turn a page of my life to start anew.

As expected Yosano-sensei was there, easily recognisable by the peculiar hairpin in the shape of a butterfly she wore everyday. I walked towards her, and greeted her with my brightest smile.

"Good morning sensei…!"

"Ogawa…! Just on time…! Today—"

She stopped, then grabbed my chin to take a closer look at my face. She narrowed her eyes, annoyance clearly changing her expression.

"... Are you kidding me, Ogawa…?"

"W-Well…"

"You didn't sleep, did you?" She clicked her tongue "I refuse to start your treatment today. You'll only feel pain, and it won't help at all."

"I see… I should have expected as much…"

"It doesn't matter." She patted my shoulder lightly "You surely had something important to do… I still have something to show you, though…!"

"And I'm impatient to see what it is…!"

She took a couple of keys out of her pocket, then led me towards the door to an apartment. I first thought it was her place, but that guess was pushed aside the moment I saw the room was empty. With a smile, she showed me around, and I quickly understood what was happening.

"Is that… My future home…?"

"You're wrong." She corrected me "It's not your "future" home, it's your home from now on. The former resident has just left, so you can use it."

"But… I don't have enough money to rent it… I thought that was why I was still living at Dazai's…"

"Money isn't an issue since the Agency pays for us. It was simply a matter of freeing some space for you. And, at last, it happened…!" She exclaimed, rather proudly "Do you like it?"

"Do I like it…? I love it…!" I answered, wholeheartedly "I finally have a home… Ever since I was born, no place had ever felt so warm… I'm so glad, thank you, Yosano-sensei…!"

"I'm happy for you, then." She smiled "You already have a futon, and a table. You can add other furniture when you have enough money to buy some."

"Yes…! I can already picture a bookshelf right here… It would be filled with books… And a pillow too, to create a cosy reading space…" I imagined.

"That's not a bad idea." She agreed "Oh, and… Look inside the wardrobe."

I was curious, so I did just as she said and opened it, only to find a set of new and colourful clothes. There were a few identical white shirts, as well as a navy blue suit composed of a jacket and a pair of pants. I looked at the doctor, astonished.

"Sensei, I… That's so much… I can't accept it…"

"It's a late welcome gift to the Agency." She said softly "Your clothes are… Well, I'm not sure you can call them clothes anymore… This is a new life, you need some changes."

"Even so, they are so beautiful…"

"You also have a new pair of shoes at the entrance, although you were too amazed by the place to notice them." She chuckled "I'd also like to do something for your hair… But let's wait for that addiction  to go away first."

"I agree… I'll really be freed when morphine won't control my life anymore."

"That's right. For now, you should rest. Have some sleep, too. I'll see you tomorrow at the Agency for your treatment."

"Thank you again, sensei… Oh, and… I have a case, too… A request from a friend… I have to go to Hokkaido by the end of the week." I remembered.

"I see… Do you think you can handle this while following your therapy…? It might be too hard…"

"I want to be cured. And I can't go back on my word. Besides, it is rather urgent, since someone's life is at stake. I'll manage, somehow." I assured her.

"If you say so, I have no other choice but to trust you." She nodded "See you tomorrow at the Agency, we'll discuss the case and prepare for your departure."

"Yes, sensei…!" I smiled at her "See you tomorrow…!

As soon as I closed the door behind her, a feeling of relief and joy overwhelmed me. I had a new place… My own place, one I would call "home", where I would go back to, where I would hide from the world… Since I had been generously given a day off, I grabbed my keys, enjoying the light tinting sound they made between my fingers, and decided to head off. I at least needed to buy a teapot and a book to occupy my quiet day, before starting one of the toughest times of my life, my therapy. I had lived in the streets, killed people for the Port Mafia and had even merely escaped from death, yet separating myself from morphine seemed like an impossible challenge to overcome. The simple thought of not getting my injection anymore made me crave the sweet sensation provided by the product, and I immediately stopped in my tracks. After all, it would only start the next day… For the moment, I was still an addict and had the right to consume morphine. For the moment…

Once the drug was freely flowing in my vessels, I was ready to leave and go shopping. I also needed to fill my empty fridge, and Uemura-san's store seemed like the perfect place to spend my money. He knew me, and it would not be an issue to use the laundered money I had earned from the Port Mafia. From an illegal point of view, I was pretty rich, but it was money I could never use, except with a few rare people. The man welcomed me warmly, glad that I had finally settled down somewhere.

"And how is my disciple? I hope he takes good care of you." He said, scanning the price of my purchase.

"He does." I told him "He's too worried about me for my liking, but I suppose I can't help it… I'm touched, but…"

I sighed. I could not say it made me feel irrational when it came to Dazai…

"He can be pretty insistent." He shrugged "I think you remind him of his sister, that's why."

"His what…?" I frowned.

"He didn't tell you? Well… He had an older sister, back then… She was very kind, and lived absolutely unaware of her brother's activity. A nice girl, really…"

I took the bag he handed me.

"What happened to her?"

"She met a man. The wrong one. She went on a date with him and her body was discovered the next day. Her head, however… It was never found."

I felt a shiver running down my spine, then recalled the case. It was a famous one, I had heard about it, even in the Port Mafia. The culprit was a serial killer, and had never been arrested…

"He was only seventeen back then… A young teen with an incredible gift for his current activity… It left him with quite a trauma."

"I see… That serial killer…"

I clenched my fist. I was not one to work for justice, nor to defend Yokohama, but, somehow, it angered me that such an awful man was still running free in the world. Besides, since the case of the Fox's sister, many other headless female bodies had been found in our city… It was strange that the Agency and Ranpo-san had not already arrested the criminal… Maybe he had not been requested to work on the case, after all…

"Well, now, you may understand his behaviour better. Don't tell him that I told you." He winked.

"I won't." I promised "Oh, and, thanks for your advice. About cooking, I mean."

"Don't worry about that…!" He chuckled "I can't let you eat junk food everyday after all. Besides, if you want to start a new life, you've got to start by eating better…!"

"Still, thank you." I smiled "I'm very grateful that you support me so much… I'm not sure if I deserve your kindness… But I'll try to be worth it."

"You sought my support, and I am glad to give it to you." He patted my shoulder "Do your best. You're a good person, Ogawa."

"Thank you, Uemura-san… Thank you…"

It felt comforting to have someone who believed in me and in the fact I was able to redeem myself, somehow. I had never been a good person, and it was a lie to say that the Port Mafia had turned an innocent girl into a monster, for that beast had always lied dormant within me. However, being given a chance to be a better human was something I would forever be grateful for. We all had the right to change, after all…

When I came back to the dormitory, I instinctively walked towards Dazai's door, before remembering the reason I had gone out was to slowly inhabit my own place. Delighted, I inserted my key into the lock to open my door, and immediately relished in the quiet atmosphere of the room. Slowly, I removed my shoes and went to my fridge, feeling oddly satisfied as I placed the diverse vegetables and goods I had bought for the first time. I had never gone grocery shopping before… The only shop I had ever visited was an old pharmacy to buy morphine with a forged prescription. Even so, the pharmacist had never taken a look at the said prescription, too eager to chase an addict away from his store quickly, which explained why I had never lacked pain relievers despite leaving the Mafia. Truly, it felt… Normal.

Delicately, I unpacked the kettle Uemura-san had given me to celebrate my new place. With it, boiling water would be so much easier, and making tea would only take a blink. Five months ago, when I had just become a detective, I had decided to stop drinking alcohol whenever I needed a distraction from the world. Yosano-sensei had strongly warned me about the state of my liver, and I had decided to listen to her. Following her advice, I had discovered tea, which had then slowly replaced sake and whisky, although I still drinked alcohol from time to time. Immediately, I prepared a cup of tea, ready to relax for the rest of the day, before realising that I had forgotten to stop by the bookstore to buy the first book I would read in my new home. It was important to me, and I needed time to choose… Thus, I prepared to leave again, but when I opened the door, a small package had been placed in front of it, accompanied by a note.

"Welcome, neighbour!"

I giggled as I recognised Dazai's handwriting, and unwrapped the gift. It was a book, of course… The mystery I had been reading just the previous evening, and which I had yet to solve. That one would be the first book of my home, and it was not a bad thing that it was one I would continue. Because I now had a home, it did not mean I had to start everything anew… With a slight smile, I went back inside. Finally, I was ready to spend a relaxing day off, the last one before a series of troubles. Even so, I knew that everything would be fine, eventually.

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 005

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Well. It's time for the dance. Sigh. TW: Teenagers can be evil. Also head's up, light will be shined on an unhealthy relationship Evie is navigating. I won't get explicit with it, but we as readers are going to see red flags that our girl cannot see. Or is ignoring. Taglist open :)

Chapter 5: Skirt Safari

   Evie didn’t tell anyone she was going to a dance with Billy Hargrove for New Years. Just said some party in the city. Didn’t tell her mother. Not even Heather. 

   Floated through the holidays with her guitar on the porch swing.  Bundled up as snow fell. Little, perfect flurries. Open notebook next to her as she crossed her legs and exhaled into cold. Strumming idle tunes away from her mother’s indoor phone chatter.

   A car skidded up to Billy’s house. Day before the party. Tommy’s freckled face popped out of the driver’s side with Carol getting up too.

   “Hey, Fenny!” Tommy couldn’t resist prodding. “You stay on the nice list this year?”

   “Don’t spend all your coal in one place.” She set one leg down. Head cocking. Billy came out of his house shrugging a jacket on. He stopped to gawk at the snow. Let it fall into his curls. Rough and ethereal.

   “Let’s go.” He didn’t glance at Evie there as Tommy approached her porch steps. “Gimme the keys, I’m driving still.”

   “Little birdy told me you were gonna be around on New Years.” Tommy leaned against a brick post. A broad smile.

   “Oh, you guys are going too? That really makes me want to go.” Evie replied flatly. Billy smacked Tommy’s chest with a hiss at him.

   “I got shit to do. C'mon.” He warned, not wanting the annoying boy to ruin his chances here.

   “Don’t worry, Evie, I already have plans that night. I probably won’t be around that joint. I don’t qualify.” Carol’s bracelets clinked together when she swept her styled hair aside, undaunted by Billy's steel glaring. Tommy chuckled with her and Billy gave a growl low in his throat.

   “You take requests on that thing?” Tommy continued. “Got a song for me?”

   “Sure. How about this?” Evie straightened up. Strummed and tapped one foot to a beat.

  “Don't stand, don't stand so… Don't stand so close to me...” Evie flashed a smile and kept playing. “How’s that?” Tommy hitched to laugh until Carol hit his chest, tugging because she was over this conversation.

   Billy paused to smile at Evie there. Looking so pretty in the snow, it was criminal. Evie touched the strings to stop the flow of vibration.

   “She isn’t bad.” Tommy stumbled as Carol pulled him away.

   “Come on, you don’t even know what that song is about.” She peered back to glower at Evie. Lethal.

   “You see? I can’t sit on my own porch without being bothered.” Brown eyes lifted to Billy as she sat back to idly move the swing with one foot.

   “Never actually heard you sing.” Billy had observed instead, twisting the ring around his middle finger. No compliment or insult followed him back down the steps. Evie plucked a few cords, watching him go. 

   Billy wrestled Tommy for the driver’s seat. Won. Skidded off to raise hell somewhere else. 

   It was a clock ticking down each lazy hour as her secret hung in the air. Heather parents stole their daughter away to the Holloway's lavish cabin for a family New Years Party which took the heat off the lie.

   Evie spent the whole day preparing in her bedroom. Tossed dress after dress upon her bed like she cared what Billy Hargrove thought. Decided on something short and maroon. Sleeves just above her elbows and a slight poof to the little skirt. Gave her waist a little pull and didn’t make her cleavage look half bad. Matched her nails and lip color too.

   Makeup spread all over her dresser. Glittery gold shadow with a smoky haze. The dress was a metallic foil maroon, seemed fun enough for New Years. Big hoops and a necklace completed her look. Evie hurried to grasp a jacket before Billy could come to her door.

   “I’m going to a New Years thing mom, I’ll be safe.” She called on the way out.

   “Have fun, baby!”

   “I will.” Evie sprayed amber perfume and was lotioning her hands rushing out of the house. Almost bumped into Billy on the doorstep ready to knock. His eyes narrowed.

   “You didn’t tell anyone.”

   “Bet you didn’t either. Do your parents know?” She slipped her jacket on. Billy blew smoke in response. He seemed annoyed today which did nothing for her nerves. “So, I put on a dress...don’t get me murdered.”

   The joke seemed to go over him.

   “Well, let’s go.” He turned and went toward his car, stunning in the cold and twice and rude. “Let’s just get this shit going.” A cigarette hit the pavement.

   Evie didn’t move.

   “Are you alright?” She asked slower.

   “I just want to get there.” Billy snapped. “C’mon.”

   “Listen, I really don’t have to go anywhere if you’re going to be an ass the entire time.” She crossed her arms and Billy flared up. “I spent hours getting ready for this stupid thing. This stupid thing that you pestered me to go to!”

   His shoulder dropped.

   “Hours, huh.” Billy came around and opened the door for her. “We can’t waste that.”

   The charm reeled back.

   Evie stood unmoved.

   “Look, I just got into it with my old man. Wasn’t you.” Billy explained. “You lost the bet, Angel.”

   “I did.” She sighed and crossed to get in. He shut the door and joined her. Turned the music down when it blared. “What’s this bar called?”

   “The Dogfight.”

   “Charming.” Evie stuffed a tiny wallet into the bodice of her dress. Billy eyed her chest. “Watch the road, Hargrove.”

   “You spent hours getting ready for me.” He mused, rubbing his chin. “I like when a girl admits it.”

   “And how long did it take you to get this hair just right?” She reached and tugged at a curl as he’d done with her so many times. He’d doused himself in that sex cologne he liked so much. A red shirt opened and tucked into the tightest jeans he could have picked out. Leather jacket again today. “We both wore maroon.”

   “Looks more wine on you.” He fussed at that.

   “Just saying.” Evie broke to smile. “I meant it, don’t get me murdered.”

   “We get in, we snag some drinks, we get out. The streets are going to be chaos; it should be fun.” Billy turned onto the main roads. Sped beyond all the other cars.

   “I’m not letting you drive drunk.”

   “A motel is always an option for me, sweet cheeks.” Billy clicked his tongue.

   “With two beds, ponyboy.” She only grinned, undaunted. “I lost a bet, not all my morals.”

   Billy laughed, picking up speed.

   “We can loosen those up tonight.”

** ** **

   “What do you drink, Angel, an appletini?” Billy dragged Evie into a dark lit bar. Pink and yellow lights shooting all directions. Metallic streamers hanging and swaying with the dancers already smashed on the floor. Evie looked down at his hand as he peered around and brought her all the way to a corner table near the window.

   Even settled a menu on the other side like they might be hiding behind it.

   "Something with a little pink umbrella?" He continued, eyes on the window. Drunks sang along the streets in their party clothes. 

   “Try whiskey. I’m going to need one for this.” She caught Billy’s head whipping around. “Who are you looking for?”

   “No one, I-fuck!” The gorgeous boy lost all composure and skidded out of his chair when a bare ass pressed the window. Evie gasped and covered her eyes, pouty lips slack. Kind of enjoyed Billy losing his cool. “Asshole!” Music overlapped the chaos. Tommy fucking H howled with laughter on the other end, pulling his pants up.

   "Fuck." Billy sank back into his chair. "Shithead."

   Tommy swaggered in still laughing, had a woman on his arm that wasn’t Carol.

   She was clearly older, wrinkled and fatigued. Maybe forty. Wearing a tight purple lace number that was not keeping her warm or fitting correctly. Jean jacket. Fishnets. Smudged makeup. Big beehive hairstyle. She smelled like sweet pineapple and chain smoked her teeth brown and broken.

   Billy and Evie exchanged looks because she was also clearly a lady of the night.

   “Tommy...who is your new friend?” Billy asked slower. All teeth.

   “Her name’s Bubbles.” Tommy was shorter than her in those heels. Head on her shoulder with the cheesiest grin. “She’s a real winner.”

   “Charmed, handsome.” The woman rasped and reached for Billy’s hand then Evie’s. “Like the shadow, sweetie, it suits you.”

   “Thank you,” she blushed. “I like your beetle hairpin.”

   “We’re going to hit the dance floor,” Tommy scanned Evie, “good to see you here, Fenny.”

   “Right.” She glanced at Billy as they left. “What was that about?”

   “He’s drunk. Probably sad about some dumb shit with Carol, they’ll be screwing again before school starts.” Billy said that quicker than intended. A light bulb went off in his head. “Drinks. Wait here.”

   “Thanks.” Evie recognized teens from her school and rivals.

   “Fenny!” A couple football players spotted her inside. Poked until the window tilted open. “What’s a pretty girl doing in this dump?”

   “Our girl who brought Tannen down a couple pegs.” 

   Questionable Hawkins High Fame.

   “Just enjoying New Years.” Evie giggled there fiddling with her nails.

   “If someone messes with you, let the guys know, we’re down the block. That bar on the corner.” They started off. 

   “Will do, boys.” She jilted when Billy smacked a drink down, sitting. “Thank God.”

   “He ain't here. Thank me." Billy leaned over to see her. Crossed his arms as she drank. "You don’t party this hard?”

   “We snuck into a bar, did you even get carded?”

   “Told you, no one cares.” He gulped his own glass down. “Stop worrying.”

   Evie just drank more in response.

   "You established I only go to lame high school parties." Evie paused to see him. "Kind of waiting for a rain of pig's blood here. I guess I actually want a good night."

   "I wouldn't say it's asking a lot." Blue eyes went to the table, paint chipping away from wood. There was an uneasy beat before he softened. “Another? It’s open for the party. Free shit even after twelve.”

   “Please.” She followed him this time. Felt the burn in her throat as they leaned there together. "So, why-?"

   “Hey, Fenny.” Brock Tannen’s sculpted face craned over her shoulder. Billy tensed, jaw twitching. “Boy, am I shocked to see you here. With Keg King Billy Hargrove. Apply enough heat and even the ice queen melts. Must be a Cali boy thing.”

   “You’d be about Antarctica.” Evie replied. He only smiled. Eyes shifted to Billy.

   “Hope you stick around to midnight, have fun you two.” Brock pulled a girl off with him, staring at him like he was a pot of gold at the end of a spring rainbow. Little blonde with some acne scars she tried to cover with make-up. An eyeshadow look in blue to match her dress that must have taken hours to perfect. Two missing teeth in her mouth. Skin and bone thing. Young looking.

   “Asshole.” They said at the same time. Tension broke. Billy chuckled and she peered in the direction Brock had gone into.

   “Did you see that girl with him?”

   “No, who?” Billy scratched the back of his neck. Kept looking around.

   “Ah, nothing.” Evie brought the glass to her lips again and sipped. Screens all over this bar and the city played the party in New York. Commotion in the streets marked with loud party goers. “So, what’s there to do before midnight hits?”

   “Whatever the fucking fuck hell we want.” Billy tapped his glass to hers and downed it. Relished the burn.

   “You like to swear.”

   “No, I like to drink.” He corrected, offering her a menu. “Eat something.”

   “We gotta pay for food.”

   “I’m buying, I invited you.” Came a shrug. “Pick some shit out.”

   “You want food, honey pie?” A man flocked over.

   “Damn right, I do.” Evie peered at Billy. Amused. “I’ll take the fucking chicken tenders with a side of bitching fries.”

   “Ketchup?” They were writing, amused because she was cute even still.

   “Fuck yes. Um, please.” She gestured to Billy with his jaw slack open. “And who knows what this asshole wants.”

   “Blondie?”

   “Ah...I’ll just have another drink. Fucking beer.” He batted his lashes.

   “Wonderful.” The man slid off snickering. 

   “What was that, Fenny?”

   “I swear, but not like you. It sounded like fun to try it out.” She covered her lips to giggle. “Why didn’t you get food? We’re drinking and it’s going to be a long night.”

   “Long night, you say? So, you want to stick around for the whole party.”

   “I put on a dress and makeup. People are going to see me and the effort I made.” She set her jaw on her chin. “Avoided the question.”

   “I only had enough cash for one meal. Rest is if we need the motel.”

   “Billy, you should have said something! I have a few bucks on me somewhere.” Evie frowned when he got his beer.

   “Doesn’t matter, you’re probably a lightweight. Get food in your stomach before you down more free whiskey.” He brushed it off quickly, blue eyes on the windows. Evie’s food came and she slid it between them.

   “It’s hot, have some. Don’t make me feed you, I won't be my mother..” She pressed and pouted until Billy snagged a piece of chicken. They shared the basket, licking warm fingers clean. Billy took the thumb he licked and fixed her lipstick, earning a snort of protest.

   “Ick.” She cocked her head away, amused. “Thanks, mom.”

   “You know, it took me ages to place that tiny accent you got. But, it’s so Louisiana. Mona rubbed off on you.” Billy pointed when Evie had gotten a new drink.

   "It's not."

   “Let’s get air, I think some idiot is setting off fireworks in the street.” They got up to get away from the crowds. Evie noticed the odd couples. Scanned before Billy was pulling at her wrist through the mess of dancing bodies. Cool air chilled her pink cheeks as they got down the block to pause. Billy sighed and set one foot on the brick behind him to light up.

   “Don’t have an accent," Evie picked up again, "that’s all mom.”

   “Born and bred in Louisiana, it’s sticking to you too.” Billy offered the smoke.

   “Not good for the singing voice.” She declined so he puffed again. Groups were already tossing balloons and confetti about. Bar hopping from club to club. Evie pulled her coat closer. “I don’t have an accent. You have one, west coast.”

   Billy watched her look up at the few stars that decided to come out over the city. 

   “I haven’t been to California. Been to Vegas a couple times. All the women in my family descend upon that city every few years and I always had to tag along. Not much for me to do but look at the lights.”

   “My dad says Vegas is full of swindlers and whores.”

   “He strikes me to think that about most places.” She chuckled and Billy agreed, stepping on the butt of his cigarette. “This your first time out here?”

   “Yeah.” He sucked in some air, tongue sweeping his lip.

   “Hargrove's never been to New Orleans. I bet you’d like the food, it’s unreal.”

   “You haven’t had the food in Cali.” Billy quipped, scooting in next to her to see the sky that had her so enamored. “Never really have to deal with the fucking cold.”

   “I always wondered how you stayed warm in those clothes.” Evie’s giggle cut the second he pressed into her.

   “I just tuck in next to a warm girl, Fenny, it isn’t rocket science.” A breath touched the air and Evie felt herself spark. Saw those same stars glittering brighter within Billy’s eyes. A distant shore calling them both home. 

   Evie felt those flower petals whirling around her stomach like butterfly wings. Burrowing deep to bloom with new life inside her. Vibrant colors she hid from the world spinning to unfurl. Billy looked into her soul and saw the colors dance neon. Wind picked up their curls with gentle caresses. A pull of vines and thorns bubbled up too. Twisted every way to protect Evie in the only way they knew how. 

   She could feel Billy’s chest heaving with air. Hard and flush into her skin, stealing warmth. Admiring the echo of lights behind her brown eyes. If she opened her mouth, a rose might blossom on her tongue. Billy wondered about tasting it for himself. He dared to inch in and she spun out.

   “It’s a nice night. Beautiful.”

   “Let’s get a beer to go take a hike from this place. We’ll make it back before the ball drops.” Billy figured he could just keep her from the main party and she wouldn’t notice the odd couplings within. They delved in and out of bars. Watched the mayhem in the streets. Even caught a totally illegal race or two. Sparklers on every corner underscored by laughter and jeers.

   “What’s next for you, after school?”

   “Save money to hightail it out of here. See the beach again and get a shitty job.” Billy gulped, licking his lips after. “You going to college?”

   “Probably just the local community college, more focused on my songs. My mom and I keep trying to put it out there. Something’s holding me back.” Evie saw him peer at her to continue as they clicked along the cool sidewalks. Decorations scattered all over the buildings and streets. “What if these big time producers don’t like them? My songs. I mean, what if they tell me I’m no good?” She paced ahead to ramble. “I just don’t think I can take that kind of rejection.”

   “So, you find some asshole who wants to put you on the radio.” Billy chuckled. “You had entire albums on your walls. You want it bad, chica.”

   “What about you?” Evie gestured with the bottle. “What secret hobbies and talents does Billy Hargrove hide away?”

   “I care about my car and that’s about as deep as I go, Angel.” He winked, tossing his empty into the trash so she finished her own and followed. Swallowed the froth down. Evie hurried to nudge into him.

   “C’mon. You’re a good enough student. I see the grades you get in our classes.”

   “All to keep my old man off my shit. Not like that works.” Billy stopped at a crosswalk, settled his hand on the bar so Evie slipped under it to lean there and make him look at her. He couldn't help the smirk at this playful side.

   “Who will I tell?”

   “Heather, most likely.” Came the quick reply.

   “I don’t tell her everything,” Evie trailed off with her eyes wandering, a sly smile pressed, “I sing, sew, play the guitar, and collect little trinkets. Buttons. Rocks and crystals. Old coins and keys. Little vintage ceramic and porcelain figures. And I needle felt.”

   “What’s that?”

   “You stab wool with a special needle until it makes a pretty shape. You probably caught a few things in my room. On the bookcase.”

   “You’re a hoarder.”

   “I’m very organized.” Evie giggled as they crossed the street. In their own little bubble, ignoring all the festivities around them. 

   “What can’t you do?”

   “I can bake alright, but it's messy. Not a great cook. I’m hopeless, my mother gave up trying with me. I also can’t get my leg behind my head. But, I’m close.” Her joke brought a full laugh out of him. Angelic sort of sound. “I’m serious.”

   “You’ll have to demonstrate, I don’t believe it.” Billy stood in front of her, walking still and chuckling as he went.

   “Fat chance.” Her heels picked up to get beside him. They passed a window full of TVs and stopped to see all the parties playing within each screen. “You ever think the world is too big? We don't have enough time to experience all of it, I mean.”

   Billy only puffed.

   “So, what can you do?” Evie pressed again.

   “I can cook alright. I don’t know, I just do good in school because the shit’s never been hard on me. Used to surf,” he glanced at her, “back in Cali.”

   “I’m not a strong swimmer.” Evie said, looking up at him and the lights playing on his stunning face. Followed the curve of his jaw down his neck. “You know, Heather lifeguards at the pool every summer. She’d help you get a gig if you need a job when school is out. Probably prefer you over the other jerks that apply.”

   “Not as bad as the other jerks, I like that.” Billy mused, eyes flicking all around. Caught in stars again. “Hey, there’s the LA bash. Miss that shit. Music scene raged pretty hard.” The way he smiled melted Evie all the way to the pavement. Billy standing there lax and missing home. Displaying his own lush colors. Dreaming and feral.

   “You’re always writing in class when you’re not drawing dicks in textbooks.” Evie observed, earning an amused look in response. “Do you like that stuff? Stories?”

   “My mom used to say I told better stories than she did. I’d tell her them to help her sleep.” Billy admitted, blinking a couple times before the illusion shattered and he went stony again. Paced around Evie to continue.

   “You could write books, get more into English. Make some money being an author. Sell stories to the big screen.”

   “Burn out and go broke, sure.” Billy lit up another cigarette, gave this entertained puff. His wall went up higher and Evie stayed too soft. “End up teaching some snots like that jerk, Bowers.”

   “He’s not a jerk.”

   “Not to the girls in class.” Billy flicked his ashes. “Probably likes you and Carol fighting for his attention.”

   “We don’t…” Evie went red as an apple. “I don’t. Carol’s just jealous of the attention he gives me.”

   “Still weird. She hates that you’re a teacher’s pet. Don’t know why you’d want to be.” Smoke edged from his lips.

   “It’s nice when someone is respectful once in a while to a girl like me. When they listen, you know?” Evie held herself as they walked along a bit slower. “He respects me and what I have to say.”

   “Shouldn’t trust someone just because they’re being nice to you, Evie.” Billy had this distant expression when he said that. Full of ocean waves rolling into a peaceful shore.

   "Nice is still better than..." She never finished and Billy didn't ask her to.

   They peered at all the buildings illuminated before them. The skyscrapers pointing straight to heaven. Music boomed from several clubs, mingling all the celebrations together. 

   “Want to head back? Get another hard drink.”

   “I’d like that.” She admitted, shuffling some. 

   “Move it, Fenny, free alcohol doesn’t happen every day for us.” Billy snatched her by the hand, picked up the pace until they were both laughing and out of breath. Reeling around drunk groups of friends to squeeze back up to the bar. 

   The hard notes of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear us Apart” began after the second round. Evie was swaying already as they stood at the corner of the bar counter. 

   “Do you dance, Angel?” Billy cocked his head.

   “Sometimes. If I’m supposed to be onstage one day, I have to.” She giggled, bubbling and pink like champagne. “You?”

   “Fuck, no. Just bounce around and smash into people at concerts.”

   “That counts!” Her voice picked up over the ruckus. People dressed in glitter and metallic moved together above a floor that lit up. Gave the place an opulent vibe.

   “You look like you want to get out there!” Billy leaned toward her. The third round came.

   “We don’t have to!” Evie was pressed all the way into him. Both shouting at each other out of necessity. A pulse pounded their flesh apart. Jackets were left on a chair next to Tommy and his date.

   Billy sank his drink in one go so Evie followed.

   “I asked you here, I’ll ask you to dance if I want!”

   “Fine!”

   “Fine!” Billy echoed, sweeping Evie by the waist out with him. Bodies swayed all directions. Smashed them even closer together. Curls bounced. 

   Evie got swept up in the lights dancing on her skin. Blue and red glows now. She let her head tip back and moved with Billy there. He watched her intently, felt the whole world slow. Smiled brighter than he should have. Hot and sparking. 

   Electric and dreamy. Fizzling neon in their hungry veins. Bodies heating and sweaty. Nothing mattered in these lights though, something freeing there.

   Didn’t even care that it was fucking Cyndi Lauper blasting.

  “Girls just wanna have fun!” Evie sang along. She came alive under these glimmers in the crowds. Like she was the only one there. Every song change, they banged to each beat and never seemed to tire of it. 

   And then the mood tipped. Tempered with that damn Foreigner song about love. Billy and Evie stilled with it. Looked out at the couples coming together for a slow dance. 

   “Uh,” Evie swallowed harder and tucked some unruly curls behind her ear, “did you want to…?”

   “We’re doing this fucking party right. You asked for two things. A good night and no murder, I can manage that much.” Billy stole her forward. He tried to blame the alcohol. 

   Dipped a palm around the small of her back to bring her into his chest. Inches shorter, her eyes popped open. Lips parted with no words in sight. The alcohol in their bellies caught fire. He grabbed her hand and she laced their fingers without a thought about it. It was bold, how he touched her and Evie wasn't used to that.

   “There ya go. Just sway some.”

   Evie pressed her lips and broke that eye contact because it was turning her back to mush. Stared at the saint chain around Billy's neck. There was a pleasant glisten upon his taut chest from sweat. She got drunk off his stupid cologne. Let him inhale her perfume in turn. Boiling amber gleaming to stunt all his senses. Hint of sweet vanilla lotion.

   Unabashed, Billy pressed into her body. Not thinking she took up too much space or she wasn’t desirable. No, Evie Fenny was perfectly covetable. With her batting lashes and lights highlighting a glow upon her high cheeks. They swayed together between couples so Evie brought her arm over his shoulder. Gathered the bravery to see his eyes again, already looking at her face.

   “Billy,” Evie curled her fingers into his shirt, “why am I here?"

   “Because I asked you.” Billy spun her around under all the stars and streamers. 

   “Why’d you ask me?” She searched him. Saw his eyes flicker beyond her a couple times.

   “Because I wanted to, Evie.”

   “Why’d you want to?” Her tone etched into him, gentle as she could with another change of songs. Something older from the 70s by Kate Irving. Her little voice filling the space around them. 

   Billy just kept spinning Evie there at the center of the floor and they looked at each other without even getting dizzy. Let the world tilt while they stayed static. Silence crept and it was stunning.

  I'm afraid 'cause it feels too good

  And I want it too bad

   “Because you called me pretty.” Billy winked that time. Devilish. “At that party on Loch Nora.”

   “When we yelled at each other?” Evie felt the tension break and spill out. “I said your eyes were pretty.”

   “Same thing.”

  I never dreamed someone like you

  Could want someone like me

   Her head came to his collar when she laughed that time. The heart under his skin picked up. 

   “Evie.” Billy pressed then so she came up. The syllables died on his tongue. “We’re here and I like it. So, it doesn’t fucking matter.”

   “No, I guess not.” She let herself smile into his skin when her head dropped again. A slight giggle. “I like it too.”

   “Good.” Billy hit that word hard. They spun and spun to the flow of sound and lights. Drank it all in. Until it was seconds to midnight. Couples were stilling to count. 

   Billy looked at Brock raising his drink across the way.

   Twenty seconds.

   He peered down at Evie when her eyes lifted to see him. 

   Just one kiss, he could have stolen it.

   And he couldn’t do it. 

   Their hands dropped away. Evie smiled at the scene. Everyone celebrating the birth of this new year. It felt magical. Too good to let flutter away.

   Billy just looked at her and Evie breathed.

   It happened too fast.

   Soft hands on his jaw while she came to her toes and gave him one peck upon his lips. So inordinate in sweetness that Billy felt his eyes water.

   Instantly she slipped back down. Still beaming brighter than any star this night.

   A thank you for every single smile he’d painted upon her face in these short hours. For his boldness and his touch without fear.

   A kiss where there were no thorns for the first time in all her life.

   Billy had never been given such a kiss. It was gift wrapped. Something so signature for him from this girl. This girl he decided he liked to be around. He gasped the moment she let him go. Caught Brock laughing all the way across the room.

   “No.” He said. Crushed somehow.

   “No?” Evie’s head cocked in confusion.

   “Happy New Year!” Echoes and fireworks blasted. Everyone jumping up and down while Billy and Evie remained still as marble. Locked into each other.

   "Ah, I mean..." With midnight gone, Billy pulled her in. Decided to make this one count.

   Palms cupped Evie’s face. Brought her back with the slightest gasp he drank down. Kissed her full on the mouth like he'd been thinking about it all night. Billows of shiny confetti fell over them. Stuck to hair and clothing. Caught on flushed cheeks. Even tickled the kiss and made them laugh into it. Evie held his wrists, tried to remain steady until she had to part and angle to go back in.

   “Why?” She hitched the hot word against him.

   “Because I want to.” Billy uttered, mouth open just a little to coax her back in.

   This candied confetti kiss she’d remember forever. And the beautiful boy who opened his heart just enough to share it with her. Evie shined at him when she drew out enough to see his eyes. Billy’s thumbs drew shapes into her cheeks. 

   A finger had to playfully swipe a bit of caught confetti from her bottom lip so he could taste her again. Utterly divine.

   Evie’s arms slipped around his neck. Pulled.

   “Let’s get out of here,” Billy spoke between kisses. “Yeah? Let’s just go somewhere.”

   Her lashes fluttered at him. Same sensation drew up her stomach before she was nodding.

   “Okay.” Nerves crept. Billy smacked their lips together one last time. Like he wanted her and only her for the rest of this night. “I have to, um...restroom.”

   “I’ll grab our coats.” Billy’s hands brought hers down. Held them. He seemed in a hurry. “Meet me at the door. We’ll go.”

   Evie floated off into the wave of bodies so Billy sped to Tommy’s table. Bubbles must have excused herself too.

   “Man, you tongued, Fenny. It was actually kinda hot.” Tommy raised his hand for a high five that was ignored. “I won the pot, you know.”

   “You paid that girl.” Billy snatched their coats up.

   “Yeah, no one has to know that. Don’t get me disqualified.” Tommy leaned over. A hand clapped Billy on the back.

   “I’m so impressed. She kissed you, man. Whatever you did, I want that power.” Brock laughed loudly. “She was all over you, and that bit after midnight. Poor girl. Thinking anyone would ever-”

   “Man, just shut up.” Billy shoved to pass him. "Let's just forget this shit ever happened."

   “Oh, no, B. I don't think we will. You probably just want your reward. You earned it.” The horrible boy made it a point to count each bill carefully until he pressed it at Billy’s chest. “Good work. Maybe you can get a blowy out of her before you drop her off at home. My date’s good for one too before I call her a taxi.”

   Billy shoved the money into his pocket. Felt like trash. Eyes anywhere else.

   “Whatever, man.”

** ** **

   At the same time, Evie stumbled to the sink and washed her hands. Cloud nine. Sang to herself out of habit.

  “Oh, but anyone...who knows what love is…” She looked at that reflection. This breathless, kiss smothered girl who was grinning. Happy. Dabbed under her eyes to fix the makeup with a cold paper towel. “...would understand.”

   “Pretty pipes you got there, sweetie pie.” The scratching voice called before a stall opened. Tommy’s date. “Nice night, huh?”

   “The best.” Evie was still dancing in a dream, showered in confetti.

   “Wasn’t as bad as I thought. Free meal. Pretty guy who treats you right for a night. Not a bad gig. Not at all.” The lady came to the mirror. Washed her hands and started to apply some extra make up. “Stupid name though. Skirt Safari.”

   “What?” Evie’s head cocked. Hip leaning into the sink.

   “Oh, baby. You should open those big eyes.” The woman puckered up and put a lipstick into her tiny clutch. “Tommy told me everything. Tradition. These boys bring a date. The ugliest girl gets them the win and they get some money. Stupid high school thing. And I won. Tommy said I’d get a bonus for that.”

   “They…” Evie felt her entire heart sink. The vines and their thorns wrapped tighter around her heart until it bled. Like it never wanted to be touched again. “Wait, Billy…he...we-” No breath came into her lungs, it was all punched out. Ruthless and swift.

   “The world is unkind to us, sweets.” Bubbles sighed at her reflection. “We have to find that kindness where we can. While we can. Just enjoy it because you never know what the next day will bring. Husbands who like to hit. Women who walk out on their babies.”

   “It’s not fair.” Evie tremored there. Unable to move so Bubbles gave her cheek a pat.

   “I know. But, we don’t let them see they’ve beaten us down. Do we?” Bubbles smiled at her without fear in her heart. And it was tragic because no one cared about her strength, all they saw was how she looked. “My ma always said to be brave and kind. Not everyone’s parents give that advice. But, they should. Be a better world.”

   “My mom says that also.” Evie’s fists closed. Passionate tears sprang to be blinked away. “I really hope the world is kind to you tomorrow too.”

   The woman paused. Gave this fluttered smile when her eyes watered. Evie was marching away from her. Shoving through the crowds where Billy stood with Brock and Tommy. 

   Billy saw her expression and she caught fire.

   “Skirt Safari, huh,” Evie shoved him into the bar, ripped her coat from his arms. Billy just gave this opened mouth look of horror. She laughed cruelly and Brock joined her, tugging some of his friends to see. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

   “It wasn’t like that.” Billy pushed up.

   “No, Evie, he’s right. Your boy didn’t take you because you’re ugly.” Brock was still chortling, holding his stomach. “Three hundred bucks to get him to take the Hawkins Ice Queen. And you were so easy, girl. We all took notes.”

   “Shut up!” Billy had snapped.

   “You didn’t disappoint, he was supposed to kiss you before midnight. But, you earned him the win all on your own!” They clapped and laughed at her there. Evie shook and growled. Shoulders raised. Cackling hyenas.

   “Three hundred, wow.” Calming, brown eyes snapped to Billy. “You should have held out. Tannen hates me so much, I bet you could have gotten five. Maybe seven.”

   “She’s right, man!” 

   “Evie, it-”

   “You’re all disgusting!” She swept her hand out. Came to Billy’s face. Her tone thickened, but she didn’t cry. Not one drop for any of them. Vibrating so hard with fury that her hand came up. Billy saw it. Waited. Didn’t flinch the way he did at home. Figured he deserved this one.

   Silence drowned the boys behind her.

   “I want to hit you,” she let her lip wobble, “you know why I’m not. You know.”

   “Evie.” Billy had nothing. Nothing to give her. Nothing to make her stop shaking.

   “You’re all horrible. Disgusting, pieces of shit. Bet Tannen gave you an earful about me. Fuck you both.” Evie leaned out, looked around. “You know, I don’t care why I’m here. What’s awful is every stunning woman you animals brought here will always deserve more than the world can ever give them. You’re the fucking beasts.”

   She tore away to go outside. Marched through all the jubilation. Steaming.

   “Evie!” Billy was running after her. Yanking at her wrist after she got her coat on.

   “Don’t touch me!” A shriek had him skidding backwards. 

   “Let me fucking explain this.”

   “Nothing to explain. Brock paid you to thaw the ice queen. Jokes on you! I’m not even a virgin! I’m not a prize, I’m not anything to you.” She shoved him again because he kept grabbing at her. Trying to slow her down.

   “Let me drive you home.” Billy insisted. “Let me get you home safe. I won’t even talk. Hate me forever. Evie, wait, damn it!”

   “Leave me alone!” Her scream sparked some attention. She got colder. Sneered at his eyes. “You’re not worth it, Billy.”

   Something about that struck an arrow to his heart.

   "You talked all this shit about fire's starting and getting out and I..." She hitched to get lower. "I trusted you. I believed it, you made me believe it...you're disgusting." A scream perched in her throat, but never left.

   "Just let me-"

   "No! I don't have to listen to any of this, so just leave me alone!" Evie kept pushing back at him.

   “Hey, hey, back off the lady!” Those football players from Hawkins were descending. Grasping Billy by the arms. “Hargrove bothering you?”

   “Yes!” Evie shot out, eyes on Billy’s face. “He’s bothering me!”

   “Let go of me!” Billy struggled so Evie began to run. As far and as fast as she could until she couldn’t hear him anymore. Fireworks banged over their heads. Exploding to rain down. 

   Her chest seized so she went to the first payphone she saw. Dialed a number she shouldn’t have.

   “Mmm, yes? Who is this?”

   “I know you said not to call, I need you. Can you pick me up?” Evie shut her eyes so tight. One tear fell. “Please.”

   A sigh.

   “Evie? What happened? Where are you?”

   Evie finished the call. Went into an alley so Billy wouldn’t find her. Waited there in the cold. Tried to hide from the pretty explosions in the sky. 

   They rang too loud upon her ears. Started to sound like thunder. Evie shut her eyes. Began to rock. Felt out of her skin and trapped in it at the same time. No control. Nothing. Just an ache while the vines crushed her heart. Hands covered her ears.

   A lighter palm touched her shoulder.

   “Evie.”

   “Fredrick.” She reeled up. Tossed herself into his arms. Sobbed so hard and betrayed herself. 

   “Hey, hey. I got you.”

   “Can we go? Can we go home?” She wept, ruining his shirt with makeup and glitter. “Can you take me to your place? I didn’t...I didn’t tell my mom where I was. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want anyone to know.”

   Bowers was already buckling her into the car. Evie curled up under his coat when he offered it. The air conditioning calmed her some until she was biting her fist to stop the flow. Blood welled under teeth.

   “What happened?”

   Evie sniffled.

   “They...They all laughed at me.” 

** ** ** 

  Curls ruffled out on a towel that smelled of pine an hour later. Feet padded out of the bathroom. Evie in a soft grey robe. Cloth dragged upon the floor until she saw Fredrick in bed. Seated up with little reading glasses to mark some papers down. Handsome.

   “You really won’t tell me what all happened?” He mused.

   “Just some stupid boys.” Evie played with the tie at her waist. “You told me to go out with a stupid boy my age. Remember? At the end of summer. After everything I let you do to me. Did...Did you get bored of me? Was that it?”

   "No, Evie. You don't understand."

   "You told me we had to stop, why did we start?"

   “I remember.” He sighed, settling his work aside. “It was for the best. I thought. You're all I think about, did you know that? I want to be with you, but there are rules in place. They don't believe what we have can overcome.”

   Wearing nothing but some boxers and a clean, white tee. His feet touched the floor before he rubbed his head.

   “You still look so good in my robe.” He sounded bashful when he said that. Eyes drinking her in and averting. "You're all sin, Evangeline."

   She shuffled. Shy. Uneasy. Ignoring it.

   “Used to say that a lot.” Evie pressed her lips up.

   “And I mean it every time.”

   “I meant what I said...before summer ended. You remember that too?”

   “You know I do, Evie.” Fredrick rubbed his eyes. Swept his hair between those soft fingers. Evie crossed to him.

   “We were together the year. You weren’t my first, but you were the first man I ever loved. We spent all of that summer together and you told me we had to stop. Out of the blue. You talked of us running away from this place and getting married and it hurt me.”

   “I’m your teacher. If people found out about us... They'd never understand.”

   “You waited a year to stop us. Why kiss me if you knew we'd end? I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my best friend.” Evie reached out. Touched his shoulder. “You miss me and I miss you.”

   “I’m weak for you, Evie. You know that.” Fredrick let her climb into his lap. “You’re so different and special. Not like other girls. You heard me. You listen to me.”

   “I want to be with you. And I said I loved you, but you…”

   "What if I said I loved you? Huh? Those boys don't matter, a girl like you needs someone mature to match." He pecked her cheek. "I do love you."

   Evie's resolve melted. He shut out the red lights. Burned her thorn covered vines. Words held power because we gave the syllables a charge.

   And all Evie Fenny could put out into the world was lightning.

   "You do?"

   He smiled. Her prince. Braving so much to be with her. Wasn't that magical?

   "How many boys have seen you like this?" Fredrick asked in a peculiar way. Charged.

   Evie bit her lip. Couldn't look anymore. Didn't answer the question.

   “I was scared of us.” He soothed now. “I should never have let you go. I’m always going to want the best for you, Evangeline. I hope you believe that. I’ll take care of you now, but you have to let me.”

   Evie leaned in. Kissed him lightly. Wondered how Billy would have touched her in that motel room if they made it. How he'd feel in return.

   "Will you let me?" Fredrick pressed. Wanting all the control she clawed to keep for herself in this skin and marrow. Devouring her without shame or remorse because he was older and knew best.

   But, nice was better.

   Evie had nothing. Head full of static. Body pulsing against her will. She wanted to scream. She wanted to eat more flower petals. A man loved her and she felt ugly and blaring. Out of control. No longer held to this world. Is that how it should feel?

   “Okay."

   His chest heaved like the sun might have just come out.

   "Can we go to bed now?” She pecked his cheek. Felt his hands going under the robe to open it.

   Wordlessly, Fredrick Bowers reached and turned the lamp off. The blaring in Evie's head never ended that night.

   Darkness loomed to snuff out every star.

~~~~~~~

Next up, we learn how the rest of Billy's night went. It's been an odd week. Thanks for reading :) Feel free to chat. TAGGED::: @80sbxtch​ @nottherightseason​  @orxhidshavana​​  @alagalaska​​ @alongcamedolly​​

[nitewrighter]

Can we get some fluffy/steamy Spiderbyte featuring Widowmaker's Black Lily dress? I could see it becoming one of Sombra's favorites

Arrrgh this has been sitting in my inbox since literally last Lunar New Year because I wanted to write it but couldn’t really come up with anything beyond “Widowmaker… Hot” at the time…like all my spiderbyte prompts I didn’t really have the heart to delete it though. But with Lunar New Year and Femslash February once again upon us, and me noticing I don’t actually have a lot of Talon-Centric fics and like… sexual tension fics for Spiderbyte, so I’m taking a crack at it now!

(Also I just realized I don’t think I’ve written much Moira interacting with Talon members aside from Gabe? Gotta fix that.)

I think Widowmaker’s hair is going to be closer to her “hairpin” spray than with the full tactical headdress here.

—-

Sombra sipped at a sour, smoky cocktail of mezcal and Lapsang Souchong, leaning against the railing of Vialli’s luxury barge and looking out over Singapore’s waters. The night air was warm, muggy, and salty. The city glittered on the coast, looking like jewel-toned flames springing up from the red embers of the red lanterns lining the streets below. Sombra herself was dressed for the occasion in a black cropped silk jacket over a long red and gold dress. Not her usual color scheme, but one she could pull off pretty well and one that conveniently covered up most of her spinal implants. She had parted her hair to hide her neural implants as well. She knew the party was at least 90% Talon allies with the remaining 10% being those who were likely to be brought into the fold, but still, for her, you could never be too careful.

“I’m surprised you’re not in there,” a smooth and deep Irish accent cut through the mugginess as Moira stepped up alongside Sombra, towering over her almost comically, “Personal data being exchanged, secrets being loosened by drink, compromising situations just waiting to happen… I imagine that’d be a buffet for you.”

“Max said we weren’t working tonight,” said Sombra, smiling a little and sipping her drink. 

“Ah but the work is never finished for us, is it?” said Moira, swirling her whiskey in its glass. Sombra didn’t dislike Moira–sure, the geneticist cut a pretty spooky figure, but there was a combination of aggressive independence and professionalism about her that Sombra could respect. Honor among thieves, she supposed. Moira was looking a bit more feminine than usual tonight in a violet qipao. 

“Never is,” Sombra agreed before clinking her glass against Moira’s.

“Start any wars lately?” Moira quipped–subtle ego stroking, Sombra didn’t mind, but it wasn’t anything that would bring them any closer. Moira probably knew that.

“I’d have to check my schedule,” said Sombra, “Start any plagues?”

“Well they won’t be plagues until they’re released on the general populace, you understand,” said Moira with a smile before sipping her own whiskey. Sombra didn’t really want to know if she was joking, not tonight. She gave a glance back at the interior of the barge–air conditioned, she was sure, otherwise with how crowded it was in there, more people should have been flooding out where she was.

“It’s been a good year for us,” Moira went on, leaning against the railing, “I hope you realize we owe no small part of that to you.”

“I try,” said Sombra with a shrug.

“You do a lot more than that. I feel there could be a lot of mutual benefit having someone with as great a command of information as you in the inner circle.” 

Sombra was quiet at this, giving a tentative sip to her drink. The work really never was done with Moira–not even Talon’s inner politics.

“New year, new opportunities,” Moira spoke a bit airily, swirling her whiskey again, “Just something to consider.” She sipped her drink.

Buttering it on thick, aren’t you? thought Sombra. “You offering me a seat at the table?” Sombra arched an eyebrow.

“That depends on if you’re inclined to accept,” said Moira, bringing the glass down from her lips, her voice a bit husky with the burn of whiskey.

Sombra wasn’t inclined. She knew Akande’s special little club with their big table in Venice would only put more eyes on her, only slow her down. She knew Talon was pulling a lot of strings, and she wouldn’t mind getting her own hands on some, but gut instinct told her Moira was not the way to do that. If she ever did make it to the big kid’s table, she wouldn’t want to be carried there in someone’s pocket. Moira was the last person you wanted to owe favors to, as well. 

“I’m a little busy with my own stuff right now,” said Sombra, examining her nails.

“To be expected,” said Moira, “Well the offer stands,” she pushed off of the railing and headed back towards the doors to the interior of the barge, “And if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I know where to find anyone, it’s kind of my thing,” said Sombra with a grin.

Moira gave a soft chuckle, a narrow silhouette against the light of the barge’s window’s behind her. From the inside of the barge, a swell of music was muted by the window glass, but Sombra’s eyes flicked from the shadow of Moira to two figures past the glass. Widowmaker was walking past, her arm hooked in Doomfist’s. Sombra’s eyes widened at the sight of her. She knew Widowmaker was no stranger to fashion–her number at Maximilien’s casino a few months back was proof enough of that, but this look blew the Monaco dress out of the water. Ornate and body-hugging, the aubergine cheongsam featured a daring slash up the front of her thigh, and bared the spider tattoo on her back. Her earrings were dripping with rubies and her hair was done up in an intricately looped updo pinned in place by a hairpin sporting a large, dangling blood-red mystic knot of silk. And stockings–of course the Parisian had to be sporting lacy sheer black stockings.

 Sombra brought her martini glass to her lips to try and hide her staring but one glance at Moira and she knew it was obvious. Again, she didn’t dislike Moira, but she didn’t like Moira knowing a lot about her. She didn’t like most people knowing a lot about her. She didn’t like anyone knowing anything about her but Moira smiled a bit, following Sombra’s line of sight to Akande and Widowmaker.

“Talon’s crown jewel,” Moira said, looking admiringly on Widowmaker. Some part of Sombra’s stomach knotted. Sombra wasn’t sure how much involvement Moira had in making Widowmaker…. well, Widowmaker—She wasn’t sure how many records of that time had been destroyed. And Moira was still in Blackwatch then…No. Not the time to fixate on that. 

“Seeing a pattern between this and Monaco,” Sombra said, glancing at Akande as he spoke to Maximilien with Widowmaker on his arm, “They’re not…”

Moira laughed a little. “Do you honestly think she’s even capable of those kinds of feelings?” she said, looking back at Widowmaker, “No. We made her perfect. But you know Akande–Likes to make an entrance.” 

The music thrummed against the wood and glass and Maximilien took Widowmaker’s free hand. He bent and kissed it (Well kissed it about as much as an omnic could manage) and then gestured to the dance floor. Sombra’s brow furrowed and her lips pursed as Widowmaker broke away from Akande and disappeared into the crowd of the dance floor with Maximilien. Sombra started briskly walking toward the doors.

“Play nice, Sombra,” said Moira, clear amusement in her voice as Sombra pushed past her for the door. 

Sombra suddenly gulped down her Lapsang Souchong cocktail, “Oh, I’m playing nice,” she said, and tossed the martini glass over her shoulder, over the ship’s railing where it splashed soundlessly into Singapore’s bay. She pushed through the doors and entered the crowded interior of the party. Sombra knew how to move through a crowd. She knew how to be the person no one looked at. Despite the mezcal now burning in her solar plexus and hazing her senses slightly, her footing was sure and direct. Her heels clicked across the wood until she stepped out onto the barge dance floor. She only had to scan the crowd briefly to see Widowmaker and Maximilien dancing. 

A socialite, a rich suit with a face she couldn’t be bothered with recognizing right now, one of the 10% and therefore, probably an idiot, blocked her vision briefly.

“Where have you been all ni–” he started with charm but Sombra completely ignored him and walked past him. 

The music was a combination of east and west–Big band compositions rendered atmospheric and romantic by the erhu and guzheng, and the singer of the band giving a lovely Malay cover of Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night” while piano dripped in and out. Widowmaker’s tattoo bobbed through the crowd as Maximilien danced her across the floor. Between the multiple couples to push through, it took Sombra a good couple of seconds to reach them. It didn’t really occur to her that maybe this wasn’t a good idea until she tapped Maximilien on the shoulder. He turned his head and looked at her. Widowmaker lifted her chin slightly to look past her shoulder and there were maybe three seconds where Sombra remembered, Right. Big kid’s table, as she looked at Maximilien.

“Can I help you?” Maximilien said, looking down on her. For a brief second Sombra wondered if her need to take down or control all the corrupt systems of the world were a part of a Napoleon complex, but one glance at Widowmaker’s eyes and she stared into the red glare of Maximilien’s eyes without fear. She hadn’t been afraid of a man in a suit in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“I was hoping I could cut in,” said Sombra, extending a hand toward Widowmaker.

Maximilien managed to make a waltz position look statue-still as he looked down at Sombra. “That would depend on Mademoiselle,” he said, giving a glance over to Widowmaker.

This isn’t about Amélie, Sombra realized immediately, This is about power. Big kid’s table. This was about her knowing her place in the organization. About Amélie knowing her place in the organization. Sombra made eye contact with Widowmaker, wondering if she could see the same, wondering if she knew the same, wondering how much was behind those yellow eyes. 

Moira’s voice echoed in her head. Do you honestly think she’s capable of those kinds of feelings?

  Bad idea, Sombra realized, Bad, bad, bad idea. You’re counting on the favor of someone who was literally brainwashed to have no preference. But Sombra couldn’t pull out. She couldn’t say, “You know what, you look you’re having fun, I’ll leave you alone,” because then Maximilien would know that she would back down where Talon wanted her to, and she couldn’t have that. She just had to brace for the humiliation of Widowmaker’s rejection. That was it. No one knew who she was at this party. It didn’t matter. Sombra was a ghost. A shadow. Her shield. It would all just go right through her. Maximilien–well she could deal with Maximilien later.

A long pause passed between the three of them, the other bodies on the dance floor still shifting and gliding to the music around them. 

“Well—” Maximilien started after a few beats.

“Mademoiselle accepts,” said Widowmaker, breaking away from him and taking Sombra’s hand.

“What–I mean, well of course, as you wish,” said Maximilien, pulling away from them with all the grace he could muster. 

“Oh–” said Sombra as Widowmaker took her hand and put a hand on her hip. Her hands were cool–not cold, Singapore was too warm for their usual clamminess, but the coolness was a comfort that Sombra could feel through the silk of her dress.

“I’ll lead,” said Widowmaker, “I’m taller–is that all right?” 

Sombra nodded dumbly as Widowmaker stepped into a dance. At that point, the last song ended and a Malay cover of “It’s Only a Paper Moon” started. Widowmaker knew how to dance—she knew how to lead. Sombra could feel her face burning and the mezcal still burning in her gut. She knew she could hold her liquor better than most but she was hyperaware of any misstep she could make now, but Widowmaker looked down at her.

“That was bold,” said Widowmaker after a minute or so of dancing.

“Psh,” Sombra bunched up her shoulders, “You think just because he’s got a chair in Venice that I’m scared of him?” 

“You should be scared.”

“Don’t have to be scared if I’m smart,” said Sombra.

“Stepping on the toes of Talon superiors is not smart,” said Widowmaker, flatly.

“Well sorry for figuring you didn’t want to spend the night as someone’s hood ornament,” said Sombra.

Widowmaker smirked a little. “I can handle myself,” she said with a smile.

“I know you can,” said Sombra as Widowmaker twirled her, “But it’s New Year’s. I figure you’d want to have fun.”

They swayed to the music a while longer.

“Tell me something,” said Sombra.

“Mm?”

“Would you want a chair on the council?” asked Sombra, “Y’know… Venice?”

Widowmaker looked thoughtful. “I wasn’t made to lead,” she said after a long while, “I was made to kill.”

A part of Sombra wanted to debate the terms of Widowmaker being ‘made’ but she knew that was a whole other can of worms, so instead she simply proceeded in the same line of the conversation. “But if you lead, you could direct Talon so it kills better,” said Sombra.

“I don’t want to leave the field,” said Widowmaker, her eyes scanning across the crowd on the dancefloor, “I had more than my fill of the politics in Monaco.”

“Akande likes you, though,” said Sombra.

“Because I do my job,” said Widowmaker, a barb and a smile in her voice.

“Mean,” said Sombra.

“I know,” said Widowmaker. 

Widowmaker just smirked and swayed Sombra across the dance floor. “You do know how to make a night interesting,” she conceded. Widowmaker studied Sombra for a moment. “You changed your hair,” she said after a beat.

“Yeah well… you know these parties,” said Sombra, with a shrug, “It’s not bad, is it?”

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” said Widowmaker. She tucked a bit of Sombra’s hair back, revealing one of the metallic nubs of her neural implants, “There–”

Sombra instinctively brought her hand up and tucked her hair back over the nub. Widowmaker’s hand pulled back slightly.

“Sorry,” Sombra glanced off.

Widowmaker shook her head, “I understand,” she said after a beat. They danced a while longer. Widowmaker smelled good–Perfume didn’t really trail off of her the way it should with her lower body temperature, it took the warmth of the room for it to occasionally bloom off of her as she and Sombra glided towards other bodies. Sombra would only get occasional bursts of labdanum and peony.

“So you… uh… like dancing?” Sombra managed. 

Widowmaker chuckled a little, “I like dancing,” she said, dipping Sombra, the movement making Sombra curse an uncountable amount of times in her head while feeling her face burning as Widowmaker stooped over her before bringing her upright again, “I also like seeing people like Maximilien brought down a peg or two…” she swung Sombra around so that she could see the bar, where Maximilien was bitterly ordering a glass of Glenwales organic oil. Sombra snickered a little as Widowmaker swept her across the dance floor, “And I like that you make a living of doing just that.”

A nervous chuckle escaped Sombra, “Yeah well… You got anyone in mind, you just let me know, you know?” she said as Widowmaker pulled her out of a dip again. 

“I will keep that in mind,” said Widowmaker, smiling.

Sombra could hear the distant pop of fireworks from Singapore’s shores as they kept dancing, but she didn’t feel particularly inclined to go watch them. Not just yet.

[lindsayruebens]

The Grand #5-10-30

Last fall, Kane and I had two Frontier flight vouchers burning a hole in our pockets.

Also that fall, we celebrated being together for a decade. And then I turned 30 in December. April is Kane’s 30th birthday. And May is our fifth wedding anniversary.

And, for the past five years, we had exclusively used our vacation days for traveling to see family during the holidays and weddings. We were not only ready to celebrate but extremely ready for a vacation, and ready to do it up big.

Enter what my social-media-eschewing husband has persistently referred to as the #5-10-30 trip (yes I know there are no hyphens in real hashtags, but here we are), and he did so persistently enough that I too eventually broke down and also called it The 5-10-30.

Direct Frontier flights from Philadelphia narrowed our options considerably, and we wanted to pick somewhere we’d never been, so Denver it was. My parents very generously offered to watch Russ in Pennsylvania for a week, and after lots of research and planning, that’s how the best vacation Kane and I have ever had, or shall I say, The #5-10-30 Trip, materialized.

We rented a 2019 Nissan Rogue and basically did a loop beginning and ending in Denver. I kept a detailed journal of the trip, but I’ll spare you the less-thrilling details and share the highlights:

Day 1: Afternoon/evening in Denver

(^Ready for takeoff to Denver!)

Great AirBnB cottage in the LoHi neighborhood. After meeting us, our host ran into her house to bring us her own nice bottle of tequila, limes and shot glasses to start off our trip on a celebratory note. Cheers!

Speaking of cheers, we recommend the Recess Beer Garden, where we watched Virginia win the national title.

Day 2: Denver/Colorado Springs

We kicked breakfast off at Bacon Social House with a flight of bacon. And because we’re corny, we gave serious thought to ranking the six bacon styles (French toast was my fav, barbecue was Kane’s). Scissors for sharing the slices were included.

Next up: Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. The red rock formations were breathtaking, and we’re glad we went to the visitor’s center for info on hiking trails. Great views of both Garden of the Gods and Pikes Peak.

Another fantastic AirBnB in Old Colorado City, and delicious dinner — just say yes to the brisket grilled cheese and lamb sliders — outside at Cerberus Brewing Company while watching the sun set behind the Rockies.

Day 3: Colorado Springs

We spent much of this day in the earth.

First stop was Cave of the Winds. Holy cow, do the Lantern Tour if you can. Our self-described hippie tour-guide, John, thoroughly scared us before we even began, warning us of having to walk crouched low for a couple of minutes through under-4-foot-high tunnels, that we’d only be walking by the light of candle-lit lanterns (hence the name Lantern Tour) and that we were about to enter the supposedly most haunted caverns in North America. It’s not a tour for the faint of heart (nor the arthritic). Learned the history of the 19th-century pioneers who took ownership of the caves and held exotic parties in them, and of course there was a generous helping of spooky ghost stories.

(^Our only photo in the cave before the tour began-- not the kind of setting to take a selfie!)

Back in the sunlight, we had lunch at Ivywild School, an elementary school-turned community center/local business spot/brewery.

Dinner in downtown Colorado Springs at The Rabbit Hole, also underground. We did actually try rabbit with the Bunny Bites appetizer… a drier, leaner version of chicken nuggets.

Day 4: Cañon City/Nathrop

Spent the day at the Royal Gorge in Cañon City. The gondola ride across was slightly panic-inducing, but offered amazing views; informative short movie about the Gorge in onsite theater; then walks across America’s tallest suspension bridge. The gaps between some of the wooden planks of the floor allowed you to see all the way to the Arkansas River flowing below. YIKES. Of course Kane insisted we really feel “fully alive,” and so we were the only ones nutty enough to go back and forth several more times in the wind. Don’t worry, I felt super-alive, and thankfully, remained in such a state.

Spectacular mountain drive along Route 50 to Nathrop, where we checked in at the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Resort. It’s in the San Isabel National Forest.

(^Serious room with a view.)

That evening we donned bathing suits in 30-something degree weather to recline in the hot springs of Chalk Creek. We laid our heads on rocks, stared at the stars and crescent moon overhead and enjoyed deep conversation that also included momentarily pretending we were contestants on The Bachelor, because it was such an over-the-top date, and I assured Kane I was most certainly there for the right reasons.

Day 5: Nathrop/Breckenridge

Hot springs again in the bright morning sunshine before driving to Breckenridge, which was a little insane with hairpin turns up and down mountains. We drove through Alma, North America’s highest incorporated town, and were relieved to make it to our AirBnB. Then: A scrumptious sushi lunch downtown at The Blue Fish and perusing the town’s many shops.

We called up the Lost Bus, owned and operated by the Broken Compass Brewing, which picks up people for free from downtown Breckenridge to its brewery site a few miles away. This was my favorite brewery of the trip! Fantastic craft beers and great local vibe.

Then we walked about half a mile down the road to Flight Club for food. It was an extremely local experience (complete with a guy glass-blowing pipes next to the bar!) and even featured a local battle-of-the-bands winner, Hollywood Farmers, who were actually quite talented.

(^My view from the bar. Just some casual glass-blowing, dudes.)

Day 6: Boulder

A crazy drive to Boulder on Route 70 with foggy snow showers. But we made it in one piece to Chautauqua Park and hiked around the Flatirons on the Enchanted Mesa Trail and loved it.

Lunched at Roxie’s Tacos, where they served amazing Mexican-Indian fusion in the lovely campus area of CU-Boulder, then drove to the Celestial Seasonings headquarters for a free tea tour and samples. A highlight was the peppermint room! Free aromatherapy.

Checked into a Courtyard Marriott and ate at Avery Brewing Company.

Day 7: Boulder/Denver

Amazing breakfast at Lucile’s in adorable downtown Boulder. Walked around Pearl Street Mall, where the tulip beds were in bloom. If I had to choose one of the places we visited to move, I’d pick Boulder!

Drove back to Denver and attended a beautiful Palm Sunday Mass at the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. Proceeded to a tour of the Molly Brown House. Loved learning her incredible story: a rags-to-riches miner’s wife, Titanic survivor, philanthropist, winner of French Legion of Honor… Google her if you have time!

On to Stranahan’s Colorado Whiskey for a delightful distillery tour. We learned how it was made and aged and also how to properly drink whiskey. Not sure I’m a converted whiskey-drinker, but loved every minute of the tour.

We ended our trip where we began, in the LoHi neighborhood, at a fantastic Mediterranean tapas restaurant called El Five. We sat outside overlooking the Denver skyline and the Rockies before catching a red-eye home. It was the perfect way to punctuate a pretty near-perfect trip.

(^Dinner view. Until we meet again, Colorado!)

[timeoutotour]

Clear Sky, 22°C

Avenue Gaston Rebuffat, 83120 Sainte-Maxime, France

Tuesday 2nd October 2018

What a difference a day makes. When I made my last journal entry you may recall we were in Menton and had battened down the hatches during a thunderstorm with a view to perhaps crossing over to Italy today. That didn't happen and today we find ourselves back on the Mediterranean coast in Saint Maxine only a few miles east of Saint Tropez which is clearly visible across the bay. Let me explain; Yesterday, whilst waiting for the thunderstorm to pass I thought it might be prudent to check out the local regulations with regard to motorhome parking and I stumbled upon the local municipal website which stated in detail where and where not motorhomes may park in Menton. I don't think I am exaggerating when I say Menton is the most unfriendly place to visit in a motorhome that we have so far encountered in France and somewhere I will definitely not be visiting any time soon. There appears to be nowhere you can lawfully park up overnight which leads me to conclude that the Mayor of Menton is probably the owner of the local camp site ( A view shared by others in the online community). Basically there was a list of streets on which the parking of motorhomes was forbidden and we were parked on one of them. Now I don't usually pay these rules much attention but the website stated that the rules were strictly enforced by the municipal Police who used clamping as an enforcement method. Clearly we would have to find somewhere else to sleep but where ? The storm had subsided , but it was still raining heavily and it struck me , although very obviously that the beauty of these riviera destinations is all about the weather and nothing else. We may talk about the quaint architecture, The turquoise clear sea, the wonderful light, it all means nothing when it's hammering down ,you may as well be in Salford on a wet weekend in October i.e. S**T. After driving around Salford, sorry Menton for about twenty minutes trying in vain to find a parking space for the night I called it a day and started to head out of town . Now heading out of town in Menton means heading for the mountains or heading for the coast. We were not going to find an overnighter on the coast so that meant heading inland and that meant endless narrow roads with hairpin bends. In addition to the usual hazards we found that the heavy rains had brought significant rock falls onto the road, and I'm talking public litter bin sized pieces of solid rock lying in the road ! As we climbed still higher , the landscape started to turn white as a result of all the hailstones deposited by the thunderstorm. We eventually reached a small mountain town called Sospel and my wild camping app steered us to an old railway sidings yard next to the railway station(Living the dream!) which would have to be our overnighter. To be honest the trains were not a problem and we both enjoyed a sound nights sleep. When morning arrived it was business as usual. Clear blue skies and sunshine but due to our elevated position in the mountains , at 0930 I commented to Rhian that the temperature was not unlike that which we might expect at home at this time of year and at that point the decision was made to head back to the coast where it would be (during the daytime at least) significantly warmer. I had identified an aire at Saint Maxine but the sat nav said that without using toll roads , the journey would take 3 1/2 hours , far too long for us . So half way through the journey , around Nice , I bit the bullet and took the Peage (toll motorway) , which cut our remaining travelling time in half from 2hrs 20 to 1hrs 10. The extra cost (about 10 euros) was in my opinion worth it as the slower route would have been quite laborious and at times stressful. We arrived at our chosen destination at about 1400 and to our delight found a space available(The aire is very popular and cheap after 1st October i.e 5 euros per night and I was not particularly hopeful of securing a space) We had lunch soon after arrival and then had a walk into the town and visited the beach and harbour area about 15 mins walk away. As usual no dogs were allowed on the beach but we found the town very pleasant and could see many sailing yachts and ships out at sea taking part in the Saint Tropez regatta. We are staying here for a couple of days and it promises to be a nice base from which to explore the local area

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[johnsellph]

Roads to Ride: Col de la Loze

The Col de la Loze is the newest paved climb in the Alps and the high point of the 2020 Tour de France. It’s also a confounding climb and the world’s most sporty cycle path.

  The Route: first take the old road, the D90 starts from Brides-les-Bains in the Savoie départment of France and goes to Méribel. Along the way, at the only roundabout, ignore the signs for Méribel-village and go right for the ski station. Once in the resort of Méribel follow the signs for the Rond-point des Pistes and the Altiport. The final 7km are on the new Montée de la Loze cycle path. In total it is a 21.5km climb with an average gradient of 7.8%.

  The Feel: climbs all over the Alps now have markers every kilometre telling cyclists the average gradient ahead. Here the first ones warn of 8% again and again so the start is no picnic. Still the road is wide and there’s new tarmac to help you climb fast. Tarentaise cattle, bells jangling, graze beside the road. It’s pleasant but not picture-postcard scenery, it vibes ski station access road thanks to the amount of buildings and street furniture. More scenic is the ridge of mountains high above topped by the serrated peak of the Dent de Burgin, a world away.

  As a ski resort, Méribel’s not big but it’s still a town to pedal through when you came for the great outdoors. The Col de la Loze is brand new, aim for the Rond-Point des Pistes and look for the Loze cycle path.

The first impression of this new road is instant: an urgent need to change down as many gears as possible as there’s a really steep ramp to clear. Once you’ve crested this brief obstacle there’s a double-take as you realise you’re not on a road but cycle path reserved for cyclists and hikers.

  Having glanced at photos online things looked normal with fresh tarmac and a dotted white line down the middle: just like any other road. Only it’s a question of scale and there’s a Lilliputian feel as the road you thought you saw turns out to be cycle path little more than three metres wide. You ride past snow cannons, a clue this is actually a ski run during winter. After a kilometre there’s a tight hairpin and suddenly you’re confronted with road rearing up in the woodland. The first thought was along the lines of “this is crazy, never mind racing up, it’ll be hard work in a team car” and images of team managers pumping clutch pedals and working gear sticks. From here the climb turns into something unlike anything else in the Alps. It’s confounding as there’s fresh, high quality tarmac but the slope keeps changing like a mountain bike course. There’s a section at 22% before it flattens out for a few metres and then rears up again and from here on the changes of pace keep on coming. There are plenty of 15% ramps, plus hairpins and sharp corners. I’d have taken more photos but it was too steep to pull out a phone and didn’t want to put a foot down.

  The Col de la Loze is a tarmac bucking bronco. It’s hard to get into a rhythm, the temptation is to power up the steep parts and recover in between only you’re 2,000m altitude now and oxygen debt comes with a penalty interest rate. The secret is to use your gears a lot to level the effort out as much as possible but this assumes you’ve got with the right ratios because whatever you’d spin up the nearby Iseran or Cormet de Roselend you’ll be leg-pressing here. It’s not the Mur de Huy all the way up, the defining characteristic is the frequent, abrupt changes of slope, no profile graphic can capture this. As you ride past ski lifts the Dent de Burgin which earlier looked so far away is now so close it looks like the path is going to reach it.

  Then with about two kilometres to go you round a bend to point the other way. Here you can see the path as a long line ahead heading up towards the ridge. It’s less irregular and as you press on there’s even a descent to catch your breath. You can spot the final wall section from afar, a 20% just before the top. If this doesn’t take your breath away, the views at the top will. The ski resorts of Méribel and Courchevel are so far below you can’t see them, instead there are long views of the high mountains in 270°.

The Verdict: the road to Méribel starts with long 8% sections and good views but you’ll find the same kind of roads all over the region. Out of Méribel and everything changes thanks to the cycle path, narrower than a normal road. From here it’s 7.5km to the top and confounding with all the changes of pitch and with the altitude you need to measure your effort. It’s tough but you’re free to concentrate on the climb because it’s car free and the steep bits are short. It’s totally different to the usual Alpine experience.

What goes up: it’s a summit finish for the Tour de France but you can descend down the other side to Courchevel. The cycle path down the other side is wider and once it joins the main road follow the signs to Moûtiers to do a loop back to where the climb started. It’s not a great descent as you have to ride through Courchevel meaning traffic and but it’s the safer option compared to going back to Méribel. The narrow climb you’ve just tackled with tight bends and 20% sections is going to be awkward to descend.

  2274m or 2304m? The Col de la Loze may be freshly tarmacked but the pass is as old and listed at 2,274m. Now the new sign at the top of the climb says it’s 2,304m. Is this a touch of inflation, a push beyond the 2,300m barrier? It’s happens, the nearby Col de la Madeleine has a boastful sign declaring 2,000m when it’s actually 1,993m. Here the difference is that the geographic Col de la Loze is actually at 2,274m but you ride past this to reach the top of the road at 2,304m before descending. So the pass is 2,274m but the climb is 2,304m. Either way it’s now the eighth highest tarmacked mountain pass in France.

Why? Ski resorts want to be resorts, to enjoy a lucrative summer as well. Attracting cyclists is one way to do this, Alpe d’Huez is already a Mecca for road cycling tourism and several ski resorts compete to be the Downhill MTB paradise. The Loze is only “Stage 1” of the Via 3 Vallées with plans for a new path to cross from Méribel over to Val Thorens and then a link to the Maurienne valley which opens up a route for extreme Alpine cycle tourism.

On top of this is the e-bike boom. Many resorts have fleets of electric bikes and now a family of four will be able to tackle a “legendary Tour de France climb” before lunch, and all on a car free road. Still, you do wonder about inexperienced people being assisted all the way up and then having to descend again on a 15kg bike… perhaps the Loze chairlift works to take people back down safely?

History: the Tour de France last visited Méribel in 1973 for a finish inside the town at around 1,700m and Bernard Thévenet won the stage. The race hasn’t been back since. In August 2019 the Tour de l’Avenir rode up the freshly-surfaced Col de la Loze and footage on youtube lets you see some details:

 at 0m10s: the width relative to a car

at 0m43s: the steep ramp to 150m to go, the flat section and then another ramp up to show the changing gradients

the yellow jersey Mauri Vansevenant zig-zagging over the road at 1m04s

Alexander Evans (Australia) wins the stage

Ride more: Méribel and Courchevel are now linked but are towards the end of their respective valleys. Nearby Moutiers and Salins les Bains sit at the foot of the valley and offer riding in several directions with the Madeleine, Iseran and Cormet de Roselend within range, it has the making of a base for hardcore cyclists looking to rack up plenty of 2000m+ plus clubs, but at the expense of more charming climbs and villages. Helpfully there’s a new cycle path on parts of the valley too.

More roads to ride at inrng.com/roads

Roads to Ride: Col de la Loze published first on https://motocrossnationweb.weebly.com/

[ourimpavidheroine]

tbh a part of me cries with joy everytime you do prompts, they make me so happy. SO I have a list that I have by some magic narrowed down to a subjectively reasonable number. Feel free to take what you like and dispose of what you don't. Ahem; 1 for San/Amak, 12 for Sayuri/Zu, 13 for Bolin/Wei, 24 for Asami/Yumi, 27 for Tenzin/Pema, 37 for Ikki/Meelo and 42 for Ikki/Baatar or Huan. Impavid you are a saint for doing this (and you totes don't have to do even half of these, one and I'd be ecstatic)

This is quite a list! :D Some of them are actually kind of spoilery and one of them is completely out of character for the couple (and I seriously can’t think of a way to do it) but I can work on the rest!

I will separate them, however. 

12. “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” - Sayuri and Zu

This story follows directly after this ficlet here.

Zu had lived in Republic City for nearly a year but had never made it to this part of the city before, the neighborhood on the other side of the North Bridge. It was upper-class; the streets quiet and clean and lined with trees, the residences nearly palatial. Sayuri had pointed at one stately house as they flew past it in that amazing black race car, telling him it was her older sister’s home.

Her own home was just around the other side of the lovely park that took up three city blocks. It was three stories high, the front landscaped to perfection, marble lionturtles guarding the front door. There were quite a few cars parked in the curving drive.

“Oh Vaatu’s arse-badgermole,” she said, pulling the car up to a garage, her face dismayed. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” He was trying not to stare at her. She had the most glorious nose he’d ever seen.

“I might have forgotten that my entire extended family was showing up for a welcome home dinner tonight.”

His mouth opened. His brain attempted to find something to say. It failed. “Er…yes…?”

She turned to him, her grin sheepish. “I have a large family. And I think some of them came from Zaofu. For this dinner, I mean. Which, I did know about, but I got caught up in your stars and I sort of…forgot.”

“Oh. I er…well. I can take a cab back to the university, Princess. I wouldn’t like to intrude.” The breeze was pulling one of those springy curls of hers across her mouth and he had to put his hands under his armpits in order to keep himself from touching it.

“Sayuri Hou-Ting, there you are.” A very small and very plump matron was descending upon them. She had long hair, silvered and piled on her head with ornate combs. She shook her head with an expression he’d guess was exasperated fondness. “I’ve laid a dress out for you on your bed, along with shoes and jewelry. Quick now, get changed and then meet me in Lin’s bathroom, I’ll fix your hair.”

“Auntie Nuo!” Sayuri jumped out of the car and hugged her.

“No time for that, do it later. Go on with you, I’ve got Orchid giving your father champagne to keep him quiet and if this takes too long he’s going to get sloppy. Whoosh whoosh!” She waved Sayuri towards the house.

“What about Zu?” Sayuri hovered. The woman turned to stare at him, eyes narrowed.

“Leave that to me. Go on through the kitchen, avoid your father at all costs.”

“Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself,” Sayuri said, putting her hands to her hips. The woman only snorted her opinion of this.

“Yes, dearest, of course you are. Whoosh whoosh now!” Sayuri looked at him, eyes laughing, shrugged and ran for the house. The woman returned her gaze to him. “Now. Who are you, then?”

“Er…I am Zu Chongzhi, Madame.”

She lost focus for a moment, murmuring to herself. “Chongzhi…Chongzhi…ah!” She raised a triumphant finger. “Of course. You’re one of Chunhua’s boys, aren’t you?” Her look was speculative.

“Yes, Madame.” He wondered how on earth she knew his mother.

She shook that finger at him. “Yes, now I remember. The one that is interested in the stars, yes?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“And how do you know Sayuri?”

“I…er…well. I just met her today. At my lecture.” The woman was waiting, eyebrows raised. “On the stars, you see. The lecture, I mean. And she spit a spitball at my biggest detractor and got him to leave and then took me to tea in her race car.” He realized, as he was saying it, how foolish he sounded. “She brought me home for dinner. I’m not dressed for a family dinner! I should have refused but…I don’t know. I just…we were there. And now we’re here.”

The woman smiled, suddenly, two very friendly dimples appearing below her mouth. “Zu, my dear, the only person on this earth that has ever been able to tell Sayuri no is her parent Qi, and even Qi doesn’t do it very often.” She gave him an appraising look. “Well, we’ll give you a once over, it will have to do.”

“I…er…?” He looked about him helplessly. This was not how his family did things. In fact, he thought that if she were in the same situation his mother might actually need smelling salts.

“Come along now. I’m Sayuri’s aunt, Nuo Beifong, by the way.” She started to walk back to the house at a rapid enough pace that he had to jog a bit to keep up. It took him a moment to process who she was; when he had, he stopped short, aghast.

“Madame President!”

“This isn’t a state dinner, dear. This is family. Auntie Nuo is fine.” She waved at him. “Whoosh whoosh, Zu!”

He whooshed. He had no idea what else to do. She took him into what was clearly a private room off the kitchen, into the bathroom, and then, to his consternation, made him wash his face and hands, combed his hair, discarded his academic robe to the side, tidied up his suit, clucking at the stains. She told him to clean his glasses and stay put, left him alone and then returned with a Water Tribe woman, who was introduced as the wife of one of Sayuri’s many cousins, who bent the tea and ink right out of his tunic. “Thank you, Amak, dearest,” she said, and the woman winked at him before greeting Sayuri, who was coming in as she was leaving.

Sayuri was dressed in a long cheongsam of yellow silk, embroidered with scarlet poppies, rubies in her ears and on her wrist. “Finally! Sit.” Her aunt produced hairpins and twisted the mass of her dark brown curls into an elegant and simple knot along the back of her head, pinning it firmly, ignoring Sayuri’s impassioned yelp as a pin went in too deep. She took up a pot of rouge and blended a little into her cheeks and onto her lips. She looked at the both of them and nodded. “Well, there. Acceptable. Give me a few moments to sneak myself back into the ballroom and then come along. Don’t you dare do anything to that hair. Either one of you.” Out she went, her heels tapping along the floor.

He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair had been brushed back; his suit was clean and tidy, his spats firmly buttoned. She’d even managed, somehow, to make his shoes look polished. He thought even his venerable grandmother might have approved of him.

“You didn’t mention that your aunt was the president of Zaofu.” He started to laugh. It was ridiculous. This morning he’d gotten up alone in his rooms at the university and had gone over his notes before going to his office to make sure he had everything. It had been an utterly normal beginning to his day. And now, suddenly, mere hours later, he was standing in a bathroom with the youngest Hou-Ting princess, after having his hair combed by the President of Zaofu, about to meet the former King of the Earth Kingdom. Uninvited, no less.

His mother would die.

She grabbed his hand and tucked her arm into his. “Yes, my extended family. Which includes the President of Zaofu, the Representative of Zaofu at the Gathering of Nations, two fellow professors at the University, the former King of the Earth Kingdom, the founder of the Bridge Clinic, the Leader of the Air Nation, half of the Fire Nation royal family, a mover star, oh, and I’m pretty sure the Avatar is here as well.” She giggled, putting a hand to her mouth. “Good thing I gave you some tarts first.”

“Were they really enough tarts, though?” He wanted to kiss her but was afraid that if he did he’d smudge the lipstick and bring her hair down, and then what would her fearsome aunt the President do? Oh, but she was beautiful. She was like the very stars themselves. He wondered, if he touched her in the dark, if they collided, would she sing?

“Most likely not. I guess I owe you a few more. Put them on account?”

“It’s going to be a large account.” He couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could she.

“I can do that.”

They gazed at each other in the mirror. She was taller than him, he realized, just a bit, slender where he’d always been pudgy, her skin several shades darker than his, her hair like nothing he’d seen before. She was so intelligent; she’d followed along as he shared his theories with her, asking questions, yes, but he’d never once lost her in his explanations. Her analytical engine, too. What kind of a mind could even imagine such a thing? He needed to know her mind, needed to fall into the depths of it, see how the world looked to someone like her.

“We’d better go before they come hunting for us.”

He nodded at her, and she leaned forward to whisper into his ear. “When this is all over and no one cares about my lipstick I’m going to kiss you, Zu Chongzhi.”

He turned his head to whisper into hers. “Not if I kiss you first, Sayuri Hou-Ting.” She laughed at that, delighted, and tugged him after her as she practically ran out of the room.

[emily-echolls]

A Breaking Point

Summary: The universe finally makes an attempt to get Emily off her bullshit via an emergency room trip. Words: 3,616 Trigger Warnings: Blood, suicidal thoughts, drug use, Emily’s usual fucked up mind state tbqh

 She’d been walking to her Advanced Psychology class, wondering why she was bothering, wishing the abdomen pain she’d been doing her level best to ignore would just go away, cursing Ethan Anderson to hell and back for not giving her the painkillers she’d been self medicating with. Then-

Dizziness and the ground rushing towards her. The distant implication of pain.

Oh my god-!

Someone call Professor Echolls-

No, 911! Call 911! She’s bleeding everywhere-

Pressure on the side of her face and something hot trickling down her neck. A flash of scattered images. Flashing red and blue lights. Words spoke in a familiar, official tone that made something inside her go cold with remembering-

Adult female collapsed on the scene, unresponsive. Head wound from the fall, possible concussion and- Jesus Christ she’s burning up. Does anyone know who she is? Emily? Emily can you hear me? ...Get the gurney ready.

It was too much like the last time. But she hadn’t done anything wrong.

1, 2, 3- Multiple hands lifting her and setting her gently down again. Holy hell she’s light- what’s she weigh- 90 pounds? Someone lifting the hem of her sweatshirt and letting out a low whistle. -give up the damn ghost. You can see her ribs.

Rocking, hairpin turns, impersonal hands on her wrist, forehead, neck. The cool voices of people who had seen far too many emergencies to show any kind of panic. She could tell they were speaking to her, but she couldn’t focus on their words. She caught snatches of words and phrases; Staunch the bleeding- her blood pressure is dangerously low already- get an IV started immediately-

The same sick, nauseated feeling she'd been having all week, a stinging pain on her temple, and wetness coating her face and neck. She didn't know where she was, but it felt as if her body did. It was screaming in a desperate sort of panic and telling her what it knew of what came next; the pain of having her stomach pumped, her father’s hand clutching hers as he slept, thin sheets on hard mattresses, the silent sobs wracking her pained body as she stared into the wonderfully brilliant sunset outside her hospital room. The horrified realization she was still alive despite how desperately she didn’t want to be.

“No!” Gasping in panic, she threw open her heavy eyelids and wrenched away from the faceless people around her, fighting to sit up despite the hands that pushed her back down. She didn’t need to be here- she hadn’t done it. Her broken down, fucked up brain had been a thorny, twisted mess of self harm urges and impulsive thoughts, but she hadn’t done any of it. The goddamn acrobatics she’d been doing to avoid hurting herself had been more exhausting than anything. She’d spent more time in public  than she had in the past year and a half- she’d gone to Julian Lowell’s frat house in the middle of the night, for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t fucking fair.

“I didn’t do anything!” She snarled, lashing out towards the next EMT that tried to touch her and nearly toppling off the gurney she’d been placed on.

She was kitten weak. She realized it as she fearful blows she attempted to land on the paramedic glanced off all but harmlessly. Whatever was wrong with her, it was sapping every spare bit of strength she had. With a muttered curse as Emily attempted to do some damage with her nails at least, her wrists were seized with little effort in strong glove covered hands and slipped into sheepskin lined restraints. It was if her actions had no effect at all. They didn’t care if the body was willing to be treated or not- they were going to heal it one way or another. Whether she liked it or not, she was going to the hospital, and that meant they were going to call her sister- if no one had already.

Making a noise of wordless despair, she fell back against the gurney, the waiting blackness swallowing her again before she could do anything else.

“I didn’t do anything…”

“This is Emilia Echolls. Admitted two days ago after she collapsed; she required ten sutures to her right temple, done with no issues. No concussion. Medical history revealed she was diagnosed a year ago with Lupus which has thus far gone untreated. Restrained due to violence displayed towards first responders and a history of depression and suicidal tendencies. Blood analysis found multiple unprescribed painkillers along with high doses of her normal antidepressants- we’re pretty sure she was self medicating. Came in with an acute kidney infection that looks as if it’s gone septic. We’ve been administering nutrients intravenously, along with several different medications to keep her fever down. She’s been mostly unconscious since she was brought in two days ago. This is her sister Elisha Macdonald- her emergency contact and power of attorney. We-”

“I didn’t...”

Funny, Emily hadn’t made the conscious decision to speak.

A moment of tense silence, a hand tightening in her own, then Elisha’s weary voice;

“She’s said a few things since I got here but she’s still- I’m sorry doctors, but do you have any idea when she’s going to wake up? I just got back from my honeymoon and I’m wondering if I need to call the rest of our family to come down in case anything happens.”

“We’re just keeping her sedated for now. We weren’t optimistic initially, but she seems to be responding well to this round of antibiotics, and we’ve narrowed down the source of infection. I think she’s got a long road ahead of her as far as recovery goes, and she really has got to start getting treated for her illness, but I don’t think she’s in any sort of immediate danger at this point. If they’re able though, she should be waking up in the next day or so- I’m sure she’d love to see them.”

Elisha’s laugh was a sad, weary thing. “No, she wouldn’t. But thank you.”

.

When she had woken up after her suicide attempt, she’d been in agony- the sun had been setting and she’d been surrounded by her sleeping family. This time she was so drugged she could barely lift her hand, but she was blessedly pain free. Outside her small window was full dark, and it was only Elisha watching her warily as she blinked her way to consciousness. At least the gritty eyes and acute misery were the same.

“Emily?”

Emily glanced at her sister, her mind slowly churning its way to awareness and understanding. As soon as she did, and the neutral walls, beeping monitors, and sterile surroundings pieced itself together in her brain, her breathing hitched. She struggled to recall why she was here, vaguely remembered her fall and the ambulance ride. Panic made her breathing hitch slightly and she looked away.

“Why the fuck am I here?” she croaked without preamble, attempting to lift her hand to rip the nasal cannula out of her nose only to be stopped short by the restraints still on her wrist. “And what the fuck is this shit?”

Elisha reached out, no doubt intending to lay a soothing hand on her somewhere, and Emily cringed as far back into the bed as she could. People didn’t touch her- a byproduct of a fearsome reputation and the alienation of people she loved. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done more than brush by her on the street. Laying in a hospital bed having PTSD flashbacks of suicide watch- she didn’t know how she’d react to being touched but was sure it’d be negative. Elisha’s hand fell back against her lap with a soft thump that seemed aggressively loud in the silence that descended on them.

“Get these fucking things off me.”

Elisha’s face hardened and she sat back in her chair, shaking her head and directing her gaze away from Emily. She looked like shit- puffy faced and rumpled. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun that looked as if it had been slept in, and the bags under her eyes spoke to worrying instead of sleeping.  After a few moments she turned back to her sister with an expression that Emily had long ago learned meant Elisha was absolutely furious. “No.”

“Oh fuck you Lisha,” Emily snarled, tugging futilely against the soft cuffs on her wrists and ankles in something akin to panic. Even that small effort made her head spin and the not quite dissipated pain in her torso flair. “I shouldn’t even be here. I didn’t do anything.”

“Didn’t do-?! Oh!” Elisha stood up, going towards the door to her room and shutting it carefully before marching back over to her sister’s bed. “No Emilia- you didn’t do anything.When you were admitted you were dehydrated and malnourished- so you weren’t eating or drinking enough water, from the bags under your eyes I’d guess you haven’t been sleeping either- you weren’t getting treatment for Lupus. So you’re right. You haven’t done anything. Not one damn thing to take care of yourself- you might not have ‘done anything’ actively, but you’ve been passively killing yourself for an entire goddamn year Emily.”

Sighing in something that was close to defeat, Elisha sat back down in her chair and looked at her, at once searching and fed up. “When were you going to tell us? Or were you ever going to?”

Emily felt as if she were frozen, rooted to her hospital bed. The monitor next her beating in warning as her heart raced. Lupus. It was ice down her spine. Logically she had known what Elisha being there when she woke up had to mean. Still there was no more effective way her sister could have found to shatter her entire world than speaking that word.

Because this was everything she had been avoiding. If Elisha knew everyone knew. If she knew then it was a matter of time before her mother started calling her every week with magazine articles like ‘all natural remedies and diets to help autoimmune diseases’ and ‘five ways to fight depression’, Elizabeth would start looking at her like she had at the festival constantly- like she felt guilty for not understanding her fucked up life. They would forbid her from living on her own, before long the word would get out and there would be the acquaintances she barely knew offering her condolences, what she passed for ‘friends’ treating her like she was made of glass. Dozens of doctor’s appointments, her therapist and the questions Emily had no answers for, and everyone hovering too close while Emily sucked up their time and energy and resented them for their care- because she was fucking broken and couldn’t even love her family right. Exactly like before.

“Emily? Emily calm down, it’s alright.” Elisha’s face swam in front of her face as she leaned over, putting a warm hand on either side of Emily’s face in a would-be soothing way. Emily could remember her doing the same thing when she was little and wordlessly crying over some small childhood drama, her small fingers wiping away her tears. It was kind and familiar and she just couldn’t take that right now. She jerked as far away from her as she could in her limited bindings, a ragged breath tearing it’s way past her lips. The panic that had started when she woke up was starting to take over her rationality.

“Have you told anyone else yet?” She demanded, subconsciously yanking against the restraints again as she tried to make her breathing even out. Every part of her brain was screaming at her to do whatever possible to get away from this conversation- and she was conveniently all but chained to her hospital bed. It was some fucked up kind of fate.

“Not yet.” Elisha said hesitantly, still looking as if she wanted nothing more than to calm her somehow- like her hands were itching to touch her. It was enough to make Emily want to scream. Take these off and get the fuck out. Stop looking at me, stop touching me, stop caring. Finally ive up on me so I can die in peace and not feel so goddamn guilty about it. Please, please, please.

The ragged breath that Emily let out was something closer to a sob. “Then don’t. Please. Just don’t. I don’t want anyone else to know. I’ll do whatever you want Lish, please. I don’t- fuck. I don’t want to live under a goddamn microscope again okay? I didn’t do anything to warrant that- I haven’t done anything to myself. I haven’t been going to my therapy appointments or anything I know but- I’ll start going again. I promise. Just please. I’m literally begging you Lish. Don’t tell anyone else. I can’t do that again Lish, I can’t.”

It wasn’t fair to put on her, and Emily knew it. It was the same kind of selfish shit she’d been pulling her entire life, she just didn’t seem to be able to stop. She was a plague. A goddamn black hole that ruined everything it touched and sucked the life out of everyone who got to close to her bullshit, and no one understood why she pushed them away. She wanted to cling to people just as badly as any other lonely person- but seeing the effect she had on people was worse than dying alone. People hating her for being an asshole was easier to deal with than them resenting her for showing her underbelly and clinging to them.

“Emily…” Elisha’s voice was heartbreakingly tender. It made Emily’s skin crawl. Like she’d flayed herself open and been thanked for her effort. “Emily I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”

Emily knew.

That didn’t make it any better.

“Then leave.” she hissed viciously, bunching her hands in the thin bedding that covered her legs.

 Closing her eyes against the stinging threat of tears, she turned away from Elisha as much as she could in the confines of her restraints, ignoring all Elisha’s attempts at conversation until she heard the sound of her sister, crying as she left the room.

Maybe the agony was the same as the first time after all.

Emily’s sleep was abruptly ended by the sound of sensible heels clicking across the room, and the smell of sunflowers and marigolds.

Oh no, no please. I can’t do this. Not after last night. Please.

“Hello, darling.” A slight dip in the bed as a generous frame sat itself by her feet, ignoring the chair waiting at her bedside. The machine that monitored her pulse beeped in warning once again as her heart attempted to pound itself out of her rib cage. She’d thought seeing Elisha was hard, but this? This was so much worse.

“Your sister called me. It’s been a long time. I’ve missed you- I’ve been worried about you.” A hand came out to rest on her knee and Emily jerked away with a bitten off curse, her breath coming out ragged as a gasp.

“Join the fucking club.” She snapped viciously, giving the restraints a hard tug that she’d learned by now was completely useless. She’d attempted to get several different nurses to remove the damn things after Elisha left, but none would. Her sister had convinced them she was a danger to herself.

The morning light was blinding as she opened her eyes, Dr. Dubois’s plump frame and dark hair surrounded by a halo of light that made her look serene and ethereal. It was a stark contrast to the wretched fight or flight reflex that was singing through Emily’s veins. If she could have chewed her own arm off to get out of that room, she would have.

“Oh, I’ve been in that club.” The doctor’s voice was mild, but there was something behind that. Some gentle emotion Emily had no right to. “I’ve been in that club since you were seven years old Emily, one measly year of you avoiding me doesn’t change that. I’ve almost said to hell with confidentiality and called your parents so many times... I- well. When Elisha called me I was happy to hear you were only in the hospital. I’m so sorry to hear about your health, darling.”

Swallowing thickly, Emily looked at the woman who had been until last year one of her sole confidants. She looked different- her hair was shorter, a little grayer, and her eyes were bright with emotion. Without her permission, the tears that she had been biting back and forcing down for the last few months came rushing down her face, undeterrable. “I- I didn’t do it, you know. I didn’t do this to myself.”

The older woman’s face was a gentle as Elisha’s had been as she sighed. “I know darling, I know. But just because you haven’t been self harming doesn’t mean you haven’t been hurting yourself in other ways. You’re a smart woman Emily. I know you know you’re not well right now, you’re just like a cat that hides when it’s hurt and then hisses when someone who wants to help gets too close. It makes things harder on you.”

Dr. Dubois seized a tissue off the end table next to the bed and reached out slowly, giving Emily the option to tell her to stop before dabbing at the tears that Emily couldn’t wipe away, restraind as she was. She was grateful for the help, even if being touched killed her in a way she couldn’t quite explain. “Do you remember what you said to me? The first session we ever had? You said ‘I want to be happy’.”

It was stupid. A stupid innocent, naive thing Emily had said when she was too young and green to know that depression wasn’t the flu- and that taking a pill didn’t make it go away. But she could remember being so small, sitting on a leather couch she had practically grown up on, arms crossed and terrified that this woman and her parents were going to throw her out like a defective toy. She’d gone from fearing that to wishing they had- and she couldn’t remember when she’d started hating herself so goddamn much or if she’d just come out of the womb wishing she’d never taken her first breath.

A small sob broke past Emily’s mouth without her permission, then another, and before long her shoulders were shaking with the force of them. She’d cried plenty since her diagnosis, but she’d never actually grieved. Somehow she’d convinced herself that she’d accepted her fate, but it wasn’t true- she’d just pretended and faked it to herself so it was alright that she wasn’t trying to fight for her own life- so she didn’t have to share it with anyone. Then she’d pushed and shoved everyone away so they hated her, so she didn’t have to feel guilty that she was letting Lupus kill her without a fuss- because there was no one to leave behind. It wasn’t being suicidal if it was just the way things were- or so she’d managed to believe.

“I told you that was the first step, but I was simplifying things. Sometimes it’s hard to even want to be happy, when happiness seems too hard and succumbing to misery so easy.” Dr. Dubois continued. “Sometimes the first step is just admit you need help, and then let people help you.”

Now she was crying harder than she had in months; furious, boiling hot tears spilling down her cheeks faster than Dr. Dubois could wipe them away. Her breath was uneven and her shoulders were shaking with the force of the cries that forced their way past her clenched teeth. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she’d fought her entire goddamn life just to want to live, it wasn’t fair that she probably would never get to use her degree to help other kids like her, it wasn’t fair she was laying in a hospital bed right now, it wasn’t fair that she was sick, it wasn’t fucking fair she was probably going to die young.

Dr. Dubois scooted up the bed until she could pull her up from her reclined position and let her rest her head against her shoulder, crooning softly as she wrapped her arms around Emily’s bony frame. “There you are, let it out.”

They stayed in that position for some immeasurable amount of time, while Emily cried herself dry and wailed apologies, and half formed explanations of her actions, and cursed the universe that had made her sick in both body and mind but refused to just kill her properly. Dr. Dubois for her part listened quietly, humming soothingly as she rubbed Emily’s back. After a while, she pulled back, stuffy nosed and puffy eyed, and somehow feeling more tired than she’d felt in the entire year of having Lupus.

“I don’t know how much harder things can get before I can’t deal with it anymore.” She sniffed wearily. It was too exhausting now to pretend to be okay.

“I know darling, I know. All we can do is take things one day at a time.”

Over the course of the next few hours, Dr. Dubois called Elisha back in the room, the three of them discussing treatments and medicine changes. Inpatient care was discussed and quickly decided against- so long as Emily and Elisha found somewhere for her to stay that wasn’t by herself and resumed her therapy appointments. (”And this time if you miss more that one a month, I’m calling Elisha and consequences be damned.” Dr. Dubois had warned her grimly.) The therapist spoke with some doctor or another, throwing around words like Lexapro, Zoloft, and Luvox, then left with a quick goodbye and a desire to see her soon.

Emily was left in an awkward silence with Elisha hovering awkwardly near the door. The energy in the room was exhausted, bitter, and more than a little hostile- from both sides. Elisha was still calling her family any minute now. Emily was still furious about it. Between them were words Emily couldn’t take back, Elisha’s misplaced guilt over the state of her little sister’s mind, and permeating everything that coincidental phone call almost six years ago in May that had accidentally saved Emily’s life- the one that neither would apologize for.

After what might have been thirty seconds and might have been fifteen minutes Emily sighed, scooting to the side and patting the mattress next to her. She supposed after a year of hiding away, it was her turn to reach out. “Come here and tell me about your honeymoon. Is Dennis Macdonald just as big of a fucking idiot in Europe as he is in America?”

It wasn’t enough, that was for goddamn sure. The damage Emily had done wasn’t one that could be healed by any number of gestures. Maybe it couldn’t be healed at all. But it was more of an effort than she had made in a year, and for the moment Elisha seemed willing to pretend with her that things might be alright. She perched herself carefully on the edge of Emily’s bed, and Emily extended her hand, letting her seize it between her own. “You leave my sweet husband alone, you. It was amazing.”

For now, it was enough.

[lousylark]

blue lace

Part 1/?.  Story of Seasons, primarily Klaus X Minori.  Special tumblr early release; will be posting the full chapter one at some point this week, but here’s a sizable preview.  Enjoy! :)

1.

Winter 31st.  Oak Tree Town.  4:00 PM.

It was cold.

Minori buried her hands deep in the pockets of her coat.  She had forgotten to bring gloves for the walk to Lillie’s house, and, after several minutes of exposure to the frigid temperature, her fingers were going numb.  

She sighed, the air leaving her mouth in a puff of white.  The Inn was only mere minutes away; she had just passed the bridge into Oak Tree Town.  Hopefully Lillie would have a fire in the hearth and hot coco ready for drinking — or at least a pair of gloves.

Really, it was something of a wonder that Veronica hadn’t decided to cancel the New Year’s Festival that evening.  Although it was officially the final day of Winter, it was obvious that Spring would arrive late in the upcoming year.  At least six inches of fresh snow still blanketed every roof, windowsill, and street lamp.  Ice rendered every street a “proceed with caution” zone.

But Minori had never heard of Veronica canceling any of Oak Tree Town’s festivals, let alone a festival as important as that evening’s New Year’s party.  The guild-master had decided early in the season to open the festival to the general public for the first time, meaning that their attendance numbers would soar.  The town’s heightened publicity was a result, Veronica claimed, of Oak Tree Town’s farmers’ hard work over the past two years.  

And it was true.  Minori knew that she, Elise, Giorgio, and Fritz had contributed greatly to the growth of the town.  The New Year’s Festival was a way for them to look back and reflect on their accomplishments as well as a way to look forward to whatever challenges the new year held.  So, as much as she would have liked to have been at home snuggled up near the fireplace with her cat and a good book, she didn’t mind braving the cold if it meant making Veronica and the rest of the town happy.

Maurice’s Inn soon came into Minori’s field of vision, and she breathed another sigh — this time of relief.  The building’s brick chimney spat out steady puffs of gray smoke, which meant that someone had heard Minori’s prayers and stoked a fire.  (She would have to thank Dessie later.)

A few snow-crunching steps later, Minori stood in front of the door.  Scarcely had she raised her fist to knock, however, when it swung open before her.

Melanie, Maurice’s youngest child and Lillie’s sister, stood in the doorway.  Her brown hair was curlier than usual, tucked neatly behind the band of her earmuffs.  A navy blue trench coat, too big for her thin frame, hung from her shoulders.  It was likely a hand-me-down from Lillie.  Melanie loved few things more than wearing her older sister’s clothes.  

“Minori!” she greeted.  Her smile was dazzling, all white teeth and shining eyes.  

“Hi, Melanie,” Minori replied.  Melanie moved to one side, allowing Minori to step inside the lobby.  She wiped her slush-caked boots on the doormat.  “Cute earmuffs.”

Melanie twirled a piece of hair around her finger, pleased.  “Thanks!  Dad told me to bundle up, ‘cause it’s so cold out.”

Minori tilted her head to one side.  “You’re heading out already?  The festival doesn’t start for another two hours.”

“I know!”  She sidestepped Minori, heading toward the open door.  “I’m just going to Lutz’s house for a bit.  Lillie’s up in her room waiting for you.”  She looked over her shoulder at Minori and flashed another smile.  “See you tonight!”

Minori barely had the time to utter a response before Melanie slammed the door behind her, pushing in a rush of cold air that made her remember the numbness in her fingers.  

She glanced at the coatrack and then at the door leading to Lillie’s room, debating whether or not to remove her winter gear.  She was still freezing, and the fireplace was in the kitchen, not her friend’s room.  She wanted to leave her coat on for a bit, at least until she was warmed up, but she didn’t want to leave a trail of melting snow and slush everywhere she went, either.

Eventually, she decided on taking off her shoes, her scarf, and her hat, but leaving her coat on.  She was halfway through unlacing her boots when the kitchen door opened, revealing a very flustered-looking Maurice.

“Minori!” Maurice cried.  He, unlike his youngest daughter, was not at all put together.  Rather, he had on a white shirt and a pair of rumpled black pants.  Wrapped around his neck were two different ties, one a rich blue and the other black with little yellow stars on it.

Minori grinned.  “Hi, Maurice.”

This was not the strangest circumstance in which she had greeted Maurice.  Once, about a year ago, she had walked in on him trying — and failing — to bake a cake for Lillie’s birthday.  He had burned it to a crisp, of course, and had proceeded to beg Minori to help him make another one.  

In front of his customers, Maurice was a very regal and kind man.  With his daughters — and Minori, who may perhaps have been considered as such — he was like many other single fathers: endearingly bumbly.

“You’re good at clothes, Minori,” Maurice said, gesturing to the ties hanging from his neck.  “Which one?  The blue or the black?”

Minori finished unlacing her shoes and tucked them behind the coatrack.  Then, she stood up straight and gave Maurice’s ties another once-over.  The blue one, she noticed upon closer investigation, had little silver stripes running diagonally across it.  But the black tie was more charming and playful — and it matched his pants.

“The starry one,” Minori decided.

Maurice’s eyebrows drew together in a look of severe concentration.  “Are you sure?  It’s not too gaudy, is it?”

“It’s the perfect amount of gaudy, Maurice.”

The Innkeeper let out a hearty laugh.  “See, that’s why I like you, Minori!  You appreciate my gaudy ties.  If you were —“

Whatever Maurice was about to say was interrupted by loud chimes from the grandfather clock in the corner.  Minori counted four tolls.  The Festival would start in exactly two hours.

“I need to finish getting ready,” Maurice said.  “Thanks for the help with the ties!  Lillie’s in her room.”  

Minori nodded.  “Thanks, Maurice.”

He disappeared back into the kitchen area, and Minori couldn’t help but smile a bit as she finished taking off her hat and scarf.  Obviously, the cold weather was doing nothing to deter Maurice and Melanie’s excitement for the Festival.  It was like Starry Night all over again.

After arranging her scarf and hat neatly on the coatrack, Minori made her way across the lobby to Lillie’s bedroom door.  She grabbed the knob and pushed it open, poking her head through the door.  

“Guess who?”  she greeted.  

Lillie was looking in the mirror, but as soon as she heard Minori she turned toward the door.  She was wearing casual clothes — jeans and an oversized pink t-shirt — which was a rare occurrence.  As a weather reporter, Lillie had the potential to be recognized on the streets by total strangers.  She was something of a celebrity in Oak Tree Town and the nearby cities, so she always looked her best whenever she was out in public.

“Hi, Minori,” her friend said.  “You’re just in time to help me decide what dress to wear tonight.  Did you bring a change of clothes?”

“Yep!” Minori shifted her rucksack off of one shoulder and unlatched the main flap.  Inside was a neatly-folded midnight blue dress and a pair of sparkling silver shoes.  

Lillie moved closer to look at the outfit. “Oh, it’s lovely, Minori!” she cooed.  “I absolutely love the color.”

Minori smiled.  She was rather proud of the dress — her mother had helped her pick it out.  They had made a day of it two weeks before, stopping by every major dress store in Norchester, which, due to the size of the city, had ended up being about six hours straight of dress shopping.  

“Thanks.”  Minori plopped her rucksack near Lillie’s dresser, but laid the dress neatly over a nearby chair.  “So, which dresses are we choosing between?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to two,” Lillie began, gesturing to her bed.  Two dresses were laid out on top of the covers.  One was a rosy chiffon, the other an emerald silk.  “I just don’t know which one —“ She paused, giving Minori a quick once-over.  “You know, you sort of look like Rudolph right now.  Can I get you some tea or hot chocolate?”

Minori’s chest deflated with a heavy sigh of relief.  “Oh, Lillie.  This is why you’re my best friend.”

Lillie smiled.  “Of course.  Come with me to the kitchen and we’ll get you warmed up, okay?”

Winter 31st.  Oak Tree Town, Elise’s Mansion.  5:15 PM.  

As far as festivals went, New Year’s was, by far, Elise’s least favorite.  

Her reasoning was simple.  Since the festival took place at the end of Winter, it was always cold.  The nature of the festival made her obligated to stay until midnight, and, for someone who liked beauty sleep and hated the dark, that was terribly daunting.  And, finally, it was a straight-up boring festival.  Who wanted to stand around in the cold, dark, miserable weather and participate in tedious idle chatter for hours on end?  She certainly didn’t.  

The harvest festivals and the animal festivals were more her speed.  After all, Elise was nothing if not competitive.  She liked the field conquests for that reason.  Of course, she crushed Fritz and Giorgio in battles for the fields so often that it could hardly be called a conquest anymore.  At least Minori had learned to put up enough of a fight to occasionally sate her appetite for competition.  

A sharp, tingling sensation just above her ear drew Elise from her thoughts.  

“Ah!” she yelped, her hand flying to the spot.  

Her favorite hair stylist, Jenny, nearly dropped the curling iron out of fright.  “Miss Elise!  Did I burn you?”

Elise winced as she traced her wound with her pointer finger.  “Yes, you did.”

Jenny practically dropped the curling iron on the vanity, taking little mind of the silver comb and the hairpins littering its surface.  “Oh, dear.  I’ll get some ice!”

Elise waved a hand.  “No, that really won’t be necessary, Jenny.  It’s vital that you finish my hair soon; I must speak to Miss Veronica before the festival starts at six.”  She shifted in her chair, causing a few blonde locks to fall over her shoulder.  “You’ve made no other mistakes recently, so I’ll spare you the reprimanding.  Just finish my hair, if you will.”

“Yes, Miss Elise.  Thank you.”  Jenny picked up the curling iron and started toying with the back of Elise’s hair again.  

As the stinging in her ear subsided, Elise's gaze locked on her own reflection in the mirror. Her hair was naturally wavy, but she still liked Jenny to curl it. It gave her the chance for some  introspection before the festival; a chance to gather her thoughts on how best to work the night's social activities to her advantage.

That was what she needed to discuss with Veronica.  Elise’s father would be running for governor that upcoming fall.  He already had the vote of the upper class. It was the lower class majority that he needed to win over, and the Farming Appreciation Society’s backing was surprisingly vital to winning that constituency, considering that Norchester and the other big cities in the state were surrounded by large farming populations.

Incidentally, FAS members would be attending the festival that evening.  Elise's mission, as deemed by her father, was to do anything possible to endear herself to them as a farmer as well as a politician’s daughter. If they wanted information, she was to oblige.  If they wanted a tour, she was to oblige.  Anything they asked for, she was to oblige.

Her father's politics were admittedly interesting, but sometimes it was exhausting to be his pawn -- especially when the schmoozing didn’t directly benefit her.

A few more minutes passed, and Jenny set the curling iron down on the vanity once again.  "There, Miss Elise.  All done.”

Elise narrowed her eyes at her own reflection.  Her makeup was fine, though a bit plain.  The curls in her hair were even more ringlet-y than usual.  She had a tube of lipstick that would match her dress wonderfully, but she was restricted to only lipgloss that night.  Anything stronger would ruin the innocent, almost child-like facade she needed to achieve for her father's plans to hatch.

"Is it to your liking, Miss?" Jenny asked, her voice growing smaller and higher in pitch with every word.

Elise gave a short nod. "Yes.  That will be all.  You're dismissed."

"Thank you."

Jenny scurried out the door like a mouse running from a cat, leaving Elise alone in the room.

She turned the latch on the door, locking it.  She hated being alone in unlocked rooms.

Her gown for that evening was plain in comparison to her attire for other events, but it would still cost more than any of Oak Tree Town's other residents' outfits.  Even Giorgio's designer fashions couldn't top her father's money.  

This dress was from Silk Country.  It was a gentle pink: easy on the eyes, but not unflattering.  It hugged her figure just enough to lure the eye, and the white lace near her collarbone matched her elbow-length gloves.

She slipped out of her casual dress and undid the clasps on the gown, slowly, so as not to risk breaking any of them.  Though she knew next to nothing about farming, sewing, like politics, was a subject in which she could claim mastery.  She knew the simultaneous sturdiness and delicacy of this gown.  Its lasting wear depended on the way the article of clothing was treated.

Moments later she stood in front of the mirror with the dress on, smoothing out the skirt with her hands.  She sighed at her reflection.  Oh, it was terribly plain, and she hated it, but it would have to do.  

It was 5:45 before she felt comfortable enough to leave her room.  The house was quiet and empty, likely because she had given her servants permission to leave work early and attend the festival.  She didn't usually allow them that luxury, but she supposed New Years’ allowed for special circumstances.  

She descended the stairs quickly, thankful that her outfit didn't include high heels.  If her dress looked plain, at least her feet wouldn't hurt the whole evening.  She had just reached to open the door and leave when she heard a voice from the front parlor.  

"Hey, that's a pretty nice dress.  Did daddy pick it out for you?”

Elise's mouth tugged into a scowl.  

Nadi, her landscaper, stood in the parlor doorway.  Their relationship had always been terse at best and absolutely vexing at worst.  He was the unfortunate outcome of another of her father's business ventures; Nadi's employment was a favor to one of her father's political allies.  

"Please," she said with just a hint of venom.  She didn't even bother to turn and face him.  "Spare me, Nadi.  I have many more important things to deal with than your petty attempts at clever sarcasm."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."  Then, as Elise grabbed her winter coat from the rack, he added, "See you at the festival."

"Yes," she said, turning the knob of the front door, "unfortunately."

The air outside was bitterly cold.  Elise didn't get excited about many things, but this year she couldn't wait for spring.  Snow in Oak Tree Town was beautiful, especially compared to the dirty stuff in Norchester — she could give it that much credit.  But spring weather was more her speed.  

From the raised grounds of her farm, Elise could see that Veronica stood in her usual spot just outside the festival grounds.  The guild master greeted every person who passed under the archway into the Trade Depot, but, other than that, she seemed fairly unoccupied.

Elise made her way down the stairs and into the main part of town, grateful that she was bundled up in her winter coat.  She was less recognizable this way.  Hopefully no one would stop her for a "chat" before she could get to Veronica; she found idle prattle so terribly boring these days.

Though she almost slipped once or twice on the ice, the trek to the festival grounds was fairly uneventful.  Soon enough she was within ten feet of Veronica — and what she saw there struck her.

“Hello, Elise" Veronica greeted. Three people stood next to the guild master, two men and one woman.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Elise knew she ought to respond, but she was, for once, so dumbfounded that she couldn't quite find the words.

Her father had mentioned the presence of FAS members.  He hadn't mentioned which members.  Standing with Veronica was the President, Vice President, and Treasurer of the board, arguably the three most influential members of the organization.  Elise knew them from the FAS magazines, letters, and television interviews.  She had never met them in person before.

Anxiety fluttered in Elise's stomach, but she pushed it down.  Finally, she raised her hand in greeting, and took several steps closer to Veronica and the FAS board.

"Elise," Veronica began, her steely gray eyes warmer than usual, "have you met the FAS board before?"

Elise gave a polite smile. "No, I can't say I've had the pleasure."  

"Well, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Pierce, Miss Holland, and Mr. Jenkins."

Elise shook each of their hands in turn.   Seeing them in person, she was struck for the first time how different they each were.  Mr. Jenkins was a jovial, hearty man.  He couldn't be more than two inches taller than Elise herself, and he carried most of his weight in his belly and chin.  Miss Holland was the exact opposite: tall and thin, with trendy red glasses and perfectly manicured nails.  She was the perfect picture of Norchester's secretarial staff, but rumor had it that the young woman had brains and cunning to rival most company CEOs.

Then there was Mr. Pierce.  He was the president, and every bit of it was reflected in his demeanor.  He was a quiet and honest man, but proud, too.  While Mr. Jenkins and Miss Holland were dressed in their Sunday best, Mr. Pierce donned a simple pair of jeans and a flannel shirt under his winter coat.  He was, according to critics, one of the best and most innovative home farmers of the modern agricultural age, with his net worth reaching almost as much as her own father’s.  Of course, you wouldn’t know that by looking at him.  Somehow that made him all the more impressive.  

"A pleasure to meet all of you," Elise said as warmly as she could manage. "I'm Elise Buchanan, in case Miss Veronica didn't already tell you."

Miss Holland raised an eyebrow.  "Buchanan?"

Mr. Jenkins' face lit up with a smile.  "Ah hah!  You're Todd's youngest, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

Miss Holland still looked confused.  "Todd Buchanan?"

“Mr. Buchanan is one of the candidates for governor this fall,” Mr. Jenkins clarified.  "A very established man in Norchester.  I played golf with him once."  He looked at Elise and winked.  "A right legend at golf, your father.  Two hole-in-ones in one game!  How does he do it?"

Elise smiled, hoping that it touched her eyes.  "With determination and practice, sir.  And quite a bit of luck."

Mr. Jenkins laughed, a big, belly-heaving burst of joy. "Ah, yes.  Anyone who succeeds at anything needs quite a bit of luck.  So, Elise my dear, what is a princess such as yourself doing in Oak Tree Town, hmm?"

Elise resisted the urge to shoot him a glare.  She hated when people called her a princess.  But her smile remained unfaltering as she replied, "I'm one of the farmers here, sir.  I own the lot closest to town."

This caught Miss Holland's attention.  "Really?  Interesting.  You don't look like a farmer."  She paused, realizing her error, and added, "What I mean by that is — well, your dress.  It's made of silk worm thread, isn't it?  It's beautiful."

Elise was actually mildly impressed by the observation.  It was difficult to distinguish the silk of a silk worm from other similar brocades by sight.

"Yes, it is silk worm thread,” Elise replied.  “Thank you.  It was a Starry Night gift from my father.”  Not entirely untrue, but, considering the ulterior motives of the dress, Elise wasn’t sure the dress could be classified as a “gift.”  It was better described as an asset, or an investment.

Miss Holland opened her mouth to speak again.  She was interrupted, however, by a quiet clearing of the throat from Mr. Pierce.

"The festivities are beginning soon, I believe."  His voice was deeper than Elise expected it to be.  He was always quiet during TV interviews, but in person it resonated like a church tower bell.  

Mr. Jenkins slid up his coat sleeve to glance at his watch.  "Oh-ho, indeed they are!  Shall we?"  He offered his arm to Miss Holland.  She took it.  Then, looking to Elise, he asked, "Will you be joining us, Miss Buchanan?"

Elise nodded.  "Yes, momentarily.  I have some affairs to go over with Veronica before I enter the festival grounds."

"Then we'll see you later, won't we?"

"I look forward to it, sir."

The FAS members moved away after some short goodbyes.  Elise watched them go, her eyes wide with wonder.  

Once they were out of earshot, she whirled on Veronica.  

"Veronica," she hissed, not wanting anyone to hear, "what are they doing here?"

Veronica wasn't taken aback by her quick change in behavior.  After all, she had known Elise for almost four years now, and her father before that for more than a decade.  

In fact, rather than flinching away from Elise's sudden venom, Veronica's face glowed with excitement.  "They're here to select an agricultural representative for the Green Leaf Competition."

"The Green Leaf Competition?"  Elise asked, taking a step closer to the guild-master.  She lowered her voice.  "And what do you mean, select an agricultural representative?"

Activity bustled around them.  Tourists and town-dwellers alike were making their way through the archway to the festival grounds.  Some approached Veronica to speak but, upon seeing Elise's grave expression, turned away and disappeared back into the crowd.  

Veronica took a deep breath.  It seemed as if she was going to go into a long explanation, but then she exhaled.  “Elise,” she said, we have much to discuss.  Would you like to walk the festival grounds with me?"  She leaned in close, and added, "We'll find more privacy there."

Finding privacy in a public event.  The concept was not unfamiliar to Elise.  Sometimes she forgot that, as guild-master and standing mayor of the town, Veronica was somewhat adept in the political world.

Elise's ever-present frown transformed into a slight smirk.  "That sounds lovely, Veronica."

Perhaps, if she could get the right information out of Veronica and impress the FAS members, being her father’s political pawn would end up serving her directly after all.  

Winter 31st.  Lillie's House.  5:45 PM.  

Minori had just finished zipping up the back of Lillie's dress when there was a knock at the door.  

"What's up, dad?”  Lillie called.

"Uh, actually, it's Raeger."

Both girls brightened at the familiar voice.  Lillie bounded across the room and flung the door open.  

There stood Raeger, his hair considerably wind-tousled, his smile bright, and his cheeks rosy from the cold.  He had yet to take off his coat, but Minori could see a white collar and a red tie around his neck, which meant he was already wearing his chef's uniform.  

Lillie threw her arms around him in a bear hug.  Raeger was fully prepared for this, judging by the way he squeezed her so hard her feet lifted up off the ground.  They hadn't seen each other since even before Starry Night; Lillie had left two weeks before the end of winter to visit with family and Raeger had gone to Norchester on some restaurant business a day before she had gotten back.  

Minori knew that they hadn't spent that much time apart for several years, and she knew firsthand how hard it was to live without a close friend nearby for more than a few days at a time.  After all, she had left her farm in Giorgio's care for only two days to visit her family during the holidays, and she had spent every minute missing and worrying about her animals.  

Lillie and Raeger broke apart, and Minori stepped in to give Raeger a slightly less aggressive side-hug.  He returned the favor by ruffling her hair.  

"Raeger!" she protested, though there was a broad smile on her face.  She swatted his hand away.  "Lillie just finished curling my hair, please don't mess it up."

Raeger just chuckled, though he did remove his hand.  "Sorry, Nor."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Lillie.  This is her masterpiece, not mine."

Raeger turned to his childhood friend and gave her a sheepish grin.  "Sorry, Lillie."

Lillie smiled.  "I'll forgive you, but only if you stay and tell us about your trip."

He sighed.  "I can't, actually.  I'm a bit short on time, I've got to get to the festival grounds so I can get my catering equipment set up."

Raeger had only started offering his catering services to Veronica a year ago, but he had provided some snack for each festival since then.  Last year's New Year's noodles had been a hit.  This year, however, there would be at least five times as many visitors at the festival -- if not more -- because it was open to the public.  Raeger had been stressing about getting everything ready for weeks, Minori knew, because he had lamented to her every time she ate at the restaurant.  

Lillie tilted her head to one side.  "Isn't the company you hired for help supposed to do that?"

"About that," Raeger said, and his mouth turned downward in a rare scowl.  "The company bailed on me last-second.  Something about a conflicting deal in the city."  He dug the point of his shoe into Lillie's rug.  "I'm guessing someone in Norchester hired them for more money, and they decided that gig was more worthwhile."

"But that's rotten!" Lillie looked up at Raeger with eyes the size of teacup saucers.  "Why would they do that?"

Raeger shrugged.  "It's business, I guess."  He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest.  

Minori nodded.  "If the company wants to sacrifice their reputation for money, that's their choice.  It'll come back to bite them in the end."  

She stepped away from the door to sit down on the edge of Lillie's bed.  A thought occurred to her. "Raeger, if your company bailed, you should find some other help for tonight.  There's supposed to be a big crowd because —"

“—Veronica opened the festival to the public, I know."  He ran a hand through his already-messy hair.  "Actually, that's why I'm here.  This is a huge gig for me.  I need to make sure the publicity that the restaurant gets is positive, not negative."

Minori grinned.  "Ah, so you're here to mooch off our friendship and ask for help, is that it?"

Raeger sucked in a breath.  “You caught me.”  He looked between Lillie and Minori.  “So?  Think you guys can help me?”

Minori looked at Lillie.  Lillie looked back.  Minori turned to Raeger, her arms crossed defiantly.  

“Yeah, we’ll help.  But we want a free breakfast,” Minori said.

“On a Sunday,” Lillie added.  

Raeger frowned.  “I…well, fine.  I suppose that’s fair.”

Lillie and Minori high-fived, and the deal was sealed.

Winter 31st.  Norchester Train Station.  6:00 PM.  

Klaus Schultz was not an impulsive person.  He was, generally speaking, driven by methodical thinking and logic process.  He rarely let his emotions take control; he made judgement calls based on justice and not mercy nor vengeance.  

Years and years before, he might've described himself entirely differently.  But that version of himself was dead and buried.  He had been a new man for a long time.

It was for that reason, then, that he was so perplexed as to why he had convinced himself that catching a last-minute train to Norchester on New Year's Eve was a good idea.  

The train platform buzzed with activity.  Vendors, tourists, and natives alike flooded the station.  The moment he stepped off his train and onto the sidewalk, he tightened his grip on his luggage.  

"Well," he murmured to himself amidst all the noise, "at least Marian is easy to spot in a crowd."

The exit terminal was a short walk away.  Hopefully Marian would be on time.  The doctor had a habit of running "fashionably" late to everything other than his own scheduled appointments.  Klaus had always found him just a little hypocritical in that way — the one time every year that he was late to his biweekly appointments, Marian chewed him out for at least half an hour before proceeding with the normal checkup.  

Klaus lifted his suitcase onto an escalator step and leaned against the railing.  It had been a very long train ride, filled with deep thought and research notes.  He'd spent the week at a Perfume Connoisseur Convention in Redford, a city several hours west of Norchester.  As ridiculous as the convention sounded (especially to Raeger, damn the master chef and his infectious laughter), Klaus had gone with very specific intentions in mind — and he had not come back empty-handed.  

In fact, the fruit of his efforts was still in the breast pocket of his sports-coat: a small, leather-bound book.  Its yellowing pages were filled to bursting with handwritten notes about rare plants used to make 'magic' perfumes.  He wasn't sure he believed in magic, but he did believe in the healing properties of certain scents.  

The escalator fed out into the top floor of the train station, where family members and friends waited for their loved ones to arrive.   Klaus made an immediate right to stand against the wall.  He wanted to search for Marian without getting in the way of other outgoing passengers.  

He scanned the crowd for the familiar head of bright pink hair, but Marian was nowhere to be seen.  Klaus frowned.  He should have expected this.  

At least, he reasoned, he could read his book while he waited.  The handwriting of the author was so difficult to decipher that he had only managed to get through about half of the journal during the train ride.  

Just as he was pulling out the notebook, a familiar looking man started making his way toward the very wall Klaus was standing near.  Klaus regarded him over the top of the pages.  He was certain he had seen this man somewhere — his strangely styled gray hair, his unique golden coat, the poise as he walked.  Yes, Klaus was certain he knew this man, he just wasn’t sure how.

His suspicions were confirmed the moment they made eye contact.  The man gracefully changed his course; instead, he now walked over and reached out a hand for Klaus to shake.  

"You are Klaus Schultz, are you not?"  he asked.  

His accent was European, Klaus realized.  French, maybe, but there was some sort of Italian twang hidden in the taller vowels.  

"Yes, that would be me."  Klaus shook the man's hand before.  "I apologize.  I know we've met before, but I can't quite place when or why."

The man straightened his back.  His lips stretched into a lazy smile.  "You would know me if I were in costume, my friend.  I am Del Cossa; I have judged the fashion contests in Oak Tree Town for several years now."

"Ah, of course!" Klaus gave the man another once-over.  Yes, this was certainly the world-famous fashion designer who judged the competitions in Oak Tree Town.  The contests were never quite Klaus's favorite, but he still went to be supportive of the townspeople, particularly his friend Minori, who often entered her designs in an attempt to beat Elise or Giorgio.  

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, sir," Klaus continued.  He put the journal back in his breast pocket.  "I understand you and Marian are old friends?"

Del Cossa nodded.  "Yes, yes, the doctor and I have known each other for quite some time.  He speaks very highly of you."  

"Thank you.  He speaks highly of you as well," Klaus replied.  

Del Cossa crossed his arms over his chest and hummed.  "As he should.  I custom designed many of his clothes."

Klaus did not particularly wish to delve into fashion — he, unlike Marian, had little to no knowledge of the subject — so he quickly decided to change the topic.  "Do you have any New Year's Plans, sir?"

"As it so happens," Del Cossa began, "I will be accompanying you and Marian to Oak Tree Town for tonight's festival.  I returned from my European tour last week and I haven't seen Marian since before I left.  Our friend was insistent that I come to the party in Oak Tree Town."

This news did not surprise Klaus.  Marian had mentioned something about picking up another of his friends at the train station.  Del Cossa was saving him from forcing Marian to make an inconvenient trip to Norchester; Klaus was supposed to have taken the train back to Norchester tomorrow.  His sentimentality, however, had gotten the better of him.  He wanted to be at home for New Year's Eve, so he had purchased a train ticket that morning.  He figured he was rather lucky that Del Cossa was arriving in Norchester the same evening, or else Klaus might've caused Marian more trouble coming to pick him up than it was worth.  

A bright flash of pink appeared in Klaus's peripheral vision.  He shifted his gaze toward the crowd.  There, about ten feet away, he could see Marian making his way toward them, a huge smile plastered on his face.  

"Klaus, Del, my darlings!" Marian called.  His outburst won several stares from families waiting for their arrivals.

Marian gave each of them a hard smack on the back.  Klaus was used to this type of greeting.  Judging by Del Cossa's quick stumble, the fashion designer was not.  Surprising, if he and Marian really were old friends.  

"Klaus, good to see you again," Marian said.  "Del, how was Europe?"

Del Cossa nodded.  "Oh, it was quite a trip.  Europeans know their wines."

Marian winked at him.  "Ah, yes, indeed they do."  He grabbed both of their arms and started ushering them toward the door.  "Come, come, my friends.  The festival just started; we have a long way to drive if we want to make it before darling Raeger closes up his noodle assembly line!"

[motokristie]

Andorra and beyond

13-14 June 2017 The road to Andorra was surprisingly not very interesting except for one long tunnel under a mountain where the temperature dropped from 32 outside to 16 inside. The capital, Andorra La Vella spreads along a narrow valley and the historic old part was a few steps from our hotel. The houses are made of un-squared stone. The mountains rise vertically from the valleys, every bit of flat land is used. The official language is Catalan but French, Spanish and Portuguese are also used. We met many bikers staying at the hotel and saw many cyclists training on the steep, winding roads. Crossing the Pyrenees and into France was much better than the road up to Andorra. There were some good hairpin bends and great scenery. Some mountains were covered in pine trees and some in low, flowering alpine shrubs. The sheer rock faces and jagged outcrops were fantastic. Another long tunnel dropped the temperature from 28 to 11, which was refreshing. We stopped for lunch in Tarascon sur Ariege and the Ariege was running fast with melt water. Actually lunch was a bottle of coke each - it was too hot to eat. We rode down through the foothills where there were fields of yellow grain crops, green sunflower crops and freshly cut grass ready for baling. It was very picturesque and very hot. We stopped at a lay-by and rested for an hour in the shade of a tree. We found our BnB in Gambetta Square but the traffic system wouldn't allow us to continue around the square to the parking. I missed 2 sets of lights and we lost visual and verbal contact. There were 2 choices as we were fed out of the square, Mick turned right while I took the narrow road through the old mediaeval city. I discovered a military academy, many back streets and I also found the river before accidentally stumbling back into the square where Mick was waiting anxiously.

[ol-razzle-dazazzle]

ah, the anon who sent in the la vie en rose prompt. i meant to specify soukoku, but whatever strikes your fancy~ ^^

OKAY I AM REALLY SORRY THIS IS SO LATE BUT THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT 

I used this translation: I 

anyway, here is la vie en rose thank you for this req I really enjoyed it! I also (do not) apologise for Kouyou backstory feels and the Grieving Momfia™ but I thought that would be the best way they knew about the song… 

Warnings are blood, death mentions, grieving over dead love (both dead love and dead lovers) underaged drinking, crying, feelings, a kid that’s killed more people than 35- the usual stuff

The past is a lot like wine.A bittersweet taste, that only increases with time. And when you swirl the glass of memories with cautious reposeYou shall see la vie en rose

Chuuya still remembered those bittersweet notes on his lips, looking at the dim light of a wine cellar. He raised a bottle, looking at the light above through the distorted glass, blurring his vision. Love made one blind after all.

The beginning of a story, is a lot like matter, made up from pre-existing things. Or perhaps correlation would be more correct?

He still remembers that night as a child, with his first sip of wine. Mori and Elise weren’t home, most of the others weren’t. But the most important disappearance were two people. One of which Chuuya didn’t know or care for, and the other…well no matter.

He recalls asking Mori prior where Dazai was, causing a stuck-out tongue from Elise. “You shouldn’t talk,  he’ll flip out without you even needing your ability…” She snickers, and perhaps it his eyes but her dress seemed just a little more scarlet.  But it was best not to ask questions, aside from asking where Dazai was, more out of boredom than anything.

Glancing up, Mori had…that smirk. The one of not only murder, but malice- of pure concentrated bloodlust. “He’s sick, in the brain and in the chest. He always ends up like that, and they say idiots don’t get sick.” Elise rambled, adjusting the crooked bow on her hair to perfection. “It seems Big Sister contracted her own mind sickness too…she’s oh so quiet.”

“Ah, dear Elise! Your dress is ruined…” Mori’s voice reaches that sickly affectionate tone, but his expression doesn’t waver. “Now, now we have to change it…” Elise pouts, “Come ooooon, we have to go back out and finish it anyway…” She groans. “Besides, this was the last red dress I had, I should be fine with this.”  

They chattered away, and Chuuya’s expression dropped. The steps he made echoed through the halls, contrasting the normal boisterous atmosphere, considering how drunk their leader was becoming, the debt he was racketing up…if the mafia didn’t have an expiry date, he sure had one.

The silence was extinguished by a soft sob. Red and pink clung to the shadows, a flower in darkness.

“When he takes me into his armsHe speaks to me softly”

The words were like a wilted camellia, beautiful but pitiful. Shaky but something chord-striking in their sorrow.

“And I see life…-“Kouyou looks up, eyes red with tears. Chuuya stands there, small, unknowing what to do.

“You know…” A kimono sleeve wipes her face, and her gaze isn’t even to Chuuya. “They used to sing that to their husbands after World War Two.” Her hair is slightly dishevelled, as if her hairpin and her own mind would break off at the seam.

“You don’t have a husband.” A childlike naïevety with a crushing reality. Half-sob, half-laughter.

“Not anymore.”

“Ane…” Chuuya looks to the walls, not wanting to look at that weakness. Weakness should be crushed, weakness is the opposite of clarity and success. “What’s it called?”

“Loneliness.”

“The song?”

Kouyou chuckles, for to cry any further would sully her heart. “Pour me a glass, and I’ll sing it for you.”

“Tea? Your throat’s strained.”

“Oh come now, you’re old enough to know when we bust out the booze.” She laughs at her own lost composure, not even bothering to mince words that she was so fond of.

Watching someone grieve is a strange thing. People seem to turn into butlers. Chuuya walked over, stepping up on a stool and straining to reach the bottle, before sighing- levitating the stool to increase his height and swipe away the bottle.

Kouyou gets two glasses, and Chuuya struggles to get the bottle open. He pours a glass, before seeing another placed before the table.

“I can’t d…” Chuuya stops, with Kouyou’s eyes on him- staring through him. Her eyes are hollow, the light faded from them, like what he hears the police say on a breakthrough…  “What?” She pours the glass for the other, before moving it beside her, clinking it softly.

There was silence and sips. Chuuya must’ve read the bottle so many times he could translate the French written in the impractically pretty cursive.

“A gaze that make me lower my ownA laugh that is lost on his lips –That is the unretouched portraitOf the man to whom I belong”

And so a softly sobbing voice sang, ceasing in between bouts of tears. Her eyes didn’t let off from the glass.

“A bit of happinessThat I know the cause ofIt’s only him for meAnd me for him, for lifeHe told me, he swore to me, for lifeAs soon as I notice himI feel inside meMy heart beating”

And the song patters out, there’s still the lone glass on the table.

“Take it away.” Kouyou mumbles.

Chuuya picks up the glass, hesitating. “Another.”

He pours a fresh glass, offering it to her. “No. Wine is for two people.” She offers that damaged smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“C’est la vie. All you can do is enjoy it with those around you and savour the bittersweet everlasting taste.” Kouyou rests a hand on her face. Chuuya leaves the bottle, and leaves the room, taking the two glasses up with him.

The halls are no longer silent with the loud breakdown of one’s heart.

Chuuya opens the door, “You awake?”

Dazai offers a small smile, “With Ane’s screaming soul? Unlikely.”

“Fine, more for me then. Don’t need to stir you with alcohol.” Chuuya smirks.

“You act like you’ve drunk it before, I know you haven’t.” Dazai smiles, “I know everything about you.”

“You keep telling yourself that, you can barely even walk half the time, pile of bandages.”

“Well nonetheless, sooner or later you will have to work with said pile.” Dazai looks up, one covered eye, and the look in his eyes was empty, but had a growing warmth that Chuuya couldn’t shake. He wasn’t exactly sure himself why he came up here. “You look concerned, I mean…you know they’re going to try make you use that more often.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrow. “It’s going to kill me, they know that it keeps going until…” He sighs, looking at the red-colored glass on the table. “It can’t be controlled.”

And this was the first sentence that stirred fascination within Chuuya about Dazai, “And why should I control you, hmm?”

“I know you can nullify it, but-“

“That’s not what I mean.” Dazai smiles up at him. “I can tell the way you’re holding yourself. You’re scuttling around and just going along with it, but I know you’re worried.” He closes his eyes. “A msonth ago, you were taken along to crush an isolated organisation that was gaining traction. You crumbled two streets, and left no survivors on your 128 body count. I didn’t even know there were that many members to begin with…”

Chuuya looks down, considering chugging the cup beside him. He knows he wouldn’t get drunk from one glass, but there is always the childish exaggeration that makes one assume.

“I don’t want to lose myself.” Chuuya clutches his arms, and he feels that weak vulnerability that Kouyou felt.

“I promise you won’t…partner.” Dazai sits up, setting an arm over his shoulder.

When he takes me into his armsHe speaks to me softlyAnd I see life through rose-colored glasses

They both take their cups of wine, clinking it together.

“A toast to what?”

“Our first drink?”

“Oh that’s too boring…”

“…La vie en rose.” Chuuya nodded with certainty.

“I’m surprised you’re so optimistic, life from here on out will be in red and black.” Dazai chuckles.

“Well it fits. To be optimistic about optimism.” He shrugs.

“La vie en rose, huh…” Dazai murmurs, before the two take a sip from their respective glasses.

A first drink- to a life in pink.

But the lens of hindsight is painfully clear and chromatic.

And when they’re still there after the painful, purposeless silence, it’s blurred.

Horrible memories, bittersweet, as true as it was, life had aged like fine wine.

“Chuuya.” A gaze that lowers his own, a calm after a storm. It was admittedly a lie, when they said it would be resurrected for just one night. “Do you remember it?”

It couldn’t simply be one night, their whole lives had changed, their entire perspectives influenced and tinted by one another.

“Of course I do. How could I ever forget?” The pain and bothers fade awayHappy, so happy I could die, When he takes me into his arms

“I miss it, when you used to drunkedly ramble the words.”

“Or when you were getting rid of bodies and you were humming it.”

“You really heard that?”

“Did I try to learn the French original version?”

“Yes, but as much as I lied back then, you pulled it off rather well.”

They shared a laugh. A genuine one, devoid of murderous intent, and it felt peachy- pink.

“…When Ane first told me, she said that they used to sing it for the husbands when they went to war.” Chuuya murmurs, “Because they may never come back.”

Dazai’s disposition falters, sighing. He told me, he swore to me, for life, As soon as I notice him, I feel inside me, My heart beating.

“You know…when she was in the Agency’s custody, she said something to me.” Dazai looks at Chuuya, “That we were both idiots, too corawdly.”

Chuuya glances up.

“That even if it hurt, we should’ve at least tried. That she never regretted seeing life that way.”

“So?” Chuuya gives a small smile. “We’re idiots, but somewhere we knew…”

“That we’d come back.”

He told me, he swore to me, for life, As soon as I notice him, I feel inside me, My heart beating.And they saw la vie en rose.