Top Posts Tagged with #my first in half a year at the urging of my co-producer | Tumlook (2024)

Bandersnatch, capitalism, and gamedev work culture: a microessay

The first major fork is Stefan’s acceptance of the job. It’s a YES and a NO, but the NO is really a YES, BUT.

It is excruciating how the latter didn’t negotiate for more buts. Stefan, like many naive young programmers, fell into the trap of believing that breaking into game development means giving up all control to your employer. If he sets a deadline, you meet it. Doesn’t matter when. Sinclair Research, producer of the ZX Spectrum, was absolutely notorious for setting impossible publicized deadlines. It was meant to curb procrastination, but it really just burnt out a lot of employees and enforced a work-until-you-die mentality that’s still so pervasive today.

I think analyzing Colin from a workers-first perspective is important; he’s irreverent with Thakur, prone to taking breaks. It’s written as a“he gets f*cked up, he’s a free spirit,” but I really do think it shows how Colin is wary of the industry. He goes on self-directed breaks because he knows he won’t ever get a proportionate one to his workload. He doesn’t buy a Lamborghini because he knows how precarious the game bubble is. I think it’s worth interpreting the acid scene through this too; warnings about PAC-Man living in a nightmare could be analogous to programmers like themselves scurrying in the maze trap that is the game industry. The demons are mental constructs, the kind that enforce acclaim and happiness as achievable only on corporate terms.

On the other hand, Stefan is inexperienced enough to give himself up entirely to the system. We see him stress over his own perceived inability to code efficiently, rather than ever question if his boss had set problematic work expectations. Working remotely shouldn’t mean working without guidance.

Stefan’s anxiety stems from the belief that if his game fails, that reflects badly on him. That it actually means something in the grand scheme of being alive. When it really should be, if Tuckersoft doesn’t give his concept piece the time and space it needs, he should take it elsewhere. That inability to see how he’s a cog in the machine is his downfall.

Tearful Reunions

read on Ao3

words: 2520

Jack, at the mercy of a terrible Canadian storm, is saved by an old friend.

--

Chapter 2: Mr. Smith & Co.

Bitter wind whipped at Jack’s coat. He had to keep one hand on his hat so that it wouldn’t blow away, and one hand on the reins. The snow accompanying the wind made it impossible to see even his hand in front of his face. He was hopelessly lost, and his only option was to keep moving forward.

His horse whinnied tiredly, her legs dragging half-heartedly through the snow that was already piled up to her knees. He leaned down, hoping that she would be able to hear him over the wind. “C’mon, old girl, don’t give up on me now.”

But Jack didn’t feel great, either. He’d lost feeling in his legs some time ago, and his face hurt so bad that he was surprised it hadn’t frozen over completely. This was what he deserved, he supposed, traveling into Canada without any real protection from the brutal winter. The storm had been so sudden, he’d barely had any time to react. Now, his only goal was to find some kind of shelter, if not for himself, for his poor horse.

He squinted out into the sea of white, hoping and praying to find some smoke in the air, something to guide him to another living being. As he scanned the air, he felt his horse suddenly stop moving, letting out another tired whinny before kneeling down, unable to continue on. Jack cursed under his breath and slid off the saddle, examining her - she was still alive, but her breaths were short and shallow.

Fumbling through his bag, he produced some horse pills, clumsily trying to get them into her mouth. He wasn’t sure if they’d help in this case, but he didn’t have much other choice. He looked around wildly. “Help!” he shouted, the word immediately carried away by the wind. “Please, someone! Help!” He turned back to his horse, running a shaky, gloved hand down her mane. “Hold on. We’re gonna be okay.” Standing up, he began walking, wading his way through deep snow, continuing to call for help, hoping that he had simply missed some sign of life earlier.

Jack didn’t get very far. His legs, still numb, gave out beneath him and he fell face-first. His whole body shook, and it took all of his energy to flip onto his back. He focused on breathing, watching his breath swirl into the air short and fast, wondering if this was the end for him. Would he get to see his mother again? Would he get to see his father again?

Despite the shivers that wracked his body, he felt strangely at ease, like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He closed his eyes, but a distant voice soon reached his ears. He tried to open them again - a silhouette swam into view, but Jack couldn’t make out a face. “Stay with me. Stay with me, dammit!”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Jack moaned softly. “Pa…?”

“I’m afraid not, my friend. Try to stay awake.” The silhouette picked him up, hauling him over his shoulder, and began trudging through the snow. Jack could only hang there limply, staring at the back of the stranger, trying to keep his eyes open. He managed for a few minutes before the urge became too great, and darkness enveloped him.

***

When Jack came to, he had a terrible headache and a burning pain in his chest. He recognized soft cushions beneath his back and the sound of a crackling fire nearby. He tried to take a deep breath and his chest flared with pain, leading to a cough that wracked his entire body. He pried his eyes open, breathing fast and short as he waited for the burn to subside.

He was laying on a couch, and next to him stood a little girl, no older than six years old, peering up at him with wonder in her eyes, her hair pulled into a long braid down her back. Behind her, sitting on a wooden chair, was a familiar man wearing dark clothing, his wavy hair cascading over his shoulders, speckled with gray. His eyes were soft and worried, and he sported stubble that was also dotted with gray streaks. Jack felt his heart skip a beat.

Somehow, he’d made it.

“Papa, he’s finally awake!” the girl exclaimed, bouncing on her toes as she leaned forward, almost grabbing Jack’s arm. “Are you okay, mister?”

Charles chuckled, gently placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Give him just a little space, sweetheart. He’s still not feeling good.”

Jack blinked slowly, trying to recall what had happened. He breathed in sharply, moving to sit up. “My horse -”

“She’s fine,” Charles said, carefully pushing him to lay back down. “After I brought you in, I went back for her. She’s safe in our stable, I expect she’ll make a full recovery.”

All he could do was blink again. If he’d had any doubts that this was the Charles he once knew, they were now gone. He’d always been thoughtful, even if a bit standoffish, and good with animals. Jack exhaled slowly. “...Thank you.”

“What’s your name, mister?” The little girl asked curiously, giving him space like her father asked her to, but clearly still very interested in the stranger.

“Jack,” he answered through a slight cough. The burn didn’t surprise him as much this time. “What’s yours?”

“Morgan,” she answered proudly, and as she did, Charles looked at the floor.

“Morgan?” he repeated, glancing toward Charles. After his uncle? It couldn’t be a coincidence. He decided not to ask.

“Mm-hm! Papa says you’re friends. Is that true?”

Jack wondered if, at one point, he’d been this innocent. He couldn’t remember the early days with the gang very well, but he must have been like this. He remembered grown-ups chuckling whenever he was around, patting his head, enjoying his company, until no one was left.

He had never really been around children himself, but he knew what she wanted to hear, and it wasn’t too far from the truth, anyway. “Yeah, we are,” he answered, not liking how gruff his voice sounded. “Just haven’t seen each other in a while, is all.”

“Papa doesn’t have many friends,” she mused, which made Charles scoff and smirk.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go see if Momma needs help in the kitchen?” He gently rubbed the top of her head as she pouted. “Go on, now, you can interrogate Jack all you like later.”

Still pouting, Morgan sighed, giving a polite curtsy. “Okay. Bye, mister.” She turned on her heel and skipped off into another room. Both men watched her go, before Jack turned his gaze back to Charles.

“She looks like you,” he said softly. “You must be proud.”

A little taken aback, Charles nodded. “Yes. Very much so.”

“That’s why you left Beecher’s Hope all those years ago, right?”

“Yes. I wanted what John…what your father had. Family.” His eyes still held that same kindness and concern that he remembered. When he spoke again, it was anything but accusatory. “Why did you come, Jack?”

He swallowed thickly, wanting to keep the air light. “I came looking for you, Charles,” he admitted. “Though I imagined our reunion to be a little less…dramatic.”

A small smile pulled at the man’s lips as he leaned his elbows forward on his knees. “You were quite unprepared for a Canadian winter, I’m afraid.” A beat. Then, a little more seriously, “You…You look quite like him, you know. Last I saw you, you was just a boy.”

Jack smiled sadly. “I know.” It was his curse to bear, he supposed, that whenever he looked in a mirror or in a lake, for a moment, he saw John’s face. “I’m glad to see you, Charles. I…” he wondered if it would ever get easier to speak the words. “My parents are gone.”

For a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of the wind howling against the windows. Charles’ expression didn’t change much, but his eyes closed for a moment, a quiet, mere exhale leaving his lips. When he opened his eyes again, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I thought as much,” he murmured softly. “Abigail never would have let you come here without a warmer jacket.”

Jack blinked, finding himself smiling a little. He didn’t remember Charles telling many jokes all those years ago, but when he did, they always came at a good time. “No. She would have shouted at me, like, ‘Jack Marston, you ain’t goin’ nowhere without a proper coat!’” Charles returned the smile, though it was a bit sad, and Jack sighed softly. “I feel pretty lost. Pa died a few years back, then it was just me and Ma, and now…”

“Hey.” Charles reached forward, placing a hand on his arm. “So long as I have breath in my body, you won’t be alone. I can promise you that.”

The mere sincerity behind the words nearly made Jack dizzy. He breathed a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

“Of course. And besides, you ain’t going anywhere for a few days. Your horse needs rest, and so do you. It’s still snowing pretty bad out there.”

“Ah, he lives!” A beautiful woman with dark skin, braided hair, and a bright smile emerged from the kitchen with Morgan in tow, holding a steaming bowl. She moved slowly, heavily pregnant. “The mysterious man from my husband’s past! How wonderful it is to meet you, Mr…?”

Jack blinked, slowly moving to sit up a bit. “Uh, Marston. Jack Marston. Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.”

The woman practically glowed as Charles stood up, offering his chair which she happily took. “What a polite boy! I see why you were so keen on seeing him again, darling.” Charles pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she offered him the bowl. “Here, eat. It will make you feel better.”

Leaning forward, he took the bowl carefully, suddenly aware of how hungry he felt. He wondered how long he’d been asleep on their couch. “Thank you very much, ma’am.”

“No need for all that business, not for a friend of my Charles. You can call me Alice, dear.” Jack nodded as he picked up the spoon, thinking his mother would have really liked Alice. She continued while he began to eat. “Now, my husband tells me you’re the son of some old friends. How lucky he happened upon you in that nasty storm.”

“Yes. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I would have made it,” he agreed, glancing toward Charles. “I owe him - I owebothof you - my life.”

Charles smiled, this time a little more genuinely. “You owe us nothing. You came to visit, and so you did.”

Jack glanced down at the soup, watching it ripple a little. “You were always so good to my family, Charles. You built that house with Pa for my Ma, and now it just stands there, unused.” He glanced up again. “I’m sorry.”

Stepping out from behind his wife’s chair, Charles moved forward, sitting on the couch beside Jack. “What are you apologizing for?”

“It hurts too much to stay there,” he admitted, feeling the lump in his throat. “He…” he glanced quickly at the little girl who watched innocently from her mother’s lap, then back to Charles, lowering his voice so only he could hear. “Pa was killed there. Ma died there, in their bed. I can’t bear it.”

Charles placed a hand on his shoulder, steady. “The ranch belongs to you. We built that house, that ranch, for your family. Whatever you choose to do with it is up to you.”

Taking a shaky breath, Jack nodded a little. “Thank you, Charles.” He turned his gaze back to the girls, trying to smile for Morgan’s sake. “Alice, would you tell me how you and Charles met?”

Lighting up, Alice bounced her knee a bit, making Morgan giggle. “Oh, it’s my favorite story. Morgan has heard it many times.” She glanced toward Charles lovingly. “I was going for a walk with my sister when Charles, bless his heart, still new in town, nearly ran into me. He stumbled terribly over his words like a fool, asking for directions, and no sooner had I given them to him than he asked to meet me for tea.” She giggled behind her hand, perhaps the memory making her feel younger. “I’d never met such a man! Confident in action, but terrified in everything else.”

“I’d never met such a beautiful woman,” Charles supplied. “I could barely get the words out. It was truly a wonder that she agreed to meet me again.”

“You flatter me!” Alice exclaimed, clearly trying to hide a blush. “And here we are eight years later.”

Jack smiled, looking over at Charles. “That’s real nice. I know my parents would be real happy to know you’re happy.”

“John offered me a place to stay at the ranch, but I knew that if I stayed, I’d never be able to move on. I’m glad I didn’t.” He reached over, poking Morgan’s nose. “Now I have what I’ve always wanted. I can start over, be the father that my father never was. I hope you will get to experience it someday, Jack.”

Looking between the three, Jack nodded slightly. “So do I.”

“Momma, can I show Mr. Marston my new toy? Please?” The little girl begged, sliding off of her mother’s lap.

Chuckling, Alice placed a kiss onto her forehead. “Of course, sweetheart. Just remember -”

“I know, I know, be careful.” She rushed away, leaving the three adults alone. Jack glanced between them while Charles took the empty bowl from him.

“She must keep you on your toes.”

“She certainly does. She’s just like her mother,” Charles replied, nothing but fondness in his tone as he walked toward the kitchen. Alice playfully smacked him on his way.

A moment later, Morgan returned, holding a beautiful model train with a huge smile on her face. She climbed up onto the couch in front of Jack so he could see it better. “I love the train! Papa and I got to ride one last week!”

“Oh, really?” he asked, looking at it, deciding to treat it as though it were as interesting as a real train. “That’s real pretty, there. Do you take good care of it?”

“‘Course I do, mister!” she exclaimed proudly. “I’m gonna be a train conductor someday!”

Jack smiled. Something about being around a family again was making him feel like life wasn’t completely hopeless. “Well, I can’t wait to ride a train that you’re driving,” he replied, and when she lit up, he felt a sense of warmth he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

They continued to all converse, Charles and Jack catching each other up, and getting to know Alice and Morgan. At some point, the little girl fell quiet, and they found her curled up against Jack, sound asleep. Charles offered to take her, but Jack assured him it was fine, that he liked the company.

He did. He really, truly did.

the art of ending things (8)

summary:upon realizing you lack skills in the bedroom when a touron asks you out on a date, you turn to jj, a self-proclaimed sexual deviant, for help.

warnings: smut, folks. and typos, probably.

notes: yes, i am getting a little emotional. this series is my child and i feel like i’m sending it off to college. i’m utterly grateful that all of you were willing to wait weeks for chapter updates and i’m so happy that this little idea that i had turned into something i’m proud of and something i finished.

as always, co-authored and co-written with @storiesbymads​. i love her and this story (among other things) brought us closer as friends and i think i love this story more for this reason than anything else.

You thought it was ironic how the sun was shining brightly in your bedroom when you felt anything but happy.

On the night before you woke, Sarah took the liberty to wipe your makeup off with a washcloth as Kiara assisted you in changing into sleep shorts and a sweater. The brunette sat on your bed with you tucked in her arms as you buried your head to avoid been seen by the girls, but Sarah prompted you to look at her so she could clean your tear-stained cheeks.

You couldn’t remember much of last night when you woke up. When your eyes saw the white paint of your ceiling, you looked beside you at Kiara and Sarah laying on either side of you. Kiara was in a peacefully slumber facing the window while Sarah was on your left, her cheeks squished ungracefully against the side of your arm, allowing you a brief moment of amusem*nt before remembering your heartache.

“Anyone hungry?” you asked, your voice croaking. You cleared your throat when Sarah and Kiara said yes, silently moving to your bathroom to brush your teeth and gave the two girls spare toothbrushes to do the same.

The downstairs living room was a quiet fortress as you recalled your parents being on the mainland until later that evening. Sarah took the liberty to pour each of you a glass of orange juice while Kiara, knowing you didn’t have the energy to make breakfast, pulled out eggs and bacon, and began to work effortlessly as you sat on the high chairs beside the kitchen island. You couldn’t think. Recalling the last thing you remembered at the Boneyard hurt more than you cared to admit and you couldn’t think about the look on JJ’s face when he said he wanted nothing to do with you without feeling like you were going to cry. You figured you could produce enough tears to wipe out the entirety of the Outer Banks by the end of the day with how much you were trying to hold back. The aching headache you had because of how hard you cried last night rang through your head and you winced when the bacon hit the sizzling pan. “Do you want to talk about it?” Kiara asked as she plated the eggs and bacon. “I feel like an idiot,” you said. “C’mon,” Sarah said, sitting next to you as Kiara stood in front of you. “JJ’s the idiot.”“Maybe we’re both idiots.”

“Don’t say that,” Kiara replied. “We all thought JJ was kind of into you until that stunt he pulled last night.” “No,” you said, putting your head in between your hands. You inhaled heavily before letting out a gargantuan sigh. “We’re both idiots. We made this stupid proposition a few weeks ago and I can’t help but feel like I messed up.”“What proposition?” Kiara asked. You shut your eyes and ran your hands over your face “We’ve been, uh, fooling around?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “You mean that? While you were with Trent?”“I mean,” you began, “it’s complicated. Trent and I were never a ‘thing’ if I’m being honest. JJ was nice enough to, um, teach me things.” “Teach you things?” Kiara asked. “What do you…” Her eyes widened. “Oh.” “It’s bad,” you said. “I didn’t think anything would happen because we swore that we wouldn’t let it affect our friendship.”“But part of you had to know it would, right?” Sarah asked. You made a thin line with your lips as you moved the food around with your fork. “I know, I know,” you mumbled. “JJ never said anything and I thought this was going to be over once Trent and I had sex.”“Did you?” You shook your head. “No,” you replied. “I knew I liked JJ when I couldn’t go through with it. I just can’t help but feel like he felt the same way but when I talked to him last night, he said he wanted me to stop caring about our friendship and that he’d do the same.” Kiara and Sarah shared a knowing look while your gaze was fixed itself onto the plate in front of you. Sarah had spoken to John B. about JJ’s seemingly unrequited feelings and Kiara had her own thoughts about how he felt about you. Both girls, observant in their own right, never wanted to say anything for the sake of your relationship with Trent, but now both of them wished they had. “I don’t need either of you to say it, okay? With hindsight, I should’ve known something bad was going to happen.” “We’re here to be your friends,” Sarah reassured. “Neither of us are judging you.” “Thanks,” you muttered. “I can’t help feel like the dumbest person in the world because everything about this is cliche.” “But you didn’t know what was going to happen,” Kiara reasoned. “Kie--”“Don’t ‘Kie’ me,” she said, waving her fork at you. “You asked JJ for help and he agreed. Maybe what happened between the two of you was unconventional but you two are our friends and I don’t think either of you would intentionally hurt the other.”“I can’t stop thinking about how unfair it was to ask him to help me be more confident for Trent,” you scoffed. “First of all, I don’t ever need to explain myself to men, so I don’t know why I felt a temporary urge to prove myself in the bedroom.” You paused to collect your thoughts.“Secondly?”“If JJ did feel anything for me, I put him in a tough situation because at the end of the day, we both knew I would be going back to Trent with the lessons JJ taught me.”“I can’t say I’ve ever had that happen before,” Sarah said with a frown. You bumped your shoulder with hers.“It’s okay. I think I just want someone to listen because I can’t even think about fixing things with him right now. I just feel like I ruined our friendship by asking him to help me out, you know, sexually.”“Listen,” Kiara said, your attention now on her. “Maybe both of you made mistakes, but you’re young. You have so much more to life than a misunderstanding and if JJ really cares about you, then he’ll want to hear what you have to say and whatever you wanted to tell him last night.”“Yeah,” Sarah piped. “You’ve been friends with JJ since birth and you know how he works. I don’t think he’d throw away all those years of friendship on a misunderstanding, especially considering he was tipsy.”“I don’t know,” you groaned. You pushed your plate, which was half eaten, away from you and slouched with your arms crossed over your chest. “I wanted to be an adult about this and set boundaries with him, you know? But I never thought we had to make a no strings attached’ rule because both of us knew what was going on between us wasn’t a booty call.”“He hasn’t been flirting with anyone either,” Kiara said. “Not since you two started, well, what should we call it?”“I guess we were hooking up,” you replied. “That feels weird to say.” The girls in front of you laughed.“Maybe,” said Sarah.“I never even thought about entertaining the idea that JJ and I might end up together until I took Trent around The Cut because he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. That’s when I really knew all of my feelings that I projected onto Trent were for JJ.”“Love works in mysterious ways,” Sarah said, waving her fork for the dramatics.“You cheesy sh*t,” Kiara said, sticking her tongue at the blonde. You cracked a smile and both girls felt their heart swell at making you do so in a time when you felt like you couldn’t.“Well, let’s not think about it today,” Sarah suggested. “I know Kie doesn’t have a shift today and I’m free. We could order take out and maybe have a movie marathon? We could go to the beach if you’re feeling up to it?”“Sarah, does your dad still have that huge tent he bought when you were little?”“In the back of my garage.”“And Kie, remember when we bought those lights that we strung around the poles in my backyard and that mini projector we begged your dad to buy?”Kiara clapped. “I already know where you’re going with this.” She pointed at Sarah. “You drive with Sarah and help her get the tent. I’ll grab my lights and we can meet at the supermarket to buy some snacks?”“Sounds like a plan!” Sarah exclaimed.Temporarily, you forgot about the boy who filled your void before making it feel empty again.JJ, on the other hand, woke up an hour before Pope and John B. in the spare bedroom at the Chateau. His plan for the night before had been to drink until he couldn’t feel his emotions anymore, but he’d wound up unsuccessful after having had two cups of beer and a weak shot of expensive, watered down vodka a Kook had brought to the Boneyard.He recalled everything that happened. The girl he sat beside when you came up to him parted ways once she realized things were complicated and that JJ hadn’t made an effort to engage in conversation with anyone else. He opted to head back to the Chateau to sleep it off in hopes of waking up to a different reality. But, when he awoke with the same clothes he wore last night and a few red solo cups on the floor, he knew he had to face the music.JJ wasn’t sure why he was so angry with you. He knew he was annoyed whenever you spoke about Trent, that was for sure, but he knew he didn’t let you explain what you wanted to say before he sent you away.He stared at the ceiling fan above, watching it pathetically spin on the lowest setting before forcing himself to sit upright, a groan forcing its way up his throat as he kicked the covers off his body. His legs dangled on the side of the bed,his head in between his hands, trying to comprehend the mild headache he felt; he wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or his confusing feelings.When he walked out, the first thing he noticed was how the sunny morning was a stark contrast to his despaired feelings and he couldn’t help but wish the sky was as grey as it was when there was about to be a big rain pour. The outside was quiet with the exception of a few birds chirping and a low hum of the grass near John B’s front porch. JJ poured himself a cup of water and ate a slice of whole wheat bread untoasted, not bothering to look in his fridge for something more fulfilling as he pondered whether to return home or to the spare bedroom.John B. was the first to arrive into the kitchen, interrupting JJ’s thoughts.“You’re up early,” he said, yawning. “But you also went to bed early, I guess.”“Wasn’t in the party mood,” JJ’s mumble was muffled by the bread.“You’re gonna choke if you keep eating with your mouth full.”“Oh yeah? Watch me.” John B. laughed at JJ’s joke and rubbed his eyes, making himself a cup of coffee using the machine and coffee beans Sarah gave him. JJ wanted to ask for a cup but felt like it was too much.“Want a cup?” John B. asked nonchalantly as he grabbed the bag from the pantry.“Yeah,” JJ coughed, grateful. “Thanks.”“No problem,” John B. replied, waving the blond off. “Sarah got me enough to last for two months. I think she’s trying to get me to refine my coffee palette.”“Your what?”“Her words, not mine.” A comfortable silence fell over the two boys before John B. spoke again. “What happened last night between you and Y/N?”JJ was quiet. He remembered feeling inexplicably angry last night but it didn’t transfer over to when he woke up. Still, JJ felt hurt and confused, feeling as though you chose Trent over him and wanted to talk about it when he felt most vulnerable because he had just admitted to liking you. He knew he wasn’t angry because he had no right to tell you how to feel, especially when he’d never told you how he felt. Either way, he knew he was hurting.“Y/N chose Trent over me,” JJ said, trying to act casual. John B. raised his eyebrow as he turned on the electric kettle.“Trent?” he asked. JJ nodded. “Are you sure?”“More sure than I’ve been in a while, JB.”John B. was confused because, from all of the things Sarah has told him, and all he had observed, all the signs pointed to you liking JJ. Once Sarah mentioned how the both of you had been acting strange around each other and more attentive when you two were near each other, it all made sense to him. John B. knew JJ wouldn’t be caught dead acting like a gentleman around the clock for anyone, but you were the exception. You were always the exception.That was why John B. couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of you deciding to date Trent over JJ. He knew you just as well as he knew his best friend. John B. knew you were the type of person to put yourself above feeling like you were less than a good human being and he knew that you were aware of who you were and what you deserved. He watched you grow up from a shy kid who would never ask the person who stole your crayons to give them back, to an independent woman who wouldn’t be afraid of barking at a police officer if they looked at Kiara or Pope the wrong way. John B. was starting to think he was becoming more perceptive, and for a moment, he was beginning to doubt that. But it was John B. who looked after you when you hit a low point a few months ago before you regained your willingness to step out of your bedroom, which is how he knew all of this about you. He knew you’d never choose someone who you didn’t connect with and he knew you were, most likely, trying to confess your feelings for JJ.“C’mon,” he reasoned. “She looked pretty happy to see you last night.”“She just wanted to talk to me about Trent,” JJ huffed. “It’s the same thing over and over again, JB. All we talk about is the job Rafe gave me a few weeks back, whatever we talk about with our friends, and Trent. She never even gave me a chance to tell her how I felt about her.”“It’s not too late,” John B. said.“But what if she and Trent are happy together? Who am I to ruin that by confessing?”“Did she tell you that she was with Trent officially?”“Well, no,” said JJ, “but she didn’t have to. I knew she went over to Trent’s hotel, to you know, and that’s why she came to me in the Boneyard.”“But that’s just a theory,” John B. said, pouring the coffee into two cups. He put two sugars and a little bit of cream into his while JJ drank it black. “You don’t really know.”“It’s too f*cking early for mind games.”“You don’t know if that’s what she wanted to tell you because you never gave her the chance to say it.”“Again, JB, I don’t know what’s not clicking, but the timeline’s pretty obvious. We hung out, she left and told me she was going to Trent’s, and then she comes a few hours later to tell me she f*cked him.”John B. winced at his attitude but tried to keep his composure. He sipped on his coffee and tried to think of something to say, but even he had to admit his mind wasn’t all there due to waking up less than thirty minutes ago.“I don’t know what to tell you,” John B. said as he watched JJ’s shoulders slump. “You should apologize to her, though. You were a bit of a dick last night.”“I will when I get over it,” JJ said. “But right now I don’t even think Y/N and I are friends anymore.”John B. set his cup down. “What?”“She hurt me,” JJ said. “All this time we hung out and then she’d run off to Trent. It sucks knowing the person you love loves somebody else.”“You don’t mean that, JJ. You two have been friends for so long that I don’t think either of you can remember a time when you guys weren’t in each other's lives.”“Everything has to come to an end eventually,” JJ said. “Y/N and I aren’t an exception.”“JJ,” John B. said, turning his body towards his friend. “I know that you’re hurting right now but don’t throw away years of friendship.”“What else can I do? The only other option would be to watch as she and Trent start dating and I’ll have to listen to her talk about what a ‘perfect’ boyfriend he is. It’ll be weird, JB.”“Do you still love her?”“Yeah,” JJ said without pausing. “That’s why I don’t want to be around her. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret and make it awkward for all of us.” JJ sipped on his coffee. “Look, I’m hurt by what she did but I don’t hate her. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”“Which is?”“Making sure things aren’t awkward between us. I don’t want her to think I like her so she can be with Trent, worry free.”John B. kept his mouth sealed, knowing that JJ’s wound was still fresh. He wanted to tell the blond that his plan was cowardly and convince him to talk to you, even if it felt uncomfortable, but John B. knew JJ wanted to talk it out. The boy knew his best friend overthought more than he liked to admit.“Okay,” John B. said. “You do what’s best for you.” The brown-haired boy knew he would have to speak to Pope about this and, hopefully, have Sarah explain your side of the story to him.“Thanks, JB,” said JJ, taking his cup into the spare room.John B. pulled his phone out and texted Sarah, hoping this was all just a big misunderstanding.A day passed without you seeing JJ. It was easy not to see as you refused to step out of your house and you felt extremely lucky your parents had to prepare for some big event at the Thorton’s, leaving you alone with the house for most of the day. Sarah and Kiara had stayed over the previous night but had to part ways per Kiara’s job and Sarah’s obligation to her father’s work, leaving you with your thoughts.You knew you were both at fault for not speaking up sooner and you chastised yourself for not thinking about JJ’s feelings during this proposition. To you, JJ was just a friend helping you learn how to be confident in the bedroom, and the unfortunate side effect was you falling in love with your best friend. Perhaps you were too selfish when you realized it for the first time, caving into the delicious feeling of JJ’s attention on you like there was no one else he would rather look at.On one hand, you knew it wasn’t your fault that JJ wouldn’t listen to what you had to say, but you blame yourself for putting him in that position. You were positive he didn’t like you back and it made you feel even more embarrassed, knowing you had talked JJ into not caring in the slightest about Trent or your love life.

You knew you’d have to face him eventually, but you were putting it off as much as you could. You’d brave it for your friends and you’d try your best not to feel affected by the way JJ dismissed you like you two hadn’t been best friends since birth. But it would be hard and you knew that when your eyes landed on a photo of you and him, framed on the top of your dresser from last summer after you two had jumped off of a tall cliff. He had convinced you to face the height and offered to jump in with you and it was such a fulfilling moment that you wanted to commemorate that glorious day by framing a photo of you and JJ after emerging from the lake.

That memory felt like it was created in another lifetime. There was no doubt in your mind that you’d miss the way JJ would encourage you to face your fears and break your habit of choosing not to pursue something if it seemed too difficult. He, physically and metaphorically, held your hand through thick and thin, and never once made you feel like your problems were insignificant.

Of course, you both knew you were a Kook by birth and the stereotypes that came with that status. Neither you nor JJ were aware what titles meant until you both got older and started to care about what others thought of you, and there was a moment when you were worried about what the future of your friendship would look like. You knew how JJ was, brash and hot-headed, but JJ never treated you like he did with other Kooks. JJ always reminded you he knew who you were, deep down, and never wanted to ruin a friendship because of what other people had to say.

You wished you could go back to simpler times when you didn’t worry about having feelings for your best friend and ruining the friendship in the process. You wished you never gave Trent your number and you wished that someone else had picked up Kiara the night he approached you. You wished that summer was going to end on a happy note before everybody left for college, just like you had planned months ago. But you were sitting in the middle of your bed, blinking rapidly to prevent tears from falling after having desperately tried not to cry for the past hour.

For a moment, your mind wandered to how JJ was dealing with the aftermath of the night before. Was he torn apart like you were? Was he overthinking what he said and how he reacted like you were? Or was he nonchalant, barely thinking about you because he meant what he said? You couldn’t decide which of the three scenarios were worse and didn’t want to dwell on feeling sorry for yourself for too long. Part of you wanted to tell your mother everything that happened in the past few weeks and how this situation made you confront your feelings for JJ, like she had always hinted at, but you knew she’d react terribly if she knew the whole truth.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard in the group chat message you had with Kiara and Sarah, but you tossed your phone to the side after coming to the conclusion that you were being bothersome by reaching out to them after they had comforted you all morning. You already lost one friend and you didn’t want to risk losing two more.

You had considered asking Pope to talk to JJ for you, after talking yourself out of calling JJ, to have him explain your side of the story. But the thought was ludicrous; Pope was close with JJ and you thought he’d most likely believe his story over yours. Your mind wandered to the idea of JJ telling Pope everything he told you last night and you anticipated feeling embarrassed upon realizing Pope would side with him. He was a close friend, sure, but you knew he and JJ were closer. You weren’t sure if he would play the middleman this time and bridge the gap between you and JJ, so you disregarded asking Pope for a favor.

John B. was your last resort and you were putting asking him for help on hold. He was equally close with you and JJ, and John B. expressed numerous times how he viewed you as his younger sister during the many years you two had been friends despite being a few months younger than him. He had always been of sound mind when you felt like you couldn’t think properly, acting as your guide to bring the best out of you. John B. was always gentle, knowing that you always wanted to please everyone while navigating your way through your own life, especially when it came to learning how to put people in their place when it was needed.

But again, you came to the conclusion that he’d most likely side with JJ. The boy loved him like a brother and they were the two “founding” members of the friend group. John B. and JJ, two peas in a pod. You knew that they were inseparable and they always managed to fix each argument within the hour. It hurt to know that John B. would likely believe JJ without hearing your story, but in that moment, you decided the best idea was to keep your thoughts to yourself and wait until you felt less emotional to act.

“Life is so f*cking unfair,” you complained, staring at the framed photo across your bed before walking towards it, facing the photo down. You were, metaphorically, trying to get over the embarrassment of your failed attempt at confessing your feelings to JJ, and you were trying not to think about how either of you would react when you both saw each other for the first time since you left him at the Boneyard.

You genuinely didn’t know if you’d be friends with the Pogues after that day. The group would never be the same and you anticipated the both you and JJ acting awkward around each other if you continued to hang out together. While you were willing to put your pride and feelings aside to keep the group together, you knew that JJ would pretend you weren’t there and try his best not to interact with you. You didn’t know how you’d react if he brought a girl with him or what you’d do if JJ talked about liking another girl.

The whirlpool of thoughts made your head dizzy and you opted to lay on your pillow, choosing to fall fast asleep to avoid overthinking.

JJ counted the days that he hadn’t seen you. It had been four days since the Boneyard incident and he had successfully avoided you and the embarrassment that came with realizing he was utterly in love with you while you showed romantic feelings for someone else. JJ knew he was being irrationally idiotic when he decided the best way to deal with his feelings was to avoid you because he knew he’d have to talk to you at some point. He didn’t know what the friendship between the six of you would look like and he wasn’t too eager to find out.

His mind was preoccupied with finding ways to avoid you -- and talking about you -- that he hadn’t spent any time thinking about how he’s act, and how you’d act, when you two saw each other for the first time. JJ figured you’d try to avoid him and make small talk when necessary, and if he was being honest with himself, he might’ve done the same. When he woke up earlier that morning, it seemed as if JJ couldn’t forget the friendship that was lost between the both of you. Instead, his mind kept replaying the moment he looked away from you and the conversation he had with John B. JJ was sure Kiara and Sarah had comforted you, and that you confided in both girls, causing the blond to become fearful that he might’ve lost three friends in the process.

Everything about you captivated him and JJ cursed this because the both of you weren’t on speaking terms. He did his best to preoccupy himself with working at the garage shop, hanging out with John B. and Pope, or sitting by himself in a clearing where nobody would bother him, but it was no use. Neither being alone nor being around other people prevented JJ from thinking about you and it hurt him to know you might not be thinking about him the way he thought about you.

Pope had put two and two together after Sarah explained what happened between you and Trent. She had found Pope walking by The Wreck the day after she looked after you and told him everything you told her, including how Trent was someone you thought you liked until you realized you were projecting your feelings for JJ onto him because you were scared about ruining a friendship. The boy sat with his mouth wide open and Sarah desperately asked him to talk to JJ, knowing that neither one of you would be the first to say ‘I’m sorry.’“I’m just going to say it even if it’s the last thing you want to hear,” Pope said angrily, his voice raised.“Then why say it at all?” JJ barked back.“Because you’re my best friend and Y/N is the little sister I never had,” Pope replied with his nose flaring. He could feel his throat growing sore but paid no mind.JJ stood and leaned back, waiting for Pope to speak.“When things seem to be working out for you, you pull away. You hate it when it seems like your life’s going the way you want it to because you think something bad’s gonna happen. You reject people before they have the chance to do it to you because you’re afraid of feeling like something is being taken away from you.“And, man, I get it. You don’t have a perfect life and you’re used to things going south. You’re used to giving that you can’t enjoy a good thing while it’s happening. Your first instinct is to cut people off and shut them out before you even consider listening to what they have to say and working things out.”JJ looked at the wooden floor and noticed the few splinters sticking up. He made mental notes of where to avoid stepping until John B. got them fixed or filed them down.

“On the night of the last kegger, Y/N broke things off with Trent before seeing you,” Pope explained. “She told him nothing about their relationship felt right because she likes you, JJ. Y/N was at The Boneyard to tell her how she felt about you.”

JJ’s eyes widened with surprise and he, for once, felt like he wasn’t able to refute what his best friend was saying. Of all the things he imagined in his head, you confessing you liked him more than a friend was not remotely on his list. “Y/N is good for you,” Pope said. “She’s been your best friend since you could walk. She knows how you operate, what you like and don’t like, and how to help you when you’re going through it with your dad. She deals with all of your sh*t because she loves you, JJ. If you love her like you say you do, you need to accept that she’s going to see things you don’t want her to see.”“Pope,” JJ said, his voice cracking. His body didn’t move and he felt paralyzed in his spot. Pope didn’t hesitate to react and pulled JJ into a hug, patting him on the back for assurance.“You know you’re good for her too. You wouldn’t have agreed to whatever it was that was going on between you two if you didn’t think you were good enough for her. JJ, I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who thinks you’re not good enough for her. You’re not a screw up either. We all have things we’re dealing with on our own even if we don’t show other people. You don’t want to waste your friendship with her over something as stupid as a misunderstanding, right?”“No,” JJ said, wiping his eyes. “No, I don’t.”“Then get your ass out of here and tell Y/N you love her,” Pope said, pointing at the door. “Apologize to her and listen to what she has to say.”“What if I feel like I’m starting to shut her out again?”“Breath and tell yourself you deserve good things to happen. There’s always gonna be something that doesn’t go your way but it doesn’t mean your life has to end there.”“Thanks, Pope,” JJ said. He walked towards the door and Pope followed, watching as his friend walked outside and took John B’s bicycle to your house.Pope couldn’t help but smile because he knew JJ was willing to be vulnerable if that meant mending two broken hearts.When your doorbell rang, you ignored it, thinking it was overnight mail. You paid no mind to the sound and continued to scroll on Instagram on your phone but you were pulled out of your concentration when you heard the doorbell ring for a third, fourth, and fifth time. Angrily, you lifted the covers of your comforter off of your body and marched downstairs with your hand gripping your phone tightly, ready to raise your voice at whoever was bothering you while you tried to forget about a boy who forgot about you.

But when you opened the door, JJ stood with John B’s bicycle, his chest rising and falling.

“Hey,” he said casually, his eyes darting anywhere but you.

“Hi,” you replied, a frown apparent on your lips as your eyebrows creased.

“I, uh, biked all the way here from The Cut,” he said awkwardly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Am I supposed to congratulate you, or something?” you asked sarcastically after a brief pause, crossing your arms over your chest while you waited for JJ to answer you.

“No, you’re not,” he retorted. “I’m trying to apologize but I didn’t think about how I’d start this conversation.”

When JJ realized you weren’t saying anything and opted to listen, he spoke again.

“Pope told me why you were at The Boneyard,” he began.

“What did he tell you exactly?”

“He told me you broke things off with Trent and came to the party to tell me you liked me,” JJ finished. He looked at you. “And I assumed the worst before you could say anything.”

“You never let me explain myself,” you said, straightening your posture. “You told me you didn’t want anything to do with me and that you’d stop worrying about what I did if I did the same for you.”

“I was hurt,” he explained. “There’s no good excuse for me to say that and I know it. But what I said was because I was hurt by you talking about Trent when I wanted to tell you I was in love with you.”

JJ’s confession made your eyes widen.

“What?”

“I’m not saying that just because Pope told me you liked me either,” JJ said confidently. “You know I’m not good at this ‘talking about your feelings’ sh*t, but you know I tell you everything. I waited too damn long to tell you how I feel and it caused us to nearly lose our friendship.

“And I’m sorry for saying those things because it’s not right to make your best friend feel like they’re replaceable. I’m sorry for not letting you tell your side of the story because it’s unfair to let my voice be heard and not yours. I’m sorry for waiting this long to tell you how I feel about you, but I’m not sorry for loving you in the first place.”

The both of you looked at one another and JJ was scared for your reaction.

“That’s one hell of an apology,” you said after a moment of silence. JJ laughed.

“Yeah, I didn’t think that one out. I probably could’ve done better.”

You shook your head. “It means more to me that you didn’t plan it out because it lets me know that’s how you really feel.”

“I love you,” he said. “It’s not some casual thing I’m saying, Y/N. I can’t remember a time when you weren’t the most important person in my life and I can’t help but love you.”

“I love you too, idiot,” you said. JJ smiled at the nickname. “I’m sorry for putting you in that position when I was with Trent. You didn’t deserve to watch me go after some guy when you liked me more than a friend.”

“Thanks,” said JJ. He chuckled. “Things would’ve been easier if I had let you talk at The Boneyard, huh?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a delicate smile.

“Would it be weird if I asked you if I could kiss you?”

“Only if you didn’t kiss me.”

JJ leaned forward, not caring that he was tossing John B’s bike into your bushes. He hastily put both of his hands on either side of your jaw, letting his lips press onto yours with the euphoric feeling of kissing his best friend after having confessed.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked him, stepping inside of your house as you pulled his hands away from your jaw so that you could hold them. You bit your lip and JJ’s eyes widened, understanding your subtle hint.

“What about your parents?”

“They’ll be gone all weekend for an event,” you explained, pulling him inside. JJ closed the door behind him and you locked it without breaking eye contact, walking forward until you felt JJ’s back pressed against the doorframe.

“It’s convenient that they’ve been out of town for the past month,” he said, looking down at you.

“I say we take advantage of the house,” you said. JJ raised his eyebrow.

“Do you?”

“It’s my house, Maybank,” you said as you licked your lips, pulling him up the stairwell. “If I want you to take me to my bedroom, you’ll take me to my bedroom.”

“f*ck,” he cursed as he watched you lead him to the familiar door he’d seen many times before.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked you once you both were inside your room, your hands tracing along the sides of his torso. You pushed up the fabric of his t-shirt as they went and he could feel the coldness of your fingertips grazing along his skin. You nodded, your bottom lip finding refuge between your teeth.

“We’ve already slept together, J,” you said. He raised his arms up over his head to allow you to pull the shirt fully over his head and toss it onto the floor beside your bed. Once it was off, he hand found your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“This is different and you know it,” he sighed. Your eyes flickered down to his slightly parted lips.

“Is it now?” you asked, your shaky breathing betraying whatever confidence you’d previously displayed. It only took him a second to capture your mouth on his own. You could feel the yearning through his skin with his grip on your jaw apparent.

His fingers danced down your body until they rested just underneath your shorts, toying with the hem of your cut-offs as his tongue made its way down your throat. Everything about him just felt so much better than before, like he wasn’t holding anything back; and it was incredible. JJ knew he didn’t have to hide his feelings for you anymore and he knew he didn’t have to metaphorically show his love and appreciation for you as his best friend and lover. JJ could show you how he felt about you and he wasn’t about to waste any time.

“Take these off,” he grumbled against your lips as he snapped the waistband of your shorts. You nodded, distancing yourself from him with a pout so that you could shimmy the shorts down your legs, missing the feelings of his hands around your jaw.

“Your turn,” you said, motioning towards the cargo shorts on his legs.

“You’re hot when you’re bossy,” he said, tossing his shorts in the same general direction of his shirt before reconnecting your lips. The two of you somehow managed to maneuver yourselves to the foot of your bed, your knees buckling as he sat you down on the down filled comforter. Your hand found his clothed length as he stared down at you.

“I want you,” you said.

“That’s good, because I’m desperate for you,” he said. You could feel him hardening under your touch. “You’ve got too many clothes on, don’t you think?”

You hummed in response before slipping your tube top over your head gingerly, watching as JJ’s eyes never left your body. It hadn’t really crossed his mind that you hadn’t been wearing a bra under it until he saw your breasts in full, your nipples standing at attention from the feeling of the cool air hitting them.

“f*ck, baby,” he groaned before pulling on of them between his teeth. The other was quickly taken care of by his right hand, his index and thumb twisting and rolling the peak. A whine slipped out of you before you could stop it and JJ felt his co*ck twitch at the sound. He pulled back from you with a pop as he leaned you back against the duvet, your legs still dangling over the side as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked again.

“I trust you, JJ,” you groaned. “Now, please do something.”

“I’m gonna do so much more than f*ck you,” he said before removing his blue boxer briefs, his co*ck slapping against his torso. You lipcked your lips at the sight and gripped the bedsheets. “I’m gonna make you feel so good you’re gonna beg for another round.”

“Please,” you mumbled as his lips slanted against your throat. “I need you so bad.”

You felt him bite down on your pulse point, his canines nearly piercing the skin. He pulled back to admire the bruise before making his way down your body, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on your skin. The fabric of your panties grew damper, both from your own juices and his saliva as he kissed your cl*t through them. JJ’s hand slowly stroked his co*ck as he teased you and he moaned when he felt your hips push themselves forward underneath his tongue. Your hands found his tousled blond locks as the two of you made eye contact, his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

“JJ,” you whined.

“Patience, baby. I’m just getting started,” he said. Still, he moved back from where he was so that he could pull the flimsy piece of clothing down your legs as his middle finger delved between your folds. “So pretty and wet for me.”

“Only for you,” you said.

“I have so much I want to do with you, baby, but I’m so hard right now. I don’t know if I can resist not being inside of you much longer,” he punctuated the sentence with a moan.

Your hand wrapped itself around his co*ck, desperately trying to push him inside of you. He let you pull him close enough so that the head was just barely pressing into your entrance before slapping your hand away.

“Do I need to say it again?” he asked, grabbing your hips and tugging you so that you were mere inches away from falling off the edge of the bed.

“Patience is a virtue,” you said. “One I don’t have.”

He paused for a moment. “Do you remember that time you called me and asked me to teach you how to touch yourself?”

“Yeah, what does that have-”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes, I do,” you sighed, bucking your hips in an attempt to get him inside of you.

“You think you can show me what you learned while I f*ck you?” he asked. You nodded as your hand slipped between the two of you, ghosting over your cl*t. You would’ve done anything he asked in that moment if it meant he had his way with you.

The head of his co*ck dipped into you fully at that point, the rest of his length following shortly after until he was bottomed out. He stalled with a groan.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said before starting up a steady rhythm with his hips. It seemed that every snap of his hips sent your mind spiraling deeper into the haze that was JJ Maybank.

“J, I’m not gonna last much longer,” you whimpered, clenching around him. From the way you felt his co*ck twitching, you knew he wasn’t going to either.

“I love you,” he whispered as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, J,” you moaned as you felt your org*sm wash over you, the pleasure rolling over you in waves. His hips stuttered for a moment, his cum coating your walls in thick, hot ropes. The euphoric mixture of being able to finish inside of you while simultaneously allowing himself to show you how much he loved you washed over him like a newfound grace.

“f*ck,” he said. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s okay,” you said with a small laugh. He leaned back to pull out of you, his gaze dropping as he watched a mix of both of your cum drip out of you.

“I’m gonna get hard again, holy sh*t,” he said as he pushed it back up into you with his fingers.

“We’ve got all night,” you said.

JJ smiled.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

***

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"I always just rode the waves,” Rebecca Ferguson says with a shrug. The comment hangs in the air, as if the Anglo-Swedish 37-year-old is only now processing that a combination of currents and tides has led her not just to an acting career but to the brink of big-screen stardom.

“I’ve never been ambitious,” she says. “I’ve always thought that that was a bad thing.” She’s seen others in the industry consumed by constant striving and asked herself why she hasn’t hungered for fame since childhood, slept in cars outside castings, barged into directors’ offices or thrown herself in the path of a producer. “But should I not be burning for this? Out meeting people and networking for the next job?” says Ferguson, who has chosen the sort of quiet, private life outside the big city that so many actors claim to crave. “My life just took another turn. But I’ve always thought: Am I where I should be?”

At the moment, on this late July day, Ferguson is slumped in the backseat of a Mercedes-Benz sedan, crawling through rush-hour traffic on the M4 out of London. She is capping off a hectic week during a particularly busy period. Most immediately, she’s coming from a table read for Wool, the Apple TV+ adaptation of Hugh Howey’s bestselling postapocalyptic trilogy. Ferguson is both the star and, for the first time, an executive producer. “I’m sitting in all the different rooms, listening and learning like the students,” she says. She’s filming Mission: Impossible 7, her third tour of duty in the long-running series that first brought her widespread recognition. She’s also promoting the film Reminiscence, the sci-fi noir written and directed by Westworld co-creator Lisa Joy in which Ferguson stars opposite Hugh Jackman. And now she is starting a press push and festival prep for her role as Lady Jessica ahead of the much-delayed release of Dune (in theaters October 22), director Denis Villeneuve’s reimagining of Frank Herbert’s novel. “After this film, I think everyone will see what I see in her,” the filmmaker says. “She has a beautiful, regal, aristocratic presence, elegance. But that was not the main thing: The most important thing for me was that depth.”

After tracing a long, meandering path, Ferguson has landed in a rare and rarified position: ascendant in her late 30s (still an anomaly for women in the film industry) and sought after by some of the biggest names in the business. “When you meet Rebecca, you just see it. She’s very open, candid, collaborative, hardworking, funny—and not pretentious,” says Tom Cruise, who handpicked Ferguson to star opposite him in the Mission: Impossiblefilms, which are known for their demanding shoots. “She just rose to the occasion every single time.”

In February 2020, when the pandemic began, Ferguson left Venice, where she’d been shooting Mission: Impossible 7, and hunkered down with her husband, their 3-year-old daughter and Ferguson’s 14-year-old son from a previous relationship at their farm in Sweden. After four months, Ferguson returned to the M:I set and basically hasn’t stopped working since.

Dune has sat idle for far longer. By the time the movie premieres, more than two years will havepassed since it wrapped. Ferguson recently asked to screen the film again: “I miss it,” she says. She ended up bringing along her Mission: Impossible co-star Simon Pegg. After the credits rolled, Pegg broke into a smile and wrapped her in a congratulatory bear hug. “That’s all I needed,” she says.

Despite being a sci-fi epic based on a novel from 1965, Dune feels “very timely,” Ferguson says, pointing to its handling of environmental issues, religious zealotry, colonialism and Indigenous rights. The plot of the film, which cost an estimated $165 million, centers on occupying powers battling for the right to exploit a people and their planet, named Arrakis, for melange (or spice)—the most valuable commodity in Herbert’s fictional universe, a substance that provides transcendental thought, extends life and enables instantaneous interstellar travel. “Spice,” Ferguson says, “is equally about the poppy and oil fields.”

Ferguson’s Lady Jessica is a member of the Bene Gesserit, a powerful secretive sisterhood with superhuman mental abilities. She defies her order by giving birth to a son, Paul (played by Timothée Chalamet), who may be a messianic figure. “She basically just f—s up the entire universe by having a son out of love,” says Ferguson. In her hands, Jessica is equal parts caring parent, protector and pedagogue. Among the skills she wields and teaches Paul is “the Voice”—a modulated tone that allows the speaker to control others.

The movie was shot in Norway, Hungary, Jordan and Abu Dhabi, whose desert landscape stood in for Arrakis. Filming there was particularly arduous, as temperatures exceeded 120 degrees Fahrenheit, limiting the shoot window to only an hour and a half each day at 5 a.m. and again at dusk. “We were running across the sand in our steel suits being chased by nonexistent but humongous worms,” Ferguson recalls, referring to the sand-beasts later rendered in CGI. “To be honest, it was one of the best moments ever. It was the most beautiful location I’ve ever seen.”

Back in London, Ferguson is approaching home. She leaves the following day for a small town on the coast of England, where she plans to spend her first vacation in two years and to do some surfing. “Let’s hope it’s good weather,” she says. “If not, I’ll surf in the rain.” Not that she’s the sort to paddle out into storm swells. “I think I’ve managed to stand on a board once in my entire life,” she says. “But it was quite a high. Complete surrender to the waves and total control all at once.”

Born Rebecca Louisa Ferguson Sundström to an English mother and Swedish father, Ferguson grew up bilingual in Stockholm. She immersed herself in dance from a young age, enjoying ballet, jazz, street funk and tango. Despite being shy and prone to blushing and breaking out when forced to speak publicly, Ferguson found she was at ease in front of the camera. She dabbled in modeling and then, at 15, attended a TV casting call at her mother’s urging. Ferguson ended up getting the lead role in Nya Tider (New Times), a soap opera that became wildly popular, splashing Ferguson’s face into Swedish homes five times a week.

When her role ended about two years later, Ferguson was adrift. She had no formal acting training to fall back on, no clear sense of how to steer a career and no major connections to the industry. She had a short run on another soap and appeared in a slasher flick and a couple of independent shorts, then…nothing. “I was famous in Sweden, but I didn’t really have an income anymore,” she says. “So I went and I worked in whatever job I could get.” That meant stints at a daycare center and as a nanny, in a jewelry shop and a shoe store, as well as teaching tango, cleaning hotel rooms and waitressing at a Korean restaurant. She eventually landed in a small coastal town named Simrishamn, where she lived with her then-partner and their toddler son, content to be a where-are-they-now celebrity.

When fame again came calling, Ferguson ran away. She was at the flea market when she recognized the acclaimed Swedish director Richard Hobert, and he saw her. As he shouted her name, Ferguson grabbed her son, who lost his shoes and sausage, and fled. “I panicked,” she says. “I don’t know why.” When Hobert eventually caught up to her, Ferguson tried to act nonchalant as he proceeded to tell her he’d admired her work and pitched her on the lead role in his next movie: “I’ve written this role, and I think I have written it for you. Do you want to read the script?”

Her work in Hobert’s A One-Way Trip to Antibes earned her a Rising Star nomination at the Stockholm International Film Festival. She quickly got an agent in Scandinavia, then one in Britain. On her first trip to take meetings in London, she read for the lead in The White Queen, the BBC adaptation of Philippa Gregory’s historical novels about the women behind the Wars of the Roses. Ferguson got the part, and her portrayal of Elizabeth Woodville, queen consort of England, earned her a Golden Globe nomination and the admiration of at least one Hollywood heavyweight.

Ferguson was in the Moroccan desert filming the Lifetime biblical miniseries The Red Tentwhen the assistant director whisked her off her camel. “We’re going to have to pause shooting,” he said as he asked her to dismount. “Tom Cruise wants to meet you for Mission: Impossible. We’re going to fly you off today.”

Cruise had seen Ferguson’s work in The White Queen and her audition tape and couldn’t believe she wasn’t already a major star. “What? Where has this woman been?” Cruise recalls exclaiming to his new Mission: Impossible director Christopher McQuarrie. “She’s incredibly skilled,” Cruise says, “very charismatic, very expressive. As you can tell, the camera loves her.” Ferguson landed a multi-picture deal to star opposite Cruise in the multibillion-dollar franchise. He and McQuarrie built out the role of Ilsa Faust for Ferguson, creating the anti-Bond girl, an equal to Cruise’s Ethan Hunt. “We could just see the impact she could have,” he says. “She’s a dancer. She has great control of her body, of her movements. She has the same ability to move through emotions effortlessly.”

Ferguson threw herself into the films and quickly found a shorthand with the cast and crew. “There was a dynamic that worked very well with all of us,” she says. “One of the things I absolutely love is doing all the stunts.” That physicality has given her a reputation as an action-minded actor. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve done 20 other films where I don’t kick ass,” Ferguson says. “Mission comes with such an enormous following. That was what made my career.”

Ferguson’s M: I movies bracket a number of films in which she played opposite marquee names: Florence Foster Jenkins, with Meryl Streep and Hugh Grant; The Girl on the Train, with Emily Blunt; The Greatest Showman, with Hugh Jackman and Michelle Williams; Life, with Jake Gyllenhaal and Ryan Reynolds; Men in Black: International, with Chris Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson; The Snowman, with Michael Fassbender; Doctor Sleep, with Ewan McGregor. And now Dune, opposite Oscar Isaac, Javier Bardem, Zendaya and Chalamet, whom she calls “one of the best actors, if not the best actor of his generation—of this time.” She was similarly impressed by Zendaya, who plays the native Fremen warrior Chani. “She’s quite raw and naughty and fun,” says Ferguson. “She has an enormous f— off attitude.”

When Ferguson first spoke to Villeneuve about appearing in the movie, “he started telling me about this woman who was a protector, and a mother, and a lover, and a concubine,” she recalls. “I was like, ‘I’m sorry. You want me to play a queen and a bodyguard? And you want me to kick ass and walk regally?’ I was like, ‘Denis, why would I want to do that? That’s the last thing I want to do.’ ”

After the call, Ferguson says, “I went downstairs to my hubby and said, Oh, my God, he’s amazing, but I’m not going to get the job. I just criticized the character.” Ferguson worried she was being cast as a stereotypical “strong female character,” where “it’s constantly, ‘She looks good, and she can kick.’ That is not what I want to portray.”

Ferguson hasn’t always been able to work with collaborators who’ve given her the space to question or opine. “I’ve been bashed down. I’ve been bullied,” she says, though she opts not to say by whom. That was never a concern with Villeneuve, who welcomed her critique. He and his co-writers had already decided from the start to make women the focus of their screenplay adaptation, and he promptly offered her the part.

“I want Lady Jessica to be at the center, the forefront. For me, she’s the architect of the story,” Villeneuve says. “I needed someone who will convey the mystery and the dark side of the film in a very elegant and profound way. Rebecca was everything I was hoping for. She’s so precise. She brought a beautiful, controlled vulnerability—it becomes very visceral on-screen.”

Ferguson vaguely recalls trying to watch the 1984 version of Dune, directed by David Lynch, in her youth, but she fell asleep. And she had never opened Herbert’s novel until being offered the part in the new adaptation. As she dug into the book, she says, she learned that her character was subservient and far more like a concubine, forced to eat alone in her bedroom, not spoken to and not allowed to speak. Ferguson ended up relying primarily on Villeneuve for her research and prep—his notes and comments, his references and the pages in the book he suggested she focus on. “I would feel ignorant not to have read Frank’s book at all,” Ferguson says, though she admits there are parts of the sprawling novel (which Villeneuve is splitting into two films) she’s only skimmed. “I have to finish it.” That will not happen on her upcoming vacation, however. “Absolutely not,” she says “I am surfing.”

By the way, if you saw, I am snaking on the ground, snaking around my room to get good Wi-Fi—it’s not some dance or yoga thing,” Ferguson says. “You have to do that in this old house.” It’s a week and a half after our first meeting, and Ferguson is at her new home, a more than 500-year-old property southwest of London that has, over the years, been home to numerous English Royals. It’s more spartan than stately now. “Empty except for a rock star,” she says, turning her phone’s camera to reveal a framed duotone poster of Mick Jagger that’s leaning against the wall. “We haven’t even started renovating.

Ferguson has returned from her holiday fortified and with renewed confidence, thanks in part to her success on the surfboard. “I went up nearly every time,” she says cheerfully, “but the waves weren’t very high.” She shrugs. “I was proud. I was up. I rode them, not the other way around.”

After years of going with the flow, Ferguson is eager to replicate that sense of control in her career. She values her role as an executive producer on Wool, she says, “because I am, for the first time, a part of it from the beginning.” She relishes weighing in on every aspect, from casting (the show recently added Tim Robbins) to cinematography to her character—which has not always been easy for her. “Why do I feel it’s difficult to speak up? I still battle with these things,” she says. Alluding to those times she was pushed around in the past, Ferguson says, “I was angry, but it was more me getting off at ‘How can I let that happen? Why am I letting myself react this way?’ And I take it with me to the next thing where I go, ‘OK, how do I stop that from happening?’ ”

She is learning that she can ride on top of waves without giving up her agency or maybe just let them break against her. “I want to feel I can go home and think, That was a hard day or that pissed me off—and that’s OK,” Ferguson says, with a nod and tight smile. “Because I still stood there as Rebecca. I didn’t shift.”

No “wine-ing”: a season of ice and fire

A lot of you dropped very kind messages about my well being and I’m happy to say that my recovery from Covid is firmly on track and I’m close to full strength again. My exhaustion and tiredness has thankfully been ebbing away. I’m back running my daily 5 km before I start my work day and cycling to get back to full fitness.

So I managed to escape Paris before the travel lockdown and curfew was imposed before April 26. I’m a country girl at heart and I’ve always felt a little uncomfortable in big cities. I love Paris but I also get tired of it quite easily. So I headed to the chateau vineyard where I thought I could complete my recovery from my Covid illness and work remotely (the work never stops) without too many distractions.

Unfortunately - or fortunately as I prefer to see it - I was mud deep in trying to rescue our wine harvest for 2021 as frost struck over a few nights that left us reeling, and left much of the country’s wine growing region devastated. No region of France was spared as French wine producers fought valiantly over several nights to stop the frost from letting the buds finally come out to sprout. Wine makers fought with everything they could think of, and in the end resorted to fire to keep the temperature warm enough for the vines to survive the cold snap. It was a spectacular sight all across the horizons of many French wine growing regions including ours.

I’m just thankful to be there at the right place and the right time to help out.

I enjoy coming down to our chateau vineyard as it’s a welcome contrast to the busy city life of Paris. I just couldn’t wait to get dressed up (or dress down?) in tatty old clothing, rolling up my sleeves, and getting my hands dirty with any physical chores to do around the vineyard. I always have this urge to make myself useful instead being stuck behind a desk, bored to death in Zoom call meetings. I was looking forward to running and cycling in the open country air to bust a gut or two.

Mostly though I was looking forward to enjoying home cooked country food, be in the fun company of my two Anglo-Norwegian cousins and their French families, and together we’d be preening over the first shoots of the forthcoming wine harvest for 2021.

It is always an emotional moment at this time of year when we see in the vineyards the glistening tears of the vines (‘les pleurs’) that tell us that the new vintage is underway. As the temperatures rise so does the sap in the vines and where the pruners have trimmed the end of the branch, we see this beautiful sight that reassures us – telling us whatever happens, nature continues. The baby buds are beginning to come out timidly but soon the stark branches of the vines will be green again as these fragile leaves unfurl in the spring sunlight.

Back in 2020 many vintners (winemakers), not just in our region but across the whole of France, were unsure what 2021 would bring. Would 2021 be a challenging vintage or an easy one full of sunshine? With the growing season starting so early, the first hurdle - and one of the most crucial - is the fear of late frost. It seems to be more and more of a problem in recent years, this late frost burying any new growth like a fast moving avalanche. For many vintners they have 2017 written into their hearts in painful tears when frost devastated any hope for a healthy harvest and for some even brought financial ruin.

For me - at the time - it was a rude introduction to the vicissitudes of the wine making business by two wine loving cousins co-owning and co-managing an old family owned French vineyard. Family fortunes rise and fall according to the harvest. All the blood, tears, and sweat poured into running an efficient high yielding grape vineyard comes to naught when you realise that you are not the master, nature is.

The risk of frost has increased in recent years due to global warming, which does not just warm but makes the climate more erratic and temperatures more extreme. Good news for the moderately temperate climate for our wine making region where hotter drier summers have produced a string of good recent vintages (2015, 2016, 2018, 2020). But the negative side of this is that frosts have become more common right up until the end of the usual cycle – last year it was on 6th May.

Except this year, 2021, now looked like 2017 because of the devastation of continued frost on the vines. In talking to the French family of my cousin’s French wife, who have faithfully made wine for a few generations they ruefully pointed out past bad frosts. Apparently 1956 was legendary with a very cold winter frost some minus 20 °C following a warm period when the sap rose from the roots into the vine foot and branches. It killed the vines. The last disastrous late spring frost before 2017 was 1991. It seems to be striking significantly every two years now and a every year to a degree. Who would have expected the devastation again this year, 2021 some forty years on.

This year, particularly around April 7th and 8th, brought despair to vignerons right across France from Champagne to Cognac, Burgundy to Bordeaux as thousands of vineyards’ new growth was obliterated by frost (resulting in zero yield for harvest 2021). There may be some new growth and some secondary budding but this is a repeat of 2017 (if not worse) and few were able to harvest any grapes worth speaking of.

My cousins had been in contact with friends and other peers who are wine makers in other regions (friendships are built at trade shows overseas and other association events) and in totality the picture appeared bleaker than previous years. The scourge of frost had been catastrophic. Around half of the vines in Burgundy have been damaged, according to local producers. Some vineyard owning friends in the Inter Rhône region told us that the whole of the Rhône has been hit dramatically and that some plots are affected 100%.

According to the CNIV, the official French council for wine appellation, the frost has affected 80% of French vineyards. We already know that we will have a very low harvest in 2021. Nearly all French wine growers have just suffered a dark week in April.

It’s not just wine growers but fruit farmers too. It’s been like winter coming in spring. Below-freezing temperatures in the Drome and Ardèche regions of central southern France have led to fruit farmers losing up to 90 percent of their kiwi, apricot, apple, and peach harvest. Even in Bordeaux the severity of the frost damaged the growth on fruit trees such as apricots, peaches and nectarines, and field-crops such as rapeseed and sugar beet.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. How does one protect the vines from frost?

There have been a variety of ways vineyard owners have been dealing with the problem of frost. There’s no one size fits all and the solutions are often handicapped by the size of one’s vineyards, financial resources, and manpower.

Two solutions in fighting frost have been aeolian wind turbines and air fans. It takes the warmer air from higher up, and pushes it to the ground. These machines can raise temperatures by up to 2C. The problem is that some of these wind turbines and air fans are permanently set so they can only be set in one direction whilst others one can wheel around to move the air and stop frost settling. Both are very expensive solutions and the cost may outweigh the gain.

Air heaters are another solution. No less expensive though. One of our vineyard owning neighbours wanted to use paraffin fuelled heaters. But he said he would have needed 4,500 paraffin-fuelled heaters to cover all his 15 hectares at a cost of nearly €50,000 for the two worst nights, and even then growers it would protect only the vines for his finest wines.

Some of the vineyards also launched helicopters to fly above their vineyards, a method that can help to prevent frost by encouraging warm air to circulate. In effect they push the cold air around so that it does not sink down to the ground causing its damage. I was all for this solution as I’m an ex-army helicopter combat pilot and so I felt my old training could be put to use in civilian helicopters. But we ruled this out once we did the maths. At about 1600€-2000€ per hour one can only fly from 6am but this is the coldest time when the sun comes up. At best the helicopter’s range of effectiveness was a mere 10 hectares. So you don’t get more bang for your buck. But that didn’t stop some vineyards that we knew doing exactly that. These were corporate owned vineyards who tend to be well heeled and can afford to spare no expense.

There are less expensive solutions but are more costly in terms of manpower.

Some vineyards used water sprinklers, allowing a fine coating hitting sub-zero temperatures as the ice acts like a mini-igloo and protect it from outside colder temperatures.

Conversely, vineyard owners hit upon another relatively low cost solution of using candles. They usually last 12 hours and so in effect can be used for the two crucial nights of severe frost. We calculated that at 10€ a candle you would need 300 for one hectare alone. Of course the chief problem is that they need to be lit by hand and hope the wind was kind.

For the biodynamic wine producers they fell back on organic solutions. They sprayed their vines with a spray composed of pectins from apples which is supposed to lower the temperature around the vines. More common and perhaps more effective was spraying vines with Valerian to give the vines some added fortification to survive themselves.

By far the most common response by vineyard owners to combat the frost was to burn fires by burning hay bales amongst the vines. The smoke causes a blanket which heats up the atmosphere. In the old days I was told they actually burned rubber tyres! For it to have any chance of being effective you have to be aware of wine direction and make sure the bales are in the right places. It also helps if your neighbours do the same.

Speaking for our chateau vineyard, we had to make tough decisions to see how our chateau vineyard could combat the frost and minimise the damage to the future harvest. Although I own a small financial investment stake in the vineyard I have always deferred to my two cousins who actually run the vineyard with their married partners on a day to day basis. It’s their life long passion and I’m happy to play a small part in getting my hands (literally) dirty in building something from the soil up and for purely selfish reasons, just love being so close to nature itself. The fact that the French family of one my cousin’s wife - they actually owned the land and were reputable wine makers for generations - added invaluable weight to the wisdom of any decision making we had to do.

We sat around the kitchen table and talked through our options whilst nursing a glass of wine from a past vintage. My cousins and their kids especially thought I was a weirdo - they’re probably right! It’s not that I enjoy it (the mud, sweat and lack of sleep etc) but it was the challenge that really got me energised. If it’s a forlorn battle against the odds that’s when I really come alive. So I was quite jolly and full of vim whilst those around me were bleary eyed and groaning for bed and a hot shower as we were out in the fields in the dead of night. We ran it like a military operation - thanks to me ha! - I put everyone on detail and even the small kids saluted and got to work on their task. We made sure we had hot soup and beers constantly on tap for our staff and workers to take a food break and take a breather. Not that they needed motivating. Every one of our staff and also volunteers worked bravely to limit the damage.

So in the end we fell upon a series of actions which indeed many of our immediate wine making neighbours also followed suit. We sprayed, we watered, we burned. We tried everything to save our vines from further damage from frost.

We concocted an organic solution that had thyme, oregano, and wild sariette to which we added valerian and meadowsweet and a dash of yarrow and horsetail as well as honey; all of which help the whole organic solution to work. In effect this helps the vine to prepare for ice, by changing the composition of the sap a little, by enriching it with sugar. The infusion is then sprayed onto the vines at least 24 hours before the first freeze is forecast. The solution only works if the temperatures stay just below freezing but no lower, at around -2C or -1C maximum. With this solution on the plants, we could increase temperatures by 1-2 degrees. If it drops even lower, to around -5C, as we had in 2019, it’s not enough. It might save some plants, but not all.

We soon followed with watering the vines using our irrigation system we had on hand. It was labouriously time consuming.

When it was clear that this wasn’t going to work out because of the severe temperature drop we fell on fire as the saving solution.

It was all hands on deck as we also roped in some volunteers to help us start small controlled fires amongst our vines. We burned straw bales and piles of wood in very large jerry cans to save what we could. The aim was to create a blanket of smoke so that when the sun came up it didn't burn the vines because of the humidity. One vineyard neighbour of ours actually used a flame thrower and lit more than 700 small fires but had to start all over again because the fires didn’t last one night.

This was our experience too. We had a lot of hectares to cover and so little man power and so we just worked around the clock until we were able to light fires and keep an eye on them should they go out. We ran between the selected vines to make sure the fires remained lit throughout the night starting around 2am to 6am. I don’t think any of us had more than a few hours sleep over a crucial 48 hour window. We took turns to cook for everyone and made sure everyone was well fed on home cooking as well as hot showers and adequately winter clothed. I’m used to being sweaty and getting by on little sleep from my army days but it’s a measure of how far I’ve succumbed to civilian life that even I found it a little hard going.

I’m not very good at lighting fires as I tend to over compensate on the fuel lighter and I feared that I would burn the whole vineyard down by trying to start a small controlled fire. I got singed here and there but nothing to complain about. Others were just marvellous in their work ethic and shared bonhomie as we tried to save our vineyard. One person on our staff did get singed with flames and in his case we rushed him to hospital with minor third degree burns. We all felt like roasted chestnuts standing between the small fires. But what a spectacular sight the landscape was with all these lighted fires. This wasn’t just our vineyard but all across the landscape of neighbouring vineyards. It looked as if the whole region was on fire. It was quite hypnotising to look at. As to its effects, it’s harder to discern. I do know that even cities of Lyon and Bordeaux had a layer of smog that was visible to others from far away.

Looking back it was both exhausting and exhilarating to experience such a time. It’s the kind of rite of passage that either breaks you or makes you. For us it certainly brought us all together more tightly than before. With our neighbours too there was a collective sense of togetherness and rather than act selfishly or just worry about our own fortunes, neighbours lent a hand towards each other in terms of equipment, expertise, or voluntary labour.

Perhaps the more wealthy chateau vineyards’ expensive techniques were able to save their best vineyards but most who could afford creating smoke blankets from burning hay bales – they were no match for the frost with temperatures down to minus 5 in some areas. Hopefully insurance had been taken out, which involves a substantial expenditure each year. We are fortunate to have insurance and the damage done to our vineyard has been mitigated to some extent. But I do know for instance that many are not insured against the effects of frost because of the cost of the coverage and many French wine producers were already struggling financially.

It was reported that many chateau vineyards in lesser known areas (Castillon, Bourg, Blaye, Côtes de Franc, Graves, Satellites of St Emilion) who could not afford these payments and who played ‘Russian roulette’, this year lost for perhaps for the last time. For them it’s personally heart breaking. For French wine making it’s a cultural tragedy. It’s hard enough for small independent vineyards (often run by families or young couples with a dream) to survive - the economies of scale as well as being aggressively overshadowed by the high volume output and superior marketing power of wealthy corporate owned vineyards - but never really expected nature, or vicissitudes of global warming, to make it that much more harder to make wine.

Unlike Bordeaux, Burgundy, the Rhone valley, in the Champagne region, we heard that not many Champagne wine producers didn’t even bother fighting the frost because they thought it would have done little good. One of the reasons why so few people engaged in frost protection in Champagne is these wine makers have as their biggest buffer against frost is their Individual Reserve (RI). In case appellation requirements are not met in the vineyard, they can draw from it.

Indeed with sales still stagnating and small yield expectations, growers may have to dip in the RI because frost season is not over till after the Saintes Glaces, a period in the middle of May after which frost generally doesn't appear. But not every vineyard can do that.

To their credit, perhaps recognising the commercial and cultural role French wine has in daily life and international prestige, the French government had agreed to step in to help. President Emmanuel Macron tweeted a picture of a candle-lit vineyard and promised that help was on the way, “À vous, agriculteurs qui, partout en France, avez lutté sans relâche, nuit après nuit, pour protéger les fruits de votre travail, je veux vous dire notre soutien plein et entier dans ce combat. Tenez bon ! Nous sommes à vos côtés et le resterons.” (“To you, farmers who, throughout France, have fought tirelessly, night after night, to protect the fruits of your labour, I want to give you our full support in this fight. Hold on tight! We are by your side and will remain so." )

To that end President Macron has declared an "agricultural disaster" and Prime Minister Jean Castex has promised that the government will provide emergency relief to those who were affected. He has also removed the limit on the amount of financial compensation that can be provided. It said it would help the smaller independent vineyards and co-operatives with tax breaks as well as pushing banks and insurance companies to help out. It’s unclear if any of this will come to pass or indeed what effect it might have in the short and long term. We shall see.

It’s been estimated that at least a third of French wine production worth nearly € 2 billion (£ 1.7 billion) in sales will be lost this year. It's another blow for France's wine industry whatever assistance is given. The French wine industry has already been dealing with the knock-on effects of the Covid pandemic, with decreases in restaurant orders due to the country's series of lockdowns. Independent producers have been hit hard by the cancellation of wine fairs due to Covid. Then there have been the effects of the tariffs that former President Donald Trump imposed as a result of assorted disputes between the administration and the European Union. In late 2019, Trump hit French wine with a retaliatory 25% import duty, a cost increase that the Economist says contributed to a 14% drop in French wine exports in 2020. Last month in March, the United States and the EU announced a four-month suspension of the tariffs.

But that doesn't necessarily help winegrowers right now - especially since a significant percentage of this year's crop may already be lost. Tradition has it that it is well into May before vine growers can sleep easy without worrying about the risk of further frost damage.

Even though we did our best to save our vines we couldn’t save all of them and even had decide which ones to forgo even trying because we lacked manpower and resources at such short notice. I heard someone amongst ourselves say losing the vines that one has cultivated so lovingly was like the loss of a family member. It may seem puerile, but that is close to what many feel. Perhaps only winegrowers can understand this sentiment, but they have found themselves out in the vines in the morning with tears in their eyes. I’m not one for sentiment and displays of emotion but even I was a little moved to see the heart break in tear filled eyes of some of the older generation who have for decades given their sweat and tears to tilling the soil. We did our best to console one another and remarkably in that crucible we experienced together we all became closer.

What is clear is the tradition of wine - beyond national politics and international trade disputes - is under long term threat from something much more existential. There is a saying amongst the older generation of wine makers in our fertile wine making region who say, ‘wine history is climate history’. Wine making is about the vines, the ‘terroir’ (a French way of saying the earth or the soil), but also the climate. Nature is very much the master and wine makers are but humble servants of the soil. For those who don’t believe in climate change or think it’s overly dramatised by scientists or worse, a hoax, then I would say wake up and smell the coffee. Climate change is real as any wine producer or arable farmer will tell you. Wine can make you do or say many things, but it won’t ever make you tell a wilful lie.

The French wife of my cousin, whose family the vineyard had been for several generations, told us that the wine harvest time used to span her grandfather’s birthday - September 28 - but now, the bustle of harvest is over and cleaned up in time for his birthday party - that’s two to three weeks earlier than when her grandfather used to make the wine. As she memorably put it, things are “bien cramées” (really screwed up).

All of this means that wine producers will have to change their ways as the climate changes. All the measures taken to combat frost were in reality delaying tactics to fight a losing battle with the climate. The wine industry, not just in France but around the world, needs to evolve if it is to face up to increasing climate challenges. This might include planting more weather-resistant vines that flower later, and are therefore less vulnerable to late frosts and cold snaps.

Wine, in France, is built into the fabric of the culture. The many variety of grapes across the wine growing regions indigenously grow and adapt to the precise climate conditions of the region for centuries. Winemakers know the growth stages intimately: the look of the vines before they bud; the look of the vines as they mature over long seasons; and the fat, sugary, fragrant curve of the grapes when they’re ready to be made into wine.

That harvest point is crucial. Too long on the vine and the grapes have too much sugar in them, meaning the wine will be more alcoholic—not the subtle feel most winemakers in the region care for. Too long, and the acids that give wine some of its feel in the mouth may disintegrate. Not long enough, and they might not have developed the right balance of fragrant chemicals that give the wine its characteristic flavours.

Winemakers keep careful track of harvest dates, with some regions have records stretching back to the Middle Ages. In the 1800s, scientists and historians realised that those careful records could be used to keep track of how the climate in different parts of Europe has changed over time.

Grape harvest date records are the longest records of phenology in Europe. There are hundreds of years of records of what the summer temp was like, and we can use them like a thermometer.

Grape harvest dates reflect the temperature the grapes have felt over the course of the growing season, from about April until they’re picked. If the spring and summer are hot, the grapes mature faster and need to be picked sooner. If they're cool, the opposite is true.

Climate historians started to pull together ancient information from other sources, too. They matched up the patterns in the grape harvest data with records made from tree rings and the length of glaciers in the Alps. They used records like those to figure out that much of central Europe warmed up during the Medieval Warm Period, from around 900 to 1300. It had cooled down during the Little Ice Age, from about the 15th to the 19th centuries.

The historians saw that over the past few hundred years, temperatures wobbled around, skewing warm for short stretches and cooling down in others. But overall, climate rocked up and down around a fairly consistent average value - until recently.

Wine is first and foremost an agricultural product. The grapes used to make it are grown and harvested with intent to be fermented. This means that wine production is vulnerable to the effects of climate change from the tangible health of vines to the taste and quality of the finished bottling they create. So for this reason, all winemakers see themselves as being on the front line to see what happens with the weather, with the climate. The fluctuations we have today are more significant than any time before.

If you don’t believe any of this or think wine producers are exaggerating the dangers, then taste your wine the next time you open a bottle. The chances are it has a high alcohol content. This is no accident. Because of the changes in temperature world wide, the alcohol content of wines has bumped up from about 12% in the 1970s to about 14% today. Of course that number varies from region to region and is also due to the wine maker’s preference. But a large part of it is because grapes are maturing faster in the heat. The more sugar they accumulate, the more of it is converted to alcohol during the winemaking process.

Warming has also caused the boundaries of viable growing area to swell. Typically, successful vineyards have been found between 30 and 50 degrees latitude. But as global average temperatures continue to climb, the most ideal areas to plant are moving farther from the equator. Now, areas as far up as the island of Föhr and Stargarder Land in Mecklenburg, at the tip-top of Germany, are legally permitted to produce table wines. Belgium, whose vinous history has been overshadowed by its beer culture, quadrupled production between 2006 and 2018; it’s forecasted to become a champion, alongside Finland, Sweden and other boreal climes. Shockingly, even England has also successfully entered the modern fine wine scene.

With better wine from regions we know and new wine from previously uncharted areas, it may appear the wine world is becoming better off. In truth, however, this is a thin silver lining to ever-worsening viticultural challenges.

If the growing season becomes too hot, fruit will push through its life cycle too quickly and characteristics like tannins and anthocyanins, the compounds responsible for giving grape skins their colour, won’t develop properly. Muted acid and increased alcohol levels are also possible and often undesirable.

Variations between daytime and nighttime temperatures are in jeopardy as well. In warmer growing regions, that difference can be crucial to achieving freshness and encouraging certain flavour and aroma development.

Intense heat or too much direct sunlight can lead to dried fruit notes or create flabby and dull wines. Fruit that’s left too long on the vine can be damaged from sunburn or may simply shrivel. Vines may just shut down to protect themselves.

This is already happening in some places. Wine growers in northern Italy have already seen sunburnt crops with increasing frequency. The summer of 2019 in Southern Australia was the hottest since national records began in 1910, and it ushered in an 8% loss of white wine varieties, with Chardonnay dropping 12% to its lowest yield in the past five years. Growers in Priorat, Spain, reported devastating vine damage, scorched leaves and desiccated grapes when temperatures shot up to a record 107.6˚F.

Climate change is complicated, however, and, even though temperature is the most influential factor in overall growth and productivity of wine grapes, there’s more than rising mercury to think about.

Winter, and all of its prescriptions, is one of those other things. We typically talk about warming, yet, freezes during the winter or extreme frost in the spring don’t go away. They may become less frequent, but potentially more severe. A decrease in regular winter frosts may also encourage the spread of pests and insect-bornediseases that would normally die off during cold seasons.

Moisture is pivotal. Too much rain approaching or during harvest can lead to watery grapesand a weak vintage. Similar to mild winters, damp, soggy and humid conditions open the door toa variety of pests, fungi, mildew and disease pressures.

All of these intricacies and others work in conjunction with temperature todictate what vines can successfully grow where and for how long—and all areincreasingly unpredictable or totally upended in the face of climate change.

The people who grow, make and sell wine are tuned in to these nuances.

A greater number of producers are rethinking canopy management, vine trellising or pruningtechniques, developing cover crops and extensive shading methods, increasing vineyard biodiversityand finding ways to reuse water.

Still, there are some challenges that cannot be overcome.

In the future, I expect growers to struggle with maintaining varieties in certain regionswithout major interventions. If they don’t make major changes, wine producerswill see declining yields - already seen in Europe - and declining quality as the varieties becomeincreasingly mismatched to the climate.

Producers have begun grafting new rootstocks and experimenting with different grapes. InSouth Africa, Vinpro, aided tests of drought-resistant varieties including Assyrtico and Marselan,for example. Australian producers have tried Italian grapes like Fiano, Vermentino and Nerod’Avola that thrive in warmer settings.

In Old World regions, where grapes and blends may be prescribed by law, the idea of swapping plantings is monumental.

Bordeaux is one such place, and, at a 2019 General Assembly meeting, it finally relented. The Union of Bordeaux AOC and Bordeaux Supérieur winemakers unanimously approved a list of seven “varieties of interest for adapting to climate change”: Arinarnoa, Castets, Marselan, Touriga Nacional, Alvarinho, Liliorila and Petit Manseng.

The approval of these new plantings signals just how committed the region is to preserving the future of fine wine.

Each of the various tactics being implemented worldwide take lots of time, tests and research. Some experienced wine producers think it would take about 21 years to change course because of how long it takes to plant vines, grow grapes, and then create and age a wine; finding sustainable farming practices for a plot takes trial and error.

Further, the methods being devised now may not be applicable down the road. Though there are several models in use to try and predict changes, they are attempting to track a nonlinear problem that’s dependent on a range of forthcoming scenarios.

Basically, the only thing we do know for certain is that it will get warmer, and that we may be able to anticipate that heat before it hits us.We have to be asking what we can do now to preserve the integrity of the grapes and vineyards we work with and look for where our opportunities are to continue making wine. The one line that works for everyone is to cut carbon emissions, that is the emergency action that needs to be taken.

We’re all starting to see this and we’re all affected. We know we can’t turn it backwards, and we’re not even sure we can slow it down. But we have to try.

Think on all this the next time you take a sip of wine.

Hopefully, Yours (part 1) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8823

Summary: A fight between co-stars leads to you taking their place, along with the man you’ve been carrying a rather fervid torch for. A happy accident—except it’s a dating show and you have to pretend your feelings aren’t real. | Part 2

Warnings/Tags: language,fluff, oblivious behaviour,dating show,social media,Victor might be a little OOC because I’ve written him differently, some making out in the next part hence the rating, no smut though, my sense of humour

A/n: as always, I’m here to clown around. I tried something a lil new (for me) in this one 👉👈 something I picked up quite recently from works I adored, so I hope you like it! It got longer than I intended so I had to split it into 2 parts ;.; Victor said: keep writing, hoe.

ALSO!!!Yours by Ella Henderson is. THE Victor/MC song for me. I felt it in my bones when I listened to it again after all these years. brb crying

It’s the incessant buzzing of your phone that lures you out of the warm cocoon of your blanket.

You don’t really want to come out of your haven. Not after the week you’ve had, and because you know what awaits you. But as Anna had told you, there’s no way you can avoid this. They had finished editing the episode on Thursday, and Jason had already texted you last night to let you know it would be ready to be uploaded at 7:00 pm today.

Reaching listlessly for your phone, you squint at the bright screen through bleary eyes; it’s 9:00 pm already, and you’ve managed to sleep most of your Sunday away. It’s been a whole week since you filmed the episode, and while you were able to keep your thoughts at bay through it, it’s finally caught up to you.

After all, this is the episode you’re going to be in.

Pulling your laptop towards you, you open the tab that has the streaming site open. Your heart begins its anxious thump against its cage, a beat all too familiar to you by now. As the video begins playing, the memories of that day rise up to the forefront of your mind, refusing to be outdone by this meticulously edited version.

It started with a plan. A very well-thought-out plan.

“He called me a bitch. How can you still expect me to shoot with this jerk?”

Things were not going according to the very well-thought-out plan.

From your place next to Homer, the camera guy, you watched with mounting apprehension as Hollow resisted the AD’s attempts to placate her. But she did seem calmer, the scalding rage of her glare simmering down as he continued to reason with her.

And then her partner for the episode walked back onto the set.

“She said my songs are predictable! You want me to work with a hater?” Kai protested loudly, and Hollow turned back to him in a fury. The AD looked back at you in dismay, the rest of the staff watching with varying levels of exasperation.

“This is supposed to be a cheesy, ultra-romantic show,” Kiki whispered from her place at your side.

“This is what the reality is. All that sappy crap is for the camera,” Willow snorted, shaking her head in disenchanted disappointment.

There may be more than a kernel of truth in that. Hopefully, Yours wasyour company’s latest project; the second season, the first one having been produced by a different group. It’s a romantic web-series that featured different couples going on dates around town. The couples featured ranged from non-celebrities to people who are household names. So far, there hadn’t been too many issues with the participants—so you really should have expected this.

“Not always!” you cut in, fiddling nervously with your planner. “Some of the couples have gone on to date for real. Raymond and Liliana got married!”A lovely couple from an episode that aired last year. They’d been in the news recently too.

“They’re getting divorced,” Homer piped up in response. You hoped the look on your face let him know how unhelpful that was and turned back to the clashing couple. The AD looked harrowed and harassed as things turn increasingly hostile.

“Willow, do we have a backup couple?” you asked after a long moment of watching them spit insults. “Or just one person to replace either of them. What about Carlson?”

“He won’t be in town until tomorrow.”

‘Can I leave town?’ You wondered in a fit of desperate, wishful thinking.

“And we’ve got everyone here, with everything set up. Can we really waste time?” Kiki wondered out loud.

“No, we can’t,” answered a strained voice from behind you. All four of you turn to see Anna striding towards you, her hassled expression sending a frisson of worry through your stomach. “___, we’ve got guests.”

“Guests?” you repeated numbly. “What guests?” From the look on her face, it couldn’t be good news.

Anna held your gaze for a second, looking vaguely apologetic, before stepping to the side, allowing you to get a look at who Jason, the director, had rushed off to greet. You felt the ground shift beneath you, throat drying rapidly and the surrounding noise dimming as you focused on the new arrivals—your friend, your boss if you insist on the technicalities, and the star of most of your daydreams. LFG’s very own CEO, Victor, and his loyal secretary, Goldman.

In other words, people you hadn’t expected to see today.

“Why?” you whimpered, mostly panicked, but distantly amused by how enthusiastically he’s being greeted. It gave you a few moments to get it together, a familiar buzz coming to life underneath your skin.

This is terrible. Surely, this is karmic retribution for some misdeed committed by you.

“Boss, get it together,” Kiki hissed in an echo of your thoughts, and you realized you had half-fallen back into her and Willow’s arms, their hands steady on your shoulders.

“This is really bad timing. Like, really bad,” Willow pointed out unnecessarily as you straightened up, running a quick hand through your hair.

“Goldman said they just dropped in to see how it’s coming along. I don’t really understand why, this is not at all Victor’s cup of tea, but he’d been hesitant about the show, so...” With a sympathetic smile, Anna placed a hand on your elbow, squeezing lightly. The comfort it brought is chased away almost immediately by a furious screech.

“That is it. I’m done!”

Turning just in time to watch Hollow stalk off the set, you tried to restart your thought process. You just needed to solve this.

“How do we solve this?” Kiki asked in a low voice, and Willow shook her head helplessly.

With no answer for her, you could only watch as Jason led Victor and Goldman towards the set. You knew the exact moment he saw you; there was no smile, but a slow blink. It was still early in the afternoon, and his patrician features were alight with a soft glow in the golden sunlight, the curve of his lip relaxed and his clever gaze taking in you and everything happening around you in seconds. You’re not sure what he saw in your face but it made the corners of his mouth pull downwards.

Your stomach plummeted, seized by a sudden urge to flee.

But with his long strides, he reached you before you could take a step back. Kiki and Willow retreated silently, greeting him like newly registered soldiers coming face to face with their general and leaving you at his mercy. You would have felt miffed, but the way the sunlight softened his features was a little distracting. His lips moved, and you’re certain he said something, but couldn’tquite hear him over the sound of your heart drumming in your ears.

Homer coughed loudly, popping the bubble.

“Good morning, Victor!” Certain your lack of actual delight was obvious, you tried to inject as much enthusiasm into your voice as you could while your project went up in flames behind you. Not that you weren’t happy to see him, as the sudden thrill twisting through insisted on reminding you, but the prospect of disappointing him was one you would rather not face.

There was no visible reaction from Victor, but Homer looked a bit disturbed by the attempt. Goldman just looked like he pitied you, while Jason looked oddly contemplative. This was probably his first time seeing you this…dazzled.

“Good morning,” Victor replied evenly. His eyes, a constant, focused storm and his silken hair falling artfully over his forehead form a picture so lovely, almost beyond words. It’s never stopped you from waxing poetic about them, or his long list of admirable personality traits, but he had a way of knowing when you’re not paying attention. “Looks like I picked a bad time to check in.”

You couldn’t quite pin down the inflexion in his tone, but your immediate guess was that he was either severely disappointed or was low-key mocking you.

With how quickly things derailed, it’s understandable.

“Haha,” you laughed—an unfortunate coping mechanism that seems to flare up most often in his presence. Also, because Victor looked unfairly gorgeous, as always and you were a fool with a worryingly erratic pulse. “Just a few bumps. Nothing we can’t fix.”

Behind you, Kai declared his intent to leave as well. There’s a contract, so they would have to look into this, but that would take time. At that moment, Victor was eyeing the singer leaving the set and your nervous smile with his brows steadily climbing higher.

“Right. Anything I can do to help?” he offered, and the shame that elicited is so fierce you felt like you’d shrunk. This was supposed to be a casual visit, for him to see how the filming was going and instead you made him feel the need to step in and clean up the mess.

“No,” you said, firm, immediate, vehement. He frowned down at you. “We’ll come up with something. Why don’t you two take a seat, we’ll get you some drinks and Anna can go over the ratings and numbers with you.”

Victor seemed to hesitate, still frowning at you, but relented when you mustered up a small but convincing smile for him. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything,” he insisted, because he’s nice like that, before following Goldman and Anna into the small room you’ve converted into an office. You have a small but closed set for the first meeting of the couples, before the crew moves to whatever location has been picked out for the date.

“He’s nicer than he looks,” Homer observed as the two of you watched him leave.

“He’s lovely,” you said miserably. Who would have thought there’d be a day when you said that about Victor? He was still an evil capitalist, but he’s a kind man.

Homer didn’t get the chance to reply as Jason rushed up to you.

“Okay, so we’re gonna have to sit those two down for a talk, but we don’t have time for that today. We need substitutes,” Jason said, not nearly as panicked as you would expect from a director who had no one to direct. It was admirable, this ability to keep his head even when he hits what looks like a dead end.

“I’ll make some calls.” Reaching into your pocket, your mind ram through your options as your hand closed around your phone.

“I want you to do it,” Jason declared.

It took you a few seconds to realize you hadn’t misheard. He looked back at you steadily, already resolute in his decision. You looked around, expecting protests, but the staff members only looked eager.

“…I don’t like this joke,” you said, slowly.

“Good thing it wasn’t one!” Jason returned cheerfully. “Before you turn it down, let me say—please? And don’t go off with the ‘I’m nobody!’ thing. People know who you are.”

“Um.” You really, really didn’t know what to say to him.

“My brother thinks you’re hot,” Homer offered, and Jason beamed at him.

“Okay, we’ll do this. You’re the producer of one of the oldest and most popular shows. You’ve gained more media presence over the last two years. You’re also friends with Kiro and Professor Lucien, so people have been quite curious about you for a while! This is just a fun little thing. Please?” Jason pleaded.

In the spirit of fairness, you took a minute to think about it. It would solve half the problem. And today’s location was a local fair, where the couple got to try out anything they want to, with all the expenses covered by the company. The very thought of stepping in front of the camera left your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t deny the bud of excitement that seemed to have taken root.

In the end, your stomach made the choice for you.

“If you think it’ll be fine, then sure,” you acceded, thoughts filled with stir-fried noodles and holding hands with a faceless person. “But what about the other person?”

“Hmm,” Jason looked in the direction of the office, reminding you that you don’t have all day to decide.

“I could call Gavin and ask if he’s free,” you suggested. People adore him. “Or Lucien?”

Jason nodded as if truly considering it, his gaze sharp on you. “Good choices. What about Victor?”

“Yeah, no. That is a bad idea,” you said at once, without giving it a moment’s thought. This was a dating show, where people go on cute dates and act adorable on camera. The very thought of Victor doing that at all, let alone with you…was something you couldn’t think of because it was ridiculous. And bad for your poor heart.

“It is an excellent idea,” Jason disagreed. You hated to be the bearer of bad news, but this was necessary. You’ve known Victor for a while now, and felt responsible for Jason’s well-being that would inevitably be threatened if he embarks on this particular path.

“He’d never agree to it,” you told him solemnly. The man barely agrees to do interviews; a show like this? Out of the question. “You know who he is, right? He doesn’t have time for this.”

“Why don’t you leave that to me, and go get ready. I’ll go get your man,” Jason said, loud and bright, shooing you in the direction of the dressing rooms. You stood there for another minute, dazed and afraid. What if Victor thought it was your idea?

The horror.

The terror.

“I’m still texting Lucien!” you called after him, voice pitched high in your alarm. Before you could follow Jason to make sure Victor knows you would never suggest this, an arm slid around your shoulder.

“Darling,” Arnold, the head stylist, cooed at you. “I heard the good news.”

“How?” It had been two minutes. People shouldn’t be spreading this without the director’s confirmation.

“Forget the hows. This is your time to shine. Come, we’re going to make that CEO drool,” he proclaimed, shepherding you towards the dressing rooms.“And I can finally do something about this hair!”

“He’s not going to agree.” You were absolutely certain of that, even as your mind continued to conjure cutesy images of you sharing cotton candy with the reticent man.

Taking a seat at the vanity, you reached for your phone over the cotton pads, watching Arnold’s reflection in the large mirror as he flitted about the small room, picking out different outfits. You hadn’t gotten a chance to check it for a while, and scrolled through your texts swiftly, pausing on a few in particular.

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Victor [9:00]: Hello. I’ve got some time off today.

Victor [9:02]: Is it alright if we drop by the set? What time is your lunch break?

Victor [9:20]: You must be busy. I spoke to Anna. I’ll see you later.

Victor [9:25]: Also, good morning.

‎

Oh.

He had actually let you know he’d be dropping in. Taciturn and domineering he may be, but Victor’s quiet consideration often left you glowing with warmth. In comparison, your own clumsiness often left you embarrassed. In this instance, it made you feel doubly determined to do this right.

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Y/N [12: 05]: Hi, sorry I missed these. Don’t worry, I’ll get us back on track.

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Closing Victor’s chat, you took a moment to consider your options before making your choice.

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Y/N [12:07]: Lucien! Are you free?

Lucien [12:15]: Hello. Just wrapped up a lecture. I thought you were going to be shooting today?

Y/N [12:16]: I am. Actually, I had a favour to ask.

‎

You stared down at the screen of your phone, shoulders relaxing as one of the assistants fussed with your hair. Should you wait for Jason before asking him? You knew what the outcome will be, regardless of what you wanted. You’ve always known, always kept your thoughts safe behind a barrier, never letting them spill out in Victor’s presence.

You thought back to his disappointment, and something fragile in your chest tightened.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you prayed to all the powers above that this works out.

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Victor [12:18]: Dummy. I’m not worried.

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There was a knock at the door as you opened the chat, thrown off but pleased by Victor’s confidence.

“Guys, can I come in?”

It was Jason.

With trembling fingers curling tight, you sat up straighter as he was let in. Your pulse quickens, your emotions jumbling together until your can’t tell them apart. You kept your expectations low. You knew what the answer would be. It couldn’t hurt if you expected it.

You just hoped it wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t your idea.

“He agreed!” Jason announced with a flourish, and your heart halted its despondent march. “His secretary’s picking up his outfit, they said it won’t take too long. We’ll do his hair and mak—uh, are you okay?”

You swallowed your heart back down. “He said yes.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, stretching out his answer, nodding as Arnold thrust an outfit at him.

“And he…knows it’s with…me?” you asked carefully.

Jason’s brows climbed a notch higher. “Yes, of course.” His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t quite read.

“Right, right. That’s great! Fantastic. Wonderful,” you said admittedly weakly, turning your gaze back to your reflection. The colour seemed to have drained from your skin, and you ignored the concerned glance exchanged by Jason and Arnold.

“___, hey,” Jason began gently, coming up to stand behind your chair. “Are you okay with this?”

You studied his worried expression, thoughts turning inward. You shifted aside the panic, the disbelief, the prickling nerves, and shushed the sparks of excitement.

A date with Victor.

It sounded wonderful. But the problem was never about you not wanting it. It was that you’ve wanted it for so long and so badly. Could you really have this?

“It’s okay to say no. It’s just…I don’t think it’ll be as awful as you think,” Jason said. His brow furrowed as the lines of your face smoothed out.

Oh.

“It’s for the camera,” you remembered, and Jason hummed thoughtfully. Regardless of what he may think of you, Victor wouldn’t let it show on the screen. You knew he was aware of what the show entails. So, perhaps, you could have this. It was for work. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.”

Your breath evened out from its shallow state, and you smiled up at Jason, who still looked concerned.

“It’ll be okay.” Your phone buzzed again, and you gathered yourself once more.

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Lucien [12: 23]: What can I do for you?

Victor [12:24]: And I look forward to working with you.

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It wouldn’t be real.

Telling yourself it wouldn’t be real was easy.

Sitting next to Victor, your high stools positioned close together as you tried to keep your thoughts away from dangerous paths, was not easy. But the light notes of his scent, sandalwood and myrrh if your nose hadn’t led you astray, threatened to lull you into a state of near-intoxication.

Jason had wanted to film the ‘first meeting’ and, for the sake of authenticity, decided to have Victor wait in front of the camera while you got to be the one to walk in. Which meant it was straight from the dressing room to the set. While you were thankful you wouldn’t be filmed drooling on camera, it still meant you wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him until after, or in between takes.

You were a lot more grateful for the arrangement when you did walk to the set, because the sight of Victor—clad in a slim-fit black shirt, paired with a dark grey jacket and black pants that stretched deliciously over his muscled thighs—stopped you dead in your tracks, your thoughts wiped blissfully clean.

The look on his face, bright under the studio lights, had been unreadable, but it didn’t look like his usual unimpressed poker face, so you decided to take it as not quite a win, but not a loss either. Then the small upturn of the corners of his lips, however, threatened to overload your system, prompting you to avert your gaze slightly as you walked to him, for fear of losing yourself.

Your hi had been shyer than intended, but his hello had been the gentlest you had ever heard it.

And then he handed you a bouquet of red, fragrant roses and you felt yourself grow weak.

It was a short take, where you both introduced yourselves, and discussed where you’d be going for the date.

“Do you like fairs?” he’d asked, gaze intent as if your answer was of the utmost importance.

“I love them,” you’d answered, meaning it completely, and he’d looked glad.

Even through the wild beating of your heart, you had managed to feel impressed. He was doing wonderfully already. Who knew Victor had these acting skills? Hopefully, he thought the same of you. You weren’t acting, though, and this, you were quickly realizing, could be a wonderful way to lift the lid off the pot just a little, and let your real feelings shine through.

You would be filming the individual, interview type scenes last, after the date.

With the first meeting done, with Jason going over the take to make sure he had everything he needed, you would be moving to the location soon. But first-

You looked around quickly, covering your mic and making sure nobody was paying too much attention to you, before turning to Victor—only to nearly jump in fright when you met his eyes. How he’d known you wanted to talk, you’d never know. His own eyes had widened when you’d turned around all of a sudden, the tips of his ears reddening slightly. He had probably been startled by your reaction.

“Hi,” you whispered, grinning up at him, and his lips twitched as he covered his mic.

“You’re doing well,” Victor told you, giving you a firm nod, and you couldn’t quite keep from beaming at him.

“Thanks, you too. I never knew you were hiding such a skilled actor in there!” You really meant it, but your words gave him pause, mouth opening and closing as he considered his response. Strange, as modesty was something he didn’t often bother with. Not to say he’s arrogant, just that he knew his strengths.

“…thank you,” he finally said. “You too. I didn’t know you could…act.”

Because you weren’t acting. The blushing, the shy giggling, the warmth buzzing through you, they were painfully real.

You shrugged, smiling slightly, and he looked away.

“Just…thank you, Victor,” you murmured. “I know this isn’t really your thing. But I promise I’ll do my best to make it enjoyable.”

The light, airy sound that escaped his mouth could almost be a laugh. He did shoot you a small smirk, facing you once more. “Well, you’re not wrong. But it can’t be too bad. I’ve heard they’ve got good street food.”

“Good street food,” you repeated blankly. Wasn’t he taking this acting thing too far? This was bordering on alarming, coming from the man who used to look down on you for eating instant noodles.

“Yes.” He looks at you as if daring you to argue, and, well, who are you to argue with an actor’s method?

His smile faded slightly as yours widened, eyes fixating on yours, your voice pitching higher in your excitement. “I know, yeah, great food. Literally the only reason I agreed to do this!”

Victor’s face shutters at that, his lips pressing tightly together. “Hm.” He turned back to face the camera, leaving you confused, before realisation dawned.

“Hey, don’t worry! I won’t be too much of a glutton, we’ll be on camera, after all,” you told him, as reassuringly as possible because you and good food were a dangerous combo.

He arched a sharp brow at you. “We’ll see about that. I may spend most of my time in kitchen, but Mr Millshas much to tell me about some of your reactions.”

It was only through the sheer power of your offence that you were able to scowl at him even with the heat flaring up in your cheeks. “Well, there’s no way the food there will be as good as the one in Souvenir, so we have nothing to worry about.”

You resisted the urge to cross your arms, keeping your hands neatly folded in your lap as you turned away from him. But when he said nothing for a whole minute, you couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek, only to be left with your jaw slack.

Victor was still facing forward, but the corners of his mouth seemed to be curling up despite the effort he was clearly putting into keeping them neutral, his tiny smile still managing to spill through the seams. It enraptured you, a willing captive to the sight of him so pleased, and you wondered if you could make it through this with your heart intact.

But then, you told yourself through your daze, any chef would be happy to receive such praise for their food.

[video]

hopefully, yours, episode 3, part 1: Introductions (Victor and Y/n)

450,569 views • Feb 8th, 2020

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JTV ✓

1.19M subscribers

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51,509 comments

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Jason P ✓

pinned comment

This is a special one guys ♡

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needwater 45 minutes ego

AM I HALLUCINATING OR IS VICTOR LI ACTUALLY ON A DATING SHOW?

view 50 replies

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somsom 23 minutes ago

omg it’s y/n! We rarely get to see her on TV. She’s so cute!!!!

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orangeismycolour 16 minutes ago

!!!! Victor and Y/n!!! Omg ever since I saw them attend the Loveland gala together last year, I knew there was something there!!

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tooktiktook 8 minutes ago

um. isn’t this kind of an odd combo?

cheribb 5 minutes ago

@tooktiktok I thought so too but they look pretty cute together. I mean…he totally blushed when he saw her! And his eyes went so soft!

tooktiktok 4 minutes ago

@cheribb Well, she seems sweet but I think he was just being nice.

By the time you were shuffled into a van and driven to the site of the fair, your nerves had mostly settled.

Of course, that may have had something to do with the pudding cup Victor had handed you once you were in your seats. Goldman had brought over a paper bag, with Victor plucking two cups from it like a magician with a hat. With that said, while it’s a trick you’ve seen many a time, it never fails to bring a sparkle to your eye.

With Arnold’s permission, you were more than happy to dig right in. Your makeup would have to be retouched once you got there even if you didn’t eat.

It was easy to relax in the steady familiarity of Victor’s presence. A dangerous notion, your unwavering faith in Victor, that dictated everything would be okay if he was there because he would either make it so, or you, with confidence half-drawn from him, would make sure of it yourself.

It was only once you were halfway through the treat, humming and wiggling in your joy, that you realized Victor hadn’t started on his. Rather, his eyes were fixed firmly on you, intent in observing your devouring of the pudding.

The next bite went down a little heavier as you turned to him.

“Is something wrong?” Your enthusiasm surely couldn’t have come as a surprise.

He hesitated, seemingly on the verge of saying something, before clearing his throat and looking out he the window at the slow-moving traffic.

“No. Just…eat slowly,” he muttered, refusing to look at you. You squint at him, at the pink creeping up the back of his neck, sucking on the spoon thoughtfully. “There’s no need to rush.”

“Sorry. I got a little too excited.” Your laugh is a little hollow, and you muffle it with another mouthful of the soft, sweet dessert, missing his quick glance back at you.

He sighed, sudden and a little ragged.

“No, I meant that you should take your time and savour it,” he told you, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “I can make it for you anytime, so there will be many more chances in the future.”

The next spoonful remained frozen by your mouth as you struggled to process his words. Warm fingers came to rest against the back of your hand, guiding it, and the spoon, to your lips. Your skin tingled, but what was more damning was the way he held your gaze as your lips parted, the metal spoon warm against your tongue as you tasted the sweet delicacy.

It felt all the more sweeter, however, because of the little smile dancing across Victor’s lips.

You were rescued from attempting to respond to that by the van slowing to a stop, with Jason and Homer climbing in before they got moving again. Homer would be the one following you around the fair, as they only needed to get a few takes of you indulging in various activities.

“We absolutely need one with the ferris wheel, of course. A little cliched, but still damn cute. Maybe we can fix a camera in the cabin…” Jason trailed off, turning to Homer for his input. “If you think it’ll be better without you there.”

‘How would it be better without Homer there?’ you wanted to protest. ‘I’ll screw it up if left to my own devices! Professional environment aside, that’s a little too romantic!’

Something prickled at the back of your neck, and you realized Victor seemed to be trying to get your attention, albeit in a very silent way you probably wouldn’t have caught on to if you hadn’t spent so much time studying him.

He said nothing even when you met his gaze, but a reassuring warmth calmed you all the same. I’ll be there, he seemed to say. Trust me.

You were worried about the romantic atmosphere getting to your head, but surely Victor, the ultimate voice of reason, wouldn’t let you get carried away?

“Okay, we won’t crowd you guys too much, but remember to avoid turning away from the camera!”

That had been the last thing Jason said to you both before he retreated to his place behind Homer, who was ready with the camera propped over his shoulder. Your mics were affixed to your clothes, and people were already beginning to shoot curious looks your way. It wasn’tan uncommon sight; many vloggers and people working for food channels could often be found in places like these, flitting about with their cameras out as they partook in the activities available.

While being around cameras was nothing new, it was a little strange to be on the other side of them. Nervousness weighing on your chest, you reminded yourself over and over: be natural, don’t act like a lovesick fool, don’t stare at Victor for too long. Turning to the man himself as Homer adjusted the camera settings, hoping to draw inspiration from his steadfast composure, you could only stare in confusion at the intent way in which he was staring at the entrance to the fair.

Following the trajectory of his gaze, you squinted, hoping to see what had caught his attention. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, with people milling about, the welcoming sign high above their heads bright and welcoming.

“Victor?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything okay?” you asked hesitantly, and he nodded, almost distracted.

“Are we ready?” he asked Homer, who gave him a thumbs up.

Jason grinned at you, winking in what he seemed to think was a discreet manner. “Have fun, you two.”

You couldn’t quite pretend there were no cameras, not with Homer keeping up with you as you began to walk through the entrance arch. Looking at Victor was easier, just to block out the awareness of your companions, of course.

Catching your nervous glances, he inclined his head towards you and made an abortive movement, hand rising and falling midway. His jaw clenched, and then he offered you his arm, elbow bent.

As your hand curled around his arm, you focused on your vibrant surroundings. A task made more difficult when, after a short pause, you felt him tuck his elbow into his side, the broad span of his shoulders relaxing when you tightened your grip.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for years, but never really got the chance to,” you told Victor, your voice still edged with nervousness. But Victor nodded at you again, the usual stern line of his mouth quirking up, and your mind stuttered, committing itself to memorizing the precious curve of his mouth.

“In that case I’m glad we got to come here together,” he told you, and it took a good deal of effort not to gape at him. “It’s a first for both of us.”

You nodded, stunned by this unforeseen acting prowess. Seemed like you’ve discovered another one of his many talents.

“Hopefully, it’s the first of many,” he added, a smug lilt to his voice, and this time, you did gape.

“Y-yeah,” you answered, face heating up as you turned away for the sake of your dignity. “Hopefully.”

bandanaman @headaccs

are we all seeing this?? he’s such a gentleman!! I was not expecting this man to be smooth. #HopefullyYours

mintmadness @mintsallover

@headaccs HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? He doesn’t even need words, one look and I would be on my knees. #HopefullyYours #VictorLi

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@mintsallover calm yo thirsty ass down lmao

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raspberrydream @berryberry

“the first of many” omg what does he mean???? #HopefullyYours

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freshasnow @crystalmoon

Yeah, I’m not really feeling this. I thought we were going to get Kai and Hollow this week? #HopefullyYours

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teatime ✓ @spillit

For those of you asking, yes, we knew Victor Li and Y/n were going to be on Hopefully, Yours. Don’t worry darlings, we’ll have some quality tea for you soon! #HopefullyYours

Spotting the first of the food vendors, you both headed over to it, peering at the fresh dumplings. The vendor straightened up at the sight of the camera, a benign smile spreading across his face when you asked him for permission to film, nodding and plating plump, steaming dumplings with the utmost grace.

Gordon, as he introduced himself, was more than happy to talk about his family business, their two restaurants in Loveland, while Homer took close-ups of the dumpling that Victor broke apart for a better look.

“My daughter comes here every year with me, insisting she can handle things by herself, but honestly, I just enjoy coming here,” he chortled, before fixing the two of you with a knowing look. “It’s a completely different atmosphere from the restaurant! And it’s always nice to see sweet young couples such as yourselves. Reminds me of my own fair dates with my wife…”

You couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Victor, who seemed content to chew on his snack. He caught your eyes, before his flickered over your head towards Homer and Jason. Inexplicably, his ears began to tint a deep crimson, as he swallowed with some effort and stepped closer to you.

It began to make sense when he lifted the other half of the dumpling to your lips, Gordon gasping an oh my! in the background, and even as your heart began to race, your eyes widening, you felt…bad. Jason had obviously asked him to do this, and you felt terrible about him having to embarrass himself like this. But he did it, and so you took a small bite of the dumpling, the juicy filling suddenly tasteless on your tongue.

And then there was a soft sensation on your chin, your eyes lifting to see Victor dabbing at your skin with a napkin, the little motion taking all his concentration until he stepped back with a satisfied glint in his eyes, which seemed to linger around your mouth.

When you were unable to do anything more than flush deeply and try to stammer out a thank you, Jason ended the shot.

The glint in Victor’s eyes didn’t fade, and something within you quivered.

raspberrydream @berryberry

he looks like he wants to eat HER#HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@berryberry I CAN’T BREATHE. I thought he was going to kiss her LOL. And she looked so nervous and then he just wiped her chin THIS IS TOO SOFT I CANT #HopefullyYours

mintmadness @mintsallover

god I wish that were me #HopefullyYours

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only4food @bananabread

Okay I HAVE TO go to this place. I NEED TO EAT EVERYTHING. Who’s in??

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midnightmachine @musiclover

Gordon knows what’s up. We stan a hard-working man. #HopefullyYours

Things continued in much the same direction. With no signs of reluctance, Victor rolled up his sleeves and dived into the bustle of the fair. And with his hand curled around your wrist, you couldn’t bring yourself to doubt him. You’ve learned to read the signs of his displeasure, subtle andobvious, and they were nowhere to be found. He looked relaxed, trying out mini doughnuts, accompanying you to any shops you want to browse, frowning when you looked longingly at the ring toss.

“Let’s go,” he said, guiding you over to the booth. Well, you weresupposed to try out the games too, but you hadn’t thought Victor would agree to play them. It seemed a little too childish for him.

“I haven’t come here in years either,” he told you when you looked at him curiously, the two of you standing in line with Homer right next to you. “I love my job, but I admit it takes up most of my time. I rarely have time to indulge like this.” He paused, as if wanting to say more, but his eyes flicked towards Homer and he ended it there.

While a part of you was startled in by his words, another softened at his truthful admission.

Victor seemed to have thought of something else, giving you a meaningful look. “But, of course, I always make time for the people in my life.”

You blinked, a little taken aback by sudden turn in direction.

“Even if they want to come to places like these, I don’t mind.” Victor seemed to be hinting heavily at something, and you smiled at that, almost excessively fond. Because it’s true that Victor makes time for the people in his life, especially his family. And even for you—he’s there for you, no matter how small the matter might be; huffing and puffing and going out of his way to help you.

Falling for someone like that, someone who effuses such stoic confidence and noble compassion in equal measure, it was all too easy.

“Then we’ll make sure to come again,” you told him, a wide grin blooming across your face at the thought. It was unlikely that it would actually happen, but it was nice to think about. You stepped up to the cashier, greeting him politely.

You finally got your turns after fifteen minutes, with Homer and Jason taking a quick snack break while you waited. You’d run a quick eye over the prizes available, quickly drawn to two pusheen cat plushies, a soft grey and a dark ebony. You didn’t think he’d judge you on camera, but would it really be okay to admit that’s what you want? The hair pin would be a more sophisticated pick, something more to his tastes.

Silently despairing over your proclivity for soft cute things, you turned to Victor for his choice.

Only to realize he seemed to have taken his jacket off while you were preoccupied and handed it over to Jason, his thin black t-shirt fitting him like a glove—and your words died a swift death at the back of your throat, shrivelling in the sudden dryness of your mouth. Silhouetted against the light of the late afternoon sun, his features seemed sharper, his gaze keener as he twirled the ring in his hands carefully.

As Homer began to roll the camera, and Victor prepared to toss the ring, you panicked with the realization that he didn’t ask you which prize you wanted like Jason had asked him to.

The ring landed around a bottle with a loud clink, and you hoped the surprise you felt wasn’t clear in your loud cheer. With the look he gave you, you knew he caught it even if others wouldn’t.

And then he handed you the dark pusheen plushy, which you took with trembling fingers and a sheepish smile. “Oh, thank you.” It was exquisitely soft to the touch. “This is the one I wanted.”

“Hm.”

“It looks like you.”

“What-” His head snapped toward you as you laughed, clutching the toy to your chest. Whatever outraged retort he’d been about to spit out was held back as he saw you hugging it contentedly, your eyes twinkling at him. “…I suppose.”

You handed him the toy, rolling your shoulders as you were given the ring. “Which one do you want?”

“I’m fine with anything,” he said, eyes locked on the grey pusheen plushy, the other half of the pair. So it was with a laugh, helpless in the face of his clear yet unspoken demand, that you tossed the ring. You got it on the second try, handing the toy to Victor with a triumphant grin, who took it primly and tucked it into his side.

“Thank you.”

“Isn’t this too childish by your standards?” you teased, unable to help it, but he only smirked down at you, stealing your breath with devastating ease.

“It is. But childish is…nice, sometimes,” he admitted carefully.

Your mind helpfully supplied you with all the instances of him calling you childish. “Oh?”

He shrugged, elegant, one shoulder lifting as he looked back down at the toy, before looking back up at you through dark, half-lidded eyes. “It’s grown on me.”

Kiro ✓ @kiromusic

Wow! This seems like so much fun, I kinda wish I got to go there too! :D @miracley/n invite me next time!! #HopefullyYours

Savin @agents

@kiromusic You just want to eat junk. And...well, I guess we can make an exception for today.

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bandanaman @headaccs

Before I proceed to scream over the clip, I just wanted to let y’all know I did some digging and apparently, they are friends! They’ve been spotted together in public many times, including the Loveland Gala last year. You know what this means. #HopefullyYours

bandanaman @headaccs

THE PUSHEEN TOYS. They won each other toys!! Y/n’s right, that does look like him with the dark fur lmao. BUT. Look at Victor’s heart eyes!! And she looked so happy omg T_T

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs NO WONDER. It seems like they already like each other but it seemed too soon!! They’re so cute omg please date!! #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@berryberry With how they look at each other? I smell pining ;) I’ve compiled a list of all their public appearances. He even took her to Souvenir! How are they not dating????

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs DM ME!!!!

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs I feel like that’s a bit of a reach. They certainly seem comfortable with each other, but that could easily just be friendship, which is nice too. I feel like we should allow people to be friends instead of just shipping them.

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mintmadness @mintsallover

@hotsauce they’re on a dating show, though.

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@mintsallover yeah but plenty of other ‘couples’ were just friends or went on to be good friends. I just think these two are comfortable with each other, which is probably a good thing because Victor doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who can have fun with just anyone, you know?

You ended up having a lot more fun than you thought you would. Victor was always great company, but you could tell he’d tried his best to relax for the show and you didn’t know how to thank him for it. The warm gratitude bubbled up at the base of your throat, your heart sinking deeper into the ocean of affection you already held for him.

He’s so kind. His aloof demeanour, his nagging, his precise instructions and advice were things you’ve come to appreciate. But beyond those lies a heart so caring, so considerate, it made you yearn so deeply, to find yourself a place in it. But Victor had come to treat you as a friend and you could never ruin that because of your own feelings. It was precious, his friendship, and you wanted to treat it as such.

The line you’d drawn with so much care seemed to be straining, however, ever since you found out you would be riding the ferris wheel together, without Homer.

“The people in charge told us if we could just wait until closing time, they could keep things going until we’re done shooting!” Jason had told you as he briefed everyone. A bunch of the crew had left after packing up, as this would be the last take for the day. “That way Homer can fix the lighting and equipment in the cabin and won’t need to join you two! Give you some privacy, yeah?”

‘For what,’ you’d screamed internally, nodding along with a smile on the outside.

Looking to Victor for his opinion had been futile, because he seemed to have withdrawn into his own head, looking up at the ferris wheel absently. You were supposed to shoot the individual parts, but with how late it had gotten, Jason had asked the two of you to drop by the studio the next day. Only, you had a free slot in the morning while Victor would only be able to make it sometime during the late afternoon.

So you wouldn’t get to see what Victor said about you. That was perfectly fine. Things had gone well, and Victor wasn’t the sort to badmouth someone anyway.

It was supposed to be his day off. And he gave it up to participate in a show that was, for all intents and purposes, pointless for him. You felt terrible, heart aching at the thought that once again you had made him waste his time.

How on earth did Jason even get him to agree to this?

“You’re thinking something ridiculous,” came a low voice, and Victor seemed to have come back from his mental journey.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, the guilt getting to you.

“For what?” He seemed genuinely baffled, and it made you feel worse.

“For this entire day. You just came for a visit and now it’s after 8 pm and your day off is gone and you rarely get free time…” your shameful rambling tapered off as the furrow between his brows appeared to grow deeper and deeper.

His response was interrupted by a staff member, who came to let you know the ride was ready for you two. Walking together in complete silence, you wondered what he was about to say.

“Do you regret it?”

You arrived at the ride, and Victor had stopped in front of the open door. “What?”

“Do you regret it?” he repeated patiently, holding his hand out to you. “This entire day. Our date.”

Our date.

It was silly, how him calling it a date, with no cameras in sight, seemed to affect you so deeply. It was ridiculous but it was so real, how your heart fluttered and hope unfurled in the garden where you’ve buried your affection.

“Because I’m not sorry,” he added when you failed to do anything other than flush horribly. There was a question in his gaze, one you didn’t know how to answer, so with a deep breath, you focused on the one he’d asked out loud.

“No,” you said softly, your hand coming to rest over his as he helped you into the cabin. “I don’t regret it.”

How could you, when he was everything you wanted?

You settled on the plastic bench, watching Homer fiddle with the settings and light, making sure the camera’s fixed in place, basking in the heat emanating from Victor.

“Alright, that should work. You guys ready?” he asked.

“Yeah!”

“Yes.”

Homer stepped back to let Jason poke his head through the door. “We’re all set guys. Just call us if there are any problems. Be yourselves, don’t worry about the take. And remember, make sure to make it as romantic as possible!”

As the door closed behind him, with the camera rolling, silence rose to take the place of the sounds now cut off, the rest of the world falling away as the ride began and you began to ascend.

Outside the window, the stars shone in a twinkling blanket across the night sky, and Victor’s arm pressed into yours. Meeting his eyes was difficult, astoundingly so after the entire day you spent together.

This close, it would be so easy to let the words tumble from your lips. You didn’t know what your eyes could give away right now, and you were just as afraid of the softness in his gaze.

It looked too real.

“I’m glad we finally got some peace,” he muttered, and just like that a bright laugh broke out through your fear.

“This was not your kind of place at all, was it?” you said, snickering at the look he threw your way, because it’s so easy to make him huff like that.

“It was…lively,” he said, glaring at you as you stifle your smile behind your hand. “Exactly the kind of place you enjoy.”

“That’s true.”

“Then that’s that.” He shifted a little, trying to face you, his knee knocking into yours. “As long as you had fun, we’ll come again.”

Despite your warnings, your heart skipped a beat.

You tried to laugh it off, changing the subject to your childhoods, swapping lighter stories and carefully avoiding the heartbreaks. Your hands moved somewhere in between, in the dim lights, and your fingers had found each other’s. Make it romantic, Jason had said. That was the only reason. You talked about work, about Miracle Finder, about his public projects, how your busy lives don’t give you the chance to find love.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Victor cut in, still looking at you in that quietly dangerous away, his gaze a heated cloak over your skin.

You stilled. “You wouldn’t?” There was a tremor in your voice, one you hoped went unnoticed.

“I think, regardless of how busy we are, however reluctant…love finds us when it has to,” he said, his voice deep, unwavering, and you forgot how to breathe. Somehow, despite doing your best to avoid it, you had wound up on the proverbial cliff’s edge.

And it was time to take a leap.

“Victor...have you ever been in love?” you asked, part of you ready for his outrage, for him to brush it off with a roll of his eyes, and the other curling up in fear at the thought of the answer he might really give you.

He hummed, tightening his grip on your hand when you tried to tug it back, searching your face. His thumb swept over your knuckles, rubbing gently, and you wondered if he was preparing you for heartbreak.

“Yes. I have.”

Kiki @kikiki

@smilingwillow WHAT THE f*ck

‎

Anna@miracletv

@kikiki Language.

‎

Kiki @kikiki

‎@miracletv did you see the episode?? im going to collapse WHERE IS BOSS @miracley/n

‎

raspberrydream @berryberry

DID HE JUST???? OH MY GOD @headaccs DID YOU SEE THIS? ARE YOU OKAY? #HopefullyYours

‎

bandanaman @headaccs

THIS MAD LAD ACTUALLY DID IT. @berryberry I will never recover from this #HopefullyYours

‎

srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs @berryberry He just said he’s been in love before. He didn’t say he’s in love with her lol

‎

raspberrydream @berryberry

@hotsauce what will it take for you to finally see the light

‎

mintmadness @mintsallover

I could listen to this man talk all day. Y/n, you’re one lucky girl <3 #HopefullyYours

‎

cocoloco @chocolatedelite

I’m late to the party but lmao at everyone freaking out. Uhhh honestly I’m not sure. These things are usually scripted. They could just be faking it. #HopefullyYours

‎

srirachafire @hotsauce

@chocolatedelite Thank you!!!!

‎

victorshoe @mrsli

My heart is broken but their cuteness has mended it. I’ll give them my blessings. #HopefullyYours

‎

bandanaman @headaccs

oh thank god they just uploaded the individual bits!!! THANK YOU @jtv

‎

bandanaman @headaccs

...wait

‎

raspberrydream @berryberry

‎‎omfg

‎

bandanaman @headaccs

????? IS THAT IT??? COME BACK @jtv that can't be it!!

Thank you for reading!

MC/You: it’s a fake date. chill.

Victor: Goldman I need NINE roses and an outfit that makes me look like a sex god I HAVE A DATE

Apple Cinnamon Buns

Author: @hutchhitched​

Prompt: visual prompt [submitted by @mandelion82​]

Rating: T

Summary: Katniss and Prim enjoy a late fall day at a Christmas market when Katniss discovers a booth that sells the most delicious treats and run by a delectable man with deep blue eyes and wavy blonde hair.

Author’s Note: Visual prompt under the cut.

_________

Katniss shivered and tugged her fleece jacket tighter around her shoulders. She was used to being up this early but not surrounded by people at this hour. The sun was barely over the horizon, but Panem’s Harvest Festival was already in full swing. Prim, her little sister, bopped along beside her, a grin on her face, as the Everdeen sisters prepared to take the world by storm.

Or attempt to get ahead on Christmas shopping, at least. It wasn’t that serious.

“Who do you have to shop for?” Prim asked, yawning as she spoke. She wasn’t a morning person, and the fact that she’d pestered Katniss for weeks to attend as well as gotten up early when she didn’t have to was evidence enough the Harvest Festival was important to her.

“Not too many,” Katniss answered, rolling her Christmas list like a movie trailer in her head. “Gale, Mom, Uncle Haymtich, you. The usual.”

“Gale, huh? Is that because…”

“We’re just friends, Prim. I’ve told you that a million times,” Katniss insisted. “I’m not interested in anything else. Neither is he. I’m like his little sister. He doesn’t look at me that way.”

“Maybe you’re not interested in anything else, but I’m about a thousand percent sure that he wants more than friendship from you.”

“Whatever.”

Katniss didn’t mean to be dismissive, but what Prim said just wasn’t true. Gale and she had been best friends for years, and there’d been nothing between them other than a deep friendship the entire time.

“Agree to disagree,” Prim chirped, thoroughly unconcerned. “I have to get something for Mom and Haymitch, too. Let’s work on those, and then we can take off on our own to finish shopping. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

They ambled together, strolling through the stalls, checking out crafts and decorations and all sorts of unusual things Katniss would never have thought would make good gifts until she saw them. They decided on an antique brandy snifter for their uncle and a basket of pampering products for their mother before separating to shop for each other. Katniss had just found and purchased a really cool pocketknife for Gale and the softest pair of cashmere gloves for Prim when she turned the corner and spied a refreshment stand. Her stomach rumbled at the sight.

“Oh, I need some of that,” Katniss murmured, her eyes wide.

She approached slowly, reading signs and sniffing the different aromas that wafted from the stand. Drawn by the promise of something delicious, she drifted close before stopping and staring. She could almost swear she was under a magical spell. Another customer jostled her as she stood, and she shook herself. Just then, she heard a deep voice, sweet and spicy like pumpkin pie.

“Can I help you?”

Katniss locked eyes with the man behind the counter, her eyes captured by his deep blue gaze. Kindness danced there and life and contentment. She wasn’t sure what he was selling, but she wanted all of it.

“I’m— I’m not sure,” she answered, moving a little closer and returning his wide smile. White teeth glimmered behind full, pink, kissable lips. Ashy blonde hair flopped in waves over his forehead, and he tossed his head to get it out of his eyes. Sapphire eyes deep as the mines from which they came sparkled. She wanted to tumble into them and fall forever.

“Hungry? Thirsty?” he asked.

“Yes,” came her immediate response before she blushed bright red. His smirk indicated he understood she’d been talking about another kind of hunger.

“If you want a little something of both, I can make suggestions.”

She nodded, eager for him to keep speaking, craving the sound of the rumbled baritone that filled her ears when he addressed her. Her eyes roved over broad shoulders under red and baby blue flannel sleeves that were rolled up to reveal strong forearms ending in masculine hands with long, tapered fingers. Artist’s hands, she thought. They had to be. When they gestured, she remembered he was talking and snapped to attention.

“Do you like sweet or savory?”

Katniss gaped at him, unable to speak. There was something about the way he’d said the word sweet that made her want to climb over the counter and jump him. Since that was completely inappropriate, she forced herself to answer.

“It depends. I like a little of both.”

His pupils contracted, and he cleared his throat. “Well, we’re known for our apple cinnamon buns, which you can see on the sign down in front. I’d suggest trying one with a scoop of ice cream, but we also have cheese buns if you’d rather try something savory.”

She hesitated, tempted by the idea of cheese buns because they sounded overly delicious, but if they were known for something else, who was she to turn it down?

“I’ll take the apple cinnamon bun, please.”

“Ice cream?”

“I guess?”

He studied her. “Yes, I think so. You’ll enjoy it more that way, I think. Very creamy. Evens out the texture and mixes well with the tartness of the apples. Or we have apple crisp, if that’s more to your liking.”

“No, I like buns,” she blurted and felt her face grow even hotter.

“Funny,” he said with a smile, “so do I. Now, for the drink. That’s harder. We have so many options, and you look like you’d appreciate several of them. My first instinct is apple cider, but that’s a lot of apple going on at once. What about hot chocolate? I think that could be more your thing.”

“I love hot chocolate,” she admitted with a grin. “It’s my favorite.”

“That doesn’t surprise me somehow. You have that look.”

“What look is that?” she asked and was mildly surprised it sounded a little bit like flirting. “Hot? Or Chocolate?”

Blushing furiously, Peeta stammered an answer. “N-no! Just…you… I meant… Yes, hot— That’s not what I meant. More like sweet. With some substance. God, kill me now.”

“Please let me have my bun and sweetness before you’re murdered.”

She ducked her head, embarrassed at her brazenness. What was up with her? This wasn’t her modus operandi with men. Usually, she kept as far from them as possible unless it was Gale. But there was something about this guy. He was gentle and funny and interesting, and she wanted to keep talking to him forever.

Unfortunately, the woman behind her coughed, indicating her impatience, and he hurried to get her food. His co-worker finished with his customer and motioned to the person behind Katniss in line who flashed a glare as she moved up to the register. Katniss didn’t bother to respond, she remained focused on the man warming up the apple cinnamon bun, topping it with a dollop of ice cream, and pouring a cup of hot chocolate. Before he turned back to the register, he counted out a few marshmallows and then added two more to her drink.

“Here you go,” he said. “That’ll be $7.50.”

Katniss fished in her wallet, produced her debit card, and tried to hand it to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, but we only take cash.”

Her face drained. She didn’t have any on her. She rarely carried it, and she hadn’t even thought about pulling out any to bring with her today.

“I-I don’t have any. I’m so sorry.”

The other customer left with her food, and his co-worker, likely a relative since they were so similar in appearance, slipped out the back of the booth leaving them alone.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urged softly. “It’s my treat.”

“You can’t!” she protested. “I’ll find my sister and see if she has cash. I’m… This is so humiliating.”

“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle, “it’s my treat. I know you’re going to love this, and word of mouth advertising is worth more than the cost of a bun and drink. Take it. Please.”

“I couldn’t. Seriously.”

“Please. I insist.” She hesitated for several moments, until he confessed, “Please, because if you wait much longer, my brother’s going to be back, and he’ll see what I’m doing. He can be, uh, a bit of a jerk, so you’d really be doing me a favor.”

She inhaled and held it for a beat before accepting his offering. “Thank you, uh…?”

“Peeta,” he said with a smile. “Peeta Mellark. This is my family’s booth.”

“Katniss Everdeen. Merely a customer at Panem’s Harvest Festival.”

“Well, I’m glad you chose to patron us. It’s been a highlight of the weekend, so far.”

Peeta’s brother returned, and he straightened, standing upright instead of leaning toward her over the counter. “Come by again before you leave,” he suggested. “I’d love to meet your sister.”

Katniss backed away with a nod of thanks. He obviously didn’t feel comfortable continuing the conversation with his brother next to him, so she decided to take the win and go. Glancing at the time, she realized she should be thinking about meeting up with Prim soon. First, though, she was going to eat her apple cinnamon bun and drink her hot chocolate.

The first spoonful melted on her tongue, and she released an indecent moan that would have horrified her if she hadn’t been in the throes of an org*sm in her mouth. There wasn’t a word to describe the explosion on her taste buds, but it was something to the effect of every superlative she could imagine. The hot chocolate was even better. She briefly considered selling herself on the street to get another cup.

“What are you doing?” Prim asked when they met up again. Katniss sat in a stupor, high on sugar and calculating how much more she could eat without quadrupling her daily caloric intake.

“How much cash do you have on you?” she demanded, eyes rolling.

Confused, Prim stared at her. “Why?

“There’s this booth. Best thing ever. Have to go back. They only take cash.” The words tumbled out in a half-coherent babble, but she didn’t care. She needed more of what Peeta had given her.

“Okay,” Prim agreed, although she flashed Katniss a look that indicated she thought her sister was losing it.

Katniss bounced to her feet and grabbed her purchases. Dragging Prim along by the hand, she wound through the stalls until she found Peeta’s booth again. He was still there, helping customers with a friendly smile.

“Oh,” Prim breathed. “I get it now. He’s gorgeous.”

“His buns are better.”

“Well, I can’t see them from here, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Katniss smacked her on the arm. Indignant, she snapped, “His apple cinnamon buns! Get your head out of the gutter.”

“Hard to keep the thoughts pure when a guy looks like that.”

“You know what, Prim? You’re absolutely right. He’s stunning. Let’s go get some of that.”

Katniss had every intention of laying her hands on more of Peeta’s buns. With any luck, she’d get his phone number, too.

Unspoken Feelings (2/8)

"Who's ready to get their party on?" Amy bellows from the kitchen of the Bella house but her voice is so loud that she manages to travel throughout the entire house and soon enough every member of the a Capella group – minus one – is gathered in the kitchen with huge smiles on their faces.

Everyone is smiling but there's one expression that differentiates from the others. The smile belonging to the beautiful, bubbly redhead isn't as exaggerated. She's only smiling slightly, her lips lifting upwards enough to pass as a grin but if anyone was to examine her expression more intensely, they'd realise it's fake. Chloe can't seem to meet the other girls excitement, she'd been looking forward to the treble's party at the beginning of the week but now that Friday night has finally came around all she wants to do is shuffle back upstairs and crawl into her bed.

She knows the reasoning behind her dampened mood, the reason why she's found herself feeling so glum lately. But she doesn't allow herself to acknowledge that, so when Jessica asks, "What's wrong?" all Chloe can come out with is "Period cramps." Which is understood by the other girls, so they don't question her further.

It's been three days since the last Bellas rehearsal, which definitely wouldn't have happened whilst Aubrey was the captain of the Bellas. The last two scheduled practices were cancelled by the redhead because she had the flu, or at least that's what she told the other girls. But Chloe hasn't been sick in years, her healthy breakfast smoothies and scheduled workout routine are very important factors of her life. She doesn't have the flu. She isn't even sick, not really, yet she still feels like sh*t.

She's running on two hours of sleep and the headache she's currently nursing feels like something is squeezing her eyeballs out. She lay in bed last night staring out the window, counting the stars before getting distracted and starting again. This lasted for about an hour before Chloe realised she had started to zone out, so she shuffled in her position all night until her eyelids eventually slipped shut nearing four in the morning.

She is so frustrated and tired but the exhaustion she's feeling is not the type of tired that sleep will fix – she could sleep for twelve hours and wake up feeling the same way she's been feeling for weeks, months even.

So what the hell is wrong with her?

Chloe tells herself that she's been so stressed lately because she's simply been overworking herself, to ensure that the Bella's routines is perfect and poised. Her anxieties about leaving the Bella's had geared their way into her head. The Bella's – the a Capella group itself and the people in it – are her life and they have been for years. She just isn't ready to let that go yet. Chloe is terrified of leaving the Bella's – leaving Beca.

Jumping into the unknown is such a horrifying thought for her and she doesn't know how to overcome it. Aubrey graduated and moved on without her – they still skype and text each other but she isn't around every day (or rarely ever) like she used to be so Chloe can't talk to her about the way she's feeling. Beca would also be someone she vents to but Beca's being distant and cold so she can't talk to her either.

Chloe is beginning to feel so alone, they haven't even graduated yet and everyone is already leaving her. And that scares her so f*cking much – being alone, being forgotten.

But it's not just that, Chloe knows the main reason behind her funk. She knows exactly what – who – is making her feel like this. Beca effin' Mitchell.

She's so scared of being without Beca, but the way Beca is purposely distancing herself from her because she doesn't want to be around her makes her feel like she's already lost her.

She hates herself for allowing Beca to become so important in her life that she can't imagine ever living without the brunette, she doesn't ever want to live without her. But Chloe knows it's going to happen, at some point along the line, Beca will leave her. Whatever the two of them share won't last forever. They will graduate and they'll go their separate ways. Beca will do amazingly wonderful things with her music, hopefully becoming a producer like she's always dreamed of. She's worked hard for it, so she definitely deserves to have her dreams come true.

The older girl admires the other for staying at the campus radio station for so long even though she was just stacking cd's and records. She never stopped putting herself out there, giving Luke USBs of her mashups every week even though she knew he just tossed them onto a pile.

Then when Beca got her internship at residential heat she hadn't told Chloe about it – choosing to keep it a secret from her – from everyone except Jesse. When Beca finally snapped and told Chloe about the internship she admitted that she was afraid of failure, she didn't want to tell Chloe because she was scared it wouldn't work out and she didn't want the redhead to think she's a failure. But she could never be a failure in Chloe's eyes. Beca was perfect – her imperfections and insecurities only made Chloe love her more.

Chloe would still love Beca if she failed completely in the music industry and worked in retail for the rest of her life. Not that Chloe would ever let that happen, she wouldn't let Beca ever give up on her dreams. Becoming a music producer is the one and only thing Beca has ever wanted, and at times that hurts Chloe – knowing that Beca will never want her as much. But she loves that Beca has never given up despite her father's negative words and discouragement. She loves that Beca inspires herself to continue, to keep trying, to keep moving forwards. She doesn't let anyone hold her back.

But what Chloe doesn't know, is that Beca does in fact have an inspiration that allows her to thrive, someone she relies on for words of wisdom, someone that motivates her when she just wants to give in to her frustration and throw her keyboard across the room (not that Beca would ever do that – her music equipment is too expensive to replace). Someone that always makes her smile when she's so close to breaking. Someone that makes the beat of her mashups flow so easily.

Beca has an inspiration – a muse.

Her name is Chloe Beale.

Chloe hasn't got the flu. She hasn't been sick in years. She just misses Beca. She misses her so much it's effecting her physical and mental health.

On the first day that Chloe was hauled up in her room, lying in her bed covered with blankets, the Bella's tried to make her feel better. Flo made her some soup – she swore it had some kind of magic healing herbs in it. But Chloe wasn't hungry, the last thing she wanted to do was eat. Although Chloe felt like the life had been sucked out of her, she's still Chloe Beale. She didn't want to offend Flo by not eating the soup, so she waited for her to leave and flushed it down the toilet. The Bella's usually cheered her up when she felt glum but even their best efforts just were not enough.

"Chloe?"

Chloe is snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of her name. "Huh?"

"Are you coming?" Stacie asks. Cynthia Rose looks up and down at Chloe's outfit – sweatpants, hoodie and a blanket – and scoffs slightly.

In response, the redhead shrugs, with a light shake of her head. "I'm not really feeling up to it."

Chloe has no plans to leave the house any time soon and certainly not to go to a treble party. She just wants to wallow in bed with a tub of ice cream. So, the redhead moves around the other girls until she reaches the freezer, pulling open the door and retrieving a tub of peanut butter and cookie dough ice cream. Beca's peanut butter and cookie dough ice cream that no one dare touch, too afraid of the threat made by the small brunette. 'If you touch my ice cream, I'll hunt you down and kick your ass so hard into next year AND make holes in every condom in this house.' It was an empty threat, considering how at least half of the girls are gay, and those who aren't are on birth control but Beca thought it was threatening at the time. At least it's a one up from Aubrey's threat to have wolves rip out your vocal cords.

Once Chloe has selected a spoon and span around to face the other girls, she's just about to head back upstairs but Amy stops her by grabbing her wrist.

"Uh...that's Beca's." She says, glancing down at the ice cream tub then back up at the redhead. Amy's eyebrows are knitted as she examines Chloe's expression – a hard scowl.

"I know." She replies, shaking off Amy's hand and gliding passed her.

The other Bellas watch, no one adding to the conversation. They've all noticed the differences in their co-captain's behaviour but don't know the reasoning behind it. "She'll kill you," Fat Amy hisses as thinks about what the big (small) mighty Beca Mitchell will do when she finds out someone has been eating her ice cream.

Chloe doesn't respond, unbothered by the second-hand threat, because if Beca is killing her then at least she'll actually be looking at her.

"She'll rip all your condoms." Stacie adds.

That finally forces some kind of reaction out of Chloe, she chuckles to herself, thinking about how the only person she actually wants to f*ck is Beca and condoms aren't exactly needed for that, unless what Beca had yelled at Aubrey after one of the very first Bellas rehearsals Beca's freshman year had been true. Maybe Beca did have a dick after all, that would explain why she acts like a dick most of the time.

"Chloe?" Amy tries again.

Her head snaps up and she's met with the gaze of every Bella. "What?"

"What's going on with you?" Stacie steps forwards, concern written in her eyes.

Stacie's soft expression gives Chloe the overwhelming urge to cry, she feels tears begin to form in her eyes but blinks them away immediately. She can't cry in front of the entire group; she is supposed to be one of their captains. But she hasn't felt like much of a leader lately and isn't sure why anyone would want to follow her.

"Nothing." Chloe shakes her head, eyes darting to her bare feet, then scooping a small spoonful of the ice cream and sliding it into her mouth.

"You're acting like Beca," Amy admits, causing a few of the Bellas to gasp and step back. Jessica and Ashley share a glance, and within seconds they are disappearing from the kitchen.

"What?" Chloe's tone is harsher now, alerting Amy that she crossed the line.

"You're being cold, you know, like Mitchell is at times."

Chloe scoffs and tightens her jaw – she doesn't even realise she's doing it until she picks up on the look Amy is giving her. "I'm not." She denies, even though she's quite clearly adapted some of Beca's mannerisms.

"You know what always helps Beca when she's in these funks?" The blonde's grin widens and her eyes glisten in excitement. Usually Chloe thrives off of other people's excitement with her own but today the happy expression only makes her feel like crying again.

"A party." Fat Amy answers herself before Chloe can intervene.

Chloe groans again and crosses her arms over her chest. "No Amy, I wasn't going to go. I don't feel well, remember?"

"Bullsh*t." Fat Amy is not one to take no for an answer, "Go get tarted up."

Chloe's frown grows in confusion at the use of the word. What is she talking about now? "Tarted?"

"Yeah." Fat Amy nods, "You know, like Beca Is a vanilla tart." Chloe is getting beyond peeved because they won't shut up about Beca. Why does Amy have to keep on bringing her up?

Stacie obviously acknowledges the confusion from Chloe, so she laughs and steps forwards once again, "She means slu*tty." She whispers to Chloe with a slight grin.

"Go get slu*tty, Beale. And don't take too long." Amy quirks up, telling Chloe that she's been defeated. There is no way she's getting out of this one. So, she puts the ice cream back in the freezer before waltzing away upstairs.

Twenty minutes later Chloe emerges back downstairs wearing a dark blue dress and a leather jacket. Her makeup is light, and her hair sits loosely on her back. Getting dressed up has somewhat improved her mood so there's a soft smile at her lips.

Stacie smirks when she sees Chloe appear at the bottom of the stairs. "You look hot," She says, glancing over Chloe's body with a smile. She gets a smile and a 'thank you, so do you' in return before the group heads out the front door.

The Bellas make their way across the grass towards the hedge. One by one each of the girls squeeze through the Amy-sized gap in the hedge into the treble's garden. The damage to the hedge was formed at a party last semester that was hosted by the Bellas – at Stacie's request. Amy drank a little too much of hers and Lily's alcoholic concoction (to this day no one knows what the last three ingredients were but there was definitely a mixture of gin and rum) and decided it would be a great idea to mark her 'sexy fat ass' in the hedge.

She hates herself for it but as soon as she's been sucked into the crowd, Chloe's eyes scan frantically in search for the small brunette. She knows Beca has been staying at the treble house for the past few days so it would make sense if she was at their party too. Although Beca isn't normally a party animal, Chloe has a feeling she might be here. Maybe that feeling is hope, or longing but Chloe brushes it off. She's hated not having Beca around for the last three days and she just wants her best friend back, even if it does hurt like hell whenever she's around her.

It takes almost half an hour before she finally sets eyes on Beca. She's dancing with Jesse and the two of them look pretty comfortable. The sight alone is enough for Chloe to regret coming. Why did she have to let Amy convince her to come?

The rule of not 'fraternising with the enemy' was banished as soon as Aubrey graduated and Beca and Chloe became co-captains. Beca thought it was a stupid rule and Chloe thought it was kind of ridiculous, so they got rid of it. But that meant Jesse was around a lot more. Even though Beca and Jesse aren't official – they haven't even hooked up but have definitely locked lips once or twice – it still frustrates Chloe to see the two of them together.

She's about to turn around and head back to the Bellas house when the brunette looks up and their eyes connect across the pool. Beca's face lights up when she sees Chloe and she waves her hand, gesturing for her to come over. Chloe has a hard time escaping the younger girl's trance, so she finds herself wandering over to the two brunettes.

As soon as the two girls are standing in front of each other, Chloe pulls Beca into an embrace, she's missed Beca's hugs, so she shoves aside her feelings just to feel Beca's hands on her for a few seconds before Beca pulls back.

"Hey, Chloe." Beca smirks.

All Chloe has to do is look at Beca and instantly feel happier. Seeing the younger girls smile makes Chloe's lips curl into a smile of her own. "Hey, Becs." She says, suddenly feeling lighter than she's been in days – normally she'd blame it on the alcohol, but she hasn't even had a drink yet.

"Feeling better?" The brunette questions, her hand still on Chloe's wrist which makes the redhead's skin glow with warmth. Chloe nods, but her smile falters when her head become heavy all of a sudden. Beca notices the change in her expression and gives Chloe's wrist a quick squeeze before letting go. "You okay, Chlo?"

The loss of contact allows Chloe to fix her brain after it's turned to a pile of mush. She puts a smile on her face which Beca can clearly tell is fake, then takes a step back. Chloe gestures to the yellow cup in her hand, "Yeah. I'm going to get a drink."

Beca nods, not daring to question the girls' weirdness, she knows Chloe hasn't been feeling well recently so brushes it off as still not quite over the flu. She knows that if she pushes Chloe to talk then she'll end up comforting her and when Chloe is emotional all Beca wants to do is pull her into her chest and hug her. But Beca can't do that. She won't allow herself to. Beca can't get too attached to her best friend because nobody ever stays in her life for long – not even her parents wanted to stay in her life.

As much as Beca's brain tells her to shut the hell up, her heart and her eyes clearly have different ideas. Her gaze drifts to her best friend as she walks away. She doesn't mean to, but her eyes drop to Chloe's ass and Beca stares in appreciation. She tells herself that she's just appreciating the appearance of her best friend – it would be weird if she didn't find her best friend attractive. But maybe watching her ass as she walks away goes beyond the 'just friends' barrier.

She knows she's been distant recently, but she just thought that Chloe wouldn't notice – or care. Beca shuts her feelings away and pretends not to feel, but watching the redhead walk away makes something ignite in her chest, it's powerful and it forces something to snap inside of her.

With a grunt, Beca tears her eyes off of Chloe. It feels like everything is changing with the two of them, or maybe it already has changed. Whatever it is makes Beca's mind race. Is Chloe going to walk out of her life forever? Has Beca pushed her so far away that she's now beyond reach? Beca's heart speeds up at the mere thought of Chloe leaving her, because without Chloe where the hell would she be? What would a future without Chloe be like? It's lame, but Beca's always imagined that Chloe would be in her life forever, but what if she's pushed her away for the very last time? That would honestly crush her. Life without Chloe would be pretty sh*t.

Beca only panics more when she questions why she feels this way. She can't have feelings for Chloe, can she? Not only is she her best friend, she's also a girl.

Beca's never defined her sexuality, she knows she isn't straight but she's not a lesbian either. The aspect of sexuality confuses her so much, so she mostly just chooses to ignore it, allowing people to assume whatever they want about her.

For Beca, it's not about what's in people's pants, personality is a very important factor.

But boobs are also pretty great.

Okay, so maybe she's more attracted to girls, but there's still a part of her that finds guys hot.

Just to prove to herself that the physical attraction towards guys is still there, she walks over to the first guys she sees, which just happens to be Jesse. Before he can even greet her, she's taking his arm and leading him over to the edge of the pool where there are multiple people dancing.

It helps that she knows Jesse likes her – is practically in love with her. She grins when she notices the frown appear, tugging his lips down slightly. "Dance with me, dummy."

. . .

It's been about an hour and a half since they last talked and Chloe was getting agitated, watching Beca grind on Jesse is definitely not something she had planned on watching but she can't seem to look away. She hates that Beca dances like that with him but won't even touch her.

Beca is also not having such a great time. She is regretting pulling Jesse up to dance quite a lot now, his hands are trailing all over her body and they just feel so uncomfortable, especially when they rest on her ass. She quickly snaps her own hands down to retrieve his hands and put them on her waist. She hates his hands there too, but it doesn't make her as uncomfortable.

Her mind drifts slightly to the Bellas rehearsals the other day. The dance with Chloe had been on her mind since she left the auditorium three days ago. She remembers the way her skin felt all tingly and warm whenever Chloe ran her fingers over her hip. Those very memorable, exhilarating feelings are very much not present right now. Dancing with Jesse just feels...bland.

Suddenly Beca's mind floods with need – the need to touch Chloe again. Her gaze scans her surroundings until her eyes are locked with her favourite pair of eyes – her favourite colour.

But the longer she stares at the girl, the more she acknowledges how sad she looks, and that makes Beca's heart crack. She pulls away from Jesse's grasp and makes a gesture for a drink, then speeds away from him before he can stop her.

She's such an idiot for dancing with him just to prove a point to herself – it had not been proved.

Her heart races as she approaches the redhead and her palms sweating slightly. She's grinning again and before she knows it, her heart is taking control without giving her brain a chance to catch up.

"Oh. Hey, Becs." Chloe chuckles nervously as Beca flops herself down right on top of Chloe's lap. She isn't complaining, because having Beca sit on her lap does something weird to her body and makes her heart flutter slightly, but she's a little confused as to why Beca is so comfortable with the contact. Normally, the younger girl doesn't even like holding her hand in public, so it causes Chloe to question the girls' actions.

"Chloooeee." Beca squeals.

"You're drunk." Chloe states, watching the girl in her lap with a smile.

A smile that only grows the longer she's looking at her, one she wishes could shrivel into a frown, but no matter how much she wishes she could be angry at Beca for lying to her, for spending time with Jesse instead of her and for not returning the feelings she has towards the girl, she just can't. Chloe cannot bring herself to get mad at her friend, especially when she looks up at her with those beautiful dark blue eyes that Chloe swears are enchanted.

There's also the lip bite. Beca Mitchell's f*cking lip bite. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and Chloe finds it so unbelievably attractive.

It's her fault she feels this way anyway, so she shouldn't get mad at Beca just because she may be slightly – only slightly – jealous. Beca doesn't feel the same way about her so she just needs to get over her feelings.

She can't stay mad at Beca, and that's what is so damn frustrating, because Beca messes with her head – she's ice cold one minute and the next she's sitting on her lap smiling widely and being so damn cute and loving towards the redhead. It confuses her so much.

"And you're not drunk enough." Beca sighs heavily, "Amy's drinks are even better than last time." She quirks her head up so she's looking directly at the redhead. The girl moves closer to Chloe and lowers her voice as she whispers, "There's a lot of gin." And then a chuckle follows, Chloe feeling the hot breath on her ear and running down her neck.

When Beca drinks gin, she gets giggly and very touchy. Unlike when she strictly sticks to beer, she gets overly competitive and co*cky, which usually ends with a broken piece of furniture – Beca and whoever is willing to accept her challenge battling over a game of indoor football until the ball flies towards something, sending it to the ground with a clunk.

Both of those sides of Beca are loved by her best friend, unless she drinks too much of either and ends up on the bathroom floor with her head on the toilet seat. But even then – when Beca is a complete mess, puking from the combination of too much alcohol and lack of food, Chloe is still by her side, holding her hair away from her face and stroking the brunette's back in a soothing manner.

Chloe grimaces lightly at the mention of Amy's concoction. So that's why Beca is so carefree, she's had an 'Amy special' or maybe more than one. Amy's drinks are so strong that a lightweight like Beca only needs one to get absolutely hammered.

"Why are you being a bum in the corner?" Beca asks, looking up at the redhead with such a sincere expression that it makes Chloe's chest tighten. To make matters worse, the brunette lifts her hand up and pokes Chloe's cheek faintly, "You seem sad." She adds, her expression softening.

"Not in the mood." She responds, earning another poke in the cheek with an additional one to the nose. Chloe can't hold back the giggle and Beca's grin widens.

"This is a party, Beale." Beca mentions, and the seriousness to her tone almost makes Chloe snort.

"Mmmh." Chloe nods, "You should get back to Jesse." She doesn't know what made her say that because there is no way she's losing Beca to Jesse again tonight. Beca is hers. Chloe has never liked to share.

A small whine leaves Beca's lips, "No. I want to stay with you." She nestles her head into Chloe's neck, squirming slightly as she inhales her scent.

Beca Mitchell. No f*cking way. Don't f*cking do this. You know you shouldn't-

"You smell nice, Chlo." Beca mumbles, her mouth is close enough to Chloe's ear, so she hears it even over the loud music. A chuckle escapes Chloe's mouth and she lifts a hand up to cover her face, attempting to hide the blush from Beca.

"Thanks, Bec." Chloe replies after a few seconds, the blushing on her cheeks still very much visible. She can't deny that Beca's compliments, or just Beca in general has an effect on her.

"And your comfy." She adds, shuffling slightly on Chloe's lap, pressing her back into Chloe's front.

Chloe tries her hardest to think about anything to distract herself from the fact that Beca's ass is partially grinding into her as Beca adjusts her position on her lap. But she's blushing before she can stop herself and the movement is making her entire body weak under her touch.

Chloe's grinning, her cheeks rose tinted from blushing so hard, "Yeah?"

"Mmh." Beca sighs with a small nod, relaxing into Chloe's body, allowing the older girls arm to slip around her waist and hold her in place. Beca pulls her head back and rests it against her shoulder, slotting perfectly with Chloe's body.

The position of the two girls is so natural, they are at peace whilst sitting like this, in the comfort of each other's presence, but it's also kind of...wrong. Beca is sat on Chloe's lap with her head leaning against the redhead's shoulder. Their hands are intertwined on the brunette's denim clad thigh where she's running the fingers of her left hand over Chloe's fingers, stopping to play with a ring, twisting it slowly and moving on to repeat the action with another.

This is what she wants. She wants Chloe. But she just doesn't know how to express that.

She's better at doing – showing, than saying, so that's what she does. She's showing Chloe that she wants to touch her, she wants Chloe to touch her.

Beca wants to kiss her, wants to know what Chloe will do if she tries to kiss her. She wants to feel what Chloe's lips feel like on her own. She imagines they'll be soft. Beca wonders how Chloe's lips will taste and the growing urge intensifies.

Before Beca can even consider making a move, Cynthia Rose, Flo and Emily appear at their side.

"We're heading back to the house. You two coming?" Cynthia Rose questions, eyeing the two girls as if she's searching for the reasoning behind why Beca is sat on Chloe's lap. The chairs around them are free so Beca doesn't have to sit on her lap – she chose to.

"Yeah," Beca says but doesn't attempt to move which makes Chloe giggle.

Chloe shuffles underneath her, reaching her hand to push a strand of Beca's hair behind her ear. "You might want to get up Bec," Chloe mumbles close to Beca's ear, her breath running up her neck.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, okay." Chloe chuckles again. Beca is pretty drunk and it's like she doesn't quite know what to do with herself.

She stands up with the help of Cynthia Rose and then holds out her hand for Chloe. Beca is too drunk to realise but Cynthia Rose is still looking at them strangely, but she still grasps onto the brunette's hand. Beca sighs heavily and rests her head against Chloe's chest, looking up at her with tired eyes which make Chloe swoon. All that runs through Chloe's mind is how adorable Beca is in this moment.

"Come on, Becs. Let's get you home." Chloe presses a chaste kiss to Beca's cheek and nudges her upright. Beca mumbles something under her breath then stumbles forwards, catching up with Cynthia Rose.

Chloe follows behind, thinking about how she gets to take Beca home and not Jesse, granted that she is not planning on having sex with her but she cares so much about her and loves that she can care for Beca in ways Jesse can't.

Instead of going through the hole in the hedge again, Cynthia Rose leads them through the gate, Beca waiting back for Chloe. The brunette smiles softly and Chloe can't fight the smile that breaks out on her face.

The house is silent when they walk in so they must be the first to leave the party which is not a surprise because Stacie and Fat Amy barely ever return from a trebles party that same night.

Cynthia Rose heads straight to the kitchen for some water whilst Flo and Emily sluggishly lift themselves up the stairs towards their rooms. The other two girls are close behind, but Beca's movement is extra slow and Chloe doesn't want to rush her.

Just as Chloe reaches out to push open her bedroom door, she feels a grip on her wrist.

"Do you want to cuddle?" Beca asks quietly. Chloe almost melts at the small smile on Beca's lips, she looks so adorable and Chloe just wants to reach forwards and press her own lips to Beca's.

"You're a little softie." Chloe giggles.

"Shut up." Beca huffs, "I'm drunk and I'm tired and I want your arms around me."

Beca's own words startle her but she's too drunk – too tired to care right now. She doesn't know why but she wants to be in Chloe's arms – she always felt safe in Chloe's arms and she is too drunk to fight it, the alcohol fighting a battle with her conscious mind and she can feel the alcohol getting more powerful. Beca's mind is too scrambled to figure out exactly why she feels this way, so she doesn't try. Friends can cuddle in bed together without it being weird so Beca just needs to chill the f*ck out.

Chloe doesn't tease the brunette further for admitting that she wants – needs – to feel her arms around her because she doesn't want to push the girl too far to the point where she runs away...again. So, she simply reaches for Beca's hand and pulls her into her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them. In the Bella's house privacy is treasured, and very much needed when you have the likes of Amy walking into every room without knocking. She even walked into the bathroom one time whilst Beca was peeing because Beca forgot to lock the door behind her. Amy was a girl with absolutely no boundaries. Almost like Chloe, except, when it came to Beca, the redhead never once pushed her limits. She wanted Beca to feel safe and cared for, so she never once did anything to make the younger girl feel uncomfortable – except, maybe that one time in the dorm shower. But that is definitely not a regret.

Beca – who is too drunk to even realise what she's doing right now – shimmies out of her skinny jeans and tosses them to the bedroom floor. She lifts up her gaze and locks eyes with Chloe who's already on the bed, but still wearing her dress from the party.

"Are you gonna strip?" Beca asks, a playful smile pulling at her lips.

"What?" The Redhead splutters out – had she just heard that correctly?

Beca whines softly, followed by a small laugh. "You aren't going to sleep in that dress. Hurry up, I want to cuddle."

Chloe's eyebrows quirk upwards at Beca's words. "Who are you and what have you done to Beca Mitchell?"

The brunette smirks, "If you tell anyone about this I'll kill you." It's another one of her empty threats.

"No you won't, you love me too much." Chloe teases, and Beca caves, dropping the threat instantly.

She scoffs "You're lucky you're pretty."

Beca turns around, venturing over to Chloe's drawers and pulling out some shorts and a t-shirt for Chloe and a hoodie for herself. She chucks the clothes in Chloe's direction and slides the hoodie over herself, pulling off her bra and t shirt in the process.

When she looks up at Chloe, she's already lying under the duvet, wrapped up like a little burrito and it's the most adorable thing.

"Come here." Chloe says, and pulls back the duvet just enough so Beca can slide underneath it and into Chloe's embrace.

Almost instantly Chloe wraps her arm around Beca's waist and the smaller girl snuggles into her.

"Night Chlo." Beca mumbles, feeling her eyelids grow heavier.

"Goodnight cutie." Chloe whispers into the back of the brunette's neck, her lips inches from the skin.

She can't resist calling her the pet name because Beca is so cute right now and she wants her to know that. Chloe gets to see Beca at some of her most vulnerable states and she loves that not many other people do. She's sure that Beca and Jesse haven't had sex but that doesn't mean they aren't ever going to, especially with the way the pair were dancing with each other tonight. But Chloe takes a minute to remind herself that Beca has ended up in her bed, not Jesse's. Granted, they aren't having sex but simply sleeping together in each other's grasps can be more intimate than sex. You are allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable. A smile spreads across Chloe's face when she feels Beca's hold on her wrist tighten a little as she snuggles closer into her.

Chloe thinks that she might be able to get through this without crumbling. She's pretended for the last two years that she isn't completely smitten over her best friend, so what's one more?

It's going to be hard and it will probably break her more times than she can count but being Beca's friend is worth that pain. Beca is worth that. Chloe thinks she's worth everything.

She missed Beca so much in the three days they didn't talk, and it hurt so much knowing she was avoiding her, distancing herself from her. Chloe doesn't know why Beca shuts herself off from others, but she thinks she gets it – it's easier to hide than to pretend. Chloe wishes she could hide from Beca so she would not have to look at her, knowing she'll never be loved by the brunette entirely. But there's a part of her that knows she would still be filled with pain because she'd be without her. She wants Beca with her, and if pretending they're only friends is what Beca wants then Chloe is willing to keep it that way. She'd rather see her every day and have to pretend not to be in love with her.

She can still love her; she just won't allow herself to be in love with her. Because there's no way she's letting Beca Mitchell walk out of her life completely.

- - - -

also on wattpad: @writteninbechloe