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starcrossedxwriter · 2 days

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Wicked Fantasies Part 11.1 (MBJ x OC)

A/N: Ummm so welcome backkk! This is 11.1 because there's a second part to this chapter (I know... my self control keeps getting worse lolol) But I hope you enjoy!

TW: grief

“I’m never fucking drinking again,” Raven moaned to herself as she stumbled out of the comforts of bed. She felt like hell, if hell had a truck run over its head a few dozen times.

Raven generally considered herself an early riser but nothing could pull her out of bed that morning after what was, objectively, the dumbest night of her life. Part of her wished she had had one or two more drinks so she could have officially transitioned into the ‘blackout drunk’ phase. So that she would, at least, be spared the embarrassing memories. But no, every horrible moment of the night from dancing wildly at the bar to Michael saving her was etched into the crevices of her brain with shocking clarity.

Now, it was after noon and Raven still found herself wanting to be curled under her blanket asleep so she could escape her embarrassment.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her wallowing self pity. She did not make an attempt to move, expecting Tiffany to answer. However, when the voice of their landlord rang out and her knocking persisted, she quickly slid on her robe to open the door. She decided Mrs. Winters would have to get over the fact that she looked like death reincarnated.

“Rough night, dear?”

Raven grimaced for a moment, she did indeed look as terrible as she felt.

“Something like that,” Raven offered a tight smile, her body slumping against the door. “W-what can I do for you, Mrs. Winters?”

“Oh I’m just letting everyone know that we had a pipe burst on the floor above. We’ll have folks in and out and you might hear some noise and stuff. But if you see any leaking into your unit, give me a ring?”

“Of course. Will do. Thanks, have a good one,” Raven tried her best to politely shoo the woman away. However, she lingered.

“Oh I meant to tell you, that boyfriend of yours is just such a good egg. So kind and polite. Admittedly I haven’t met many famous people,” she laughed. “But you just don’t expect them to have such good manners, you know?”

Raven stopped. “My boyfriend?? Sorry… When was he here?”

“He stopped by this morning. Gave me a check for your rent for the rest of your lease. Oh and asked where your mailbox was, said he wanted to drop something in it.”

Raven was worried her jaw might come completely unhinged as the woman spoke.

He did what??

“Are you alright, dear??”

“Y-Yea, yea. Just… a bit of a surprise. Thank you.”

And with that, Raven immediately closed the door, not listening to the elderly woman’s reply.

“This nigga… I hate him,” she muttered to herself as she slumped against her door.

Every cell in her body knew that was not true. But she also knew that everything she had told him last night was still accurate. She was too tired to forgive him and not just him… anyone ever again. The world has used up all of her second chances and she did not have it in her heart to be disappointed by him again. The narrative in her brain was so set in stone, she did not think anything he could say or do would make her believe anything else. She could not even make herself go retrieve the note that was apparently waiting for her in her mailbox.

“Such a coward,” she grumbled as she flopped back into bed.

She stared at her phone for several minutes, her text thread with Michael open. She wondered what she could even say? Thank you?

She knew any conversations demanding she pay him back or he rescind the money would be moot. Even if she had the mental fortitude to argue with him right now, she would still lose. But she could not just accept it without trying to push back.

She typed and erased and typed and erased before lamely landing on:

Raven: You can’t pay my entire rent. I can’t accept that.

Raven: I don’t want that.

Michael: Yea you can. Told you… gonna show up every day tryin’ to fix us. You just gotta let me.

Raven: Money isn’t gonna fix this, Michael.

Michael: I know. But it can fix the tangible things I fucked up for you

Michael: So let me fix that for you.

Raven paused, as a warm sensation filled her, a warmth she had not felt in over a month now. The warmth of being cared for. She had never had someone take care of her without wanting something in return, except Michael. Even when their relationship was built on transactions, he still took care of her without needing or asking for something from her. The book deal, her rent were just the tangible examples of how he had stepped up to right the wrongs he could and she could not deny that those actions meant something, softened something inside her.

He was doing exactly what he promised he would do the night before. He was fixing what could be, he was showing with his actions that she meant something to him. And yet, that blockade that stopped that belief from taking root was still there, still prohibiting her from believing these actions were anything more than a skilled manipulation.

He would draw her back in, he would not change, and when he got ready, he would hurt her again. That’s what everyone in her life did.

Raven: It doesn’t change anything

Michael: I know… didn’t expect it to.

She tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her pillow, screaming into it as her frustration got the better of her. The complex web of conflicting feelings with Michael B. Jordan trapped at its center only continued to grow. She wanted him to let her go, to stop caring and trying and going out of his way for her because that fit into the narrative nailed to the cross of her brain, it would confirm her beliefs and fears.

But instead he continued to do the things that made her fall in love with him the first time, things that only reignited the dimmed but still existent flame that was her love for him. And she knew she would never get over him if she kept letting that happen, kept letting him in.

So she did not even respond. Instead, she just closed the thread and tossed her phone to the side.

“Let him go, Rae,” she demanded to herself. “You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t love you.” She repeated that a few times before it felt real again, before all that had started to soften was once again as solid as a block of ice.

***

“You look like shit,” Alex moaned as she watched Michael’s makeup artist, Shanta, struggle to make him look less like a living zombie ahead of his Oprah interview.

They were tucked away in a suite in Oprah's sprawling LA estate. It was difficult to make Michael feel poor but Oprah was certainly one of the few people in the world who could do so.

“Thanks, appreciate that.”

“You know I don’t believe in lying to you. Make sure you get those bags under his eyes,” she instructed. “Alright, this is it. Final stretch. Movie’s out and every review is stellar so far. Do this interview, it’ll air this week, Oscars on Sunday and then you can sleep. Though I bet it’s not the schedule keeping you up? Talked to her since the premiere?”

Michael forced his body not to sag at the mention of Raven as to not disturb the hard work of the woman trying to make him look alive after days of no sleep.

“She texted me about the rent thing the next morning. But it’s been radio silence ever since.”

It had only been a few days since the fiasco after the premiere but Michael’s concern for Raven had not diminished one bit. He could not let her go as she requested but he tried his hardest to respect her desire for space. His heart was stuck in the quicksand that was Raven and he had no desire to pull himself out. He wanted to be right there. He knew eventually he would have to accept defeat, accept that she had moved on. But he could not do it while she still questioned her own deservedness. She could hate him for the rest of his life, it would be her right. But his soul could not allow her to live thinking so lowly of herself. So if he had to pay 30 years of rent or call in favors to make her life easier and make her see that she deserved care and someone to sacrifice for her, he would do it. It was high time someone in her life put her above themselves.

“Well, at least she talked to you. That’s something. You’re doing what she asked. Sis has lived a life, she needs time and space. Keep doing what you're doing. Except for the no sleep. For the love of God, by the Oscars, please get a good night’s rest. That’s your night.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Alex…”

She scoffed. “You’ve won the big four, Mike. It’s not just because I believe you deserve it… Statistically, Best Actor is yours. The Oscars is your night. Have a little faith in yourself.”

“I hear you. I just don’t wann-”

“Excuse me?” A young man poked his head in the door. “Apologies for interrupting. I’m a PA. Just wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready? I can take you out to the garden when you’re ready.”

“Be right out. Thank you,” Alex called.

Shanta did her last quick finishing touches before Alex gave him her customary once over.

“Shanta, my girl, you’re a miracle worker per usual.”

They both offered Shanta their thanks, Michael rolling his shoulders before heading out the door to walk out to the gardens.

He had met and interviewed with Oprah once before so he was not particularly nervous. But despite having done millions of interviews, there was always a kernel of nerves right beforehand that he could just never shake.

He was dressed in slacks and a light black sweater, thankful for a cooler day as he walked out into her expansive gardens where the Oprah Winfrey waited for him. The cameras were already rolling, capturing footage that may or may not make into the hour-long special.

“The man of the hour!” she called, her arms stretched wide to wrap Michael in a hug. “Actually I think man of the year is more appropriate. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here.”

“Thank you, thank you. It’s so good to be here.”

“Have a seat,” she gestured at the very comfy chair across from hers. “And we can jump right in.”

***

Raven’s head was propped against her fist as she stared at her computer. A sentence. That was the grand total of her hard work for that Wednesday afternoon. But it was something, she supposed. Weeks of hard work had amounted to maybe two or three pages of her book. She had been offering Angelina vague answers on her progress, ducking and dodging her to avoid admitting that there was no way in hell she could have a draft by March 15 like they talked about.

“Rae? You busy?”

She turned in her chair toward the door to find Tiffany’s head poking in.

“Nope… I’ll never be busy again at this rate,” she grumbled. “What’s up?”

“I just turned on the interview… if you want to watch?”

Raven scratched her head, unsure if she could even watch him? See him happy and thriving without her? Despite everything happening between them though, she could not pretend there was not a part of her that still wanted to celebrate this moment in his career. Interviewing with Oprah the week he was poised to win his first Oscar? How could she ever forgive herself if she did not watch this? Even if it hurts?

“I’ll… be there in a sec. Thanks, Tiff.”

Raven let out a deep sigh before she grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged herself to the living room. The interview had already started and he looked gorgeous. Tired, she could tell, in the way he constantly had to readjust his posture, in the bags under his eyes that the makeup artist could not quite fully cover. But even at his worst, he looked captivatingly good.

Raven found herself studying him so intently that she did not even comprehend the words he and Oprah were sharing. She just watched him and his mannerisms, she focused on the glimmer in his eyes that sparked every so often. She missed looking into his eyes, missed how expressive they were.

This moment only amplified how much she missed him, missed hearing the deep baritone in his voice and the spark in his eyes when he spoke about his passions. She missed his bright and uninhibited laughter, how his hands were always on her in some way. She just missed him. But she had pushed him away, had told him to let her go. And even if he had not fully let go of her yet, she felt too scared to open that door again, even if her soul ached for her to. Particularly when he continued to try to show up for her in small ways.

And despite how angry she still wanted to be at him, she had never had anyone show up for her quite like this… try for her like he did. And everyday, her brain took up far more mental space than it should have, debating whether she should follow her foolish heart and forgive him or listen to her logical brain and cast him aside. Days passed and she still did not know the answer.

“So I’ll admit,” Raven’s ears finally started to pick up the conversation between Oprah and Michael, “I watched Waves more times than appropriate. But Gayle and I saw it at Sundance and we both thought it was just the most heartbreaking and poignant look at loss and grief that we had ever seen. While still being engaging and funny and so relatable. The journey your character goes through is just… I mean I think grief is one of the few universal experiences that we all will have at some point. And you really brought that to life through this character and his struggles with addiction. And the fact that you filmed this while engaged in completely different projects with complex characters like Killmonger in Black Panther and Adonis in Creed 3… I’m curious what you pulled from to give that performance?”

Michael shifted in his seat as he chuckled, Raven had missed how passionate he got about this project, even though he had been talking about it and doing press for it since they first started dating. She knew he had not truly expected the role to blow up in the ways it did but she could tell he was grateful for it, nonetheless.

“Well first, thank you. Yea aside from Oscar Grant, Andre was the hardest character I’ve ever played and he stretched me as an actor in ways, you know, I didn’t really expect? And I learned so much from him in his sort of journey through grief. You know, when I read the first script, the line ‘grief is the final stage in love’s evolution,’ really stuck out to me. When you lose someone, grief, this enduring pain you feel, is that love shifting and changing because it has nowhere to go, there’s no outlet for it anymore. And so, Andre really reframed my own thoughts on grief and loss and how I process that and allowed me to pull from personal experiences with loss to pour into that character.”

“Yea I will say, that line was one of my favorites. I sat with that long after the credits rolled.”

“Yea same. I remember sitting a-and thinking about that one for a while after reading it. And I loved that even in the more comedic moments of this movie, we still had those lines that made you wanna stop and really sit with what the characters were going through.”

“Definitely, I was dissecting this movie for weeks after. It’s just amazing. So I do want to shift gears to talk about this moment you're experiencing because of this movie. This really is the biggest moment of your career. You’re nominated for your first Oscar and a favorite to win, so far in 2023, you’ve won a SAG Award, Golden Globe, and BAFTA. And you, as of two days ago, just had your directorial debut in Creed 3. First question, how are you still awake?” Both of them shared a laugh. “But serious question, how has this moment felt? How does it feel to be having this moment at this stage of your career?”

“Oh wow, when you list it like that, I don’t know how I’m awake either,” he chuckled. “But seriously, you know… it’s been a ride. I know you’ve felt this too but you know, you don’t often take a moment to just pause and soak it in. You finish one interview or award show and your mind automatically just jumps to the next one. And I think what I’ve been trying to force myself to do in the later weeks of this insane time is just to slow down and enjoy it. Not rush through it and really enjoy the fruits of… really years of hard work and sacrifice. But that also means sitting with… you know, the challenges of this time too, which isn’t as rewarding,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m growing and learning alot so it’s worth it.”

Oprah nodded. “You know I always appreciate when people don’t let the 24 hour news cycle and gossip sort of steal their thunder and moment from them. And I applaud you for sort of moving through the more gossipy side of the last few months with grace and maturity. But you haven’t really talked much publicly about those stories and the effect they have had on you. And you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want but I am curious on how you navigated that and really came out on the other side, from what I can see, stronger for it?”

Michael bowed his head and chuckled. “Um… you know a good friend of mine told me that she thought this was the most vulnerable and most genuine I had ever been publicly on this press tour and I think it’s because I’ve had to navigate some really personal stuff during this great but hectic public moment? And that’s new territory for me.”

“And I think that friend is right. I don’t think we have seen or learned this much about you ever.”

“Yea and I wish I could take some credit for it but… it was all one person: Raven Turner. And the way we met, now as the world knows, was extremely unconventional and I can admit that our relationship started as a complete lie. A lie I thought would help me be seen as this serious, mature man my team was worried I wasn’t. And I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I was cold and guarded and not at all the best version of myself. And while I regret how we started and trying to fool the world into thinking I’m something I’m not, there isn’t a bone in my body that regrets falling in love with her.”

He leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “Because all those walls and barriers we build around ourselves to survive in this world of Hollywood? To endure the criticisms and insanity we deal with? She's the first woman to see me. Not the actor and the money and the fame but just me. And in that, she saved me… without trying or intending to. She just loved me and loving her, choosing her is the single greatest decision I ever made. And I hate how this moment has fallen on her, how my terrible decisions led to these pretty disgusting misogynistic attacks on her. And I think my biggest regret is putting someone as pure as her in the line of fire like that and not doing enough to protect her. And you know, I have to live with that, which is tough.”

“You know I’ve interviewed thousands of people in my career and while I believe you have to change for yourself and on your own, I also have found that the ones who love us, really love us, are often the most powerful catalysts for change in our lives. I’ve certainly seen and experienced that in my own life and it’s important to spotlight those who were that catalyst.”

“Oh 100%. Especially when, I think this version of me was always there? I was just too hurt to trust anyone with it, so no one saw it. I buried me under this facade I thought was better? But I fell in love with a woman who taught me that you can’t be guarded, you can’t shut down just because you’re hurt. Life is about getting up every day, being authentically you, and reaching out and loving and risking your heart every time. And sometimes you’ll get swatted away and sometimes you’ll get an embrace. But you just deny yourself love when you don’t show up at all. So I’ve been trying to live by that more lately. Because she showed me what real strength and courage looks like. And I want to have that, I want to lead with that.”

“Wow… you know people are going to watch this and I think, applaud that vulnerability. It’s refreshing to me because I don’t think our world incentivizes or encourages people to admit when they aren’t being their best selves. So I think for you to do that, at a moment when you’re at the top of your game, is commendable.”

“She deserves to know the positive effect she’s had on my life. To be celebrated for how she supported me. And you know it’s not just me? When we first started dating, I remember her one stipulation was that we couldn’t go out on Wednesday evenings because she hosted a book club for kids at the library she worked at. And that was the most important thing to her, being there for them. The day of our first date, she spent an hour delivering books and SAT prep books to those same kids she worked just because. There’s just a selflessness to her that is truly admirable. And I think while people are attacking her and calling her these vile names because she made a certain choice during a hard time, they should know who she really is. A woman that would drop everything to help you even when you don’t really deserve it. A woman who I’ve seen give others all she had because they needed it more even when she did not have a backup plan for herself. I could honestly talk about her for the rest of this interview because she deserves celebration far more than I ever could. Genuinely good people don’t always get the shine they deserve, they don’t always get the love and care they deserve because we can often take them for granted. But no one deserves to be celebrated more than her, to be celebrated loudly more than she does.”

“I love that… she seems like quite the woman.”

“She is… and I hope she knows that.”

“So tell me about…”

The words faded away as his words tumbled through Raven’s head. They clashed jarringly against every belief she had internalized about herself, like metal against metal. But she found herself wanting to believe him. Believe the words a section of the world just heard. She wanted to believe that what he saw in her, even over the course of six months, was who she truly was. Not this broken, damaged scapegoat life had fashioned her into.

There has to be more than this, right?

Tiffany nudged her with a box of tissues in her hand. Raven had not even realized she was crying but she accepted them gratefully.

“Don’t know how I still have tears over this man left,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes.

“I don’t think those tears are because of him, sis.”

Raven sniffled and grabbed another tissue. “You m-might be onto something. I can’t watch anymore. Night, Tiffany.”

However, before she reached her bedroom, she heard Tiffany call her name.

“I know what he did… sucks. And hurts. But that’s a man who loves you, Rae. More than anything. After that? The only person in the world who still won’t believe it is you.”

She turned around to face her, the back of her hand wiping away a few more stray tears. “You know he said the same thing?”

“Well, I generally don’t think actors are that smart,” Tiffany admitted with a laugh. “But he’s right about that. You deserve to believe good things about yourself, we all do.”

“Nothing good has ever lasted… I always ruin it somehow. I tried to believe I deserved him and life proved that I didn’t,” she answered, her voice small. “D-Don’t have it in me to try again.”

“Raven… I know we aren’t best friends or anything. But how many times have I watched you forgiven your dad and sister? Let them back in, try to make things right with them? Try to build the family you want?”

“Too many…”

“Right… So why does Michael only get one shot when you found the strength to give them 100? When he’s the one actually showing up for you? He’s the one who actually is trying to earn another chance?”

“It’s not that simple and you know it.”

“I know that the only person denying you happiness right now… is you. You push away the good people and things in your life because you feel like you don’t deserve it but no one would be here if you didn’t. Michael, the kids in your book club… me. I don’t keep signing leases with you because you’re a terrible person who ruins everything, no one has a gun to our heads, Rae. We’re here because you do deserve it.”

“Tiff…”

“Nope, shut up. This pity party is getting old and tired. It doesn’t matter what I think of you… or what Michael thinks or anyone out there.” She gestured toward the window. “All that matters is the narrative you’ve created and until you decide to believe something else, all you’re going to do is push people away and fuck up and self sabotage because it’s all you think you deserve. You gotta wake up and do some fucking work, girl. Cause until you figure out how to erase this narrative from your brain, you’ll never be happy. And you’ll never fall in love with anyone except for someone who treats you like crap. You’ll never build your own family. You’ll never finish your book or have another fulfilling career. You’ll just be stuck in this broken version of yourself alone… forever. And I’ve seen a few different versions of you over the last two years but this is by far the most pitiful.”

Raven had never heard Tiffany be so blunt. The words were biting but she could not deny that some of them rang true in her ears. And that was always the hardest information to hear.

“Damn… tell me how you really feel.”

“The soft gentle love wasn’t resonating clearly so had to go with a different tactic…. Just think about it. And once you fix all this shit and move to a mansion in the hills, don’t forget about me.” She winked at her, causing Raven’s jaw to drop slightly.

“How do you even know that’s gonna happen?”

She shrugged and grabbed the remote to press play, Raven not even noticing that she paused it.

“Just got a good feeling about the two of you. Now go so I can lust after him in peace while he's still single. Kidding! Kinda..."

Raven let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "I know you're not kidding. Night, Tiff.”

She slid into her bed, her only refuge of late, and stared at the ceiling. She was surprised she was not tired of looking at it by now. Michael and Tiffany’s words wrestled with her own thoughts for hours

What was her problem, really? It was not that what Michael did was unforgivable because it wasn’t. Some distant part of her, too quiet to break through the noise of her anger, always wondered if there was more to the story, believed that he had to have had some reason. But she was too angry to allow him to explain. It just became vicious ammunition that no one could ever love her or care about her… that she was the problem.

Well, that’s true… no one’s ever loved you. And everyone who does leaves.

She supposed her mother must have loved her, but she would never know. She would never feel it. And her grandmother’s love was so distant, so long ago, that it no longer felt tangible, was no longer a tether to anchor her self worth to something positive.

Instead, the only thing that tethered her sense of self worth to anything was her family’s disdain. Disdain that made her question what Michael could’ve seen in her, how he could ever love someone like her? That disdain which made it far easier to believe that what he did was proof that he did not love her than that he possibly did do it to protect her in some weird way. No other thought could live long enough in her brain to take hold.

And she did not know if doing what Tiffany suggested would fix that. There was not enough time in the world for her muster the courage to interrogate and confront the source of these feelings. She had hoped she would never have to see her family again. Some days, never felt like too soon.

But she knew she could not avoid it. They were the root cause, the narrative in her head was fueled and sustained by them. And screaming at them across the Thanksgiving table and never speaking to them again was not the closure she needed. She thought she had dropped the weight that was her family when she cut them off. But she was still dragging all the luggage they gave her around and it was time to give it back.

She knew her family did not want to see her either, knew it would be difficult to get them to even speak to her after everything. But she knew she had to try… because she knew there had to be more to life than this. That she had not been born to only suffer through life instead of live it. So she needed to confront her demons for herself, even if her relationship with them did not change one bit.

She grabbed her computer and her wallet. It was time to go home.

***

Raven’s eyes remained trained on her dad’s house across the street as she sat in her rental car. She was almost shocked that none of her family’s nosy neighbors had not called the police yet as she sat there for nearly an hour, summoning the courage to actually go inside.

She had felt so sure this was what she needed when she bought her plane ticket. And that confidence did not waver when she stepped onto the plane or during the long journey from LAX to Charlotte, NC. However, once she was in her rental car, she found herself waffling, aimlessly driving around for hours. Her brain seemed unable to direct her to the place she knew she needed to go. Home.

She just could not make herself do it… not yet anyway. So she did not. Instead, she finally went to her hotel to try to get some rest and her night’s rest turned into the entire Friday holed up in her hotel. She had not booked a return ticket, prayerful and hopeful that there would be a reason to stick around for a few days. But that also meant she did not have the incentive of time to make her move faster.

But she could not even make herself do this. Because she did not know how to be brave like this. Her life had been nothing but running from pain and confrontation. This was so contrary to that. She did not know how to do any of this. She tossed and turned all night, unable to get any sleep particularly when there was only one person who she wanted to talk to, wanted to seek courage and strength from. Because when she felt scared, when she did not feel strong, he was the only person she wanted to reach for. But she was not sure he would even answer. She had pushed him away, told him she needed space.

But she had not felt like she could do this alone. So last night, she called him.

“Rae! Everything ok?” he asked immediately, his question met with silence.

Raven did not know what to say and regret filled her like ice water in her veins. But she knew it was too late to hang up, she had to see it through. She paid for that moment of weakness when she hit the call button as her throat closed at the sound of her voice. She found it impossible to speak, even if she knew what words to say.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, Rae. Got all night for you.”

And she knew he was not just talking about waiting for her to speak.

“Why?” she whispered, the simple word coming out in a strangled sound as she tried to push past the tightness in her throat.

“Why what?”

“Why even answer after everything I said to you? W-why do you keep trying?”

“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And you’re worth it. I’ll keep reaching out, baby girl. Even when you swat me away.”

“You might be the only person who thinks that,” she whispered back as a tear fell.

“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it was, knowing one person is in your corner is all you need sometimes.”

She laughed lightly. “That press tour got you only speaking in motivational boxing terms or something?”

His deep laughter filled her ears and filled her soul with such joy that she had forgotten. She had forgotten what these moments felt like, the two of them on the phone or curled up together in bed, just talking. She missed it… she missed him. But she could not say it, could not bring herself to pull her body out of the water to make that long trek back up the cliff to where he waited for her. Everything in her brain screamed at her that she couldn’t do it, that she did not have it in her. And she hated herself for it. Hated how she clung to the ice barriers around her heart, even though they were utterly fractured and ready to fall. She just was not ready yet.

She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wiped away her falling tears. “I… don’t know why I called. I s-shouldn’t have called.”

“Call me anytime, Rae. I’ll always answer. I’ll always show up for you. I hope you know that… at least.”

“Y-Yea… I think I do… or at least, it’s getting harder to deny it,” she revealed. “Your interview with Oprah… it was really good,” she offered lamely.

“You watched??” she could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Yea… I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But I caught most of it. Did you mean it? Everything you said?”

“Every single word.” There was no arguing with the definitive tone in his voice. “I get that you don’t trust me anymore. I lied and kept secrets. But one thing I never lied about is how much I love you.”

Her eyes clenched shut for a moment. That was one thing he had always been consistent about, her ears had just been perpetually shut to it.

“I… um… I gotta go. Early day tomorrow,” she lied as she sniffled. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Bye, Michael.”

She was not sure what she had expected to get from that call and, at first, it felt as if she only got a firm kick in the heart for it. But for the first time since she landed, Raven had enough strength to finally drive to her family’s house. She had rolled her eyes at his boxing motivational quotes but hearing someone say they were in her corner, that had given her courage. To just feel like someone was behind her, even if she was alone, that meant something to her.

She took a deep breath and got out of her car, forcing her legs to carry her to the front door.

Her rounds of knocks went unanswered, Raven getting slightly frustrated but determined not to leave the porch. If she turned around and walked away, she’d never come back.

After an extremely brief internal debate, she decided to simply let herself in, deciding that since she contributed to the mortgage, she had a right to come in as she pleased. And her father still, foolishly, kept a spare key underneath the welcome mat.

Though she had not been to her family’s home in two years or so, it still looked the same. Her father’s favorite work boots were thrown haphazardly at the door, several pairs of her sister’s shoes lined up next to them. She was an utter mess but she was, at least, somewhat neat. And it still felt… cold. And it had nothing to do with the cold winter east coast weather. The house had always felt like that, void of warmth and love that made a home a home.

“Kiara?” she called out. “Dad?” However, she was met with utter silence.

Part of her supposed she was thankful they were not home and that they had not just ignored her or something. She stood in the living room, staring around the room at the pictures that lined the walls and shelves. So many of her mom, her dad, and Kiara but there were none of her. That was not a surprise, it had always been that way. But that did not make it sting any less. All they had ever wanted was to erase her from their lives and if a stranger walked into this house, it would be as if she never existed.

She started up the stairs, her eyes refusing to linger long on any of the photos there. They were all lies anyway, a picture perfect family that did not exist because she had been born. She decided to ascend to the attic once she made it upstairs. Because that was where all her grandmother’s and some of her own things now lived. She had never really gone through her grandmother’s things after she passed, no one aside from her dad to pack them up. But she knew there was so much of their lives, so many memories she had forgotten of the one person who loved her, forgotten in those boxes that she now desperately needed to remember.

She ignored how narrow the opening to the attic was, realizing that it had been easier to maneuver up here when she was a young teenager. Everything was still neatly packed away as if her grandmother would be back one day to pick it up.

She started to open each box, pulling out and examining her grandmother’s things, so many beautiful things forgotten in this attic no one went into. For the first time in nearly two decades, she felt close to the only maternal figure she had ever had, felt like her grandmother’s hand was on her shoulder as she reminisced on their short but well-lived time together.

She found the old costume jewelry her grandmother used to let her play with, laughing to herself as she thought back to dressing up in front of her vanity mirror pretending to be a model or whatever silly idea the pair had thought up. She almost cried as she found a very crumpled piece of paper with the last story she gave her grandmother to read before she died, a random short story that she had written for class. She had not realized, as she found a folder, just how many of her stories her grandmother had kept.

A gold glint caught her attention, Raven reaching into a giant box to find a shoe box. Raven had seen that box 100 times but her grandmother had never let her touch it, claiming that it held priceless family heirlooms that she did not want Raven or Kiara to mess up. Raven rolled her eyes that something her grandmother had valued so much had been discarded and forgotten haphazardly at the bottom of this box.

Finally giving into her childhood curiosity, she opened it. It was still filled with things, part of her thankful that Kiara had never found it. The jewelry and pieces in it were gorgeous and indeed priceless. She took her time as she examined each one, wondering if they had belonged to her mother or her grandmother or some other relative she never met. However, it was what existed underneath the jewelry that caught her eye: piles of tied up envelopes, one with her name on it and one with Kiara’s.

The handwriting was not her grandmother’s, which made Raven even more curious.

She pulled out the stack with her name on it and undid the thin ribbon that tied them together. There were ten letters there in total, each one with a different note scribbled on the envelope.

To Raven on your 18th birthday

To Raven on high school graduation

To Raven after your first love

To Raven after your first heartbreak

To Raven on college graduation

To Raven on your wedding day

She only had to flip through a few of them to realize who they were from. Her mom.

“You’re killing me,” she muttered to the sky, unsure if she was speaking to God, her grandmother, her mother or all three.

Her hands trembled slightly as she ripped open the one on top, addressed to her on her 18th birthday. These were some of the only words her mother would get to say to her, she did not care how long ago she should have read it. She would savor each one.

To my sweet darling girl,

If you are reading this, it means that I am not physically there with you on your birthday. It means that I’ve missed 18 birthdays and too many milestones to write a letter for and for that, I am sorry. You might be wondering why there is not a letter for all those milestones and birthdays that have taken place but this felt like the best place to start and the appropriate age for reading the musings of a dying woman. If there’s even such a thing.

We learned your gender today. Another sweet girl. If the doctor somehow got it wrong, these letters will be incredibly awkward. But I know they are right. Because you, my darling girl, are the manifestation of my wildest dreams. I dreamed of you almost a year ago, this beautiful girl with half my face but all of my spirit and personality. And every night since then, I prayed, begged God to make that dream a reality… no matter the cost. And he did.

I know my body is not strong enough to be your mother, to be around to be the mother someone as brilliant as you will deserve. But I hope you know that deciding to have you and keep you, regardless of the risks, is the single greatest decision I ever made. You were not an accident or a misfortune given to me. You are my dreams. And if my last moments on this earth are spent looking at you, it will have been worth it.

I waited until 18 to start these letters because I worried a child could never understand the choice I made. And you may still not. And if you resent me for leaving you before you could know me, I understand that too. But I hope that through these letters, you will get to know me. And you will feel some semblance of the immense love I have for you.

I don’t have much advice because you’ve likely heard it all at this point. But the two most important things I can tell you, that I wish someone had told 18 year old me, is to know that failure is part of the journey. Your grandmother used to always tell me to keep reaching out your hand even if it doesn’t work. I didn’t really understand it soon enough but I hope you do. Life is about risks and if you don’t reach out your hand out of fear, you’ll protect yourself from pain but you will also miss out on the gifts God is trying to hand you. As a daughter, I hated to admit it, but mama was right about that… and so many other things.

And finally, more importantly than anything else I could offer you in these letters, please remember every day that you are so, so loved.

Know that regardless of what happened to me, I loved you with every fiber of my being until my last breath. Know that you were a gift from God. And every day you venture out into this world, know that you are worthy of so much because you were so loved from the moment you were dreamed up. Do not let anyone or whatever will happen to you in what I pray is a long, rich, happy life diminish that light, diminish your worth. I know how special you are and I don’t even know your name yet. And while I hope that your father and grandmother will affirm you daily, you don’t need other people to tell you that you are special. You have to know it for yourself. That’s the most important advice I can give you. Know who you are and your worth and take up as much space in this world as you want. And as long as you never forget how special you are… how deserving you are, you’ll move through this world shining bright. And the world will be forced to know it too and move to give you what you deserve. It’s not much and a bit cliche perhaps but I’ve been torn down enough to know that sometimes we all need the reminder. But those are stories for another letter.

By the time I write my next letter, I promise I will have picked out a name for you. I read a book the other day where the main character was named Raven… I had not thought of it before but I like it.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Mom

The river of tears streaming down Raven’s face splashed against the slanted handwriting on the page, Raven quickly whisking them away so the words would remain legible. Raven did not even know how long she sat there staring at the words on the page, her heart bursting with the knowledge that her mother’s hand had touched this very paper, that she had poured her heart and soul into every word etched into it.

It was like proof she had been real and not this entity Raven had conjured up in her head. Raven could not stop herself from ripping open all the ones that she should have gotten along the way. The one for her first love and the separate one on heartbreak were four pages each, and Raven did not pay attention to the clock as she absorbed each and every word.

Everything she had learned about her mother had been through her grandmother and she had always wondered if her grandmother told her things just to make her feel better. But she realized that her grandmother had been telling the truth, she and her mother were so much alike. She found herself nodding and laughing along to her mother’s stories and wisdom embedded in all those pages. She was a prolific storyteller too and an amazing writer, another trait Raven realized she must have inherited from her.

For the first time in 30 years, Raven did not feel weighed down by this unbearable guilt. She felt lighter than she had ever been in her entire life. Perhaps this was what God wanted her to find here, not a confrontation with her family, but these words. This tangible proof that her mother had chosen her, wanted her… loved her and that she had not ruined anything at all.

Her mother would not have wanted her to carry such guilt around for so long because there was nothing to be guilty about.

The letters were scattered across the attic floor when she heard the faint sound of their garage opening. She quickly folded up all of her letters and stuffed them back into the box, tucking it under her arm as she climbed out of the attic. She did not make much noise as she closed up the attic, just as she heard her father and sister close the garage door and enter the kitchen.

Their voices drifted up to her ears as she started to climb down the stairs, deciding that she might as well get the pure unpleasantness of this moment over with.

“Wait… you hear that? Is someone in the house??” she heard her sister ask, knowing that they both could hear her footsteps against the old floorboards.

“Don’t get your gun,” she called out as she started down the stairs. “It’s just me.”

She was greeted with less-than-welcoming expressions from her family, such disdain that it made her want to scurry away. But she did not. She had done enough of that in her life.

“Adding breaking and entering to your criminal activity, now?”

Raven scoffed as she placed the box on the kitchen counter that stood between her and her family.

“Don’t think you can break into a house you helped pay for?” she answered coolly. “And I’m not the one with a mug shot here if I remember correctly.”

“No you’re just the one who sold her cheap ass for a quick buck.”

Raven shook her head, opening and closing her mouth for a few moments as she tried to find the words.

“Yea I did… And I’m not proud of it,” Raven admitted. “But I won’t let you or anyone shame me for doing what I needed to do to survive. What helped the two of you survive too.” Raven scratched her head, realizing that trying to get closure from her family was unnecessary. Her mother’s words had given her all the closure she had ever needed. That’s what she had come home for.

“You know, I got a plane ready to rip you both a new one for 30 years of abuse and torture. To try to force you to admit that I’m not the villain you made me to be. But… I don’t need that anymore. Because the cross of guilt and shame you two forced onto my back for all these years isn’t one I should have to carry. But I did because I thought it was the only way to keep you two around. And even without you two in my life, I still drag that cross around because I thought I deserved it. But I realized today, way too late, that I don’t need a damn thing from either of you to put it down.”

“So you came here to what? To chastise us and steal?” her father asked, gesturing toward the box on the counter.

“You can’t steal things that belong to you. These are letters mom wrote to me,” she lifted the open letters out before sliding the unopened pile to her sister. “And to you.”

“Your mother wrote these?” he asked, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the stack.

“Yeah, she did. You’ll enjoy yours… she was a really good storyteller,” she glanced at Kiara. “These letters just told me something I should’ve realized long before Thanksgiving. That cross? That guilt? It isn’t mine. And I am done wasting my life trying to rectify the mistake of being born. Because it wasn’t a mistake. She chose me… prayed for a second daughter knowing the cost and she decided it was worth it. And hearing her say that? That’s all I need to know that I deserve so much more than this… so much more than you.” She took a deep breath. “Being a grieving husband isn’t an excuse to be a terrible father and I’ll just be grateful I found some way to survive you and this. And jealousy doesn’t give you the right to be a shitty sister.”

“What the fuck do I have to be jealous of??”

“I always wondered that. But reading those letters… I finally got it. Because even as a failed author and prostitute, I’m everything she was. Grandma used to always say I had her personality… her talent. I always thought she was lying to make me feel better. But you knew she wasn’t and you could never stand it. Couldn’t stand that I was more like her than you.” For the first time, her sister was speechless. A good look on her in Raven’s opinion. “Mom wanted so much better for me than this and I’m gonna go and find it. Because I’ve wasted too much energy trying to earn the love of people who don’t deserve it. So if you want to go to your graves hating me, making me the scapegoat for every problem in your miserable lives, have at it. But know that I don’t hate you even after all this. I won’t be weighed down anymore by any feelings toward either of you ever again. You aren’t worth it.”

Raven pulled herself to full height and rolled her shoulder back as she scooped up the box and folder she had taken from her grandmother’s stuff.

“Now I’m gonna go and have that long… rich and happy life mom wanted for me. And I hope you two do the same.”

She did not look behind her as she walked away, a soft smile on her face as she walked out of her family’s house for the last time.

She let out a long laugh as she sat in her car, so much of the weight she had been carrying around gone. It did not feel sad like when she cut off her family at Thanksgiving. She finally felt as if she had cut the anchor away and she could float away, she could move forward and heal all the broken pieces of herself that they had gleefully chipped away at.

When she got back to her hotel room, she just kept rereading her mom’s words. She would memorize each letter at this point. A part of her desperately wanted to open the other ones but she had not reached those milestones just yet so she left them where they were. For some reason, she worried her mother would disapprove of her breaking into them early.

One line of five letters she read and reread stuck to her bones above all else. And of course, as if her mother had known, it was embedded in the letter for her first love. Love… the thing that had cracked her wide open and brought her to this moment in the first place.

You’d be surprised to know that this was the hardest of the letters to write. Because everyone has some prolific idea of what love is and feels like. And I realized I don’t… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the love I pray you are as you read this. That’s not to say I don’t love your father, I do. But I want something different than convenience for you. I hope that the love you feel is safe, allows you to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be human - strong and vulnerable, insecure and confident, boisterous and timid. I hope it feels like stepping out of the cold air and into a warm embrace. I hope it is loud and unapologetic because you deserve nothing less. And I hope it makes you feel so enraptured that everything else in the world goes quiet. And lastly, I hope, more than anything, that it feels like home. That when you’re in this person’s embrace, you feel as if your soul finally landed right where it is supposed to be.

Her eyes scanned that passage over and over again, realizing that she had found the exact love her mother described. She had come back here thinking she was coming home. But this wasn’t home at all. Home was where he was. And he was back in LA, about to prepare for the biggest night of his life in 24 hours. And regardless of whatever trust needed to be rebuilt and conversations needed to be had, she could not allow herself to miss it. She could not allow herself to not show up for him.

Raven scrambled to find her phone as it was hidden beneath sheets of paper. She scrolled through, praying she had not deleted a long forgotten group thread that housed one number she had once thought she would never need but now was the most important phone number in the world.

She almost shouted praises to God when she found it, clicking the call button on the unsaved number. She paced up and down beside her bed as every agonizing ring dragged on.

“Didn’t think I’d see your name pop up on my phone ever again.”

Raven let out a sigh of relief as her voice filled her ears. “I know… me either. But I need a favor.”

“Does it involve a certain award show tomorrow night?”

“Yes. Is it too late?”

“Yea it is.” she knew Alex could hear the tiny sigh of sadness she let out. “For anyone but me. I’ve earned enough favors around here to create a miracle or two.”

“Really?? Cause I need like more than one or two miracles… a dress, hair, makeup… hell a flight from Charlotte to make it back in time. Without him knowing?”

“Consider all of it done. Hope you don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn though.” Alex asked, Raven hearing the smile in her tone.

“For him… I’ll get up anytime.”

“Good. Then I'll take care of everything... I'll have to tell his mom but she'll love this. And probably be happy as hell that she doesn't have to go anymore. I'll text you details in an hour."

"An hour?? That's all you need??"

"You're new here so I'm gonna choose to not be offended by that."

"Noted." She was about to hang up when she stopped herself. “Hey… Alex? Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just make sure your ass is on that plane and in LAX tomorrow when Allen picks you up, got it?”

Raven chuckled. “Yea I got it. See you tomorrow.”

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N: So now will y'all stop yelling at me LOLOL our good sis is going back to her man! We love to see it! How surprised do we think Michael's going to be? Part 11.2 will be the Oscars! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! And as always, thanks for reading!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

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jqnehr · 2 days

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les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 19

two individuals under pressure to marry. one has the hydro archon on his back, and the other has her matchmaking friend pushing her along. when the two meet at a ball, and both in dire need of peace from two meddlesome females, what better arrangement is there than their own betrothal?

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : wow ok so this one is, once again, 16+ only. ANGST. copious amounts of angst im telling you. mentions of suicide (literally the first line ☠️), graphic depictions of attempted murder by hanging, andré is massive asshole and you will see why, graphic violence, this is a very heavy chapter so you have been warned, fluff and suggestive stuff (wink wonk) at the end to make up for it all <3 word count : 21k (i have no words.) note : twenty one thousand damn words later and here we are. y'all asked for it!! but i also promised it so. ANYWAYS, if the end seems a bit rush that's because i have a massive headache right now and i need to sleep RIGHT NOW. enjoy y'all <3.

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part eighteen⋮ masterlist ⋮ part twenty

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

Your mother committed suicide. Perhaps that was the first fracture in the foundations of your life. A fissure that was leaking, but you conveniently brushed it off. A problem unsolved will only grow in size, but you never let that occur to you.

What they don’t know can’t hurt them. A rather generic, overused saying—but, nonetheless, it held quite surmountable insight towards your mother’s day-to-day life, for it was a common one of hers, perhaps her favourite. When one is an outcast in society, with nowhere else to go but the Fleuve Cendre, one would be quick to find out the true, ugly nature of the impoverished realm sitting below the comforts of Fontaine, and how each day is swift to morph into one of a battle for endurance, survival. The Fleuve Cendre is a dismal place, and despite some of the genuinely good individuals dwelling there, it’s rather a haven for the more shady, the more illicit.

Bootleg organisations and fraudulent gatherings is something commonly seen, commonly encountered, commonly conducted—and commonly turned a blind eye to. Those with no ill-intent, and yet no authority, have no other choice but to overlook such crooked arrangements, for fear of their own safety, and their families’—if they have any. The overworld’s influence down within the sewers is weak; bribery is rampant, the hush money always so generous. Ex-criminals with no place in society above aren’t necessarily welcome below, but nor can they be turned away—on the surface, to any old law-abiding citizen of Fontaine, the Fleuve Cendre doesn’t seem all that bad; it appears to be well-maintained, the law is enforced and kept by the inhabitants—and people don’t like to think about it any more than what it seems to be at face value. Such applies for every other aspect of life also. Ignorance is bliss.

That’s what the overworld citizens enjoy. Bliss. And that’s why, during your youth, you made it your life’s goal to relocate to the overworld. To try and fit in, become one of the uppity, ‘righteous’ law-abiding residents. Live in a nice apartment, stroll about the grassy slopes of your region’s landscape, admire the vast views. Maybe get a Vision, and go explore the underwater world many renown for its otherworldly beauty.

You would’ve—and at the time of your first especially tragic, life-altering incident of walking in your own mother swallowing a cyanide pill, you knew that things were never as simple as your mind presented it to be.

Your mother had grabbed your upper arm with a vice-like grip, digging her nails into your flesh, hissing, “Burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulbert will—” she hacked out a cough, “—get to you.”

How she managed her final words out with such vivacity and resolve even as she died is something you didn’t know whether to admire, or to resent. She left you shaking violently all over once her hand slumped from your arm.

Once you told Daniel, you and him immediately rummaged through your mother’s office, turning it upside down, gathering all the papers and ledgers and records you both could find involving her illegal dealings and set them alight, honouring her dying wish. Of course, you both read through them before you threw a match at them—throughout your childhoods, your mother had been dealing with gangs, Treasure Hoarders, even the Fatui, as a way to make a living and feed you both. Smuggling of illegal substances, unauthorised trading of alcohol and firewater for Fatui roaming about Fontaine, and even exchanging of highly-confidential governmental information to the Fatui, for a hefty price. All dealings that put your mother and her two children in grave, grave danger if she were ever to bail on them, sell her clientele out, or be caught by the court of law, which, to you—and as your brother also agrees—explains why your mother was very distant.

Your father disappeared when you were three. You and your brother were born out of wedlock, anyway, and considering what your brother has told you about the man before he took off, he wasn’t the most pleasant of fellows to your mother. Your mother once drunkenly shrieked that he left because you were born a girl, and it all boiled down to you, essentially, tearing her relationship with your father apart due to your birth. When she sobered, she expressed no memory of ever shouting such an awful thing at you, leaving you to pull away, to accept it, wounded.

The woman never treated either of her children with motherly love. She hardly ever inquired either of you of your whereabouts in the Fleuve Cendre, apparently uncaring of your safety. The sewers is an unkind place to most, but there is a sense of familiarity within—everyone looks out for each other, which explains how the only type of parental love you ever received was through Elias. But he was more of an uncle. A genuine old man, you’re thankful to him for teaching you many life lessons when the one person who should’ve, never did. It was a morbid stroke of luck that he died just when you were old enough to fend for yourself. Perhaps that was the final push towards you actually shifting to the overworld.

Your brother soon followed, and then he met Elvira. It was nice to see him appear so much freer compared to what he was like when barely scraping by down in the Fleuve Cendre. It took a few years until your brother and Elvira, his girlfriend at that time, finally agreed to marry. You remember him jokingly asking when you were going to get engaged, to which you waved off and dismissed, telling him not to pressure you about it.

Despite destroying all known records of any of your mother’s illegal dealings, a premonition stayed with you throughout the years after—what if there was something you’d missed? Something incriminating, damnatory—where it could end you both up in prison, just for being the primary culprit’s only living offspring? Yes, it would most certainly be inculpating. Hiding such criminal transactions and such would absolutely earn you a spot down in the Fortress of Meropide. Why, your mother had even committed treason by tipping off members of the Fatui about highly confidential matters involving the country’s government and judicial system. How she obtained that information, you’ll never know—and you don’t want to know. All you do know is that her shady relations had, essentially, left you and your brother in a tight spot for, as it would seem, the rest of your lives.

Perhaps moving to the overworld was an attempt at an escape from such.

Where—when—did things go wrong?

Long before you got your job at Chioriya Boutique, you were juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet. Such is the life of an individual without the certifications and required amount of education to pursue any real career—such is the life of an individual who has never had control or a choice over that. Such is the life of a woman who has grown up in the dejected world of the Fleuve Cendre, one without much opportunity.

Entering the Akademiya? What a painfully pathetic pipe dream that is for a peasant who lived her childhood in the slums. The Akademiya is for the elevated, for the brilliant of mind—and, most importantly, for the deep of pocket.

Those three things you did not have. And you still don’t really have them. The fuzzy memory of your aunt bequeathing her books to you is so vague now, you barely think of it anymore. But, that is still the seed that was planted towards pursuing your fantasy of entering the greatest university in Teyvat. It is a shame you had to give it up.

Either way, you’ve never really gone about your life resenting the circumstances you grew up in—in fact, you don’t even have an opinion of your mother anymore. You and your brother don’t bring it up. Your lives had improved so much, and it seemed to only get better.

That’s when you met André—confident, witty André.

Your first meeting was at a wedding anniversary party thrown by a mutual friend. It was a rather humble occasion, with only about thirty guests in total, where the atmosphere was hospitable and warm. Although you were never really a people person, this event was one of the few places where you felt genuinely welcomed. Amiable chatter came easily, and thus came the introductions.

“Mademoiselle [Name], allow me to introduce you to my dear friend here, André Banville.”

He was tall, swarthy, and had kind eyes. They were a deep brown, black against the orange glow of the chandelier overhead, but they were not cold, and they sparkled. He wasn’t the most handsome man you’d ever met, but there was something about him that just pulled you in. It pulled everyone in, like he was a welcoming gravitational field, drawing all those around into his orbit. This was clear—for many had greeted him and struck up conversations with him, and he was like the beating heart of the party, despite being a guest, and the hosts had no problem with it. In fact, the couple cheerily chatted away with him, and André never failed to make those around roar with laughter.

You had held out a hand for him to shake, but he surprised you by taking it and placing a gentlemanly kiss to the top of it. “Good evening, Mademoiselle. It is lovely to meet you.”

A wash of heat had enveloped you, and you stood stunned for a moment. “I—erm—why, thank you, good sir. How do you fare on this fine evening?”

André had released your hand and straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets, pose languid, and it was such a smooth, fluid motion, you blinked at the strange attractiveness of it. His curly dark hair flopped down over his forehand, brushing against his eyes, and you noticed he had long, pretty lashes. Slightly envious, you had regarded him with curiosity and fascination. He must be of Natlanian or Sumeruian heritage.

When he smiled, it brought his dimples to light. “Well, when there’s champagne involved, I’m always happy.”

His companion beside him, the one who introduced you, let out a hearty laugh, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Hoho, good one, André! Now, where’s Stephie?”

André shrugged, and turned back to you. His friend clapped him on the shoulder once more as he turned and left you both alone, chortling, making his way back through the crowd to locate the woman he mentioned, presumably his wife. André inclined his head towards you. “So, what do you do for a living, Mademoiselle?”

You blinked, oddly surprised at the question. You hadn’t expected him to carry on a conversation. Attractive, likeable people didn’t usually do that with you. “Uh. I just work a few jobs in the city. I’d like to become a seamstress, maybe work at a renowned boutique one day.”

That had made his brows raise. Someone passing by offered him a flute of champagne, of which he immediately accepted with thanks. You were offered no flute. And then he surprised you further by extending it out towards you. “You are good with a needle and thread? Do you like to design clothes?” You, flustered, accepted the glass of champagne, blushing at his kindness. It had left you quite tongue-tied. “I—oh, n-no, not really—it’s, well…I like making the designs, you see? If I were to be corny, I’d say, ‘I like bringing them to life’.”

André had grinned. “Quite poetic of you, Mademoiselle. Say, would you be inclined to mending a tailcoat of mine for me? Of course, I will pay you. It’s really quite urgent, you understand, as I have an event I must attend soon and it needs to be fixed for the evening—”

“Of course I can,” you had agreed before thinking better of it, despite being surprised at the abruptness of his request. Besides, you could have used the extra money. “If you want, I can come pick it up.”

“I will deliver it to you.” He had reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a mini notepad and pen. “Here, just write your address or place of work down for me, and I’ll get back to you.” Any normal woman would have second guessed it and pulled away from immediately providing a man she’d just met her address, but none of that occurred to you. This man was charming, polite, and had eyes anyone would like. To you, he seemed perfectly genuine.

But, you realised soon after his attempt on your life, that was the very thing about André Banville. Perfectly genuine. Perfectly charming. Perfectly polite. Had mastered the art of acting with the eyes. Only ever reached out to you if you had something he wanted, something he could use.

You two got along like a house on fire. André had such a knack for putting everyone around him at ease. Conversation was quick to flow naturally, and soon you had divulged him of your origins, of your past, and of where you wished to be. No judgement shone in his eyes once your story came to an end, and all previous qualms you had about befriending this man had swiftly faded.

The eyes are the window to the soul. That is what you thought back then. And, back then, you looked into André’s and saw sincerity you hadn’t witnessed before.

That was the push off the brink. You were merely a guileless, worriless youth back then, still just a fledgeling spreading her wings in the outside world—in this scenario, that being the overworld—and you were much less practical than you are today. Back then, you daydreamed and fantasised readily, believing there to be nothing but happiness in the wake of your future. And that proved true, for a time.

It became easy to forget all the important things when around the things you loved and people you liked. André grew to be one of your closest companions, one of your most trusted friends, and a man you envisioned the rest of your life with. You introduced him to your brother, and Daniel heartily shook his hands and they, too, became good friends.

André was such a joyous addition to your life. The gods had finally decided to smile on you, you supposed, contentedly watching André and Daniel share common interests and laugh together over a good glass of wine. Elvira enjoyed his company also—and you all quickly became like one big family.

You were all so easily deceived.

He must have thought it hilarious. All of you, so effortlessly duped into his little bubble—one you, in particular, walked so readily into. But it turned into a cage, and it became impossible to leave.

Because you didn’t want to leave, until it was too late.

You still remember your second meeting like it was yesterday—the two, short knocks at your door, your excited leap from your seat on the couch, the quick once-over in your hall wall-mirror just to check that you’re presentable, and the slightly-rushed opening of your door.

There André stood, with one of his hands in his pockets in that same, the other holding a paper bag—presumably with his damaged tailcoat inside it—that signature pose of his that screamed nonchalance, a languid posture almost indolent, like he had all the time in the world to get whatever he needed to get done, done.

And that alluring, tanned skin of his, those deep brown locks spilling over assured dark eyes, rimmed with long lashes you covet. André exuded confidence, seemed so secure in himself, but never with that self-absorbed vibe you frequently detected from others with the looks and money and reason to flaunt. André was no flaunter, no bragger. People did the bragging for him. If you were his friend, you had something to boast about.

His popularity in Fontanian high society was growing steadily. Women and girls flocked to him. Everywhere he went, he was the life of the party. A true social butterfly, with the skills and talents that everyone admired, that everyone wanted.

“André,” you greeted, smiling, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow him to enter. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Quite so, quite so! That’s a pretty blouse you have on there, [Name]. The colour makes your eyes pop.”

“Why, thank you.” How you had managed to get that out without stuttering, is still beyond you to this day. “Care for anything? Tea? Coffee? It’s not even noon yet.”

“No, no, I’ve actually got to run.” André glanced around for a moment before pointing at your dining table, a paper bag in his hands. “Shall I put this over there?” “Oh, here, I’ll take it from you.” You quickly approached him and reached for the paper bag. He swiftly handed it over, before giving you a wide smile. “Sorry I can’t stay. Let me get you coffee to make up for it.”

You blinked. He’s…asking me out? On a date? No. You both had just met barely a week ago. Sure, you had spent the rest of the evening chatting away, getting along like old friends, and he had said he was looking forward to seeing you again—but, surely it wasn’t that much to read into.

“Uh—sure, if you’d like. You really don’t have to.” I can’t be a bother and make him grow tired of me! You’d never had the most interesting of personalities, and you weren’t beautiful or rich, so you didn’t have much going for you.

André had never seemed to care.

“What do you mean? Getting you coffee is the least I could possibly do for you.”

“Oh…but you’re already paying me Mora—”

“Right!” He snapped his fingers at your reminding words. “Here. I hope it’s enough.” André pulled out a little brown pouch from his jacket pocket, the coins inside clinking in his palm, and he placed it on top of the paper bag that sat in your hold. “There you are. Coffee next week on Tuesday, if you’re free?”

You blinked several times to rearrange your thoughts, still reeling from the Mora so casually handed to you—practically thrown at you—and it made you wonder if he was wealthier than he let on. He never dressed in very expensive wear. It was neat and formal enough, sure, but it never looked exorbitant. “Erm…alright. I really do hope I’m not being a bother.” “If you were bothering me, [Name], I wouldn’t have offered, and I’d have long let you know, don’t you worry about that.” The man grinned and stepped past you—and even ruffled your hair lightheartedly on his way to your door. You had hurriedly put down the bag and pouch of money on your coffee table, scurrying over to see him out. André turned and gave you a friendly wave goodbye. “Again, thank you for agreeing to do this small favour for me. Really, you’re a lifesaver. Well, then, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Mademoiselle.”

With one final grin, off André went, hurrying to attend to whatever errand demanded his attention, leaving you dazed, flushed, and thrilled.

You had mended his tailcoat with the best thread you owned, making sure the seam you sewed the hole back together with was completely invisible on the finished product—just as if it was bought right from the factory. The hole was really quite big—it looked torn, as if someone had either grabbed it to wrench its wearer back, or some kind of item had snagged it and ripped it through in hurried attempts to get away.

It had made you hum to yourself in contemplation, holding the material up to the light and studying the serrated rip of the material. Thankfully, it’s salvageable. All you had to do was slightly snip at the jagged ends and sew it back together. Good as new.

It didn’t take you long to complete. Only an hour and a half, at best. That meant you had to wait about a week to return it to André…and a week you had to wait until seeing him again.

Stupid girl! You had immediately berated yourself at your train of thought, blinking back to reality. You just met him. Slow down!

Despite your attempts to brush it off, the week had dragged on by endlessly, almost driving you insane. You had tried to occupy yourself with other things—visiting your brother, having nice chats with Elvira over a few cups of tea, busying yourself with your jobs, going on a spontaneous cleaning spree in your apartment, finally getting around to washing those curtains of yours. All nice, useful distractions, but they didn’t fully distract your thoughts for a week. It had left you slumped on your couch, staring up at the ceiling, still with your rubber cleaning gloves on.

This is bad. You’d never been in love before, so you were sure this was just a fleeting little crush that would fade. Never mind him being the first man to actually treat you like another human being enjoyable to be around—you were sure (at least, according to the silly romance novels you had liked to sit down and read occasionally) that this would pass eventually. Yes. That’s all it is. You’re not a teenager anymore! Grow up! He probably doesn’t give a damn about you at all!

If only you had known how right you were.

André had knocked on your door that following Tuesday, beaming that same smile of his. One that was quickly becoming your favourite to see. Ugh, I can be so cringe at times.

“Well! I hope you’re ready for our little outing.” Were the first words he greeted you with upon you opening your door. You, in fact, were all dressed and ready to go, bubbling with excitement on the inside. “I suppose so. Ah—here, your tailcoat, it’s all finished.” You handed over the neatly ironed and folded tailcoat in the same paper bag he had given it to you in, strangely nervous about what his reaction would be.

You had no reason to worry, however, for he instantly lit up and accepted the item with an even bigger smile. “Wonderful! You really are a lifesaver, [Name]. Let’s take a look at it.”

André had pulled out the tailcoat, carefully unfolded it, and inspected the cloth with an intent eye. He held the material where the hole was, before flicking his gaze to you, eyes twinkling. “Goodness! You’d never have even known it was there!”

You had looked down bashfully, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear at the compliment. It made your blood sing. “Oh, thank you, André—but, truly, it’s the least I could do. Nothing to it, really.”

“Nonsense! I am highly impressed, you can’t even see the seam. Now, come along—you’re owed a latte and an éclair.”

“An éclair! My goodness, you spoil me, André.” You had smiled, shaking your head, locking your apartment door behind you, placing your keys back into your purse and adjusting its strap on your shoulder. He offered his arm, surprising you even further. “Well, my word! Aren’t you just the perfect gentleman?” “Something I pride myself in.” André had grinned, patting your hand fondly. “Now, what is your favourite café?”

That day, after wandering around town and just getting to know each other, André invited you to accompany him to the ball he was attending in two days’ time.

“I—” you broke off, blinking, completely caught off guard by the suggestion. “Well, I would love to, André, but…I don’t have any proper evening wear for such an occasion. And, I don’t have an invitation.”

“No need to worry your pretty little head about that factor, [Name],” he had teasingly responded, tapping your forehead. “For I have a plus-one invitation. And, I have chosen you to be the one I escort.”

“Well, that’s great—but, as I said, I don’t have a ballgown. I don’t even have that much makeup, and only two pairs of earrings.” Such are the perks of being rather impoverished.

“And as I said, you don’t need to worry.” He paused before a building, and swept an arm up towards it. “Tonight is quite an important night for me, so having you as my partner is rather detrimental towards appearances.”

“I—I see.” You gaped up at the store’s marquee—Gaëlle’s Couture. At that time, well before Chioriya Boutique opened, ‘Gaëlle’s Couture’ was the number one boutique in Fontaine. Not only was Gaëlle’s Couture a true fashion emporium, but it also had a salon within it. So, it was convenient to purchase and have your selected gown or clothing fitted, and then get your makeup done.

“Are—are you sure about this, André?” You managed out, blinking up at him. “This…place is very expensive. You’ve already spent more than enough on me for a lifetime.” “Rubbish! Consider this one more favour you’re doing for me.” He turned and led you into the boutique. You were too dazed to protest any further. André winked down at you. “And, at the end of the day, I really don’t think you could possibly deny an excuse to get all dolled up, no? No woman would, as far as I know.”

“Uh, well…” you mumbled, warily looking around at all the colourful clothes and dresses and shoes on display, uncertain. Everything looked and smelled so expensive—that even if it wasn’t you spending any money, it still felt like getting a tooth extracted. You had never liked other people spending money on you, anyway. It always made you feel like they had one on you, as if you thus owed them something from then on. “I really don’t know, André…”

“Tut tut, hush for a moment, [Name],” André shushed you and turned to the staff member who had approached you both to assist you with anything.

“Welcome! How may I help you today, Monsieur?”

“It would be wonderful if you could find a proper ball gown for this lovely young woman here.” He gestured to you, smiling. You kept your eyes carefully trained on the carpeted ground of the store. “You see, we have an event coming up in a few days, and she doesn’t have anything appropriate to wear.” “Of course! That shall be no problem.” The woman smiled at you warmly, turning to lead you both to the women’s formal wear section just over in another aisle. “Please, follow me.”

André patted your shoulder and pointed to some couches over the side. “I’ll be over there, waiting for you. Pick out whatever you’d like. Don’t worry about the price.”

“Are you sure—”

“Go, [Name].” He nudged you in the direction of the awaiting staff member. “Dress up to your heart’s content.”

Defeated, you nodded and turned to the woman standing by, plastering a polite smile on your face. “Well, then, please lead the way.”

The dresses you tried on that day were all beautifully crafted, intricately designed, and costly. Of course, they were certainly worth every penny priced, but you felt very out of place trying on such expensive and luxurious wear. You, a commoner, hailing from the murky depths of the Fleuve Cendre, donning dresses fit for a queen? You, a rather destitute young woman, who once wore tattered old garments in need of a good wash and mend, now all dolled up like a noblewoman? It was unfathomable to you. It was a dream come true, yes—you had practically become the epitome of a ‘rags to riches’ girl like in those fairy stories—but you felt out of place, undeserving. You had read somewhere that what you were feeling was called ‘imposter syndrome’, and it really aptly described your sentiments toward that occasion.

You eventually decided on a deep sea-blue gown that had the most gorgeous gradient—the bodice was that azure hue with jewelled, hand-embroidered flora needlework, and the hems of the bodice were laced, with pearls woven into the filament. The blue faded down into a silver, with an almost moon-like shimmer when the light hit it right, and the skirt fell about your legs so fluidly, so naturally—and, above all, it was comfortable.

You selected a pair of blue heeled satin slippers, and the height of the shoes’ heels were not so elevated as to hurt your feet. It was perfect.

The staff member, Cecily, had clapped her hands together and put them over her mouth in wonder once you stepped out from behind the dressing room’s curtain. “Mademoiselle, you look breathtaking!”

You thought the dress was wonderful, not yourself. “Aha, thank you. It really is an exquisite gown.”

“Oh, but it’s like it was made for you!” Ah, yes, the flattery—all a subtle sale’s pitch to get me to buy this product. It’s probably the most expensive dress in here. You didn’t say anything in reply to the woman’s compliments. “Every eye will be on you at the ball, miss.”

“Haha. If only,” you answered dryly, fluffing the dress’s skirt, letting it swish about your legs. I really do like this dress though. The gown’s palette also struck a strange sense of familiarity in you, as if you’d seen this very colour scheme somewhere—or on someone—before.

“My word!” A masculine voice exclaimed, and you sharply turned to see André gaping at you. “Now, ain’t that a dress!”

You suddenly felt quite bashful, and rather naked, even though the garment was perfectly modest. “Does it…look alright?” “It’s as they say, [Name]—the dress really does make the woman.” He strode forward and grasped your shoulders gently, spinning you around in a slow circle, taking you in. “This is perfect. Have you chosen a pair of shoes? Let me see them.”

“Uh, yes, I thought these suited the dress.” You lifted the skirt up a bit and extended a foot, letting him see your chosen pair of heels. “Not ostentatious, you know? Comfortable, practical, makes the dress shine…”

“You really do have taste in fashion! This combination would never have even entered my head. I’m useless at this kind of thing.” Then, he turned to Cecily standing aside. “What do you have in terms of jewellery?”

“Plenty, Monsieur. Would you like to have a look?” She gestured to another section of the store, where pendants and earrings and even tiaras sat sparkling in sturdy glass cases. “I have a pair of earrings in mind that would go impeccably with the dress.” “Well, then, lead the way!” He’s awfully excited about this. It made you feel excited, glad—just as much as it made you feel restless. I suppose…it wouldn’t hurt to indulge a little.

Cecily rounded the counter before the encased jewellery and unlocked one, gingerly extracting a pair of dazzling cerulean earrings from the display case. “These are of carefully-hewn sapphire, with pure silver surrounding it. I believe it would go wonderfully with the dress, and would suit Mademoiselle here flawlessly.”

“What do you think, [Name]? Aren’t these perfect? Come, try them on.” André tilted your chin up and accepted the trinkets from the woman, lightly pressing one of the earrings’ hook into the piercing of your earlobe, locking it in with the little rubber screw-back. He swiftly added the other one, before stepping away from you to get a good look.

Cecily nodded enthusiastically. “I knew they were perfect!” “Stunning!” André exclaimed, looking like a proud father, even though he had to be at least twenty-four. “It’s minimal, but that’s all you need!”

You accept the mirror presented to you by Cecily and observe your reflection. Wow…these earrings are so pretty!

“Now—makeup!” André clapped his hands and swivelled around to face Cecily. “Anything in mind?” “Absolutely—allow me to get the pamphlet.” She left you both standing together in front of the jewellery display cases, heading over to the salon area. There were already about three other women getting their hair and makeup done.

“You will look truly breathtaking on the night, [Name],” André energetically said, patting your shoulder. He’s more excited about this than me. But, you weren’t exactly complaining. You found his enthusiasm cute.

“Oh, you flatter me,” you responded, bashful, fidgeting with your fingers. André looked down at the motion, and lit up. Oh no. “Ah—of course! You must get a manicure!”

“What the—André! You’re getting a bit excessive! Just imagine the bill!”

“Who cares! I’m not worried about that! Just think—don’t you think getting your nails done will fully complete the look?”

“Oh, but how will I repay you? The entire cost for all of this is sure to be worth more than a full year’s pay!”

“Why are you so worried about the price? If I was you and spending someone else’s money, I’d be going all out.”

“Well, I don’t like spending other people’s money! Buying all of this will probably send you bankrupt, and for what?” André shook his head in mock-exasperation. “All of this will pay off, don’t you worry. Loosen up a bit! Aren’t you having fun? Don’t let your stinginess get in the way of letting loose every once in a while.”

That had silenced you. It left you thinking: I really am having fun, if I think about it. And he’s kind of right…why shouldn’t I forget about my financial troubles for a little while?

It would be your first time going to a ball. Why aren’t you excited? Why can’t you be excited? So, you decided to stop fretting and enjoy your time here, essentially getting a makeover.

You finally nodded in affirmation to him. “Alright. I’ll get a manicure.” André beamed at that, those dark eyes now a delighted chocolate brown. “Wonderful! Ah, here she is.” He turned to the approaching Cecily, who held a brochure in her hands. “Miss, would [Name] here be able to get a manicure?” “Ah, I’m sorry, but we don’t do nail tech here.” Cecily looked rather disappointed. “I’ve raised the suggestion to Madam Gaëlle many times, but she has yet to get around to actually following through with it.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame.” André looked rather deflated. “We’ll just have to settle for some makeup for now, then.” He faced you once more. “Have a look through that booklet there. Do you mind if I leave you here for a little while? I’ve got a small errand to run. It won’t take too long at all.” “Ah, alright.” You nodded, accepting the flyer extended to you from Cecily. “See you soon.” And in a flash, André was out the door with a wave, and you were left in Cecily’s care.

“Well, I really do like these earrings, Miss Cecily.” Now with the extrovert gone, you had to force yourself into conversational mode, as if your social interaction battery wasn’t running on very low.

“I think they look marvellous on you, Mademoiselle,” Cecily replied, and she gestured towards the salon area. “Shall we? You can have a seat and peruse the pamphlet for a little while, if you’d like. Would you care for any refreshments?” “…In this dress?” You looked down at yourself. “Are you sure that would be alright? I don’t want to spill anything on this gown. It looks like it took years to make.”

“Haha, you’re not too far off on that one,” Cecily laughed, pulling out one of the recliners in front of the vanity’s mirror for you to take a seat in. “It is one of the Madam’s best works. I’d tell you the price, but I don’t want you to faint.” You appreciated Cecily’s easy-going nature and talkative temperament. Unlike most people, she didn’t tire you out with gossip. “I like your honesty. I felt quite like fainting when I tried this dress on. The quality of the material is enough to make even the wealthiest of nobles have a heart attack.”

The woman chuckled, rearranging some of the cosmetics on the vanity’s top. “Quite so, honestly. Alright, you have a look through that and I’ll get you a…?”

“A hot chocolate would be fine, thank you, Cecily,” you smiled up at her, in the mood for something sweet. She quipped an ‘okay’ and went off to wherever, leaving you to it.

You opened the pamphlet to the blue-themed makeup looks and flipped through them, looking for something less extravagant than what the flyer had to offer. You didn’t want anything with bright, overdone eyeshadow and blood-red lips. You wanted something minimal, as the gown was already eye-catching enough.

You flipped the page, and stopped at a look that had the perfect shade of blue, and the way the eyeshadow was styled was flawless. With some blue pigment lightly dusted into the inner corner of the eye, the middle of the eyelid was left unshaded—instead, clear, glittery eyeshadow coated the centre of the lid, for the outer corner of the eyes, the same blue daub was dusted into a wing out from the eye, the black kohl of the eyeliner sweeping up with it. False lashes were part of the look, curled up nicely with generous layers of mascara, and it gave the perfect hooded-eyed, siren sort of look that was all the rage nowadays. This is perfect! But will it suit me?

Blue suits everyone, no matter their skin colour, you surmise, and you decide on this look. The lipstick was a glossy nude tone, with accents of pink to give the mouth a flushed look. Whoever the makeup artist is here, they’re a genius!

Not exactly minimal, but not gaudy either. Just your thing.

You liked extravagant, loud makeup looks—but if you went for one here, you’d look like a clown. The dress had already completed most of the look—lavish and almost showy, and therefore excessive amounts of makeup weren’t necessary.

Once Cecily returns with your beverage and gets started on your makeup, she is quick to compliment your choice.

“You really should work in a boutique someday, miss. Maybe you could work here. Madam would snap you up.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someday.” You couldn’t say you were ready yet. You had to get yourself fully sorted out yet.

“Well, if you’re ever in need of a job somewhere, come here and I’ll vouch for you.” “Thank you, Cecily. You’re very kind.”

By the time she had finished your makeup, André was back.

“Wow!” He exclaimed upon seeing you, eyes wide. “By the gods! You scrub up so well!”

“Haha, thank you.” You were unsure if that was a compliment or not. Or maybe you were just sensitive. “Now to take it all off after hours of hard work. I’m sorry, Cecily.”

“That’s quite alright, miss. It’s my job. I’m not offended!”

“You don’t have to take it off, [Name].” André shook his head. “It’s getting onto evening now. Shall we go get dinner? Somewhere fancy, so you won’t look out of place with that makeup on.’

“You’ve already spent far too much on me—” “Ah, ah, ah! What did I say about stinginess?” He waggled a finger in front of your face. “Stop fretting. Now, if you could wrap all of this up for us, Cecily, it would be much appreciated.” “Of course.” She turned towards the changing area, looking to you. “Shall we, miss?” “Yes, absolutely.” You had begun to grow tired of the dress, as it was rather tight around the bosom. You also wanted to go home, but you also wanted to spend more time with André. So, you could bear it a little longer, you supposed.

Not used to having such heavy makeup on, after André paid the bill (you looked away from the sight as if witnessing something grisly occur right before your eyes) and you both headed out, it felt like you were walking around with a pie stuck to your face.

But it was a sensation you could grow accustomed to, you supposed. For the first time, you felt pretty.

・・・・

The months following were what you considered, at the time, to be the best months of your life. André fit into your small family like a glove, like it was so natural; meant to be. He always made time for all of you—you especially. That gave you hope. It wasn’t long until you were ready to admit to yourself that you were in love with the man.

However, every woman was. At the ball you attended with him, the ladies flocked to him like flies swarming to a carcass. A morbid, unpleasant comparison, yes—but it’s one you’ve always used, even to this day. Especially today. Now, it’s more or less used in spite.

The spotlight on him left you in the shadows. It wasn’t the best of a first-time experience for attending a ball. Sure, you had the odd sleazy miscreant approach you and ask you for a dance, some of which you accepted, but it wasn’t enjoyable. It made your spirits drop, seeing André practically forget about you.

But you didn’t mind all that much. You supposed it was natural. He had to entertain his little fanclub, if to get them to leave him alone. And he took you home, so it really wasn’t all that bad in the end.

After blissful occasions of him taking you to see all the sights on Fontaine you’d always wanted to see, delightful times of ice cream down by Fountain Lucine and late night chats under the soft glow of a streetlight, you were sure you were both meant to be. Why else would he spend so much time with me? He must like me too, right?

Your confirmation came soon enough. It was over some Fonta at a table in Cafe Lutece one pleasant Friday afternoon. André had said he needed to tell you something, but you didn’t get your hopes up. He probably got a promotion at his job he talks about. A long-awaited and well-deserved promotion, by the sounds of it.

André had never really specified where he worked and what he did, but he did say that it was office work. You were surprised at his words, not having expected him to have that kind of profession.

“I thought you’d be the more physical-labour sort of type.”

André had raised his brows. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Well…you’re just not the kind of guy who sits around all day, you know? You’re always on the move; doing something and going somewhere.”

He had chuckled, ruffling your hair. André always seemed fond of doing that. You never hated it. “That may be so, but I’m not fond of lifting boxes or crates all day, [Name]. No, it’s much more comfortable at a desk.”

You couldn’t help but agree with that. But you could never picture him toiling away at his desk, swamped with paperwork. It’s just something you could never see, and for the first time, you had found that you didn’t believe him.

You never pried any more on the matter, though. If he didn’t want to tell you or talk about it, then you respected that.

That brought you back to that day—that wonderful day. Where you were peacefully sipping at your Fonta when André dropped a true bomb on you.

“I like you.” He had said—so casually, as if he was remarking on the weather. As if it was a normal thing to say out of the blue. “I think we should date.”

You had choked and coughed on your drink, wheezing, eyes wide. People had begun to stare. Cheeks flaming, you whirled on him, hissing, “A warning next time!”

André threw up his hands in an I-surrender! fashion, brows lifted. “Sorry! I just…didn’t know how else to bring it up.”

Once you had calmed down and collected yourself, you stared at him and said, “…Are you being serious? You want to date me?”

He furrowed his brows, tilting his head in puzzlement at your wording. “Why? Is that strange? That I like your character and think you’re pretty?” “You—you think I’m pretty?” You sputtered, blinking rapidly. You had felt like you were about to combust. “I—I—!”

André leaned forward and brushed his fingers upon your cheek softly, fondly, his smile not that signature bright, sunny one of his—no, this time, it was gentle. “I don’t lie about these kinds of things. Well? What do you say? Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

His wording took you even further off guard, making your heart shift and skip a few beats in your chest, and you felt real joy for the first time. This man made you feel seen, appreciated, and cherished. How could you say no? “I thought you’d never ask.”

That had made André roar with laughter, and he grabbed your hand to place a tender kiss to the top of it, those dark eyes so warm and full of joy. “You don’t know how honoured and happy I feel right now, beloved.”

And so you dated. You both had immediately left the café to go and announce the good news to Daniel and Elvira. Hand in hand. Before, it was arm-in-arm, mere gentlemanly courtesy on his part, and basic etiquette on yours—and that impersonal physical contact. Now, you held hands out of your own volitions, out of desire for that close connection, and it made your heart soar, as cheesy as that would sound.

With three excited knocks on Daniel and Elvira’s door, you felt André squeeze your hand in equal thrill, just as delighted as you. Well, maybe you were a bit more happy. You were walking on cloud nine back then. For the first time in your life, you tasted real bliss.

Elvira had opened the door, blinking in surprise to see you both standing at the door, before she beamed in greeting. “Hi, you two! What brings you—my word!”

She had swiftly spotted your two interlocked hands at your sides, and gasped in shock. You grinned rather bashfully. “Hey, Elvira.”

She immediately ushered you both inside, calling for Daniel. “Daniel! Come look! It’s finally happened!” “Huh?” Your brother answered, soon rounding the corner of the hallway to see you both. “Oh, hey, sis!” He greeted you, before moving to clap André on the back. “Hey, man. How are you…wait!”

Daniel had also seen your hands, and you exchanged glances with André at their reactions. They’re acting as if I just announced I’m pregnant. It wasn’t that big of a deal, declaring the ‘officiation’ of your relationship, but your brother and sister-in-law seemed particularly overjoyed.

“Uh, yeah, we’re dating now,” you answered the unasked question, breaking the ice. “About time, am I right?” André chuckled beside you, opening his mouth to speak, but your brother beat him to it. “What an understatement! A year and a half of waiting for you both to get going already! Pay up, Elvira.”

“What?” You snapped your head to look at your sister-in-law. “You guys…made a bet?”

Elvira sighed wearily, her shoulders slumped. She moved down the hallway. “Yeah. I bet that it would take at least ten years for you both to hurry up and date—not exaggerating. Daniel never doubted either of you, so we agreed to bet two hundred Mora.”

“Two hundred?!” You exclaimed, mouth agape. “What the—gods, honestly! You two have always been idiots!”

André was laughing heartily. “Hahaha! As if our day couldn’t get any better!” He let go of your hand and grabbed your waist instead, pulling you in and placing a kiss to the crown of your head. It immediately silenced you, too flustered to speak. “Would you look at that, huh, mon bijou?”

“I…well…” As usual, André left you quite tongue-tied. His spontaneity always had that effect on you. “I suppose…this calls for a celebration?”

“You can say that again!” Daniel whooped and rushed off for the wine cabinet. “Let’s pop the champagne!” “Daniel!” Elvira bellowed from their bedroom. “Don’t you make a mess!”

“It’ll be alright, my dear, I’ll do it over the sink—”

“No!” Elvira emerged from their chambers, Mora in hand, and hurriedly approached him, just as he was pulling the cork. She snatched the bottle from his hold and replaced it with the pouch of money. “Take your money and give it to me!”

Daniel immediately conceded, letting go of the bottle of (expensive) champagne, handing it to his wife. He tossed the small bag of money into the air, the coins inside jingling about merrily, and caught it, grinning triumphantly at you and André. “Now, that’s what I call making a buck—”

Elvira sharply smacked his shoulder with a wooden spoon. Clearly, she wasn’t very happy about giving up that two hundred Mora. “Quit your gloating and start peeling those carrots.”

“Yes ma’am.”

This was the sort of familial chaos you adored, where banter and insults held no real knives—where everything was lighthearted. It was nice to see how far you and your brother had come since relocating from the sewers. You were finally a family, a normal one.

All too soon, things started going downhill.

Two years of bliss flew by. Two years of dating André were the best of your life, and even though the memories are more painful than happy to reflect on now, sometimes you find yourself reminiscing. Pointless, yes, but you have never been able to help thinking about what could’ve been.

Either way, you appreciated the attitude André had towards you very much—he never asked for anything more than the odd kiss, and he never tried to make too much of a move on you. You were glad that he, too, seemed to share your sentiments of waiting until you both married before taking it all the way, something that would be bound to take a lot of personal preparation on your part.

He asked you to marry him out of the blue one day, much like how he announced his feelings for you and said that you both should date two years prior, and it took you so off guard that you didn’t know what else to say apart from ‘yes’. Not even giving yourself time to consider it—and that was likely because you didn’t need to think about it. To you, at the time, André Banville was your future, and you were more than ready to become Mrs. Banville.

It just so happened that that was one of his tactics, taking you off guard so randomly, dropping bombs on you and leaving you metaphorically stranded, with no other route to take but the affirming one. ‘Love bombing’, you think it’s called, but his version and methods were a bit different. But no less effective.

You were so weak-minded back then, such a pushover. So blinded by adoration for this ‘angel’ of a man that you continuously failed to see the signs of the true demon hiding behind a mask of light and benevolence.

How easy it must’ve been for him, how risible. Do spiders feel amused when their prey becomes caught in their web? Is it entertaining for them to watch their victim struggle so pointlessly? A good show to behold before it becomes a meal to scuttle back into their lair with, something to toy with, to feast upon? For that was likely what you were to him. Such simple, easy prey, with much to gain by deceiving.

If only you had guessed his true intentions—the real reasons—as to why he kept you alive in his trap for so long. A trap you didn’t struggle to be free from, for what reason was there? When your captive treats you well, treats you with appreciation, what is there to not grow fond of?

You had stared at that extravagant ring on your finger, the stone so large and sparkling, the jewel likely worth an entire manor. The lavish gifts he showered you with made you feel loved, but it also made scepticism gradually creep in. Where does he get the funds for such expensive alms? And, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you somehow knew not to ask him that question.

Scepticism is dangerous—dangerous toward the reality one invents for themselves. It begins as a small, imperceptible chink in the armour, a tiny ripple in the pool, a mere scratch on the glass. But it can grow—grow into a problem you must eventually face, must eventually admit to, must eventually resolve. A tribulation unsought; a life lesson detrimental to the maturing of oneself. And how it grew within you, until you couldn’t look at your fiancé anymore without suspicion.

I don’t really know him. You only knew the projection André had presented—and you were, initially, perfectly content to live with nothing but that façade, as it meant not relenting to the rational, logical questions that the annoyingly reasonable side of you ceaselessly posed. Three and a half years of paradise, but the shadows were finally closing in.

A premonition. A foreboding sensation that had settled and festered at the back of your mind for years, carefully pushed far back by your own self. An augury you never mentioned to the one person who was personally involved—your brother. Although you knew he trusted you, you knew he would never believe you. And why should he? Your mother, and her legacy, was dead.

It was supposed to be. The truth of the matter didn’t come to light until the very last, dreadful minute.

André’s visits were gradually becoming less frequent, sparking concern within you. At those moments, doubt and misgiving sprung to life within you like bile, compelling you to force it down, or else risking the endurance of your comfortable reality. If only you had any other option.

Fear had long injected itself into your veins, becoming an inherent constituent of your blood and being. You had continually refused to admit to that.

“André,” you had finally asked one day, unable to bear your rooted uncertainties any longer. At this time, you both had been engaged for almost a year, wedding plans and preparations well into motion, and this was the one question you abhorred having to spit out. You were standing in the hallway, watching him hastily put on his shoes, his countenance agitated. “Where are you going? It’s so late. You’re always rushing off at some ungodly hour, and you never tell me where or what you’re going to do.”

He had paused in his motions, and the atmosphere became distinctly heavier. Just as you feared. André turned to you—and for the first time in all the years you’d known him, you couldn’t read his expression at all. “It’s not for you to know.”

I’ve hit a nerve. That much was clear. He hardly ever addressed you without some kind of pet name, ‘mon bijou’ being his favourite. You sucked in a deep breath, and pressed it further. “I think it is. You’re worrying me. What secret are you keeping that is so…odious, you can’t even trust me to confide in?” André had sighed, brows furrowed in a frown utterly unlike his playful ones, or confused ones, or concerned ones. No, this one was of genuine irritation and chagrin towards you. “Let me rephrase. It’s nothing for you to worry about. Now, I’ve got to go.”

“No.” You strode towards him and grasped his wrist. Up this close, you were fully privy to the stone cold glint of his eyes. They weren’t their usual, familiar soft humour. “Tell me. Please.”

He had silently regarded you, his eyes narrowed, before harshly wrenching himself from your hold and yanking open the door. “I thought this message had been concisely, subtly put across years ago, but, clearly, you were too dull to catch it.” André looked at you from over his shoulder in the threshold of the open door. “Don’t ask questions.”

The door was slammed shut with such force, the ornaments on the walls had rattled. It probably woke up the entire apartment complex. And it left you shaken through, your thoughts and suspicions and doubts warring in your mind.

Maybe it was because of how tense he was that night that he snapped at you, but it was a serious mistake on his part. It practically confirmed your inklings, and you finally allowed those abscesses of mistrust within you to consume you fully.

Long overdue, don’t you think? The rational, reliable half of your mind sneered, and you stared at the ground in dread. Your ‘reality’ was finally shattering.

It was your fault to just sit back and let the cracks and splinters multiply across its shell for so long. You should have dealt with it sooner, or just let it be.

So you decided to. You deigned to ‘let it go’. At least, that’s how it appeared to André.

It didn’t take long for him to realise his mistake. That morning, when he entered your apartment again, he quickly made his way over to you and embraced you.

“Is everything alright?” You pretended to have forgiven him and feigned concern, accepting his hug. André held you to him tightly, kissing your head, and that traitorous heart of yours leapt in joy at the ministrations.

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry for snapping at you last night.” He held you from him, cupping your face, eyes beseeching and truly apologetic. “You see, the reason why I’ve never told you the true nature of my occupation is to protect you.” You had raised a brow jokingly—however, on the inside, distrust reared its unsightly head. “What, are you involved in some underground, super-secret criminal agency or something?” André had chuckled at that, seemingly relieved at how unbothered you appeared to be about it. “Not quite. It’s something much more complex than that. And dangerous. That’s why you can’t know, okay? It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I just want to protect you. Please understand that.”

You had nodded easily, burying your face into his chest. “Of course. I believe you.”

You did not believe or trust him at all anymore. His temperament, the way he regarded you that previous night…it gave you a horrible feeling that you had finally gotten a glimpse of his true nature.

A nature he had kept carefully hidden from you, from your brother—from everyone around you. What was left to find out, you had surmised, was what he was really up to.

And so, you began your own, covert investigation of the man you were sure wasn’t all he appeared to be anymore.

If only.

It began with you frequenting his home more. André’s house was humble and unassuming; cosy and where you had both agreed to dwell once you married. At first, André was confused as to why you insisted on visiting him at his place now, to which you smilingly replied, “It’s to adjust to our future home! Have to work out where the nursery will be, right?” He had blinked and grunted at that, running a hand through his brown locks. “…Alright, you win.” And then he ruffled your hair.

You even began to sleep at his place more often, and you were relieved to see that he trusted you enough to be left alone in his own house. Whatever he’s doing so late at night, you thought to yourself as you saw him out the door at 11:30PM one night. It would have to be hidden somewhere in this place.

But, then again, if he was so comfortable with you staying there, then he wouldn’t have left any kind of incriminating evidence lying around. Maybe it’s hidden very well. You tried the door to his office, and your heart leapt in dread as the knob refused to be twisted. It’s locked!

Where’s the key? You used this opportunity in his absence to explore his house, to memorise it and search for any hidden compartments the key could be stashed. Or else he took it with him. That thought had made you pause as you pulled open the top drawer of his bedside table. Yes. He probably did. Why else would he be happy to leave me here alone?

No other door or cabinet was locked in that house except for his small study. You had offered to do the chores around the place for him while he was out doing his ‘work’, and he had agreed. But he had never said anything about ‘not going into the office’. Cunning man.

Your distrust of him was swiftly taking the shape of resentment, and it fueled your determination to find out what truly was going on even further. Isn’t it funny how one wrong move was enough for me to doubt him fully? It only spiralled down from there.

After searching through his home thoroughly and practically turning it inside out, you plopped down on his sofa and stared up at the ceiling. He’s definitely got the key with him. But how would you obtain it, without rousing any questions from him? Without sparking any suspicion?

The idea came soon enough—you were up all night, scouring through his cupboards and cabinets and drawers and closets that you got no sleep. It was about dawn when keys outside the door jingled, and in came André, shrugging off his coat.

That’s it. You strode forward and greeted him, carefully watching the man go through his pockets and hang up the coat. André seemed surprised to see you still up. I need to subtly steal that key from his coat pocket as he’s leaving, and replace it with another. And the only way you could do that was by appearing to do your ‘wifely’ duties every time he would leave by helping him into his coat and seeing him off. But where will I get a replacement key?

It would need to be one of similar shape, size and colour to whichever one it is. And you didn’t know what it looked like. I’ll have to sit back and observe for now.

“What are you still doing up?” André had inquired, blinking at you. You reached forward and helped him out of his coat, hanging it up for him. He seemed to appreciate the notion. Could the key be on that set of them he has there? The keyring in his palm had about eight keys on it, all of different shapes and sizes, making it utterly impossible to guess which was the office’s one. I wonder when he goes into his office. You hadn’t seen him go inside once during your stay there. He probably does it while I’m sleeping.

You beamed, acting as if you hadn’t been whiling the hours away nosing through his cupboards. I’ll have to act as if I still don’t know my way around now. “Oh, I couldn’t sleep, so I just did a few chores to pass the time.”

At least you knew where the vacuum cleaner and broom was now. Useful props towards selling your act completely.

“Ah, I see.” André stooped and kissed the crown of your head, entering further into his home, you on his heels. You were watching his every move. “I’m going to have a shower now,” he said, heading for the bathroom. “You can sleep now. Thanks for cleaning up, you didn’t have to.” “Of course I had to,” you quipped, squeezing his arm, smiling widely. This is going to be tiring. “In a few months, I’ll be living here. I have to adjust, you know?” He grinned back and ruffled your hair. “You’re a real gem, you know that?” And you just beamed at him some more in reply, letting him go into the bathroom. You made your way to the bed and settled in, smile traceless. Let’s pretend to be asleep and see if he goes into his office.

You pulled the blanket well up over your mouth, so only your eyes and nose were showing, and acted to be fully asleep. You even slowed your breathing and increased its volume a little to really make it seem authentic. Let’s hope he falls for it!

The shower soon shut off and the bathroom door clicked open. A pair of feet padded down the hall, and you sensed André enter, heading for his wardrobe. He hadn’t appeared to notice you ‘sleeping’.

That night, you were left in disappointment. André didn’t go to his office—he settled in next to you, sighing wearily, and his soft snores soon sounded. Dammit! I won’t be able to sleep at all at this rate! You were too excited and jittery to notice. I’m going to have to tell Daniel. You really needed extra help, and you could only pray your brother would believe you.

・・・・

“I’m heading off to visit Daniel!” You called out from the front door. André answered back with an ‘okay!’ before you shut the door, opened your umbrella and headed out into the downpour for town. Ugh. Why does it have to rain today of all days?

Was that a bad omen? You had hoped not. You were relentlessly praying things would go smoothly for you.

André was watching you. Closely. You knew that. Now, you were sure that whatever he was involved in was most certainly dangerous—and he was the danger.

I have to tell Daniel everything. You tilted your umbrella up to look at the building in front of you. Just down the block was Daniel and Elvira’s home. Whatever this whole thing is…it means I’m in danger, and so are they.

You had a hunch as to what exactly this debacle involved. You hoped, with everything you had, this wasn’t connected to your mother. Her last words still rang clear as day in your mind.

Daniel and Elvira had recently gotten a doorbell installed, and so you pressed it, hoping they were home. Please be. Please be! I feel like we don’t have much time!

Such was the sense you had been getting of late, ever since the prickly feeling of being watched had started. You subtly looked around the relatively empty street, and apart from a few locals milling about, nothing stood out to you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling. He’s sent someone to tail me, hasn’t he?

You had begun to believe that André suspected you suspected him. Have you been too smiley, too friendly, too loving? Were you overdoing the act?

The door opened, and Daniel’s kind, familiar face greeted you. “Sis! How are you? Come on in. What brings you here?” And as you stepped into his home and the door closed behind you, he squinted at you and asked, “What’s wrong?” You pursed your lips. “I have something very important and very serious to tell you, Daniel.”

He sobered. “I can tell. Come along. Can Elvira hear it too?” “Yes.” It would be best to have support from both of them. “It’s about…André.”

Daniel shot you a look from over his shoulder as he led you further into the house. “About André? Has he done something? What’s going on?”

Elvira then appeared, brows furrowed. “Is something wrong, you two?”

“She’s got something to tell us,” Daniel answered, gesturing to a seat. “Let’s hear it. Have you two broken up? Called off the wedding?”

You sucked in a deep, readying breath. “No. It’s much more grave than that. You see…” You began to fiddle with a stray, loose thread on the sleeve’s hem of your jersey. “I think…André’s up to something.”

Elvira immediately frowned. “Is he cheating on you?” “No! Nothing like that.” It’s worse. “It’s just…I think he’s involved in some shady things. Has been for a long time. Before and during when I first met him, I believe.”

“Shady…” Daniel was staring at you from beneath his brow. His silent question was clear: like mother?

You lowered your head. “Yes.”

He leaned back into his chair, letting out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “That’s…I don’t know, [Name].”

“You have to believe me.” You reached forward and grasped his hand, eyes wide and desperate. Elvira’s expression shifted from one of mild worry to deep concern. “Daniel, are you absolutely sure we burned all that stuff of mother’s back then?”

He blinked at you, evidently perturbed by your tone and the look on your face. “…Yes, I’m sure. We practically ransacked her office. Don’t you remember?” “How could I forget?” Your hand grasping his had begun to shake. He glanced down at it, face blanching with disquiet. I don’t want to voice these suspicions. What if they’re true? “Did I ever tell you what mother said to me as she died?”

You noticed Elvira’s pale, troubled face in the corner of your eye, but you were solely focused on your brother. The uneasiness in Daniel’s expression and eyes was steadily increasing by the second. “I—yes, you did, but I can’t recall what you exactly said.”

“Well.” You sucked in a sharp, unsteady breath. “She said to me, ‘burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulbert will get to you’.” A droplet of cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck. “Who could this ‘Fulbert’ be? What if—what if André is—”

“Now, [Name].” Daniel’s voice took on a stern tone. “We don’t need to be jumping to conclusions here—”

“He’s watching me, Daniel.” Exasperation at not being believed by someone you trust deeply bled into your tone. “He’s watching me. He sent someone to tail me today, as I came to visit you. And every night, he goes out—once, I asked what he’s doing out so late, and he told me to ‘not ask questions’.” You shakily leaned back into your seat, hands trembling on your lap. “And now, he’s sneaking out. A-About a week ago, he promised me that he wouldn’t leave me alone at night anymore, but…but whenever he’s sure that I’m asleep, he heads out. And the door to his office is locked. Every other room is open, except that one, and I can’t find the key. André goes into that office right after he gets home at some ungodly hour and doesn’t come out till morning. I searched everywhere for the key—I’ve even tried to steal it from him, but I just don’t know which one it is, and frankly, I’m scared! He’s not—he’s not…the man I once knew.” The man I once thought I knew. If I’m right, this would explain all of his abrupt disappearances while we’re in the middle of doing something in town. Going on ‘errands’ that takes him hours to complete, leaving me stranded in some restaurant, left to foot the bill myself!

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Elvira spoke up that time, and she moved seats to sit next to you, wrapping a comforting arm around you. “I can see that you’re telling the truth. Daniel.” She sharply turned to your brother, and he pensively looked up at her. “Should we ask Callas for help?” “C-Callas?” You stuttered, looking at her. “Who’s that?”

“He’s the head of the Spina di Rosula,” Daniel responded, straightening in his seat. “They’re an organisation that helps out citizens the Gardes cannot.”

“Okay? What has that got to do with it?” He sighed. “I’m saying that we could hire them—ask Callas, the president, for help. He has a daughter about your age. She could pose as your friend or something, and help you investigate.”

Elvira squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. “He is a good man. He was a friend of my father’s, and his daughter, Navia, is kind. She could be of great help to you.”

You considered it. It’s not like I have any other option—but what about the fee? “How much are their commissions costs?”

“We’ll cover it,” Elvira immediately answered. She looked at Daniel, who was staring at her in shock. “What’s that look for? Do you not want to help your sister out?” “No! That’s not it.” He ran a hand over his face. “I just…I’m just trying to process this.”

“The reason why I’m here is because ever since we burned mother’s illegal dealings’ records,” you said tightly, “is because I’ve been unable to shake this feeling that we missed something out.” “Well, your worries are baseless, [Name]. I assure you we burned them—”

“No.” You were not about to deny your intuition. “It’s what my gut says, and it’s been saying this for years. We missed something out. I’m sure of it. And I also have a gut feeling André has his hands on it.”

Daniel shook his head, shifting in his seat. “I just…I can’t picture André doing all this. Are you absolutely sure?” You glowered at your brother. “I am the one who lives with the man. I am the one who knows his routine back to front. Why would I lie about this?”

“Lay off on her, Daniel.” Elvira’s tone was dangerous. “I can’t believe you’re questioning her. I can feel her shaking. She’s not lying.”

Your brother looked at both of the women sitting before him one by one, studying either of your expressions intently. And then, he finally relented, sighing. “Alright. I believe you. If you were lying, you wouldn’t look so scared.”

You sighed in relief, relaxing into Elvira. She gave you another comforting squeeze, and you turned your head to her. “What’s the time? Would we be able to go visit this Spina-thing?”

“They’d still be open.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Yeah. Their base is actually in Poisson, but they have a headquarters here in town. Let’s go. Do you want to come, Daniel?”

“Yes, of course.” He stood from his seat, and you both followed. Daniel reached for you and gave you a hug. “If André is doing anything shady, we’ll get him behind bars.”

“I just pray I’m wrong,” you answered into his shoulder, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I don’t think…I don’t know how I’m going to handle this.”

Elvira joined in on the hug. “You’ll be fine. We’re here.” She kissed your cheek in an older-sisterly manner. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

You just smiled weakly back, fighting tears. Something dark swirled in your gut. Something like fear—and, oh, how right you were.

The three of you headed off into town, and you knew you were being followed. Whoever André had hired, had been waiting for you.

“We’re still being followed,” you hissed to the two of them. “Don’t look back. I don’t want them to report to André saying that we knew.” Elvira was holding your hand, and she squeezed it. “It’s alright. We’re almost there.”

Soon enough, you all stopped before a humble, inconspicuous building. In you went, and Daniel first approached the desk. “We’re here to enquire if President Callas is available for consultation.”

The secretary at the desk flipped through a ledger, humming. Then she looked up at you all, smiling. “You’re in luck. He’s free right now, just in his office there.” “Much appreciated.” Daniel nodded at the woman and turned to you and Elvira. “[Name], we’ll wait out here for you. Go on in.”

Nervous, you followed the secretary as she tapped on a door, calling out, “Sir, you have a client here to see you.”

“Let them in,” came the reply, and the woman opened the door for you. You were inexplicably anxious.

Sitting at a large desk was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with an eyepatch and his blond hair tied back into a low ponytail. His only visible blue eye flicked up from the paperwork he was perusing and faced you. “Ah, welcome, miss.” At his side, in a smaller chair, sat a beautiful young woman about your age, maybe younger, who stared up at you with a clear-eyed, sparkling gaze that held much less intensity than the man’s next to her—presumably her father, given their great resemblance. Her hair was sun-gold like her father’s—his a bit paler, conveying his age—and her welcoming smile was instantly comforting.

These people are kind, you thought, accepting the man’s invitation for you to take a seat before him. The girl must be Navia, his daughter, the one Elvira talked about.

“What is your name, miss?” asked the man, who held a pen poised to write. You squirmed in your chair and answered accordingly, giving your first and last name.

He swiftly jotted it down, placing the pen aside and steepling his fingers before his face as he leaned his elbows against the desktop before him. “I am Callas, the president of this organisation, the Spina di Rosula.” Then he gestured to the girl beside him. “And this is my daughter, Navia, who works closely with me in this establishment. Now, what brings you here today?”

“Well, sir, I have some concerns about my fiancé, you see.” As the words came forth, you soon realised just how foolish and trivial you sounded. “The thing is, he’s been acting awfully…suspicious as of late. Always sneaking out at night, won’t tell me things, and his office is always locked.” This sounds like I’m just complaining about a cheating intended! “I know it just seems like he’s fooling around with another woman, but it is much more intricate and shady than that.”

“Please elaborate.”

“In all the years I’ve known him, there have been things he’s always hidden from me.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “For context, I grew up in the Fleuve Cendre with my brother. My mother, to make a living and feed us, was involved with unscrupulous individuals and illegal transactions. Most were very endangering to herself and thus my brother and I. She basically ran an entire bootleg organisation of her own, and it was getting quite successful. I don’t know the exact details of what went wrong, but something definitely went terribly awry when I walked in on her swallowing a cyanide pill.” His daughter’s face fell into one of sympathy, but you ignored it and continued on. “As she was dying, she told me to, ‘burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulburt will get to you’. Those were her exact words. So, I told my brother and we did.” You lowered your eyes. “I know this sounds very incriminating, and we should probably be in prison for not handing in such documents to the Palais to deal with, but our mother’s unlawful business stretched far and wide, and her clients knew of us, her children. We were in danger, so we did as she told us and burned every last record, document and ledger we could find.”

The president’s single visible eye had narrowed. “I’m assuming you missed something out?”

“Yes. You see, we were only teens at the time, maybe a bit older, and foolish. We double checked to make sure we had gotten everything, and it seemed like so, but ever since, I have had this terrible feeling that we did miss something.”

The man shifted in his seat, nodding to you. “Do go on.”

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but my fiancé has always acted strangely. Disappearing out of nowhere while on a date or something, claiming he’s got an ‘errand’ to run—and about two months ago now, as he was putting on his shoes to leave at his usual ungodly, strange hour, I decided I was sick of being in the dark and I asked him where he was going. And he acted in a way I’d never seen him act before. At least, not towards me. He coldly told me that I ‘shouldn’t ask questions’ and he thought he’d made that clear already, even though he has never actually voiced such a thing.”

“I see. And you believe your fiancé is a contraband of sorts, and possibly has whatever item you and your brother missed out in his possession?” “Yes. This suspicion is groundless, and I don’t know where it came from, but it came to me quite a while ago anyway, back when I started to wonder where he gets all this money from, and how he had never really told me what he does for a living. Years ago, back before we got engaged, he told me that he does ‘office work’ when I asked what his job was. He avoided answering the question. It’s not like I saw him doing anything strange, it’s just that his behaviour is, and I could just be paranoid, as I’ve had this premonition that my brother and I missed something for a long time.”

“Hm,” the man hummed thoughtfully, shuffling through a few documents on his desk. “This is an interesting dilemma indeed. However, this organisation is strictly legal, and involving ourselves with a situation that is rooted in crime—committed by you yourself—could potentially be a stain on the Spina di Rosula’s pristine reputation, if it were to come to light. I hope you understand that.”

“Oh, I do, sir, I really do.” Desperation gripped you. “But, you see, I know full well how unconventional my brother and I’s actions were, and although no excuse would be sufficient, we really didn’t know what else to do at the time. And now, I feel trapped into an engagement I no longer want anymore, that no longer feels real anymore—and if I don’t get any help to escape it, I fully believe that once my fiancé’s use for me is spent, my life could be in fatal danger. Please, please help me. I am not wealthy, but just name your price, and I will do everything in my legal power to pay it.”

President Callas studied you with an intent blue eye, and his daughter placed a hand on his arm. “Oh, father, come on, we should help her—”

“One moment, Navia,” he silenced her, holding up a hand. “Now, Mademoiselle [Name], I can see how desperate and genuine you are. And I’d really like to help you, but it isn’t within our principles to conceal such information that you have indulged about your past—”

“Father!” His daughter’s voice sharply interrupted him. He turned to her with a disapproving look, but she continued before he could respond. “Father, think about it. We don’t have any sufficient evidence, apart from her own confession, to present to the court about her past—her mother’s past. How long ago did you say it was, miss?” Miss Navia abruptly addressed you.

“Uh—about…seven or so years ago now, miss. I think I was…fifteen or sixteen when my mother died. I can’t recall exactly.”

She turned back to reason with her father. “There you go. Approximately seven years gone, with no evidence left. What are the chances of this coming to light? Very small. Can’t you see how scared she is? Why can’t we help her out?” The president must’ve had a serious soft spot for his daughter as he actually fell silent and considered her words, unable to hold those big imploring eyes of hers. You liked the girl immediately after that, getting the feeling that if she worked with you, you both would get along very well.

“…Alright,” he finally conceded, nodding reluctantly. “You have a point. I will help you, Miss [Name].” The man presented a contract for you to sign. “Please take your time reading over it. The fees for our commissions stated below.”

“Oh, thank you, good sir.” It felt like a massive weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You could finally breathe again—for a time. “I really can’t thank you enough. You too, miss.” In fact, the man agreeing to this was all thanks to his daughter. You smiled gratefully at her. “You both are, literally, life savers.”

The girl waved it off. “It’s nothing, really! It’s only what we do here.” She stood and you followed, and you both shook hands. “I look forward to working with you.”

“As do I,” you smiled, almost tearing up with how thankful you felt. You offered a hand to the president also, and he, still clearly uncertain about the whole thing, slowly reciprocated the hand shake. “And thank you again, Monsieur Callas. I may have a chance now.”

You quickly signed the contract and agreed on the date you would pay them. Navia said that your next meeting would be three business days from then, meaning on the following Monday you would meet and plan out the investigation. You didn’t know if you would be able to bear the weekend, having been so impatient to get that whole plight over and done with.

Navia saw you out, wishing you safe travels back to your abode, and your brother and sister-in-law all stood from their seats as you emerged from the president’s office.

“Well? How did it go?” Daniel immediately demanded. “Will they help you?” “They will.” You showed him and his wife the contract. “I will meet with them next Monday to discuss how this investigation will go through. You are welcome to tag along. I’ll need a proper excuse to leave the house.”

“See? Things are looking up already.” Elvira, ever the optimist, gave you an encouraging hug. “Soon, it’ll be all over. Nothing to worry about.”

You let out a breath. “I hope so.” If only that coiling snake of foreboding would have stopped twisting around in your stomach. I don’t think things are over yet. How you had hoped they were.

・・・・

The plan was simple. Tail André, follow him to wherever he headed every night, and wait for Navia and her henchmen to arrive as backup if things got physical.

Easier said than done.

You watched as André strode casually down the dark, late-night street, as if he was just going for a walk, not off to do something illicit. And then, hastily, you shut off all the lights except for the two lamps in the lounge and shoved your feet into your shoes, clicking the front door shut behind you and rushing off in his direction.

You made sure there was a good distance between you both—and you hoped he wouldn’t recognise you with this wig on your head. You also had a long trench coat on. And if you stuck to the shadows, in the case that he happened to glance back, he wouldn’t spot you.

You watched as he power-walked down the street, his hands in his pockets in that same languid way of his—a mannerism that no longer made you feel tingly all over. Now, it just aggravated you. Your distrust of him eventually resulted in the slow-but-sure fading of once very-potent feelings for him.

At this point, you were sure he was just keeping you around because you had a use for him. A use you didn’t know, but one you suspected. Were you being paranoid? Probably—and you hoped so, too. Having to deal with things that should have been long handled in the past is no mess anyone wishes to clean up again.

André took a left, turning out of sight. and you broke into a jog to catch up with him. You ran on the grass lining the sidewalk as to muffle your footsteps, before slowing down and peeking around the bend to make sure he wasn’t lying in wait for you or something. Again, paranoia—or was it foreboding?

He was far up ahead again, beginning to head into the town centre, before he crossed the street. André had looked left and right, staying out of sight of the patrolling Mekas—making you hastily hide behind a rubbish bin to avoid being spotted. A cat hissed at you, scuttling away, and you carefully watched as he melted into the shadows of a dark alleyway.

You rushed across the street also and sidled up to one of the buildings’ front wall, staying away from the illuminated spots in the street by the lampposts, peeking once more around the corner and into the alleyway. Just in time to have caught sight of two double doors swinging shut.

Hold on… You deemed it safe and followed after him, approaching the doors. Isn’t this one of the back entrances to…the Fleuve Cendre?

Easing one of the doors open, you squinted into the dark foyer before you, a single light overhead flickering irregularly, its bulb on well on its way out—but it was enough to illuminate the stairs descending down into further darkness. A chill skittered down your spine.

Your heart wouldn’t let up its incessant pounding in your ears, leaving you virtually deaf to any and all warning sounds around you. Deciding to just brave it, you let the door ease shut behind you and felt around for some stair railing, almost sighing audibly with relief once you found one on the left wall, trying to ignore its grimy, rusty texture to the touch. Okay. Let’s do this.

As silently as you could manage, you descended the stairs, trying to hurry while also trying to not, which proved terribly frustrating, and you cursed yourself for forgetting to bring a flashlight. There isn’t a single light installed down here! Who runs this place? Are they an idiot or what?

Being very careful to not miss a step and thus take a tumble, you slowly but surely made your way to the bottom, letting yourself relax a bit when you spotted the sliver of light peeking through the bottom set of doors.

You could already hear the bustling sounds of the Fleuve Cendre, the noises almost nostalgic for you, and then you were hit with its same signature stench. Ugh. Just shows you how much the overworld cares about these poor people.

You opened the doors and stepped through, looking around for André. You began to panic when you didn’t spot him for a good three minutes—before that familiar mop of dark hair caught your eye, and you finally noticed André chatting away discreetly with another man well over on the other side of the quay you stood on.

This unfamiliar individual was hooded, his face indecipherable, especially from this distance, and you quickly began advancing on them prudently, sticking to tall crates and boxes stacked up as places of refuge if they happened to have a little look around.

You took the path across the canal where the sewer water passed through underneath, thus over on their side of the Fleuve Cendre. You crept along the wall, before coming to a stop behind some crates a few metres away from André and his mystery companion. Smiling rather wearily to yourself, you inwardly lauded the stealth you didn’t know you had. I kinda feel like a secret agent right now.

This was no laughing matter, however. You sobered, and ordered yourself to focus on the task at hand.

You were close enough to catch snippets of their conversation.

“…You’re telling me…didn’t mention anything strange…how long?”

Even for such a late hour, the sewers were still busy, and thus the white noise all around blotted out some of the vital pieces of dialogue from the hooded man and André. From what you could catch, you deduced André was probably talking about you, if the ‘didn’t mention anything strange’ part was related to the man he had assigned to tail you wherever you went. You wished you could get closer, but that would require stepping out into the open, meaning you’d be instantly busted.

It was the hooded man who was asking the questions, and nodding respectfully at André whenever he answered them. You could only guess that this bear of a man was André’s lackey or something. He was much burlier than André, with an imposing, hazardous vibe to him—one that told you crossing swords or being caught by this man would not end well. Especially if your hunch was right—that you were, in fact, their target.

How long have you been the target? You don’t like to think about the high chances of finding out that all these years with André was just a sham. You thought you had been adequately preparing yourself mentally for such a skirmish, but you didn’t know if you truly were.

You watched as the hooded man said something to André and André nodded, delivering a friendly pat to the man’s massive shoulder, before turning around and striding off in the opposite direction.

You were well-hidden, but you still ducked down and pressed yourself right up against the wooden crates as André sauntered past. You also listened intently for the unknown male’s fading footsteps and, once sure they were both well out of eyesight, you peeped up and out, looking in the direction André traipsed off to, before hastily following after him.

Our men will be dressed in casual clothing commonly seen in the Fleuve Cendre, you recalled Navia’s words as she slipped on a pair of sunglasses. But they will be recognisable by the sunglasses they will be wearing. Inconspicuously conspicuous, I call it.

You spotted an unfamiliar man clad in faded-brown trousers and a musty button-up tee, hair hidden by a raggy old beret and with a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. He caught your eye, and gave you a nod.

You spotted more around, all watching after you, all waiting for the set time to get into action to come around. Fifteen minutes is all I’ll need to rummage around wherever André is off to. You kept your eyes on his back, blending in with what crowd there was. Most people were shutting up their stalls for the night, heading back to their run-down homes. It’s almost midnight right now. Navia said they’ll act at quarter-to-one. I have just less than an hour. Plenty of time.

If André was really up to what you suspected he was, then hopefully, with the Spina’s help, you’d be able to put him behind bars. And as much as you forced the hurt you felt at the thought, you knew you had to do this.

He took another turn, and ascended some rather rickety stairs, and entered a dim-lit, decrepit building. It was more like a cabin than anything—a structure commonly seen around the Fleuve Cendre—and you were suddenly left in quite the predicament. How am I supposed to get in there? It looked very small, the interior likely tiny, and with this shady business of André’s, he and any other individuals inside would immediately ask questions upon your abrupt, unbidden arrival. Your disguise was not so good as to fool your fiancé up close. And if you were recognised, that was it.

I still need to give Navia time to finish preparing. She would’ve likely still been consulting the uncorrupted Gardes up above in the overworld for help with this one, and sometimes, they could be notoriously difficult to negotiate with. Shall I wait and see if André comes out of that building? Don’t I look strange just standing here, watching the door? Am I drawing attention to myself?

You had a look around, and felt your heart physically plummet for the ground when you spotted that same mountainous man standing right across from you—on the other far side of the Fleuve Cendre, with only canals separating you both—his bulked arms folded across his wide chest, and you could feel him watching you. He likely hadn’t recognised you, but he knew what you were doing, and who you were watching.

You swallowed, trying not to panic. Dammit, if he causes a fuss, everything will be for naught!

You had a bit of a staring competition with him, until he finally uncrossed his arms and turned away, heading off somewhere—likely to notify some informants. Thanks to him having spotted me, we probably have much less time to get in and out without a hitch now! You deeply feared what André was capable of. If he had such lackeys like that running around, this would probably be over before it had even begun.

I need to act fast. Otherwise you’d have a heart attack from the panic and dread that’s pulsating in your veins, inhibiting you from thinking clearly and quickly. I’m going to have to brave it. There are probably other men around here like that big one who are watching me right this moment. It was a matter of now or never.

Ascending the stairs with all the agility your rather unfit self could muster, you tried to peep into the single window of the door, but it was covered with thick layers of old newspapers. It didn’t just look run-down from this close up—it looked abandoned. As it was meant to, you had surmised.

You tried the rusty doorknob, not knowing whether to feel relieved or alarmed at how it twisted easily in your grip and gave way, the door opening. Easing it open further, you peeked inside, squinting, only met with inky darkness. Okay. So, this little house is not what it seems at all.

Obviously, there was something much larger connected to it, likely an extended interior of a building, so you braved it and slipped inside, clicking it shut behind you. You blinked several times, standing still to let your eyesight adjust to the darkness of the room, and finally started to creep forward further into the room.

It smelt musty and sour in there, like old, moth-eaten curtains in need of a good wash, and spilt beer from long ago staining the wood of the floorboards. There must be a door ahead.

Extending your hands, you tried to feel about the place to get a proper bearing on your surroundings. Your fingers brushed against something, and grasped it. It was warm, furry, and—

It squeaked in fright at your sudden grip, and you let out a muted shriek of your own, wrenching yourself back. There was the sound of hurried scrabbling, and you fought back the wave of nausea that had immediately drenched you at the realisation of what you had grabbed. Oh my god! That was a rat!

“Ew, ew, ew,” you softly whimpered to yourself, fighting back rising bile. Spooked, you wanted nothing more than to just turn around and head home at that moment. However, the sudden flicker of a light glinted in the corner of your eye, and you whipped around to see the faint sliver of an orange glow from the bottom of a door just over to your left. And then, abruptly, you heard the sound of three sets of stomping feet climb the stairs outside.

Thinking fast, you practically flew to the door, hastily feeling around for a lock, and almost cried in relief when you felt a deadbolt in the centre of the doorknob. Swiftly twisting it locked, you backed well away from the door and looked around, barely able to make anything out in that pitch darkness, before diving behind a shelf just out from the wall enough to squeeze in between.

The cobwebs were thick back there, and they instantly got stuck in your wig and tickled at your nose; the dust was so strong, you could barely restrain yourself from sneezing. Oh, please, please, please let there be no spiders back here! Your imagination was running wild and worsening your fear, bringing phantom sensations of little spider legs scuttling across your back and neck to life.

Tears pricked at your eyes from the dust and from fear as the doorknob rattled violently, before a masculine voice cursed and kicked the door in viciously. It was too forceful of a kick for the rickety old door to handle however, and in flew the door, crashing against the ground, its wood splintered and absolutely wrecked.

There wasn’t even any point in locking it! At least it gave you three seconds extra time to hide, though—and suddenly, all your fears about spiders back there behind the bookcase vanished as the sound of that thickset man stormed in—and, from what you could hear—there were two much smaller men flanking him. You didn’t dare to peep out from around the corner of the bookshelf; the books stacked on the shelves were so compact, not even a sliver of light shone through them.

A deep, harsh voice ordered, “I saw that bitch follow the Monsieur and creep in here after him. Turn this place upside down.”

‘The Monsieur’? Your blood turned to ice. André? Oh my god. Just how…big of a crime boss is he?

Who would have thought that you—an average, normal and utterly harmless young woman—would ultimately get involved with even more unscrupulous dealings almost ten years on from the death of the main perpetrator—your mother? If you were trying to laugh this off, you would’ve mentioned how it sounded so ridiculous, it was like it was right out of some shoddy crime/mystery novel. However, these men were on the hunt for you, and it was only a matter of very little time until they checked behind this shelf and dragged you out.

This can’t be real. You pinched yourself, shaking. I have to be dreaming. There’s no way this is reality!

You crept back further in behind the bookshelf, praying the darkness back there would be enough for them to miss you. You listened as the men trudged around, making a huge ruckus, the determination to find you evident in the mere volume and forcefulness of their movements.

And then the sound of a door clicking open sounded, and the three men immediately stopped.

Silence. You didn’t even dare to breathe. Hand over your mouth, you stared at the shadows cast by the light from outside, only stopping at the edge of the bookshelf, before a voice finally began speaking after ten long seconds of agonisingly tense stillness.

“What’s all this, boys?” It’s André. You could just imagine him standing in the doorway of wherever he’d emerged from with his hands in his pockets, posing languidly, like always. “You’re making an awful racket. I could hear you all the way from the end of the hall. I’m trying to focus, you know.”

Not a single word he uttered had lost that classic warm, friendly tone of his, but somehow—even though you’d never seen it yourself—you could easily picture the iciness in his smile. So easy-going, so unpredictable.

“Oh, boss, I’d spotted someone tailing you, sneakin’ around up here,” one of the men said, presumably the huge one. “A woman. Wearin’ a wig. She’s in here somewhere.”

“Yeah?” There was the sound of two slow footsteps entering the room. “Wonder who it could be.” Two more sounded, and they’d edged closer to the bookshelf. Stifling a fearful gasp, you flattened yourself best you could completely against the wall, its paper yellowed and peeling, scratching against the material of your trench coat. It elicited a soft scritch-ing sound, and the room had been so silent, you were almost sure they’d have heard it.

“Any guesses, mes amis?” André stopped right in front of the bookcase, and you heard him tap on the hard, dusty spine of some long-forgotten, neglected book stored in the shelf right above your head. “I’d like to hear them, if you don’t mind.”

“I reckon it’s your missus-to-be,” said an unfamiliar voice, its tone nasally and sneering. “You said she’d been actin’ pretty fishy as of late, boss.”

His two other companions concurred in unison, snickering to themselves. You didn’t see what was so funny about this—but then, you supposed, and you were the one who was going to be on the receiving end of whatever sinister outcome André had planned for you.

“Sound suppositions, boys,” André’s lilting voice singsonged, grating on your anxious nerves. He slowly slid out whatever book he had ‘selected’, and a sliver of light instantly shone in from the gap in the books. You swiftly ducked down even further, practically lying flat on the ground, and revulsion almost made you gag from the rat and mice droppings you could feel littering the floor below you. Hurry up, Navia! “I’ve been wondering what to do with her. Maybe this time, I’ll finally have a reason to be rid of her, yeah?” “Haw-haw! She’s doin’ all the work for us—” “Boss!” A new, urgent voice called from outside, and the sound of frantic running ensued. It swiftly stopped right outside the (now doorless) entrance to the cabin. “We have a problem!” André’s voice didn’t even waver from its signature cool, humorous cadence. “Ah. What’s got you in such a right panic, Alain?”

“It’s the blasted Spina, Monsieur. They’re causing trouble again. Much of it.”

André must’ve cracked open the book he picked out, for the sound of it suddenly snapping shut made you flinch roughly. “Is that so?” His tone wasn’t so warm anymore. “Is it the president’s darling daughter skylarking about in my business again?” “I-I’m afraid so, sir. She’s—”

“No matter. Let’s go. Seems as if I must have a bit of a chat with the girl myself, this time.” One pair of booted shoes marched for the entrance, followed by three more. “Calvin, you stand guard here. If my fiancé tries to leave, feel free to knock her out.”

“Yessir.” You didn’t know whether to be glad it was not the big huge guy assigned to stand guard, or whether to start fretting over the fact that he was just toying with you this entire time. He knew I was hiding behind here! Oh, thank the Archons he was interrupted!

It appeared that the fuss Navia must’ve been kicking up was of much more demanding urgency than you being hidden in this room. You waited until André and his companions’ footsteps faded, before straightening from your position on the ground. A plan was hatching in your head. Let’s just see who will really be the one getting knocked out around here, André Banville.

The bookshelf was tall enough for you to stand to your feet and quietly brush yourself off while keeping you hidden. A few of your bones popped and clicked from the stretch. Ugh. I’ll be needing a good long shower after this!

You looked around on the bookshelf, searching for a book big and heavy enough to smack this ‘Calvin’ over the head with and knock him out cold. Soon, you spotted a huge tome quite high above your head, and you lifted yourself up onto your toes to grasp it.

How will I have the strength to swing it around? This one is huge! It didn’t occur to you just how much adrenaline was racing through your veins, and how much of a boost in vigour that is. You finally got a grip on it, and began slowly, gradually, and quietly easing it out from its spot in the shelf.

It took up much of your energy, having to be so quiet. The man standing guard in the doorway didn’t know exactly where you were in that room, and you didn’t want him to find out until it was too late—for him.

“Alright, lady, you can step out now,” came his voice—and you groaned under your breath at recognising just which one of the men Calvin was: the nasally-voiced one, the sort that reminded you of a rat. “You ain’t got nowhere to run, y’know. The boss will prob’ly be havin’ a tonne of fun with you tonight.”

And so you did. You stepped out from your hiding space, quiet as a cat, keeping to the shadows, with an enormous tome in your hands. You slowly circled him, watching his every move like a hawk, slowly approaching him. He seemed utterly unaware, merely continuing on with that sneer of his on his grimy face. “He’s been waitin’ for this, y’know—waitin’ for you to come to yer senses and realise what ’e’s been up to. Was dreadin’ the wedding day ’n everything.”

Is that true? Even with all these questions flying back and forth in your head, you continued to approach the pathetically oblivious man, tome held over your head, ready to bring it down on his. “Better cherish yer last moments, I’d say—”

“Boo.” For dramatic effect, you sidled up to him and hissed into his ear, making the man leap out of his skin with a very unmanly screech. You didn't give him any more time to react, however, as you quickly swung the book down and onto his skull, whacking him over the head with every ounce of strength you had left.

A resounding crack sounded once the book made contact with his cranium, and he flopped to the ground, without a sound, face-first, his musket clattering from his hold and to the ground.

Did I kill him? You almost froze with fear before you knelt down beside him and hastily checked his pulse. The blow you dealt to his skull was stronger than you intended, and you heard it fracture—a sickening sound you never wanted to hear again. Feeling at his wrist, you almost slumped over with relief once you felt the faint pump-pump in his arm, meaning he was still alive, but you likely gave him brain damage with that bash you dealt. And you found that you didn’t really care if you did.

Straightening, you brushed off your hands and looked to the wide-open doorway André had emerged from, squinting into the darkness of the hall leading on. A pale yellow glow shone faintly at the end of the hallway and, without wasting another second, you stepped over the unconscious body of Calvin’s and rushed into the hallway.

Soon enough, you came to the end of it, standing before an ajar door. You could hear jazz music, of all things, softly trickling out from the office, and you pushed the door open, closing it back to its same ajar state as it was before, and thus striding into the room and taking it all in,

Towering bookshelves lined the walls, and the desk in the middle of the room was cluttered and stacked with papers, books, folders and binders absolutely packed full to the brim of more papers. A single fountain pen sat idly in a jar full of ink, and that’s when you realised it.

This is his base. You walked in further and picked up a random piece of paper. It was some kind of document, going on about proceedings for the (illegal) shipment of firewater to Mondstadt.

Firewater. You flung the paper away from you like it had burned your hand. Oh my god. Don’t tell me.

Unwilling to dally any longer, you swiftly settled in at his desk and began rummaging through his drawers, cabinets—everything that you could find that had something of importance in it.

And from what documents you could find, each one was one horror after the other. He runs an entire syndicate! Document after document displayed crucial information regarding dealings André had been doing—for the past seven years.

“Oh my god…” you gasped to yourself, reading the date of one record. It was an entry penned by André’s very own hand—written the day after you met André for the first time. It read, Located the woman’s daughter. Won’t be long until she introduces me to her brother. Finally, the ledger can be put to use.

Ledger? You felt lightheaded, as if the blood had been drained from you. And…is he talking about my mother? Is that who ‘the woman’ is?

Hurriedly, you yanked open another drawer and heaved out what items were stored in there—and a leather-bound notebook slipped out from the bundle of papers and plopped to the desk.

With shaking hands, you picked it up, unclipping its clasp, and easing it open.

There was a name written inside of the cover—and it was your mother’s name.

Bloody hell! You leapt from André’s chair you had sat in and clutched at your hair, ripping off the wig. Gods! I knew we’d missed something! If you didn’t get rid of this account book—this final remaining piece of evidence of your mother’s existence and her organisation, of her legacy—you and your brother would be in dire, dire danger from not only André and his associates, but also the court.

You flipped through the ledger, reading your mother’s handwriting, inspecting all of the recorded transactions of firewater and illegal substances and weapons—as well as the trading of classified parliamentary information for sky-high prices, paid for by the Fatui.

As you rapidly flipped through the pages, almost tearing the papers in your haste, the written annals and logs penned by your mother came to an abrupt stop. There was just nothing after that, leaving about a quarter of what paper was left in the ledger, blank.

Something caught your eye—a folded slip of yellowed paper peeking out from the very back cover of the ledger, left tucked into the book for a long while. Hands trembling so violently, you could barely get a grip on it, you pulled it out and placed the ledger down, unfolded the piece of paper.

Inside was a letter. And it was from your mother.

To my dearest son and daughter,

I was never a good mother to either of you. I neglected you, all for the sake of nothing, in the end. Without any other choice, I founded a hub for criminals, something that would make me money without having to resort to the final pis aller and sell my body for a coin. No brothel would take in a middle-aged woman, anyway. Instead, I opted to get my hands dirty instead. With a lot of blood, if all amounted up. It shames me, it does, and I know it sounds as if I was making excuses, but I really had no choice.

If you are reading this, it could be that you were snooping around, or that I am dead. I suspect the latter more. As I write this, I can only hope that you do find and have the chance to read this someday. Please don’t let this ledger fall into the wrong hands. You must get rid of my legacy completely, and lead better lives than I.

I am undeserving to ask for this, but,

Love,

Mother.

Tears blurred your vision completely, and you gasped back a sob. With violently quivering fingers, you set the letter face-down, collapsing into the chair behind you.

Curse you! You inwardly swore, forcing back the wails fighting to burst out. Curse you! Look at this mess you made! That you left for me to clean up! It had become like a hereditary curse—an ancestral sin—she had left on you, just like in those fantasy books, one that is inescapable, and always reveals itself in the lives of at least one of the forebearer’s offspring. That being your mother, in this case. And, oh, had it revealed itself—the entire blissful reality with André was nothing but a fraud—he was nothing but a fraud—and it was falling apart right before your very eyes.

In the midst of your misery and fight to regain your rationality, you spotted some kind of logo in the corner of your eye, printed in harrowing dark green ink on the top left corner of a document tossed on André’s desk, one you hadn’t picked up before, and you weakly shoved the manila folder dumped on top of it away, exposing it to the light fully.

Your eyes narrowed, your stomach rolling in foreboding. Hold on…does that say…? You dearly hoped it didn’t. That would mean…

It was a brand’s emblem—in this case, the official coat-of-arms, of sorts, for André’s organisation.

The Fulbert Union.

A door slamming open wrenched you from your thoughts before you could fully process what you had just found. Startled, you flinched back at the sound, your head snapping up, and you were met with the glacial stare of your fiancé.

“You probably won’t believe me, but…” André strolled casually into the room, prowling towards you, flicking open a lighter and bringing a cigarette to his lips, igniting it, before inhaling a long, drawn-out, insouciant drag of it. He tapped it, breaking the ashes from its end, letting the dead embers flutter to the floor as he puffed out a substantial haze of smoke. The smell made you want to gag. “I really did enjoy the time we spent together. You know, going around town, going on those dates, me spending money on you—you see, it was all for a good benefit, in the end.”

“That benefit being me—your source of profit—‘in the end’?” “You catch on quickly,” he smiled, but his eyes did not. “That’s another thing I’d always liked about you. However, I liked you better when you didn’t ask questions, and you stayed out of my business.”

For every step he took towards you, you took three back. You wanted nothing more than to poke that alight cigarette into his eyes and burn them out—and you glared such sentiments at him, making sure he knew it. “I don’t have the words to express how much I want to strangle you right now.”

“The feeling is quite mutual.” André’s tone was warm, but it was the kind of warmth that scalded, that killed. “You poking around in here has, essentially, signed your death warrant. And would you look at that—” he held up a piece of paper, and it was a death certificate, with your name and personal details all written out in neat penmanship—ready to be presented to the mortician at any time. “—I actually have it all written up right here. Thank you, mon bijou, for making things so convenient for me.”

“Do you know how pathetic you sound right now?” Desperation to get the hell out of there wasn’t letting you think, and you were only left to just blurt out any old hateful word you could to try and land some kind of blow on him before you met your end. “I see it now. You’re one massive egomaniac—and if I think about it, you always were.”

André coolly arched a brow, unfazed by your insults. “Slandering me to my face won’t achieve anything, honey. In fact, to me, it just sounds like you’re eager for death. Well, then, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” You didn’t even have time to blink when he shot forward, throwing something purple at you—and you realised, in the blur of the moment, that this man had a Vision, and was using the power of Electro on you to render you paralysed for a time.

“Nope, not a Vision.” As if reading your thoughts, André held up a little circular object, and its dark, warped, swirling interior beneath its glass encasing conveyed its true nature. “It’s a Delusion, dearest. Kind of what you’ve been living in for the past three—no, seven—years.”

He had a hand wrapped around your throat tightly, and you didn’t have the strength to fight his grip. The Delusion’s electrifying power had successfully weighed down your bones and dulled your nerves so you were like lead. Completely at his mercy—something that this man did not have for you.

“It’s really a shame for you, you know? You could’ve played along, and I would’ve given you a quiet death later on, maybe a few months after our wedding. Died of perfectly natural causes—maybe taking a little ‘tumble’ off a cliff as we stroll about the landscape together on our honeymoon, falling deathly sick from ‘food poisoning’, or, maybe—” Something else replaced his hand—and this new grip on your throat was dry, coarse, and it burned as it was wound around your neck. You let out a desperate, choked and muffled shriek as you realised what it was. He’s going to strangle me! Hang me from the ceiling! “—a bit more of a tragic demise, such a devastating end for the family—death by suicide.”

The noose was fully wound around your throat, and André seemed satisfied with its taut grip on your neck. He stepped away from you, the rest of the rope in his hold, as he smiled malevolently down at you, slinging the rope over a little hook in the ceiling, and then he paused to continue chatting. “Had that hook up there installed the other day. Wasn’t actually meant for this—but, well, I’d say I’m a bit of a master at making better of a rather dull situation.”

You couldn’t even lift your arms to clutch at the rope, the shock he had dealt to you was too potent, too much for your body to overcome. Help me! Someone, please, help me! But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get anything else other than a pathetically soft whimper out. It amused André immensely, seeing you struggle so hard. “I find myself feeling very grateful that you never asked for sex or whatever. It pained me to even propose to you. You get me? My tastes in women are much more…” he looked you up and down with a scrutinising, rather repulsed gaze, and you felt his words and loathsome stare pierce you in your stomach. “…Refined. Anyway! That’s as irrelevant as you are, really. You helped me out a lot today, mon bijou. I owe it to you. Here’s your payment.”

And then he began pulling; heaving you up bit by bit, higher and higher, tightening the rope’s grip on your throat to the point where it broke the burned skin of your nape and bled—squeezing your throat so tautly to the point where air flow through your larynx was completely cut off.

Panic had embedded itself into every fibre, every cell, every atom of your body, and the despairing fight to survive never relented—but it was pointless. You were finished. All your brain could manage now was to flash every good and bad memory you possessed right before your eyes—and, as if to taunt you in your final moments, it showed you all the happy times of laughter and camaraderie with André, with your brother, with Elvira, with your workmates. But it was especially with André, as he had become the sole source of the best memories you had, and you detested it. Why must it be his face I look upon fondly as I die, when he is my killer? The gods must have truly, truly abhorred you—for a reason you will never know.

You were dangling in midair, not quite high enough up yet, and André was still talking. “Your suicide note is all written up—and in your handwriting, by the way—but, damn, if only you’d left it until we were back at the house. Then it would’ve looked a bit more convincing. How weird would it be if you randomly offed yourself in my office, huh?” He heaved a long-suffering sigh, as if fatigued at the mere thought of having to pose your murder as a suicide. “I’ll work it out. Actually, no, this is better…” André knotted the rope around the hook twice to make sure it held, before stepping back, hands on his hips as if to admire some artwork he’d created—that being your suspended frame hanging helpless above him. “I’ve got plenty of backup. We’ll just dump you somewhere—”

Black ants were crawling into the edges of your vision, gradually blotting out everything, obscuring that horrid face of his from your sights, and the memories were flickering out into nothingness, finally. You closed your eyes, accepting it. If this is how it ends, then this is how it ends. With what ability you had left to think, you could only pray that in your next life, you would be granted a better chance.

Faint, echoing sounds of commotion and yelling indistinctly resonated in your ears, but you were too far gone to decipher it. You barely even felt the rope being sliced just above your head and you dropping into someone’s hold, the person’s arms thin but strong, their perfume sweet, but mixed with sweat from exertion, and the sensation of curls brushing against your nose. You hardly felt any of that. All that was left was to fade away completely.

・・・・

“When I woke up, Navia, my brother and my sister-in-law were all passed out by my bed. They must have been at my side the entire time, waiting for me to wake up, for only the gods know how long.”

A gentle finger traces random patterns on your bare hip, his hand’s hold so warm, so soothing. Unwavering amethyst eyes gaze into your own, taking in your tear-stained face with no hint of judgement or criticism at all. “How long were you out for?” You frown, thinking. “Hm…Navia said something like…three or four days? I don’t know. Apparently, I was extremely close to death—if she and her men had been even half a minute late, I would not be lying here with you today.”

Neuvillette falls silent, merely continuing to gently massage your hip, his thumb rubbing circles into your flesh, as if to anchor you and help you feel consoled, seen. “…I find that to be a scary thought.”

You sniffle, choking out a feeble laugh. “Haha. That’s nice of you.”

“Nice of me? Is that all? Is that all you believe?” His arm encircles your waist and presses you flat against his torso, the ridges of his abdomen digging deliciously into yours, and he holds you so you’ve no choice but to stare up at him. That gaze of his holds such raw intensity again, it whips the breath from your lungs. “I wish you’d stop thinking like that. Why base your self worth on words a man who almost murdered you, and who is now dead, threw at you? His words mean nothing. They only have meaning if you allow them to. Why don’t the words of those around you who love you take precedence?” “Because it’s hard, Neuvillette.” You drop your eyes. They’re filling with tears again. Ugh, shouldn’t I be out of these already? “I—look, three years of what seemed like genuine love and affection and support, all razed to the ground in a matter of minutes. Insecurities that I had were ones he once told me were beautiful. How do you expect me to not believe that? But then he switches up as he’s killing me and says that his tastes are more ‘refined’,” you scoff, before drawing in a shuddering breath. “A-And then, he goes along and says that he was basically forcing himself to shower me with such warmth, and then he says that—”

“That’s enough,” Neuvillette softly commands, tenderly brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I see where you’re coming from. But, would you like me to tell you something?” You blink up at him, uncaring of the tears blurring your vision. “What?” you sniffle.

“In all my long years of living…” His lips meet your forehead. “I’ve never coveted something…” And then his mouth presses to your temple. “…So much. I never knew what it was like to want a person so dearly, so intensely, that I would gladly abandon all reason and precept if she so wished for it.” And he buries his face into your nape, lips ghosting over the scar on your neck, making you shudder in pleasure. “Precept that is my very being, what I live for—but what worth does it possess when she has such supremacy over it?”

“Neuvillette, I…don’t lie to yourself, you can’t—”

“Am I not one who has never been predisposed to lying?” Neuvillette peers up at you earnestly from his spot in your nape. “What makes it so hard for you to believe?” He licks his lips, eyes lidded. “Well, then, if I must show you once more—”

“N-No! Th-That’s quite alright, I believe you…” His displaying of excessive amounts of affection has made your brain short circuit, and you bury your face into his hair instead. “I don’t want you to forfeit centuries of such eminent principles you’ve upheld all this time, for a single mortal woman.” You feel him still beneath you, and you take this chance to continue. “I am merely a fleeting affair, Neuvillette—something that will barely last twenty years. You cannot simply renounce a role of extreme gravity not just to this nation, but to surrounding ones as well, because I would say so—which I will never. You are the Chief Justice. You are impartial. I am not an exception.”

He is silent, and as you fall quiet too, your own words settling in, and you realise just how hurtful your little speech had been. But the truth has always hurt, and it’s something you’ve long learned to face.

“…Happiness has always been a luxury for me,” Neuvillette finally says after a long, long moment of tormenting silence. “I just…want to indulge a little, for once.” “I know.” Your voice is gentle, comforting. “I know. But…unless there was some kind of way that I could become immortal and thus stick with you for the rest of your long life…this will only become a painful memory for you in the future.”

Neuvillette shifts beneath you, revealing his face. His eyes are thoughtful, but hesitant. They stare into yours for a few seconds before they lower. “…Yes. If only there was a way.”

Something in his gaze just now struck you with a peculiar feeling—what if he…knows a way? You’ve always surmised that this man is hiding some great secret from you—something directly involved with his true identity.

You’ve had your suspicions, but they’re not something you like keeping. And, it’s not really any of your business. If he is who you think he is, then there truly wouldn’t be a chance for you, anyway.

“You’ll move on.” You massage his scalp, and his eyes close in bliss, but a knot forms between his brows at your words. “You’ll eventually forget me. You’ll be fine.”

Neuvillette abruptly clutches you close, smothering your mouth with his, silencing you. “Stop being depressing for a moment,” he chuckles between kisses, relishing your surprised, soft squeaks and pants. “And let me make you happy.”

But his laughter is pained, forced, and you sense that—but you humour him anyway. The selfish part of you is saying, anyway, what’s there for me to lose? but you are not cruel.

Love is selfless. Love is kind. Love means considering your other half’s concerns over yours. If only that was something you had the privilege to do for him forever.

i have sat. at my mum's desk. for four days and eighteen hours straight, working on this MONSTROSITY of a chapter. TWENTY ONE THOUSAND WORDS. WHAT HAVE I DONE.

anyways i hope u guys enjoyed. i worked really hard on this one. i kinda enjoyed writing this chapter but then it fell off more towards the end. that much is clear.

taglist!

@shiroonekoo @just-here-reading @avyakaslana @eternal-dokja @confusedparticle @xitrinez @tanspostsblog @vcatson @sek0ya @loving-august @mxyarylla @ultigoblin @constantlyoverthinking @pvbbyb0y @lynettezzp @esthelily @furblrwurblr @sangoqueenkoko @lacunaanonymoused @dumb-gemini

#genshin #genshin impact #neuvillette #chief justice neuvillette #fontaine #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin x reader #genshin neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #neuvi #focalors #furina #genshin fontaine

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ultra-raging-ghost · 6 hours

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In response to your post about the upcoming event:

(Feel free not to respond by the way, just wanted to share my thoughts)

I totally agree. Not only does it feel doomposty, but it also just feels almost like a conspiracy theory to me? Like, you don’t know the details about this event, so to automatically assume it’s being run in bad faith or because of x or y thing currently happening is kind of…well I think it certainly helps me form some not so great opinions on those people

You can of course be upset about what’s going on, but it’s important to recognize it is highly unrealistic to keep the server in a permanent limbo state while we wait for information these people want to be public. Those processes take a *long time*. It isn’t necessarily trying to brush off or hide away what has happened, but rather trying to continue forward for the sake of the project

I am responding to this because i agree wholeheartedly

I feel like some people dont understand, legal stuff in the US generally take a couple months to well over a YEAR and i think its the same situation as when the egg figurines were released. QSMP needs revenue, it needs creator and audience interaction, it needs to actually gain money to make the progress people want to see. I am making that point very clear because i have a suspicion it might be streamed on the QSMP twitch channel, bad spotted some behind the scenes camera work, coulda been for the cutscene we got today but i think its for the event personally.

Its kind of obvious (to me at least) when things are admin run, and so far for the past couple weeks EVERYTHING has been ADMIN RUN. They were holding off but eventually went back to rping again because its FUN and they want to have fun on the SERVER. and even the admins NOT ON THE SERVER want it to continue running and continue content being made, are you deaf?? how in the world are you angrier than the people who were affected? what kind of goddamn vigilante justice bullshit??

This probably made no sense, but im excited. Im not gonna not be excited, im not letting anyone ruin the fun of the project

#qsmp #asks #qsmp discourse #qadmin situation

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persephoneflowerpetals · 10 hours

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Sorry for not being very active on here

Just wanted to give an update because a lot has been going on with me and I haven’t even had the time or energy to think about writing or being on this blog because of everything lol.

So, I recently got into a car wreck on the 14th on my way to work. Some guy was trying to make a left turn into the neighborhood I live in on the highway and his engine stalled and (even though he saw me coming and knew that his 20+ year old car had engine problems) he pulled out in front of me to cross but because his engine stalled he didn’t make it and I crashed into him. I’m okay btw!!! Luckily and thankfully I only made it out with a bruised leg, but my car is in bad shape and is most likely totaled because the engine went out after the crash and I couldn’t move my car out of the road nor could I even get out of my car from the driver’s side, I had to escape from the passenger side.

So…yeah, there’s that and I’ve been dealing with a lot of mental health issues because my work has been overworking me and pushing me to my limit and I’m honestly getting really tired of giving my all and breaking my back for this store and getting nothing out of it, like not even a raise (when I asked for one they said it was “being processed by corporate” and apparently this raise has been in the works for me since December so…I don’t think I’ll be getting a raise any time soon tbh and even if I did get a raise it probably wouldn’t be enough to keep me there). Like, just last Wednesday I had a stressed induced illness because I was so burnt out from work and worried about stuff that it made me physically ill so (for the first time ever in 1 year of working at that store) I called out sick (and then that same week I got into the wreck so that was great).

I’m currently working on finding a new job because what I’m dealing with now is getting ridiculous and I honestly really want to be on here and talk to you guys and make posts like I used to, but I feel like I can’t anymore because of life and that sucks. Legit, my boss is making me work 35 hours this week (AFTER MY CAR WRECK 😑) even though she knows what I’m dealing with right now and knows how overworked I am. She had the nerve to say “I don’t want to overwork you” as she adjusted my schedule for the 3rd time because someone who is CONSTANTLY calling out in the store (and they refuse to fire her for some reason AND there’s another employee that’s going to be out all month) can’t come to work for the rest of this week so I have to cover for her. Oh yeah…and you know what else??? I have to train a new employee on top of all of that. I’m not a manager. I’m not even full time. I don’t get vacation time or sick days or paid holidays (even though we literally only get 2 holidays off and that’s Christmas Day and Thanksgiving Day, so not that it even matters anyways) or any kind of benefits. And I don’t get paid extra for training new hires. It’s ridiculous. My boss even asked if I felt comfortable training a new employee after what I’ve gone through with the wreck and how stressed I am (which I respect) and I told her no because I really am dealing with a lot and don’t need the stress of training someone on top of that, yet here I am so…I’m just tired of being a doormat for this company and letting them treat me like a workhorse. It was fine at first because I needed the money (and I still do), but the lack of sympathy after the wreck and being so overworked and stressed that I became physically ill is concerning and I think it’s a sign that I need to move on and find something else.

So yeah, sorry for the rant there but I just wanted to share what I’m dealing with and what I’m going through. Like, I still have stuff at home I have to deal with too and financial issues (and getting in a car wreck certainly doesn’t help that at all), so yeah. I have an interview tomorrow for a job that would really be beneficial to me and would be a perfect fit for me and I’m really hoping and praying I get the job because it’s would just help me so much and it’s such a good job!

Anyways, I know I share updates a lot, but I realized I haven’t really been active on here and I just wanted to share why and kinda release some tension because I’m really going through it lol.

#update #kind of a rant #sorry I’m not one to rant about personal stuff on here but…I got a lot going on lol #it’s not super personal but it’s stressful to me

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 1 month

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home from work

#if I speak…#one of the girls walked out yesterday #the best worker we have is on the verge of blowing up on this bitch’s leaders bc since he can do everything quick and efficiently already #they’re putting 3 to 4 ppl’s workloads on him to see how far they can extend his worth and then they’re over his shoulder the whole time #micromanaging him so today he almost lost it and was literally walking around mumbling about his disrespectful they all are (facts)#and how if they don’t think he’s doing it right then they can do it and I know for a fact one of the ladies heard him #bc he wasn’t even trying to hide it at this point and like this dude is cool he has a lot of patience and helps out any way he can #so if HE’S on the brink of snapping then the rest of us don’t stand a chance LMFAO #anyways today was a fucking mess those leaders know nothing about our store yet so they have us making less than what we need until we need #it so we get behind constantly and they made prep a disaster bc again they think they can just prep a bunch of stuff in the morning #and it’ll last the whole day and yes that works in theory but the reality of the situation is every day is different and today #we sold double what we did yesterday so they had to move me to prep to fix their mistakes bc we were running out of stuff 4 hours in lmfao #and I’m the only one left who knows how to do everything on prep bc the other girls had never done it before #we’re supposed to prep 20 mac n cheese trays in the morning for the whole day #we open lunch at 10:30 tell me why I go into the cooler at 12 put more in the oven and there’s only 5 left #it’s been less than 2 HOURS and you’re already running out of macs which means those idiots prepped barely anything just to try and save mo #*money to cut down waste but that gag if you’re losing money bc now you’re short on everything and customers are leaving bc they’re having #to wait a long time for their food #and macs take 40 minutes to cool LMFAO #I get over there they’re out of parfaits they’re out of fruit cups they’re out of kale salads the front is coming in and having to take #stuff as I make it bc they keep getting orders and it’s all just a fucking mess #I have to make a custom wrap and what happens?? those morons didn’t pull the flatbreads out of the freezer like they’re supposed to every #night so now we have no flatbread and I had to run back there and put them in the warming drawer to defrost and we lost an order bc I had #nothing to make the wraps with <3 #I go back there to get more cold chicken SPOILER ALERT they didn’t have anyone make any this morning so now there’s no chicken for the wrap #and salad and it has to be grilled and then chilled for 2 FUCKING HOURS before it can be used #they’re a fucking disaster like 😭#was the store perfect before?? ofc not but it ran quickly and efficiently as it should and now it’s literally just a mess #this bitch hasn’t even owned it for a full week yet and has already fucked it all up #womp womp!!!!!!

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apostaterevolutionary · 8 months

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You know what would be really funny, is if people came together to have an anti-crab day. A day where every user who joined prior to automattic’s acquisition logged off for 24 hours to show that yes, actually, older user retention is important and you should listen us just as much as new users

The users giveth, the users taketh away

#this isn’t about the sidebar btw I’ve already said I don’t mind the sidebar #I think it could be a better sidebar like the 2014 tumblr layout which was great #but it’s Fine (tm)#this is about live and the new post editor and the apparent avatar removal bs ‘experiment’#and it’s also about how these big overhauls keep being done meanwhile we can’t have like. a search function that works #or the queue reordering tools that already exist on mobile web applied to any other platform #you know. all the little stuff that’s comparatively easy to implement yet they ‘don’t have time’ for because they’re too busy #with these massive overhauls and ignoring all the asks that go to wip #also I don’t expect anyone to actually do this and I’m sure as hell not organizing anything cause that’s a lot of work lmao #but I think giving them money pre-emptivelt just showed they can do whatever they want and we’ll fall for it #taking away money would be more effective #idk I don’t think current staff are any better at running tumblr than yahoo was #they’re just better at the ‘we’re quirky and relatable just like you guys uwu’ bit #and a lot of us fell for it but I think the illusion is starting to lift #anyway idk it sucks here but all the other sites are either worse or empty so what can we do #(genuinely wtf can we do this nonsense is getting bad)#text #misc #shut up nerd #new layout stuff

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lionblaze03-2 · 14 days

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Hate that I can prettymuch never move to any better country than America (Canada, Australia, New Zealand, etc) because they all hate people with autism and if you even have it they don’t let you in. Because they need all the disabled slots for the people born there, why would they take EXTRA ‘useless’ people, duhhh LIKE IM NOT USELESS I’m really good at organizing I’m not a massive burden to take on just because I cry sometimes my benefits and burdens kind of even out PLEASE guys. I don’t want to be stuck here during project 2025 onward

#I wonder. If you’re a refugee because you’re gay. Can they still refuse you for autism #IF. If. We started getting persecuted for that. Like project 2025 plans to #lion’s lair #I want out of this hellhole #But literally only countries worse than us don’t care #Countries that otherwise have sense basically just see autistic people as #Pardon my slur. ‘Retarded’. And whyyy would we accept a ‘retard’ they don’t like. DO anything for us #“They’re gonna COST us money! So let’s not take them”#I DO STUFF. And hell. Even if I didn’t. Even if I was completely non functioning #And needed around the clock care. MY FAMILY STILL DESERVES TO BE ALLOWED TO MOVE #What. You have to abandon your autistic kid just to move somewhere safe? Fucked #Sorry to put it bluntly I just feel like. That’s how those countries see us #As the slur word. Not as on the autism spectrum. But as ‘retarded’.#Because if they actually knew how autism worked and that it wasn’t as simple as slapping a slur on it and moving on #They’d know that people with autism are fucking people. With valid feelings and ideas #We are NOT just a blanket slur word for ‘stupid people’. We are not stupid #I put the word in quotes every time to make sure everyone knows that isn’t MY feelings about it #But my interpretation of someone else’s feelings #IM fucking mad about it #autism

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fluent-in-lesbianism · 1 year

Note

Hey! Saw you were buying PJs for some of your younger clients. How can I help with other “1st night“ (stuffies, blankets, etc) stuff in my town (somewhere in NC) without appearing creepy?

Contact your local CPS agency (during regular business hours) and ask how to donate items. They won’t think you’re creepy, I promise. They’ll probably hug you on sight when you show up. Some agencies even have donation item lists to give you an idea of what they need.

And if you’re having trouble thinking of what they’d need, I can give you a few things I’ve bought my kids that I know other agencies will appreciate the most:

Soap (bar & liquid)

Deodorant

Toothbrushes & Toothpaste (the ones from Dollar Tree that are a toothbrush/toothpaste combo in a little pouch are the best tbh)

Floss

Mouthwash

Shampoo/conditioners (for all hair types)

Menstrual pads/tampons (in all sizes)

Face wash

Lotions (for all skin types)

Diapers & pull-ups

Baby wipes, bottles, pacifiers, etc.

Formula

Lip balms

Underwear

Bras

Socks

Shoes

Laundry detergent

Non-perishable foods

Paper plates, bowls, cups, utensils

#Anonymous #look if you’re giving us stuff #that we don’t have to buy with our own money #we’ll welcome you with open arms 😂

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ham1lton · 16 hours

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summer came like cinnamon (so sweet)

pairing(s): logan sargeant x reader. oscar piastri x reader.

warnings: mentions of mental health, dieting, fractured friendships and constant mention of jim’s ice cream parlour. also different povs, it goes through the minds of all three of the main characters.

summary: after their rookie season, in a bid to repair their friendship, the two drivers decide to take their new paycheques and go explore the sun, sea and sands of greece. what they didn’t anticipate was to bump into you.

wordcount: 5.6k

author’s note: this is my first semi-interactive fic, please give it some love <3 any major issues in travelling and stuff like in terms of logistics? please ignore. also let me know who you’re planning on choosing. team oscar or team logan?

— wanna be updated on the next parts? join my taglist! —

— part one of the summer lovin’ series. —

[ i ain’t a kid no more / we’ll never be those kids again ]

logan didn’t know why he was so overwhelmed with anxiety, when he knocked on oscar’s door on that rainy thursday night.

this was his oscar, the oscar that had practically grown up with him. the one who knew how he liked his toast and that he was fond of a burger with all the extras. that he had a scar on his left ankle from when he was a kid and wrestled with his brother after watching too much wwe.

ever since he had signed to williams and oscar had been a mclaren driver, they had hardly talked in comparison to their pre-formula one days. when he had crashed out during a race, he half expected oscar to text him or come knocking on his hotel door.

he didn’t. logan pretended he wasn’t surprised.

fuck it. bite the bullet. he lifted his hand high and knocked on the door. three quick taps in succession.

“one moment!” oscar called from inside. logan would wait, even if that old lady from room 135 kept looking at him like he was an intruder. maybe he was. he hadn’t been in oscar’s room for a while.

oscar opened the door with messy hair and a shirt that had been clearly shoved on before he opened the door.

“logan? hi.” oscar swallowed. the awkwardness in the space between the two of them felt heavy. “you okay mate?”

“yeah! yeah.” logan fake laughed, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. “just wanted to come see you.”

“i’m here.” oscar grinned, with no teeth, at his own joke. “wanna come in?”

“sure. kinda awkward talking in the hallway anyways. that old lady is about five minutes from calling the cops on me.”

“oh that’s just brenda.” oscar said after leaning out and getting a glance at the woman, who waved at him. he waved back. “she’s harmless.”

logan followed oscar into his room. it was bigger than his and he didn’t know if feeling jealous was appropriate. he had felt many emotions when it came to oscar; happy, sad, angry, and others. he didn’t want jealousy to join the list.

“sorry, my room is a mess. i wasn’t expecting company.” oscar laughed with no heart behind it as he sat down on his unmade bed. “take a seat logan, you’re giving me anxiety just standing around.”

logan immediately sits down on the desk chair.

“so, what are your plans for the summer?”

“mine?” oscar thinks to himself. “probably just to go see my family and my friends back home.”

“i was thinking maybe we could, i don’t know.” logan bites his lip anxiously. “do something together?”

“like what?” oscar is curious now, his eyes focused.

“maybe go on that european holiday we always talked about? we have the money now and no parents to tell us no like last time.” logan speaks in a rush. “but obviously if you say no, dude that’s totally fine.”

logan looks at oscar, who’s actually considering it? he thinks to himself for a moment before turning to logan.

“how many days?”

“as long as you’d like.”

“where would we go?”

“anywhere you’d want.”

“make a decision, logan. i’ll say yes or no.”

“we always wanted to go to greece? how about there? maybe for three weeks?”

“we should go for a month. we can travel.”

wait. so that means? oscar’s face is still impassive. he doesn’t say yes or no, but he is still considering it. that’s a positive.

“that’s fine. i’m flexible.”

“i’ll plan it.” oscar nods.

“so is that a yes?”

“obviously.” oscar finally smiles, open and dazzling. logan grins too, allowing himself to bask in the approval. he was almost 67% sure that oscar would say no. he’d already done the maths, but it wasn’t his strongest subject anyways.

“i’ll text you the details.” oscar nods and logan gets up, running a hand through his hair. giddy with happiness that he’ll finally win his best friend back. this’ll be the trip that heals them. that heals him.

-❀-

oscar gets stressed when he’s not in charge. everything has to go through him. the plans, the schedule and especially the driving. he’s never liked being in the passenger seat. his hands get fidgety and he doesn’t know how to calm them down.

he’s lucky that logan is all too happy to sit in it, his eyes focused on making the perfect road trip playlist. for some reason, they’d decided to drive from london all the way down to munich.

they’d already driven down from london and through the eurotunnel and took a break sightseeing in france - which oscar had already scheduled for. they ate their weight in croissants. they ate steak and frites. logan had bought them matching ‘i ♥︎ paris’ t-shirts and oscar rolled his eyes but packed it neatly in his suitcase anyways.

they hadn’t talked about anything other than surface level topics. logan talking about his favourite sports teams, them both discussing the grid and plans for the upcoming season and the usual small talk about their family’s wellbeings.

they didn’t talk about how they ignored each other unless a camera necessitated a conversation. they didn’t talk about logan’s bad season. they stayed up till stupid hours watching badly dubbed french movies and ordering takeout.

they drove to germany, dropped off their rental car and then got a plane from munich to athens. it wasn’t very long at all but logan still curled up against the window and tried to sleep. they were both connected to the spotify account on logan’s phone - logan using his headphones and oscar with his airpods. their road trip playlist still playing.

oscar didn’t know why he didn’t take them out, even when the playlist inevitably repeated itself.

-❀-

they’d been in athens all of two days when they met you. logan had gone an insanely bright red when he’d forgotten his sunscreen had ran out. oscar laughed at first but then ran to the nearest pharmacy to grab emergency sunscreen and aloe vera for the both of them.

after slathering themselves, they’d decided to seek refuge in a small ice cream store. despite the hot weather, the store was almost completely empty besides the two of them and you. you were fiddling with your phone in the corner as you attempted to hook it up to the speakers.

“fuck’s sake!” you shout quietly, frustratingly trying to make it work. “i can’t do this shift without any music. my thoughts’ll drive me insane.”

“um?” oscar breaks the awkward silence. you jump and turn around. the first thing that they both notice is that you’re pretty. really pretty. even in the unflattering oversized neon green work t-shirt.

“sorry! sorry! i apologise. i didn’t think anyone was in the shop. please forgive me.” you look flustered as you move to quickly wash your hands and dry them. “what would you both like today?”

to be honest, logan hadn’t been thinking about the ice cream. oscar didn’t need to think, he was going to get his usual order.

“can i get two scoops of mint chocolate chip?”

“oh that’s disgusting. i forgot that you eat that.” logan shakes his head in shock.

“it’s good. you’re just a hater.” oscar rolls his eyes. “stick to your boring vanilla.”

“it’s a classic!” logan turns to you and asks for two scoops of vanilla and one scoop of mango. you smile and begin to start their orders.

“you guys aren’t from around here, are you?” you ask.

“nah. the accents give it away?” logan laughs as he slings an arm around oscar’s shoulder. oscar rolls his eyes again but makes no move to push him away.

“yeah. a little bit.” you pinch your fingers together as you say it. “i’m not really from here either.”

“no?” oscar replies this time, curious.

“international student. this was one of the few places that’d hire me with my insane schedule. i’m lucky i have the next month off, thankfully.”

“aren’t you going back home?”

“i could if i wasn’t scheduled to work here practically every day for the next month.” you finish logan’s order and move on to oscar’s. you shrug. “and i need the money. the job could be worse really, i just wish the speaker fucking worked and the air conditioning. luckily i stand close to the ice cream.”

“what do you study?”

“archaeology.”

“best place for that is probably here.”

“yes. i don’t know why but ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to come to greece and study here. this is the less glamorous side of it but i’m here doing what i love.”

“that’s all that matters right?” logan chimes in. you nod as you scan their orders into your till.

“that’ll be €7.62.” you say. “cash or card?”

“cash.” oscar says as he pulls out his wallet. he’s infinitely glad he’d prepared and went to the cash exchange in london before he’d left. logan doesn’t even bother to offer, he picks up his ice cream and starts to eat it.

oscar hands you the cash as logan moves to a booth right by the open door to take advantage of the breeze. you count back the change and place it right in his hand. his heart doubles a beat as your hands touch for a moment but the moment is broken as your phone suddenly decides that now is the time to work.

the speakers start blaring natasha bedingfield’s ‘pocketful of sunshine’. you curse, close the till with your hip and turn to fiddle with the playlist.

oscar thinks he’s a little in love.

-❀-

logan knows that oscar likes you, which is a problem because he likes you too.

this road trip was supposed to be about finding themselves, not finding you. yet, when they find themselves back in your ice cream store the next few days, it’s no coincidence.

“you’re back again! the american and australian.” on day four, you’re not alone this time. you have a colleague, a girl who’s slightly older than you. she smirks at the two of them like she knows a secret they don’t know. “i’m not the only international one here!”

the speakers seem to work normally today, playing elton john as you hum along with it. your colleague decides that it’s time to take her lunch break, slipping off her apron and leaving the three of you to it.

“same thing as every day? or are we changing it up?”

“what do you recommend?” logan asks earnestly. he’s not losing oscar to you, maybe if he charms you enough, you’ll pick him. he doubts you will.

“everything is good here but if you really want my opinion? the chocolate fudge is a real crowd pleaser.”

“i’ll take two scoops of that and oscar’ll just have mint chocolate.” logan pulls out his wallet, opens it to find a mix of euros in there. he takes a moment to pick at the right change when you shake your head at him.

“no, it’s fine. it’s on the house today. i’m in a good mood.”

“why?”

“a lot of reasons. you know what? i forgot that i didn’t even introduce myself. i’m y/n.”

“we know.” oscar is amused.

“how? are you psychic? i used to know a psychic once and i also watched that’s so raven. great show.”

“your name badge.” logan nods at your shirt as he eats a spoonful of ice cream. you were right, it’s amazing. not too sickly but just the right amount of chocolate.

“oh.” you bite your lip in embarrassment as oscar takes his ice cream.

“i’m oscar and the american is logan.” logan smiles and waves his free hand at you. “is the shop always this empty?”

“no. it’s really busy after school and at peak times. you just always come quite early. lucky. it’s hell in here when it’s busy.” you seem relieved for the topic change. “you both here on holiday?”

“yeah. a break from our jobs.”

“lucky. my best friend is back home and i wish she was with me. she’s planning on coming up at some point thankfully. i hate being here without all my friends.”

“i can be your friend.” logan says. then he immediately regrets it. what if you think that he’s a weirdo? but when your face lights up, he realises that regret was a fleeting feeling.

“i’d love that. let me take your number. one of the guys from my class is hosting a beach party tonight if you both wanna come.”

logan looks at oscar who shrugs as if to say ‘i don’t mind if you don’t’. logan turns back to you, who is the middle of unlocking your phone and grins.

“we’ll be there.”

he types his number in your phone and sends a message to himself to save yours.

“i’ll text you the details.”

the speaker interrupts the moment that you have as it starts to malfunction. you curse again and throw your hands up in annoyance.

“stupid fucking speaker! so stupid!”

-❀-

the party is already well underway, when oscar and logan arrive. logan didn’t bother with buttoning up his shirt. he wasn’t necessarily the most confident man in the world but he was comfortable with his nakedness in a way that oscar didn’t think he’d ever be. oscar was in a undershirt with a loose overshirt.

you finally make your way over to them, panting slightly. you’re wearing a plain white bikini with an open oversized orange and yellow patterned hawaiian shirt. your hair is free from the bun they’ve seen you in work with. you smile, easy and happy.

“my two favourite customers!” you sling an arm around the two of them, hugging them so close that they can smell your perfume. “come on, let me introduce you to the five other people i know.”

you lead them down to the bonfire, where three girls and two other guys are crowded around. they cheer when you arrive with the two of them.

“guys, this is oscar and logan.” they wave politely. “oscar and logan, this is anya, jerome, alex, sienna and jaya.”

the group all cheer and welcome the two guys. it’s clear that everyone is already buzzed. oscar has never really been a big drinker so he declines a beer when offered. logan shotguns it, the residue dripping down his face. you laugh and attempt to wipe it off his face. logan goes lax in your touch and oscar can’t watch anymore.

the speaker that someone played is playing shakira as the two of you giggle in your own little world. oscar turns to jerome? or was it alex? and starts a conversation. talking about some footy game that they were watching earlier. oscar is about as into football as the next guy, but he really needs to focus on something else besides the two of you.

oscar knew that logan had always harboured some sort of inferiority complex when it came to the two of them, but logan had something that oscar doesn’t think he’d ever have - being genuinely likeable.

oscar knew he’d have to win because no one would support him as a loser. logan is just likeable regardless of what position he’s in - an underdog if he loses and a force of nature when he wins.

likeable gets the girl.

-❀-

you decide to walk the two of them to the end of the beach. the night is inky black and the only light is the remnants of the bonfire you’d lit earlier. logan is buzzed, oscar is distant and you’re still vibrating from the fact that logan made the two of you run into the cold water with him in the middle of the night.

“tonight was fun! i’m glad you were both able to make it!” you lean in and hug them both goodbye. logan swears you’d lingered a little longer while hugging him. “i’ll see you both at jim’s ice cream?”

“what is that?” logan asks bluntly. oscar elbows him lightly, not hard enough to cause damage but just enough to wind him slightly.

“the ice cream parlour she works at dumbass.” he turns to you. “we’ll see you there”

“well, i do work there. so yeah.” you laugh. all twinkly and bright. then you’re waving and jogging back to your friends. oscar watches logan look at you and sighs.

“come on man, let’s get you back.”

-❀-

logan wakes up with a hangover the next morning. oscar is a good friend and runs to the continental free breakfast and sneaks him out some waffles, croissants and eggs. he walks to the pharmacy again, paying for some ibuprofen (at least he hopes that’s what it is) with his cash and runs to the corner store to grab some extra snacks.

logan’s eyes are wide with both joy and disbelief. joy that something is there for his splitting headache and disbelief that oscar would do that for him. oscar feels a little ball of guilt unravelling inside. how bad had he let their friendship become?

they spend the day inside for the most part. watching television together. then they go outside to the pool, logan immediately jumps in but oscar sits on the side. he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the texts that he’s been ignoring. the ones from some friends, his mum, and you?

it’s not a coincidence right? that you spent the whole evening with logan and text him the next day?

he holds the phone close to his chest. he doesn’t want logan seeing this. he doesn’t know why that is. he quickly texts you back. then logan shouts.

“hey oscar! come in! the water is gorgeous.”

oscar grins and slips into the water, keeping his shirt on.

-❀-

the two of them end up at the steak restaurant together that night. they’re both dressed as nicely as possible. oscar in a nice sweater and logan in a dress shirt. the maître d’ smiled knowingly at the two of them and led them to their table.

“he thinks we’re together.” oscar whispers to logan.

“are we not?”

“we are in the literal sense. i meant in the romantic, relationship sort of sense.” logan laughs and bats his eyelashes all coy.

“oh no! oscar are you breaking up with me?”

“obviously. i’m leaving you for my secretary.” oscar’s deadpan voice just makes logan laugh harder.

“i knew it, that skank! i’ll get him fired.” oscar laughs too, breaking out into an easy smile that comes easily when logan’s around.

the sounds of the restaurant move around the two of them as they peruse the menu for a long time. it’s been a while with no conversation when oscar bites the bullet and brings it up.

“hey.” logan looks up. “i’m sorry.”

“for the secretary? don’t be. i’m running away with the pool boy.” oscar shakes his head, smiling.

“no.” oscar says. “for what happened. letting our friendship fall to the sidelines. i didn’t mean it but it didn’t excuse it. i really do like being your friend logan. i wouldn’t jeopardise that.”

logan is silent. oscar wonders if he’s crossed some unspoken line. he bites the inside of his cheek and looks at the wall of the restaurant’s decor. it’s all dark in here. would it kill them to buy some light bulbs? he understands its for ‘ambiance’ and that shit but he’s worried that he won’t be able to find his steak in the darkness.

“i was gonna say i was sorry. i thought it was my fault. that you didn’t want to be friends with,” he cuts himself off, laughing awkwardly. “a loser.”

“no. that wasn’t it. you’re not a loser, not to me.”

“i am. that’s a fact. it’s okay. you’re very nice for that but, it’s just not true.” logan swallows thickly. “now, should i get potatoes or fries as my sides?”

oscar doesn’t comment on logan’s facial expression, that he looks like he’s holding it together by a thread. he knew emotional vulnerability took a lot out of him but it was harder on the person who admitted failure.

“potatoes.” logan grins and nods before calling over the waiter.

-❀-

the next time you saw the two guys was two days after the bonfire party. they came in laughing at a joke that had happened way before they had even walked in. you find yourself standing up as soon as they enter.

“hi! y/n!” logan’s smile is always wide and happy to see you. oscar’s smile is muted but it’s still sweet. “what would you recommend for me? i liked the chocolate fudge.”

“hmm,” you think, running your hand along the counter. “we have a new flavour, chocolate covered raspberry? it’s quite popular. i think you’d like it.”

“i trust your judgement, ice cream girl.”

you crack a smile at the nickname, the smile so big that it momentarily hurts your face for a moment. you turn to oscar.

“and what about you?”

“same as usual, two scoops of vanilla.”

you nod, getting to work on the ice creams. you even offer to pay for them but they argue, threatening to shove it all in the tip jar anyway. oscar pays and when your back is turned, logan shoves twice the amount into the tip jar.

“wanna sit with us in the booth today y/n?” logan asks, taking a spoonful of his ice cream. “it’s not like anyones here.”

oscar looks up at you with his wide eyes, not really eating his ice cream. he just swirls it, until it turns into a sort of thick soup. you shrug and slide into the booth across from the two of them. you don’t have anything else to do and if a customer does decide to walk in? well, you’ll just slide back behind the counter.

“so, what’s your plan for the future?” logan grins. “and i know it’s the worst possible question to ask any young person but i’m curious. what’s the goal? is there one? it’s okay if there isn’t.”

“dream is to become an archeologist and backup plan? i don’t know. work in an office or something? maybe teaching. i haven’t thought that far ahead just yet.” you bite your lip and look out the window for a second. the day is hot, and you’re stuck inside. “what about you two? what do you do?”

“we uh, we drive.” logan looks at oscar.

“oh like uber? cool.”

“yeah, isn’t it?” oscar smiles at you.

“i still haven’t gotten my licence just yet. taxis aren’t too expensive and public transport is decent. also everywhere i need to be is pretty much walkable.” you smile at them. “have you visited all the touristy places yet?”

“not everywhere but we’re here for a while. we’re going to travel to santorini, mykonos and corfu. i’ve already planned them out.” oscar swallows his bite of ice cream. “scheduled to the exact moment we get there and get back.”

“an exotic european vacation.” you grin, waggling your eyebrows. logan laughs despite the joke not being very funny. “i’m jealous.”

“you could come with us.” oscar blurts out, his cheeks pinkening. “you’re probably busy though right? don’t worry about it. it’s weird.”

“no, no. it’s not. it’s very sweet and tempting.” you look outside the window again. “i’m not free for the whole time, but, definitely i could join you for a week? jim won’t care.”

“jim’s a real person?” logan asks, eyes wide. you laugh.

“yeah! he’s british actually. came over here when he retired and bought this place. he was one of the few people that’d hire me. my mum’s british.” you nod. “it’s a pretty decent job. if you ignore these hideous uniforms.”

you pull on the neon jim’s ice cream parlour shirt, face crumpling in disgust.

“you look good.” logan says, shyly, as he tongues the last of his ice cream. “this is good too. the ice cream. i knew i trusted you for a reason.”

-❀-

santorini is exactly like the instagram photos. well, despite being slightly too hot, a little less vibrant and he’s here with you and logan. logan has kept his shirt on this time, a loose linen blue one with a pair of shorts and flip flops. you’re dressed in a white skirt, a cropped tank top with a massive handbag.

oscar wants to do something crazy, like reach out and hold your hand or put his arm around your shoulders. he doesn’t because he’s not insane but he thinks about it for a solid moment. thinks about the way you’d curl into him or the way your shampoo would smell. he shakes his head.

“you don’t like it?” the two of you turn to look at him. fantastic. now he looks weird. his eyes widen.

“no, no! i love it. it’s lovely.” he reaches into his pocket, shaking hands grabbing his phone as he takes a picture. “i was thinking about the best angle to take this picture for my mum.”

“i’ll take a photo of you against the backdrop? maybe the both of you. your mum might like that. logan said you two were childhood best friends right?”

oscar nods. at least you bought his story. he stands against the barrier and smiles, awkwardly. he’s sure that all the other tourists are looking at him and thinking ‘what a weirdo, his crush on her is so obvious. she wants his best friend clearly, why even try?’

after a moment, logan stands next to him. logan dissipates the awkwardness with a wave of his hand and the two of them fall into an easy grin. when logan leans in and tells a joke, oscar finds himself laughing loudly with the click of your camera as background noise.

he sends it to his mother later on, when he’s in his hotel room with logan snoring in the room across from him. she texts him back quickly.

-❀-

— from mum.

well, it looks like you’re having fun honey!

— to mum.

yeah, i am.

-❀-

it doesn’t even feel like a lie when he messages her back in the cooling heat.

-❀-

it’s three days into the trip and two weeks into knowing the guys that you realise that you have a crush. it’s only a small inkling but you know it’s serious because no matter how much you try to dissuade it, it keeps popping up.

when you’re eating, when you’re brushing your teeth and even when you’re picking your outfit with him in mind. does he like blue? is he more of a yellow guy? or is it pink that’ll catch his eye?

the three of you head to a restaurant that night. it’s a seafood place, the three of you laughing and joking about something you’d seen earlier. they look good. smell good too. they even argue over who’s going to pay for the meal and look at you like you’ve got three heads when you offer to pay.

“it’s fine y/n, you’re a student.” oscar says, smiling as logan gives up. he pays quickly, all cash with no fuss. “we can get it.”

“ubering must make you a lot of money.”

“yeah. something like that.” he smiles again. this time with no teeth as he gets the receipt.

-❀-

logan goes to bed early that night, citing something about his family being desperate to check up on him. it leaves just the two of you outside in the corfu evening air.

“want to go for a walk?” you ask, looking at him earnestly.

“yeah. sure.” he’s trying not to be too eager. not to scare you off. the two of you start walking down the street.

“i always like to go for a slow walk after a big dinner. i feel like it probably helps with digestion.” you speak quietly, as if not to disturb the silence of the street. he likes your voice and is willing to listen at any volume you decide.

“i think it does. i try not to eat too much.” oscar responds, shoving a jittery hand in his pocket. “i can’t gain any weight for my job.”

“yeah, logan said. that’s weird. what kind of uber driver has a weight limit?” he shrugs and smiles. “do you miss australia?”

“sometimes. i’m used to travelling though. i’ve done it for so long.” he looks at you. “what about you? do you miss your home?”

“eh, i wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. i wanted to remake myself. i was gonna do it all y’know? a name change and everything.” you look up at the stars for a moment. “i didn’t go through with it. even if i changed my name, i’d still be y/n really. inside.”

“i get that. i think.” oscar looks at the gorgeous landscape in front of him. he ignores all the people milling around the two of you. to him it’s just you, him and the view. “so, y/n-“

your phone interrupts him. a loud, obnoxious ringing noise. you mouth an apology at him when you look at the caller id.

“sorry, it’s my best friend. she wouldn’t call me if it wasn’t important. she’s more of a texter anyways. do you mind?” you point at your phone. he shakes his head with a smile. you disappear to take your call and he finds a bench to sit on. he leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

what was he thinking? asking you out? thank god the world or fate or god or whoever is in charge, stopped him before he made the biggest mistake of his life. you liked logan and he didn’t blame you. he really, truly didn’t.

when you come back, you ask him what he was going to ask. he shrugs. it wasn’t important anyways, he says. he asks what happened with your friend and listens you chatter all the way back about your friend’s current work drama.

-❀-

the next morning, logan and you head down to breakfast together. it’s a continental breakfast that the hotel offer. it’s good, with a wide spread of toast, pancakes, omelettes, cereal, fruit and sausages. you load up your plate, happy to get food for free even though technically you paid for it.

logan’s plate is smaller. you think about what they said earlier about weight limits and feel a pang of sympathy. i mean, your job was not very well paid but at least it gave you freedom in your spare time to do and eat whatever you want.

“is oscar not coming?” you ask, forking a fluffy piece of omelette and hash browns in your mouth. it’s gorgeous and you’re hungry.

“nah. he’s not feeling too good. i’ll bring him some breakfast in a bit.” logan methodically goes through his breakfast. slow, small bites and chews it for as long as possible. “wanna go for a swim later? it’s hot as hell outside. i feel my skin melting off.”

“you are going a little red.” you tease. he smiles again, shyly. his face does go red when you lean forward and press your cold cup against his cheek. “a little better?”

“it’d be better if you’d go swimming with me.” he smiles.

“of course i will. can’t leave you by yourself. who knows what’ll happen.” he laughs this time. “now wanna try some of this omelette?”

he sits politely as you lean over and feed him a forkful of the spinach and cheese omelette. for a moment, the two of you look into each other's eyes as you feed him. he turns away as soon as it’s okay and chews the bite.

“good?”

“yeah. yeah. it’s good.” he smiles at you. “let me just get some more water for us, be back in a moment.”

“is it getting too hot for you?” you tease.

“a little.” he sheepishly grins again. “let me cool down.”

-❀-

it’s your last day with the two of the guys before they drop you back off at the bus stop to go back to athens. your heart is still pinching at the thought of leaving, but you decide your last day can’t be in vain. they’ll be going home soon so it’ll be the best time to admit what you already knew. what you had known for the whole time.

you’d been on the phone with your best friend who had helped you to write a pros and cons list.

— pros - you could be a girlfriend to a great guy. you would be happy. you would have a rich boyfriend (your bff added that). you could touch them in any way they’d let you. you could sleep together. you could also sleep together (bff again). you would have a great time. you would have fun. would it improve your life? potentially.

— cons - they could say no and you’d have to jump off a cliff. they could be dating each other and you’d be embarrassed that you didn’t figure it out. they could laugh at you. they could be disgusted. they could be nice about it and gently let you down. they’re not even from anywhere close to greece. it’d be a long distance relationship. could you even deal with that?

you shake your head and lift your hand up to his bedroom door. the wood is cold under your knuckles. the world still moves around you, tourists laughing in their rooms and people walking around. their voices murmuring.

as your hand hovered there, you thought for a moment. about how this could change everything. was it too soon? too risky? then you remembered, it’s now or never.

take the plunge and with that, you knock.

liked by anyaaaa, alexjohnson and 183 others.

yourusername: this summer is going well. made two new friends, spent half of my savings and made some new memories and isn’t that what life is all about?

anyaaaa: when are you coming back? miss u girl!!

-> yourusername: soon! i just need to figure something out first.

-> anyaaaa: you’ll figure it out. you always do. can’t wait till you come back <33

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