#I think it's because the couch is in front of the glowing bannister for the stairs

[victorluvsalice]

And then they all settled into the break room to watch the latest Season Premiere! Yes, because it just so happened to be that particular pop-up holiday, and I was like, "Well, they have a nice big TV right here." XD They thoroughly enjoyed the shows on offer, though about midway through Smiler and Alice both got distracted by flirting with Victor. XD But they watched enough of them all to complete the tradition, and that's what matters!

And better yet, by the time they'd all completed their required watching, the blizzard had cleared up, and the snow outside was starting to melt as it was in fact now kind of warm! "All right," I thought cheerfully, "let's just get a picture of the trio in front of their new store, and then we can open!"

...yeah, uh, that ended up TAKING SOME DOING. The first issue I ran into was when I tried to set up the tripod myself at the edge of the lot and have Alice set the timer for a picture -- apparently it was too close to the front of the store, meaning that instead of standing OUTSIDE the store as I'd intended, the group went INSIDE and stood behind the flower-arranging bench in front of the windows. Which, might have been okay if I believe Alice hadn't been entirely blocked by the shelves of flowers. XD So I had to put the tripod and camera back in Alice's inventory and have her place them in the world in the middle of the road, hoping the tripod would face the right way when she did. Fortunately, she did put it down facing the store, yay. First hurdle passed!

Second hurdle -- uh-oh, Smiler is feeling the thirst. Well, fortunately, that is easily taken care of -- they always carry a bunch of plasma packs and plasma fruit. They sipped on that while Victor and Alice had a little make-out session, and ended up refreshed enough that I didn't have to worry about shitty needs while taking the picture. Second hurdle passed!

And then we came to the third hurdle -- ACTUALLY GETTING THESE IDIOTS TO TAKE THE PICTURE. Dear lord, this was SUCH a thing. Because either Alice would go to set the timer, and then just IDLE there for long enough that I would think something had gone wrong and cancel the interaction, or while "waiting for the photographer" Smiler would randomly wander off down the road, and if I tried to teleport them back into position by changing poses when Victor and Alice got in front of the camera, they would end up merged INTO Alice, which, not good. FINALLY getting the shots I wanted took so long that not only did I have to have them change clothes halfway through as they were too hot in their winter wear, it was SUNSET by the time I went "FINE I'M TURNING AUTONOMY OFF SO YOU CAN'T MOVE." *facepalm* Granted, I actually think the sunset photos look pretty cool, and I was happy with the photos once I got to take them, but cripes. Make me suffer for my cute threesome shots, why don't you, game?

[spaced0lphin]

Counting Stars

“Bailie is determined to count Jeff’s freckles.” - @virusq

This takes place post-TBMS, after the events of ME2 and before ME3.

The evening was blue with twilight. Humidity and the whine of cicadas spilled into the kitchen through the open patio door. Shepard was still out there, leaning on her arms and staring into the black pines. The opened letter on the table turned his stomach. An Alliance insignia showed through the envelope. In disgust, he turned it over face down. This was the thanks she got for spearheading the operation to save the known galaxy; a warning. The message was simple: Either show up in court voluntarily in a week, or be dragged there.

Joker's own eyes looked back at him, his image caught in the glass door. It felt weird, but also good to be out of Cerberus fatigues. Sometimes it seemed like his reflection looked a little wrong without them, but he remembered feeling like that after putting away his Alliance blues for the last time, too. 

A bizarre, almost musical croaking from outside caught his attention. It wasn't familiar - but Shepard, in all her stormy silence, didn't seem bothered by it. Dusk was settling fast. It was weird, this place. It was some little house on the far outskirts of the city Shepard grew up in. The warm, familiar rumble of the engine was traded in for wind in the trees, birdsong in the day, and whatever spooky noises the damn woods conjured up at night. Joker did not like the woods. Being so close to so many trees, all growing at once in strange, chaotic angles - it was unnatural. It and the nearby ocean smelled nice, though.

His Omnitool glowed, displaying the time. Two hours ago, she'd opened the mail and stormed outside. He picked up the offending letter and slid off the chair, putting the paper out of sight. This whole house in a familiar place thing was meant to be a break, a reminder for Shepard of what she was fighting for. Instead, all she'd found was this insult. He thought about hurling it in the garbage. It just wasn't fair.

The curious sound came again, this time from somewhere a little closer. Shepard hadn't moved an inch, nor noticed his approach. Not even the rap of his knuckle against the glass door, half-open to where she'd flung it a couple hours earlier could steal her focus.

He cleared his throat. "Hey," he said gently. "What was that sound just now?"

At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head as if snapped out of a spell. Her eyes were red and she sniffed. She'd been crying. A pang of guilt shot through his chest. He should have known. All this time he was sat twiddling his thumbs at the table like an idiot waiting for orders, she was out here, crying her eyes out with only the trees and mosquitoes for company. He slid the patio door closed behind him and leaned on the bannister with her.

"Uh, noise?" she asked, her voice thick. "Just now?"

"Yeah. It sounded like… uh." He screwed up his throat. "G-Ghauck," he tried. She recoiled, making such a face at the awful sound coming out of him he couldn't help but laugh. To his relief, she cracked a small smile, too. "No, no, wait, wait, hold on…" He did his best mimicry of the odd call. "Ghaaaawk. Like that."

"That's a raven," she answered, wiping at her eyes. "I think your first try was maybe a raven getting eaten by something."

"Heh. Maybe, I mean I don't know what's out there in… in that," he said, gesturing to the deep blackness in front of them. The little yellow light covered in bouncing moths could only do so much to illuminate even the first layer of branches. "It's so much worse than space," he grumbled. "At least you can see in space. Here there's things. So many things, and they all run and swim and bite, and… fly." He paused. Shepard wasn't looking at him - but up, at the sky. She tapped her Omnitool briefly, then all the lights went out.

They waited for their eyes to adjust. Stars separated out from the blueish darkness above. They looked so different beneath miles of atmosphere. Little swirling black dots blotted a couple of them out in patterns as tons of bugs did their crazy dance high above.

"You've never heard a raven before?" she asked with another sniffle, the sound a little loud in the darkness. He thought about her voice, and all the times he'd heard her be strong. In the course of everything, she’d yelled, commanded, screamed for her life, even laughed in the face of death. But never, never ever once that he knew of, had she actually cried.

"No, I guess not," he said. In the gloom, Shepard's shape started to materialise. She had her face tipped up towards the half moon, eyes closed against its light. He wondered at what she must be thinking. He couldn't imagine why she hadn't ordered a shuttle to Vancouver five minutes ago. How seeing that letter waiting for her hadn't sent her direct to HQ to scream in their faces about their ignorance and injustice. His own rage about it boiled hot in the back of his mind like the surface of a star. It didn't take much to picture himself cracking a rib telling them where to shove their trial. How dare they threaten her after everything? Where were they all this time to demand accountability now? Suddenly, he understood why she had been staring into those dark trees.

As she let out long breath after long breath through her nose, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Shepard wasn't on a shuttle right now doing those things, because Shepard had run out of fight. She had nothing left. She had given them everything already, and still they wanted more. They wanted her freedom. He knew that feeling, and in answer to it his throat grew tight.

"Hey," he said, nudging her arm gently.

She opened her eyes. "I'm sorry, Jeff. You were saying. Did you need something?"

"…C'mere." He pulled her close, tucking her head to his chest. She was silent. Her back shuddered a little, so he enclosed her in his arms as best he could. He kissed and stroked her short clipped hair. She carried the scent of vanilla, the sea breeze and everything good about the galaxy.

Shepard broke like glass. The sound of her wordless sob made his throat knot up so bad it was almost hard to swallow. Everything she went through, he was right there with her. Physically in only a few cases, but always in her helmet. Every hard decision and breath held in hesitation was a memory he shared, too. His way of dealing with it all was not to think about it most of the time. Always, he tried to focus on the next thing, and to give her someplace else to be when she was with him. But as her tears seeped through onto his skin, he knew she didn’t have that luxury anymore. He wanted to tell her it was okay, except it wasn’t okay, not at all. He didn’t dare shush her, the last thing she needed was to be told to shove it all back down inside herself.

After a little while, it felt right to sway, like when he was held once himself, a long time ago. Eventually, her halting breaths steadied, and tears slowly stopped spreading the wet patch on his shirt. He lost track of how long they stayed like that. He would have stayed the whole night like that if he could, but his left thigh trembled. Always the weaker of the two, his left had more extensive work done to the weak bones, and the muscles fatigued quicker. Just balancing on one wasn't an option.

"Mm, yanno, I didn't realise the fact I never heard a raven before would upset you so much," he whispered in her ear as he rubbed at a knot between her shoulders. She shook again, and Joker's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. But a second or so later, her quiet laughter made him sigh with relief. "Yeah… Okay. Hey, I need to get off my feet."

Her fingers curled around his as she followed him back inside. There was some long couch thing in the obscenely picturesque living room, and that would do just fine. He moved several of the fifteen cushions people always fill couches up with onto the floor and eased himself down, gingerly putting pressure on the twitching muscle. She reached over and pressed at it too. He kept waiting for her to speak, to address what just happened somehow, but kneading the muscle in silence was all she would do. 

“Been a while since you shaved your head,” he said, running his fingers through the fine growth. “You growing it out?”

She smiled and scratched his chin pleasantly through his beard. “The reason I left flight school used to have a thing for long hair,” she said quietly. “I’ve kept it shaved ever since.” 

“Oh. Right.” He took a second to admire the half-inch of rich chestnut brown. “Hey, only grow it out if you want to. Y’know, luscious vid-star locks or not, doesn’t matter to me.”

The weight of her head lay against his shoulder. “I think it’s time.”

“Because that doesn’t sound ominous.”

She smiled softly. Even red eyed, pale-faced, and her face wet with tears, Shepard was always beautiful. Dabbing at her eyes again with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she said, “I shaved it all off the same day I left flight school. It was… kind of a statement, back then.”

“Well. Whatever statement you’re making now, I’m listening,” he said. Her green eyes flicked from point to point, studying him. “Ah heh,” he added with a grin, “That sounded a lot less serious in my head. You know something I’ve always wanted to do, though?”

“What’s that?”

“This,” he said, and traced from her forehead down her cheek, as if tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her arms slid around him. She sniffled, then grinned wide, in that way she always did before saying something stupid. “You say you don’t mind my hairstyle choices, but I’d dump you if you shaved.”

He laughed. “Listen, I’d dump me if I shaved.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I don’t actually have this killer jawline, it’s all just sculpted hair. I look like a yahg under this.”

She kissed his cheek. “You know, I’d never seen you in actual sunlight before today.”

“O-kay…? You say that as if I look different?”

“No, but stark light shows details, and I noticed something I never did before,” she said as she took his arm into her lap. “You’re covered in all these light freckles. The light from the displays washes them out and I’ve only ever seen you in dim light.”

“Uh… huh,” he puzzled. “There was that time your leg was all busted up and I took you to a café.”

“Yeah, but even in the day, the Citadel looks very different from Earth. Anyways. It reminded me of something from when I was very little.” Shepard turned his hand over and began drawing ticklish little circles in his palm. “My grandmother was a pretty interesting woman, from what I remember. She used to tell me that freckles were a kind of map,” she explained, squinting down at his skin in the darkness of the room. “She said they are a star chart, and they show a snapshot of the universe where a person’s soul was born.”

Joker lay his head back. Shepard’s little piecemeal memories of her family were always interesting, but very often bittersweet. If it had been anyone else’s anecdote, he might have made some kind of crack about such a sentimental idea, but as she curled up to his side, he couldn’t bring himself to wreck it for her.

“Well, let’s think,” he said. “I got a billion of these, all over, so clearly I’m from somewhere near Sagittarius. What about you, though?” It was hard to see much, but her skin tone looked smooth as ever. “I don’t think you have very many.”

“No. Just a handful, here and there. I remember wishing for a million of them, just like she had.”

“Ugh, you’re gonna give me a cavity,” he groaned. “Little baby Bailie at like five years old asking her gramma how to grow stars on her or something. It belongs in a cartoon.”

“Hard to tell, but I think you’ve got about sixty-seven right here… I need better light.”

“You’re… counting them?”

“I am,” she said. “It could be fun.”

“You have a weird idea of fun,” he said, shaking his head. 

Her lips travelled up his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder. “Do I? I think our sensibilities might be closer than you think…” “Oh?” “I’ve been thinking.” “That usually ends in explosions somehow,” he said. She smiled softly. “I think... I want to spend these next six days finding out where you’re from.”

“How are you gonna do that by just counting ‘em?”

“Oh, Jeff. Don’t bring logic into this. Just go with it.”

“No I mean, wouldn’t you wanna cross-reference them with known star charts? I bet EDI could do that. Maybe she’d burn out a processor… Y’know, you might actually be right, that does sound kinda fun,” he said with a snicker.

“I don’t need to do that. I can use the star charts up here,” she said as she tapped her head. “See this little arrangement? Looks like the Five Sisters in the Aurean Expanse, kind of…”

“Wait, what? Really?” he asked. His forearm looked the same as it always did. Maybe there were five darker spots among them, but it was dubious at best.

“Oh, definitely,” she replied, never breaking his gaze as she kissed the spot.

“Pfft,” he said, before recognising the glint in her eye. “Oh. I mean, uh. Yeah, interesting. Y’know, with this first pass at it, maybe just take a look, and uh… mark anything you recognise? To look at. Again. Later.”

She moved fast when she needed a distraction. Her chilly fingers made him shiver in the best way as she slipped her hands up his shirt. He followed her lead and just lay back. Of all the stars to be counted, he figured he had a few lucky ones, himself.  

[writingsbychlo]

heart under construction (03)

word count; 4255

summary; sam is finally confronting his feelings.

notes; yay, I fixed your hearts. for now. we’re building up to the something big now. 

warnings; none.

It had been twenty-seven days since you had walked past Sam’s house.

He was counting, he knew. 

He had really hoped you might walk past on that first Monday after the argument, but you hadn't. He’d packed extra food in his lunch, the snacks he’d quickly come to realise were your favourites, and he’d eaten them all to comfort himself as he sat waiting at the top the ladder for you for the entire house of his lunch break, and an extra half an hour that Jake told him they could spare. 

He understood though, he really did. He hurt your feelings, and he made you feel unwanted, and you didn’t want to see him. He waited all week, but you didn’t walk past at all. He waited during the second week, he stood on the street corner of the direction you came from every morning of the second week in case he would see you, but he didn’t, you never showed and he spent his days sulking as he continued to fix up his house, the entire passion being gone.

In the third week, he had finished patching up all the walls, and the railings on the balcony were up and glossed over, and he really wanted to show you that he’s taken your advice and bought plant-pots to line the walls near the roof. He was hoping he’d be able to win you over with a session of planting the flowers you thought would look good, and some takeaway food. He’d really watch the sunset with you this time, and then he’d show you all the improvements he’d made to the house. 

By the end of the third week, he realised you were taking a different route to work, and you weren’t going to see the walls being painted a colour that would perfectly match the carpet you had chosen, which was to be delivered in two weeks, once the bannisters and doorframes had been glossed over. 

And now, he was closing in on the end of the fourth week and he was no longer waiting for you to walk past because he knew you wouldn’t, he was no longer looking out for you and sitting in view on his lunch break because he knew you wouldn't be coming to join him. 

It was the final Saturday of the month, and as Sam at in his apartment, staring around at the four walls in complete boredom, he realised he was wasn’t really home. It just didn’t feel comfortable, and it had never mattered before now. Before now, it was just the place he was living at right now, somewhere to keep his clothes and sleep between dates, work and seeing his brother, but as he thought about it more, he didn’t want that anymore.

He wanted a home, he wanted somewhere he was proud of, somewhere he was excited to go home to, somewhere he could share with someone who mattered one day. One day, he wanted to settle down.

The shade of oakwood flooring for the house that he’d spent the week laying down was still flittering through his mind, and now he was wondering what it looked like in the night, in the moonlight, what the kitchen tiles would look like in contrast. They were still sitting in the box on the newly installed kitchen counters, he had let to lay them down but he knew you’d love them. They were classic, just like the older theme he was going with, real stone tiles that would be cold underfoot in the mornings and with a deep sigh, he debated just what to do with the night. 

He could text Jess, she had been asking him about his plans for the last three weekends, and his phone had been blowing up with notifications from beautiful girls on tinder. He could go to a bar and have a drink, or he could watch one of the recorded baseball matches he had on his tv, but for some reason, he just couldn't stop thinking about the goddamn kitchen tiles.

Maybe it was because he was worried about them just sitting out, maybe he was just bored, or maybe it was because he was convinced that you had chosen those tiles. They were the same shade as the carpets you had chosen, a dark grey with slightly lighter speckles and it added the most perfect continual theme to the entire home. They were perfectly matched to the dark grey solid oak wood that lined the bottom and top floors, and he dragged his hand down his face as your touch on the house only seemed to become more and more prominent. 

Jake had been taking a lot of photos of the samples, before having very strong opinions on which flooring they should have, and now that he thought about it - really thought about it - Jake had never had good interior design taste, and the house was going to look perfect, and it wasn’t thanks to them, all they did was rebuild it.

With a deep sigh, he already knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he had no regrets in heaving himself up off of the couch and grabbing his car keys, swiping his coat on the way past and dragging it onto his shoulders as he jogged down the stairwell of the apartment building. It had been fine, comfortable even, when he’d first moved in but now he just felt out of place.

Jake would be at the house, and so he could play off the weird urge to go over and stare at the kitchen tiles you had chosen with longing as instead as spending the night with his brother, and his family. It had been a while since he’d seen Roger and his niece, and it would certainly take his mind off of his wallowing.

The ride over was short, and he knew it by heart now, and he wasn’t sure why the idea of pulling up to the house in the night, the windows lit up with dim light to welcome him in felt more like home than the actual place he lived did.

Throwing the car into park, he jogged up the steps, happiness filling him as he thought about spending the evening with his family, the irritable depression seeping away from him, and the door swung open before him, his brother shocking him by filling the doorway, a loud greeting falling from him upon seeing Sam on the steps.

“Hey! Hey, man, what are you doing here?”

Sam’s brows shot up, his jaw-dropping slightly as he looked at his brother and he gaped for a second, before his brother was shrugging and scratching the back of his head. “Uh.. I figured I’d come and see my niece, spend some time with you guys..”

“Right, yeah, ‘course.” Jake paused, glancing over his shoulder and back into the house for a second, noises of distraction sounding out from him as he fumbled for his words, and Sam stuck his hands into his pockets as he rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting to hear what his brother had to say. “It’s just, you know, normally you have dates or plans of Saturday nights. I figured you’d be with a nice girl at a bar or something. A tinder hookup, you’re a popular guy..”

He finished off his sentence with a laugh, and Sam knew the words weren’t insulting, but they still stung, the idea that he so predictably spent every Saturday night with a random chick who always turned out to be not quite what he was looking for in his life, she never quite seemed to fill the gap of what he didn’t even know he was looking for. “I haven’t really been feeling up to it, lately.”

Jake’s expression seemed to soften from slight panic as he watched him, and Sam felt heat crawl up his cheeks at his brother’s evaluative face, assessing him and trying to work out just why he was really here, and what he was really feeling. 

“Can I please come into my house now?” He cracked a smile, choosing instead to try and breeze right past the awkward tension of the conversation between the two of them and Jake huffed out a laugh, nodding and lifting his arms down from the frames on either side of the front door from where he had been caging him out previously. 

“Sure, yeah. Just- just give me a minute, okay?” Before he even had a chance to reply, Sam was watching with wide eyes as his brother dashed away and into the house, disappearing into the sitting room and back to the mumbled voices and gurgles he could hear from Alice. He didn’t hesitate to step across the threshold, closing the door behind himself with a soft click and following through the house.

Flickering candles were sitting around on all the temporary furniture that had been set up as they had let to choose light shades and bulbs, and it gave the place a cosy and dim glow. He smiled, watching over the room and freezing as his eyes settled in on the scene in the middle of the empty room.

A picnic blanket had been laid out, glasses of wine sitting around the outside on folded napkins as not to leave marks on the new floors, Chinese food and wrappers that were still steaming, barely even opened as cutlery and chopsticks surrounded them, and each member of the group present looked up at him.

His brother, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he clasped his hands in front of himself, a slight wave of worry began to flit across his features. Roger, his wine glass raised halfway to his lips as he paused, a happy smile on his face as jovial greetings and questions began to pour from his brother-in-law’s lips. Alice was reaching out to him, her little pig-tails bobbing in joy as she practically bounced, her hands making little grabby motions and Sam wiggled his fingers at her, mumbling a child-friendly greeting as a distraction for himself as he found his bearings.

Finally, he glanced up, swallowing thickly as your eyes met his for only a moment, before you were tearing them away, a polite smile on your face that was directed at him and he cursed himself, because he’d never seen that smile before.

He’d seen your reassuring smile, the first one he’d been given when he had met you all those months ago, as you told him not to worry about his stupidity and that you’d be okay, and he shouldn’t worry. He’d seen your nervous smile, the day Jake had asked you to join him for lunch and you’d first climbed that ladder all the way up to join him at the window. He’d seen your carefree smile, the one you’d given him every time he told a stupid joke and you’d laughed for a while together, holding your stomachs and wiping your eyes. He’d seen your smile of pure joy the moment he’d told you he’d stay behind and watch the sunset with you.

He even had smiles he didn’t like, such as the one he’d seen moments later, the fake ‘I’m okay’ smile you’d shot him. He didn’t like the uncomfortable and anxious smile you’d given him the day he’d exploded and you’d slipped away before he could apologise, and he definitely didn’t like the polite and dismissive smile you were giving him now. It made him feel like an outsider, the sort of smile you gave someone you might pass by in a supermarket whom you vaguely knew but not well enough to actually say hi. 

It made him feel like he was a stranger in your life, and he hated it, because that was exactly how he’d made you feel.

This was his fault.

Watching as you tickled at his niece’s side before standing up, and brushing the dust from your pants. His eyes widened, he knew what was coming next and before he could reach out to stop you, you were already mumbling excuses and removing yourself from the situation, his hands sweating and getting clammy, and he wiped them on his jeans as he gaped at you.

His brother and his husband were insisting you stayed, and you were simply thanking them for a lovely evening, and promising you’d do it again soon, despite the fact that you hadn't finished your wine and you hadn't even eaten yet.

He had waited for so long for this chance, and now that it was here, he watching you breeze past him to the front door as you buttoned up your soft-looking blue coat and pure desperation and panic filled him as he stood rooted to his spot, unsure what to do in his frozen state. 

Jake shoved him, Sam stumbling over his own feet as he finally snapped to it, and he caught the front door as you swung it shut behind you, chasing you out into the dark garden as you made your way down the path and toward the streets. “Do you think the garden would look good with those little solar-powered lights that go along the edge of the driveway?”

You came to a slow halt, pausing as you left your back turned to him for a second, your shoulders slumping as you finally turned to face him, confusion covering your face. “What?”

He shook his head, cheeks heated as he mumbled to himself about his stupidity, but you were talking to him, and it was something, even if it was about garden lights, and even if you were looking at him like he was insane. Taking slow and cautious steps toward you, he tried not to scare you off, and he ignored how much it hurt to watch the way you stiffened as he stopped a few feet away from you. “The garden. I’m thinking all along the edge of the driveway to light it up, it would look nice, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. Wouldn’t it just be a call that the new owners would make, though?”

He hummed, dropping his eyes for yours when you refused to meet his gaze, a sigh leaving him. “Yeah, but the thing is, I can’t stop thinking about.. the house. I lived in a lot of places before and they felt great, but with.. this house, there’s something different. Something special. I want to keep.. it. I really, really like it.”

He wasn’t sure you were understanding anything he was saying, but he chanced a glance up, at you, your soft gaze on him as you finally looked at him, and he offered you a small and tentative smile. He reached out, daring to take a step closer and he extended a shaky hand to take one of yours from where they were hanging limply by your side, and he distracted himself by playing with your fingers for a moment as he considered his next words.

“Please don’t leave. I’m really sorry. I am!” He could hear the pleading tone in his own voice, and he didn’t care, because all he wanted in the world was to stand here and talk to you, and currently, you were staring at him silently. “Please, talk to me.”

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stop telling me that when I do things that aren’t fine, it’s fine!” He let out a ragged sigh, running a hand through his hair in anger as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s not okay that I was too busy texting to see you walking by, and it’s not okay that I said you were a stranger. You’re clearly not! You know my family, so you can’t be a stranger an-”

“Sam.” His jaw snapped shut at your tone, his eyes wide as he halted his rambling, your own eyes scanning over him gently, your shoulders rigid and your body tense before him. “Stop, really. Just because I’m your brother’s friends doesn’t mean you want to be my friend, and that’s okay, it’s okay. You feel invaded upon when I’m around, and that’s okay too.”

He shook his head rapidly, his lips still sealed tightly shut as he waited to check that you were finished talking, your head tilted to the side as you sighed out at his refusal, and he realized it was his turn to talk again. “That’s not it, I swear! I like you, I do!”

He knew his statement wasn’t enough, and he let out a low growl as he tried to find the right thing to say, his lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowed so deeply he was practically squinting, and he thought through everything he could say, he thought about just what he was feeling, trying to express how to fix this. 

“I’ve missed you. Every day. I waited for three weeks for you to walk past so I could apologise. I miss you, and I need you. You make me smile and you make me happy. You are my friend, and you’re important to me, and I shouldn’t have said that, I was just angry and upset and-” His throat practically closed up on him as he choked down his feelings once again, word-vomit threatening to take over, and he swallowed thickly, his eyes dropping from yours for only a split second, before he was looking back up at you again, determined to say his piece while you were still listening. “My mornings don’t feel right anymore, because I don’t get to see you, and hear you wish me a good morning.”

It seemed something had gotten through, because your fingers twitched in his hold, squeezing his a little and he resisted the urge to grip your hand, so tightly he never let go, to lift your hand and place it over his heart as he hugged you, or to use it to tug you closer until you were crashing into his chest. “I text it..”

“I don’t get those texts.” Letting out a cautious sigh, he adjusted his hold, threading his fingers through yours to link your hands together, your own fingers curling around his loosely and he didn’t bother to hide the small smile on his face at the action, stepping closer to you as your wanted breaths mixed in clouds within the cold night air. “I don’t get anything, and I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Sam.”

A shiver rolled over his body, his eyes stinging as e blinked back tears, the relief flooding his body washed away the sinking and nauseous feeling that had been swirling in his gut since the night it had happened, and he had to check he wasn’t swaying on his feet from how far in the clouds his heart was soaring at the moment. “I should have stayed and watched the sunset with you. I just bailed, and that was a dick move, an-”

“It was just a sunset, Sam. You had a date, and that was more important.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug, your eyes watching the way his fingers were twiddling with yours in the now tight hold he had on his hand and he allowed himself to let out a sound of disagreement, his fingers tilting your head up and cupping your cheek as he guided you to look at him. 

“I would’ve rather watched the sunset with you.”

You huffed at his words, your eyes wide and he forced you to keep your gaze locked with his, your cheeks heating up under his hand, and the edges of his lips dragged up into a tiny smirk, his tongue poking out to lick over his lips. “Well.. it’s in the past now. It doesn’t matter anymore. I forgive you, okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart.” His shoulders dropped down, small smiles being shared between the two of you as a once again comfortable and light silence weighed between you both. The second you took a step back, his hand tightened around yours, tugging you back in close to him, his head shaking as he grunted in disapproval at your attempt to leave. You crashed into his chest, your eyes wide as you pressed a hand over his heart as you stepped back, far enough to look up at him. “I don’t want you to leave yet. Don't leave me, again.”

“You should go and be with your family, and I should go home.” He shook his head, dropping his head down and letting his eyes close, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll see you around Sam, I’m not going anywhere.”

“See, you say that, but you don’t come by anymore. You don’t eat lunch with me and you never walk past. If I let you go now, I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” You let out a small breath at his words, the warmth of it washing over his lips and he twisted his head, his nose bumping against yours, feeling the way you twitched a little on the contact and he smiled, being able to picture your face in his mind, your eyes closed, the same as his, smiling lightly as you held his hand and felt his heart beating steadily under your palm. “I want to see you.”

It was a while before you even reacted, and his words seemed to fall on deaf ears for a moment, until he felt you shift, your head sliding to rest on his shoulder as your chest pressed to his, your arms looping around his waist as you hugged him gently and he didn’t hesitate this time, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and squeeze you tightly, holding you to him, with no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“Please.”

“Okay, look. If you’re free, you should come with Jake and Roger to the princess prom.” He let out a laugh at your words, his chest rumbling underneath you and your fingers tightened in his shirt, scratching at his skin lightly through the material as you let your giggles join his in the quiet night.

“The what?”

“Princess prom. It’s the theme for this year's new parents and kids introduction party. All the current nursery children and their parents will be there. We have newcomers and their parents come, and the kids can all play together while new parents can ask current ones about the system, the way we work, and they can talk to all of us, the teachers, too. The children chose the princess prom theme.” He felt you shift against him a little in what he assumed was supposed to be a nonchalant shrug, and he hummed at your statement. “It’s next Sunday, so if you’re not busy and you want to st-”

“I’ll be there.” He pulled back, holding your jaw in both of his palms as he looked down at you seriously, sending you a short nod in confirmation. “I promise. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“O-Okay.” You leaned into his touch, his thumbs, stroking over your cheek as your head tipped to the side, and you nuzzled into his palm just slightly, his cheeks heating up as you did and his heart skipped a beat, one of your own hands coming up to close over his and hold it there for a second longer. “Well, your brother has all the details. You don’t have to dress up in a suit, or tux, or anything. You can just dress formally, you don’t have to go all out if you don’t want to. The kids will all be in their favourite Disney prince and princess costumes, I think. They’re all very excited.”

He chuckled, already picturing Alice in her purple rapunzel dress, the one she insisted she wore to every family meal they had, and every time they went out somewhere that required Jake to wear a tie. She even had the braid head-band extensions to match. “What will you be wearing?”

“I will, of course, be wearing a ridiculous ball gown and a tiara. I’m royalty, you know?”

“Mhm, you certainly are.” He grinned as you scoffed, shoving at his shoulder and he slipped his hands down from your cheek, taking both of your hands on his as he rocked on the balls of his feet. “I’ll wear a suit to match you, okay? What colour is your dress?”

“Navy blue.”

“I will get a blue tie, and I’ll match you.” He added a wink on the end of his sentence, enjoying the way your cheeks lit up red, a cheeky smile finding its way onto his features as you grew flustered under his stare. 

“You don’t have to do all tha-”

“I want to. I really want to.” You merely nodded, before giving him a dazzling smile, one full of joy and care and warm emotion that he just wanted to bask in, and he had missed it so. “I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll see you on Sunday, then..” With a final grin, he raised your hands up to his lips, pressing a series of kisses to the backs of both hands and your knuckles, before giving you a final parting wink and jogging backwards up to the house, watching as you blushed, turning and heading away toward your own home. 

He had never been happier to have not been on a Saturday night date in his life.

[andersoncharm]

Don’t Read The Last Page- October 24, 2020

MiniPara: - Don’t Read The Last Page

Rating: PG.

Pairing: Seblaine. 

Sebastian: smythesm

Blaine: andersoncharm

When: October 24, 2020-  Two days after Blaine’s 24th Birthday.

Location: Sebastian’s Apartment- Boston, MA

Notes: Sam visits Blaine for his birthday week and gets to know Seb a little. He gives Blaine some unexpected news that could change Blaine and Sebastian’s lives…

Warnings:  Mentions of death. Parental Death (Blaine’s Mom), Mentions of toxic past relationships. Mentions of brief past Klaine.

Extra Warnings: (This hasn’t been brought up for a bit but, this RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine tipped a sip of his tea attempting to hide the smile that had overtaken his face as he watched his boyfriend and his best friend place the freshly carved pumpkins out on the balcony. The visual brought him a joy that he’d not felt in a long time and he wanted to hold onto the moment, freeze it in his brain and save it for a darker day. They’d done six squash and each one had a dreadful grin or the face of a pup, or little cat whiskers carved into the shades of orange and yellow. He, Seb and Sam had spent the crisp day doing various autumnal things that Blaine wanted to do in sort of a birthday weekend celebration and Blaine’s perpetually worried yet happy demeanor over the last few days, had somehow evolved to an even bigger degree of happiness that balanced somewhere between being thrilled to downright ecstatic. Sam being here had brought a little slice of his childhood into his new world and Blaine was over the moon with the feeling of having them both near. If only David and Nick could be here to make it all even better.

He fought the urge to light each of the pumpkins from his spot in Sebastian’s apartment, but refrained- Sam would be leaving soon to go back to Ohio with his family for a few days before leaving for Japan and Blaine could wait before he used his favorite bit of spooky magic. Sam had been in America for almost two weeks now and he’d been in Boston for four days, Blaine only wished he had more time here. He sat his cup down and went over and opened the balcony door as Seb and Sam turned to come back in, the purple and orange glow of the Halloween lights backing them as they stepped into the room.

“I know Sam’s got a long drive ahead of him so I’ve made a kettle of hot water for tea and a pot of coffee, the two of you can take your pick. And yes, Sam, there are about six different types of creamer to choose from.” He rolled his eyes at Sam’s grin and sat down to wait for them to come back. Sebastian came first and Blaine’s face once again threatened to crack open into another smile as his boyfriend snuggled into him, shivering from being outside. Blaine wrapped his arm around him and pulled him even closer before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s not that cold, baby.” He mumbled teasingly. Seb just grunted in response.

“God the two of you are so gross.” Sam mused with a smile as he came back into the room with the biggest coffee cup from the cupboard filled way too full and slightly sloshing over as he sat down at the end of the couch. “Gross, but like way better than the dude you dated in high school for those few months. Kurt? Did I tell you that I ran into him when I first got to Ohio? Still has major uh, god complex energy. God complex? Did I use that right? Yeah.”

Blaine’s stomach dropped a little at the mention of his brief, witch ex-boyfriend and he pulled Seb a little closer. Whether it was to keep himself calm or Seb safe he couldn't tell.

Sebastian’s POV:

Seb liked Sam well enough. He had brought him a plethora of Japanese candy and a Sailor Moon manga. Sebastian was touched by how thoughtful it all was even if the blonde man wrapped him in a giant bear hug that had lasted a little too long for his liking. Sam laughed at pretty much everything Sebastian said (“your voice is so monotone, dude! It’s hilarious!”) and was Blaine’s biggest cheerleader, had a giant grin and even bigger arms so what wasn’t to like? Ras liked him, too (probably because they had almost the exact same demeanor and ecstatic energy.) Sam fully embraced Blaine’s autumnal themed birthday weekend and didn’t make things seem third wheel-y. 

Sebastian nestled the last grinning jack o’ lantern on the bannister as Sam stood back and wiped his palms on his jeans. They had carefully carried all six of the pumpkins they had carved with Blaine out to the balcony to display. Blaine had made a show of making sure each pumpkin had a little white votive candle inside of it though Seb knew that he would just use his magic to make sure they shone bright and long all season. 

He nodded at Sam as if to signify that their work was done and they headed back into the warmth of the apartment. Sebastian immediately snuggled into his boyfriend’s warm arms, the scent of coffee and cinnamon candles instantly comforting. He wasn’t ready for the nights to grow colder and darker but he knew how much Blaine loved the colder months and so he welcomed the chilly air and tried not to grumble about missing his beloved sun too much. 

Seb peeled himself out of the other man’s strong arms, flipped Sam off and poured himself a cup of coffee with a little half and half. He clasped his mug and reveled in the feeling of the hot ceramic in his hands. Sebastian joined the other men in the living room and tried not to audibly sigh when he noticed Sam’s coffee (kind calling it that, it was mostly caramel creamer) slosh onto the arm of the couch. He knew Blaine would magic it but his Virgo tendencies were itchy with the want to spray the spot down with cleaner and scrub vigorously.  

His ears perked at the mention of Blaine’s ex. Sebastian felt the other man pull him a little closer and could feel the energy change around them. He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat, “God complex, huh?” Sebastian took a drink of his coffee and watched Sam who seemed very chill as he sipped on his drink and gave Ras’s hair a ruffle. He could feel Blaine’s body tense to his side. “Humor us, Sam. What did he have to say?”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s heart thudded in his chest as he waited for Sam to reply to them. This familiar icy feeling of dread that he’d grown accustomed to ignoring over the past couple of years slowly crept over his body even before Sam spoke what had been said into the atmosphere. He tried his hardest not to react, tired not to grip Seb’s arm too tightly as his stomach fell to the floor. Sam’s perky, nonchalance made Blaine feel crazy about his internal struggle, but one quick glance at Seb told him that he wasn’t alone in his struggle. All at once he was happy that Hunter and Tony had already left a couple of days ago after meeting Sam and weren’t here to hear this. Wouldn’t it be their obligation to the Order to do something about it? Kurt was a Witch. A Witch that now knew about Sebastian and Blaine’s very forbidden relationship… He was especially thankful that Freya was out in the moonlight so that she couldn’t tell him she told him so. No matter how much she cared for Seb and of course, Ras.

“Well, he was like standing there, looking like he stepped out of some magazine, you know how he was, remember? And then he just casually asks how you are. So I tell him how happy you are and how you’ve got this awesome boyfriend named Sebastian that treats you like an equal and not like, you know, a trophy wife like he did and this fucking dude just keeps smiling at me. His eyes got all big and crazy looking and man, ooh, he looked like that cat from Alice in Wonderland, you know? Anyway,  I’m glad you got outta that one as quick as you did.” Sam took a big swig of his too hot drink and winched but still managed to look so proud of himself for talking Seb and Blaine up. He really was a good best friend. But, all Blaine could feel was that shrinking dread. 

Blaine licked his lips, a permanent chill settling into his bones as he sat his tea cup onto the coffee table in front of them before leaning back against Seb. His body tensed and ready for a fight as if Kurt or the Order and Council would bust through the door at any second. “That’s so strange. We dated for like two or three months, I can’t see why he’d even care what I’m up to.” He forced a laugh and reached out for Seb’s hand, linking their fingers and squeezing tightly so as not to float away. “How long ago was this?”

Sam took another drink of his coffee and shrugged. “Like when I first got into Ohio.” He shook his head. “I saw him about three more times on my trip, he didn’t talk to me or anything, just seemed to be at a few places I went to, I wouldn’t worry about it, dude. Like you said, you totally shouldn't give a shit about what he thinks anyway.” His best friend stopped and looked up at the clock with a sigh. “Ugh, I guess I should go soon. I promise the next time I come though that I’ll stay longer than four days, alright?” Sam stood up and not so carefully went into the kitchen to discard his cup into the sink. He pulled Seb into a hug that looked like it hurt before standing up and pulling Blaine into an even stronger hug, crushing him against him. Blaine knew he was tense and that he was distracted and he hated that he wasn’t able to say a proper goodbye to his best friend, but his heart was thudding so fucking hard in his ribcage that he wanted to scream.

He was such an idiot. How could he have been so careless? How could he have forgotten that Sam’s family was from Ohio that sweet, oblivious Sam would have no clue that all the Facebook and Instagram and Twitter posts had been glamoured so that it looked like Blaine was still single to Witchfolk? The high from his Birthday weekend crashed down hard and he couldn’t even bring himself to speak after Sam had left. His body felt heavy as he made his way back into the bedroom to get dressed for bed. He ignored Ras’ pitiful look which made him feel worse. He was working on autopilot as he changed his clothes and he could feel Seb’s eyes on him, searching for answers that Blaine didn’t have. His hands were shaking as he ran them through his curls before finally looking up at Sebastian, lost.

“Fuck, Seb…”

Sebastian’s POV:

It was a good thing that Sebastian was in law school and had been trained not to wear his emotions on his sleeve and had a pretty perfect poker face because his stomach was tied in knots. He knew that he and Blaine needed to remain calm while Sam was around. Kurt was a witch. A witch knew about them and it wasn’t just any old witch, it was Blaine’s ex. Sure, they had only been together a few months but they way it had been explained to Sebastian, he was sure there was a grudge. He could feel his boyfriend’s rigid body and slight shake. “Fuck him.” The words were meant for Blaine’s feelings as well as a reply to Sam’s story.  

Sebastian awkwardly patted Sam on the back as he bunched him up into a hug. Blaine hugged his best friend and gave a half hearted goodbye and Ras gave him a few kisses and he was on his way out. Seb walked Sam to the door and wished him a safe trip. He watched Blaine silently head into the bedroom and sighed. 

“What does this mean, B? What do we do?” He pulled open the top drawer on his dresser to find the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in amongst his boxers. He felt too agitated to get into his sweats or get undressed for bed. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep at all. Sebastian sat on the bed next to the other man, his cigarette in between his lips. “Can I get a light?”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine gave a half hearted smile and reached out his hand and with a surge of energy and a flick of his fingers Sebastian’s cigarette was lit. Seb rarely let Blaine use magic with him aside from sex and he knew this was an attempt to make him feel better. He watched as his boyfriend took a long drag, his eyes blurring from staring at the reddish orange glow of the magic lighted ash. He worried his bottom lip as his thoughts raced through his head. What would he do? He could go to Hunter and Tony, warn them that someone may know about him and Sebastian. Someone that could do something about it, that might dislike him just enough to turn him in. But, would Kurt? They’d only been together a few months and while they hadn’t had the best break up and Blaine had gotten angry about the way Kurt had controlled every aspect about their relationship right down to what Blaine wore sometimes, surely that didn’t mean he’d try to have him killed. Right?

He blinked remembering the disdain in Kurt’s eyes when he said he didn’t want to be his legacy, descendant prize. He remembered when Kurt had reminded Blaine that some witches never found their fate and that they should just settle for each other since Kurt understood what it was like to lose a parent. Blaine remembered how upset he’d been when Kurt threw his mother's death in his face and suddenly it was all too much for him at once. He shook his head and turned back to look at his boyfriend. 

“Nothing. We’re not going to do anything, okay?” He knew it sounded insane and saying it out loud scared the hell out of him, but what was he supposed to do? “If we tell Hunter or Tony or my dad it will only expedite everything and I want to hold onto us for as long as I fucking can.” His voice was sharp, like he needed to convince himself and Sebastian. “Kurt has known about us for two weeks, surely he would have gone to the Council or the  Order by now, right?” Or he’s just biding his time…  He shrugged that thought off, knowing it was going to haunt his thoughts for the rest of his life, leaned in closer to Sebastian. 

“Whatever has to happen is going to happen. All I know is that I’m not leaving and I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? My top priority is keeping you safe and I plan on sticking by that.” He reached for Sebastian’s free hand and brought the back of it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to it, his eyes falling closed as he breathed him in. The overwhelming feeling of how much he loved this man and how much dying for him and them would be worth it overtook him and he wanted to scream and cry about how unfair the world was but Sebastian needed him to be calm and he needed to be calm for himself or he’d panic and where would that leave him?

“It’s going to be okay.” He mumbled the words, his conviction whooshing out of him as he scooted so that he was as close to Sebastian as he could get, his head pressing into his chest as he tried to steady his breathing and convince himself of the words' truths. It had to be okay.

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling. He stared at the ceiling fan for a few moments, the light making little blue dots swim in front of his eyes. Seb squeezed Blaine’s thigh and held the cigarette out towards him. “Hopefully this kid has grown up some.” He took a deep breath and his lungs wavered a bit from the smoke and the fear swimming low in his belly. Sebastian didn’t like the sound of any of the words Blaine was saying. It all sounded detrimental and uncertain and scary. “You’re my top priority, too, you know. I need you to be safe, too.” He bit his bottom lip and looked into the other man’s warm eyes. Blaine looked scared and sad and that made Seb’s stomach knot up and his anxiety spike. “We can get through this.” Sebastian didn’t want to turn his courthouse tricks on with Blaine but he wanted to calm the other man down and reassure him somehow. 

“Maybe we should lay in bed and watch a movie. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep and I don’t want to mindlessly stare at my phone all night. You can pick what we watch.” Sebastian stood up and grabbed the sweatpants he had set out for that night off of his pillow. “The water is probably still warm in the kettle. I’ll bring you some chamomile tea.” 

So, even though his body felt sick with anxiety and his throat felt dry and his hands wanted to shake, he forced his voice to stay even and his hands to calmly grip the maroon mug that he filled with hot water for Blaine. Sebastian turned off the lights and plugged in the heating pad for Blaine, snuggled into his side as they watched Tangled and West Side Story. He drifted off to sleep before anything bad happened to Tony and Maria and wished on any star that happened to be out that he and Blaine would be okay.

/fin.

[artificialqueens]

Washed in the Tide of Her Breathing 2/4 (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: Thank you to everyone that read and commented on chapter 1! Your support means so much to me! I would love if you could leave some feedback on this chapter. Writ is the best and I can’t thank them enough for beta-ing, brainstorming with me, and answering all my questions. (Also, I’ve taken too many English classes not to cite my source, so the article about the Melville to Hawthorne letter can be found here).

For a second when she wakes up, Brooke forgets.

She forgets there’s a woman just feet away, tucked under a plaid quilt in Brooke’s old bedroom-turned-guest-room that’s been useless until now, her presence breaking through the dust of memories coating the room. The room overlooks the ocean, and Brooke used to read by the window while sea-kissed breezes flowed through. Her parents smiled at her from the precious few photos she had of them, a collection that stopped growing before she did.

Brooke had moved into her grandfather’s room years ago, after carefully packing most of his stuff away (something she discussed at length with Dr. Ganache), and tries not to feel like an imposter in his room. This morning, she reminds herself that she’s capable and deserving of her job, capable and deserving of being in his space, capable and deserving of living, and gets out of bed.

Smoky gray casts a shadow over the window. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, splattering on the roof, and it seems the roads really will clear by Monday. But that still leaves three days of the same gentle water Brooke loves imprisoning her like some princess in a tower.

It’s not being stuck inside that bothers her. Brooke has more than enough food, books, and streaming services to last. It’s the thought of being stuck with someone, mind racing and skin itching with the thought of someone watching her constantly.

She takes slow, measured breaths and ties a few knots, fears rising out on a steady stream of air. She’ll be polite to Vanessa, they’ll watch TV, and Vanessa will be gone Monday. This whole thing will be just a memory for Brooke, a tiny drop of water in the ocean. A few weeks and she won’t remember the sound of Vanessa’s laugh, how it’s rough and velvety in the same breath. A few months and she’ll probably forget her name, how it’s sweet like chocolate in Brooke’s mouth.

Brooke flicks through a book, the weight of it as steadying now as it was in her childhood, the idea of all those worlds beneath her fingers making her feel secure, comforted. It was these worlds she escaped to, to have adventures alongside the characters, to pretend she had parents waiting for her like they did.

“Morning, Brooke!”

Alice in Wonderland slips into Brooke’s lap as she jumps.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Vanessa asks.

“I’m fine.” Brooke takes a good look at Vanessa, stomach stirring as she does. Vanessa looks stronger today, more vibrant. Her cheeks bloom with rosy life, eyes bright and grin broad. Brooke is so relieved she’s okay, showing no pain from whatever (or whoever) hurt her, that she ignores her ridiculous theory about Vanessa being some sea creature. Vanessa’s okay, and that’s enough.

She realizes she forgot her medication in her cloud of worry, and notices Vanessa watching.

“I take medication, I–”

“It makes you feel better?” Vanessa asks.

“Yeah.” Brooke has bad days occasionally, but when the mental illness was at its worst she couldn’t even get out of bed, could do nothing but lay there and pray for sleep to avoid being conscious. She wouldn’t be able to function without the meds, and she’s not ashamed of it.

“That’s all that matters,” Vanessa says firmly. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

Brooke nods appreciatively. Her offer of coffee is met with an enthusiastic nod, and Vanessa is practically vibrating with energy as Brooke passes her the lobster mug. It’s a good thing she made decaf.

Vanessa is at ease in the kitchen, cheerfully eating eggs on toast, and Brooke wonders what it’s like to be so comfortable around others, to say things without turning them over in her mind a hundred times, worrying how they’ll sound. To be the kind of person other people go toward, instead of away from.

“We gonna watch Thrones today?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke nods.

Vanessa crunches her last bite of toast. “Let’s go.”

—

The morning passes quickly, Vanessa letting out whoops and gasps as they move through episodes. It makes Brooke grit her teeth at first, because she always watches things in silence, but when Vanessa screeches about ‘Sharpie Bannister’ (as she’s renamed Cersei Lannister), Brooke has to laugh. There’s something about watching the shock and excitement play out across Vanessa’s face that’s simply infectious, impossible to resist.

Vanessa tags along when Brooke climbs the steps for her afternoon light routine. Brooke’s skin prickles as Vanessa watches her. The only person that’s seen her work is her grandfather, and Brooke sweats with worry that she’ll mess up the one thing she’s good at and look like an idiot in front of Vanessa.

It takes Brooke a few windows to sink back into her rhythm. She can’t really blame Vanessa for staring. Brooke used to observe her grandfather with the same bright-eyed wonder over how his gnarled fingers moved of their own accord, how he didn’t even look where he stepped because his feet knew the way. If Vanessa’s open mouth is any indication, Brooke has perfected his movements, making it all look as natural as breathing, and she bursts with pride.

“So, how do you know this stuff?” Vanessa asks, motioning for Brooke to sit with her at the base of the light. This close, Brooke can smell her own lavender body wash Vanessa’s been using. “You have a degree in lighthousing?”

Brooke hugs her knees to her chest. “I have a degree in English, actually.” It may have taken her a while to finish it, after a leave of absence because the anxiety and depression grew so severe she couldn’t complete her assignments, but she had finished all the same, with a minor in marine studies. “The lighthouse stuff is from my grandfather. He taught me everything I know.”

“He’s a lighthouse keeper too?”

“He was.”

The silence hangs like a midday sun as Vanessa processes the words.

“I’m sorry, Brooke,” she says softly. Vanessa’s hand curves toward Brooke’s knee before darting back, like she wants to comfort Brooke but isn’t sure she should. Brooke suddenly wants her to, wants to see what Vanessa’s hand feels like, wants its steadying weight.

“It’s okay,” Brooke says.

They sit in fog-thick silence and Brooke wonders if she should speak or leave, sink or swim. The air is wide open for her to talk about her grandfather, but she just doesn’t want to. She’s been thinking about him constantly since she found Vanessa, trying to be kind like him, but she selfishly wants to hoard her memories like treasure, not share them. Vanessa doesn’t know how he preferred waffles to pancakes and put cinnamon in the batter, how we let her practice dance recitals in the living room and applauded wildly, how he let bugs go outside rather than kill them, and if Brooke tells her, then the memories aren’t just Brooke’s anymore. It’s like she’s giving part of him away.

“It’s real cool. This lighthouse stuff, I mean.” Vanessa fills the quiet. “You make it look so easy.”

Brooke shrugs. “I’ve had lots of practice.” Learning it was the best thing for her after losing her parents, and she had thrown herself into it to ease the pain. It gave her something to focus on, something to keep her worried mind occupied. A way to help people get home, like her parents couldn’t.

“Well, it’s beautiful. The way you move and everything.”

Brooke swallows nervously, stomach fluttering like butterflies are running wild. No one’s complimented the way she moves since her dance days. But Vanessa notices the grace Brooke’s always carried, even thinks it’s beautiful. The last bit of fear melts away, and Brooke stops thinking of Vanessa as an intruder and starts thinking of her as a fri–acquaintance. It’ll have to do, because there’s no title for ‘nice person that washed up on my lighthouse’.

“Thank you,” Brooke says finally. “Um, do you like quesadillas? I was thinking of making them for lunch.”

Vanessa grins, exposing bright white teeth. “Of course!”

—

Vanessa asks if they can play a board game that night, and Brooke brushes the dust of her childhood and pulls out Monopoly. They play on the floor, lantern illuminating the board, the glow highlighting all the different shades of brown–chocolate and hazelnut and mocha–swirling in Vanessa’s eyes. Brooke keeps getting lost in them, and has to tear her gaze away to focus.

Brooke quickly sees that Vanessa came to win, racking up properties and snatching money from Brooke like a middle-aged banker. But Brooke’s had years of practice, and she takes Vanessa’s money right back, their stacks too high to tell who’s winning.

Vanessa asks questions while they play, wanting to know Brooke’s favorite foods and colors and movies. Brooke hesitates at first, but what’s the harm in giving these pieces of herself to someone she’ll never see again? So Brooke answers questions and echoes them to Vanessa, hours ticking by like minutes as she learns the colors Vanessa likes to wear, the funny movies she watches to cheer herself up. She talks more with Vanessa in an hour than she does in a week.

Brooke coughs and sneezes through the game, using a whole box of tissues. Not changing her clothes after finding Vanessa is catching up with her. When Brooke sneezes so hard it sends paper money fluttering, Vanessa’s eyes flicker to her in concern.

“You gettin’ sick?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke shrugs. “Probably a cold. Happens a lot near the water.” Brooke often got sick as a kid because of how cold and damp it was by the sea. Her grandfather would set up a makeshift bed on the couch, tell her stories, and let her watch anything she wanted, a Star Wars marathon making the coughing and sneezing and bitter cherry medicine almost bearable.

Brooke can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have Vanessa sitting at her side, telling her stories.

—

Brooke is definitely sick when Saturday morning rolls around, her head cloudy like it’s stuffed with cotton, tissue after tissue chafing her raw nose.

The rain is still trickling down, mocking the weather reports that said it would stop by Friday. The new report is predicting Sunday.

Brooke shuffles into the kitchen and sees Vanessa sipping coffee and looking so right at the table. Brooke’s never considered her kitchen empty before, but Vanessa makes it full.

“You’re sick!” Vanessa yelps with worry. Vanessa is worried about her, is upset that she’s sick, and maybe it’s the illness making Brooke’s thoughts fuzzy, but she’s grateful Vanessa is here, grateful to have someone worried for her.

“I’m fine. Just a cold.”

Vanessa’s hand stretches up to her forehead before Brooke can stop it. She figures it’s rude to push Vanessa away, and her touch is soothing, so Brooke leaves it.

“I don’t think you have a fever,” Vanessa says, hand lingering longer than necessary.

“It’s just a cold,” Brooke repeats, wracked with a sudden shiver from the loss of contact.

“Well, why don’t you lie down?” It’s an order more than a suggestion, and Brooke gives in, too tired to argue despite the strangeness of it all. No one has cared for her like this in years. She usually just took medicine and went on with her day, no one even knowing she was sick, and Vanessa seating her on the couch and buzzing with concern spreads affectionate warmth through Brooke’s chest. Some part of Brooke likes it, likes having someone take care of her when she’s done it alone for so long. And some part of her likes that the someone is Vanessa.

Vanessa carefully drapes a blanket over Brooke, watching her with such tenderness and adoration it makes her ache with a sudden longing to hold Vanessa. The cold is really messing with her head. Vanessa brings her cold meds, cough drops, and extra tissues before settling into the armchair and starting the next episode.

Brooke’s eyelids grow heavy after the theme song, and she drifts off into a warm sleep punctuated with dreams of sailing with Vanessa.

A gentle hand nudges her shoulder, and Brooke blinks awake to see Vanessa, bowl of steaming soup in her hands. Brooke’s mind lags as she processes the scene. Vanessa made her soup. Vanessa took the time to go through her pantry and cupboards just to make soup to help her feel better. It’s been seven years since someone cooked for her. Brooke’s eyes dampen at the corners (it’s probably the cold).

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Brooke says, sitting up and eating a spoonful.

“Don’t worry about it. You need sleep when you’re sick.” Vanessa pauses. “Anything else I can do? Call a doctor or somethin’?”

“I don’t need a doctor for a cold,” Brooke says, melting at how concerned Vanessa is. “Soup and meds are enough. You didn’t have to do all this for me,” she adds, looking down at the bowl.

“I want to,” Vanessa says firmly. “You got sick ‘cause of me.”

Brooke shakes her head. “I was only outside a few minutes getting you. I didn’t change my wet clothes after. That’s my fault, not yours.”

“Still,” Vanessa insists. “It’s the least I could do.”

Vanessa tucks a strand of hair behind Brooke’s ear and Brooke has no air in her lungs. Her whole face tingles, and she wishes she could grab Vanessa’s hand and put it on her cheek, let the warmth rest there forever, an eternal flame to keep Brooke warm.

The day is cozy and carefree, but there’s something bugging Brooke, swirling below the water like a predator. It’s not until Vanessa gives her more cold meds that night that it hits her: Vanessa isn’t sick. Vanessa was sailing in a thunderstorm, thrown into the icy sea, left in the rain all night, and doesn’t have so much as a sniffle.

Brooke would say it isn’t humanly possible, but it’s true. Unless…

No. She needs to stop with her theories. It’s probably just the grayness of the world affecting her judgement. Some urge to keep her grandfather alive, to put a wild story in everything she sees.

It’s a quiet night, Vanessa more hushed than usual, a mug of hot chocolate making Brooke full and sleepy, electing to sleep on the couch because she’s too comfortable under her fleece blankets to move.

Vanessa heads to bed with a soft ‘feel better, Brooke’ tumbling from her lips and soothing Brooke’s skin like hot water, but when Brooke wakes the next morning, Vanessa is back in the chair, watching over Brooke like a tower watching over ships. When Brooke asks her about it, Vanessa just says she wanted to make sure Brooke was okay.

—

The weather report was right, and Sunday is the first dry day in what feels like years, the world bathed a delicate gray-blue as the public works crew clears the roads. Vanessa radiates her own sun in the lighthouse, growing more exuberant by the hour.

Vanessa wasn’t exactly quiet before, but she bursts with renewed energy over waffles that morning. She makes Brooke take more medicine and drinks two cups of coffee with a pound of sugar, asks (commands) Brooke if they can make brownies, and eats three of said brownies in one sitting.

“You know any stories?” Vanessa asks that night. “Sailors always tell stories in the movies. And lighthouses are good places for stories, all spooky and shit.”

Brooke has to agree. The night is perfect, orange fire glowing against the pitch-black darkness outside, wind rattling the windows like a monster begging to be let in, she and Vanessa trading smiles over mugs of hot chocolate, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. It’s nights like these that Brooke believes the legends with all her heart, the world so alive with magic they had to be real.

“I know some old legends about sirens and mermaids and stuff,” Brooke suggests.

Vanessa flinches so quickly Brooke might have imagined it, an unreadable expression settling over her features.

“Sure,” Vanessa agrees. “Maybe somethin’ happy, or romantic?”

Most legends were darker than the depths of the ocean, used as terrifying warnings to respect whatever creatures lived in the sea so they didn’t kill you, but Brooke searches for something at least a little happy.

“Sit by the fire with me?” Brooks asks, heart thumping.

Vanessa’s eyes twinkle brighter than ever in the firelight, and Brooke’s not sure if her face is burning from the fire or Vanessa’s knee pressing against hers.

Brooke clears her throat. Her ears are full of her grandfather’s voice, deep and rich as the sea. She can hear him clearly tonight, in her spot on the rug that used to be his, and she knows he speaks with her when she begins.

“Once upon a time–”

“This some kinda fairytale?” Vanessa interrupts.

Brooke shoots her the same look Vanessa gives Joffrey on-screen. It must work, because Vanessa bursts into giggles.

“Okay, okay, keep going.”

“Once upon a time, there lived a lonely young woman named Arabella. Her father was a lighthouse keeper. He told her mermaids lived in the sea, and every day, Arabella went to the water’s edge, hoping to see one. But none ever turned up.

“One day, a mermaid named Cordelia swam to shore. She had been watching Arabella, but was too shy to see her. Cordelia had hair like spun gold and eyes of sapphire. Some said the ocean herself had made her eyes. Arabella fell in love instantly. But she couldn’t breathe underwater, and Cordelia couldn’t walk on land, so Arabella took her boat out while Cordelia swam beside her.

“As the days passed, their love grew like the waves. They were so in love, neither noticed they were going farther and farther into the ocean. Soon, they were at the cove of the murderous sirens, falsely promising people their heart’s desires and drowning them.

Vanessa’s hands fly over her mouth. She leans closer, eager to hear what happens next, and Brooke surges with pride.

“Arabella’s desire was to breathe underwater, and Cordelia’s desire was to walk on land. The siren queen, Marina–”

“It’s Marilla,” Vanessa says. “The siren queen. Marilla, not Marina.”

The crackling fire is the only sound in the room.

“You-you’re right,” Brooke says. “Marina is the mermaid queen, I always mix them up. I just–how did you know?” She’s not judging or doubting Vanessa, just curious. Most legends have died out.

“I…I think I read it in one of your books when you were sick,” Vanessa says.

“Oh. Anyway, Marilla promised them their desires, and they were pulled beneath the waves. But Marina, the mermaid queen, didn’t want the lovers to perish. She convinced Marilla to grant their wishes, but at a cost.

“She allowed Arabella to breathe underwater for one hour each dawn, and allowed Cordelia to walk on land for one hour each dusk. But if they met any other time, or stayed longer than an hour, they would be cursed with eternal solitude.

“They obeyed. Cordelia stayed beneath the sea, longing for the hour she could feel sand between her toes. Arabella stayed on land, longing for the hour when the water flowed around her. The two hours they were together each day were the happiest in both their lives. They met every day, even as old age meant Cordelia had to hold Arabella in the water and help her walk on land. They stayed in love until Arabella died, and Marina released Cordelia’s soul, so their spirits could be together for eternity.”

Vanessa’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she can speak.

“Wow, Brooke,” Vanessa breathes. “You should have people come here on tours and tell them stories. You’re really, really good at it.”

Brooke beams with joy. It’s a small compliment, but it means more than Vanessa knows. Her grandfather could have an entire room biting their nails in suspense, hanging on his every word. Brooke has never told a story to anyone, and not only is she good at it, she loves it. Loves the rush of bringing words to life, of having Vanessa so close that Brooke could just reach out and touch her, maybe even kiss her–

“Thanks. Someone asked me about doing tours before, actually. I said no.”

“Why?”

“Just…didn’t want anyone inside.” Brooke confesses.

“I get that,” Vanessa says. “This place is special to you. If you don’t want to do tours, that’s fine. I’d just hate to see you say no because of fear.”

How could Vanessa understand her fears so effortlessly? Brooke loves the history of the lighthouse, how it’s served ships for centuries. Maybe, if she works hard with Dr. Ganache, she could feel safe enough to let people in and share that history.

“I’m headin’ to bed.” Vanessa yawns. “Thanks for the story.”

“Sure.”

Brooke lingers behind, curiosity driving her to the book of myths on the coffee table. She checks twice, but there’s no mention of Marilla.

—

“Is that the sun?” Vanessa asks Monday morning, jaw dropping open.

“I think so.” Brooke smiles.

Vanessa whistles. “Damn. I thought I ended up on some planet with no sun! Can we see the town today?” She asks, bouncing in her chair.

“Okay.”

Three days ago, Brooke would have been out the door at the crack of dawn to get Vanessa on the earliest train home. But somehow, between the daily meals and board games and stories, Brooke has grown comfortable with Vanessa, smiling whenever Vanessa laughs, passing dishes to the left for Vanessa to dry without thinking, her heart softening every time their soap-slick hands brush against each other. There’s a certain ease between them, one Brooke didn’t think she’d have with anyone but her grandfather.

Even when they watch TV, Brooke finds herself turning to Vanessa during big reveals, to see Vanessa’s eyes widen and her jaw drop, revelling in the knowledge that she’s not alone, that someone is sharing it with her. She smiles when Vanessa does the same, trying to discern spoilers from Brooke’s expression and gloating when her predictions are right.

Brooke’s heart is heavy over Vanessa leaving, and she wants to make an amazing day for her, one she’ll remember even after returning to the bright city lights.

Brooke thinks of what Vanessa might enjoy in town. Brooke has always liked the main street of Cape Charles, how the cheery shops smiled at her even when most of the owners didn’t, turning their noses up at the crazy lighthouse keeper. But she can take Vanessa to the diner, and the bookstore, where Brooke used to need a stool to reach the shelves until her growth spurt hit and her bones screamed as she shot up eight inches in a year.

She wonders what it will be like to have feet beside hers on the cobblestones again, to eat with someone across the booth again, to see another reflection in the shop windows.

“D-do you want to have breakfast? There’s a really good diner on Main Street.”

“You ain’t gotta ask me twice!”

Being cooped up must be hard for Vanessa, Brooke guesses. Vanessa lives in the city, where she could do anything at any time. Brooke has never liked the dizziness or buzz of the city, how easily you could get lost with no one to even care about finding you. Even when she took classes in the college there, she would ride the commuter train, take her usual walk to campus, and return the same way, never straying for fear of getting lost in a sea of concrete, no light to guide her home (it was a relief when she found out two years in that she could finish her degree online). She hasn’t returned to the city since that bad day when her grandfather died.

“Hey, Brooke?” Vanessa snaps Brooke out of her thoughts. “You got anything I could wear that’s not a wool sweater? Don’t get me wrong, they cute on you, but I don’t think they’re working for me.”

“Of course.”

Vanessa in her house is strange enough, but having Vanessa in her room, her big brown eyes roaming across the bed where Brooke sleeps and the photos linking Brooke to the past, makes Brooke feel like her entire being is on display, like Vanessa can see right through her.

“And I thought your wool stuff was out of control!” Vanessa exclaims.

Brooke smothers a laugh at the array of flannel shirts hanging in her closet.

“I do have a lot of wool and flannel, huh?” They’re Brooke’s favorites because of the coziness, protecting her from the cold sea air.

“Well, they look good on you.”

It’s the second time Vanessa’s said she looks nice, Brooke notes. She wonders if it means anything, if Vanessa’s heart squeezes when she looks at Brooke like Brooke’s does when she looks at Vanessa. She also wonders if it means anything that she thinks Vanessa is beautiful in anything.

“Your jeans are longer than my whole body,” Vanessa mutters. “What are you, like, six-five?”

“Five-ten.”

“Shit.”

Brooke laughs. She’d put Vanessa at five-three, if that, and she likes how tiny Vanessa is, how Brooke’s clothes make her even tinier and more adorable.

“This coat is cool.” Vanessa nods at the navy coat in Brooke’s closet.

“I’ll show you if you want,” Brooke offers.

It’s her grandfather’s lighthouse keeper coat, navy with brass buttons, done in the old style. He took excellent care of it and it’s impeccable, heavy and warm like his hugs. Brooke used to put it on as a kid, giggling as it dragged on the floor and thinking she’d never be big enough or good enough to fill it. But she’d inherited his height as well as his eyes, and when she put it on a year after he died, the coat fit her like it was meant to do nothing else. She had taken it as a permission of sorts, some sign from the universe that she was worthy of wearing it, of running the lighthouse. That she would be okay on her own.

“What’s the K for?” Vanessa asks, pointing to the gold loops embroidered on the lapel, neat K’s stitched inside.

“For keeper.”

“You sure are.”

Brooke flushes as red as a warning sky, and busies herself finding clothes for Vanessa, grabbing a red sweatshirt since it’s Vanessa’s favorite color, and leggings so she won’t trip on any pant hems. Brooke takes jeans and a navy fisherman’s sweater for herself and changes in the bathroom.

Vanessa is fully dressed when she gets back, gazing at the pictures on Brooke’s dresser. “This your grandpa?”

“Yeah.”

“You have his eyes. They look like the sea.” Vanessa smiles. “I bet he was kind like you too.”

“He was.” It’s all she can manage, tears hovering on the horizon. Whenever she was upset, all she had to do was look at him and she knew things would be okay. All she’s ever wanted is to be like him, to be good and dedicated, a beacon of hope for people.

Nina says Brooke is like him, but Nina knew her grandfather, saw Brooke’s similarities to him emerge, and Nina is always nice. But Vanessa doesn’t know her grandfather. She barely knows Brooke. She has no reason to say it, no idea how much it means. For her to think Brooke resembles the man who was her guiding light for so long is irrefutable proof that Brooke is like him, is maybe as good as him, and it warms her heart like a fire. She’s never been more grateful for Vanessa.

“Do you miss him?” Vanessa asks, cringing a second later. “Shit, sorry, you don’t have to answer. Don’t mind my nosy ass.”

“I do,” Brooke says. “He–he was a great person. One of the best.” It’s gotten better over the years, the wound receding to a dull pain, one she sometimes can’t even feel. But then she’ll do something that tugs on the scar tissue, like looking at his picture a second too long or making waffles that taste almost exactly like his, but not quite, and the pain comes roaring back anew.

“Hey,” Vanessa says gently, wiping a tear from Brooke’s cheek, one she didn’t know had fallen. Vanessa is so close Brooke just wants to wrap her in a hug. She wants Vanessa’s head against her chest, wants to bury her face in Vanessa’s hair, wants Vanessa to feel her heart beating. “Let’s go eat.”

—

Nina almost drops her pen when she sees Vanessa next to Brooke. Brooke’s mouth dries out as she struggles for an explanation.

“I’m an old friend of Brooke’s,” Vanessa supplies smoothly. “Just visiting for a few days.”

Vanessa and Nina carry on like actual old friends as Nina takes them to a booth, and Brooke isn’t surprised. Nina can make friends with a wall, and Brooke doesn’t know anyone who wouldn’t love her in seconds.

“So,” Vanessa says, peeking over her menu with a grin, “what’s good here?”

“I always get the apple-cinnamon pancakes,” Brooke says.

“Always always?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t ever wanna change it up?” Vanessa asks in confusion.

Brooke lowers her head, heat creeping up her neck. “I don’t like change,” she admits. Change had been a police officer’s scuffed black boots in a cheery kindergarten classroom. Change had been an unknown number calling from the city, saying her grandfather was in critical condition.

“I know change can be scary,” Vanessa says softly. “But what if you did just a little one? Like, what if you still get pancakes, but with”–Vanessa scans the menu–“bananas instead?”

Maybe Vanessa is right. Dr. Ganache had said a routine would be helpful when Brooke began her recovery, but she should never feel trapped by it. Brooke’s been sticking to it so long she’s never considered if it’s guiding her or forcing her, protecting her or caging her.

Brooke knows bananas aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. She knows her palms shouldn’t be sweating. But if she doesn’t have apples, does that mean the day won’t go like it should? Will it make something bad happen? What if she did something different on those bad days, like eating raspberry jam on her toast instead of strawberry, and that was why the bad things happened?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Vanessa says quickly.

“I want to.”

Brooke’s fork shakes a bit when the banana walnut pancakes arrive, but they’re just as delicious as the apple ones, and Brooke doesn’t think anything bad can happen with Vanessa smiling at her, eating hash browns.

“So, Miss English Degree, you ever read that book about the big-ass whale?”

“You mean Moby Dick?” Brooke snorts.

“Yeah! With Captain Abfab!”

“Ahab.” Brooke giggles. “And I did. It’s kinda gay, actually. Melville was basically in love with Nathaniel Hawthorne. He wrote him a letter saying their hearts beat in each other’s ribs.”

“That’s romantic as hell.” Vanessa’s eyes are bright with admiration.

Brooke lets herself dream of writing letters to Vanessa, pressing kisses to the envelope.

Next in line is A’keria’s boutique. It takes all of ten seconds for Vanessa and A’keria to cackle in unison and talk about clothes. Maybe Vanessa is magic, just not how Brooke thought. Being so open with people, winning them over with a few words, is certainly its own magic, one Brooke has never been skilled in.

Vanessa squeals in delight when they drive past Monet and Monique’s Clam Shack. “Oohh, can we stop there?” she asks, wriggling in her seat like a toddler. She sticks her head out the window to read the specialties advertised on the sign. “Are you one of those ‘we have food at home’ people? ‘Cause my mom used to–” Vanessa cuts herself off abruptly, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear water out of her ears, or maybe a memory out of her mind. Her smile flies back. “Look, they have fried shrimp, that’s your favorite!”

Brooke takes a second to respond around the lump in her throat, because no one has known her favorite food or wanted her to have it in seven years. It makes Brooke’s face warm, almost impossibly so, given the cold air blasting through Vanessa’s window.

“Fried shrimp it is.”

—

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks, looking up from her fried shrimp.

“Yeah?”

“Can I pay you back somehow? I mean, you saved me, and let me stay with you, and bought my food, and I…aren’t I in your debt?”

Brooke’s heart breaks at Vanessa’s earnestness. Was she not used to people being kind to her? Brooke could never make Vanessa give her anything back, especially when she’s just as much in Vanessa’s debt. How can Brooke explain that the past days have been a gift to her, one she can never repay?

“There’s no debt. There never will be,” Brooke says firmly. “I wanted to help you. I don’t want anything in return.”

Vanessa’s hand slides across the table, fingers curling around Brooke’s. “Thank you, Brooke. Really.”

Brooke grips Vanessa’s hand like she would grip a sailing rope to keep herself steady at sea, her body coming to life at the warm touch. “Of course. You’re my guest, for as long as you want.”

“I was thinkin’ about that, actually,” Vanessa begins. “I don’t have to be back in the city till Monday. And I like y–like it here, and I’m so grateful for you, and if it’s okay, do you think I could stay till Saturday?”

You could stay forever, Brooke thinks. A lifetime of board games and cooking together, of movies and morning coffee, of breathing salt air and watching the tides ebb and flow. Autumns tinted gold and springs tinted green, crunching on leaves and splashing in rain puddles. Winters of snowflakes sticking to windows and melting in your hair, a crackling fire and soft blankets. Summers of fresh blueberries and walks on the sand, the sunset so close you could touch it, fill your hands with its buttery light.

“I’d like that,” Brooke says.

—

Last week, four days had seemed like an eternity. Now, Brooke has five more days with Vanessa, and they aren’t enough for everything she wants to do.

Brooke’s heart has a crack in it, the first crack in a ship that leads to disaster as more and more water flows in. Each day that crack widens, another realization slipping inside and dragging her whole body down. How she won’t see Vanessa’s smile anymore. How the couch will be empty, not even a dent in the cushion where Vanessa sits.

They go bowling, and Brooke laughs till she cries over Vanessa’s hunched stance, rolling the ball with both hands and one time shooting it into another lane. They rack up tickets at the arcade and earn a Cape Charles pencil (‘300 tickets and all we get is a pencil?’ Vanessa rages). Vanessa wins a stuffed dolphin at the claw machine and gives it to Brooke. Brooke has slept with it every night since, holding it to her chest and pretending it’s Vanessa.

Every time Brooke burns from people’s stares, wondering why the ghost was released from her tower, Vanessa shoots them a death glare until they back off, reminding Brooke she doesn’t need to concern herself with them.

They finish Game of Thrones, Vanessa screaming about how they did her girl Dany dirty, and start on the Ghibli collection, wordlessly passing the tissue box to each other when Sophie puts Howl’s heart back into his chest.

Brooke relishes the brushing of their arms as they make dinner, Vanessa tossing croutons into the air and catching them in her mouth. Brooke loves putting the food on the table knowing the meal is something they created with their hands working together, trying to ignore that her future meals will be made with two hands, not four.

Before she knows it, it’s Friday night, and Brooke is trying to keep it together. She cooks Vanessa’s favorite foods, rice and beans with shrimp, plus salad, garlic bread, and chocolate cake.

They talk like they do every night, but Brooke has always been sensitive to change, and the air is different, thick with the knowledge that this is the last time, that there won’t be another dinner.

Brooke cuts the cake, and halfway through the first slice she realizes that she’ll have leftover cake and there won’t be anyone to share it with. This cake that she and Vanessa made will belong to Brooke alone, its frosting hardening and crumb drying with only one fork to eat it.

She looks at Vanessa’s lobster mug, irreparably labeling it Vanessa’s, and knows she won’t be able to look at it again without picturing Vanessa’s slim fingers wrapped around it, tossing her head back with laughter.

The crack in her heart widens into a chasm. All the sorrow over Vanessa leaving, the emptiness that will consume her after Vanessa’s gone, rush into Brooke’s heart until it sinks to the ocean floor, never to see sunlight again.

Stay, Brooke thinks but doesn’t say. Please stay. Her chest aches, and she thinks her ribs are throbbing with the pulse of Vanessa’s heart as well as her own.

But she can’t ask Vanessa to stay, stop her from returning to a life more exciting than this, to fabrics shinier than wool and flannel, to more restaurants and stores than she could count.

She can’t ask no matter how badly she wants to.

Brooke doesn’t do this. She doesn’t get attached. Dr. Ganache says she has a fear of abandonment, that she isolates herself as an unhealthy coping mechanism. She doesn’t form relationships, doesn’t even try, because her mind is trying to keep her safe, denying her any connection to spare her the pain of that connection’s loss.

You can’t lose someone if you don’t know them, let yourself get close to them. And Brooke has learned more about Vanessa, gotten closer with her, than she has let herself do with anyone else since her grandfather died.

She knows that Vanessa always buys the Rainbow Room in Monopoly just because she likes rainbows. She knows that Vanessa stops dead in the street to pet dogs, like Brooke used to. She knows Vanessa dances every chance she gets. She knows Vanessa has brought her places she hasn’t visited in years, has shielded her from people’s stares and kept her safe like a lighthouse tower.

“I have something for you,” Brooke says after cake, handing Vanessa the bracelet she made from ropes on her grandfather’s old boat.

“It’s a sailor knot,” Brooke explains. “Sailors wore them at sea. It’s supposed to bring good luck and protection on your travels.”

Vanessa is silent as she runs her fingers over the bracelet, tracing the fibers like she can feel the ocean clinging to them.

Brooke takes a breath. “Vanessa, um, I really liked having you here, and if you ever want to come back…” Tears stream down Vanessa’s face, and Brooke’s heart shatters. “I’m sorry! Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?”

The panic claws at Brooke, heart racing, each breath frantic as Vanessa’s tears thicken. Brooke wants to cry herself over seeing Vanessa so upset, and she struggles to stay above the tide of fear. Finally, Vanessa shakes her head, like she’s answering her own question.

“I can’t do this anymore, Brooke.” Her voice runs deep with sorrow, but Brooke is so relieved she’s talking that she manages to get air into her lungs, heart slowing. “I can’t keep lying to you.”

“What do you mean?” Brooke has ignored Vanessa’s obvious lies and refusal to talk about her life in the city, but the questions always lurk in her mind. Is she finally going to find out what happened? Is Vanessa running from something? Is–

Vanessa sighs. “I’m a siren.”

[apollo-writes-random-shit]

Escaping

Go read on AO3 here!

Chapter 1

(Spoilers for the latest Inbetween episode! It also mentions some of the characters from past videos.)

Karl couldn't help but gag as he collapsed in the rain, head ricocheting off the ground under him as he tried to catch his breath. Whenever he moved through a portal to leave the Overworld or Nether, he always held a fuzzy feeling in his head for a few minutes but nothing resembled how he felt right now.

Granted, he had just fled from a land that concluded it'd be enjoyable to try and keep him imprisoned before throwing a massive tantrum.

Karl didn't even know that a place could do that. Then again, the Inbetween wasn't a normal place. It was a land created by the Sky Gods as far as Karl could guess. How else would it appear?

With a sigh, Karl shoved himself to his feet, clutching his head as his vision floated as he swayed side to side. God, he felt like he was stoned and he had only smoked once. He still didn't know why he let Quackity persuade him but then again he had been stressed and it had eased him.

He sighed, vision finally clearing, allowing him to look around. He had to acknowledge it. The popping of lava and crackling of bright flames trapped in small cages while rain lightly fell was comforting in a way Karl couldn't understand.

It wasn't like The Inbetween's rain, where it felt like bullets, trying to rip him apart as punishment for listening to someone else, straying from a fated path.

No, this rain held comfort, flooding him with recollections of slow dancing under a moonlit sky, laughter gently echoing around the small clearing he and his lover had found themselves within.

He recalled late nights on a worn couch, sipping hot chocolate as he read aloud, a hand dancing in another's dark hair.

It reminded him of things that The Inbetween threatened to rob him of.

A soft smile graced his face as he started studying the encompassing scenery, hand tracing the warm stone plates extending away from the flame lit brazier. The small engravings almost seemed to hum to him, whispering words of safety. This place wasn't going to keep Karl permanently. It had rescued him from the fate of joining other lost souls, scurrying around quartz passages.

Yet...He felt like there were souls here as well. They weren't threatening, at least that's what Karl's own soul was perceiving. No. These were harmless ones. Souls of those he had met previously.

No longer did they yell in his head frantically. This time, it was gentle murmurs of approval, letting him know that he was finally safe. He could finally achieve his mission of saving the SMP from the hell it had become, one story at a time.

Slowly, he turned away from the brazier, gazing up at the arched plants which cast shadows over the already darkened ground, nether wart budding peacefully at their bases.

He couldn't help but let out a tired chuckle as he observed the black squares that covered the ground, inviting him to explore the area. It was elegant even if the only light sources were flickering flames and poping lava. It gave everything an uncanny glow but it was endearing in a way. It seemed more... Natural in a way when he compared it to the brightness that The Inbetween previously held before he acted out.

You did it, Karl. We knew you could.

His smile broadened. Sure he may not be able to see them but those he had met were there. Part of him wanted to apologize for failing them. For the harm, he had brought from bullying gladiators who had waited in the wings to killing the bandits, even if his hands had brought only one of them down, his mind had brought down all three. He desired to apologize to Robin and the rest of the innocent villagers for not stepping in and putting a halt to everything. For being too cowardly to come out of his hiding place to reveal who the true criminals were.

You have nothing to apologize for. What's done is done and you had no choice in the matter. We don't blame you.

He wanted to reveal to Ranbob what his idol truly was like but knew that would crush the hybrid who had killed in the green man's name.

He wanted to tell those who harmed him that it was okay. That he knew the risks that came with slipping into their lives to walk among them.

He had fallen multiple times but that was okay for that was his role.

We still hurt you. How can you be so forgiving?

"Because it's not your fault that it happened." Sure, Karl felt a bit ridiculous for conversing with no one but heat and rain as his audience but he still wished to open his mouth.

"It's like how you stated. What's done is done. It was your fate and mine but with your help, I can take the reins of my destiny. So thank you." He spread his arms, gazing up at the sky with a small giggle. "I keep you with me every second of the day and you all know that. Every lifetime, you're all there and I find comfort in that. So again." He hummed, smiling as he held his hands over his heart, shutting his eyes. "Thank you."

You're such an adorable sap Jacobs...No wonder we fall for you each lifetime.

Even if you did shoot me but you did the right thing.

A giggle escaped him yet again at the new voice. When he had first heard Mason's voice in this new land, he feared he'd be angry but he knew there was no bad blood between them. Well, that's what he was concluding based on the affectionate tone in the bandit's voice. "Sorry about that."

Eh. I did shoot a kid 'nd karma's a bitch or whatever.

Can we move on from this?

Yeah yeah, arrow boy. You still lost to a drunk.

God, was this what Technoblade felt like? Voices friendly bickering in his mind, communicating to him directly whenever they felt like it? Granted, Techno's voices lusted for blood and spammed memes along with telling him who to worry about while Karl's were voices of those he knew.

Shaking his head with a smile, he began to walk again, entertaining himself with the excited chatter of Robin, Jackie and the fishermen as the others bickered and made fun of each other.

Where was Ash? Karl had expected to hear him as well yet he wasn't there. He could hear Zachary telling him to enter the castle before him but where was the second one?

No answer came to his brief reflection. All he could hear were different conversations, including Sapnap's counterparts squabble over who was better.

Humming softly, he decided to listen to Zachary's request, letting the discussions wash over him. He wondered if the voices would follow him back home.

The castle was dark, lit up with torches but this dark was welcoming. Idly, he looked around, pausing as he recognised a familiar glimmer.

This one is safe Karl. Trust me.

At least Zachary was speaking to him and not arguing with the others. It was easier to focus on the hoodie-clad teen's voice if he was speaking to him directly instead of being in a group.

With a sigh, he decided to trust him. After all, what motive did he have not to give the teen some of his trust?

Wandering up the stairs, he did his best to focus on the excited mumblings of the architecture to settle his nerves. Even if Sir Billiam was acting somewhat like a snob.

"Alright. Can you all shut up for a second? I need to read the damn book." Despite the order, Karl couldn't help but beam at the replies, flushing ever so lightly as Rash complimented him before shutting up.

Welcome to The Other Side

You're home now.

Let's explore more soon.

"The Other Side?"

What like hell or something?

Well...We are dead...I think?

Not all of us dipshit.

"Alright alright. Some of you are dead, others are not. As for the name, I dunno if this is The Other Side as in death or something else..." With a sigh, Karl closed the book, setting it back down before picking up the flower that had been overseeing it.

He smiled softly as he descended the staircase again, free hand tracing the bannister. "I for one, think this is a better place than The Inbetween...It feels safer."

Allowing his senses to guide him, he idly considered the room. Even without understanding the land, he understood where he was going. After all, his instincts never abandoned him when it came to returning home.

Soft light appeared in his vision, prompting a lazy grin to spread across his features. A few more steps and he'd be in his library, ready to record everything down before he could go to bed.

Halting in front of the green and purple portal that swirled near him, he let out a hum. "Dunno if I'll be able to hear you all once I cross through this but if not, goodbye for now."

Idly tuning out the other's acknowledgments, he glanced down at the flower in his hand before tucking it behind his ear, pure white standing out proudly next to brunette curls.

A white tulip. Forgiveness, respect, purity and honour.

Maybe I should do some gardening when I get the chance.