#like i started avoiding photos of cinnamon (and the three other characters who have a similar grip) because it was like. so much.

[jpegcompressor]

"i'm normal" i say, as if the only thing that brings me true happiness in my life ISN'T (non-whitewashed) drawings of a fictional character that is the equivalent of a snickerdoodle

[artificialqueens]

Come Home to My Heart, Chapter 5 (Lemyanka) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 ✨| previous chapters

A/N: remember when call me maybe played on the radio? also, when I was writing this I found myself missing Denali a lot so I included her in the story from now hehe & after this chapter, there are no more time skips, now we are at the “present” part of it Enjoy & thanks for reading <3

-5-

At the age of twenty-two, Priyanka felt like she was invincible.

She was living in Toronto where she went to college with a broadcasting major. She worked in a record store downtown and rocked it as if she was the main character of High Fidelity. She still had the car she bought in her teen years but it worked perfectly and she couldn’t complain. She also shared an apartment with Scarlett who turned out to be a better roommate than expected.

Yeah, life was good. Finally, things had fallen into place.

Now she was on her way back home to spend the first proper vacation with her family she had ever had since moving out and although she loved her new life, she found herself missing the old times when everything seemed simpler.

Scarlett had returned a few days before Priyanka but they had agreed on meeting with the entire group to have some shots as soon as they all were there.

The sun was bright and yellow in the sky when she arrived home. As soon as she set a foot in, her nephews and nieces pounced on her. She spent the whole day playing with them –Priyanka liked to think she was not a regular aunt but rather a cool aunt- and ended up so tired that she went straight to bed after dinner –and for goodness sake, she had missed homemade food.

Going back to her old room was weird. It felt wider now that her sister lived in Australia and spent most of the year touring with a great orchestra. Most of Priyanka’s stuff was in Toronto and the remaining ones were inside boxes somewhere in the basement; the walls were empty and there were marks where the sticky tape was on gluing posters and photos, same old curtains, and even the same lamp on the nightstand. Her luggage was untouched, clothes folded –kind of- inside it. She’d unpack in the morning and until then she would put on whatever she found on the drawer as pajamas. Luckily, she had a Totally Spies! old t-shirt with a hole in one of the sides that would do just fine.

Before turning off the lights, she saw the picture of her graduation, smiling while she hugged her friends and a good feeling invaded her body.

The moment her head touched the pillow she fell asleep.

It wasn’t until the morning after things went downhill.

Priyanka didn’t know yet, she had a great morning drinking coffee and catching up with her mother before getting a text from Kiara asking if she’d like to have brunch with them –don’t judge her, a mimosa sounded delightful- plus they mentioned something about waffles discounts.

She had grabbed the first thing her hands picked from her suitcase, a pair of grey sweatpants, sneakers, and a tank top; the morning was still chilly so she put on a light jacket and tied her hair into a ponytail.

She texted Denali as well; she was a friend Priyanka met one winter she came to town from Alaska for a skating competition and ever since then, she would visit once in a while to hang out with them and practice with one of the local coaches. They got along instantly because Denali was fun to be around, she was also a very talented skater and a great drinking buddy to have next to her any night.

She replied shortly after, something about meeting them there.

It was nice to be in her hometown again, driving around with the same car she bought there, knowing exactly where to turn and where to go. Call Me Maybe played in the radio on repeat and she let it be, even sang along with her windows down.

She passed by Lemon’s old house -the one where she lived before moving to New York- her parents had sold it a few months after splitting up and a new family lived there already, Priyanka sometimes saw little kids playing around and couldn’t help but think of them sometimes. Those days most of her memories with Lemon were nostalgically tinted more than angry like the day she left.

Lemon’s father had re-married a couple of years ago, he met a French-Canadian woman in one of his business trips; she had an older daughter called Rita that Priyanka had met a few times in town. Although she had never spoken to her, according to her friends, she had a charming accent and funnier than she looked in her classy exterior.

Lemon had returned for the wedding that time but their paths didn’t cross.

They hadn’t met in seven years now.

When Priyanka arrived, the dining was flooded with people and waiters going back and forward with pots of coffee and flying orders. She quickly found her friends among the crowded tables and made her way to the table without bothering other customers.

“Hello, ladies!” She smiled widely. “Missed me much?”

Scarlett shook her head. “I saw you like three days ago, you clingy bitch.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Priyanka hugged Kiara and then Juice who were sitting on the other side of the squared table.

“Well, I did miss you.” Juice said.

“See? Even your girlfriend is happy to see me.”

“Again, we’re not dating…”

“Yeah, yeah… we’ve heard it before.” Kiara complained and Scarlett crossed her arms on her chest. “Anyway… have you eaten yet?”

“No, I had coffee with my mom and now I’m starving.” She perused the menu and finally set her mind on the cinnamon waffles. “We should wait for Denali to order, though.”

“Priyanka…” Scarlett called her name with a particular tone.

Very particular.

She suddenly took a closer look at her friends. They all seemed secretive; in possession of some valuable knowledge, Priyanka wasn’t. Juice avoided eye contact, Kiara continued fidgeting and Scarlett was nicer than ever.

It had to be bad.

“What’s going on with you guys?” She was a little scared of asking.

“I think we should wait for the food…” Juice scratched the back of her head.

“No, we have to do this fast and effectively, like ripping off a Band-Aid.” Kiara disagreed.

“Uh… guys, you’re freaking me out. What the hell is going on?”

Scarlett followed Kiara’s advice.

“Lemon’s here.”

Priyanka was perplexed and for once in her life didn’t have a witty comeback. She had gone blank.

“Is she broken?” Juice waved right in front of her trying to catch any movement in her eyes.

“Give it a moment, let it sink…”

Priyanka looked at her roommate. “When you say she’s here you mean…?”

She pointed at Kiara.

“Okay so, she’s still close with some of the girls… you know, Boa, Tynomi…” Priyanka nodded, mechanically. “I bumped into Tynomi the other day and she casually mentioned that Lemon’s in town for a few weeks.”

“Weeks?!”

Great. Just great.

“What is she doing here?” Kiara opened her mouth to reply but Priyanka shushed her. “You know what? I don’t wanna know… I don’t care… I couldn’t care less.”

It didn’t make sense. Lemon hadn’t been back in five years since the wedding and she chose that particular summer to make her triumphal returning. Priyanka was starting to believe she’d become a ghostly memory of her childhood days but somehow she was there in flesh and bone.

Her hands were sweaty.

“Hey! Sorry, I’m late,” Denali’s voice took them out of their bubble. “Wow… you all look… somber… Should I come back later?” You didn’t need to be an expert to perceive the environment.

“No, it’s not…” Priyanka shook her head.

She wasn’t letting her ruin her vacations.

“Sorry. Hi, Nali…” She stood up and hugged the girl tightly. “Remember everyone?”

“Hi everyone,” She greeted the girls one by one and then sat next to Priyanka. “Seriously, if you need me to leave…”

“No need.” Priyanka assured.

“Then what’s going on? Cat got your tongue? You’re usually the loudest table wherever you go.”

“Priyanka’s first crush is in town.” Juice filled the blanks.

“Aw, that’s cute… are you meeting her soon?”

“Not if I can help it…” She muttered.

“She’s also her former best friend…”

“Oh…”

“…Who hadn’t seen her in the past seven years. It’s like her own Envy Adams.”

“Oh, no… Okay… that’s… I’m going to sit here and pretend that I’m reading this interesting menu…” Denali covered her face with the said item.

“Don’t bother, Nali. You have nothing to worry about.” She put her hand over her shoulder. “I’m totally fine with it.” Priyanka sounded convinced.

“Yeah… about that…” Kiara started. “Did we forget to mention she’s in this establishment right now…?”

Priyanka almost choked. “I beg your pardon?”

“She’s here… here.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Well, that’s…” Priyanka was feeling dizzy. “Would you excuse me for a second? I need to use the bathroom.”

“Pri!” One of the girls called her name but she didn’t turn back.

Priyanka locked herself in the first free booth she found.

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined this moment before, years ago when the wounds were still fresh and her heart had been broken, but now… after all that time, she wasn’t prepared. Her mind refused to let the memories go away but she had managed to live a life without Lemon, a life that was good and where she achieved everything she wanted. Now she felt like she was walking back to a place where she was overexposed and it was too much to handle.

She took a deep breath. No.

She wasn’t that little girl anymore, she had endured worse and by no way, she’d give all that power to a single person that wasn’t even part of her life anymore.

Priyanka lifted her head and heard the sound of the water running from the sink diverted her attention. She couldn’t see the reflection in the mirror but that silhouette, a hint of blonde hair and a floral dress, the pastel nails shaking the water drops…

It had to be…

She grabbed a paper towel and tossed it in the trash before leaving the bathroom.

Priyanka’s blood was rushing and some type of instinct made her open the door and get out of the bathroom.

She had to know.

Her eyes traveled around the dining, trying to distinguish among those faces but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Priyanka returned to the bathroom as if the sugar rush diminished and threw some cold water on her face. The reflection on the mirror stared back at her, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes looked bigger than ever. She took a deep breath before going back to her table with her friends; they’d get worried if she stayed there any longer.

She walked back, shaking the feeling with every step, she only slowed down when she started getting closer and saw her. She saw her right in front of their table; her hand touching the top rail of the chair where Priyanka was sitting, her frame was still petite but she wasn’t either a sweet little girl or an adolescent teenager, she was a young woman now.

She had curves and toned ballerina legs, her hair was longer and blonder than before and it looked silky and wavy, even her posture was different, relaxed, matured, she was lively talking to her friends even laughing at something Kiara said.

What had happened there?

Juice spotted Priyanka right behind, the others did too and suddenly all the eyes of the table were on her.

Lemon turned around.

She was wearing a buttoned dress with short sleeves and a daisy design in white, yellow, blue, and green; her hair had two pins holding away from her face and there were rosy hints on her features, the tip of her nose, from her cheekbones to her cheeks; her lips in perfect pastel pink lip gloss, her lashes had mascara on and her signature eyeshadow had the right amount of spark to make her eyes pop –Lemon had worn contact lenses since she was sixteen because she was practically blind without glasses, Priyanka knew.

She blinked a couple of times and then smirked.

She smirked.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave.” She smiled at the people sitting at the table. “It’s nice to see you, guys. I hope we can hang out sometime.”

It was like a slap on Priyanka’s face who had said nothing yet.

Scarlett’s eyes were playing ping-pong, going from Priyanka to Lemon non-stop; Juice was nervous but she kept smiling, Kiara was still in disbelief and Denali hid behind the menu again.

She walked next to Priyanka like a breeze.

Now the anger built over the years had resurfaced and made her blood boil under her skin.

“Hello to you too.” Priyanka spat loudly enough for her to hear.

Kiara mouthed oh shit.

Lemon stopped and looked at Priyanka over her shoulder.

“Oh, so you can speak now…” She nodded.

Her face remained inscrutable it was annoying. Priyanka had her nails pressing the inside of her palms so hard, her knuckles were turning white.

“If that’s it…”

“It’s not.” Priyanka was fuming.

“How unfortunate because it is for me.” She walked away with the last word, leaving Priyanka behind.

She followed her figure until she was out of the dining and then felt the hand of Juice grabbing her wrist.

“Pri…?” She tested.

“It’s fine… I’m fine.” She sat back on her chair but the image of Lemon’s fingers touching it didn’t help.

She internally thanked the waitress that approached to take their order because she didn’t want to talk about it.

Priyanka didn’t want to admit that even after all those years, her heart kept running wild in her presence and there was nothing she could do. All those years of being apart hadn’t done a single thing for her hopeless, stupid little heart.

[brideofedoras]

The Loft: Redemption

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the images in the mood board, nor do I own The Loft or the characters from the movie.  I only own my OCs.

Word Count: 2400+

Rating: 18+ only, please.  

Warnings: Mentions of (later descriptions) of sexual abuse, mentions of infidelity and murder.  

“I really wish you would reconsider this, Sam,” Kenna Wilson glared at her cousin as when she walked up to her in the lobby.  “There are a hundred other jobs in KC.”

“Jobs that won’t pay enough to make the commute worthwhile, or jobs I’m overqualified for,” Samantha Monroe reminded the blonde.  “Kenna, I need this job, stop trying to convince me not to do this!”  She headed to the bank of elevators and pressed the call button.  “This is a half hour drive from my apartment, and I am more than qualified for this position.”

“Sam—” Kenna dropped her head in defeat when one of the elevators arrived and the door slid open.  She sighed heavily as she stepped into the car behind her cousin.  “I don’t want you working for him.”

“I know, Ken,” Sam turned to face her.  “I know how you feel about him, but I’ve never met him.  You know I’m not about to judge a person based on second- or third-hand knowledge without getting to know them.”

“You’re making a mistake,” the other woman muttered. 

“It’s my choice,” the brunette shrugged.  “Kenna, please, I need you to support me on this.”

“Sam, the turnover in his office with administrative assistants has become legendary.  He’s lost six assistants over the past twelve months!”

“You’ve harped on that for a week, Kenna,” Sam sighed.  “But you haven’t told me the reason or reasons why.”

“He’s a bastard,” her blonde cousin answered quietly.  “He’s cold, he’s demanding…”

Sam leveled Kenna with a look.  “You forget, I’ve dealt with that my entire life,” she reminded the blonde.  “I can handle cold and demanding.”

“But can you handle devastatingly handsome and brooding?” Kenna lifted her brow.  “The man’s nothing but trouble, Sam.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said softly.  “Everyone deserves a chance, unless they’re murderers, rapists, child abusers, child molesters, or animal abusers.”

“This right here,” Kenna whispered as the elevator slowed to stop at the eighth floor.  “This is why I do not want you to work for him.  You have a penchant for wanting to help lost causes, and he’s definitely a lost cause.”

“So am I,” Sam pointed out in a low voice.

“No, Sweetie…” 

The doors slid open, interrupting Kenna’s argument, an argument she didn’t want to continue in front of witnesses on the eighth floor lobby.  Instead she nodded her hellos to the three women at the reception desk, introduced her cousin and headed down the hall to VMS Architecture, LLC’s office and conference suite.

She opened the door and led Sam inside.  “Good morning, Linda,” she greeted the older woman behind the secretary’s desk with a warm smile.  “I’d like you to meet my cousin, Samantha Monroe.”

Linda McIntyre stood up and rounded the desk to shake Sam’s hand.  “It’s nice to finally be able to put a face to the name of the young lady I’ve been talking with,” she smiled warmly.  “Mr. Stevens is in a last-minute meeting downstairs but he should be back up soon.  He told me to ask if you’d need to reschedule your interview and apologizes if that’s the case.”

Sam shook her head, “No need to reschedule, I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, other than lunch with Kenna and cleaning my apartment.”

“All right,” Linda nodded. 

Sam turned to Kenna.  “Wish me luck, Ken?”

The blonde hugged her cousin tight.  “If this is really what you want, I’ll support you,” she whispered.  “Be careful with him.”

Sam nodded, hugging back.  “Thank you.”  She noticed Linda watching the exchange with a slightly concerned look but ignored it as she said good-bye to Kenna.

“Would you like coffee or a cinnamon roll?”  Linda offered with a smile.

She smiled back, relaxing in the older woman’s presence.  “I’m not a fan of coffee,” she admitted.  “And I’m so nervous I’m afraid if I ate something I’d probably throw up all over the place and bomb the interview.”

“You don’t look nervous, Samantha,” she assured her, frowning at Sam’s flinch.

“Just Sam, please,” the brunette requested.  “My stomach is in knots right now.”

“Interviews can be nerve-wracking,” Linda acquiesced.  “Mr. Stevens is all bark, no bite, and if you ask me I believe you have this cinched, he was very impressed with your resume and references.”

Sam blushed.  “I hope so,” she whispered.

Linda moved away from her and walked over to the small refrigerator behind her desk.  She grabbed a bottle of water and returned to Sam’s side.  “Here you go,” she offered the water to her.  “Right this way,” she led her to the door to her left and flipped on the light.  “This is the conference room.  Mr. Stevens often holds meetings in here with clients.  We usually make arrangements with a local business to cater the meetings, but on rare occasions a meeting will be arranged at the last minute.  He tries to avoid those at all costs because he hates last minute changes.  He was quite grumpy this morning when he was called down for the one he’s currently in.”

“I hate last minute changes myself, but things pop up,” Sam shrugged.  “I’ve learned to roll with it.”

“Vincent usually does, as well,” Linda assured her.  “He’s a good man to work for and I hate having to leave, but this was never meant to be a long-term job for me.”

Sam smiled as she set her purse and folder on the table with the water bottle.  They’d had that discussion last week when Linda had called her to arrange the interview.  “I’m sure he will hate to see you go,” she said softly, letting her eyes wander the conference room to take in the décor.  Framed blue prints and artfully-framed collages of construction projects lined the wall butting up to the hallway, including old photos of some of the city’s most recognizable structures, both past and present.  One garish painting adorned the wall opposite the door to the office had her grimacing.

“On the contrary,” Linda chuckled heartily.  “He can’t wait for me to retire, he claims I’m a dictator in the office.”

Sam’s eyes shot back to the warm brown eyes of the older woman.  It took her a moment to realize Linda was teasing.  She huffed out a soft laugh.  “I’ll do my best to make sure I won’t be labeled likewise,” she grinned.

“Oh, Dear, you’ll do just fine, I have faith in you,” Linda reached out to squeeze her arm.  She started to say something else but a phone rang out in the office.  “I’ll leave you to it, Sam, I’m sure Vincent will be right up.  He tends to speed things along when he’s needed elsewhere.”  With another gentle squeeze she swept out of the conference room.  “VMS Architecture, LLC, Linda speaking, how may I assist you this morning?  Oh, Mr. Stevens!  No, I didn’t look at the caller ID,” she laughed.  “Yes, Ms. Monroe has already arrived.  No, she’s waiting, she had no issue with the delay.  Vincent Stevens, must I remind you who you are talking to?  Of course, I offered her food and drink!  Pfft, no you won’t,” she laughed again.  “All right, I’ll let her know.”

Sam’s attention was on the vast window overlooking the city and the river in the distance when Linda popped back into the conference room.  “I take it he’s on his way?”

“Yes, Sweetie,” Linda smiled.  “He tried to tell me how to do my job then told me he would miss me when I retire,” her smile turned into a fond expression.  “I will miss him.  He’s a good man, he just… lost his way for a while.”

“We all do,” Sam smoothed her hands down her grey slacks, her own smile dim from the memories she tried to shove down. 

Linda nodded.  “Chin up, Dearie, you’ve cinched this job, I just know it.”  With that, she ducked back into the office.

 Vin grumbled to himself as he stepped off the elevator on the eighth floor.  With a polite nod to the receptionists at the main desk he strode down the hall to his suite.

Damn Mathison for arranging that 8:30 meeting at the last damned minute.  He wanted to get this interview over and done with so he could make up his mind about whether or not to hire this seemingly perfect applicant.

Samantha Monroe was perfect on paper.  She had an interesting employment history ranging from summer temp work in office settings to slinging tacos, and one solid office job for a landscaping company before moving to the city.  Her college education was what drew his attention, she had a degree in business management with minors in architecture and marketing.  Her former employers and references gave him glowing reviews, and he hoped like hell she was still interested in the job.  Because the other resumes Linda had handed him (with a frown of distaste) had gone through the shredder after one cursory glance. 

The other applicants were just like the other secretaries he’d gone through before he’d been blessed (and cursed) with Linda.

He hoped like hell this Samantha Monroe wouldn’t turn out to be like any of them.

He let himself into the office and gave Linda an apologetic smile before ducking into his office to grab the folder he had the resume tucked in.  He grinned when his assistant handed him a fresh mug of coffee before heading into the conference room.

He damn near spilled his coffee when his hazel eyes landed on a petite brunette standing with her back to him.  Long, wavy brown hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head and spilled to her shoulder blades.  A hint of a tattoo peeked out of the low collar of the black batwinged blouse she wore and the desire to tug that collar down her shoulder to expose the ink, so he could touch, lick, kiss the artwork hit him hard.  He shook himself from that unwarranted wayward thought.  God dammit, Stevens, she is a candidate for a job, not a woman to lust after!  You’re NOT that man anymore!

Unfortunately the old Vincent Stevens had other ideas and continued the perusal.  His hazel eyes slowly caressed down the young woman’s back to the way the hem of her blouse fit snug around her waist and stretched slightly over the smart grey slacks that clung to her hips and bottom before falling straight to her heels. Chunky-heeled shoes completed the ensemble that he could see, and damn if he didn’t find that smart look to be sexy as hell.

“Beautiful view.”  Fuck my life, he instantly berated himself when the words popped out of his mouth in a husky tone.  He caught a slight stiffening of her body before she responded.

“If you’re talking about the cityscape, I have to disagree,” she looked over her shoulder.

His breath caught in his throat.  Long bangs swept over her forehead, black cat-eyed glasses framed big grey eyes.  He forced his eyes to remain locked with hers for fear he would stare too long at her full lips and the shimmery nude gloss she wore. She’s beautiful.

Thank God she hadn’t fully turned around.  He wasn’t prepared to see her from the front.

“Why’s that?”  His voice was huskier than he’d hoped, shit fucking fire, he thought as he approached the window.  He lifted his mug to take a drink of his coffee, hoping to calm his damned thoughts before he fucked up big time and scared her off.  She’s perfect for the assistant position, but god dammit I can’t have her working for me, not if I’m already attracted to her.

She turned back to the window.  “Five blocks out, there’s a three-block stretch of eyesore out there.  Dilapidated buildings.”

“They’re coming down,” he told her.  “To make room for a park and a pavilion.”

“Are you throwing your hat in the ring for design bids?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, taking another sip of his coffee.  “I apologize for not introducing myself, although you already know who I am.  Vincent Stevens.”

Sam found herself laughing softly at that.  “Sam Monroe.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Monroe,” his voice was gruff again, dammit.  Pleasure, indeed.  Get yourself together, Stevens.  “Tell me, Ms. Monroe, why do you seek employment with my firm?”

“I’ve worked office jobs off and on since high school,” she answered, turning away from the window to face him.  “I’m very familiar with the environment, I’m highly efficient with organization, skilled at setting up for meetings, and as my mother would say, I’m a walking appointment calendar.  I also have an interest in architecture, although my interest is more toward houses and landscaping.”

“Those would come in quite handy for this firm,” he nodded.  “Why my firm?  Why would you want to work for me?”

“Out of all the office jobs available at the moment, yours is the only one that pertains to what I’ve studied and what I’m interested in,” she answered.  “Maybe someday I will go back to school to further study architectural design and landscaping so I could be a better asset for the company,” she added softly, looking out the window once more.

His brow quirked at that.  “I’m sure you’ve heard all the sordid little details of my past, Ms. Monroe,” he tried to avoid looking at her but failed.  His eyes swept down her frame before he sharply looked away. 

“What happened in the past is just that, the past, Mr. Stevens,” she stated stiffly.  “It has nothing to do with the position and therefore is none of my business.”

“It’s not an easy job,” he told her, switching tactics to try to dissuade her.  I just got my life back together, just got my company back on track, I do NOT need her tempting me to fuck it all up! 

“There’s no such thing as an easy job,” she countered, turning to face him.  “You’re attempting to talk me out of the job, Mr. Stevens.  A man in your position should not be pushing away a qualified candidate.”

He snorted again.  “A job like this would eat you alive.  We’re in the city, not some small town in the middle of nowhere.”

She shook her head again.  “You do not know me, you do not know what I can handle,” she stated.  “Let me have a trial week.  Decide at the end of the week as to whether or not you think I can handle working as your administrative assistant.”

He nodded after a moment.  “Okay.”  Turning back to her, he looked her in the eye.  “Mrs. McIntyre will give you the tour, show you the ropes, provide the paperwork,” he started toward the door.  “Your trial starts now.”

[regrettablewritings]

Dios Meme-o! (Rafael Barba Mini-Series, Pt. 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Rafael’s poisons of choice (coffee and scotch) could be divided up between day and night respectively. The coffee was for obvious reasons: To keep him awake and alert, to keep him going even when his work day was driving him to the brink of insanity (as it did all too often). The use of the scotch was also typically obvious: To drown out the stresses of the day, its trials hardly ever actually being over in the grand scheme of things. A cool down of sorts to balance out the caffeinated upper.

This evening, however? Rafael wasn’t sure exactly what the scotch was trying to boot off: the stress of the workday, or the revelation that he now appeared to have a small following? He decided the answer to be both as he took another sip of his drink. He wanted to believe that it was more so the former option but there was just something about the latter that made it stand so firmly in his mind.

Probably had something to do with the fact that even after the messages sent to him about his occupation and . . . tum (Rafael fought off the desire to shudder at the word), Carisi and Rollins continued to send him two more posts of a similar vein.

Where were they even specifically even getting all these? Rafael wondered. His eyes landed on his laptop.

Words and pictures travel fast, Rollins’ voice echoed. But just how fast was what Rafael wondered.

Against his better judgement, he committed a dangerous act born of morbid curiosity, enhanced by the slow but certain influx of bourbon into his system: He typed his own name into Google.

The first few results were what he expected: References to his past cases, articles on his most recent feats of interest, a handful of articles on his words at the most recent press conference.  

. . . Then there was what came after.

Rafael had heard about Tumblr, but not much if he had to be honest. Sites like Twitter or Facebook or other niche sites tended to be more of what he faced on a regular basis. But a site specifically platformed for blogging surprisingly did not cross his path as often as one might think. It therefore posed within him a sense of worry that the first time he would approach Tumblr would be because his name had become a tag on the site.

He was right to worry.

The deep blue background was offset by an assault on the eyes: text posts here, pictures there, gif sets of his past quotes to cameras before or after a court case, but mostly of him during his speech at the press conference.

His eyes weren’t sure where to look first, where to escape from first but no matter where he went, he’d always end up somewhere just as bizarre.

Some posts were weird –

“God those hands – like fricken’ face-huggers! I want them to smother me!!!” Without thinking, Rafael looked at his hands. He never really noted them as being big, per se. And despite the copious amounts of likes and reblogs featured in the notes section, and that nobody could even see them as they were now in real life, he couldn’t help but want to hide them.

At least three more Tum™ posts in either text or picture form with quadruple the notes and responses. In that moment, he began to strongly consider dieting and nearly opened up a new tab to research for that specific consideration.

“Lookit them veins in his hand. I wanna suck a hickey on them. Just slurp ‘em up like noodles.” . . . What?

Some were surprisingly nice, if not composed in a more bombastic way than what he felt was necessary or was used to –

“Oh, look at his tie!! I love that pattern!!” He had to admit, he himself was quite fond that the pink paisley tie they spoke of.

“Holy crap, you guys, he has green eyes! GREEN FREAKING EYES!!!” A little excited over something he’d considered uninteresting, but Rafael couldn’t stop the faint flutter of pride bubbling within him.

“His hair looks so smooth. He needs to be allowed to grow his hair out, he’d have beautiful long hair!” That made his lips purse. His hair hadn’t been long since high school, and even then it barely reached his shoulders. Frankly, his hair tended to get a little fluffy the longer it grew anyway.

“Handsome, dresses nicely, works hard, is a feminist – guys, I think I’m in love.” Yet another huge jump over something he didn’t consider to be too big of a deal. (But at least this person appeared to have decent standards.)

“Ok but it should be illegal to work a suit like that.” The self-importance fluttered a bit harder, both for the suggestion that he not only looked good, but for the fact that the ensembles he prided himself on were actually appreciated by complete strangers.

“Steal his look”, complete with clothes and accessories very similar to his own but for a fraction of the cost (how economic of them).

– Before dipping right back into weirdness . . .

“D.A. stands for ‘Dat Azz’” proclaimed Foodlemynoodle, who was ever so kind as to include a photo taken by the press of Rafael’s retreating form with a second picture edited to focus specifically on his ass.

“Barba looks like the type of guy who’s a stern lawyer in the streets but a spicy papi in the sheets <3.” There was so much wrong with that suggestion that Rafael didn’t know where to start.

“don’t you just wanna use his tie to tug him down and make out w/him?” The multiple notes responded all agreed. This worried Rafael, as tugging on someone’s tie could be very uncomfortable.

“I’d rather snap those suspenders tbqh,” came the response. Rafael grimaced, the memory of pain from previous accidental snappings becoming vivid for a brief moment.

“i want dat sloppy papi dick™,” announced one user, adding a gif of Spongebob Squarepants fervently licking a picture of Rafael that had been photoshopped into the original image.

It went on like this, growing increasingly more awkward and disconcerting by the scroll. It was only out of curiosity that Rafael kept going. That sick, masochistic curiosity and intrigue that compels someone to watch a train wreck or a distressingly bad YouTube video that gives you secondhand embarrassment. He’d just moved beyond what felt like the twentieth post about his “splendid tummy” when he’d come upon a post that wasn’t quite like the others in terms of text. It wasn’t crude or even necessarily complimentary per se but –

           “Get you a man who looks at you the way ADA Barba looks at his coffee ❤ lol jk   nobody’ll look like you like that just get ADA Barba.”

Included was the image of him at a coffee shop, receiving a cup of his favorite day drink, a rare smile gracing his features. Well. That was unnerving. Sure, he went to get coffee at an embarrassing and even likely unhealthy rate but for someone to have taken a picture of him at all while doing so was just . . . wrong.

One person called Ballr00mbombshell responded with, “Stale cinnamon roll, too jaded by this world.” This made Rafael’s brows pressed downward. Cinnamon roll? What did cinnamon rolls have to do with anything? As if his subconscious had directed him there, his sights landed on the tag section of the post:

#He was buying a cinnamon roll too!!, #such a cinnamon roll, #he probably needs something sweet if his job is dealing with such awful situations, #eat and drink on my sweet cinnamon roll son.

Okay, he thought as he moved his laptop further down his lap. Maybe I was better off not knowing . . . Wait. Cinnamon rolls. While never one to fully discriminate against foods, cinnamon rolls weren’t a thing Rafael normally got. Wait! He recognized that outfit! It was . . . It was the same damn one from the press conference! A trembling hand reached for his replenished glass of scotch and directed it to his lips, taking as hefty of a gulp as he possibly could without warranting a coughing fit.

Did he have a stalker? Already? Granted, after all his years in his field, he shouldn’t be so surprised by how fast fanaticism can rise and to what lengths. Should he tell Liv? She was so pissed the last time he avoided telling her about a threatening presence in his life . . .

As the burning liquid trickled down his throat, Rafael nearly paused it in its tracks. He realized one more thing: The angle of the photo. It was taken at the back of the shop, by the window judging by the looks of it. From the corner, he could just make out a barrel containing chips.

The girl with the Hello Kitty watercolor phone case!

An agitated grunt rumbled from Rafael’s chest and out of his mouth as the revelation became clear. He knew he wasn’t imagining things! Never before had the soft suggestion of watercolor and the innocent cuteness of a beloved children’s character worked together to produce such malcontent.

As tempting as it was to continue, the minor brush with the idea of being stalked mingled terribly with the alcohol in his disgruntled system. Rafael called it a night and tried to sleep decently.

The heavy presence of rounded stomachs and hand veins in his dreams made this out to be a difficult task.

[itdisneymatter]

Day 02 - Epcot

TLDR: Epcot. A slightly later start today though a pretty full and non stop day once we began. Spaceship Earth up first, squeezed into the Ellen's Energy Adventure, then Test Track with a touch of competitive spirit. Living with the Land, Circle of Life and then Soarin’ in quick succession. Finished off with the new ride - Frozen Ever After and decided to skip out on World Showcase in favour of heading straight to Miller's Alehouse for my first proper meal of the trip. Walmart, then home, early (earlier).

The future is what you make it!

Sooo Robert had been unimpressed by the shops we had visited to far, mainly because they didn’t stock Pokemon cards. With the thunderstorms last night, we promised we visit Walmart first thing, which we did prior to picking up my Mum & Dad for Epcot. That meant skipping breakfast. Again. Picked up a wee rucksack so we could carry around all our rain jackets and little extras. Robert got his Pokemon cards and Gracie managed to find yet another collectable in the form of Hatchimal miniatures. Patrick and I had been speaking prior to the holiday about another card collection called Magic: The Gathering, but neither me nor him knew much about them. He picked up a starter pack to have a look. As someone who like his RPG and Fantasy things, I was a little intrigued. I dont think it will take Patrick long to become an expert.

Swung back around to pick up my Mum and Dad who were waiting for us at their Hotel with coffee in hand - result! The other party (which I'll cover in just a sec), were heading to Mass first and planned to catch us up at Epcot when they were done. So let me backtrack a little and explain who is actually all here as I havent yet done so and were already two days in - thats just impolite, so sorry.

Fifeteen of us in total. First off we have our wee family of five, Me, Ann, Patrick, Robert & Grace - Ive went on at length about all of us at some point in the past - yeah, you know who we are. Then its my mum and dad, Sadie & Wullie, Orlando veterans and all round great parents. My brother Michael is up next, with Sarah Jane, Corrie, Alessio and their wee baby who recently had her first birthday - Isabella. And finally we have my sister Pauline with Kevin & Emily. Both Emily and Isabella are first timers to Orlando and all things Disney, so makes it an extra special visit. Ourselves and my parents share the first car, My brother, sister and their families share the second. I'll refer to the latter as 'the other party' at times but this is entirely for brevity. Now, back to the story...

We ended up getting to Epcot around 10:30 which was right in time for our first Fast Pass - Spaceship Earth. A big slow moving train through the anals of Civilization, located in the big multi-faceted ball that Epcot is renowned for. Y'know its a fairly simple ride and I've done this it a fair few times now, but this like many others, never ceases to amaze me. If you've ever seen Inside Out, I imagine this whole place to be a core memory and have its own wee island somewhere in the depths of my brain, churning out little orbs of Joy. If you haven't seen Inside Out, then all of what I've just said will sound really really weird, but trust me - go watch it. Good start to the day!

Hey You Guys! 

Next we checked out Test Track but it was down for some unknown reason, so grabbed some coffee and pastries will we waited for the other party (that being, oh wait right we did that already, didn't we?). By the wonders of Whatsapp and Feel at Home from Three (shameless plug), Kev let us know that they'd arrived and we arranged to met them back at the entrance. We'd coordinated our t-shirts today, those being our new Celtic Champions 6-in-a-row tee :) which made it real easy to spot them. On the subject of attire, zipped pockets - how amazing are they? I know I sound like I'm getting old, but they're definitely the way to go if you're on holiday!

Ann really hurt her eye over the course of the morning and it was progressively getting worse as time went on. I suggested that she patch over her eye to give it a rest, however this led me to call her One Eyed Willie, which didnt go down to well, so stopped in fear of my life (or having to walk the plank - right, sorry Ann, that was the last one, promise ;) x )

Next we headed to Ellen's Energy Adventure, a big moving cinema all about th wonders of energy hosted by the hilarious Ellen DeGeneres & Bill Nye, the science guy. Funny as well as factual too, couldnt go wrong.

Now came Test track, a ride where family loyalty went out the window as we went head to head to design the most efficient car. Super fast, fun ride and good to see the competitive spirit from everyone - even Gracie was doing a little trash talking (well she was in my team, otherwise I wouldn't have encouraged it ; ). In the end, we failed to hit top spot, but our car was easily the best looking one out the lot (all designed by my lovely co-pilot Gracie).

Scores on the doors were as follows:

Ann, Kevin & Pauline - 208 Michael, SJ & Emily- 205 Me, Dad & Grace - 204 Patrick, Robert & Corrie - 156 (who intially claimed 226 - what a bunch 'a chancers!)

All  in all great fun and everyone loved it (especially Gracie who wanted go back on it straight away).

Living With The Land Fast Pass (on the other side of the park) up next, which we made it with 5 minutes to spare. Nice boat ride about farming and such (seriously) with Patrick even enquiring about the Behind The Scenes tour (or Behind The Seeds as they called it) - he just loves learning new things! He also managed to spot 2 hidden Mickeys on the ride (thats disguised Mickey symbols all over the Disney parks) -  so well done PG!

Quick stop at The Circle Of life, a wee environmental film featuring The Lion King's Simba, Timon & Pumba, which began with the song of the same name. That song gives me goosebumps every single time! *shudder*

After that was Soarin', which we had passes for, but everyone wanted to ride so meant we had to split up into two groups, one to watch Isabella while the other went on the ride. While we were waiting to ride (with views of an cool looking India Jones-esque style journey being mapped out on the screen before us), Robert asked the attendant out of the blue if we could get in the first row - good ole Ro! :)

This ride was Epic - its the only word to describe it. Flying through the air, over different landmarks of the world aking in hugs vistas, they even had different smells. Everyone loved it and even my Dad rearked it was the best ride yet as we walked off the ride.

Do you wanna build a snowman?

During the wait and switch-over of groups we came to the decision that the five of us and my mum and dad would head home after the last ride and try getting a proper bite to eat when it was a little quieter, whilst, Pauline, Michael & Co would remain in the park and finish off the remaining rides.

So onward it was to Frozen Ever After, Epcot's newest ride based on the extremely popular Disney movie and set in Norway (well Epcot's mini representation of Norway on their World Showcase). On our way, we bumped into Pluto (the dog, not the planet-oid-y thing), so used the opportunity to grab our first character autograph! Kids were really excited! There was a Disney Photo-pass photographer there too so managed to get some nice groups shots (except for ours, so had to use one of my own photos here as a backup).

The ride was a great little boat trip through the Kingdom of Arendelle with Anna and Elsa (who is my favourite princess without red hair, ok ok, she isnt really a princess, yeah I know, but still). Even the Snow-gies made an appearance! And with the ride came another ride photo from the Memory Maker - excellent! :D The kids loved it and Emily was skipping out of the ride singing Let It Go at the top of her voice! :)

So we said our goodbyes and left the other party then, who planned to continue their travels around the World Showcase and possibly grab Spaceship Earth, which they missed, on the way out. The World Showcase is an awesome thing, but I think the allure of a hearty meal after a long day was far too tempting for us.

We headed straight to Miller's Alehouse from the park in an attempt to avoid the queues and wait times... which we did! However once we were seated and after a quick scan of the menu - the Snow Crab that Gracie had set her heart on to share with me was no longer on the menu - she was more gutted than me! :( In its place I opted for a nice wee Flat Iron Steak & Coconut Shrimp combo, which was awesome. Grace and Ann chose to share the 35 Shrimp menu item (which was 35 shrimps funnily enough) and Grace inhaled about 18 of them. Man, that girl loves her seafood! The Nacho starter that Ann thought she might need however was an absolute mountain and in the end, defeated all of us (its really big enough for two peeps to share as a main meal if Im being honest). The food and menu options in the place are second to none so were definitely planning a return visit in the next few days with our entire group!

A second trip to Walmart rounded off the day in order that we could take a slightly more relaxed look at what they had to offer. The last time I was here I picked up some amazing Cinnamon Pecan coffee, but alas they appeared to no longer stock it or any equivalent. The boys picked up more trading cards, Grace picked up more Hatchimals and we got a variety of non-essential items including a Star Wars decal for the car, a Pecan pie (obviously I have a thing for Pecans) and some Harley Quinn Comics (and I have a thing for her too ; ). Had a look at the laptops too, which were ridiculously cheap, so toying with the idea of picking one up, but Ill need to do some in-depth investigations first.

Rest day on the cards for tomorrow with shopping planned in the am, so should a relatively quiet one. I'm kinda looking forward to it in all honesty, following the two successful but extremely packed days we've all had.

[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.”