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shadowbriar · 1 year

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Fred Weasley - Pick Up Where We Left Off

Pairing : (F/M) || Fred Weasley x Reader Word Count : 2.5k Warning : None. Let me know if I missed anything Synopsis : One last Christmas with the Weasleys, would she find her closure from his sudden withdrawal years ago? Notes : I’m trying to pull myself out of writing slump. Hope this is good enough of a comeback-ish post. Not proofread, I might edit this later. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Perhaps she’s read one too many romantic novels that it’s started to blur the line of reality in her life. Perhaps Hermione has told her too many tales of happy endings that it’s started to dilute her idea of realism. Perhaps she’s taken Divination class too seriously that it’s started to make her believe that the Universe holds a better, sweeter, and dreamier ending for her and him.

It was no question for her on whose palms her heart belongs. Long before Snape taught her class about Amortentia, long before Trelawney taught her about crystal-gazing, she already knew whose magnetic force her world would revolve around. One look of him after being sorted to her house and it felt like the thin haze of uncertainty in her life was lifted. She might only be a child then, but she knew that this wouldn’t be something she could walk past from.

For the first few years of her school life, everything seemed to be falling to its place. It wasn’t hard for her to grow close with him, like how bees are naturally attracted to flowers, in no time he was always just an arm’s length from her. He was always around. Always had his hands on top of her head as they walked on the corridors, always saved her a seat in the Great Hall for every meal, and would always find her first to share the mischief he’s accomplished during the day.

Yet some day in their Third year, something changed. Like someone had just pulled the rug she was standing on, snapping her to the reality that things are simply too good to be true. She has misunderstood his affection and tender gestures. Fred Gideon Weasley has never held any romantic feelings for her.

She bites her lip as the memories of their once fond friendship slowly evaporates to thin air. He slowly distant himself, for whatever reason she still couldn’t decipher. His bright beaming smile turns into a tight line before eventually gone entirely from his handsome face. His fingers no longer play with her hair and the space between them during meals seem to grow further each day until he’s found himself eventually sitting on a different spot.

“Will you come and spend Christmas with us?” Ginny asks, linking her arms as they walk to the train “It’s been a while since we see you on breaks.”

She smiles, shaking her head lightly, “Not this time, Gin.”

“Is Fred still being an arse?” The younger continues with her questions “It’s been years, surely he’s warmed up to you.”

“He sure has.” She lied, giving the red head a squeeze on the arm “We’re just not as close anymore and I think it would be awkward for us all if I were to pop out of nowhere at your family dinner.”

“Nonsense! Everyone would be delighted to see you, I can guarantee that.”

She shows an apologetic smile, still not giving in.

“It’s been years,” Ginny continues to plead “You’re graduating soon and Merlin knows when else we could spend Christmas together. You know, Charlie’s back from Romania and it wouldn’t be complete still without you there.”

“I don’t know, Gin.”

“Please? I’ll hex and petrify Fred in his room if he’s making you uncomfortable.”

She chuckles a little before letting out a sigh, “Alright.”

—-

She tidies her skirt in nervousness, standing in front of the Burrow’s door as she wonders if coming here was a mistake. One last Christmas, she thought. One last Christmas before she could move on from the long attaching chapter in her life that is Fred Weasley. One last Christmas with the Weasley before she shuts the memory away. One last Christmas to say goodbye.

With a long inhale, she hesitantly knocks on the wooden door. Her grip on her purse tightened as the person who greets her first was the one she least wished to see. He looks just as surprised to see her, a light hint of rose tainting his cheeks. Perhaps from the cold breeze of air.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” She greets back “Your family invited me for dinner.”

He blinks, seemingly at a loss of words, “Right, of course.”

“Sunshine!’ A voice called behind him, revealing Bill who’s now coming to her with large steps “Oh, it’s been decades since I last saw you!”

She giggles as he pulls her for a hug, lifting her slightly, “Hello, Bill.”

“Oh, Merlin.” He says, staring at her beamingly as he puts her down “Look at you now! You’ve grown! You’re a lady now.”

“Still far shorter than you, though.”

“Nah, your height is the perfect one. It’s cute.”

Fred clears his throat, “I think you should let a woman come inside first before flirting with her, Bill.”

“Of course!” Bill says, pulling her by the shoulder and leading her in “Come on, there’s so many things we should talk about. How’s life, Darling?”

The warm happy smile is still plastered on her face, feeling genuinely happy as Bill starts to share the bits of his life that she’s missed about. He’s always been the welcoming big brother for her, always there to embrace her with such warmth and love she would never find elsewhere. Yet with all the joy and delight of hearing Bill’s pleasant stories, she couldn’t help but to notice the annoyed scoff and the louder slam of the door as they entered the house.

Perhaps her presence really is a bother for him.

—-

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She curses with a sigh, placing her hands to hips.

To say dinner went pleasantly would be such an understatement. Everyone welcomed her as if she was the missing jigsaw the family has been missing for years. Bill was always by her side, Charlie sharing all of his adventurous tales from Romania, and Percy who blabbered about his new position at the ministry. The shared night felt like it went by too quickly that Mrs. Weasley persisted for her to stay the night, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

Perhaps it was the blissful warmth the house has always been filled in and the waves of emotions she hasn’t felt for years that made her struggle to drift off to sleep now. That or the fact that Fred was the only silent party on the table. He was the only one who didn’t try to engage in a conversation with her, yet she could feel his eyes boring into her like a tiger prying on their prey. The not so subtle, dare she say, jealousy he shows when Bill rests his arm around her shoulder, or when Charlie played with her hair, or when Percy give her a slice of their mother’s cookings, or when George made her laugh so hard she cried, or when Ron hugged her as he opens her present, or even when Ginny stole her to gossip about her little crush on Harry at the sitting room. All the little mundane things they used to do, she couldn’t help but to wish that Fred would miss it too.

But he’s made no effort to come to her, not even a step closer. He kept his distance, a tight forced smile decorating his face whenever their eyes met. It was as if her presence was torturing him.

“Need a hand?”

“Oh, Godric!” She yelps, turning to see the angel of her nightmares standing by the stairs “I couldn’t find where the sugar’s placed.”

He nods, not saying a word as he opens the overhead cabinet and puts the sugar to the table.

“Thanks.” She muttered with a small smile “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No,” He says short, now leaning to the basin “I couldn’t sleep.”

She nods.

The sound of her stirring her cup of tea is now the only thing breaking the silence between them. She could feel him staring, with his hands folded in front of his chest as if he was studying her. She dares not to look up. Merlin knows just how much of a shamble she would find herself in to lock their gazes. Even after all these years of separation, she knew that he’s still the one magnetism her heart belongs to.

But minutes passed and he still hasn’t spoken a word. Her tea was getting cold, untouched for she fears the slightest change of action would make him leave. Though the tension was ripping her apart, she would gladly be stuck in this situation forever if it meant she could keep him around.

“How have you been?”

She looks up, finally gathering enough courage to see him, “You mean lately or the past few years we’ve been apart?”

“Both,” He says with a slight frown “I suppose.”

“I’m doing alright. You?”

“Could’ve been better.”

“Lately or the past few years?”

He smiles, repeating his words, “Both, I suppose.”

She looks down to her tea. This would be the very time for her to find her closure, find the answers as to why he would leave her so abruptly with no warning. Yet now that the universe has aligned them their moment, why is she now feeling scared? Why does it feel like laying on the bed of uncertainty, the one thing she’s found comfort with over the years of his absence, feels like a better course of life than to have her heart broken for whatever reason he might have?

“I know that I owe you an explanation,” He says as if he could read her mind “But I fear that it would only make you hate me.”

“What makes you think that I don’t already hate you?”

He smiles painfully, “Silly of me think that you haven’t.”

“Say we live in a world where I could never hate you,” She whispered, fingers tapping on her tea cup “Would you give me the answer?”

“In that world, yes.”

She looks up, pleading for him to continue in silence.

“In that world I would tell you everything.” He continues “I would tell you everything, give you everything. Hell, I wouldn’t even leave in the first place.”

“Say that is our world, this world. What answer would you give me?”

His gaze softens, guilt and regret seeping through them, “That I was just a boy. I was scared of what our friendship could lead us to.”

She remains quiet.

“We were so close.” He reminisced with a sad smile “There were times when I felt like I was closer to you than George, and he’s always been with me since I first took my breath in this world, yet somehow you overthrone him and it scares me.”

She nods, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not something you should feel sorry for, Love.” He chuckles bitterly “I was afraid you would somehow, in my most narcissistic mind, fall for me. I know that there would be no chance in the seven hells for that to happen, a girl like you falling for a boy like me, hell that would’ve been the most dubious wish I could hope for.”

She frowns, not following where his confession is going to.

“But I was scared that that would happen. I was scared that our friendship would grow into something more and I could never forgive myself if you were to fall for me when I haven’t sorted my feelings out.”

“I see,” She speaks, taking gulps to try and suppress the growing lump on her throat “And have you sorted your feelings now?”

“I have,” He nods, a sad smile still plastered on his face “I have for years but it was too late already.”

“Too late for what?”

“To make you mine.”

Her head now spins. She felt like her ears had lied to her, that her mind had somehow misunderstood his words, for there could be no chance in every lifetime that he would ever reciprocate her feelings. Never.

“I’m sorry that I ruined everything.” Fred says with a shaky voice as if he was trying to bottle his emotions “I’m sorry that I left you, I’m sorry for realising my feelings too late, I’m sorry for making you hate me, and I’m so fucking sorry for being jealous at everyone who gets to spend their time with you because no matter how many times I tried, I can’t stop loving you.”

And there it is. The confirmation that she wasn’t just making the words in her head. That he indeed, is confessing his heart for her.

She places her hands to her forehead, trying to stop the dizziness she’s feeling right now. Everything Fred said was all she’s been praying for but now that she’s heard it, she wasn’t sure what to say. That, and the fact that she still needs to comprehend that this wasn’t just a lovely dream her mind’s playing.

“Please say something.” Fred begs.

“Merlin, I hate you so much.” She sighs, now looking up to meet his saddened eyes “If I had my wand with me right now, you would’ve find yourself in a casket already, Fred Weasley.”

He smiles, “That doesn’t sound like a very bad way to go.”

“Oh, it is.” She nods, scoffing “Because then you wouldn’t know that I’ve been loving you too.”

His smile dropped, blinking as he heard her.

“Now you can hate yourself even more.” She says sarcastically.

“You’re-” He stammers, now standing up rigidly “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m as serious as you are.” She answers, standing from her seat too “So tell me, Fred, am I being serious?”

Fred was at a loss of words. He stares at her with a conflicted look, like desire and restraint was fighting to take over his body. He hesitantly takes a step closer to her and when she doesn't flinch, he closes the gap between them, now standing in front of her with his hands resting on either of her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

She squints her eyes, confused, “What for?”

“For what I’m going to do.”

And with that he leans in, sealing their lips together in the most delicate way. The kiss was short but it was enough to fuel both of their aching hearts. They sigh as they break it off, eyes still closed for a few more seconds as they try to bath in each other’s presence. Something that they’ve longed so painfully long for.

“I love you.” Fred says, looking at her tenderly “I would do anything, and I mean by anything to fix us. We can start from the beginning, I could be a friend or anything you like. Just- Please give me a chance to fix this.”

“I don’t know, Fred.” She teases, faking a sad face “You’re cute, but Bill looks so hot now.”

His mouth was agape, gasping at her taunt, “And here I thought you were a loyal friend. Siblings are off limits, you know it!”

She smiles, kissing the palm of his hand.

“Please?” He asked again, whispering his plea “You won’t regret it.”

“Okay,” She nods, cheeks red from the bliss “But only if you promise you’ll kiss me at the podium when we graduate.”

“Yeah, about that,” Fred awkwardly chuckles, one hand now finds its way to the back of his neck “You’d still love me if I got expelled, right?”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley scenario #fred weasley scenarios #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x oc

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

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Psychomanteum / Chapter 12

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 12: Ghost in the Machine

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter go on a date while grappling with the past, present, and future.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, insecurities, mirror, angst, fluff, acting career things idk, awkward/nervous speech patterns, cocaine use, past infidelity, suspicion, dissociation, argument, abuse mention

Notes: Chapter title from "Ghost in the Machine" by SZA featuring Phoebe Bridgers. Howdy! If you want the taglist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. If you want a link to the spotify playlist for this chapter, let me know and I'll send it to ya.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Every window in the house sits ajar, welcoming a warm cross-breeze that tickles your skin. It carries an earthy scent from further up the hill, giving faint whiffs of sage and dirt.

Dieter moseys around the house in his boxers, voyaging between his kitchen sink and potted plants, watering can in hand. He mumbles sweet little affirmations to his green dependents, checking in with each in a hushed voice, saying shit like, “Now, how are we doing here? Thirsty?” or “Looking great today,” or “Wow, someone needs a haircut.”

From your place nestled into the couch, you alternate between watching him and studying the white wisps of steam that swirl off the surface of your coffee cup.

This morning, while peaceful, has you feeling off-kilter. Your mind keeps wandering to the interview with DIRT. To your mom. To Dieter.

Overnight, the dust began to settle in your mind, providing more clarity. Details started to surface shortly after you woke. Things you heard yesterday, but didn’t understand or deem important in the moment.

Like David’s statement: “Dieter has had a lot of big changes in his personal life this past year as well, with his divorce to Anika, and the scandals surrounding it.”

Like your mother saying: “He had a problem with drugs, you know, big problem, had other women, too,“ and, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?”

Like Dieter saying: “No, I definitely deserved that.”

In each still, calm moment, they replay. Every time you look at Dieter and your heart aches with love and adoration, your memory blindsides you with this information.

Is your mom right? Did he cheat on Anika?

Or is she just trying to drive a wedge between you?

Wouldn’t he have told you when he had the chance?

You know you could do a web search to look into it, do your own research into the matter. Hell, you could even just fucking ask him. But the prospect makes you itch.

Because what if she’s wrong and he thinks you don’t trust him? Or, worse, what if she’s right?

Fuck, what if she’s right?

Your blood starts to buzz hot and rapid through your veins. You look around for an escape hatch and see a bookshelf, then set your coffee cup down to approach it.

Among knickknacks and a few small plants housed on the solid oak shelves, you find titles you expect to see, like 1984 by George Orwell, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, and at least a dozen art reference books. You also find a few things you weren’t expecting, like Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, half a dozen Julia Quinn novels, and, most importantly, a first edition of Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book.

You pull the cookbook out and examine it, running your fingertips along the frayed corners of the faded red hardcover, then flip it open, asking, “Why do you have this?”

Dieter looks up from an unruly Monstera, “Have what?”

“This cookbook,” you answer, padding across the living room’s black and white striped rug to show him.

He frowns as you hold it up, shaking his head, “Must’ve been Annie’s. She left some stuff behind when she moved out.”

“My grandma had this one,” you murmur, glancing up at him, “Is—is it ok if I look through it?”

He scoffs and shrugs, “Not like she’s coming to get it,” then returns his attention to the Monstera.

You settle into the couch, thumbing through the yellowed pages, reading recipes, tips, and instructions compiled for housewives of the 1950’s. Dieter finishes grooming his plants and plops down at your side, curling an arm around your shoulders, “Betty giving you any inspiration?”

“Fun fact: Betty Crocker isn’t an actual person,” you smirk, turn the page to the section on custard pies, and inform him, “In the 1920’s, a flour company noticed they got a lot of homemakers requesting baking advice, so they adopted the moniker Betty Crocker as a pen name for the people who answered the questions.”

“Huh,” he blinks, “Interesting.”

“Listen to this,” you flip to a dog-eared page towards the back of the book and start reading from it, “If you’re tired from overwork, house chores you’re bound to shirk, read these pointers tried and true, and discover what to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Tips for housewives who are fucking miserable,” you tell him, then read another excerpt, “Get outdoors every day. Take a walk, do some gardening, take the children for an outing, or pay your neighbor a short visit,” and another, “Harbor pleasant thoughts while working. It will make every task lighter and pleasanter. Notice humorous and interesting incidents to relate at dinnertime, etc.”

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You want to tell him that the page was bookmarked. Its connection to the spine, well-creased. Referenced often. The comment lingers at the back of your throat.

When you backtrack your place in the book, trying to resume your study on custard pies, a white index card slides from between two pages.

“Oh,” you pluck it out and furrow your brow at the ingredients, measurements, instructions printed in a precise script, “It’s a recipe for banitsa. You ever had this?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s like a flaky cheese pastry… phyllo, feta, yogurt,” you murmur, then glance up at him, “What do we have going on today?”

“Reservations at 7, and Darlene’s gonna stop by later, but other than that,” he grins and shakes his head, “Nada.”

So, the two of you smoke a joint on the patio while Lincoln picks up the called-for ingredients Dieter doesn’t have on hand. After Lincoln drops them off, you sanitize the sun-drenched quartz of Dieter’s kitchen countertop, all sparkling rainbows in the light. Dieter spreads a paint-splattered drop cloth across the no-man’s land between the dining room and kitchen, sets up an easel, equips it with a canvas, then rolls a little yellow file cabinet out next to it.

He puts on a mix of music described as roller-rink 1978. As the funky tunes play over the sound system wired throughout his house, you attach a bread hook to his matte black stand mixer and sift bread flour into its 7-qt bowl.

Then you go to work.

You concentrate on the task at hand in each given moment, taking it step-by-step. Measuring, mixing, and kneading. Trying not to think too long about the romance novels lining the bookshelf, or the recipe’s delicate handwriting, or the dog-eared page, or Dieter’s baited breath after he recounted why he and Anika split, or your mother saying, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?” Or David Alterman asking, “Do you worry that those patterns are bound to repeat themselves?”

Instead of these things, you try your hardest to occupy your hazy, pot-laced brain by separating the dough into equal pieces while humming along to ABBA and Elton John and Electric Light Orchestra.

When the recipe calls for the dough to rest for an hour, you clean your workspace, throw together the banitsa filling, and wash the dishes.

Then the timer tells you: seventeen minutes left.

You turn your attention to Dieter. His bare feet move fluid from side-to-side, paintbrush flitting between the palette and canvas as he lip-syncs along to “Hollywood Swinging” by Kool & The Gang. A grin stretches across your face.

They cannot be right about him. This is not the kind of man who has affairs. No fucking way. This man is an angel.

I’ve been fooled before.

You banish the thought with a quick shake of your head, then try to distract yourself by asking, “Do you still see ghosts?”

He looks up at you, then back at his work-in-progress with a shrug, “I don’t usually see them per se, it’s more like a, uhh… an understanding. Or a knowing, I guess. Like a picture in my head with a feeling attached to it.”

His features twitch animatedly as he talks, accenting his words, dark eyes glancing between the canvas and your face.

“It’s like… have you ever had intrusive thoughts?”

“Have I ever,” you snort.

“It’s like that,” he explains, “Like a flash of something. Not like that kid in the Sixth Sense, seeing them fuckin’ uhh… walking around and shit.”

You hop up onto the kitchen counter and inquire, “Where’s the most haunted place you’ve been?”

Dieter pauses mid-brushstroke and scrunches his face up as he thinks about this, resuming when he says, “Well, hotels are always the worst. They’re so transitive, you know, all this energy coming and going constantly. And the people stuck there… they usually went intending to have a good time, a vacation or party or whatever, and something happened to them. That, or… they went in with an intention not to come out and succeeded.”

The implication unfolds in your brain, and you nod.

“Either way they seem to have unfinished business,” he shrugs and squints at the canvas, smudging paint with his thumb, “Usually they’re harmless, so it’s pretty easy to ignore,” he pauses here, clears his throat, then continues, “But in terms of the worst vibes I got, like, uhh… how scared it made me feel, it was definitely Ethan.”

Blood drains from your face and extremities, leaving you cold and dizzy.

“I—I thought—wait, really?”

He squints up at the ceiling, like he’s re-evaluating his statement, then levels his eyes with yours with a nod, “Yeah. At first, at least. Like the first night I was there, I felt him and it was,” he furrows his brow and drops his gaze to the floor, “Dark. Really fucking dark. And I was already in a bad way, y’know, I went to your place straight from the airport and you were—”

“A fucking disaster?”

“A beautiful trainwreck,” he corrects with a persuasive smile. It falters as soon as he continues, “And I just had this big fight with Annie about the divorce and, uhh, stuff, and hadn’t used blow in a day or two, just… not great,” he swallows, then shakes his head, “I think maybe… he could sense that about me. It was a warning. I remember knowing that’s what it was.”

“Oh,” you breathe. Look down at your hands. Start picking at your cuticles.

“It was hard to stay. So… I left.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad. I’m sorry. I mean, he told me that he liked you—”

“It got better, really, love. It’s fine,” he assures you, then frowns, “Wait, he told you he likes me? Did you ask him about me or something?”

“Well, yeah,” you drop your gaze to the floor, “I just wanted to—I don’t know, see if he approved, I guess.”

His head jerks back and he blinks, “Oh.”

“Yeah—he, um, told me that he always liked you,” you tilt your head at your dangling legs and chuckle, “Told me you were a triangle guy.”

Dieter lets out a light puff of laughter.

“He asked if you make me happy,” you tell him, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, then look up to study his reaction.

He pulls his paintbrush from the canvas and stares at you, his eyes soft and searching, “And?”

A soft scoff flees your lips, and you say, “Of course you do, Dee.”

“Yeah?”

This crooked smile spreads across his face and makes your heart ache.

“Obviously,” you chuckle, grinning in return.

Dieter seems to think about this, pink tongue rolling along his bottom lip as his eyebrow quirks. He sets his palette down on the little yellow file cabinet, drops his paintbrush into a cup of water, then crosses the room towards you.

The way he looks at you seems to take a physical presence on your skin, making you shiver before he even reaches you. When he does, his hands slide up your bare legs, fingertips dipping under the hem of your jean shorts. His hips nudge your knees apart.

You hook your arms around his neck as he tugs you closer, brushing his nose against yours, “You make me happy, too.”

He kisses you, gentle for only a moment before your tongues meet.

It’s so soft and wet it makes you gasp. A rumble sounds from his throat and his grip tightens. You arch your back, balling his shirt in your fist

He guides your hand to the bulge in his sweatpants, “Do you feel that? How happy you make me?”

“That’s pretty fucking happy,” you grin, wrapping your fingers around his girth, over the soft fabric. You start to work him and he tosses his head back with a moan.

Your lips meet his again, finding depth. It’s a slow heat, the way you take your time with his cock in your grip and your tongue in his mouth. Drives him crazy. His breaths carry strained groans that tickle your throat and make your cunt throb.

When you roll your thumb against the damp spot in his sweatpants, he gasps, “Fuck–”

You hook a finger under his waistband, “I wanna see it.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, pausing to drag his tongue against yours, earning a whimper from you, then says, “Any time, any place, he’s all yours, baby.”

And right when he starts to pull down his pants, the front door swings open.

You both jump and look towards the noise.

In walks Darlene, cell phone pinched between her ear and shoulder, talking to someone on the other line, “Yeah, I just got to Dieter’s house, I’m going to tell him—Yeah, I will—Ok. Ok.”

Dieter rearranges himself and meets your eyes, murmuring, “To be continued,” before turning to approach her.

“Yep, bye,” she tosses her phone in her designer bag and sighs, looking between the two of you, “Did I interrupt something?”

Your mouth gapes open. You shake your head and hop down off the counter, “We, um–we–”

Dieter cuts in, thank fucking god, responding, “No. What's the news?”

Darlene raises an eyebrow at him, then you. She leans back against the dining room table and crosses her arms, “Well, I raised hell at DIRT. David Alterman is on disciplinary leave. The interview will be published without the phone call tomorrow. So… we will see what happens.”

“Oh, that’s good!” you grin, glancing at the back of Dieter’s head, then to Darlene, “Thank you so much. And—and I’m sorry, you know, you had to deal with that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Darlene nods, flashing you a wane smile, then looks to Dieter, “Can I steal you for a sec? I have to talk to you about something.”

He clears his throat and nods, “Yeah,” then follows her outside.

You release a little chuckle and smile to yourself.

The timer goes off.

Dieter slides the door closed behind him, following Darlene around the centerpiece of his patio: a sprawling oak tree. He looks up into it as he trails behind, admiring all the twisted innards of the beast. When they step out of its shade and into the hot afternoon sun, he grimaces.

She plugs a cigarette between her lips and lights it, asking him on the exhale, “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” he takes a step forward and leans against the steel railing, peaking over the edge to look down the cliffside.

“How’s she doing since yesterday? That was a fucking mess,” Darlene leans on the railing beside him.

Dieter scrunches his nose up, shrugging, “Kind of hard to read, I guess. She seems fine. But–but I don’t know, she’s just,” he pauses here and frowns, “I think I would be freaking out if I were her, you know? But she’s not? And I don’t know what to do about that.”

She flicks her cigarette and raises her eyebrows, then sighs, “Actually, Dieter, that’s what I wanted to talk about with you.”

“About what? Lua? What about her?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you serious about this girl?”

“Jesus Christ, Darlene,” he groans, dropping his head, “Yes, I’m fucking serious. I wouldn’t be doing all this bullshit for just anyone.”

“It just seems like there’s a lot you haven’t figured out. Maybe some things you haven’t discussed,” she takes a drag and looks him up and down, “What if I got some intel that says she’s still selling drugs?”

He plays along, inquiring, “What kind of drugs?”

“Edibles. Pot brownies, shit like that.”

“I’d say your intel is bunk. She’s straight.”

“Well, I looked into it,” she blows a plume of blue smoke out into the canyon, “She has no online presence, no license, sells out of her apartment—I mean, it fucking reeks, Dieter. How’s she able to make enough to live in that area with no marketing?”

“She doesn’t make a huge profit. I mean, this month I helped her with rent—”

“You’re fucking kidding me. So she’s using you—”

“No, she’s not. I had to beg her to let me help. It’s not like that,” he maintains, shaking his head, “I mean, who’s your source? Why are you even looking into this?”

“I don’t trust her, Dieter! Something isn’t right, it’s not adding up.”

He pushes off the railing and pushes non-existent sleeves up his forearms, “Let’s say you’re right, and she’s selling edibles,” he stops for a beat, then scoffs, “Who fucking cares? Fucking pot brownies? Who gives a shit.”

“Movie studios care. The public cares. Doesn’t matter if it’s crack or pot, she’s a fucking drug dealer.”

“She’s not a fucking drug dealer, Darlene,” he snaps.

She stares at him. Takes a drag off her cigarette.

He kneads his neck, shifting his weight from one foot, to the other, before throwing his hands out in exasperation, “I need you to just believe that, for once, someone loves me and is good for me. Please.”

Darlene’s lips purse, “That’s what you said about Anika.”

“That—that’s different,” Dieter drops his gaze to the ground.

“Is it, though?” she blinks at him, “You swore that was it, that she wasn’t a gold digger, and yet… now she’s ex-Mrs. Dieter Bravo. Walked away with almost half your estate in return for not selling your secrets. She’s a rich woman now.”

“Yep,” Dieter sighs, skidding his toes against the mahogany deckboards, “I’m just a big fuck up, you got me there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she asserts, “I just want you to really think about this before doing anything… rash.”

“I’m not going to run away and fucking marry her the first chance I get, ok?” he sneers, “Just—chill the fuck out.”

“Dieter, let me be perfectly honest with you,” she drops her cigarette and crushes it with the toe of her beige pump, “I worry it’s more than you just being cunt-struck again.”

His head jerks back and he scoffs.

She lowers her voice to a pleading tone, “Look, you’re falling headfirst into a serious relationship with this girl, she used to deal drugs, there’s all this shady stuff with her business, and… I just—I worry, are you, you know… are you ok?”

“Am I ok?” he repeats the question, drenching it with incredulity, “What the fuck do you mean, am I ok?”

She studies his face, crossing her arms. A meaningful tilt of her head tells him everything he needs to know.

His jaw gnashes from side-to-side and he shakes his head, “I’ve been clean for months, Darlene, because of her.”

“Alright,” she raises her eyebrows and blinks, “Good.”

“Do you believe me?”

Darlene shrugs, “If you say you’re ok, you’re ok.”

Bullshit.

“I am,” he confirms, his voice firm and final.

“Great,” she nods, then pulls out her phone and looks at the screen, “Alright, well, I’ll keep an eye on things after the interview drops and let you know how it goes.”

She stomps past him, the click-clack of her heels echoing out behind her, and exits out the side gate.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, shaking his hands out at his sides, rolling his neck as he starts towards the glass patio door.

Dieter walks beside you as the hostess leads the way through the busy restaurant. Everything around him is white noise. It doesn’t matter at all.

All that exists is his palm on the small of your back. His whole universe has boiled down to you, right now, draped in this white, flowing chiffon dress that Kelly picked out for tonight. You, all starry-eyed and dolled up, gawking at your surroundings because you’re just so damn excited to be at another fancy-schmancy restaurant.

Earlier today, while wrapped up in his sheets, you told him all about the menu, and haute cuisine, and French culinary history, and Escoffier. He closed his eyes and held your warm body in place next to his, content to listen to you chatter on as long as you’d allow him.

He loves that about you. How passionate you are in everything you do. How you slow to appreciate beauty in things like snowstorms, and layers in croissants, and even the subtle timbre of a cello woven into his favorite song.

“Listen close,” you told him when you pointed it out, “It’s fucking incredible.”

He did.

He felt the chords vibrate through him, resolute and melodic. It gave the music new meaning, and he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it before. He notices every time he hears it now.

But that’s what you do.

Everything seemed so fucking boring before you. Meaningless. You opened his eyes to what was right in front of him and gave it new life. Gave him new life.

The hostess comes to a stop and gestures to a square table, laying a menu on either side of the white linen. You sit across from him and meet his gaze, face all lit up with that gorgeous fucking smile that makes his chest tighten.

“Do you have a strategy in mind here?” he asks, leaning forward onto the table, rubbing his hands together, “Food, wine, dessert, the whole nine yards?”

“I love that movie,” you comment mildly, “Bruce Willis is hot.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” you laugh.

“Bruce Willis, really?”

You study him, clearly very entertained, “Why, are you jealous?”

He scoffs at this, “No—I’m just saying, though, he’s never even been nominated for an Oscar—”

“Oh, well in that case,” you roll your eyes and let out this dramatic sigh.

Dieter laughs and shakes his head, “Wow.”

“Ok, but really,” you turn your attention back to the menu. As you survey it, you tilt your head back and forth thoughtfully, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. A mischievous smirk plays on your lips and you ask, “Did Darlene say we were allowed one glass or one bottle of wine?”

Dieter taps an index finger to his chin and grins, “I recall her saying bottle, don’t you?”

“Mmmm, yep, now that you mention it, I’m like… 99% sure she said bottle,” you agree conspiratorially.

He smiles up at you, but his breath hitches when something behind you catches his eye.

Or, someone, rather.

A bright tangerine dress tight around her petite, curvy frame. Loose chestnut curls flowing down her back. Glowing brown eyes locked onto his. A small smirk plays on her plump, shiny lips.

His spine straightens and he mutters under his breath, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You frown and follow his gaze to Lilly Stokes just as she pushes her chair back and starts towards the table.

“Dieter, hiiii,” Lilly croons, squeezing his forearm, “How are you, Pookie? It’s been a minute.”

Dieter watches your eyes flick between Lilly’s hand on his suit jacket, and her face, and Dieter’s face. He watches the gears turn. The light bulb turns on. Your eyebrows shoot up and you meet his gaze, then immediately drop your eyes to the tablecloth.

“Fine,” he answers and leans back in his chair, pulling his arm from her grasp.

Lilly glances back at her table, then to Dieter, “I’m here with Jay—you remember Jay, right?”

Dieter blinks at her, thinking, “We’ve been inside you at the same time, of fucking course I remember Jay.”

But what he says is, “Yeah.”

“Oh, duh,” Lilly waves off the obvious, then wets the seam of her mouth, eyes dragging along Dieter’s body, “We should merge tables so we can catch up.”

“Oh, no—” Dieter shakes his head and gestures to you, “We’re—”

Lilly finally seems to notice your presence and turns towards you, “Oh my god, Dieter, she’s so cute, are you two on a date?”

“Yeah,” he meets your eyes for a moment before telling Lilly, “This is Louella.”

“Lou-el-la,“ Lilly repeats, enunciating each syllable like she’s trying to commit it to memory, “You don’t mind, do you, beautiful?”

You stare at her for a beat like you’re trying to figure out what she’s asking, then stammer, “Me? Wh—I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s ok if we join you?” Lilly nods, batting her false eyelashes. She asks this in a condescending way, slowing her words down like she’s asking a toddler.

Your throat croaks as you look from her, to Dieter, who’s mentally pleading, “Please no,” then back to Lilly, “Uhh—I mean, sure?”

He deflates as Lilly calls Jay over and pulls out a chair. You mouth, “Sorry.”

Jay Blackburn, who looks like a poor man’s Alexander Skarsgård but six inches shorter, saunters over, a lopsided grin plastered on his smug face, “Bravo. Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” Dieter responds, shifting in his seat at the reminder.

Across the table, you gnaw away at your bottom lip, eyes downcast, your bubbling excitement replaced with this raw, nervous energy. He soaks it up like a sponge. It trickles down his backbone and seeps into his bloodstream as he wrings his hands together.

“Who do we have here?” Jay asks, dragging his eyes along your body, drinking in your beauty with zero fucking shame.

Dieter’s jaw clenches and cocks to one side. His leg starts to bounce.

“I’m Louella.”

A warm smile crosses your face and you extend a hand to him.

Jay takes it in his like a baby bird and presses a kiss into your knuckles, then releases you, “Jay Blackburn.”

“Oh—um, nice to meet you,” you say, glancing at Dieter, then at Lilly, “And you are?”

Lilly bristles at this, huffing a little before her mask of sweetness goes back up and she responds, “Lilly Stokes.”

“So nice to meet you,” you look from her to Jay, “Are you guys actors, too?”

“Um, no,” Lilly lets out this half-chuckle, half-scoff, “That’s so funny. No. Well, maybe someday. But for now I’m just a makeup artist, content creator, brand ambassador for Wowie Zowie Cosmetics, and model,” she counts each role on her fingers, then adds as an afterthought, “Jay is a wellness guru.”

You furrow your brow, “Wellness… guru?”

“Lifestyle coach,” Jay corrects, “Shepherding people to wellness through mindfulness, yoga, and nutrition.”

Dieter rolls his eyes.

“Ohhh,” you nod, “Wow, you’re both, like, really popular on the internet?”

“I have over 10 million followers,” Lilly advises, “So, yeah.”

“She didn’t know who I was, either, if that makes you feel better,” Dieter teases, casting a smirk your way.

You wince and shrug, “Yeah, I, umm… live under a rock, I guess. Sorry.”

“I like that,” Jay says, still eyeing you up like you’re a piece of fucking meat, “It’s refreshing. We should all be so lucky to be sheltered from the world in such a digital age.”

You raise your eyebrows, “I mean, I read the newspaper every day, so I’m very much aware of what’s going on in the world—“

“Right, but,” Jay starts.

“—Just, you know, stuff that matters.”

A stunned sort of silence falls over the table for a moment, then laughter erupts from Dieter’s throat. You grin at him, and Jay must think you were kidding, because he joins in on the laughter.

“You’re funny,” Lilly flashes this smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, then lets out an exasperated sigh and looks around, “Are we going to get some fucking service here or what?”

Throughout the meal, you remain quiet.

You don’t share your thoughts on the cuisine, or the wine, or the world-renowned chef. Your face stays painfully neutral as Lilly and Jay dominate the conversation, going on and on in a masturbatory fashion about their busy lives.

More than anything, Dieter wants to tell them to fuck off. He wants to tell them that neither of you fucking care about subscribers or algorithms or sponsorships. He wants to comment on the restaurant’s heavy-handed use of bear décor and kiss you and tell you he loves you.

But Darlene’s warning to be on his best behavior rings in his head.

Despite this, the one bottle of wine you agreed upon is easily negotiated up to two.

After the plat principal is cleared from the table, Lilly leans towards Dieter and asks “So, what’s new with you? We haven’t heard from you in, what,” she turns to Jay for confirmation, “Months?”

“Summer, I think?” Jay supplies.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods and looks up at you, watching the way you wiggle in your chair and look down at your lap. He shrugs, “I’ve been keeping busy.”

“I see how it is,” Lilly pouts, glancing between his eyes and mouth, “Pookie gets a girlfriend and forgets all about us.”

Heat rises to his face. Every muscle in his body clenches. A hundred violent images flash through his head. The words shut the fuck up wrestle their way up his throat.

“How did you all meet?” you ask, plastering on this polite smile.

Lilly combs her long fingernails through her hair, “I met Dieter at some fundraising gala last year.”

Dieter’s leg starts bouncing. He leans his elbows into the table and presses his closed fist against his lips, watching you absorb this information. But he can’t get a read on you.

“She introduced us,” Jay nods to Lilly, “Yeah, we were at this party, it was fucking wild—”

“Lua doesn’t wanna hear about that,” Dieter cuts in, dropping a hand to the table.

“It’s fine, Dee,” you chuckle, then take a big swallow from your wine glass. Unconvincing.

Jay ignores Dieter’s protest, “It was one of those nights where everyone got very well acquainted with one another, if you know what I mean.”

Your fake smile twitches.

“Sounds… hot,” you offer. You empty the remaining pinot grigio in your glass down your throat. Dieter mirrors the action, taking the wine like a shot of hard liquor.

Lilly sips her martini and lets out this wistful little sigh, “Soooo hot.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you announce as you push your chair back, then hurry away from the table before anyone else can respond.

His blood boils.

He glares between Jay and Lilly, well aware of the slew of insults percolating at the tip of his tongue, held back by his awareness of the public eye surrounding them.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Lilly says.

Dieter grits his teeth and warns, “Lillith—”

She waves him off and starts towards the bathroom.

“Dieter,” Jay smirks, tilting his head, “You seem upset.”

“What an astute observation,” Dieter mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, “Fucking incredible.“

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jay raises his eyebrows, “So we’re touchy, ok. Is it because I told the story?”

Dieter says nothing, just grinds his teeth together.

“She doesn’t know about your more salacious hobbies, I take it?”

“She sure as fuck does now,” Dieter grumbles, “Thank you for that.”

Jay scoffs, “What, is this your first date or something?”

“No.”

Jay hums and takes a sip from his cocktail.

Dieter shakes his head. Scrubs a hand over his face.

Then he sits up and points at your empty seat, “If she’s going to hear about that shit from anyone, it should be me. Not some fucking ghouls just trying to get a rise out of her.”

“Then why didn’t she hear it from you?” Jay questions, pausing a beat before he sighs, “You know, you gotta own your demons, man. It’s not my fault you didn’t tell her—”

“Yeah, I fucking know, ok?” Dieter snips. He leans his elbows against the table, looking towards the women’s bathroom, “What’s taking them so goddamn long?”

Behind the roar of the flushing toilet, you hear the bathroom door open, followed by the sharp click of stilettos against ceramic tile. You open the stall door to find Lilly leaned up against the marble slab countertop, pulling a tiny silver canister from her clutch.

She looks up at the mirror and makes eye contact with you, “Hey, girl.”

“Hi,” you smile politely and approach the sink.

While you wash your hands, you watch Lilly through the mirror as she cuts two thin lines of coke right on the countertop. She fishes a short straw out of her purse and holds it out to you, “Do you want any?”

The ghost of cocaine’s allure sends your heart racing. It’s tempting, but you decline. She shrugs and leans over the counter. You look away and hear the two deep, short breaths through the straw. You swear you can feel the rush vicariously.

She sits up straight and keeps one nostril plugged closed, taking a few sharp inhales, making sure she got it all to the brain. Her eyes flutter and throat hums with contentment, “Fuck, that’s good. You sure you don’t want any?

“I’m fine,” you assure her, but don’t go to leave. You lean one hip against the sink and cross your arms, “Did you and Dieter, like… date?”

Lilly releases a chuckle, a sniffle, then rubs a fingertip against the white marble countertop where her blow was cut, “Oh, no. We fucked, like, a lot. But no, we never dated per se. It was more of a fuck buddy arrangement. No biggie.”

She scrubs her finger against her gums, then turns to the mirror to assess her appearance.

“Was that while he was still with Anika?”

“Well, yeah, that’s how it started. He asked if I could be their third,” she sniffles a few times as she examines her nostrils, “I know Kate Ridley was seeing them for a while, but that must’ve fallen through. Anyway, we all fucked around and it was fun. I brought Jay with a few times. Then Anika got turned off or something, she didn’t wanna get together anymore. Jealous I think, probably. He reached out to me for some one-on-one time.”

The information hits you like a slap in the face. A kick in the gut. A fist closed around your windpipe, squeezing tighter and tighter.

You can’t breathe.

“And of course I said yes. It doesn’t hurt to cozy up to a guy like him, with his connections and all. Good career move. Plus, he’s so good in bed. Fucks like an animal,” Lilly giggles, “Not that I have to tell you, right?”

Your face heats and lips part to respond, but she continues without regard.

“If you ever wanted a third, I’d be happy to step in. Jay, too, I’m sure of it. He was checking you out. You’re hot, you know, in a non-traditional kind of way. How long have the two of you been going out?”

She stares at you, waiting. Your throat croaks and you hear yourself say, “A few months, officially.”

“Oh, are you two, like, serious?”

You bring your hand to your throat and nod, “Yeah.”

“Weird,” she murmurs, “After what happened with Anika, I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… monogamous, you know. He told me he’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again, all that. Then he disappears and re-emerges in a supposedly serious relationship, no offense, but it’s just confusing.”

“Oh,” you breathe, frowning down at the floor, “Well, maybe he changed?”

“The man is almost 50, I doubt that,” she scoffs, checking herself out in the mirror, then glances over at you, “Or, I mean, maybe? Hopefully?”

You nod solemnly and swallow the knot in your throat, “Should we go back?”

“Sure,” she shrugs, then leads the way out of the bathroom, into the dining room.

When you meet Dieter’s eyes, his annoyed expression goes slack. You lay one hand flat, palm facing the ceiling, balling the other into a thumbs up on top, and raise both hands. The signal he taught you back in your apartment before this clusterfuck started: Help.

Once seated, you keep your eyes low, trying to keep the steady hum in your chest from amplifying. Everything seems fuzzy and out-of-focus.

It’s too much. Too much noise. Too much information. Too much change at one time. You want off this fucking ride. You want to be home in bed, hidden under the covers where no one can reach you.

“We should go,” Dieter announces from far away.

Your body is cement. Limbs frozen. Lilly’s words play on repeat at a deafening volume:

I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.

He’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again.

“Oh, come on, Pookie–”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” he growls, then softer, in your direction, “Are you ready, love?”

You nod, then look from Lilly to Jay, your smile wavering, “It was nice to meet you both.”

Dieter leads you past blurry tables of shiny, well-to-do patrons, his hand at the small of your back, burning through your dress. You can feel his gaze glued to your profile, trying to assess the damage. You can hear the words queued up behind his closed lips.

A restaurant employee holds the door open for you. The cool night air kisses your heated, buzzing skin.

“Hey, are you ok?” Dieter asks, his thumb working against your spine.

You look down at the sidewalk and open your mouth to tell him, but it’s all a jumbled mess at the base of your tongue. Fire rises up your throat and tingles behind your eyes. You just shake your head and smother the sob in your chest.

Tears bloom in your eyes and drop to the cement. You croak out, “I’m fine.”

He scoffs.

The valet rolls up in Dieter’s cartoonish, pea soup-colored two-seater and tosses him the keys.

Once inside, you clasp the seatbelt. Grip the leather upholstery. Stare out the side window as the landscape starts to move.

“Louella” he coos, glancing between you and the road.

The car clunks a little as he shifts gears. You grip the seat tighter. Watch the city lights fly by.

He tries every once and a while to talk to you, but you can’t make yourself respond.

You’ve been here before.

You know what happens if you make a sound. If you vocalize the protest in your lungs.

What happens next is acceleration.

Car horns.

Impact.

Those vacant black eyes.

Darkness.

The second the car pulls into Dieter’s garage, you’re unfastening the seat belt.

When he shifts to park, you yank on the door handle and scramble from the vehicle.

The entryway door slams in Dieter’s face as you kick off the stupid high heels you never would have picked out for yourself.

“What the fuck is your problem?” his voice booms through the house when he opens the door.

By now, you’re halfway down the hall, making a beeline to his en suite bathroom, leaving a trail of jewelry behind you like breadcrumbs: the left earring, the right earring, bracelets, a necklace. All these brilliant ornaments Kelly loaned you to make you look more refined.

Dieter’s footsteps sound from a few paces behind as you turn into his bedroom.

“Louella, come on. Why won’t you talk to me?”

The edge his words carry make your heart jump and your feet move faster. You hurry into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you.

He jiggles the handle, “What the fuck is this? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask.

“That I slept with Lilly and Jay?“ he scoffs, “I didn’t think it mattered who I fucked before you—”

“That’s not what I mean. You know that’s not what I mean,” you press your forehead against the door and squeeze your eyes closed, “When I asked you what happened with you and Anika, you said the two of you grew apart. That—that she was resentful—like it was her fault–”

“Open the door so we can talk about this,” he says in a low voice, “Please, baby.”

You shake your head, whimpering, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The door handle jiggles again, “Come on, Lua, open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, just unlock it—”

“Answer me.”

“GodDAMNIT–”

A hard thud shakes the doorframe.

You jump back and yelp.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he seethes, “Lock yourself in my fucking bathroom instead of talking to me. You realize how fucking stupid that is, right?”

He hits the door again. You scramble away from it, watching the doorknob rattle.

“Stop it, Dieter,” you cry out, backing yourself up to the wall, “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” he scoffs, his words still steeped in red, “Do you really think I would fucking hurt you?”

You slide down the wall and collapse into a pile, covering your head. All you can hear are your own shattered breaths.

A few quiet moments go by.

When his voice comes again, it’s a plea.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You look up at the door and sniffle, wiping your eyes.

“I—I wanted to tell you. I mean, I was going to tell you. I swear to god. It’s just,” there’s a soft thump against the door, and you can picture him on the other side, forehead pressed up against it, “Do you know how hard it is to admit that you’re a piece of shit?”

You don’t say anything, just watch his still shadow beneath the door.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to willingly show you that? I mean, fuck. How–how are you supposed to trust me now?”

What follows is silence. Broken up by occasional sniffles and wet, labored breaths. Your chest aches.

Slowly, you rise to your feet and pad across the cool tile floor.

When you reach the door, you don’t say anything, just press your palm against the barrier where you think his heart is. And you swear, if you concentrate hard enough, you can feel its steady rhythm.

“How are you supposed to love me now?” he whispers, “You won’t even look at me, Louella.”

Your eyelids clamp shut and you take a deep breath. Then you step back and turn the doorknob, pulling the door open.

And there he is.

Dieter Bravo. The man you love.

His eyes all puffed-up and red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears. Every handsome feature laced with remorse.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his suit jacket. He envelops you in a warm embrace and squeezes you tight.

“I’m–I’m sorry for yelling,” he tells you in a hoarse whisper, petting your hair, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I lost it.”

You swallow hard and rub his back, a silent kind of reassurance.

“I would never hurt you, Lua,” his voice cracks, “I’m not him. I’m not him.”

Instantly, tears flood your eyes.

“I know, love,” you croak out, pulling him closer, “I know.”

Dieter kisses the crown of your head with reverence. Then your forehead. He tilts your chin to face him dead on, grazing his nose against yours, “Wanna talk about this more in the bath?”

You nod and weave your fingers through the curls at the back of his head. His lips meet yours, lingering for a tender moment before he pulls back and makes his way over to the soaking tub.

While you wash the makeup off your face, he fiddles with the water temperature and crumbles a magenta bubble bar in the stream. The sweet scent of blackcurrant fills the air. You glance up in the mirror and see him shucking off his suit jacket, eyes trailing down your spine. His breath heats the nape of your neck when he draws close and unzips your dress, his movements gentle and slow as he slides it off your shoulders.

The dress falls at your feet. You turn to face him, murmuring, “Look up.”

He does, and you set to work on his shirt buttons. When you’re halfway down his chest, he asks, “Will you tell me what she said?”

“She, um,” you pause to bite down on your bottom lip, then sigh, “She told me you and Anika would fuck around with her and sometimes Jay. Then, you know, just her.”

He hums in acknowledgment.

You reach the end of his button-down, then spread the shirt apart. As he takes over tugging it off, you ask, “Was that something that you wanted, or…?”

“We both wanted to try it,” he shrugs. Your hands move to his belt buckle and you unfasten it. He continues, “Thought it would reignite that passion. It was fucking stupid because it just made us both jealous.”

He pauses to kick off his slacks, then ushers you face the mirror again. You watch him unclasp your bra and toss it aside, glancing up when you recount, “She said you didn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again.“

He nods, diverting his gaze, “Yeah. Well, that’s true. I didn’t,” then his eyes return to yours, “But then you came along. Fucked up all my big plans to be lonely and miserable forever.”

You can’t help but grin.

He casts a backwards glance at the tub, “I think it’s ready.”

Dieter gets in first, groaning as he lowers himself into the bubbles. You sit on the opposite side and tip your face to the ceiling, stretching your legs across him, then sink down to your shoulders.

The water burns your skin a little, but you like it. It feels real.

“Hey,” Dieter rumbles.

You swivel your head down to look at him, but can only see bubbles.

“Holy shit,” you giggle, then sit up and meet his eyes, “What?”

“Come here, doll,” he reaches out to you.

You slide your feet under the water and crawl over to him, closing your eyes as you lay your cheek on his shoulder and relax against his body. He wraps his arms around your waist, snuggling you like you’re his favorite teddy bear.

One of your hands occupies itself by absentmindedly tracing the edges of his jaw. The shell of his ear. That one silver hoop earring he refuses to part with. Your nails work into his hairline and play with his damp curls.

“Were there others?” you ask him.

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, then he admits, “Yeah. A few. Just hookups, really. Lilly was the most consistent, and that was still, you know…”

“No strings attached?” you smirk.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do it?”

Your spine arches as he draws a big breath in, then releases it, “All the reasons I said it didn’t work. That was true, you know. I was gone a lot. Filming, meetings, press stuff. A few days here, a week there. There was one stretch where I was gone for two months. I’m not drowning in work or anything, but it adds up. I don’t think she realized that being with me meant being away from me that often. And. Yeah.

“At first, it upset me a lot. I thought she would be supportive and loving. Compassionate, you know. But she turned so cold when she was mad. Completely ignored me. Acted like I didn’t exist. Even when I begged for her reassurance, for her to show me she still cared and noticed me, but she wouldn’t react. I felt like a ghost. It-it kind of reminded me—”

He pauses here for a moment, holding his breath, then releases a soft, sad chuckle. His Adam’s apple bobs. When he starts again, his voice is watery.

“It reminded me of what it was like for me growing up. If I didn’t please my dad, he would ignore me completely. I would act out, be loud, push him until he exploded. Because then… then at least I knew he could see me. It was something, you know?”

You blindly cup his cheek and graze your thumb against his beard to let him know you’re listening. He nuzzles into the touch, a small rumble sounding from his throat.

“Maybe I was acting out with Annie? Or maybe just trying to… fill that emptiness, loneliness. Or numb out. Forget that my wife didn’t love me anymore. I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter. I started using again. Heroin, oxy, bars, morphine, adderall, booze. Whatever I could get my hands on, really. But blow has always been my favorite. It makes me feel…”

“Powerful?”

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. Powerful. And with other people I actually felt… desired. Plus, they were both a rush. I felt alive. When I was home I was hollow. I stopped groveling for her affection when I started fucking around. Neither of us wanted to work on the hard things. The whole fucking thing, you know, it metastasized. And—and our relationship died.”

“Fuck,” you grimace.

Dieter cranes his neck to look at you, “Too bleak?”

“No, it’s not that,” you tell him, “It’s just… familiar.”

Adrenaline spikes your bloodstream. Your mouth opens to say more, then you close it and hold your breath.

He rests his cheek on your head. Squeezes you a little tighter. Like he’s prodding you so say more.

“Do I make you happy?” you ask him.

“Do you make me happy?” he repeats, disbelief raising his voice an octave.

You nod.

“I told you earlier,” he kisses your hairline, “You make me so happy, Louella.”

“But will you feel the same tomorrow?”

“Obviously,” he lets out a little snort of laughter like he thinks you’re kidding. Silence settles. His body seems to tense and he adds, “Really, love, I mean it.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip. Brows lace together. Then you ask, “What about a month from now?”

“Don’t do that, come on—”

“A year from now? Or—or longer, even—”

“Lua,” he huffs, then pulls you up to face him. His eyes are soft and pleading. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Look, we won’t be happy every second of every day. You know why?”

A sharp pain radiates across your chest. You wince and shake your head.

He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes and says, “Because it’s fucking impossible. If we do this thing right, which I fully intend to, sometimes we’re going to be scared, and frustrated, and–and we might want to take an easy way out. But I’m telling you that I will not do that. Because I love you.”

You search his face and only find sincerity. Your stomach flips in a freefall so violent it makes you gasp, “Fuck, I love you.”

He smirks, gaze flicking between your eyes and lips, “And I’m going to love you tomorrow.”

Your heart skips. Heat creeps up your neck.

He cups your cheeks and locks his eyes onto yours, “And the next day, and ten years from now, and all the way until my next fucking life, ok?”

“Ok,” you nod. Tension liquifies and drains from your body. The corners of your mouth upturn and you ask, “What then?”

“What then?” he snorts, shaking his head with amusement, “What do you think? Hmm?”

You grin and shrug, pressing the tip of your tongue to your front teeth.

His eyes drop to your mouth and he pulls you in for a kiss. When you part, he murmurs, “I’ll fucking find you in the next life and fall in love with you all over again.”

The words electrify you. You hook your hands behind his head and press your forehead against his, “Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” he murmurs, and kisses you again.

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble fic

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justmightyshadows · 29 days

Note

Oh wait, specifically f/f? Talking Shadowheart into dancing with you at the epilogue. Maybe Karlach/Shadowheart, since Karlach's just come back from the hells.

Hope I didn't go too angst. Started feeling it. Edit: AO3 link

Karlach stared down at her hands - they were more rugged than ever, carrying her axe had left them worn and calloused. She had wanted to wear gloves when she got here but Lae’zel had scoffed at the idea ‘You have the hands of a warrior! That is nothing to be ashamed of.’ Now though, she wished she had picked them up as she walked over to talk to her old friend. The cleric was by herself, sipping a glass of wine as she stared up at the stars and moon, the silver of her hair shining in the night.

“Heya Fringe.” She said with a big smile, as she put her hand behind her head nervously. Shadowheart returned the smile, pleasantly. She had watched Karlach walking over to her, slowly escaping the raucous of the group.

“Hey yourself Karlach. You’re looking even more muscled than usual.” She must have thought it a compliment but Karlach shifted uncomfortably as she continued “Lae’zel must be keeping you on a tight regiment.”

This time they both chuckled. Lae’zel had been making sure she was fit, not that she had to. Every day in the hells was a battle, a workout of physical and mental ability. She looked into Shadowheart’s eyes and reached out to her with her mind to no avail. No tadpoles. No easy way out if they didn’t want or couldn’t explain their feelings.

The eye contact might have said it all anyway, that there was something there once, before Lae’zel, before Halsin they had held each other, kissed, talked about the future. All of those memories seemed to be rushing into Karlach’s mind, she wondered if they were on Shadowheart’s as well.

They stood awkwardly for a second - the sound of the music drifting closer to them, saving them from this moment.

“Mm.” Karlach caught the tune and it sparked yet another memory. “This is your favorite song isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Shadowheart listened intently and once the chords strummed against her ears her face melted into a blissful look.

“It is. You remembered.” She looked down at her feet and missed Karlach inching closer. “Course I did Shaddy.” Shadowheart scowled at the nickname and went to make a remark but found herself inches away from Karlach’s chest. “Dance with me Fringe.” Her hand reached out and Shadowheart placed hers into it while looking around tentatively.

“Don’t get me in trouble with Lae’zel.” She said softly, still letting Karlach hold onto her hand gently. She heard her booming laugh reply to her fears. “You just focus on dancing.”

That was enough talking, Karlach thought - she reached around Shadowheart’s waist and pulled her close. She smelled of pine and incense not the thick perfumes of her past. They danced around the small tents and twirled to the water’s edge - living in suspended reality. Here Karlach’s heart had been fixed and she had not gone to the hells. Here Shadowheart was able to be with her parents and the music never stopped playing. Here they never had to stop dancing.

This was not their reality though, eventually the tune faded to the next, slower, more intimate. They could have stopped but instead they pushed against each other leaning in and rested their foreheads to touch, closed their eyes. Slowly circling each other to the soft tune. The moon shone on an approaching figure - Lae’zel smirked at the scene and extended a hand in their direction.

“Karlach, the night has fallen, let us rest before we venture back.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Karlach with a smile twice as wide as before released Shadowheart and with a jogging embrace swept Lae’zel off her feet planting kisses upon her face and neck taking her towards their tent on the far side of camp.

As they walked away Shadowheart stared down at her hands the warmth dissipating off of them quickly. Halsin stepped forward out of the shadows and took them in his. “She is still very happy Shadowheart - as are you. You’ll have to let go of your guilt. You could not follow her.” She pressed her face into his chest and heard the beat of his heart where the hum of an engine should be.

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iamnotthere-idonotdie · 2 months

Text

dream of me

part two

…………………………………………………………………………………….

synopsis: reader and bruce continue dating, the project coming along great and you’re thinking about your future as a couple. another job opportunity may put your relationship in jeopardy.

content: bruce wayne x reader, no smut, no cursing, just sad lol

a/n: i finally got out of my rut and was able to get this all down quicker than i thought i would, i think i have a lot more ideas for parts to this too so this will probably turn into a short series, as always sorry for typos or any inconsistencies, i tried to keep up with continuity and stay true to bruce’s character as best as i could but there are probably some ooc things in here, anyways hope you enjoy

edit: link to part one

…………………………………………………………………………………….

the red glow of the brake lights in front of you illuminate the inside of bruce’s car. it’s become a routine now for him to drive you home, either to yours or his—but usually his—after work. this project was tedious and required a lot of effort, but the success of it has made it well worth the dedication. bruce takes his right hand off the wheel and grabs yours. he holds your hand tightly as you enjoy the comfortable silence. he stops in front of your building.

“do you want to come up? i can make us dinner.” you say to him.

he smirks and raises an eyebrow.

“or we could order in.” you say with a chuckle.

“sure.”

you lead him up the stairs to your apartment and walk in. you realize now that you didn’t have time to pick it up this morning so take-out containers litter the dining room table and a few pairs of shoes are lying on the living room rug.

“sorry for the mess.” you say as you throw the trash away.

“don’t apologize, it’s hardly a mess.”

“well i guess it’s just hard not having a butler to always pick up after me.” you say with a smile.

“ouch.” bruce says with a laugh.

you put your shoes in your closet and bruce follows behind to your bedroom. he sits on the bed, looking out your large window.

“i’ve always loved this view.” he says.

“you’ve only been here twice.” you say, walking towards him. you stand beside him and put your arm around his shoulders. he wraps his arm around your waist.

“still,” he says as he pulls you into the bed with him. you laugh as you fall on top of him. you kiss him and he grabs you tighter. before you know it your clothes are hitting the floor.

this has become a part of your routine too. three months now of balancing this relationship with the work you’re doing together. it can get a bit complicated; being colleagues can at times make it difficult to leave those stressors at work. but bruce has been wonderful at not bringing those stressors home with him. you, on the other hand, have difficulty finding that so-called work life balance. but bruce helps.

you’re laying in his arms now, under the covers as bruce strokes your hair. these tender moments of gentle warmth and silence help keep you grounded. it helps remind you to stay present, to appreciate when things are finally quiet. you lay there together for what seems like forever, all the while wishing you could stay there even longer. forever just isn’t enough time.

saturday morning rolls in, with the yellow sun piercing in between the tall buildings and thorough your window. bruce isn’t there in bed with you, but then again he never is in the morning. you’re not sure why he wakes up so early, but you don’t pry.

you sit up in bed and hear the water running in your shower. you sit there, looking out the window at the golden morning skyline. maybe gotham does still have beautiful things.

you hear bruce exit the bathroom and walk towards the bed. he sits down next to you and you lean into him, his body still warm from the hot water.

“good morning.” you say quietly.

“yes it is.”

you just smile, not willing to ruin this moment with conversation.

a few minutes pass and bruce turns his head to look at you.

“i should be getting back soon. that event is this afternoon.”

you sigh, remembering the other day when bruce was telling you about this function. it’s to announce the new division at wayne enterprises, and to specifically address the project you’ve been working on.

bruce starts to get up and you try to hold onto him tighter, willing him to stay a bit longer.

he stops for a second and kisses you.

“i’ll come by and pick you up at 3.” he says.

“okay. i’ll see you then.”

he kisses you again and gets up to change back into his clothes from yesterday. you walk him out and he leaves, giving you one last kiss on your forehead. you spend the next few hours getting ready for this event. you’ll be there as part of the division and head of the outreach project, so you you want to look as presentable as possible. about an hour before bruce is scheduled to come pick you up, you realize something. not only will this be your debut in this new position, but it will also be yours and bruce’s debut as a couple.

you feel a knot in your stomach and start to breathe heavily. you can’t exactly place why this makes you so uncomfortable, but you’re having more and more trouble catching your breath as you think about it further. what if people think that you only got this job because you’re with bruce? what if they accuse you and him of being unfair or of favoritism? you shouldn’t care this much about what other people think. why do you care so much about what other people think?

it hits you. it’s not about what other people think. it’s about what bruce thinks. you’ve never actually discussed your relationship with him before. in fact, you’ve never even called it a relationship to him before. what if he’s not planning on going as a couple but as coworkers? you pace back and forth in your living room, running through all this in your head, thinking about how you’re going to ask him about this, if at all. a knock startles you out of your spiraling self-destructive thoughts and you answer. bruce is standing there in his suit and tie.

“ready?” he asks, holding his hand out for you to take.

“yes..” you say shakily, putting your hand in his.

bruce leads you downstairs and to his car, alfred sitting in the drivers seat.

“hello alfred.” you say as you slide into the backseat.

“good afternoon. may i say you look wonderful.”

“thank you.” you say with a smile.

bruce continues holding your hand throughout the drive. you hope he can’t notice how much your hands are shaking.

you arrive at the event and alfred stops the car at the front entrance of the hall.

“i’ll be here whenever you are ready to leave. and enjoys yourselves.”

someone from the outside opens the door for you and start to get out.

“thank you alfred.”

“it is my pleasure.”

you try to exit the car as gracefully as possible and bruce follows suit. camera flashes blind you as alfred drives away. a part of you wishes you had just stayed in that backseat.

the press are calling for bruce every which way, who seems to be faking enjoyment at the attention. he looks at you.

“are you okay?” he asks.

you just nod nervously as he takes your hand again. you look down at your interlocked fingers and back up at him, surprised. he looks at you and just smiles.

“you didn’t think we’d just be coworkers tonight, did you?” he says.

you smile back and squeeze his hand. the two of you walk up the carpeted steps and into the hall, a newfound wave of confidence overflowing through you, and you look at the cameras and smile.

the event is a supreme success. you and bruce wander through the crowds of people, taking photos and smiling until your cheeks hurt. bruce makes a rousing speech about the success of this division and how hard the team has been working. then he specifically mentions you. how this all wouldn’t have been possible had you not given your proposal. how your innovation and vision single-handedly shaped this project. how your passion for the people of gotham radiates in everything you do. how he feels lucky to call you a colleague… and a partner.

he locks eyes with you as he raises his glass and proposes a toast to the people of gotham. you feel the tears starting to collect in your eyes and will them to not fall. bruce comes down the stairs and you kiss him, disregarding the people and cameras around you.

after a while of more socializing, bruce wanders off to mingle with a reporter from metropolis and you try to find the drink table. you pick up a long stemmed champagne flute and as you take a sip, a man walks up to you with a smile.

“this is a very impressive event. and a very impressive project.” he says to you.

“thank you.”

“i’m jonathan locke. i run olive branch and company.”

“oh yes, in san francisco. you’ve done some great work in outreach there.”

“thank you. we’re hoping to continue expanding into other cities and possibly surrounding states as well. and we’re actually looking for someone just like you to run that venture for us.”

“oh… well i—“

“of course i don’t need an answer now. but here’s our proposal and our offer.” he hands you a laminated folder with his company logo on it.

“just take your time, think about it.”

“thank you for the offer, but gotham is where i belong. i can’t leave now that i’ve just started being able to make a change here.”

you start to hand the folder back, but he refuses to take it.

“please, just look through it. my card is in there. if you decide that your answer is still no, then so be it. but all i ask is that you just read the plan.”

you just look down at the folder, not yet wanting to open it.

“again, you’re doing amazing work here, which is exactly why we want you with us in california. i mean, can you blame us?” jonathan says with a smile.

“you’ve already set up this great project here. gotham is in good hands to finish it.” he glances in bruce’s direction

“and maybe this chapter in gotham can come to a close. you can start fresh in california… just think about it.” he smiles again and walks away.

you just stand there, staring at the folder. you know your answer; you want to, no you have to, stay in gotham. but… you start to put the folder away in your bag. bruce comes walking up to you.

“what’s that?” he asks.

“nothing, just a proposal someone wanted me to look at.”

“proposal?”

“an offer at a company in san francisco.”

“oh…”

“i told him no.” you reassure him.

“right.” bruce says flatly.

after a few more minutes of shaking hands and faking smiles, you and bruce decide you’re tired of the mingling and leave. alfred is already waiting outside with the car running. bruce opens the door for you and you get in, but you can still sense some tension from him. the ride is silent back to his house as you think more about this offer. you haven’t looked through the folder yet, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted to open it.

when you get inside alfred says he’ll make you and bruce some dinner and bruce goes and sits at the dining room table. you sit next to him, hoping he speaks first.

“what was the offer?” bruce says after a minute of silence.

“i’m not sure on the details. but he said they’re wanting to expand the company… and they want me to be a part of it.”

bruce just sits there, staring at your bag on the table, the corner of the folder peaking out.

“olive branch?” he asks.

“yes, jonathan locke gave it to me.”

“he’s the founder.” bruce says, still looking at the folder.

“i’m not going to take it, bruce. gotham is my home. i can’t leave now. not when i’m just starting to make a difference.”

“but you’re thinking about it.”

“i’m not thinking about taking it…”

“just thinking about looking at it.”

“well i can’t say i’m not curious. you can’t blame me for at least wanting to take a look.”

“then look.” he pushes the bag toward you and gets up from the table.

“bruce…”

he keeps walking away.

curiosity does get the better of you, as you stare at the folder too. you shouldn’t even want to look at it if you’re so sure you want to stay. but you take it out and open it.

the offer is amazing. they want to make you head of the entire outreach division. you’d be traveling all over the country, establishing new branches and implementing strategies for other partner companies. the pay is also great, though you don’t care much about that. full benefits, which you already have. it’s a great opportunity… but you couldn’t leave. you think. the more you read through this folder the more intrigued you get. you would love the travel, you’ve never even left gotham. but you could just book a vacation. the title is better than your current one. but you don’t care about titles. you’ll be doing great work and helping a lot of people. but you can help people here. every point has a counterpoint. every reason to go is another reason to stay. you don’t know. honestly… you don’t know.

alfred brings in dinner, but it looks like you’re dining alone as bruce hasn’t come back.

“will master bruce be returning?” alfred asks.

“i’m not sure, but it’s not likely.”

“i see… if i may,” alfred starts. “there is no harm in weighing your options.”

“thank you alfred. i’m just not sure what to do. i want to stay but… how often do opportunities like this happen?”

“not very often, i’m afraid. you just need to have an understanding of what you want. and more importantly, what you need.”

alfred goes back into the kitchen. you sit there, letting your dinner get cold as you ruminate on this choice. bruce finally returns and sits down next to you again.

“i’m sorry for acting childish.” he says. “i just want you to make the right decision, for you.”

“i know. it’s alright.”

“one positive from tonight though: i spoke with the head of the gotham public school district and she wants us to go to the elementary school on monday. to bring the computers and do some personal outreach with the students.”

“that’s a great idea.”

“i think so too.”

bruce gets up to get his plate from the kitchen and you finally start eating. alfred’s cooking is too good to waste.

bruce drives you home after dinner. you suppose neither of you are in the mood for you to stay over and you need to clear your head anyway. bruce stops at your apartment and walks you up. you unlock your door and step inside.

“well, i will see you monday then.” bruce says.

“yeah, i’ll see you then.” bruce gives you a light peck on the cheek and leaves.

you can’t help but feel a bit disappointed that he didn’t offer to see you tomorrow, but it’s probably a good idea that you spend the day alone, thinking. it doesn’t amount to much, though. by monday morning, you still don’t have a solid answer. of course you want to stay, but a small part of you is still intrigued by the opportunity. bruce picks you up and you head straight to the elementary school.

“a few other members of the team are bringing the computers. they should already be here.” bruce says as he turns into the lot.

“sounds good.”

the two of you head inside the school and meet up with your team to start organizing the items to give out. computers, books, and stem sets all for the students and their classrooms. as you go from room to room, handing out these resources, you can’t help but beam as you see how happy it makes the students, and the teachers as well. bruce seems to be having a great time too. you see him showing the kids how to properly work the new tech, you see him excitedly talk to them about all the great new projects they can do if they continue working in this field, how he smiles at them when he sees them get excited too. and you realize you want him. you don’t want him for one night. or for a weekend. you don’t want him as a coworker. or even as a boyfriend. you want him. all the time. forever. always.

your decision has been made. you’ll stay. the day continues, and you’re more than pleased with how it’s turned out. it couldn’t have gone any better. you and bruce leave in his car, but you notice he’s driving toward your apartment, not his house.

“do you want to come over?” you ask, thinking maybe he wants to spend time at your place instead of his.

“i was just taking you home.” he says.

“oh… well do you want to go get dinner? there’s a place that just opened up that—“

“i think maybe it’s best if we take some time. to think.”

you pause, confused.

“think about what?”

“i saw the proposal in your bag. you’re still thinking about it.”

you glance down at your bag and realize the folder is still in there.

“i just forgot to take it out. but i’ve made my decision, i’m staying.”

“maybe you should go.”

“…why would you say that?”

“it just seems like a good opportunity for you. maybe you should move on to greener pastures.”

“i like the grass here just fine. gotham is my home.”

“i just think maybe we made some mistakes here.”

“mistakes?”

“with us. it wasn’t a good idea to try to incorporate a relationship with work.”

your throat tightens and you feel anger, despair, confusion rise up.

“i think we were doing just fine, bruce. why are you saying all this?”

“…maybe it’s just for the best we move on.”

you can’t believe this. the man you had just decided you wanted forever with is now finished with you. you were going to tell him you wanted a future together… you were going to tell him you love him. and now it’s over.

bruce stops in front of your apartment building and you wait a second before getting out of the car.

“…goodbye bruce.” you say quietly. you can’t find the strength to look at him.

“goodbye.”

you get out of the car and up to your apartment. the only thing you can will yourself to do is get in bed and cry. you scream into your pillow until your chest is tight and your throat is sore. you can’t believe it hurts this much. it’s a deep ache, like every bone your body is in danger of snapping at any moment. your muscles are weak like you just fell into a bottomless sea, the waves crashing and knocking the wind out of you the second you get a chance to catch your breath again. you just sit there, for hours, trying to breathe. you lay your head down on your pillow, staring at the ceiling, your eyes leaking into your ears. sleep never finds you tonight as you continue to let the pain overcome you. when morning peaks through your curtains, you just stare ahead, wondering if you’ll ever find beauty through that window again.

you finally get up out of bed and find your bag on the floor by the kitchen where you dropped it. you take the folder out and flip through the papers, finding what it is you’re looking for.

you dial the number on jonathan locke’s card. after a conversation on the phone, the deal is made. you’ll be moving to california at the end of the week.

the next few days are spent packing. jonathan has personally arranged for movers to come take your boxes for you and bring them to a new home in california. a new home which jonathan has taken care of for you as well.

it’s saturday now, the day you leave. you take one last look out your window at the cityscape and feel a tinge in your chest. no, gotham isn’t beautiful. but it was home.

you take a taxi to the airport. each action you take, each bag you pick up and door you close, feels like slow motion. like your body is limited and you can’t quite move properly. you pick up your ticket. san francisco. one way. and head to your gate.

you’re standing in line, your bag in one hand and your ticket in the other. you’ll be the last one to get on, because you’re hoping that something will stop you from leaving. you wish you had a reason to stay. you wish this would turn into a romantic movie or the finale of a sitcom, where at the last second bruce comes running to the gate to stop you.

the line gets shorter.

you’d ask him what he’s doing here and that you’ve already made your decision, you’re leaving.

only a few people ahead.

he’d wrap his arms around you and tell you not to leave, and he’d kiss you.

one person ahead.

he’d say the one thing you’ve been wanting him to, that he needs you… and that he loves you…

you hand your boarding pass to the attendant and step through the gate.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

#fanfic #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #my fic #pictures from pinterest #dc #batman #part two #the batman #alfred pennyworth

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swapmeetsimming · 10 months

Text

I wanted it to look like an old toy ad <3(edited for better pictures)

Barbie Vintage Dream House Vanity Set comes with: This comes in two versions - a fully functional vanity for owners of Vintage Glamour. The seat has a cushion to match the sheets on the bed. The clutter set has seven different little bottles of…well, some look like perfumes. You also get a brush set with a comb, matching mirror, and hairdryer. The brush and mirror have bump maps to match the raised flowers on the toys. The brush set also has those strange …grips on them, so you could fit them on a doll's hand. We tried to make everything look like the toys! The non-functional version is basically a desk with a mirror attached, but it still looks neat.

Barbie Vintage Dream House Bedroom comes with: The closed Armorie version functions as a dresser and has slots on top. The open version has a mirror(deco only) and lots of slots on top and inside! The Bed has a smooth frame, no headboard, and a sunken mattress. The sheets have 3 swatches. Pink, Blue, and a mix of both. This is to match some of the many variations I've seen on boxes. A little throw rug in blue, and some additional clutter - a princess phone and a little alarm clock! You also get a…thing. It's sometimes listed as a nightstand. I never had the dreamhouse as a little girl(way too poor), and this furniture was a little before my time, from all the pictures I have of it…I still can't tell what it's actually supposed to be. With the buttons and Square thing sticking out, it looks like some kind of funky 8-track player with a TV screen on it. So, it's a fully functioning stereo that's been slotted to also work as a nightstand.

I'll be posting links here for the preview posts when they go up ^^

simlish text made with the wonderful fonts at https://franzillasims.tumblr.com/

#sims 4 cc #sims 4 maxis match #sims 4 creator #the sims cc #sims 4 clutter #maxis match #barbie dreamhouse #sims 4 mods #sims 4 barbie cc #sims 4 barbie

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pudding-parade · 1 year

Text

Rusalem by AnnetStore

Welcome to the inaugural World Overview Wednesday, wherein I have a look at some of the nice, mostly old, and perhaps obscure worlds I have tucked away in a massive archive of them. My purpose is to give these worlds a little love, to give as much info about them as I can, and to give you a link to them, both to the original upload if it still works and to a re-upload in case the original vanishes into the ether. That way, you can download them if you want to. I have almost 900 worlds in said archive, so we could be here for the next 17 years. Literally. I did the math.

Anyway! My first victim is Rusalem by AnnetStore. I really like this world, though I've never played in it. Think "Jerusalem" without the "Je," and it really does look a lot like that part of the world. I mean, look at that thing! It's beautiful in its stark desert-ness. It's a big world, beautifully terrain-painted, decorated with a nod toward authenticity with date palms, olive, and cypress trees, fully built/furnished, has a distant terrain, and it's populated. It is what I think Al Simhara should have been, except that it'd need pyramids for that, I guess.

This world was uploaded to the Exchange in December of 2011, and you can download it here, in case you missed that the title of this post is also a link. :) And if you do not wish to deal with the Exchange and/or sims3packs and you don't feel like converting it yourself, I have also uploaded the .world file I made here. You just plop that in your install files in the folder at GameData > Shared > NonPackaged > Worlds. No need to screw around with the launcher.

But before you do all that...more pics and info behind the cut.

Aside from the fact that it's 2048x2048 and comes with 45 residents (which I'm assuming is correct; I certainly didn't count them), there is zero info about this world. That said, I am pretty certain that it needs all of the EPs that had been released when this world was made, which means up to Pets. I noticed objects from all of the EPs up to Generations, and the world does generate minor pets, which I think means that it needs Pets, too, but I'm not sure about that. I take pics of these worlds in a save that has no store content installed, and I have only the High End Loft stuff pack, and I didn't notice anything missing on any of the lots, so I think it only needs the EP stuff. It neither comes with nor requires CC.

This world has basement rabbitholes on all of the rabbithole lots. Of course you can edit them and use rugs instead if you don't like the basement rabbitholes thing.

The world has all spawners (other than the Island Paradise and Into the Future ones, of course), and they are placed in a well-distributed way throughout the world.

Older worlds sometimes have weird issues because, for instance, EA breaks shit with patches. While taking pics of this world, it ran for five simdays. During that time, I sent my sim all over the place and the pre-made population was running around, too. I noticed no weird issues (like sims walking on water), had no notifications about stuck sims (except for a wild horse once, but they always get stuck), and generally saw no issues or lag. So, I think this one's OK in an up-to-date game.

Now let's take a look at the lots and stuff.

This is the main area of the world. It's up on a rise, and it's where the majority of the rabbitholes are as well as a good number of residential lots, many of which are unoccupied so you can move in plenty of your own sims even if you keep the pre-made population. Here's the Edit Town view, so you can see what's what with that:

Now let's take a look at some of these individual lots. Can't look at all of them because we'd be here until next Wednesday, but some of them.

This is the science lot. The building is mostly empty, but it does have an inventing station, and though you can't see them in the pic there are also scrap piles to collect scrap from on the lot. If you've got an inventor sim, this is where they'll need to go to get scrap if you don't want them to buy it because there isn't a dedicated junkyard in the world. There are also harvestables on the lot so that science-career sims can work on their Gardening skill before or after work, if they don't have a home garden. I would add the science objects from University Life, too, because of course that EP didn't exist when this world was created.

This is the city hall, which is quite fancy outside but almost entirely empty inside. So, there's three stories of space to add stuff, if you want to.

This is the fire station, which is nice but, oddly, doesn't come with a fire truck, so you'll need to add one. Or two, since there's two parking spaces of appropriate size.

This is the ziggurat-like library, and this...

...is part of the town's big park (and there are numerous smaller ones scattered throughout the world). It is not a seasonal festival lot because Seasons didn't yet exist when this world was made, but it would be easy to make it so, if you wanted to. You can also see the lot at one end of this park, which is set up as a wedding venue, with the arch and guest seating on the rooftop and a buffet table, bars, and tables/chairs inside the building.

This is the house where I placed the sim that I move into these worlds when I'm taking pics of them:

I have to say, the residential lots in this world are quite cute and match the theme very well. They are also all different, ranging in size from small starters, to moderate family homes, to expensive villas, to one honest-to-pie palace. They are all fully, albeit usually basically, furnished. Here's the furnishing in one of the starter-priced homes, which is suitable for a family of four:

And here is one of the expensive villas:

And here's the freakin' palace, which has a curtain wall with four towers and comes with two sports cars:

It's occupied by one of the pre-made families, but if you want to have your sims live in it, just annihilate/evict them. :)

Here's Edit Town views of the other smaller neighborhoods in the world:

Here's one of them in regular gameplay:

Most of them have their own little park/playground for the kids, and the one that's fairly far from "downtown" has its own grocery store and diner.

Here's one of the moderate family homes in one of the smaller neighborhoods:

Many of the homes in the world have outdoor living spaces, both covered patios as well as rooftop space. This particular house has both.

Now, about the pre-made population...Ehhhhh, I don't think they fit very well for the theme. Here are two of them:

Me, I'd nuke them and make my own families that would fit the theme better. But, I guess that's up to the player

The only other thing that might be a problem with this world is that the creator of it is Russian, so unless your game is also in Russian, you'll have a lot of dialogues and lot names/addresses/descriptions and such that look like this:

It's easy to change sims' names with Master Controller, but I don't think it's possible to change lot addresses. So, there's that. But, it's pretty easy to figure out what's what.

And we'll finish off with some more scenery, including sunset pics plus a nighttime one of the "downtown" area.

#sims 3 #world overview #world overview wednesday #sims 3 scenery

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rockethorse · 2 years

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When artistic visionary Ann Ghelld passed away, she bequeathed her beloved townhouse to the city as affordable housing for fellow creative types... on one stipulation; that nobody touched its eccentric and wildly impractical layout. While this final request has caused its share of architectural headaches, nonetheless, the Ann Ghelld Building survives in the heart of Sim City’s basket weaving district. Upon crossing its unusual threshold you might grab a coffee from Cafe Urele, pick up a bouquet or snacks from LlaMart Convenience, or simply catch the elevator up to any of its three apartments.

I love watching LilSimsie’s videos, even though we play different editions, and I particularly enjoy her shell challenges - where she uploads empty exterior walls and others have to make a lot out of it. I especially liked this one, referred to lovingly by LilSimsie & her followers as the “Big Mistake Shell Challenge” - because all the exterior walls are 100% diagonal.

This is just as difficult to work around in TS4 as it is in TS2, so I wanted to join in the torture! The (wonky) red lines mark the untouchable shell. I ended up really happy with the results, so I’m sharing this fully-furnished, cleaned, play-tested, CC-free apartment building in the hopes you’ll enjoy it too.

Important info, more pics & download link below!

🚨 PLEASE LOAD THIS LOT BEFORE MOVING SIMS IN 🚨

When you move Sims into an apartment, it’s difficult to safely alter anything outside, so please make sure to check that everything is as it should be before you move Sims in.

You do not need CC or mods to play this lot. However, it was made with a few common mods in mind, and if you don’t want to use them, please tweak the lot before playing:

Rugs have been placed off-grid. Either make sure you have Rugs Off The Grid, or delete/move rugs to avoid graphical glitches as seen in these previews.

If you don’t have Water Inaccessible Flowers and Trim Inaccessible Bushes then you may need to move/delete some landscaping and/or fences.

The ground floor was designed for use with Apartments & Shopping On The Same Lot. If you don’t use this mod, nothing bad will happen, but the bottom floor will not sell anything except via the vending machines & electronics kiosk. You can replace the convenience store with a common area such as an indoor pool, computer room, etc, or even another apartment; I honestly recommend leaving the cafe as-is, because your playable Sims can still work there as a barista.

There is no CC in this lot, but there are some deco "accessory” items not normally accessible by players (e.g. a saucepan). If you delete these you may not be able to replace them. Similarly, some items were placed with Shiftable Everything. If you delete some items you may not be able to replace them in the same positions without this mod.

A corner counter in the top apartment may not corner properly when the lot is placed. This can be fixed with moveobjects. Although it clips, it is considered within the apartment, so you can put objects on it without apartment cheats.

If you don’t use Shiftable Trash Chutes, your chutes may appear glitched (see below). This is harmless and can be fixed simply by replacing the chute. Note: the chute on the second floor was originally placed with the cheat setquartertileplacement on.

If you play with CC, then I also have some suggestions for where it might improve this lot:

The expensive computer in the cafe (I hate that hideous thing) would be much better as a laptop.

The flower plots on the rooftop would also make a great produce garden with Honeywell’s placeable garden plots.

You can replace a corkboard in the lobby with a jobs board.

The signs for Cafe Urele might look nicer with a recolour or swapped out for a cute sandwich board.

The bike racks by the basketball court look a bit bare without some deco bikes.

The bare brick wall at the back of the building is prime real estate for some graffiti.

The busker’s guitar out the front will look a little more appropriate with an invisible amp recolour and maybe a decorative case.

If you find all the lights overpowering, don’t forget to turn some off.

And of course, don’t forget to add fences, hedges, etc. that will make this lot blend in better with the surrounding lots in your hood.

The first apartment has two separate bedrooms; Currently, it’s furnished as though occupied by two unrelated roommates - one sewist and one musician - but it could also work for a parent and a child. It has this kitchenette common area as well as a small balcony.

The second apartment is the most “luxury”. It’s a cozy open-plan studio with a double bed, a small but quality kitchen, and its own balcony. This is ideal for a D.I.N.K couple or perhaps a single Romance Sim.

The top apartment is the smallest and cheapest, barely fitting a kitchenette and single bed, but there’s space to move out on the building’s largest balcony. Perfect for an artsy single Sim working or studying in the big city. (The little reading nook bumpout is my favourite detail.)

All bathrooms are more or less identical, with a toilet, basin, medicine cabinet, trash can, and shower. The second floor studio has a shower/bath combo.

I wanted the lot to have free skilling opportunities, so all residents have access to the rooftop garden and free use of the crafting station & chess set there. There’s also a bookcase in the cafe, a guitar on the street for busking, an outdoor gym, and a basketball hoop.

Sims should be able to access everything (except the flowers/hedges - see above) without routing errors, though of course, with such an “interesting” layout, your Sims might get a bit cramped and fussy. The only issue I ran into is that there’s nowhere on the second floor for the newspaper to be delivered, so it often glitches into the apartment on the left, regardless of which apartment you live in. You can retrieve the paper in buy mode without cheats. This is not an issue on the top floor.

Thank you so much for reading! I don’t remember the last time I shared a lot for download; if you do end up playing it, I’d love to hear how it went.

Download Ann Gheld Building [CC Free]

#the sims 2 #ts2 #sims 2 lot #I don't know what to tag this with lol #sniffles. looks at you directly. please clap #I never considered myself a builder so sharing lots makes me way more nervous than sharing CC!#if you like it then reblogs would mean ... the Sim world ... [staring at you with huge eyes]#in all seriousness though this was so fun I love shell challenges. It being entirely diagonal was SO interesting #in TS4 and TS2 alike a lot of items NEED to be on straight walls to function #TS4 doesn't have elevators or spiral stairs though so their stairs situation was even harder haha. I do feel bad about that #but placing things like toilets and counters etc was hard because they look best against straight walls #and some other items just don't function diagonally. like some of the dressers. or they do but need a 4x bigger footprint #and I couldn't use any of my precious walk-around/through blocks!! because CC free!!#I do adore Shiftable Everything though god bless modders #I'm experimenting so much more now that 1) I don't have to fiddle with OMSPs and 2) I know I can share it wantonly #I think my favourite little outcome of the extreme space/orientation restrictions were that I actually had a reason to put trash cans #in the bathrooms. Like that was the only place they would reliably fit #because all the bathrooms were so weirdly shaped because they all needed straight walls. so they all had little pockets #meanwhile the rest of the apartment typically didn't have space for a bin where it would be accessible in normal gameplay #I never put trash cans in Sim bathrooms normally because there's no need for one there even tho IRL it's probably like #the most common place to have a trash can after the kitchen #BAM. Lil bit of realism for you. Two sim birds with one sim stone #anyway I'm rambling. I had a lot of fun with this and I'm gonna do more shell challenges and maybe share more builds #there's also a little rockethorse easter egg for you to find if you do download it #thank you again for reading!#rockethorse lots

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wildgeese-badideas · 7 months

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Omg I was 2 chapters into reading taste the rainbow when it went under construction and had a mini heart attack. So relieved it’s just being edited and updated! Amazing fic! Love how you write these two characters 🫡🫡

Omg sorry to cut you off midway!!! Rewriting ASAP now 😭 if it takes too long I can always post/send a link to the old version or smt, I feel bad for snatching the rug out from under you haha 😅 TY FOR THE SWEET COMPLIMENT 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 And for reaching out on Tumblr; I get so excited when I get asks hehe

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walker-extended-universe · 9 months

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These are all fics that have not escaped my drafts, not even for a single chapter. I can't provide links like the last poll series but I will provide a general summary below:

Cordell Teaching Stella and August how to hunt- HW

Summary: Cordell lets his kids in on their biological family history and introduces them to Sam and Dean.

Stella is pregnant with Trevor's kid

Summary: Me playing around with what I think was a missed opportunity after the "closed door moment" between Stella and Trevor at the cabin in 1x11. In the weeks following Trevor's arrest and everything associated with it, Stella finds out that she's pregnant. Terrified of telling her dad or her grandparents, August ends up being the first one to know, then Geri. I haven't plotted too much past this but she does keep the baby and Trevor does know about it but it's pretty obvious he won't be able to be involved given the prison time ahead of him.

Walkernatural Extra- Micki/Garrison Spinoff

Summary: Garrison didn't die and also he's a skinwalker. He asks Micki to help him hide and they run off into the sunset together.

Sam/Ruby but they're Cordell/Emily

Summary: Supernatural season 4 AU. Sam is spiraling after losing Dean and Ruby finds him. But after everything that happened in Hell after season 3, she's not keen on working for Lillith anymore. She tells Sam she can't go after Lillith or Dean, that he'd be playing right into Hell's hands. She's pretty sure someone else is going to get Dean out anyway, with all the players on the board. She convinces him to just move on and keep hunting, especially since some demons are coming after both of them. Sometime after that, they save the Walker family from monsters and Abby insists they at least stay for dinner. They end up sharing the whole story and the Walkers offer them a home and a place to hide. Sam is unsure since that would just be putting them in harm's way and that's a hard lie to sell, but Ruby can manipulate their memories and make it as if Sam and Ruby (or rather, Cordell and Emily) were always there. The Walkers agree and everything falls into place. Dean comes back on schedule and goes looking for Sam, but Bobby has no idea where he is and none of Dean's usual tricks work. He goes searching the old fashioned way and eventually finds him- but not before Emily is pregnant with their first child.

Cordell Davidson

Summary: AU in which Cordell is the missing Davidson baby. Abby and Bonham adopted him after some desperation to have a child. They didn't know he was the allegedly dead child until after Marv told Abby in 1995. They planned to tell Cordell but then the fire happened and there just never seemed to be a good time to tell him that the woman who accused him of murder was his biological mother. They don't end up telling him until after the Davidsons return 25 years later. It's a very awkward situation for everyone, except Gale who seems very happy to try and sweep all their dirty history under the rug.

Cassie got kidnapped too AU

Summary: AU in which Cassie was in on the boys' running club earlier on. She's close enough to Cordell when the abduction happened to witness it and ends up getting caught herself. They suffer through the torture together, but have very different recovery times as Cassie just can't seem to get past everything that happened to her.

William had the stroke AU

Summary: AU in which William was the one who went to the hospital and his previously unknown daughter contacts Abby about it. There's a family road trip to Dallas after Abby gets the call, which ends up being a blessing as she has support when she learns her brother hid his child from her for 20 years. Katherine offers them rooms in the B&B for as long as they want to stay.

HVW- Cordell and Gabriel at Stull Cemetary

Summary: Gabriel and Cordell go to confront their brothers at Stull cemetery. They fail to stop Michael and Lucifer from going through with the prizefight but they are able to save Adam from being pulled into the pit with Michael, Lucifer, and Sam. Adam gets folded into the Walker family.

Walkernatural Extra- All the Archangels and Brothers jump into the Cage

Summary: AU in which Cordell and Gabriel jump into Hell after their brothers

Walker got shot in 2x18 AU

Summary: Because it's more than a little ridiculous to me that Cordell made it out of that trailer with only a bullet to the hat. The Walker family escaped the nature park alive but once they're back in cellphone service range, they get a very worrisome call from James.

#walker #walker: independence #my writing #my fic #poll #stuck in the drafts #part 3 #remade because i made the last version too short

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encephalitis-on-sundays · 9 months

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Avatar The way of War

Fanfiction Chapter 5

A lot of characters including a few ocs through out the entire story, yet it's mostly Spider. Or we'll the future chapters are gonna stay focused on him more. Anyways this one was difficult cause I have a friend writing an ocs part and she can't format to save her life and im too lazy or tired to edit every word she writes. In regards to that I am sorry if at certain parts with her it is difficult to understand. I'm sorry but hey, that's how she goes. ))

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The way their bodies flowed in perfect unison was enough to give the bravest a cold chill. Warr ak stills the moment she thanks him, and he is ever frozen when she places her hand on his face gently. He reaches up to feel where a hat would be and laughs, "That it would" He replied before stepping out of the bungalow after she had.

Curious eyes stay gazing at the pair as he showed her past the clan and to where Ajake had been waiting for them. Sadly there wasn't much time to explore the island, at least not until things were settled and cooled down.

"Right on time" Ajake spoke up as he tightened his comm on his beaded necklace. "Go quickly and stay low" He commanded before making the bond and jumping onto his living vehicle.

Warr ak approached the banshee casually and with no fear, he ushers for Alice to join him.

"They can be gentle creatures if you don't do them harm" He explained softly before hopping up onto the creature, his can't reaching down to collect hers and pull her up to sit in front of him.

"see, kinda fun right?" He says as they take off after Ajake, on their journey back to the forest, back to family.

"It's a days ride" He added, giving her an estimated time of arrival, and hoping she did not mind the long ride, or the short distance between them.

She watches him link to it with a newfound fascination. A bit in shock, she takes his offered hand and finds herself astride the fearsome ride. They have never been closer but her fear is threatening to consume her and she barely notices. She presses back against him with a squeel as they begin to rise before she can mentally prepare for the ascent. The height dizzying, she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to just melt backwards into him, 'Fun?...He is mad' but she remains silent just bracing her palms against the flying beast. The unwelcome air hits her face and she mentally dies as she learns she has 24 hours of this torture.

Warr ak chuckles to himself knowing the first time riding one is the most grueling. His hands holding tight to the creatures natural reigns, and he follows Ajake lower until they are almost skimming the calm waters below.

" Remember Alladin? " He inquired, nearly about to bust out in song for her if it would help.

"I always think of this as me riding my very own magic carpet. I used to be obsessed with it when I was younger, when I was human. " he spoke happily and reminisced in his childhood as the moment faded on.

"It helped me" He adds, leaning forward to give her a sincere filled smile that shone within the nights sky like diamonds.

After awhile of them traveling in silence the water had vanished and they were familiar with the rugged terrain they were flying over.

"Beautiful isn't it? Kinda like a fairy tale right?" he says playfully as the wind picks up slightly and bundles them close. Within no time the light of day is gracing their faces with warmth.

"We are nearly there!" He called, knowing they were still off a bit, but hoping to ease her worries.

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The next time they went out flying was early evening of the next day, and Spider had been following Quaritch around learning of the newer technologies aboard all morning through afternoon. Shadowing the man wasn't as mundane as one would think, there was still some good in the other.

Now in the sky it was quiet with only the animals calling around them from the forest floors, Spider huffed out some air as he reminds himself of his past home.

"You alright kid?" Quaritch asks the boy crouched on the banshee to his front.

Spider jumped at the sound of the others voice ricocheting from ear to ear, and he turned his head back to look at him. "Yeah" He responds and shakes his head slightly at the others concern pouting as he returned to face away from this man. Quite awhile would pass before his ears overheard the Colonels Comms going off in his ear, that never happened, he turned back to give a look of puzzlement.

"Change of plans, kid. We got movement in the sky, Na'vi.." He announced with a toothy grin, obviously excited about who it could be.

Spider stay silent in thoughts of a risky escape knowing it might be his last chance before he is sent to Earth. Soon enough the Colonel narrowed in on two banshees in the near distance, and the kid already could tell who the riders were.

" Yip!" He called out loudly to gain the attention of the others, and snapping his head to the side to look at Quaritch when he was pushed down.

"Quiet kid! I'll unleash a buttload of ass whoopin if you give away our position." He warned his son before forcing the creature to go faster.

Ajake heard the others faint call and his head snapped back to take in the scene, sighing in relief to see Spider. His stomach churned as the banshee flew close enough for the man to make out whom be the second body in the air.

"How?!" He growled in disbelief, "Warr ak! Eyes on Spider, to your east" He called behind him to the two also noticing the other banshee grow close.

Warr ak cursed under his breath now realizing they were in danger and with little to no weaponry or defenses to get them out.

"It's just one dude, how hard could it be?" He states reassuring them both as he tugs on the reigns and nose dives.

This is the moment Spider had been awaiting, and he made a mental note not to fuck it up.

"I owe you a life, but I'm done!" He tells the colonel before allowing his body to roll underneath now dangling by the creatures neck.

"Miles!" Quaritch yelled in utter shock at the boys next move. He immediately reached forward to grab the kids forearm and tried to pull him up.

"Bro!?" Spider calls out down below them where Warr ak was leveling up their banshee just underneath theirs.

"Go bro!" Warr ak replied as Ajake came flying past them and shooting a few rounds at Quaritch.

This frightened the animal and caused the banshee to jerk back making Spider lose his grip. He gave out a loud yell as he free fell almost 20 feet before grabbing ahold of the banshees tail and pulling himself up with what strength left he had.

"That was sick, bro" He gasped lightly with a relieved smile at the other.

He suddenly got a wave of un-surety and against his greater judgement turned to look back at Quaritch. He breathed yet another sigh of great relief seeing the Colonel un hit by the shots firing out at him.

"Is he in sights? Is Eagle out of combat?" Warr ak asked, holding it together as he flew as steadily as he could like so.

Spider focused on what scenes were unfolding behind them with wide eyes forced that way from pure adrenaline. He sees Ajake now swiftly catching up to them as Quaritch falls back, most likely retreating after such a loss.

"I see him!" He calls happily before hearing Ajake whistle low and they knew to seek cover under the canopy.

Once on the ground the group took a moment to take it all in and find shelter for the evening.

"Spider" Ajake fetched the boy and put a hand on each shoulder firmly. "I am happy to have you back, but I need you to tell me how Quaritch is still alive... Do you know?" The man interrogated, happy of course of their successful outcome, but solemn and on edge with it as well.

Spider instantly looked to his side as he could no longer meet the others desperate gaze, and he swallowed hard before the silence grew to be too much and he caved.

"It was me" He breathed low and finally looked back to Ajake with a deep settling frown.

"I couldn't let him die- he saved me first!" He found himself defensive and growing in volume.

"Sorry, Sir" Came Spiders next words as his body sunk forward in guilt and conflicting morals.

Ajake stood completely horrified in the admission the young kid had given him, even after Netayem has died,

"You bring back the man responsible for my sons death!?" He growled loudly but soon masked the anger and bewilderment locked inside.

"I don't know what to say." The man admitted, raising a hand to his brow for a second of peace.

"Thin ice" He warned before nodding for him to leave him be and give him space.

"Go, dismissed-" he ushered when the boy just stood in defeat. He watched him walk off to join the others, his steps seemingly forced and tight facial expression showed how much reuniting came with hurt beyond this world.

#avatar #kiri avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar james cameron #avatar loak #avatar spider #avatar the way of water #Kinda felt bad ditching my man Quaritch #He will be back soon #Spider is such a great character

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manonamora-if-reviews · 4 months

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Lake Starlight by SummersViaEarth

============= Links

Play the game See other reviews of the game

============= Synopsis

You are young and female and coming-of-age on a planet in utter chaos--its people on a path to ecocide and self-destruction. Magic runs in your blood, but you're just a kid and you're stuck in a toxic little town with no way out. Except…today you wake up to new choices. Will you learn to harness your inner magic or sleepwalk through your planet's darkest days?

============= Other Info

Lake Starlight is a Twine(SugarCube) game, submitted to the 2023 Edition of the IFComp. It ranked 57th overall.

Status: Completed Genre: YA Fiction, Fantasy, Coming-of-Age

CW: mention of death, drug use, destruction

============= Playthrough

Played: 14-Dec-2023 Playtime: around 45min Rating: 2 /5 Thoughts: Magic Summer Camp - The Extended Intro

============= Review

Lake Starlight is an incomplete young-adult fantasy game, where you play as a teenage girl on the day of her "coming-of-age" celebration, during which she will be given the choice to go to a Magical Summer Camp(tm) to harness her powers or * shrug *. Themes of sisterhood, environmental justice and anti-corporation are prevalent throughout the story. The current version includes two endings: a "sad" one, and the end of Book 1 (which ends abruptly).

Spoilers ahead. It is recommended to play the game first. The review is based on my understanding/reading of the story.

I didn't particularly enjoy this game, honestly. It wasn't much of the typical YA setting where the Earth is on fire, society is really bad, but you (yes you! a teenager) can change the course of humanity and solve all its problem (with magic!) - those can be pretty fun! But the execution didn't quite click with me.

I think part of my issue with it was both in how lengthy the passages where, giving the player little to do but try to digest the over-exposition of concepts or other characters. I'd often go dozens of passages before I could do something... if the game wouldn't pull the rug from under me and end up choosing for myself instead. I wondered what the point of it all was…

Even if the game goes all-in with the exposition, and in a pretty cliché way (a very-YA style), it often does very little with the concepts introduced. The world is pretty bad all around, but who cares, here's your ticket to essentially Heaven on Earth for the summer. Meet a bunch of girls with tragic or at least interesting backstories, but you don't get much to do with them or engage with those background either. The reason for it being the story being incomplete. One would hope this would end up being more fleshed out when/if the game updates.

I played this game twice, finding the bad ending first... and I think I liked that ending better. It at least gave closure. The "good" path of Book 1 ends too abruptly…

#Lake Starlight #SummersViaEarth #interactive fiction #2023 #twine game #review #ifcomp #WIP

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conceptalbummultiverse · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday 7

Since my last WIP Wednesday post, I managed to finish another chapter of SF: ALS and get started on another (half of which I had already written a while ago, so I just need to stitch what I wrote before and what I'm currently writing together), which means Part 4 is coming closer to being finished... Only two full chapters left to write, and then it's editing time. At most, it'll probably see the light of day in March. Anyway...

Since we start to drift into spoiler territory the further I go along, these snippets are probably going to end up being very short in the future. Also, as with last time, this is NOT edited.

Pink heard the party at Jojo’s before he saw it. Even nestled within the limousine’s smooth interior, he could feel a throbbing bassline shaking its frame, and hear the shrieks and cries and shouts that only a mass of very, very drunk people could make. As soon as the limo had parked around the back of the house, Pink opened the door, only for several partygoers to descend upon him, all topless and wide-eyed and clutching half-empty glasses. “Hey, man!” One of the women grabbed at Pink’s arm, and Pink drew back. “Come on out!” As soon as they realized that there were only three people in the limo, they scattered, but Pink remained frozen where he was, his heart rate beginning to increase. All of a sudden, he didn’t want to do this. But he knew that he had to.

“I’ll come with you,” Steven announced, already unbuckling his safety belt.

Pink shook his head. “No.” Entering the party with a bodyguard would just attract the kind of attention that Pink didn’t want. Besides, he had to talk to Ziggy alone.

He slid out of the limo and slammed the door behind him. Behind a ragged chain-link fence, he could see a pool glistening under a pair of flood lights. Plenty of people were in the pool, horsing around and tossing a beach ball, but the majority of the partygoers were milling around at its edges, shaking their bodies to the music blaring from a large pair of speakers. Already Pink was beginning to wish that he had earplugs to match his face mask. It only took a few minutes of scanning the crowd to notice that Ziggy wasn’t outside. If he had been, the partygoers would have surely cleared a special spot for him, not to mention that his looks stood out too much for him to blend in. That meant Pink would have to go inside. Well, he’d never expected this task to be easy.

As soon as Pink entered the house through the back door, he found himself staring at a man who’d dived face-first into a punch bowl. A few other men stood pumping their fists around him, chanting and hooting up a storm. Determined not to let anything distract him, Pink slipped past the group and continued into the main room. There, he saw another bunch of people with spoons and straws in hand huddled in the center of the room around a glass coffee table. Piled atop the coffee table was a mountain of cocaine, more than Pink had ever seen in one place in his life. Sitting on the ratty armchairs, tattered sofa, and threadbare rug were multiple couples enjoying each other’s company, their hands and lips roaming across each other’s bodies.

The light in the main room was dim, so it took Pink a bit longer to track down anyone who might be Ziggy, but eventually he determined that Ziggy wasn’t present in this room, either. Great. That only left the bathrooms and the bedrooms for him to search, neither of which he had any particular desire to enter. At least the house was only one story, so the search probably wouldn’t take him very long.

#SF: ALS #my writing #this chapter was a brutal one to write and that's all i'm gonna say

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jhsgf82 · 2 years

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Feel the Beat, Always Part I

A/N: Thanks to @daydreamsandcaffeine for encouraging me to write this and for the little brainstorm session! I’m not very good with edits, but above is a little visual anyway. It’s kinda long. Enjoy!

Katniss raises her arms above her head, stretching her lean, lithe body; she links her thumbs, bends her knees, and arches her chest as she drops her head back, leading with her fingers. Slowly, she goes into a full standing backbend, then drops down and catches herself. She bends her elbows and goes into a reverse tabletop position for about ten seconds, then lowers herself down to the mat.

She’s been up since sunrise, limbering up and running through her dance routine, twice. Now she’s completing her post-dance stretches. Maybe she’ll go through the routine once more though, for good measure.

After all, her big audition is TODAY.

And big shot producer, Alma Coin, is going to be there.

Dance is Katniss Everdeen’s life. And she’s good at it, really good. Oh, she’s not a star by any means, but she’s managed to land a couple of larger roles which have gotten her name out there, and she’s kept steady gigs in the chorus line of several popular stage shows. It’s been enough to make a living without having to work two or three jobs, which is a small miracle here in New York City. Her place isn’t a penthouse, obviously, nor is it a rat’s hole‒it’s just a simple loft, and it’s just right for her. What she loves best is that there’s plenty of space to dance.

A small town girl leaving her small town life to make it as a performer in “the big city” is relatively unheard of–well, no, not unheard of. It’s all too common. What’s not common is being successful at it. But Katniss has talent, and she’s aware of it. She can sing; she can dance, and if only she could act, she’d be a triple threat; however, she sucks at acting. But that’s okay. She doesn’t really need to; she can make her body work for her when her words and facial expressions fail her.

Katniss goes into a butterfly stretch.

Her mangy old muddy-orange cat, Buttercup, whom she inherited when her grandmother passed, comes up beside her, brushing her with his tail as he passes. He stops to stretch out beside her, elongating his body and sticking his butt in the air as he digs his nails into the gray and beige geometric-patterned rug. Then he trots over and jumps up on her couch and assumes the loaf position. Lazily, he watches her with rotten squash-colored eyes. He blinks at her once, and Katniss’s lips twitch.

Buttercup, an unlikely companion (and one she didn’t like very much at first), is quite possibly the ugliest cat she’s ever seen with his mashed-in nose and half an ear missing. He was definitely unwanted at first, but he’s grown on her. He’s her only company, truly, the only person in her life, and he’s not even a person. Well, Katniss hasn’t had a date in…some number of years, but that’s okay. She doesn’t really need anyone; she only needs the stage.

As for family, there’s only her dad. She’s an only child, and her mom left when she was little. She does try to call her father at least once a week. They don’t have much to talk about, but they get each other all the same. For one, he’s good about not guilt-tripping her for never coming to visit; he’s just happy to hear her voice. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go back to New Hope, West Virginia, or maybe she doesn’t. Admittedly, it would be too hard to see…certain persons, namely one, and of course, she’d have to hear everyone drone on and on about how she abandoned the town to make her way in NYC.

She finishes her stretches, showers, braids her long hair up in a high braid, and dresses in her dance attire as she doesn’t know what the changing room situation will be like‒she hates crowding in a room with dozens of other girls, all fighting over the last mirror. Not that Katniss cares about the mirror so much; she’s not a heavy makeup wearer. She checks the weather, and of course, it’s raining, so she grabs a trench coat and slips into it on her way out. In the elevator, she buttons it partially up and cinches it at the waist.

Midtown traffic is a killer, per usual. Actually, it seems much, much worse today. What the heck is going on? It takes her nearly twenty minutes to hail a cab, and her once leisurely commute is suddenly a rush. When the cab comes to a stop, she says a silent thanks. But then, she sees a middle-aged woman with long gray hair across the street, and she’s going for the same cab as her.

Oh no, no way. That’s my cab! thinks Katniss.

Her competitive side kicking in (and also her survival instinct‒Katniss Everdeen doesn’t get pushed around by anyone), she runs for the cab as fast as she can in her character heels, and without being hit by traffic. Fortunately, it’s come to a crawl. The other woman gets to the cab just ahead of her and opens the door, and Katniss slips right in, calling out, “Thank you!”

“This is my cab!” the woman screeches.

“I’m sorry, but it’s a matter of life or death.” Katniss shuts the door and gives the driver the address, and he’s speeding off, leaving the woman standing there in the rain‒she’s lost her umbrella, so she’s getting pelted. For a moment, Katniss feels bad, but she can’t miss this audition; this is her big break. Wherever the woman has to go, it can’t be as important as where she’s going. She probably has some cushy office job, anyway, where it doesn’t matter much if you’re a few minutes late.

Briefly, Katniss thinks of someone she used to know. He was always such a do-gooder that he’d never approve of this kind of behavior. He’d never make it in this city, she thinks; NYC would chew him up and spit him out. Even so, she decides to do something nice for some random stranger later in his honor; perhaps she’ll buy coffee for the next person in line at Starbucks after she nails this audition.

-----

Katniss gets to her audition with only five minutes to spare. It’s good she decided to wear her crop top and tights to the audition rather than change there; now she only needs to dry off her shoes a bit, so she doesn’t slip.

When her name is called with a group of several others, Katniss heads confidently to the stage. She’s not nervous, not really. There was a time when she used to get nervous before auditions, but such a thing does no good. It’s better to appear confident, even if you’re not; although, she is.

Katniss performs the routine perfectly. She noticed a couple of the dancers getting off the beat, but it didn’t throw her a bit. Those two will surely be cut. She makes it through the first round of cuts, and then the second, and she’s practically flying, her smile wide, her face glowing with hope and just a bit of perspiration.

“Now, Ms. Alma Coin would like to have a look at you,” Coin’s assistant, who’s been doing the cuts, says.

Katniss stands tall, strikes a pose, and smiles just as the cab woman walks out on stage.

Oh crap.

Katniss prays this woman won’t recognize her, but of course, she does, her thin, lipstick-less mouth curling up into a snarl-grimace. Then she hopes for Ms. Coin to be professional, to choose the best dancers, regardless of petty vendettas. But no. She immediately begins dressing her down for her outlandish behavior, says she’d never allow such a disgraceful person to perform in one of her shows. It seems a bit much to Katniss. Just because she inconvenienced her and ticked her off she’s going to ban her from being in any of her shows? And not only that, but Ms. Coin also declares, in an overly dramatic fashion, that her ‘career is over.’

She can’t just decide that, announce that she’ll never work on Broadway again!

Katniss tries to explain herself, smooth things over, but that only results in her accidentally knocking Alma Coin off the stage and injuring her. Not knowing what else to do, Katniss rushes out of the audition.

-----

On her way back to her apartment, she receives several texts from her friend Cinna. Apparently, someone captured a video of her knocking Alma Coin off the stage and posted it on social media. The ridiculous thing is up to 30,000 views.

Cinna, what am I gonna do? she texts.

Cinna: Just give it some time. Lay low and try again after a month or so. It’ll die down.

A month? she texts back. I don’t have a month. I’m already behind on my rent since the money from my last show ran out, and I’m sure my sleazebag landlord isn’t gonna be happy.

Cinna: Don’t worry, darlin. Just let me know if you need some money.

I don’t take charity, Cinna, she texts.

Cinna: I know.

-----

Over the next three weeks, Katniss does everything she can to make ends meet, even cocktail waitressing, something she never thought she’d (or wanted to) go back to. Additionally, Cinna had the brilliant idea that she should audition for Portia Rose, a big Broadway producer, who’s apparently the only one not intimidated by Alma Coin. But how is she going to audition for her? Her agent dropped her after the video, and it isn’t exactly easy to take meetings with wealthy show biz people.

Her one chance comes after Cinna does a little detective work and discovers that Portia will be dining at the ritzy Capitol Bar & Grille for lunch Friday afternoon. It might be crazy, but if Katniss can put on a performance on the sidewalk as Portia is coming out of the restaurant, maybe she’ll catch her eye. Dressed in her best dance ensemble, a sparkly silver little number designed by Cinna, she waits outside for Portia. Sure enough, she’s there, and the moment she leaves the restaurant with her group, Katniss goes right into it.

Unfortunately, Portia either doesn’t notice her or doesn’t care because she walks right by. As she’s trying to get her attention, Katniss runs into a hot dog vendor and ends up covered in ketchup and mustard.

For the topper on the crap sundae that is her day, and her life, when she gets back to her apartment, her stuff is in the halls and there’s an EVICTED notice on her door in bold black letters. And the locks have been changed. Did her asshole landlord throw her out with no real notice?! Okay, so maybe he’d been threatening her for weeks, but how could he just toss her stuff into the halls and change the locks? It could’ve been stolen! At least he put Buttercup in his cat carrier rather than turn him loose. She considers going to her landlord to plead her case, but he’s already made it clear he won’t be lenient anymore, that is, unless she wants to sleep with him. She’d rather be homeless. She doesn’t want to live in a place managed by such a creep anyway.

Katniss slumps against her door between the boxes and slides down to a seated position. Her head falls back against the door with a thunk. Buttercup yowls from beside her, and she sticks her fingers through the holes of the carrier to let him sniff her.

“We’re gonna be okay, Buttercup. We’ll be o-kay.”

Just then, her phone rings, and as if he sensed her despair, it’s her dad.

She hesitates, then answers the video call. “Hey, Dad.” She attempts for bright and cheery, but she’s sure she’s grimacing, and she can feel hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Katniss hasn’t cried in years, not since her mom left, and she doesn’t plan to start now.

“Hey, Catkin! How’s my best girl?”

“Just…paying my dues, Dad,” she mutters. She can’t fake it much longer, but she doesn’t exactly want to give him the deets.

“It’ll happen, sweetie,” her dad assures. “You’re so talented. You’re gonna make it.” He goes on to tell her how proud he is of her and how he’s saved the playbills she’s sent him for all of her Broadway shows. He’s only made it to one of her shows, but she knows that was difficult enough for him to manage, so she’s thankful.

“Thanks, Dad,” she says, plastering on a small smile.

“Are you…sitting in the hallway?” he asks.

Oh God. She positions the phone to ensure he only has a view of the door, not the boxes and bags littering the hall.

“Yeah, just, uh, waiting for my take-out,” she says. And he seems to buy it. Her dad knows how much she loves food.

“Oh,” he clears his throat, “what’d you get?”

“Chinese,” she answers immediately.

“Oh. Sounds good.”

There’s a pause.

“Well, uh, Dad, I think that’s my food coming up the stairs now, so I better…”

“Okay, honey. Call me later. Love you.”

“You too.” She hangs up and sighs.

She stares across the hallway at her neighbor’s door until she hears a little ding. She looks down at her phone. It’s from Dad.

Dad: You can’t fool me, sweetie. Just come home.

Dad: You can stay in your old room as long as you want. It’s all set for you. Haven’t changed a thing.

Katniss sighs. She doesn’t want her dad to think she couldn’t hack it; she doesn’t want to admit failure. But what else can she do? Presently, this city is sucking the life out of her, and she needs a recharge. She can crash at home, er her old home, maybe get a job and save up some money, and once she’s back on her feet, she can work on getting to Portia again.

-----

Against her will, her dad bought her a plane ticket and insisted on picking her up at the small New Hope airport. Probably for the best. There aren’t any cabs. Even Ubers are extremely rare. And unless she wants to hitch a ride on Old Farmer Diggs’ tractor, it’s best that she lets her father pick her up.

They sit quietly in his truck; Katniss has barely said anything since their greeting and hug at the airport. After several minutes pass, her dad starts humming a little song they used to sing together, which successfully breaks the ice, and she starts humming, then singing along. Her dad has an amazing voice, always has. She swears he can make the birds stop to listen. Truthfully, he was her inspiration to get into show business, although she's more confident and comfortable dancing than singing.

Just as they’ve passed the New Hope sign, “So, uh, heard from your mom lately?” her dad asks out of the blue, effectively putting the ice wall back up.

“Nope,” she replies. She doesn’t know why he would think she would after all these years.

Suddenly, Katniss has a terrible thought. Not that she should care about what the person who abandoned her thinks, but… “I hope she didn’t see the video.” Katniss groans. “Or anyone in town. I’d die.”

“Oh, now, don’t be too full of yourself, sweetie. People around here have other things to worry about, you know. Their own lives.”

“I know.”

“Probably just me stalking your Instabook.”

“That’s Instagram, Dad.” Katniss smirks.

“That’s what I said.” Her dad laughs a little, and Katniss’s lips quirk. But not long after, her lips curve into a frown. “I hate the internet,” she says on exhale.

“Me too,” her dad replies. “Just keep up with it for my pride and joy.”

That brings another little smile from her.

They’re driving past Town Hall when they see Coach Odair and his football team. He’s barking at them to pick up their feet and run faster, so they’re not the slowest football team out there, as well as other little passive-aggressive encouragements.

Katniss’s dad throws up his hand. “Hey, Finnick.”

“Hey, Mr. E, how ya doing?” Finnick waves back, then proceeds to ride his team.

“I see the football team still sucks,” remarks Katniss.

“Ah, they’ve had their good years and bad. Finn’s a good coach. He rides ‘em hard, but he’s actually a big softie.”

That sounds about right.

Katniss and her father make idle conversation about his job in the mines, which Katniss wishes he’d give up, and about the possibility of making the farm his sole source of income, which she encourages. But he isn’t a risk taker, he tells her. Not like her.

“Some risk taker,” she mumbles. “I take these huge risks and fail.” Katniss sighs, and Buttercup meows from the truck bed. “I really screwed up, Dad.”

“Oh now, honey. That’s what the term risk implies, that you might fail. But you haven’t failed. This is just one missed opportunity, a minor setback after multiple successes. Like you said, in a profession such as yours, you’re bound to have to pay some dues.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Come on, gimme a smile.” She does her best to. “Aw, you can do better than that.”

“This might be the best I have in me right now, Dad.”

“Ah, that can’t be it. Hey, I know what you need…cheese.”

Katniss quirks a brow. She does love cheese. Cheese and chocolate: two substances she could pretty much eat (or drink) her weight in.

“Or better yet, cheese buns!”

“No, Dad.” Katniss shakes her head. “Can’t we just get some cheese at the market? You know I can’t go to the bakery‒”

“Not to worry, Catkin. He won’t be there. He’s never there this time of day. I’ll even go in for you, just in case.”

----

Katniss waits outside Mellark’s Bakery while her father goes in for bread and cheese buns. She decides to get out of the truck for some fresh air. As she leans up against the truck, she cranes her neck to see if she can see who’s inside working.

“Katniss?”

Katniss spins at the sound of the high-pitched affected accent of who could be none other than Ms. Effie Trinket, her dance teacher from when she was a pre-teen through high school.

Sure enough, there she is. She’s a bit older, though she looks much the same (probably thanks to Botox, and all the makeup). Naturally, her hair is dyed a vibrant color; today, it’s bright pink. She’s dressed in her usual flamboyant style and wearing at least three or four-inch stilettos. She’d always change into dance shoes for practices, but otherwise, she’d be wearing high heels around town.

“Oh, h-hey, Ms. Trinket.” Although she’s married to the surly town drunk with a heart of gold, she still uses her maiden name. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain, dear. How are you?” She raises her voice on ‘you.’ “The big Broadway star!”

Katniss feels her shoulders slumping, but she puts on the hint of a smile. “Fine. Just fine. How’s Haymitch?”

“Oh, goodness! He’ll be the death of me, I’m sure of it!” she wails.

“You two are still…together?”

“Heavens, yes.” Then Effie launches into a number of complaints about her alcoholic husband, who is apparently sober now (for the most part) and assistant coaching the football team, interspersed with sprinklings of praises throughout. These two have an interesting relationship. They’re so different, yet somehow, they’ve made it work all these years.

“And what about you, dear? Any special man in your life?”

Katniss shakes her head. “No, not really.” She knew it was a mistake mentioning Effie’s relationship, for it was bound to lead to questions about her own, or lack thereof.

“Oh, speaking of, I just saw Peeta!” trills Effie Trinket.

Katniss feels as though a large thorn has been jabbed into her side at the mention of his name.

“Peeta?” another voice chimes in. “Oh, I saw him this morning!” Delly Cartwright has just strolled up the sidewalk hand in hand with her little girl, a light brunette girl with her hair in buns wearing a pink tutu and leotard. The last time Katniss saw her, she was a baby; she recalls that her name is Emmy. “Katniss! Is that really you?!”

What is this? A reunion?

Well, Katniss knew she was bound to run into people from her past in town. But does every one of them need to bring Peeta up?

Katniss nods and smiles faintly, and Delly claps her on the back.

“I thought it was you, but I couldn’t be sure! I mean, I thought you were in N-Y-C. I’m so glad you’re back.”

“I’m not back,” Katniss protests, though they both seem to ignore her.

“Ohhh,” Ms. Trinket claps her hands together. “It’s almost as if nothing has changed.”

Delly smiles. “Minus Katniss and Peeta being attached at the lips, that is.” She giggles.

Another thorn in her side.

Katniss rolls her eyes out of Delly’s sight. It wasn’t like Peeta and she were super into PDA. Okay, maybe they were. Peeta, anyway. Oh, he was perfectly fine with showing his affection for her anywhere and everywhere, and he was, quite frankly, hard to resist, so that made Katniss a little more lax on her no-PDA policy.

“Have you seen him yet?” asks Delly.

“Who?” Katniss plays dumb.

“Peeta!” exclaims Delly.

“Uh, no, I haven’t.”

“He’ll be glad to see you.”

No, he won’t, thinks Katniss.

“You know, back then, you two were pretty cute,” says Delly. “Some people thought you were a little sickening,” Delly giggles again, “but I always thought you two were perfect together. I really thought you were gonna get married and have a bunch of babies.”

Yeah, well, that was a long time ago, Delly. People grow up. They change.

“Oh, but then you went off to dance school while Peeta waited at home and you got that audition in Manhattan, and then came ‘the text’.” Delly uses air quotes.

Why is she giving her the play-by-play? As if Katniss doesn’t remember what happened.

“Oh yes, the text!” bleats Effie. “How scandalous!”

Katniss certainly doesn’t need to be reminded of the infamous text. She can’t help that she’s no good at saying things and chose the worst way possible to break up with her high school sweetheart. And apparently, Peeta went around telling everyone in town about it. She can’t believe he did that.

“When you two broke up, it really messed with his head, you know,” says Delly. No, she didn’t. “He was moping around town for months, barely spoke to anyone, and you know how friendly he normally is. We were all very concerned about his depression.”

Peeta was depressed? Katniss feels awful about that, but it was the way it had to be. It wouldn’t have worked out with her going to New York, and Peeta, quite obviously, wanting to stay in their hometown. Whatever existed between them was nice while it lasted, but it’s gone now.

“Oh, you remember my youngest, don’t you, Katniss?” Delly pulls Katniss from her reverie, presenting the little girl in the tutu. She’s holding a stuffed pig. “She was in Pampers last time you saw her. Emberlyn. Emmy for short.”

“Of course, I remember,” says Katniss as sweetly as possible. “Hello, Emmy. You’ve gotten big.”

“Hasn’t she?! And she’s taking dance now, just like you!”

“That’s nice.”

“Ohh, and she’s doing just marvelously!” Effie chimes in. She bends slightly at the waist as she can’t quite squat in her skirt and heels and taps Emmy on the nose. “You know, Miss Emberlyn, Miss Katniss was my star pupil.”

“That’s right!” chirps Delly. “And star soloist in the choir, too.”

Wow, that was a long time ago. Does everyone in this town have the memory of an elephant?

“And now she’s on Broadway!” adds Ms. Trinket with an air of pure pride that makes Katniss feel sick to her stomach. She hates the thought of letting down these people who believe in her.

“How’s Gale?” deflects Katniss, needing a change of subject.

But it’s short-lived as all Delly says about her husband is: “Oh, same old Gale, you know.”

Katniss nods and says, “Give him my best.”

“Will do!” bubbles Delly.

“Oh, darling,” Ms. Trinket interjects, “while you’re in town, you simply must come by and see the girls at the dance studio!”

“Uh,” Katniss pauses, “I’d love that, Ms. Trinket…except…” She pauses. Being in a dance studio is the last place Katniss wants to be after the audition debacle; she doesn’t want to be anywhere near anything related to dance, in fact. Plus, she knows her dad was just blowing steam and she actually is under the town’s scrutiny‒it’s a smaaall town‒and she can’t face the looks and little whispers once they learn what a failure she is and how she blew her big shot. And as primitive as this little town is, someone is bound to see that video and pass it along. She doesn’t want to lie to them, and yet she can’t stand the notion of telling them the truth, either. So, she lies. “Except, it’s my dad. He’s sick.”

As soon as she says it, her dad walks out of the bakery, a white bag tucked under each arm. He shoots her a curious glance.

“Oh dear,” says Ms. Trinket. “I do hope it’s nothing serious.” She looks between Katniss and her father.

Katniss looks to her father. “Oh no, don’t worry. I’m fine,” he says. “Catkin is just being overprotective, you know.”

Katniss glimpses Delly, who also has a concerned look on her face. “Always such a trooper, Mr. E! Well, I’m gonna bake you a casserole!”

Ah, small town hospitality.

“Well, um, we…better be going, Dad.”

“You’ll consider stopping by the studio?” Ms. Trinket jumps in before they can get in the truck. “Perhaps around…5:30? I know you need to take care of your father, but the girls…it’d be such a thrill for them. I’d hate to disappoint them.”

Katniss opens her mouth, but her father speaks for her. “Of course she’ll be there. I can get by for an hour or two on my own, and we wouldn’t want to disappoint the girls, now would we?” Her father gives her a pointed look, and she’s toast. Although, why would they be disappointed if Ms. Trinket hasn’t told them anything yet?

Katniss looks between her father and Ms. Trinket then says, “Sure, I’ll be there at 5:30.”

“Wonderful!” shrieks Effie. “Well, you feel better now.” She pats Mr. Everdeen’s shoulder and announces that she’s off. Delly tosses out some last well wishes, a ‘good to see you, Katniss’, and a promise for that casserole ASAP.

-----

After waving goodbye to her father, Katniss stands outside the New Hope Dance Studio. She stares up at the brightly painted sign with the dandelions on it, which was hand painted by Peeta, she recalls. She takes a couple of deep breaths before making her way inside.

The place hasn’t changed much. It’s still painted a bright sunset orange. The reception area is exactly the same with the box of dance-related pamphlets on the counter and a couple of spare leotards and tutus hanging on the wall. She wanders over to the opposite wall with the corkboard. This area has changed a little. Namely, there’s a large framed collage photo of Katniss in various stages of growth in dance attire as well as the newspaper clipping with the story about how a local girl made it big in NYC on Broadway, also framed.

Miss Trinket hums as she comes up behind Katniss. “I know I only taught you for 6 years 10 months and 22 days before you went off to real dance school in Chicago, but I’d like to think I had a hand in you becoming a Broadway sensation.”

Katniss turns, smiles faintly, and nods.

“Thank you, Ms. Trinket,” she humbles herself. “I’m grateful.”

Miss Trinket sniffles and looks like she’s about to cry. She waves her hand in front of her face, then says with a hopeful expression, “Grateful enough to teach a master class, or three?”

Katniss sighs. Not that grateful, no.

“Oh, but don’t worry about that right now.” Effie tugs on Katniss’s arm. “Come on, let’s not keep the girls waiting.”

Once inside the dance studio, which also looks exactly the same, and could probably use some renovations, Katniss surveys the young dancers while Ms. Trinket brings over a folding chair for her. Delly is also there. She’s a committed dance mom, of course.

“Have a seat now, dear,” says Ms. Trinket. Then she turns to the girls. “Girls, this is Miss Katniss. She was one of my best students and is now a big Broadway star! Make her feel welcome, please!”

The girls all clap, save for one. Katniss catches sight of none other than Primrose Mellark off to the side, and she looks none too pleased to see her.

As for the rest of them, Katniss does her best to commit their faces and names to memory as best she can as Ms. Trinket introduces them. Meanwhile, Delly is signing alongside her.

There’s a deaf girl with pale skin, amber eyes, and bright red hair. Katniss has already forgotten her name, but her face and nose is elongated like a fox, so she’s calling her Foxface. So, it must be for her benefit that Delly is using sign language.

There’s Rue, a dark-skinned girl with soft brown eyes who gives off a very birdlike quality. At least she has the body of a dancer, so there could be hope for her yet.

Then there’s a girl named Camille, who places a flower crown she made atop Katniss’s head. Katniss recalls Peeta doing the same thing one day in the meadow. It feels like so long ago…

Speaking of Peeta, Katniss knew that Prim was interested in dance because she used to prance around in front of her constantly. And she didn’t seem half-bad for her age. She wonders how she’s progressed. Hopefully, she’s learned some actual steps.

Katniss doesn’t know Peeta’s youngest sister as well, but she seems energetic, and maintains close proximity to her brooding older sister.

Delly’s girls are there as well as Finnick Odair’s brood: a little girl with dark brown hair and sea green eyes named Morgan, and apparently, he leaves his son Rusty, a bronze-haired, green-eyed boy, there while he’s at football practice. Rusty just watches and colors.

Ms. Trinket gets through the introductions, then decides it would be fabulous to have a Q&A session with Katniss, so the girls can learn from a real life success story.

They ask questions like: When did you start dancing? Does the most talented dancer always get the part? Etc. And Katniss answers in brief. When one of them asks what show she’s in now, Katniss moves on to another topic.

They’re all overly excited now, as if they’ve had sugar, and just about every one of them has announced that they want to be on Broadway someday. One of them raises her hand and asks how to get on Broadway.

“Well, first of all, don’t ever make a mistake in front of anyone important,” Katniss says. Alright, so maybe she’s a bit jaded from her recent experience. “But here’s the thing. You don’t always know who the important people are, so that means you can never make a mistake in front of anyone, ever. Oh, and also, hard work and talent.”

The girls are staring blankly at her.

Katniss knows she should stop, but she keeps going. “I’d say you all have a .0001 percent chance of making it.” Delly signs it, then adds an enthusiastic little fist pump after as if to soften the blow.

Despite Delly’s false enthusiasm, their faces collectively fall. And a few of them are even cuddling each other for comfort. But it’s better she tells them the honest truth now before they go out and fall on their faces. They look like criers.

This seems like a good time to take her leave, so Katniss excuses herself (but not before Ms. Trinket slips a dance competition flyer into her bag). She feels a little bad about dashing those little girls’ hopes, but maybe she’s done them a favor. The life of a Broadway dancer is not at all glamorous.

When she steps outside, Katniss is blindsided by the sight of her father standing next to none other than Peeta Mellark.

Katniss comes to an abrupt stop and gapes.

“Look who I ran into, Catkin,” her dad says.

Peeta is grinning at her. And he looks great. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” says he.

“Peeta,” she mutters like an idiot, blinking rapidly. She’s not sure why she’s reacting this way; it’s not like she didn’t know it was a strong possibility she’d run into him while she was home.

“You remembered.” He smirks.

Katniss clears her throat. “Of course.”

“So, the rumors are true. You’re back,” Peeta says. And she can’t tell if he’s happy about that or simply stating the fact.

“Temporarily,” she clarifies. “I’m just home visiting my dad. He’s…” She looks to her father, who quickly chimes in with the fake story she made up in order to save face, which is probably already going around town anyway.

“I’m sick,” her father chimes in. “I’ve been sick.”

“Oh,” Peeta’s brow furrows. “Really? Mr. E, I’m…” Peeta doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead lays a hand on Mr. Everdeen’s shoulder.

“Yeah…” Her dad gives a clearly fake cough. “I better go rest…in my truck.”

Peeta nods solemnly, but the quirk to his lip indicates he knows it’s a lie. “Feel better, Mr. E. I’ll bake you a pie,” he promises as he waves goodbye to him.

Well, at least thanks to her lie her father is going to be well-fed. He’ll have Delly’s casserole and now Peeta’s pie, both delicious.

Once they’re alone, Katniss offers Peeta a thin smile. “So, um, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” repeats Peeta, clearly amused. “Did they wipe your memory while you were in New York? I’m picking up my sisters from dance class. Remember Primrose and Poppy?”

“Of course I remember Primrose and Poppy.”

They stand there a moment, Katniss shuffling her feet, Peeta staring at his.

“So,” Peeta speaks up, meeting her eyes again and folding his strong arms across his broad chest. Has he gotten even broader? Peeta always had muscles, but now he’s…like a brick wall. A very cozy brick wall, she’d imagine…

Katniss shakes off her delusional thoughts.

“So,” she repeats, folding her arms and arching a brow. She hopes to appear nonchalant, although she feels completely the opposite.

“So?” he repeats, the corner of his mouth twitching. He still has that damn dimple. Of course he does. She’s not sure why she’d think it would go away, or that it would stop having an effect on her.

When she says nothing more, Peeta starts up a conversation, filling in both his and her parts. “So, how are you, Peeta? What have you been up to?” he says. “I’m great, Kat. Busy. Baking, of course. Doing odd jobs around town. And my Grandma Mags has been getting a little forgetful, so I’ve been taking over more with my sisters. You know, doing the grownup thing. Oh, and by the way, your dad is still on me about fixing the barn from that time we, uh,” he raises his brow, “accidentally started that fire.”

Katniss’s cheeks warm, and Peeta adds proverbial fuel to the fire by saying, “Who knew starting a fire,” he winks, “could actually start a fire?” He gives her a sly grin. “Guess that broken lantern had something to do with it, huh?”

“Guess so,” she mutters, suddenly unable to look him in those blue-blue eyes.

Working up her nerve, Katniss decides to just come out and say what needs to be said. “Look, Peeta.”

“Mhm?” He strokes his chin and stares at her thoughtfully. Why does he have to make everything so difficult.

“Since...” She sucks in a bit of air. “Since I’m going to be back for a bit, and we’re clearly going to be running into each other a lot, I should say…I know I broke your heart.”

Peeta pokes out his lip and bobs his head up and down. Is he mocking her?

“I know I didn’t end things in the most…thoughtful way…”

“‘Sorry to do this in a text,’” Peeta quotes, “‘but I’m going to New York, so we have to break up. -Kat.’ No, see, I thought it was very thoughtfully-worded.”

Katniss smirks and shakes her head at him.

“I just wanted to make sure, uh, that there weren’t any hard feelings…”

“Oh, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss. That was high school. Ancient history. I mean, it’s not like we were ever gonna work out.”

For some reason, the way he says it so casually and cheerfully turns Katniss’s stomach.

“Well, I better be going,” says Peeta, reaching out to graze her arm. She feels an electric current pass between them. He then tosses her father, who’s in his truck across the street, a ‘see ya later’

Mr. Everdeen calls out in reply, “That barn’s not gonna fix itself, young man!” Peeta just laughs.

-----

Katniss is in a foul mood on the drive back to the Everdeen farm. And her dad doesn’t help matters by saying, “Well, it’s good he’s finally over you.”

Katniss grimaces.

“At least his skin’s cleared up.” Katniss shoots her dad a bewildered look, and he quickly changes the subject by pulling the dance brochure out of her bag. “Oh, what’s this?”

“Just some dumb dance competition thing.” Katniss sighs. “Ms. Trinket actually wanted me to teach, can you believe it?”

“Well, I think that’s nice. Means she thinks a lot of your skill.”

“No, it means I’m a failure, Dad. I should be doing the dancing, not teaching.”

“I told you, you’ll get your shot, honey.”

Katniss huffs. Her dad clears his throat and starts reading through the brochure.

“Hey, this doesn’t sound so bad. There’ll be all kinds of big name judges there.” Katniss gives a skeptical exhale. “No, really.” He starts naming them off, one of which he claims she is friends with, although she only danced in a benefit she hosted. “Then there’s,” her dad goes on, “Por-tee-uh Rose.”

Katniss slams on the brakes and pulls off to the side of the road. “Portia Rose?” She snatches the brochure from him, and sure enough, Portia Rose will be one of the celebrity judges at the finals in Atlantic City.

“I’m going to do it, Dad,” she announces. “I’m going to teach dance.”

#JHsgf82 writes #Based on Feel the Beat #Feel the Beat Always #dancer!Katniss #exes!Everlark #Prim and Peeta siblings #Peeta has sisters instead of brothers #Mr. Everdeen is alive #AU #dance teacher!Katniss #dance teacher!Effie #dance dad!Finnick #dance mom!Annie #dance mom!Delly #everlark #Gelly #Odesta #hayffie

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