#so one day when they’re hanging out (making out) brook says the dreaded words ‘i love you’

[softplushiee]

NOOOO BROOKLYN DONT SAY ‘I LOVE YOU’ TO THE TANNED BLOND BOY WITH BLUE EYES AND WHO WEARS FAKE GLASSES SOMETIMES

[richincolor]

New Releases for the Week of May 3, 2021

It's great to see so many new books hitting the shelves this week. I know I've been waiting for several of these and am happy to be able to finally read them. 

The Ones We’re Meant to Find by Joan He Roaring Brook

Cee has been trapped on an abandoned island for three years without any recollection of how she arrived, or memories from her life prior. All she knows is that somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, she has a sister named Kay. Determined to find her, Cee devotes her days to building a boat from junk parts scavenged inland, doing everything in her power to survive until the day she gets off the island and reunites with her sister.

In a world apart, 16-year-old STEM prodigy Kasey Mizuhara is also living a life of isolation. The eco-city she calls home is one of eight levitating around the world, built for people who protected the planet―and now need protecting from it. With natural disasters on the rise due to climate change, eco-cities provide clean air, water, and shelter. Their residents, in exchange, must spend at least a third of their time in stasis pods, conducting business virtually whenever possible to reduce their environmental footprint. While Kasey, an introvert and loner, doesn’t mind the lifestyle, her sister Celia hated it. Popular and lovable, Celia much preferred the outside world. But no one could have predicted that Celia would take a boat out to sea, never to return.

Now it’s been three months since Celia’s disappearance, and Kasey has given up hope. Logic says that her sister must be dead. But as the public decries her stance, she starts to second guess herself and decides to retrace Celia’s last steps. Where they’ll lead her, she does not know. Her sister was full of secrets. But Kasey has a secret of her own. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee Quill Tree Books

Noah Ramirez thinks he’s an expert on romance. He has to be for his popular blog, the Meet Cute Diary, a collection of trans happily ever afters. There’s just one problem—all the stories are fake. What started as the fantasies of a trans boy afraid to step out of the closet has grown into a beacon of hope for trans readers across the globe.

When a troll exposes the blog as fiction, Noah’s world unravels. The only way to save the Diary is to convince everyone that the stories are true, but he doesn’t have any proof. Then Drew walks into Noah’s life, and the pieces fall into place: Drew is willing to fake-date Noah to save the Diary. But when Noah’s feelings grow beyond their staged romance, he realizes that dating in real life isn’t quite the same as finding love on the page.

In this charming novel by Emery Lee, Noah will have to choose between following his own rules for love or discovering that the most romantic endings are the ones that go off script. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

They Better Call Me Sugar: My Journey from the Hood to the Hardwood by Sugar Rodgers Black Sheep

Growing up in dire poverty in Suffolk, Virginia, Sugar (born Ta’Shauna) Rodgers never imagined that she would become an all-star player in the WNBA (Women’s National Basketball Association). Both of her siblings were in and out of prison throughout much of her childhood and shootings in her neighborhood were commonplace. For Sugar this was just a fact of life.

While academics wasn’t a high priority for Sugar and many of her friends, athletics always played a prominent role. She mastered her three-point shot on a net her brother put up just outside their home, eventually becoming so good that she could hustle local drug dealers out of money in one-on-one contests.

With the love and support of her family and friends, Sugar’s performance on her high school basketball team led to her recruitment by the Georgetown Hoyas, and her eventual draft into the WNBA in 2013 by the Minnesota Lynx (who won the WNBA Finals in Sugar’s first year). The first of her family to attend college, Sugar speaks of her struggles both academically and as an athlete with raw honesty.

Sugar’s road to a successful career as a professional basketball player is fraught with sadness and death–including her mother’s death when she’s fourteen, which leaves Sugar essentially homeless. Throughout it all, Sugar clings to basketball as a way to keep herself focused and sane.

And now Sugar shares her story as a message of hope and inspiration for young girls and boys everywhere, but especially those growing up in economically challenging conditions. Never sugarcoating her life experiences, she delivers a powerful message of discipline, perseverance, and always believing in oneself. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Excuse Me While I Ugly Cry by Joya Goffney HarperTeen

Quinn keeps lists of everything—from the days she’s ugly cried, to “Things That I Would Never Admit Out Loud,” to all the boys she’d like to kiss. Her lists keep her sane. By writing her fears on paper, she never has to face them in real life. That is, until her journal goes missing…

An anonymous account posts one of her lists on Instagram for the whole school to see and blackmails her into facing seven of her greatest fears, or else her entire journal will go public. Quinn doesn’t know who to trust. Desperate, she teams up with Carter Bennett—the last known person to have her journal—in a race against time to track down the blackmailer.

Together, they journey through everything Quinn’s been too afraid to face, and along the way, Quinn finds the courage to be honest, to live in the moment, and to fall in love. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Hurricane Summer by Asha Bromfield Wednesday Books

Tilla has spent her entire life trying to make her father love her. But every six months, he leaves their family and returns to his true home: the island of Jamaica.

When Tilla’s mother tells her she’ll be spending the summer on the island, Tilla dreads the idea of seeing him again, but longs to discover what life in Jamaica has always held for him.

In an unexpected turn of events, Tilla is forced to face the storm that unravels in her own life as she learns about the dark secrets that lie beyond the veil of paradise—all in the midst of an impending hurricane.

Hurricane Summer is a powerful coming of age story that deals with colorism, classism, young love, the father-daughter dynamic—and what it means to discover your own voice in the center of complete destruction. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Indivisible by Daniel Aleman Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

There is a word Mateo Garcia and his younger sister Sophie have been taught to fear for as long as they can remember: deportation. Over the past few years, however, the fear that their undocumented immigrant parents could be sent back to Mexico has started to fade to the back of their minds. And why wouldn’t it, when their Ma and Pa have been in the United States for so long, they have American-born children, and they’re hard workers and good neighbors?

When two ICE agents come asking for Pa, the Garcia family realizes that the lives they’ve built are about to come crumbling down. And when Mateo returns from school one day to find that his parents have been taken, he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that his family’s worst nightmare has become a reality.

With his Ma and Pa being held in separate detention centers, Mateo must learn how to look after his sister and himself. The choices Mateo makes, and the people he turns to for help, might reunite his family… or tear them apart for good. With his parents’ fate and his own future hanging in the balance, Mateo must figure out who he is and what he is capable of, even as he’s forced to question what it means to be an American teenager in a country that rejects his own mom and dad. — Cover art and summary via Goodreads

Counting Down with You by Tashie Bhuiyan Inkyard Press

Karina Ahmed has a plan. Keep her head down, get through high school without a fuss, and follow her parents’ rules—even if it means sacrificing her dreams. When her parents go abroad to Bangladesh for four weeks, Karina expects some peace and quiet. Instead, one simple lie unravels everything.

Karina is my girlfriend.

Tutoring the school’s resident bad boy was already crossing a line. Pretending to date him? Out of the question. But Ace Clyde does everything right—he brings her coffee in the mornings, impresses her friends without trying, and even promises to buy her a dozen books (a week) if she goes along with his fake-dating facade. Though Karina agrees, she can’t help but start counting down the days until her parents come back.

T-minus twenty-eight days until everything returns to normal—but what if Karina no longer wants it to? — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

All Kinds of Other by James Sie Quill Tree Books

In this tender, nuanced coming-of-age love story, two boys—one who is cis and one who is trans—have been guarding their hearts to protect themselves, until their feelings for each other give them a reason to stand up to their fears.

Two boys are starting at a new school.

Jules is just figuring out what it means to be gay and hasn’t totally decided whether he wants to be out at his new school. His parents and friends have all kinds of opinions, but for his part, Jules just wants to make the basketball team and keep his head down.

Jack is trying to start over after a best friend break-up. He followed his actor father clear across the country to LA, but he’s also totally ready to leave his past behind. Maybe this new school where no one knows him is exactly what he needs.

When the two boys meet, the sparks are undeniable. But then a video surfaces linking Jack to a pair of popular transgender vloggers, and the revelations about Jack’s past thrust both Jack and Jules into the spotlight they’ve been trying to avoid. Suddenly both boys have a choice to make—between lying low where it’s easier or following their hearts. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Luck of the Titanic by Stacey Lee G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers

Southampton, 1912: Seventeen-year-old British-Chinese Valora Luck has quit her job and smuggled herself aboard the Titanic with two goals in mind: to reunite with her twin brother Jamie--her only family now that both their parents are dead--and to convince a part-owner of the Ringling Brothers Circus to take the twins on as acrobats. Quick-thinking Val talks her way into opulent firstclass accommodations and finds Jamie with a group of fellow Chinese laborers in third class. But in the rigidly stratified world of the luxury liner, Val's ruse can only last so long, and after two long years apart, it's unclear if Jamie even wants the life Val proposes. Then, one moonless night in the North Atlantic, the unthinkable happens--the supposedly unsinkable ship is dealt a fatal blow--and Val and her companions suddenly find themselves in a race to survive.

Stacey Lee, master of historical fiction, brings a fresh perspective to an infamous tragedy, loosely inspired by the recently uncovered account of six Titanic survivors of Chinese descent.

[oldgodspod]

#AnotherWorldOctober Day 1: Full Moon Vibes

The spooky season is upon us! As you may have seen announced previously, throughout the month of October, I (Cam) will be participating in the #AnotherWorldOctober creative challenge. I'll be posting my work here daily.

This is day 1: Full Moon Vibes. We'll start out with a special treat: Steve read it and decided it must be narrated.

Featuring "If the Beasts Should Hunt Us" by Lonesome Wyatt and Rachel  Brooke, used with permission.

Transcript, for those who like to have them:

October comes to Appalachia with chill, damp mornings and mostly balmy afternoons sliced through with a crisp breeze and the rustling of leaves. She sets the woods ablaze with a riot of russet color — reds and oranges and yellows and browns of every shade — and blows the sweet aroma of woodsmoke through the hollers of an evening. This October comes with a Harvest Moon, hanging full and swollen and bright over Appalachia, shining her light into every holler and branch. The full moon sings in the blood of the very Green itself, and of course, those touched by it.

In Esau County, Virginia, it finds young Deeley Hubbard in her family home in Boggs Holler. She’s in the yard out back of the cozy house left to her by her mamaw, Glory Ann Boggs, setting out Mason jars full of fresh, clean spring water on an old stump in the yard. From a branch of the twisty old apple tree, she hangs a little charm she’s made for a young couple in town who, despite their most enthusiastic efforts, have found themselves unable to conceive a child. 

Deeley hasn’t lived in Esau County long, and though many of the older folks seem hesitant to rely on her just yet — which just makes good sense; she’s still learning the healer’s craft, after all, studying the books and notes her mamaw left behind — those closer to her age have been more willing, and she’s found a pretty warm welcome overall. Her daddy’s cousins, the Bledsoes, have been particularly kind, driving out to introduce themselves as soon as the word was out that she’d come to live in Boggs Holler, and regaling her with funny stories about her daddy growing up. She feels a sense of home — of roots — here that she’s never felt before.

It’s a cool night — the first real cool night of the season — but Deeley doesn’t mind the chill. She smiles as she gazes up at the glowing orb in the clear, velvety dark sky. Despite the late hour, she’s wide awake and full of vigor — she’s still a young girl, after all — and when the moon calls, she answers, leaving the yard behind to run into the familiar woods that surround the Boggs property. She need not fear the woods here — this is home, and this patch of Green watches over its own.

A ways south, a dozen or so miles outside Baker’s Gap, Tennessee, Marcie and Ellie Walker have made similar preparations, restocking the contents of a particular cupboard in the big kitchen pantry of the imposing log house known officially as Pleasant Evenings Enterprises, and locally as simply The Walker House. The various tools of their work set out to soak up the blessings of the Hunter’s Moon, the two sisters sit in rocking chairs on the back porch of the Walker House, and they listen. 

From a few miles off, up in the woods, they hear it: the singing of wolves. Marcie and Ellie listen intently for a moment, neither speaking, ears attentive to every howl and yip, every nuance and tone of that feral chorus… and then they relax. The voices of wolves are sonorous, and tend to echo — it’s hard to know for sure what direction they’re coming from — but the Walker sisters have kept a watchful eye on this situation for a good many years, and they’ve learned the trick of it. The song they hear isn’t coming from the abandoned, overgrown holler known as the Clutch, nor does it sound like the hunting song — the blood song — they’d once learned to dread. It’s a song of kinship. Somebody’s found a shape that feels like home — and a family to share that with — and that’s always cause to celebrate. They’re just kicking their heels up a little bit is all. And good for them. 

And speaking of kicking up their heels — “It’s an awful nice night, Ellie,” Marcie says. “I think I might pour myself a little sip of that apple wine Miz Lunsford traded us for the eggs last week. Fancy a glass?” 

Her sister smiles, stretches her legs and props her heels up on the porch rail. “I think I might have a drop or two, yes,” Ellie says, reaching into her coat pocket for her pipe and tobacco. “It is a damn fine night.”

Marcie returns from the kitchen a few minutes later, holding two jelly jars about half filled with their neighbor’s tasty home brewed apple wine between two fingers. She’s draped two quilts over the other arm — fine night or no, it’s a bit chilly out on the porch — and hands one of each to Ellie. Cozy and content, the sisters settle in to enjoy the night, and the moon, and the chorus of eerie and beautiful lupine voices.

And in the hills and hollers around Bakers Gap, the wolves run, full tilt and full of joy — the joy of the hunt, the joy of the pack, the joy of the moon-called Green.

[artificialqueens]

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter nineteen (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 5594

AN: We’re at the end. It’s been a journey and a half that started all the way back in August, and it’s hard to believe that this is the last chapter. Thank you so, so much for reading this fic, leaving comments, and overall giving it as much love as you have. It wouldn’t exist the way it is without all the wonderful love and support. As always, Writ is the most wonderful beta and friend ever and I appreciate them endlessly <3

(then)

Brooke’s second semester midterms are starting in four days and she’s ready to fall asleep on top of her textbooks to make the information sink in faster.

It’s not that med school exams are harder, per se. It’s that the amount of information they’re expected to know, expected to apply in practical situations feels insurmountable, like they’re supposed to be walking, talking encyclopedias. Brooke feels like her head is going to burst.

She walks back to her apartment from her Genetics class in the evening, her mind already ruminating on topics to focus on, reviews to put together. Maybe she can form a study group, divide and conquer with some of her friends in class so that they can get through the information faster, but she pauses once she turns on the light in the doorway, her stomach feeling slightly unsettled because-

There’s something wrong with the apartment.

Brooke’s mind registers the thought a second after her eyes scan over the entrance and kitchen, because it looks…off.

The counter is missing a fruit stand. The coffee maker.

She hadn’t tripped over a mountain of shoes in front of the doorway when she’d walked in, because there aren’t very many shoes in the entrance anymore, which is strange, because normally both her and Vanessa curse every time they walk in and fall over their own footwear in the process.

The apartment is suspiciously quiet, too, which doesn’t make sense and fills Brooke with unease, because Riley normally runs up to the door whenever anyone gets home and Vanessa’s study playlist is always on as background noise. Almost like a quiet hum, reminding her that she’s back home.

Except that tonight, all she hears is the slight drip drip drip from their leaky kitchen sink, along with the low hum of their fridge. Sounds that normally aren’t heard in their apartment because it’s too noisy, but tonight they feel deafeningly loud, too loud, and she needs the study playlist back.

Brooke drops her bag on the kitchen counter, fiddles with the knobs of the sink because the sound is loud and she can’t listen to it anymore. Not that it helps as it drips and drips, each drop matching the way Brooke feels the suppression of her panic slow begin to slip away. She squints her eyes at the fridge because it seems like it’s missing pictures, like the Polaroids from the time they went to a carnival, the family pictures that the two of them had taken with Henry, Apollo, and Riley. There’s normally tupperwares that usually sit on their kitchen table because their cupboards are just too tiny to fit them, but they’re not there anymore, and Brooke’s sure that she didn’t take any for lunch, so where have they gone?

Henry jumps up onto the counter beside her, nudges her elbow, and the sight of him slows the speed of her thinking down just a little. He’s still here, and Apollo is on the couch, as they both should be. Like normal.

But where’s Riley?

Brooke pushes open the door of the bedroom as softly as she can, because maybe Vanessa’s just taking a nap and Brooke really does need to apologize, she does, because their fight a few nights ago is still making the pit in her stomach feel like a black hole. One that’s growing with the vibes of their apartment, of things being just a bit off, just a bit out of place.

The day after the fight, Vanessa had avoided Brooke when she came back to the apartment, barely sparing her a glance and Brooke’s anxiety had begun to grow and grow, eating away at her insides, because sure, they’d fought before, but never this bad. Never with cuts so deep, cuts that they both knew would sting.

Cuts that still do, if Brooke thinks about them.

But they need to fix this, and Brooke is willing to take the first step, put herself out there, because, well-

She misses Vanessa. She’s missed her for more than a year, since things turned completely upside down between them.

But maybe they can, because maybe Vanessa’s just sleeping. Brooke turns on a bedside lamp looking towards the bed and she freezes.

Vanessa’s not there, either.

The bed is empty. As is the closet, the doors strewn open and half of the clothes are missing, including the sweater that’s always thrown over the desk chair. The desk itself is missing the mountains and mountains of textbooks that it normally has, half of it bare and clear of dust while the other half still holds Brooke’s books. The room looks wrong, so wrong because it’s missing half of what it normally has and why does Brooke feel like she’s in a twilight zone?

Riley’s bed is gone from the corner of their room, and so is his leash on the back of the entrance door when Brooke runs over to check, just in case she’s imagining things. But she’s not, because when she looks around in the entrance closet she doesn’t spot Vanessa’s favourite bomber jacket, either. Nor does she see the piles and piles of DVD cases that are normally lined up on the shelf beside the television, because the shelf is empty, as is the coffee table of the gossip magazines that Vanessa likes to read and make fun of.

It’s as if all traces of Vanessa have been pulled from the apartment, save for the picture of the two of them from freshman year that’s hanging high up on the wall in the living room and oh god, she’s gone, Vanessa’s gone because all of her stuff is gone.

Brooke nearly trips on her way to the bathroom, because maybe she’s seeing things, maybe Vanessa really is here and has been in the shower this whole time and this is all one big dream but-

The shower is empty, as is the shampoo bottle holder that hangs from the faucet because only Brooke’s shampoo and conditioner are there.

The apartment feels too disorienting, too big, and too off, everything is off and doesn’t feel right, because where did Vanessa go? Maybe she’s just gone to Silky’s, maybe she’s in a mood and she’ll come back later like she always does and they can try and fix things once and for all-

She’ll call Silky. That’s what Brooke will do. Silky knows things, Silky is Vanessa’s best friend and if anyone knows anything about what’s going on, it’ll be Silky.

Silky picks up on the fourth ring and Brooke breathes a sigh of relief.

“Silky, hey, do you know where Vanessa is? I haven’t seen her in a while, is she at your place?” Brooke plops herself down on the couch, and everything will be okay, really, because Silky will know and will help her sort it out.

Except that all Brooke hears on the other side of the line is a small gasp.

“You good?” Brooke tilts her head, pressing the phone in between her shoulder and cheek.

“You don’t know?” Silky’s voice is hushed, quiet, and makes Brooke wrinkle her brow.

“Know what?”

“Shit.” Silky’s muttering under her breath and Brooke is confused, because it doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense.

Brooke runs a hand through her hair, and she can feel her heart racing again, because something’s up, something’s up, except she doesn’t know what. “Tell me. What’s going on?”

“Brooke, I dunno if it’s my place, if I’m the one who-”

“Silky.” Maybe Brooke’s voice is shaking, because something is wrong, really wrong, and Silky knows. “Tell me.”

“Vanessa didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Brooke’s gasping in air, because it feels like it’s all gone from her lungs. Vanessa feels far away, too far, and it’s not new, not really, because they aren’t each other’s go to people anymore, but that doesn’t ease any of the dread settling over Brooke’s heart.

“She transferred.”

The two words wash over Brooke and she’s frozen on the couch, barely registering when Apollo climbs on top of her lap. “But…but…the semester’s not over and she’s in fourth year, what do you mean she’s transferred?”

Silky has to be wrong, she has to, because there’s no way Vanessa would just pack up and leave. Except that the apartment’s empty, all the words coming out of her mouth feel empty, everything feels empty.

“She left for LA this morning.”

“What?”

“Has a cousin there, transferred credits to UCLA. She’s applied to med school there, too, for next year.” Silky pauses on the other end of the line, the crackles over the phone matching the static that feels like it’s taking over Brooke’s brain. “What, you didn’t know she’d applied?”

“No, I knew that, she’d said that, I knew she was thinking about med school there.” Brooke rubs her face with one hand because she remembers Vanessa saying something like that, but she hadn’t thought that she was serious about it. Because LA is far, and Vanessa’s close to her mom and her family, and moving to LA would mean that the two of them would be far apart from each other, too.

Not that it would even matter, anymore.

The words start to feel more and more real the more that Brooke thinks about them, paired with the dread that is building and building, because, what if Silky is right?

Med school is starting to make sense. Brooke can understand that.

But transferring in the middle of the semester? Vanessa wouldn’t-

“She spent all of Wednesday calling schools at my place and looking up transfer options and keeping credits.” Silky’s words feel far away, too far away. “She was serious about it.”

Brooke squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe, just maybe, her unconscious is making this up. Maybe she’s asleep, and Vanessa’s still beside her, and they’ll work everything out, and it’ll be fine, really, because Vanessa wouldn’t just go.

But she’s still there, on the couch, when she opens her eyes, Henry still perched on the arm of the couch beside her.

The apartment a little too empty.

“She really left?” Saying the words leave a bitter taste in Brooke’s mouth no matter how soft she says them, because it makes them real, makes them sink in despite the fact that Brooke desperately does not want them to.

“Shit, Brooke.” Silky’s voice is full of regret and Brooke’s stomach turns over and over and over. “I thought you knew. You shouldn’t have had to find this out from me.”

“No, I-” Brooke trails off, swallowing a lump in her throat, closing her eyes again because she doesn’t want to look at their open bedroom door, missing too many things. “Thank you for telling me.”

It’s good Silky did, really. Because what if she didn’t? What if Brooke kept waiting around and around, expecting Vanessa to come back?

Except she won’t. She’s gone. She’s taken everything with her and fucked off to LA and transferred schools and-

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Or tell Brooke anything.

Or even give her a heads up.

She’s just left, Vanessa’s just left and she’s probably a thousand miles away and not in their apartment anymore and shit, Brooke knows that their fight had been bad, but now?

There’s no way to fix it, either.

Brooke hangs up the phone with empty words that she barely registers, but hopefully ones that placate Silky because she feels like she’s out of it, floating up in a dream, or rather a nightmare. One where everything is wrong, messed up, one where Vanessa’s actually gone, for good.

“The number you have dialed is out of service. Please check the number and try your call again.”

Fuck.

Brooke’s sitting on her kitchen floor, leaning against the dishwasher, the cool tiles underneath her doing nothing to ground her, bring her back down, break her free from what’s happening.

She dials Vanessa’s number again, just in case.

Maybe she’d made a mistake when dialing the first three times. Typed in a wrong number somewhere.

“The number you have-”

Brooke throws her phone against the wall before the message can complete itself.

Brooke doesn’t know what makes her take the bus all the way to Brampton and knock on the door of a house in the suburbs until Vanessa’s mom opens the door, pulling her inside because she’s shivering from the rain.

“Brooke, what are you-”

Vanessa’s mother’s words trail off as her eyes widen in realization, and she’s pulling Brooke into a hug, wrapping her arms around her and muttering words underneath her breath in Spanish that Brooke doesn’t understand. Brooke’s breath hitches in her throat, because she’s realizing how long it’s been since someone’s held her close. Because her own mom hasn’t done so in god knows how long, and fuck, of course she’s beginning to tear up in front of Vanessa’s mom.

“Oh, mija.” Vanessa’s mom reaches up a thumb to wipe the tear mark down her cheek and Brooke hates it, she does, because she’s being weak and why has she even come over here?

She can’t help the way she peeks over Vanessa’s mom’s shoulder, looking for a familiar head of curls. As if maybe, just maybe, Vanessa’s just at her childhood home.

“She’s not here. Left two days ago.” Vanessa’s mom is looking at her with…not pity, but concern in her eyes that Brooke wants to block out from having to see.

Brooke opens then closes her mouth, because what can she say, really? Vanessa’s gone, she’s really gone and from the look on Vanessa’s mom’s face, she hadn’t been aware of the fact that Brooke didn’t know.

“She’d told me you two had a fight, thought that’s why she booked a plane ticket so fast. Even though it’s peak holiday season and they’re expensive as hell right now.” Vanessa’s mom is pacing the kitchen, and Brooke wants to disappear. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”

Brooke shrugs, looks down, because if she opens her mouth, she’s gonna lose it in front of her girlfriend’s mom.

Well.

Not girlfriend, anymore.

Considering that Brooke can’t even reach other over the phone, much less in person.

The realization makes her swallow hard.

“Ridiculous.” Vanessa’s mom mutters under her breath, picks up her phone, curses when the phone beeps and she gets an answering machine. She rattles off a message in Spanish, one that Brooke doesn’t understand but sounds angry, though she’s not sure she wants to know what she’s said.

Vanessa’s mom puts her phone down and part of Brooke wants to ask for Vanessa’s new number that her mom clearly has.

But part of Brooke knows that it won’t make a difference.

Vanessa’s not going to pick up, anyway.

Brooke moves into a basement apartment exactly thirty days after Vanessa leaves.

Brooke feels like she’s been seeing ghosts of Vanessa everywhere - on campus, at the store, on the bus. A loud laugh, a head of dark curls, signs that make her whip her head around and look and inevitably become disappointed when she realizes that the people she sees aren’t Vanessa. She doesn’t want to be faced with reminders of her, doesn’t want to get her hopes up when she knows, she knows, that Vanessa isn’t here anymore. That Brooke had been the one to make her leave.

Brooke probably deserves the hollowness in her chest from it, the one that reminds her that everyone important to her will leave. That if she opens her heart for the taking, it won’t stay safe. That others can come in and snatch pieces of it away from her and then fuck off to another country forever with no other cares in the world.

The apartment is cold and wet and cramped with the cats but it doesn’t remind her of Vanessa, doesn’t bring back memory after memory of Vanessa’s laugh, Vanessa in her arms, Vanessa falling asleep against her shoulder. The twin size bed is big enough to hold just her, not having space for another body where Vanessa would fit (used to fit). It’s closer to campus, not that it matters, because she doesn’t really go to class anymore.

What’s the point?

Brooke’s in bed, Henry and Apollo curled up beside her, staring at the cracks on the ceiling that definitely have spiders walking along them, when there’s a knock on the door.

She barely has the chance to mutter fuck off when the lock fiddles, the door opening, and suddenly Brooke’s regretting ever giving Steve and Jon a key to her place.

“C’mon. It’s been more than a month.” The two of them are standing at the foot of Brooke’s bed and she wants to pull her pillow on top of her face. “No more.”

“Go away.” Brooke mumbles the words, eyes closed, hoping in vain that they’ll work and make her friends go away, but no such luck when Steve pulls her blanket back, making her shiver at the sudden cold air.

“You can’t let yourself fall down a hole, B.” Steve’s voice is quiet. “We want to keep you from it.”

“Who even cares?” Who does? Vanessa doesn’t care about her, her family doesn’t talk to her much anymore, she’s got her cats and her friends at school but they don’t get it, they don’t, they don’t understand why she can’t get up.

Brooke just can’t do it.

“Do it for us. Your worried gay dads.” Jon pokes her side and it makes her grumble.

“First of all, I’m older than both of you by a few months, so jot that down.” Brooke shoots the two of them a dirty look, but neither seem to care, grabbing her hands and pulling her up into a sitting position. “Second, don’t you have midterms to study for?”

“You’re still on top of the study schedule. Proud of you.” Steve’s eyes are kind, searching her face, but they make Brooke scowl.

“Can’t help it.”

“Yes, we gotta study, and so do you.” Steve pulls out his phone. “But before that, I want to show you Melissa.”

Brooke doesn’t want to take the bait, she really doesn’t, because she knows Steve and Jon are trying to distract her, but who gives a fuck about another girl?

Someone who’s not Vanessa?

But still, Brooke can’t help it.

“Who’s Melissa?”

“Ah, glad you asked.” Jon sits up straight on the bed, pointing to Steve’s phone. “Only your dream lady.”

Brooke scrolls through the photos. She’s hot, Brooke will give her that. A redhead and tall and covered in freckles and Brooke can see a faint outline of abs in the picture.

Very much unlike Vanessa.

“Go out with her and we won’t bother you for a whole week.”

“Just a week?” Brooke snorts, because she knows that they won’t stick to it. But part of her doesn’t mind, not really.

It’s not like she’s doing anything else.

“So you’ll do it?” Steve turns his phone off, looking hopeful. It makes her laugh, how much him and Jon are trying to help her move on. As if it’ll ever work.

But then again, she hasn’t gotten laid in awhile.

“Sure, why not. Give me her number.”

It’s not like Brooke’s ever going to find Vanessa’s, anyway. Vanessa’s made sure of that fact.

It’s fine, it really is.

Even though it’s not, and never will be.

(now + 1 year)

“Are you sure you’ll be okay, Dr. Hytes? Eleven hours straight is no joke.” Scarlet yawns as she asks the question, the surgical team around them shedding themselves of their scrub caps and gowns after a long, long procedure.

Brooke waves her away as she fights off a yawn of her own. Unlike the nursing staff who had gotten to switch out, she’d been in the surgery the entire time, from early in the morning when the sky was still dark outside to now, when the sun’s already beginning to set. Brooke’s used to such marathon days, the long hours of surgery for complicated cases being the ones she thrives in the most, pushing her brain and her focus to their limits.

That being said, she can’t wait to go home and catch up on the sleep that her brain is so desperately craving.

“I’ll be fine. I take Ubers on the long surgery days, so no risk of getting drowsy at the wheel right now.” Brooke shrugs. “Learned that the hard way.”

She’ll document for the surgery tomorrow. Right now, there’s only one place she wants to be, with one specific person.

Brooke waves goodbye to Scarlet and the rest of the surgery team as they scatter towards the offices, grabbing their belongings to head home. She almost falls asleep in the back of the Uber, blinking away drowsiness when the car pulls up to her place.

It’s only eight, but Brooke is exhausted. She hasn’t eaten save for a quick protein bar during the procedure, hasn’t had a second to breathe or lose her focus since before the surgery started. Brooke feels like she had to pour a little bit of herself into the patient to make sure that they survived, and survive they did.

And so Brooke will keep doing it, again and again for every complex patient she has.

On nights like these, Brooke used to order takeout, turn on Netflix on for background noise, and pass out on her couch before even finishing her food. When she pushes open the front door now, though, she’s met with the smell of dinner in the oven and candles lit at the kitchen table, along with a smiling Vanessa peeking from over the counter.

“You’re done!” Vanessa’s grin makes Brooke smile too, her face unable to avoid doing so because god, she loves her girl.

“Home at last.” Brooke drops her bag in the entrance, shedding her coat and shuffling over towards Vanessa as she holds back a yawn.

Vanessa drops her wooden spoon back into the pot on the stove, wasting no time in wrapping her arms around Brooke. Brooke hugs her tight, resting her chin on top of Vanessa’s head.

Vanessa pulls back slightly, still in the hug, looking at her. “How’d it go?”

“Good. Got all of the tumour without disrupting any major nerves. Took forever, though.” Brooke thinks back to the surgery, the painstaking work that nearly made her go crosseyed. She doesn’t want to look at a brain for a while, something that’s impossible, really, being a neurosurgeon.

“There’s a reason they came to you. No one else would do it that well.” Vanessa’s beaming, proud, and no matter how many times Brooke sees that expression on her face, it always makes her blush a little.

“Pfft. Not even. I’m just glad it went okay.”

“The family will be so happy. You did a great thing for them and the patient both. Now, c’mon.” Vanessa tugs on her hand, bringing her towards the kitchen table and pushing down on her shoulders until she sits down. “Making you that stir fry with noodles you said was your new favourite last time we had it.”

Brooke feels her heart melting. “Anyone tell you you’re the best?”

Vanessa presses a kiss to her lips before returning to stir the pot still on the stove. “You, all the time.”

They bring their dinner to the table rather than the couch, and Brooke can’t help how fast she gulps it down.

“Slow down.” Vanessa snorts, waving her fork in Brooke’s direction.

“Can’t help it,” Brooke’s voice is muffled by the noodles in her mouth, “haven’t eaten in hours.”

“Goof.”

“You’re a goof.”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out her and it makes her laugh, nearly choke on her noodles. She nudges Vanessa’s foot under the table. “How was your day?”

“Had some consults. No procedures.” Vanessa shrugs before pausing, looking up at Brooke. “But the head of thoracics and cardiovascular surgery at the Cleveland Clinic called me today.”

Brooke pauses, noodles still in her mouth. “Yeah?”

Vanessa nods. “Yeah, she read the case study I wrote on the complicated LVAD patient from last year.”

“Woah. V, that’s huge.” Brooke whistles as she takes another bite. Brooke knows that the Cleveland Clinic is one of the biggest cardiology centres in the world, renowned for their research and clinical components both.

Vanessa being recognized by them, contacted by them? Brooke wouldn’t expect anything less.

“They want me to work with them.”

“That’s amazing!” Brooke’s about to get out of her seat, run around to the other side of the table to hug Vanessa before she pauses. “Wait, the Cleveland Clinic is based in Ohio. Are you gonna move there? I mean, you gotta, they have so many resources, They’re world renowned-”

“I’m-”

“Forget Toronto General at this point, Nina will get over it-”

“Br-”

“This would be such a huge career move, not to mention all the access you’d have to-”

“Brooke!”

Brooke pauses, her mind still running through all the possibilities Vanessa has in front of her. The Cleveland Clinic. Brooke knows that Vanessa is good - she’s glad that other people are starting to realize it, too.

Especially those at the forefront of cardiac research.

“What?”

“I’m not moving.”

Brooke frowns at the way Vanessa says it with an air of formality, as if it isn’t up for discussion.

“Why not? This could be so good for you!”

Vanessa shrugs. “Don’t have to.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have to?” Brooke can feel her stomach begin to turn over. “Wait. You’re not only going to stay here because of me, are you?”

Once it crosses her mind, the thought is impossible to ignore. Vanessa leaving is what had made them break up back in university. Pushed them out of each other’s lives for eleven years with bitterness and hurt building up and up and up, before it all exploded.

Is Vanessa afraid of it happening to them again?

Brooke reaches a hand across the table. “I’m not going to be the one to hold you back here. That’s not what a partner does in a relationship.”

It’s true. They’ve been dating for over a year and a half now, they have keys to each other’s places. Nina calls them the ‘Surgery Power Couple’.

They’re stable. They’re happy.

They’re stronger.

Brooke knows Vanessa’s love for her. She sees it in the way that Vanessa massages her shoulders after a long day, the way that Vanessa lights up whenever Brooke drops by her office. The way Vanessa holds her extra tight, sometimes, when they’re staying over at each other’s places and they’re falling asleep.

She doesn’t need reassurance of it anymore, the way that she used to. Because they’re strong, they’re secure.

And Brooke doesn’t want to be the one to hold Vanessa back.

“No, I-”

“Wait, let me finish.” Brooke bites her lip. “Don’t not go just because of me. That’s ridiculous.”

“Let me finish, you dork.” Vanessa snorts and Brooke is confused, because she has to let Vanessa know. That she doesn’t want to hold her back. “The grant is for Toronto General. To do the study at the hospital here, where we already work. I ain’t gotta move to the middle of bumfuck nowhere.”

“Cleveland, actually-” Brooke pauses. “Wait, you won’t have to move?”

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “That’s what my ass was tryna tell you before you started rambling and working yourself all up.”

“Oh.” Brooke squeaks out the words but she can’t help the way her heart feels like it’s being lifted up, up, up, because Vanessa gets to work with the Cleveland Clinic but she gets to do it here.

“I get to start a new study here at the hospital and work with some of the researchers there and get the funding from them, too.” Vanessa’s grinning, squeezing her hand. “We’ll see how it pans out but it’s gonna be a five, ten year project at least.”

Brooke’s mouth drops open. “Woah.”

“I ain’t going anywhere for a long, long time. Get to keep pulling your pigtails. Still gotta finalize all the details and get the process formally started, but it’s gonna happen real soon.”

Brooke doesn’t even know what to say because Vanessa’s here, she’s going to stay, she wants to stay.

Vanessa pushes her bowl away when she’s done. “Besides, you really think I’d ever say yes if I had to move to Ohio? What do they even have in Ohio? Corn?”

Brooke holds back a laugh. “Isn’t that Iowa?”

“They fucking sound the same to me.” Vanessa shrugs, standing up and coming around the other side of the table to hug Brooke from behind, press a kiss to her cheek. “Besides, Ohio doesn’t have you.”

Brooke leans back against Vanessa, putting her hands on top of hers and she can’t get over how right everything feels. This was where they thought they’d be, back when they were in school. When they were studying like mad and applying and hoping for the best, when all they wanted to do was work in a hospital and have operating rooms as their domains and here they are. They’ve made it.

While finding their way back to each other, where they’ve always meant to be.

Brooke looks up. “If you ever got something and it meant you had to move though, you shouldn’t hold back-”

“I know.” Vanessa hugs her even tighter. “If either of us got an opportunity like that? We’ll talk about it. Work through it together, figure out what we wanna do. ‘Cause we’re a team, baby.”

Brooke smiles. “Yeah, we are.”

They climb into bed early that night, Vanessa practically dragging Brooke under the covers after she nearly falls asleep while brushing her teeth.

Vanessa’s pyjamas are in Brooke’s drawers, her skincare products on the counter, some of her work clothes in the closet. Her presence permeates Brooke’s apartment, making it feel so much more cozy, so much more welcoming. So much more like home. Brooke doesn’t want it any other way.

Vanessa’s absentmindedly tracing patterns on Brooke’s shoulder as she feels herself drifting off into sleep. She has the day off tomorrow, as she always does after long surgeries, but she’s ready to pass out. That is, at least, until Vanessa whispers softly.

“My lease renewal is coming up.”

“Hmm?” Brooke opens one eye blearily, looks over at Vanessa with her curls splayed all over her pillow, her face all soft and makeup-free.

“For my place. I need to figure out if I want to keep it another year or not.”

“Oh.” Brooke’s eyes pop open at that, because, well, she’s been thinking about it too. Not about Vanessa’s apartment, but, rather, the need for having two apartments in the first place.

Vanessa is always over at Brooke’s, or she’s at Vanessa’s, having left enough clothing, toiletries, and makeup at each other’s places that neither of them have to ever carry an overnight bag. Both places feel like home and so Brooke has been thinking about it, she has, because really a year and a half of dating - not to mention years of living together when they were in university - has made the idea of moving in with each other cross her mind.

“It just feels like a useless expense every month-”

“Move in with me.” The words are breathless from Brooke’s lips before Vanessa even finishes her thought, and Brooke claps a hand over her own mouth when she realizes what she’s said.

Vanessa’s eyebrows raise in surprise, her lips parting slightly, but Brooke can see the way her eyes are sparkling, the way her face has lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We practically live at each other’s places anyway. Why not just do it all the time?” It’ll save them a lot on gas, at least, from all the travelling back and forth between each other’s apartments.

Vanessa pokes her shoulder. “Why don’t you move in with me?”  

Brooke snorts. “Because yesterday you said you were fighting a war against the pests in your building, and that you think your bathroom is haunted.”

“Oh.” Vanessa pauses. “You’re right. But I ain’t lying, there’s something funky about the bathroom. It has weird noises.”

“And your first thought was ‘ghost’?”

Vanessa shrugs. “Maybe so.”

Brooke moves the hair off of Vanessa’s shoulder that’s beginning to hang in front of her face. “We don’t have to decide just now, whose place we move into. Or if we want to look for a completely different apartment.”

“But we’ll move in together?” Vanessa’s voice is soft, shy, and it reminds Brooke of the early stages of their relationship in university, when they were first getting to know each other and pushing down more and more boundaries.

“If you want to.” Brooke’s words are equally soft as she reaches out to grab Vanessa’s hand, and the way that Vanessa’s face breaks into a smile makes her realize she hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

They’re both where they’re meant to be.

Back in medical school, when Brooke had been pushing through semester after semester and had constantly felt like she was on the verge of drowning, she used to wonder if there would ever be a payoff. If all the struggle, all the hardship would eventually be worth it.

But now? Working in the career field she’s always wanted, finding her way back to her first (and only) love, the very one drifting off to sleep beside her with an arm thrown over her waist?

It had been worth every second.

[feralwrongs]

ophelia

tw: death/suicide mentions, abortion, brief sex mention

read more starts where the tws come in

i. daisy

his words scrawled on parchment with a quill full of inky secrets are for me, me, me and i am selfish. i am young and selfish and a child and they forget that, they all do, they always do. he writes me love letters and while i know, i know, i know there cannot be anything more than this, not ever (because he is going to be king one day) i hope. i wish. i pray. hoping and wishing and praying mean nothing, i know this. yet an unwarranted daisy of forbidden hope blooms in my chest. even with his ignorance to the blossom in my chest, he waters it.

we spend nights together now sometimes not always but most nights. he draws me from fitful slumber as his weight dips the mattress behind me, long arms enveloping me nose snuffling into the back of my neck through the jungle of my hair. we sleep some nights and he’s always gone when i awaken, leaving behind the scent of him and a small note tucked beneath my pillow. other nights we spend pressed chest to chest, talking in hushed tones, our breaths and heartbeats falling in line as our whispers mingle in the air. those nights end when the morning sunlight trickles in and he leaves with a searing kiss that says the things we know we cannot say and then he’s gone.

the night before he leaves to wittenberg is different. so different. i am still awake when he enters just past one. there are no words shared between us before he lunges forward onto my bed, onto me, kissing me like a man starved for months on end. i kiss him back just as hungrily. as suddenly and quickly as he arrives our clothes are a pile on my bedroom floor. we tangle in the sheets, a fumbling mess, hands desperate to map every inch of skin, eyes lingering on every freckle and scar. we kiss and we kiss and we kiss and we kiss and we it’s quick but it’s perfect and i love him, love love love him. i wish i could tell him but i silence that impossible fantasy by kissing him again and again and again.

the sun rises. he dresses. he leaves. i dress. i leave. i become just another person in the throng of those bidding him farewell. he shakes my hand. he goes to school. i go back to my room. he’s left a note under my pillow. how did i miss that?

i wish things were different. i wish i could say the things i want to say. i’ll have to be content with knowing that you know.

i cry then. he loves me. i love him. despite it all, i love him. i love him and he loves me and the love hidden in letters tucked beneath my bed are enough until he comes home.

ii. violet

the rain is falling loud as hail when he returns as if to fill the silence he brings. it’s haunting, his silence full of anger and unsaid words and overwhelming sadness. i feel it in his embrace after the funeral that night. it’s heavy and sticky on his skin, molasses that sticks me to him and him to me. he feels so small in my arms, a crystallised violet protected only by my trembling hands.

i’m sorry, he whispers into my hair. for what, i ask, and he has no answer to give me but i know the words sitting on his tongue. he is sorry for weakness, for collapsing under the weight of sudden loss, for wetting my hair with salty tears, for the sobs that force their way out of his chest, for showing what he has been taught to identify as weakness. you have nothing to be sorry for, i say. i’m going to be king, he points out, voice breaking on the word he dreads, i’m not a child anymore. but he is a child. we are children. barely nineteen and he can’t cry for his dead father.

you have nothing to be sorry for, not a single thing, i repeat with force. so he cries and i stroke his hair and i am angry, furious, incensed, that this man no, this boy, is sorry for his humanity. the thought makes me nauseous so i close my eyes and inhale the scent of him and try to match his breaths with mine.

if i let him go, he will fall, i think. so i don’t let him go. if i keep holding him, i will fall, i think. so i tighten my arms around him. he is worth any fall.

iii. fennel and columbine

when they say life and death go hand in hand, this is not how they meant it. one week after the king is buried, a wedding is announced. the king dead not a month and the queen is engaged to her dead husband’s brother and i wish more than anything i didn’t understand.

unwed, a woman is powerless, a pawn in a twisted game of chess for men to play as they please; despite how sickeningly contrary it is, a woman without a husband loses all autonomy. she does in marriage too but she is set, settled, chosen, and cannot be used for power even if the man who marries her does so for power even if the man who marries her was a brother not three weeks earlier.

i understand this but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, and i don’t try to explain it. some things men will never understand, and to try is to hurt, and his anger is so white-hot that it makes the sticky molasses on his skin boil and it burns when he holds me but i don’t cry out because i love him, i love him, i love him, and i know he loves me. i think he loves me. i hope he loves me.

iv. fennel and columbine, again

two months pass. i become his solace, my arms his safe haven, our nights together leaving me breathless and pink all over.

two months pass and he asks me to pick flowers for his lapel for the wedding, a simple act that soothes the monster created in my chest by the fear of losing him. i’m desperate to see him smile again (a real smile in the real world)

so i muddy my knees and my elbows digging through the dense underbrush by the brook, getting tangled up in the overgrown vines and garlands that hang from the trees. and when i find what i need i nearly fall into the brook in my rush to return to him. the slap of my bare feet on the marble floors echoes through the halls tracking mud on freshly cleaned floors but i don’t care about that, any of that, not now.

i bring him a small bunch of fennel and columbine and pin it with shaky, dirty hands that fall to rest against my stomach once their task is complete. the ghost of a smile touches his lips as he notes the chosen blossoms a smile that fills me with a warmth of my own and makes the molasses on his skin not burn so badly anymore. then his eyes follow my hands and he steps back.

deceived lovers, good choice, he whispers and the calculated mask on his face as he turns and leaves my room drains any warmth i feel as quickly as it had arrived.

v. rue

his mother visits me it’s her wedding night and yet here she is.

a cup of tea in hand. i don’t want it. but what choice do i have?

i could be wrong, i whisper. better safe than sorry, she replies.

my father has told me to stay away from him.

my lips brush against the porcelain of the small cup at my words, the bitter rue stinging lips chapped, chapped from kissing him. i would bear the weight of this sting for the rest of eternity if it meant being his.

but i am a pawn and she is a pawn and this is a demented game of chess and so i drink, the honey-coloured liquid burning my throat and drawing a violent retch out of my mouth.

she stays with me that night, glued to my side as the poison (that perfectly concocted potion) ruins me from the inside out.

i bleed for the first time in three months that night. we correctly erred on caution’s side and yet i’ve never felt more sorry in my life and i know she knows but neither of us says anything and that is that.

vi. rosemary and pansies

two nights after the wedding he is in my room again and for a brief moment, a brief lightning flash, i think that things are okay.

i drop my sewing (my hands are trembling too badly to sew anyway) and my eyes flutter shut, visions of the future i always dreamt of dancing behind my eyelids.

then his hand is wrapped around my wrist in an iron-clad grasp and he drags me up from my chair to him and this isn’t him, this isn’t. the man before me is hollow, pale, ghostly. his skin is nearing translucence sans the deep shadows beneath his eyes and i am frightened.

he stares and stares and stares and then he sighs the sigh of a man five times his age and then he’s gone and then i make the mistake every girl makes at least once: i trust my father.

and i am coerced, no, forced into the role of spy with the letters that keep me sane clutched in my hands that shake worse than before, meant to be used as daggers against him even though i’ve already been forced to keep my distance forced not to love him forced into a life i didn’t ask for.

to be or not to be, he asks the air, desperate for the meaning of this life, begging to know what happens after it all. i don’t know the answer and i can’t even begin to try to find words and then it doesn’t matter.

get thee to a nunnery, he shouts, shaking me violently as i tremble furiously in his grasp.

of course he confirms my worst fears, the ones hidden away in the darkest corners of my mind. he never meant the words, of course he didn’t, says i should lock myself away and i agree. i don’t say so but i do because the only way to survive as a woman in this world is to keep your heart locked away.

then he leaves.

to my father and the king, this shows the prince’s madness, but they are left unaware that this has pushed me one step closer to the abyss of my own.

vii. withered violets

he’s dead. they’re dead. we’re all dead. my father is dead and the man i love (used to love, used to) he’s gone too, swallowed whole by madness and grief.

and my brother is away. and the world is dying. and i’m dying.

the violets don’t bloom anymore and all i can do is cry and cry and cry and sing nonsense songs until the thread holding me in this life snaps and (finally, finally, finally) i fall heavily into the murky water.

[petroglifs]

Grayshaw

*Enjoy!

Science Fiction Book Club

Interview with Bruce Sterling October 2018

Bruce Sterling is a prominent science fiction writer and a pioneer of the cyberpunk genre. Novels like Heavy Weather (1994), Islands in the Net (1988), Schismatrix (1985), The Artificial Kid (1980) earned him the nickname “Chairman Bruce”. Apart from his writings, Bruce Sterling is also a professor of internet studies and science fiction at the European Graduate School. He has contributed to several projects within the scheme of futurist theory, founded an environmental aesthetic movement, edited anthologies and he still continues to write for several magazines including Wired, Discover, Architectural Record and The Atlantic.

David Stuckey: Have you considered a return to the world of "The Difference Engine" for stories or another novel?

*That won’t happen.

David Stuckey: If you were going to write "Involution Ocean" today, what would you change or do differently?

*Well, alien planet adventures are a really dated form of space opera.  On the other hand, they’re great when you’re 20 years old.  If I were doing a project like that today I might make it a comic book.  Or a webcomic.  It might make a nice anime cartoon.

Richard Whyte: In the 2018 'State of the World' conversation on the Well, you said you were in Ibiza working on a novel. Are you able to tell us anything about it yet?

*I dunno if I’m ever gonna finish this epic novel about the history of the city of Turin, but I seem to get a lot of work done on it when I’m in Ibiza.  It’s about Turin, but when I’m actually in Turin I tend to work on weird technology art projects and goofy design schemes.

*Also, look at this palace.  I’m supposed to work on my novel in the attic of this villa.  That’s pretty weird, isn’t it?  This villa was built in the same era as the book I’m working on, which has the working title “The Starry Messengers.”  Like this villa, it’s big and baroque and complicated.

https://fenicerinnovata.tumblr.com

Andrzej Wieckowski: We read 'Sacred Cow' for one of our short story reads a few months' ago. Were themes such as Bolton's historic connection to the Indian cotton industry and immigration to this country deliberate or unconscious? And as it's my home town - did you visit? :)

*There aren’t any towns in Britain without some historic connection to India.  As it happens I’m flying to India day after tomorrow to meet with some Indian science fiction writers.

*I used to hang out in Great Britain rather a lot.  Brexitania I don’t much care for.  It’s a hostile, troubled place.

Gary Denton: You were active in the Viridian sustainable design movement that many readers may not know about. Do you think that major corporations have taken that over and it is less fringe now?

*I tend to do activist stuff.  Also, you get more done if you don’t ask for any credit.  I’ve come to understand that a lot of my most influential writing was stuff that I never got paid for.  Some of it never got published.

*I was just at the Whole Earth 50th reunion about a week ago.  They’re a good example of a “movement” that was super-influential and somehow a dreadful failure at the same time.

*As far as major corporations, meaning large public enterprises with a lot of shareholders, I don’t worry about them any more.  It’s actually moguls and oligarchs who are the big problem nowadays.

Gary Denton: Do you also see a change in the major polluters now compared to 25 years ago?

*They’re a lot more violent.  Blood for oil, killing off opponents in sinister ways, not a problem for them any more.  They’re quite grim and red-handed.  They used to be engineers, but now they know that they are culprits.

Gary Denton: You once said that the cyberpunks were the most realistic science fiction writers in the 80's. Who do you think are the most realistic science fiction writers now?

*Could be the Chinese.

Richard Whyte: Whenever someone here asks about the angriest SF work ever, I always seem to end up recommending your fine short story 'Spook'. Do you think of it as an angry story?

*Well, not really.  It’s a rather severely disaffected story from the point of view of a person who’s not human and knows it.  “We See Things Differently” is rather an angry story; it’s about a terrorist assassin with a righteous grudge.

Eva Sable: What is the experience of collaborating with another author like for you? Especially when working with someone who, like yourself, is rather an individual. (Never met William Gibson, but he strikes me as someone who would be more comfortable working on his own)

*I tend to collaborate rather a lot.  It helps if the two of you are combining forces in order to learn something together.  Gibson and I agreed that we couldn’t possibly write a work like DIFFERENCE ENGINE alone.  We used to urge each other to do it, but eventually we just had to have a lot of long, abstruse discussions of what a book like that ought to do.

*If you read the stories I wrote with Rudy Rucker you can see that a lot of those texts are basically him and me discussing weird ideas.  We’ve got a reason to write those stories – a high-concept, and then there are pages of bizarre hugger-mugger where we push the concept as hard as we can.  Then we give up.

*Nowadays I spend a lot of time negotiating or collaborating with artists, designers, architects.  I don’t get jealous about the origins of good ideas.

Richard Whyte: Your 1980s SF criticism seemed very much in favour of 'Radical Hard SF'. To what extent do you think your own fiction 'takes its inspiration from science, and uses the language of science in a creative way'?

*I wrote a lot of that in the 1980s.  Nowadays I tend to write speculative work that’s more influenced by industrial design rather than by science.

Richard Whyte: In the early 1980s I believe you were associated with a group of like-minded SF writers known as 'The Movement', who were subsequently renamed as 'cyberpunks'. Overall, do you think this name change was a good or a bad thing?

*If people notice you, you’re gonna get a public slang name anyway, so it’s good if you can cheerfully put up with it.  As for forming like-minded groups, that’s a valuable life-skill.

John Grayshaw: Who are your favorite science fiction writers? And how have they influenced your work?

*Well, those favorites change with time.  In different decades of my own life I’ve had different ambitions for my own science fiction.  I tend to write pastiches.  Lately I’ve been writing a lot of “science fiction” that’s heavily influenced by Italian fantascienza, or, really, Italian fantasy generally.  

*I’m a long-time Juies Verne fan.  I wouldn’t describe Jules as a personal “favorite,” but I recognize him as a titan of my genre.  Knowing the personal details of the guy’s career as a working creative has been of a lot of help to me.

*I had a couple of professional SF writers who I regarded as my literary mentors.  They’re both dead now: Harlan Ellison and Brian Aldiss.

John Grayshaw: I heard that you are currently dividing your time between Belgrade and Turin, do you miss living in Texas? Or America in general?

*I’m back often enough that I don’t really “miss it.”  I find that if I stay in one place too long, I tend to miss travelling.  I  roam a lot.  If I get too old and tired to lift a suitcase and I settle somewhere, it probably won’t be Austin, Belgrade or Turin.

John Grayshaw: I recommend everyone read your essay "Cyberpunk in the Nineties" (http://lib.ru/STERLINGB/interzone.txt) to understand that Cyberpunk was a movement and can't be removed from its time and place...But a Cyberpunk aesthetic has emerged over the years and that is what writers like Neal Stephenson or Richard K. Morgan are emulating. Was this aesthetic conscious at the time?

*Well, we spent plenty of time fussing about it. A lot of that conceptual work doesn’t really show on the surface.  Aesthetics interest me a lot.  For instance, I’m the Art Director of the Share Festival in Turin, which is an Italian technology-art fair.  Italians are good at fussing about how stuff looks.

John Grayshaw: Did "Mirrorshades" have a theme? What directions or guidance did you give the writers?

*It didn’t have a set theme.  Mostly I was trying to pick work from colleagues I respected, that I thought put them in a good light.

John Grayshaw: Other than writing what are your interests/hobbies?

*I like design and technology art. Also I travel a lot.  I spend a lot of time in arcane online research.

John Grayshaw: Why do you think Steampunk has become a popular subgenre/aesthetic in the last 30 years?

*I think it’s about the craft aspects of steampunk.  Hobbyist people like the costumes and the gadgets.  It’s like traditional historical recreation groups, but with an alluring fantasy aspect.

John Grayshaw: Can you explain why you have said that Artificial Intelligence is a bad metaphor?

*I think the AI metaphor gets in the way of actual progress in the field, with actual hardware and software.  Rodney Brooks explains the problem a lot better than I can, and nobody can understand his explanations either.  That’s not exactly fair – actually I get what Rodney’s saying enough to more or less agree with him.  He’s an expert, so I’d refer you to him.

*”Deep Learner” and “neural net” are kinda better metaphors than “Artificial Intelligence,” but they’re still metaphors.  We haven’t created sharp, focused words for what these odd devices really do. “Intelligence” is not what they’re doing.

John Grayshaw: Cyberpunk was a dark look at the future. Do you feel optimistic or pessimistic about the future?

*People always ask that.  People in Russia never thought that cyberpunk was “dark.”  Also, whenever you get to “the future,” no matter how scared or happy you are about some particular historical episode, there’s always more future on the way.  Eventually people are dead, so if you ask  if I’m optimistic or pessimistic about the 20th century,  the whole idea sounds silly.  The future is a kind of history that hasn’t happened yet.

John Grayshaw: In cyberpunk technology often contributes to society’s ills. What lesson do we take from this? That we must learn how to live with tech or that we should reject it and live like the Amish?

*Kevin Kelly kinda likes the idea of living like the Amish.  Kevin’s an interesting guy.  If I myself wanted to “live like the Amish” I’d probably move to Christiania in Denmark, where at least they have reggae music.

John Grayshaw: Do you keep up with the latest technologies? Or do you stay "off the grid?"

*I do both, actually.  I’m generally so “off the grid” that I’m not even in its time-zone.  I don’t have a business card, there’s no  settled mailing address, I’m never on Facebook, and no one knows my phone number.  Like they say in the world of electronic privacy, “I have nothing to hide, but I have nothing I want to show you, either.”

John Grayshaw: Do you think people will have "immersive" VR type experiences on the internet in the next 20 years?

*They have it already.

John Grayshaw: What do you feel is your legacy?

*Hard to say.  It’s like asking a Beatnik writer what “his legacy” is.  The Beats wrote a lot of more-or-less memorable stuff, but there’s also the existence proof that somebody was able to live like that, and that is their legacy.  I lived in a different historical period than the Beat writiers, but a lot of the stuff that entertained and engaged me is also quite archaic nowadays.  I don’t thing people aspire to emulate Bruce Sterling, but they  do like the idea of operating in the same cultural spaces that I do.  That something lively can exist between “science” and “fiction,” or between “cyber” and “punk,” that’s a valuable thing to know.

[cheesygrayson-blog]

Pitchers and Catchers Report (Grayson)

Summary: When your school’s baseball team plays a game against your biggest rivals, not all the competing is left on the field.

Warnings: Mild violence, baseball stuff, average writing skills

Word Count: 3,931

enjoy :)

You sat down on the hot metal bleachers, ready to cheer on your high school's baseball team. They were playing Lincoln High, your biggest rivals, and the only other undefeated team in the division. There was always a lot of competitiveness and bad blood between the two schools, no matter what sport was being played. That being said, you lived in a fairly small community, and you were friends with a lot of the students there, when sports weren't involved.

You and your friends stood up and cheered when your team took the field, ready to go to work. They warmed up for a few minutes before the first batter got in to position. Despite your pitcher's stone face and deadly fastball, he hit a hard single on the very first pitch.

"That's alright, Brady!" you cheered, trying to encourage your team even though they probably couldn't hear you. Brady, your school's ace pitcher, had always had a little crush on you, but you tried to make it clear that the two of you were just friends. He'd asked you out twice throughout high school, and you'd gently rejected him both times, but you knew that his crush was still alive and well.

The next two batters struck out on three pitches each, which had you feeling comfortable, until you saw who was batting clean up.

"Is that Grayson Dolan?" you asked, even though you knew it was him thanks to the "DOLAN" printed across the back of his jersey.

"Yeah," your friend Brooke answered.

"I thought he was a senior last-"

You were cut off by the loud crack of Grayson's bat connecting with Brady's pitch. Everyone in the bleachers let out a collective gasp as the ball cut through the air, easily sailing well past the reach of your center fielder, who was climbing the outfield fence trying to rob Grayson of his home run. You couldn't help but admire his swing, but rolled your eyes hard when he flipped his bat and trotted around the bases like he was a modern day Barry Bonds.

"What a douche," you muttered, watching him strut back to his dugout and high five his teammates.

The next few innings went by fairly uneventfully. Grayson was catching, and it pained you to admit that he was good at what he did. Your school did manage to score one run on a throwing error by the other team's short stop. The ball was thrown much too hard, way over Grayson's head, allowing the runner to easily slide in to home plate. Grayson was visibly ticked off, lifting his mask and yelling across the field to his teammate. He managed to cool off before the ump interfered, crouching behind the plate and spitting in to the dirt.

It wasn't until the bottom of the sixth that things took a turn.

The bases were loaded with two outs, and Brady was up to bat. Grayson stood and signaled for his outfielders to move in, assuming he wasn't going to make strong contact.

The first three pitches were balls. Brady looked at a strike for the fourth, and fouled on the fifth to fill the count. The next pitch could have been called either way from where you were sitting, but the ump called it a ball, allowing Brady to take a base and for a run to walk in. Grayson obviously disagreed, as he stood up and took his helmet off, exchanging some words with the man standing behind him. Brady was still close enough to hear the exchange and said something, you weren't sure what, but it obviously didn't settle well with Grayson, as he whipped around and got right in his face. Grayson's face was shiny and his hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he had a look in his eyes that could rival the fires in the pits of hell.

The two were locked in a heated argument, and it looked like Grayson was just about to throw a punch when the ump finally broke it up and Brady took his base. The dugouts didn't clear and no one was ejected, but you could clearly hear Grayson yell a threat down the first base line.

"Catch me after I beat you, pussy ass bitch!"

Your jaw dropped, and you were surprised that he didn't get thrown out after that. You could see him getting a warning, but he brushed it off like the arrogant asshole he was and got back into his position.

Evening fell and the game progressed with no more excitement. Brady was taken out in the seventh in exchange for one of your relief pitchers, so he and Grayson didn't have to face each other on the field again. It ended up being quite a pitcher's duel, and your team was beaten by Grayson's by one run in the tenth inning. You could tell that your boys were disappointed in themselves, and the raucous cheering coming from the visitor's dugout wasn't helping.

"Come on, let's go greet the team," you said to your friends, standing up and walking towards the gate that led to the locker rooms.

You waited there for a few minutes before the players started ambling off the field. Brady stopped next to you, as he usually did, and sighed. You brought a hand up to sympathetically squeeze his arm.

"Hey, you played a good game," you said.

"We lost," he muttered, his head hanging in defeat.

"Well yeah, but-"

"I gave up a two run homer in the first inning."

"Hey," you said firmly. "Those were the only two runs you gave up, and the game went in to extras. You played well, don't beat yourself up too much."

"Hey, Johnson!" a deep voice yelled from a few yards away. Both you and Brady turned in the direction of the sound. Grayson was walking towards you, flanked by the rest of his team, with a cocky smirk on his face.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)," Grayson sneered, eyeing you up and down before he turned his attention back to Brady. "This your girl, Johnson?"

You felt Brady stiffen before you responded. "First of all, I'm no ones girl. Second of all, fuck off Grayson."

"So you're available, then," he said, poking his tongue out the side of his mouth.

"Not to you," you sassed.

"Ooh, feisty. I like a challenge, baby," he trailed a finger down your bare arm, which you ripped away from his touch. You knew he was only saying these things to get under Brady's skin, and you honestly couldn't stand Grayson, but you couldn't deny that he was extremely good looking, and hearing him talk about you like that stirred something in your gut.

You were glaring at Grayson when Brady cleared his throat. You quickly snapped out of it, noticing that you were the only three left on the field.

"I should go in, Coach is gonna be wondering where I am," Brady said, directing his words at you but looking at Grayson from the corner of his eye.

"Okay, go ahead. I'll see you later at Matt's?" you asked. He nodded his head and was about to leave, but before he could walk away you wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug, which he returned without any hesitation. You made sure to lock eyes with Grayson while you were wrapped in his embrace, who rolled his eyes and stalked off to join the rest of his team in the guest locker room. You loosened your grip on Brady, but held on to his arms, wanting to ask a question that had been biting at you for the last hour or so.

"Hey, what did you say to Grayson when you got walked? It seemed to really set him off," you inquired, recalling the almost fight between the two of them.

"Uh, I... I can't remember," he stammered. "It was just like an in the moment thing, you know?" Brady swallowed thickly and looked at his cleats. "I should head in, see you later," he said, turning around and bolting inside.

"Okayyy..." you spoke in to the empty air, heading towards the parking lot to meet up with your friends.

"What took you so long?" Annie asked once you joined the girls waiting for you.

"Yeah, we've been sitting here waiting for like ten minutes. Did Brady finally get in your pants?" Brooke joked.

"Will you shut up?" you laughed. "No, I just had like a weird exchange with Brady and Grayson."

"What? We left while Grayson and them were all still in their dugout," Jane whined, upset that they'd missed the action. "What happened?"

"Nothing, really," you said, furrowing your brow. "It was just weird."

"Alright, well, whatever," Annie said. "We have to go get ready."

The four of you piled in to Annie's car and drove back to her house to get ready to go to Matt's. Matt was the guy in your high school who was always hosting a party. His family owned a camp that wasn't very far from town, and not a weekend went by where it wasn't full of drunk teenagers.

There wasn't much you had to do to get ready, just touch up your makeup and grab your alcohol. Parties in your town were always BYOB, and they were very casual. It would be highly unusual for a girl to show up to a party wearing some kind of club dress and heels. Before long, you were back in the passenger seat of Annie's car, making the short drive to Matt's.

"I heard a few guys from Lincoln are coming tonight," Brooke announced from the back seat.

"I'm not really surprised," Jane replied. "I mean, they're already in the area, might as well come party."

"I hope nothing happens," you said while anxiously chewing on your thumbnail.

"I hope shit hits the fan," Brooke laughed. "I haven't seen a good fight in forever, we could all use the excitement."

You stayed silent the rest of the way to the party, suddenly dreading the rest of the night. Luckily, when you got there, the only other people there were from your school, save for a few girls from Lincoln.

"Hey Macey!" you called across the room, waving to your friend while you sipped on your mixture of sprite and coconut rum. Even though she attended the rival school, she wasn't one to brag when they beat you.

"Hey girl," she smiled, pulling you in to a hug. "Crazy game, right?"

"Yeah, I honestly thought Grayson was going to deck Brady," you shuddered at the memory of their little disagreement on the field.

"Do you know what he said to him?"

"No, I asked after the game but he said he couldn't remember."

"Bullshit, I bet it was something about you," she rolled her eyes and giggled, clearly already a little tipsy.

You made a weird face at her and laughed, there was no way some comment about you would set Grayson off like that. You brushed it off, though, and didn't ask why she thought that, assuming she was just drunk and talking crazy.

The night progressed with no sign of any trouble from Lincoln. A few boys that weren't on the baseball team showed up, but that didn't really cause any kind of altercation.

You were still slowly working on your first drink an hour later, knowing that you were a lightweight and you'd have a strong buzz after two. You had just taken the last sip when an arm was slung around your shoulder, making you let out a surprised squeal.

"Hey, baybay," Brady slurred, laughing at the way he pronounced "baby."

"Brady? Are you drunk already? It's only," you paused to check the time on your phone. "Barely eleven o'clock."

"Girl, I started taking shots as soon as I left the field," he laughed. His hand started drifting lower than your comfort zone allowed, so you stepped out of his grasp.

"Watch the hands, buddy," you warned. You used a joking tone, but you were one hundred percent serious.

"Aw, c'mon, (Y/N)," he whined. "What's a guy gotta do to-"

He was cut off when the door of the camp burst open, revealing Grayson, his twin brother Ethan, and their friend Nate.

"Let's go," Brady said, sounding frantic and tugging on your wrist.

"No," you pulled against his grip but he wouldn't let go. "Brady, I'm not leaving, let go of me."

"Please (Y/N), we don't have to leave, just come with me outside," he begged, trying to pull you towards the back door.

"Brady, no, stop-"

"Johnson," a firm voice said, directly behind you. "Let go of her."

"Make me, dick," Brady replied, tugging you forward again. Before he could make any progress in pulling you towards the door, Grayson's hand reached out from behind you and clutched Brady's forearm. You could feel his broad chest pressed against your back, and you involuntarily shivered when his arm circled your shoulders so he could get a grip on you in order to pull you from Brady's grasp. Grayson was easily able to get Brady to drop your arm, and he let go of you as soon as you were free.

"Now run along," Grayson spat, throwing his arm down. Brady turned around, and Grayson turned to you.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You furrowed your brow and looked up at him, wondering why he cared. "Yeah, I'm fi-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Brady's fist connected with Grayson's jaw, almost hitting you in the process. You shrieked at the surprise, and anyone who's attention wasn't already on the three of you turned to look at the commotion.

Unfortunately for Brady, Grayson was completely sober and twice his size, so he really didn't stand a chance. All Grayson really had to do was deliver a firm shove, and Brady was on the floor. Some of the other players on your school's baseball team helped him up, and held him back from coming for Grayson again. You looked at him with wide eyes while he rubbed his jaw. He looked down, meeting your gaze again with his dilated pupils.

"Are you okay?" he asked a second time.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but you need to leave," you said, forcing him to turn back towards the front door and pushing him all the way outside.

You only stopped pushing him once you were both outside, away from all the bedlam that was happening inside.

"(Y/N), listen," Grayson started, but you cut him off.

"No, Grayson. What were you thinking coming here? You had to have known that something like this was going to happen. Was this your plan? Did you want to start a fight?" you were dangerously close to yelling at him, but thanks to the alcohol in your system, you didn't even care.

"I just had to make sure..." he started, but trailed off.

"Had to make sure what? Had to make sure to beat Brady twice in one night? Had to make sure he-"

"I had to make sure you were okay!" Grayson shouted, cutting you off. "There, happy?" he followed in a slightly softer voice.

"What?" you asked, genuine confusion written on your face. "What are you talking about? And why do you care?"

He didn't respond, he just clenched his jaw and folded his arms across his impossibly large chest. You rolled your eyes and sighed, annoyed with his silence.

"Well, I'm fine. I was even more fine before you showed up, but I'm as good as I can be considering, so are you satisfied?"

Grayson was silent for a few more seconds before he looked back in to your eyes. "Do you know what he said to me after he got walked in the sixth?"

"N-no," you stammered, surprised at his question. "I asked him but he said he forgot, he said it was just an in the moment thing."

"Well, that's bullshit," he said. "Do you want to know what he actually said?"

"What?"

"He said 'I'll just take this base now, (Y/N) will give me the rest later.'"

Your jaw hit the floor, shocked that Brady would say something like that. He had always been so sweet and respectful, until he got all handsy with you. The only conclusion your brain could come to was that Grayson had to have been lying.

"Yeah right, he did not," you scoffed. "He knows we're just friends, and why would you care anyway? What does it matter to you if I went inside and fucked him right now?"

"It's true, go ask him," Grayson said, gesturing towards the camp. "He's been saying that shit about you for years, just because he knows it ticks me off."

"But that's what I'm saying, Grayson! Why do you care? It's not like you're my brother, or my boyfriend, or..."

You trailed off when you realized how close he had gotten. You hadn't even noticed Grayson moving closer to you until you felt his breath hitting your face. The two of you were locked in a tense staring contest, neither of you wanting to back down before the other. You didn't even look away when you felt Grayson's hand slip around to cup the back of your neck, or when he leaned in so close that your noses were touching. You only broke eye contact when he placed his lips on yours, causing a tiny whimper to sound from the back of your throat.

It only lasted a second, and you didn't know if it was the small amount alcohol coursing through your veins or the great amount of sexual tension between the two of you, but as soon as Grayson pulled away, you grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back in, slamming your mouth against his. Grayson kissed you back immediately, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you tight against himself. You brought the hand that was on his neck down to run over his muscular shoulders while the other one combed through the soft hair on the back of his head. Grayson's free hand trailed down your thigh and hooked around your knee, pulling your leg up.

"Jump," he mumbled into your mouth before pulling away to grab your other leg. You hopped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, and Grayson caught you easily and shoved your back against the wall. The siding wasn't the most comfortable surface for you be pressed against, but you didn't care. The feeling of the wooden slats digging in to your back disappeared when Grayson started sucking on your collar bone, anyway.

"Don't leave a mark," you breathed. You didn't want to have to explain to anyone why you suddenly had a hickey on your chest. Grayson obeyed, and moved his lips back to your own.

Grayson had just pushed his tongue into your mouth when you heard the door swing open. You had completely forgotten that there was a room full of people on the other side of the wall you were being supported by, and that someone could catch you at any moment.

"(Y/N)?"

You broke away from Grayson and whipped your head around to see Brady standing there in the doorway, wide eyed and open mouthed.

"Brady, hi," you said awkwardly, slightly out of breath from making out with Grayson, who was still holding you up against the wall, gripping your thighs.

"W-what... what are you doing?" Brady whimpered.

"Just, ya know, hanging out," you said, turning your attention back to Grayson, who was looking at Brady with an expression that wasn't necessarily cocky, but definitely wasn't remorseful.

"Gray," you whispered, gaining his attention. "Put me down."

He gently set you back on your feet and trailed his hands up your sides, making sure to keep a hand on your back when you turned to face Brady.

"Why were you making out with him?" Brady asked, disgust with a hint of hurt dripping from his voice.

"I don't know, Brady, I just figured, since you took first base during the game, it seems only fair that I'd give him the rest," you crossed your arms and glared at him as the realization hit his face.

"(Y/N), I didn't mean that, it was just-"

"It was just in the moment? What about all the other things you've said about me? I thought we were friends, Brady."

"We are friends," he mumbled, eyes on the ground, not daring to look you in the eyes.

"Then why would you say those things?" you asked, your turn to sound hurt.

"I'm sorry, I just... I don't know why I said them."

"Yeah, well I do," you spat, all the hurt in your voice replaced with a fresh wave of anger. "You said it just to get under Grayson's skin. You used me as a weapon in your stupid little competition with him. I hope you're happy with the result."

"(Y/N), come on, let me take you home," Grayson said, lacing his fingers with yours.

"(Y/N), no, you can't leave with him!" Brady yelled when you started to walk away.

"Why not?" you asked.

"Because... because you barely know him!"

"Well, I really don't want to be here, and it's not like I'm letting you take me home," you scoffed at his lame attempt at getting you to stay with him.

"Just stay here, I'm sorry about what I said," he pleaded.

"Yeah, whatever," you said while rolling your eyes and turning away from him. "Bye Brady, have fun getting the rest of your bases covered."

You and Grayson had walked about twenty feet when you heard Brady yell from the house.

"You're gonna regret this, Dolan!"

Grayson raised his hand and waved without turning around, obviously not bothered by his threat.

"Hey, Grayson?"

"Hm?" he hummed, looking down at you and squeezing your hand that was still laced with his.

"Thanks... for earlier."

"You're going to have to elaborate, babe," he chuckled. "A lot happened earlier."

"For getting Brady to let go of me, and for telling me what he said, and, yeah," you were glad that it was dark out, because you could feel how hard you were blushing.

"And yeah," Grayson laughed and dropped your hand, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close, walking the rest of the way to his car like that.

The drive to your house was quiet, neither of you having anything that needed to be said, other than you giving Grayson the occasional "turn left at the next stop sign," and the likes.

"It's this one right up here," you said as your house came in to view. Grayson pulled over and slowed to a stop in front of your driveway.

"Thanks for the ride," you said as you pushed the door open and climbed out of the car. You had only taken a few steps up the driveway when you heard the buzz of a window being rolled down.

"Hey, (Y/N)," Grayson called. You turned around and leaned forward to see him leaning across the center console so he could see you.

"Yeah?"

"We should hang out sometime," he said with a half smile and a hopeful look in his eyes.

You gave him a smile of your own, and you were thankful for the darkness for a second time that night, as you felt your cheeks heating up. You pretended to think about it for a few seconds before giving him an answer.

"Maybe."

[meditatemoremedicateless]

Rachel Has Two Hands (Hell is Empty pt. 2)

Fandom: Life is Strange Pairings: Amberrich, Pricerich, Amberprice, Amberpricerich Tags: polyamory, pining, fluff Words: 5,400

Summary: Steph struggles with her feelings about Rachel and Chloe's performance in The Tempest. Her starts spending more time with Chloe and Rachel, leading to an unexpected kiss and an even more unexpected conversation.

Read the full story on Tumblr, Ao3, or ff.net.

By the time the cast party had officially started, Steph was sure she had it figured out. She was also sure she could explain why she was totally okay with what happened and how genuinely beautiful the performance had been. She'd just talk to Rachel sometime during the party and say that she and Chloe would make a beautiful couple and even though Steph liked her, she wasn't going to toss away a friendship out of jealousy. Queer girls have to stick together. They can't afford to burn bridges just because someone fell for someone else, else they would all become islands, as alone as Arcadia Bay on the coast of Oregon.

The cast party was at Hayden's house because it was the biggest and his family was already used to the Vortex Club using it from when his older brother had been a member. Everyone was split up into their little cliques, like Nathan, Victoria, and their friend Taylor on the stairs after returning from smoking weed in the bathroom, or Steph, Dana, Juliet, and Hayden hanging out on the couch and piano bench. Hayden's mom apparently had the biggest goddamn grand piano Steph had ever seen outside of an orchestral hall, which immediately explained a lot of things about him. Rachel was supposed to get dropped off by her parents, so she was running a little late, and the crew kids like Brooke and Luke mostly kept to themselves, so it felt kind of weak for a cast party.

Dana got a text and checked her phone. A second later, she asked out, "Hey, Hayden - Rachel's walking here with Chloe, is that cool?"

What?!

"Uhhh yeah, totally. Do they need a pick-up?"

"I dunno, let me check."

Rachel sent texts faster than Steph could talk, so only a few seconds later Dana called, "Nope, they're almost here."

Oh shit.

Steph had been mentally preparing this whole time to talk to Rachel because Rachel would already be hanging out with her. But the prospect of pulling her away from Chloe to have the conversation about how totally cool she was with them getting together was on a whole new level. Steph considered herself a pretty tough cookie - stoic, even, when she had to be - but she could only make so strong a face in so little time. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to hear why Rachel chose Chloe over her.

"Wow, the fire's getting pretty crazy," said Taylor from the hall. "The air quality outside is getting really bad, and containment's dropped to 10 percent. Apparently we're advised to stay in-doors until air quality improves? Crazy."

No. No no no this cannot be happening.  Steph wanted to leap to her feet and flee, just walk home in the dead of night, but she knew no one here would let her - walking outside while ash rained from the sky was a stupid idea and she knew it. She was going to be stuck here until morning with Rachel like she had planned to be. Unless. Unless.

Steph stood up and said, "Hey, uh, Hayden, I kind of . . . feel sick. And with the fire, I don't think I should walk home . . . do you think you could give me a ride?"

He sat there and blinked for a few seconds, looking Steph up and down, probably picking up that she looked perfectly fine.

Still, Hayden was a cool dude. Finally, he shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess."

 Rachel: i didnt see you last night.

Rachel: hayden said you were sick Rachel: how are you feeling?

Rachel: steph?

Rachel: i'll see you at the showing tonight, OK? i want to talk to you.

Rachel: you ran off again Rachel: are you mad at me?

Steph: I'm not mad

It was midnight, Saturday night giving way to Sunday, and they had two shows to run the next day. Steph didn't have time to stay up tonight, but once she was back in her bed again, in the dark, alone, she had started crying. She absolutely hated how upset she was. She had absolutely no fucking right to be ignoring Rachel. This was exactly the sort of behavior that could devastate her hopes for a small circle of queer friends - being jealous and petty and slinking away into the night to be alone.

She had just been caught off guard. She had gotten her hopes up, sitting alone and flirting with Rachel in the dressing room. She had taken Rachel's fun and flirtation as an indicator of her feelings, when she knew that was just how she acted. She liked that about Rachel. She liked the way she could charm and dazzle her way through anything, how she always picked herself back up when she started feeling insecure, how she could make anyone feel special.

Rachel: are you avoiding me?

Steph: Yeah. I haven't known what to say to you, and I still don't.

Rachel: did i do something wrong?

Steph: no, it's nothing like that. 

Rachel: do you want to be left alone?

Steph didn't answer that, which proved to be enough of an answer by itself.

 The Culmination Fire died suddenly in the night, and by the time Steph left for the school the next day, the air quality was almost back to normal. At the very least, Steph didn't have to come on stage and announce that audience members with asthma or other breathing difficulties would be given tickets for next week or full refunds if they wanted to leave. Steph kept herself busy constantly, and for most of the day she felt normal, no time to think of Rachel when Prospera was the one needing attention. They were never alone long enough to have a conversation that wasn't immediately about the play, and Steph biked off by herself during lunch time.

And that is how, on this ashy-gray Sunday afternoon, Steph ended up getting her lunch at the Two Whales diner only seconds before Chloe Price walked through the door.

Steph anticipated dread when she ran into Chloe again, but to her surprise, it didn't feel any different than the other few times they'd seen each other on campus.

"Hey Steph, what's up?" Chloe asked, sliding into the other side of the booth as if they'd planned to meet up. "Heard your cast's been crushing it."

Steph smirked. "Oh, they have. Maybe not quite as hard as Friday, but our troupe isn't slouching. The Tempest's script, on the other hand . . ."

"Pff, yeah, that thing is, uh, and don't tell the Bard I said this but, it's kind of a mess."

Chloe had dyed her hair since they talked on Friday - just a streak of blue among the blonde, like Rachel's feather earring. It looked goofy, but cute. She'd come in wearing a beanie but dropped it on the table, making them look a little less like the lead members of an alternative girl band together, if not by much.

Steph quirked her eyebrows, bemused. "This - coming from the girl who learned like a dozen lines in a few minutes and improv'd her way into the Beacon and Totem? You sure seemed to jive with the mess."

Chloe leaned back in the booth, pleased at the praise. "I guess it's just in my nature to surprise people. For instance, Principal Wells? Not the happiest dude when it turned out I was reppin' Blackwell on the front page the same day he kicked me out. The message he left my Mom was . . ." she pressed her fingers close to her lips as if she were holding a joint and inhaled, then let out a dreamy sigh. "Epic. Totally worth the expulsion."

Steph snickered, taking a bite of her food. Chloe's eyes very obviously followed her hands down to her plate, begging for fries without asking for them.

Steph took the hint and said, "Here, how about as a thank-you for saving my ass, I buy you lunch?

"Deal," Chloe replied without hesitation. Grinning, she leaned back forward in her seat and stuck her hand out of the booth. "Yo, Mom!" she called.

One of the waitresses, a middle-aged blonde woman with the red-purple bags under the eyes of an insomniac, approached the table with an already-irritated, "Yes, Chloe?"

Chloe gestured across the table. "This lovely lady would like to treat me to lunch, for which I'll have chicken tenders, please."

The waitress - Joyce, her name tag said - put her hands on her hips and turned to Steph. "Now, is my daughter extorting you or is these chicken tenders given of your own free will?"

Steph held her hands up, as if surrendering. "Hey, Chloe deserves a lunch for saving The Tempest. I don't suppose you got a chance to see her in action?"

"I didn't even know she could act," Joyce replied with a scathing look, Chloe smiling back innocently. "But I'm glad she helped out. Maybe that'll make Mr. Wells think twice about his decision to expel her."

She sighed wearily, then said, "But chicken tenders, got it. It's nice to meet you . . .?"

"Steph. Stephanie Gingrich. It's nice to meet you too."

"Hello Stephanie, I'm Joyce. And I'll be right back."

As Joyce walked away, Chloe's attention rounded back to Steph. There were a few seconds of pause while Steph glanced around the diner, but Chloe brought her back with a sudden, "So, how did things go with Rachel?" Steph's blood ran cold. "Did you shoot your shot or what?"

"A-are you serious?" Steph asked, dumbfounded.

Is she insensitive as hell or just stupid? What?

Chloe blinked, surprised. "Uuhh?" she asked, sitting forward in her seat again. "I mean, yeah . . . you made it seem like you were really itching to do it, so I figured you would this weekend . . . while you've been around her so much."

Steph had a growing suspicion she had made a terrible mistake. "Aren't you . . . dating her?"

Now Chloe looked even more confused. "What? No . . . didn't we already have this conversation on Friday?"

"But . . ." Steph tried to pull all the disparate details, all the things that absolutely confirmed to her that they had been dating. "But, the play. That improv wasn't just in-character, that was you two talking. It was, like - fuck dude, it was seriously romantic. And then you two walked to the cast party together, like . . . like . . ."

Steph faltered as Chloe's face changed from 'I'm confused' to 'Are you an idiot?' Steph had watched Chloe give that face to almost everyone, but she hadn't ever had it directed at her. It was just a look, but it stung.

Chloe glanced down at the table for a second, clearing her expression, then back up at Steph. "Dude, what? That wasn't Rachel asking me out, that was her offering to run away with me."

What.

"Why . . . what?"

Chloe said, "Look, I don't really want to get into details or anything, but things have been . . . shit for me at home recently. For Rachel, too. I ran away from home for a few days and her family kind of took me in. That's why I was wearing, like, that jacket that was three sizes too small, and why I needed to go to the dorms. We walked to the party together to talk about running away but we didn't, like, do it. Running was only going to make our problems worse."

"I . . ."

Fuck!!

Steph pushed her plate into the center of the table so she could just drop her face straight onto the table. "I'm so fucking stupid!" she groaned. She hit her head once more in agitation. When she looked up, it all came out in a rush: "I thought you were wearing her jacket because you like, stayed the night. Like, stayed the night not had a fucking sleepover. And the whole improvised bit looked and sounded so much like a proposal it was like you two were about ready to just, start a life together or something. I - fuck!" Steph clutched the sides of her head. "I'm dumb! And I've been avoiding Rachel all weekend because of it!"

Chloe looked overwhelmed and doe-eyed, but all that came out of her mouth was a scoff: "Dude, what?"

Steph didn't have an immediate answer, and before she could think of anything to say, Joyce swooped in and dropped a basket of chicken tenders in front of Chloe. It distracted Chloe long enough for her to say, "Oh, hey, can I get barbecue and ranch, please?"

Her mother rolled her eyes and said, "I'll be right back," before continuing her loop around the diner.

Chloe took a minute to shove some fries in her mouth before remembering that they were having a conversation. She wiped her fingers on a napkin and said, "Alright, Steph, so. After Friday I was under the impression you were like, really good at communication and stuff, but it looks like you totally over-thought this into a problem that didn't need to be a problem. Even if our scene was like, kind of romantic or whatever, and even if she does like me back at all, it still seems like you should talk to her about it instead of . . . whatever you've been doing."

Chloe gave an abashed smile that quickly disappeared. "Weird advice, coming from me, I know, but seriously."

Steph's head was still cradled in her hands, but at least she was looking across the table instead of actively self-destructing. "So you do like her?" she asked.

"I'm only human," Chloe replied with a shrug and another fleeting smile. "But right now, I think she needs a friend more than . . . something else. From me, at least."

Steph shook her head. "I may be an idiot, but if you think she just wants to be your friend, so are you."

"I know," Chloe replied, like an admission of guilt.

Chloe turned to her food, and Steph took a minute to herself, to self-flagellate over how badly she'd fucked up and how it would be no wonder if Rachel's interest in her vanished like Steph had vanished on her. Whether or not Rachel would ever return her feelings, though, wasn't the point anymore. She had a friendship to salvage.

  Steph: hey Rachel. I ran into Chloe during my lunch and I realized I totally blew it. After the play Friday night I thought you two were together and I thought you were just going to explain why you'd decided to go out with Chloe. I made everything in my head a way bigger deal than it was and I've been acting like a dick. I got so caught up in my version of what was going on I didn't even try to talk to you and that was so, so stupid, and I'm really sorry. I don't know how you feel about me or Chloe, but I know I really want to be your friend and be supportive.

Rachel texted back less than a minute later.

Rachel: steph, you are deep down kind of an idiot. but i get it. Rachel: im with my mom right now and its not a great time to talk but can we please talk later?

Steph: yeah, of course. I'll see you at the next show.

Steph sighed as she put her phone away.

"Wha'she say?" Chloe asked through a mouthful of food.

"Just that she wants to talk," Steph replied, leaning back in her seat, now resigned.

Chloe swallowed her food so she could talk properly and said, "Well, that doesn't sound like you've totally screwed the pooch. Maybe there's hope for you yet."

Steph shrugged, then said, "Well . . . thanks Chloe. For the heads-up. This could have gone worse, amazingly."

"No problem," she said, waving away the thanks. "I make a great supporting character."

Steph and Chloe both snorted.

After a short pause, Chloe said, "Hey, wait, don't you have to be back at the school like . . . now? The next show starts at 4:00, right?"

"WHAT?!"

Steph pulled out her phone and checked the time. Sure enough, it was 3:20, and she was supposed to have been back at the school five minutes ago at the latest.

"OhmyfuckinggodyouhavetobekiddingmehowamIthisbigofanidiotI'lldie-"

"Steph, yo, chill," Chloe interrupted. "Just get the check and I'll give you a ride."

Steph stared at Chloe with anxious befuddlement. "Since when . . . do you have a car?" Steph had literally seen Chloe get dropped off at school on Friday.

Chloe shrugged. "I kind of fixed up an old junker yesterday; it's mine now. You've had your tetanus shot, right?"

Steph didn't like the sound of that question.

 The conversation with Rachel was much more 'Rachel talking about what was going on with her' than Steph had anticipated, and very little on why she was turning Steph down. As soon as they got into things, though, Steph just felt embarrassed and ashamed for putting another thing on her when she already had so much going on. She had just found out her mom wasn't her biological mother a few days ago, and that her father withheld her mother's e-mails and letters because she abandoned her as a toddler. She had been a heroin addict during the 1990s opioid epidemic, and although she had assured and re-assured Rachel's dad for years that she was clean now, she had respected his wishes to keep her away from Rachel. That was, at least, until this past week.

When Steph had asked her about the whole 'running away with Chloe thing', she talked about how she and Chloe met for the first time on Tuesday, about Chloe's mom's boyfriend moving in against her wishes, and how Rachel had asked her parents to take Chloe in for a while. How they only treated her nicely until she revealed she knew about Rachel's bio mom, and how Rachel's dad flipped on her and treated her like a street rat. Rachel nervously confessed how she had found Chloe, and Chloe had found her just in time for their lives to fall apart, and for them to be there for each other when they did.

Steph had been so caught up in her own life, and all the stuff going on with Mikey and Drew and their dad, it hadn't occurred to her how much could be going on outside of what she could see. She always felt like she could see things more clearly than other people, could see how pieces fit together - it was why she made a good stage manager, why she was a good artist. But there were some things she couldn't just piece together from context.

Rachel said she wasn't ready for a relationship right now, and Steph admitted she wasn't ready to date Rachel, that she didn't know her well enough to make a good girlfriend. They agreed they wanted to get to know each other better, and hugged each other tight, and that was it for a while.

Once The Tempest was over, Steph thought she'd have more free time to spend with Rachel, but as classes began to ramp up into finals and Rachel spent more lunches and weekends off with Chloe, they saw each other less for a while. At first that made her sad, but Rachel kept coming back happier, shining brighter than she did before.

Chloe and Steph started to hang out more, too. Chloe's de facto step father, David, proved to be an anthropomorphized kick in the pants, nevermind one of the most pro-authority bootlickers Steph ever had the displeasure of meeting, so Chloe showed up more and more at Blackwell to pick Steph up from the dorms and go for a drive.

Somewhere down the line from watching Bladerunner together and shitting on dudes from 4chan, the two of them realized their mutual love for cyberpunk and deep disdain for most men who professed to like cyberpunk. Mikey and Drew were not those men, though, so sometime in the middle of May the four of them started up a game of Shadowrun after bidding farewell to Calimastia and Elamon. After Chloe's ork street samurai, Mikey's elf mage, and Drew's human decker pulled off their first run, Chloe and Steph managed to peer pressure Rachel into joining as well. She showed up with a dryad shaman and, to no one's surprise, she and Chloe quickly dominated the roleplaying part of the game, although with very different angles (re: their characters were like, super mean to each other).

And this is how, the game night after school let out for the summer, Steph, Chloe, and Rachel ended up bringing backpacks full of homework to the fire ring next to Arcadia Bay's light house. There they drank beer Rachel managed to flirt into her possession and lit the past year on fire, cursing it and all of the shit it had brought them. They all drank too much and Chloe needed an hour or two to be sober enough to drive, so they ended up sitting on the beach, watching the waves roll in and out and the moonlight glimmer over the restless ocean. Chloe, as she often did after drinking, opened up a little, talked about her old friend Max, who had loved pirates and photographs, the girl she'd thought would become her high school sweet heart and marry, but they'd never even kissed and then she fucking left. And she turned petty to keep from turning sad and said how annoying it was that she'd never kissed a girl, didn't even know what it was like.

"It's easy," Steph told her, and held the side of her face as she kissed her.

Chloe was too stunned to even kiss back at first, but she got on her knees and turned so they could face each other properly, and the kiss was rough and they were a little drunk but it was warm and good. It was cute - Rachel even gave a little 'aww' - until Chloe's hand dropped high up on Steph's thigh and she squeezed and Steph moaned into their kiss.

Eventually, Rachel said, "Um, guys?" and they realized what they were doing, and Chloe laughed but Steph was crimson, invisible though it might be in the night.

Steph got dropped off at home first and tried her best to be quiet, but Meiser wouldn't stop barking after she got through the door and she had to shush him and feed him until he went back to bed. She fell asleep still half-clothed and exhausted, but woke up for the first time at 5:30am to a new text message from Rachel.

Rachel: hey, steph? chloe and i kind of just had sex and im having a lot of confusing feelings. Rachel: but i want to talk to both of you tomorrow, or this weekend at least Rachel: i like you and i just want a chance to talk to you both before this one thing makes a decision for me

Steph was jealous, of course. Insanely jealous. Rabidly jealous. But she was more sleepy than even that, so she fell back asleep without sending a reply.

She didn't wake up again until almost 1:00pm, and by then she had several more messages.

Rachel: just lmk when youre up and OK to talk? Rachel: i hope youre not mad at me

And from Chloe.

Chloe: Hey dude i'm really sorry if i kinda... escalated that kissing situation last night esp. when we were drunk.

Steph decided it was best to hold off replying until she'd had breakfast and coffee. Thus, it was almost 2:00pm when she texted them both.

Steph: heya Chloe. it's honestly okay. i liked it, but we don't need to make a thing of it, it was just nice.

Steph: hey Rachel. idk what type of conversation you're looking to have, but last night was weird and i'm not mad. i'm jealous, for sure, but, like, who you have sex with is none of my business.

Whatever else happened, she wasn't going to let this blow up her friendships. She'd been steeling herself against the possibility of Rachel and Chloe getting together this whole time, and she wasn't going to freak out again if that's how today ended. These friendships were new, but they mattered to her, and she'd fight for them.

 Chloe showed up at Steph's house first, to her surprise, so they hung out downstairs and absolutely did not talk about what was son their minds. Instead, they played Super Smash Brothers and waited, even holding back on the smack talk because they were both fragile at the moment and they knew it. Even when Rachel finally arrived, they just switched to Mario Kart Wii and continued to avoid the conversation for a good hour.

Eventually, though, Rachel would not let this stand any further.

After they finished their third 150cc cup, Rachel set her controller down and said, "Guys? We need to talk."

Steph winced. Even if that was the reason why they were here, those were precisely the words she didn't want to hear. Nonetheless, she shut off the Wii and TV. Rachel patted the ground in front of her, and Chloe slipped from Steph's couch to the ground beside her. Steph followed suit, crossing her legs then dropping into her self-made seat.

How do you even start a conversation like this?

Rachel took a deep breath. "First, I just want to acknowledge that we were drinking last night, and things got a little messy and I may have things kind of askew in my head. But the thing is, on my end at least . . . I liked how last night went."

Chloe glanced between them. Her jaw was set and tense, like she was grinding her teeth, her brow furrowed. She asked, "What are you . . . referring to?"

Rachel brushed her hair behind her ear. "Well, um. I told Steph that we . . . were together last night. And I liked that. But I liked all of it. Like, when you two kissed," she tapped her finger-tips together, as if to mimic their kiss, "- that was pretty nice. And just. The whole thing."

"I thought that made you really uncomfortable?" Steph asked, puzzled. 

Rachel shook her head. "No, not, uh, exactly. I thought it was cool, I just . . . maybe liked it too much and I thought that might go weird places."

It took a few seconds to Rachel's meaning to sink it, but it clicked into place with an, "Oh," from Steph.

Rachel started speaking faster now, "Yeah, and I liked it but I also felt pretty jealous because I'd never kissed either of you and that did go kind of weird places," she gave Chloe a pointed glance, but Chloe clearly didn't know how to emote in response.

Visibly uncomfortable, Chloe asked, "Rachel . . . what are you trying to say?"

Rachel put her head in her hands and rocked back and forth for a few seconds, collecting her thoughts. Then she said, "Look, I know that I like both of you. I've known that the whole time, I just . . . I thought I had to decide who I really like or I was going to fuck everything up. But I think going about things that way is where I'm fucking up. I think I just have to tell you both that I like you and I want to know if that is a thing that could be okay with you."

Steph blinked, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place. "Wait, are you saying you want to date Chloe and me?"

Rachel nodded vigorously, visibly relieved that Steph had put it into words. "I do. I know we've only been hanging out together for a few weeks but I really like this. I'd just like to . . . add some stuff. Like. Kissing and having sex . . . please."

Steph was dumbstruck. She wasn't repulsed or anything, she just had absolutely not expected the conversation to go this place and had not been prepared in the slightest. She hadn't even pictured this as a possibility. She wasn't even sure it was a possibility. How do you date two people concurrently?

Chloe raised her hand as she were in a classroom, and Rachel nodded at her. Chloe said, "Yeah, well, if Steph's into it, I am. I like you - you know that. I'm willing to talk about it, at least."

How is it that easy for her? What? 

Rachel's attention turned back to Steph, and she made her nervous hair-brush tic again. "Steph?"

"I . . . I have no idea," Steph said, making a huge shrug. "I don't know what this would look like. Dates, hangouts, holidays - what would any of it look like? And what would Chloe and I be to each other then?"

"I dunno, friends?" Rachel said, shrugging in response. "Or . . . you could also . . ." she made another gesture like she had for their kiss, but more tentatively. She was blushing bright red, somehow more embarrassed about whatever she was trying to say now than all the bold stuff she'd already said.

"Also?" Steph asked. "Kiss? Or . . . date?" She grew increasingly perplexed with each question.

Rachel nodded again, tiny, nervous nods. Steph didn't think she'd ever seen her this meek about something, and knew she was stumbling into something Rachel wanted, but didn't know how to say.

Steph started to get caught in the same bog of embarrassment as Rachel. "I don't . . . think Chloe would be into dat-" but something about the way Chloe was looking at her gave her pause, and silence reigned for a moment.

"D-do you?" Steph finally stuttered out.

Chloe scratched the back of her head and replied, quiet, her voice mostly vocal fry: "I'd be down . . . if you are." When Steph just blinked at her, Chloe continued, more confidently, "You're like, really dorky and cute and hot, dude. Why do you think I was so into our kiss last night?"

"Because . . . because . . . we were drunk and . . ." Steph blinked dumbly for a few seconds, then just dropped onto her back. "BECAUSE I'M DUMB, OKAY?"

Today was too much. This whole conversation was entirely too much.

Eventually, from the floor Steph said, "Look, okay, yes. I like you both differently but I know if you asked separately I'd totally say yes. But is there like, a manual, or . . . something? I don't know what to do with the idea of two girlfriends."

"Actually," Rachel said with a self-conscious chuckle, "I kind of . . . was looking it up on my phone in the middle of the night, and there's like, a whole relationship-help genre for polyamorous people, and I was thinking if you two said 'yes' we could maybe buy some and read them together?"

Steph let out the longest sigh and then, "You're serious, aren't you?"

Rachel said, "I am."

"Chloe?"

"Hm?"

"I don't have a lot of date ideas yet, but if you're going to be sleeping over as often as you have been, we should . . . do that."

"Works for me."

Rachel scooted into Steph's field of view, raising up a finger for attention. She asked, "Steph?

"Yeah?"

"You and I are the only ones who haven't kissed yet. Would you mind if we did?"

Everything was already so crazy. And if there was any part of this that would make all the crazy feel worthwhile . . . maybe that was it. "Sure," she said. "Like, yes."

And Rachel leaned over and kissed her gently, sweetly, her curtain of hair falling over the both of them, blotting out everything but that long, lovely kiss.

When it ended, Rachel whispered, "Girlfriends?"

"Girlfriends," Steph whispered back, her voice filled with wonder.

[forlornmelody]

Spare Parts--Chapter 4

Rating: M (this might change later)

Ship: FemShep Clone/Maya Brooks

AO3 Links: Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4

Summary:  Cerberus wants Shepard’s clone dead. Hope Lillium wants the clone to replace Shepard. The reapers want to exterminate her along with the rest of the galaxy. No one asks what the clone wants–and even she isn’t sure if she has the right to ask. But she asks that question every day.

Notes: Hoo boy. I hope you all weren’t expecting a happy-go-lucky healthy relationship, because this fic ain’t it. 

The Clone enrolls at a commando training center. Her classmates differ from the picture the vids paint. These Asari lack wisdom and grace, and they’re not constantly trying to get into her pants or her mind, as the Extranet discourse would suggest. Their skin varies in shade, and they come in all heights and sizes, but the Clone’s classmates all have one thing in common: their biotics all surpass hers.

When she’s upset or angry, the clone can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She smells the metallic tang of eezo in her nostrils, tastes it on her tongue. If she’s not thinking about it, sometimes the Clone can make a coffee cup rattle. One time she shattered a vase. Now? When she wants to use her biotics? Nothing. Well, not exactly.

Their instructor, Nessa Tandros demonstrates a biotic pull. The glass rises gracefully in the air without spilling a drop of the water inside it. It’s only when Tandros looks directly at her and gestures with her hand that the Clone realizes she’s being called upon to join in the exercise. “Ana Fields?” Tandros frowns. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

If only, the Clone thinks as she moves to the front of the room. She tries to raise the glass like the instructor did, and nothing happens. Doing her best to remember what the biotics feel like, the Clone manages to make the glass rattle, and spill the water a little. Her classmates snicker softly.

“Mm. Perhaps we can work on this after class Miss Fi—“ Tandros gasps as the glass shatters against the ceiling.

Her classmates erupt into laughter. The clone’s cheeks grow hot as she stares at her hands. She’s too stunned to feel angry at the prospect of cleaning their training area for the next week. Even though the clone hears the sniggers and whispers behind her back after her ‘accident,’ she can’t help but feel proud of her accomplishment. Let her fellow students make fun of her—she’ll show them exactly what she’s made of.

One classmate starts up a conversation a few days later as they drill biotic pulls.

“My name’s Dreya.” She pulls the box with one lift of her index finger, though it wobbles in the air. “What brings you to Hayeiana?”

Keeping her eyes on the box, ‘Ana’ mutters her reply. “I want to improve my biotics.” The box wobbles, but remains firmly planted on the table in front of them.

“Clearly.” Dreya murmurs dryly, scooting closer. “Here, let me.” She grab’s the Clone’s wrist, steadying her hand, and the box. Her blue fingers slide across her palm, outlining the muscles connected to the nodules.

Ana gasps, and moves without thinking. Five heartbeats later Dreya’s arms are pretzeled behind her, and the Clone has the Asari’s face pressed against the table. “What the hell--?” Dreya starts to hiss, but Tandros interrupts them both.

“Impressive, for a human.”

Ana drops Dreya’s arms, stepping back. She realizes belatedly that she had never been in danger. Asari are sensual, touch-driven—the implants finally inform her. Her classmate’s grasp had been a gesture of help—possibly something else.

Tandros grasps Ana’s shoulder so firmly it hurts. “But hand to hand training will not start til next week.”

Feeling the stares of the entire classroom, Ana nods.

Releasing her grip, Tandros adds, “I think you’ll make an excellent Vanguard, Miss Fields.” It’s the same class as Jane Shepard. Should the Clone be elated or disappointed? She isn’t sure.

Watching Tandros return to the other side of the room, Dreya moves to the other side of the table, putting it between them. “What was that for?” She whispers fiercely.

“You grabbed me.”

“I was trying to help!”

Nodding, Ana answers softly. “I know.” This fails to satisfy her partner, and so she adds with a small smile, “Could you show me again?” She holds out her hand.

Dreya returns to her side. “Are all humans this high strung?” She hesitates, then grasps Ana’s hand a second time.

The Clone shrugs, concentrating on the direction Dreya’s fingers pull her skin. She takes a breath, smelling something fruity on the Asari’s skin. Do they all smell so nice? Ana lifts her fingers, imagining the static on the back of her neck traveling down her arms. The box lurches.

“Whoa! Easy. Not so much.” Dreya’s grip tightens, and Ana relaxes her muscles. The box rattles slightly as it drops back onto the table. Her breath tickles the Clone’s ears. “Wow, you really are a Vanguard.”

It takes countless tries, but eventually, the Clone can pull the box without breaking it against the ceiling, or herself. Her shoulder aches, and her stomach growls angrily at her.

Dreya tosses her a protein bar. “Say…why don’t we hang out sometime?”

The Clone itches to leave the confines of this facility, and the apartment she shares with Hope. Though she’s only seen glimpses of Hayeiana through the windows of the skycar she takes to training, the Cone knows Serrice is beautiful and she wants to see more of it. She nods.

“How about tonight?”

Ana’s mouth drops open before she can reply. Hope has scheduled an appointment with Rana to check her implants. She knows by now about the Clone’s outbursts, and she wants to fine tune the work the scientist has done. Last night the Clone looked up cybernetic implants on the Extranet, and she shudders, remembering how graphic the procedures described. Getting to know Dreya sounds far more pleasant. Nodding, she replies. “I’d like that.”

It’s her first act of disobedience.

She sneaks in through their bedroom window, after hours spent at the arcade with Dreya. The Clone is breathless, and full of warmth. All of the vids in the world failed to describe how much fun a few games could be—especially when she won. Tempering the warmth is the cold feeling that she…she went against Hope’s wishes. Another part, darker, quieter, and farther inside reminds her that Hope won’t have to find out.

Just as she closes the window behind her, the lights switch on. The Clone shields her eyes as she feels her heart race.

“You missed our appointment.”Hope stares her down, leaning against the opposite wall, her finger still on the switch.

The Clone remembers her lesson. “What appointment?”

Hope’s eyes flash and her voice rises. “You know what appointment!” She steps closer with each word. “Where were you?”

She lies a second time. “Wiping down the mats took longer today.” The Clone tries to will her heart to slow. Surely Hope can hear it pounding through her chest.

Hope brings up her omni tool, keying in a couple commands. “Then why do I have footage of you three kilometers away?”

The security footage is grainy, but there’s no mistaking her dyed-brown hair and curious eyes, walking down the corridors with an Asari at her hip. Her cheeks flush, betraying her. “That isn’t me.”

Hope’s nostrils flare. The Clone’s implants scream in warning, but she still doesn’t see the slap coming until it slams across her face. “Don’t ever lie to me.”

Her eyes ache and she feels something wet forming at the corners. Tears. Why is she crying?

Hope seems surprised too. Her eyes widen as her hand falls to her side. She turns abruptly, ducking into the bathroom, and returning with a damp cloth and a tube of medigel. Brushing the blood from the cut on the Clone’s face, she says softly, “Everything I do, I do to make you better. Stronger. Invulnerable.”

“Then why do you hide me here?” The Clone shifts on her feet, craving and dreading Hope’s touch at the same time. “How am I supposed to be better if I’m tucked away as soon as my training sessions end?”

The medigel is cool on her skin, and the pain numbs almost immediately. “You’re not ready yet.”

“You teaching me to infiltrate!” The Clone clenches her fists. “I’m infiltrating!”

“You were to remain inconspicuous.” Hope’s voice remains the same volume as always, but it shakes with fury. The Clone has never seen her so angry. “This is far from it.” Hope’s fingers linger on her skin. “Promise me you will break it off.” It’s the first time Hope ever asks anything of her, rather than giving her orders. The Clone isn’t sure what to feel about it.

“I promise.” It’s the first lie she ever tells her.

[lorawinters]

Grown-Ups-- a personal essay

On a rainy October night, my tiny dorm bedroom is lit by only the golden glow of the lamp on my desk and the flashes of Young Frankenstein dancing against the faces of my boyfriend, Stefan, and me. It’s a Tuesday; the only day of the week Stefan can make the drive up from Meadville to my tiny dorm room and spend the night before waking up at five in the morning to go to work. We sit on my bed, too warm to climb under my spider-web quilt; I lay on my back as Stefan rubs my tummy, aware that pain killers had done nothing to assuage the cramps I had been experiencing all day. I hated to be wearing my glasses, but I would never give up a chance to see Gene Wilder’s crazed eyes in a Mel Brooks film in high definition.

Stefan is ten years older than I. He and I were aware we were going to get a lot of crap for the discrepancy in our ages, being 31 and 21, respectively. We have fun with it and even take joy in the looks on people’s faces when they see us together. On one side stands a six-foot-one man with dark red hair and blue-green eyes; beside him, a small girl with pigtails covered head to toe in black, dressed perfectly for a funeral. Except we’re in a bagel shop or a grocery store, laughing while Stefan makes stupid jokes only I would find funny.

Our friends, through whom we had met, are possibly the least capable of comprehending our relationship. They, of course, are also adults, nearly each of them married, paired perfectly with one another, only one or two of them single. For some reason, Stefan and I always end up holding ourselves up to compare with those friends.  At least as far as we can tell, they have their lives together. They have houses, and careers, and cats. Us, not so much. Stefan is 31, divorced and his car is falling apart at the seams. I am a 21-year-old college student with not much life experience to speak of.

Stefan is a human space heater, and the heat of his hands does wonders on my abdomen. I’m just entering the realm of being sleepy when he says, “So John wanted us to come to this haunted house with him and Ellen.” I turn my head to face him, my face perking up at the prospect of going to a haunted house. “I told him we couldn’t because we already had plans to go see the Halloween parade,” I’m ready to tell him I would gladly skip the parade to go to a haunted house. “Besides, with me house-sitting this weekend, I can’t really go that far away anyhow.”

“Oh well,” I say, “It was nice of him to offer, though. Maybe we can hang out with them some other time.”

“Yeah that’s what he said, too. He said we should figure out a day to hang out.”

John and Ellen are possibly our favorite couple on the planet. At nearly forty, they have their shit together. They both work for the post office, Ellen in the sorting room, John out and about delivering. Ellen once spent a year teaching English in China. John loves to talk to me about his videogames, being aware that I have an interest in them and Ellen does not. John was Ellen’s first kiss, her first boyfriend, her first everything. They’re more like a separate set of parents, really. I’ve always seen Bear (John’s nickname) as a sort of Dad. He’s about forty years old and he gives me the biggest hug a human is capable of when he sees me. If I have an event, he and Ellen are the first ones to be there to support me. Ellen has behaved like a mother figure to the both of us. Before Stefan and I were seeing each other, she had been trying to fix him up with women she knew. When she found out that I was about to experience my first Edinboro winter without proper winter boots, she took the initiative to go out and buy them. They are probably the adultiest adults I can think of.

So when I hear they want to hang out outside our usual friend group, my eyes light up. “Bear wants to double date with us?” Stefan nods. “You know that this means, don’t you,” I sit up to raise my hands in the air, bringing them down in a hug as I speak, “We’re real adults! The Grown Ups want to hang out with us!” We’re no longer viewed as children to them. We no longer need them to keep us alive, we have each other to make sure of that.

“Hooray!” Stefan cheers. “We’re real grown-ups!

We hug and laugh as Gene Wilder screams “It’s aliiiivvvee!!”  We behave as though we are kids who have just been told we are no longer required to sit at the children’s table at Thanksgiving dinner. But maybe, just maybe, we are adults. Stefan certainly is, by most standards. But I’m stuck somewhere on that smudged line. I have some bills and I have a job I hate, but I also have no problem watching The Magic School Bus by myself in my room, and I giggle when someone says the word “boobs.” I have always thought of adulthood as this lofty goal to be dreaded. As though growing up was the death of my soul. I never noticed when I became an adult, but somehow over time, I started to see little signs that I was on the edge of it.

I have always been terrified of adulthood. Being a Grown Up certainly hadn’t done my father any favors. He was always worrying about work, about how to make sure my brother and I ate at night. I was raised with this negative view of Growing Up. One day, probably on a birthday, you woke up and POOF! you were a Grown Up with a mortgage, a job you hate, coworkers who drive you crazy, and distant friends you are just too tired to talk to anymore. But as I began to toe that line of child and adult, Stefan and I figured out a balance between the two.

One of Stefan and I’s favorite activities is probably to go out together, into the world and run errands as though we are true Grown Ups. On any given Saturday morning, we get into Stefan’s beat-up beige Pontiac, shopping list in hand, and off we go.  On our way, we talk about all our normal activities, Dungeons and Dragons, movies, theatre, comic books, etc. Once we pull into the Aldi parking lot, we grab a quarter out of the change-laden compartment between us and get a shopping cart. Stefan hates grocery shopping, he often jokes that he is merely there to drive me back and forth.

“I can’t just let you walk, there’s weirdos out there waiting to take a cutie like you,” he jokes, tousling my hair and kissing me on the cheek.

“Only because I’m small and can’t fight back. I may be easy to take, but I’ve got a big enough mouth that I’m even easier to return.” We both laugh, knowing I’m right. But as we peruse the aisles, and he is both my muscle and my height, lifting cases of soda from shelves below, and cartons of heavy cream from the top of the refrigerator. As I’m collecting the ingredients for dinner tonight, Stefan grabs other little things he knows we’re low on, milk, eggs, powdered sugar. We eventually get to the checkout line and we split the cost. It looks a bit uneven, I have more items on the belt than he, but I’ve stuck him with buying the meat so I know it’ll even out.

Once everything is packed up in the back seat of the Pontiac, we head to Dollar General. While Stefan is off searching for dryer sheets (which I insist he doesn’t really need), I’ve been overtaken with joy at the cheap seasonal items on display. By the time he’s come back, I am silently laughing at a light-up cup with a curly straw wrapped around the outside. The look on my face is pure joy, the face of a little girl who actually got that pony from Santa. Stefan picked up one of the cups from the shelf and flipped it over to take a look at the price. Four Dollars; I know because I looked briefly before resuming my hopping up and down. After glancing at the bottom of the cup, Stefan put the cup back, picked out one he liked, and spun me around toward the counter. “Come on,” he said, “we’re getting them.” And that night, we eat chicken Florentine and drink wine out of those cups.

[artificialqueens]

The Little Vampire (Branjie)- athena2

Vampire Vanessa meets human Brooke and their relationship develops over the years. Loosely inspired by The Little Vampire. So I’ve been in a vampire/Halloween mood lately, and came up with this idea. I did change a lot from the movie, so you don’t need to have seen it to read this. It’s a little weird, but it’s essentially a fluffy friends to lovers fic with some minor vampire details.

I would really appreciate any feedback you have!

—

Brooke’s new room is too dark.

Despite the glow of her kitty-shaped lamp, the room is black as the midnight sky outside, shadows creeping along her walls. Brooke watches as they sway. Maybe they’re ghosts, or vampires, or witches, or–her mom told her they’re only shadows and the rest is her imagination. Even so, she’s sure someone is watching her.

She tugs the blanket up to her chin, holds her stuffed elephant against her chest, and closes her eyes. Please let me fall asleep, please let me fall asleep. She’s hardly slept at all the whole week since her family moved here, tossing and turning as the old house creaked and waking from nightmares where vampires flew by her window.

Something rustles against the window. Her eyes snap open. A long shadow curves outside, growing so that it devours the pale moonlight, surely on its way to devour her. It’s just my imagination. It’s just–the window rises with a squeak. Brooke’s heart starts pounding. A hand slides in and rests on her window pane, and Brooke squeezes her eyes shut as something thumps onto her floor.

“Whoa! Who are you?” A rough voice asks.

Brooke opens her eyes. Standing in her room, with her mouth wide open, is a girl. Brooke can just make out her all-black clothes and long brown hair in the lamplight. And are those–she squints–bat wings?

“Who are you?” The girl asks again, inching closer.

Brooke retreats into the corner of her bed and pulls the sheets over her head. “It’s just my imagination,” she says out loud, hoping her words will make it true.

“Did I scare you? Don’t be scared, it’s okay. I’m not your imagination, I promise.”

The girl hasn’t hurt her yet, and Brooke reasons that she probably would have done so already if she wanted to. She cautiously emerges from her blankets. The girl is smiling at her, and Brooke’s heart slows, warmth spreading deep in her stomach. She notices the wings are gone. Maybe she just imagined those too. But Brooke’s room is on the second floor; how else could she have gotten here?

“Did you just move in?”

Brooke nods.

“Oh. I come here to rest when I’m out at night sometimes. This house used to be empty. I’m Vanessa.”

“I-I’m Brooke.”

“How old are you?”

“Seven.”

“Me too!” Vanessa’s grin is wider than her face, and Brooke can’t help but smile too.

“Are you…are you a vampire?” Brooke asks, something about Vanessa making her brave enough to ask. “My mom says they’re not real.”

“I’m real,” Vanessa says. “You can even touch me and see if you want.” She reaches her arm out to Brooke, slowly, like you would to a fearful animal whose affection you wanted to win. Brooke touches her fingers to Vanessa’s cool skin and feels a tingle go through her arm all the way to her toes.

“You’re real,” Brooke confirms.

“I ain’t gonna kill you, if you’re worried about that. My family only drinks animal blood.”

Brooke nods. Maybe it’s her overactive imagination, or her young mind that hasn’t yet been dulled by adulthood, but Vanessa’s confession doesn’t startle her in the slightest.

“Does your elephant have a name?” Vanessa asks suddenly, pointing to the stuffed animal Brooke’s had since she was a baby, fur smooth from providing comfort to her worried fingers over the years.

“Peanut.”

“That’s cute. I have a stuffed wolf named Shadow.”

Brooke laughs, trying to keep it quiet so she doesn’t wake her parents downstairs.

“I should probably go,” Vanessa says, glancing over at Brooke’s clock. “You got school tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Brooks sighs, already dreading what would await her.

“‘Kay, bye,” Vanessa waves as she heads toward the window.

“Will you come back?” Brooke asks, hoping the answer is yes. Somehow she had talked to Vanessa this whole time without her stomach knotting in fear, and she can’t help but think how nice it would be to have a friend.

“Yeah,” Vanessa grins. “I think I will.”

—

Brooke gazes out her window hopefully every night after that, but it’s 13 days before Vanessa crawls into her room again. This time, Brooke sees her wings before she retracts them, midnight-black with thin scarlet webbing in between, and she knows it’s not her imagination.

“Hey,” Vanessa says, voice casual, and Brooke holds back her excitement at having a friend, returning the greeting with a small smile rather than the ear-to-ear grin she feels inside.

“We could talk, right?” Vanessa asks. She sits in Brooke’s desk chair and Brooke knows she belongs there, like her room is a puzzle and Vanessa being there is the last piece to make the picture.

“Yeah. My parents are downstairs, so I don’t think they’ll hear us.”

“Okay, coo-”

“What’s it like to be a vampire?” Brooke blurts, unable to hide her curiosity another second, face growing hot. “Sorry.”

Vanessa laughs softly, and Brooke has a feeling she’s holding back her real laugh to stay quiet. “You’re okay. It’s pretty cool. I don’t have to sleep much, just a little during the day, and I get to fly around at night, and my parents teach me on their own so I don’t have to go to school or anything.”

“Lucky,” Brooke mutters.

“What’s it like to be human?” Vanessa inquires, bringing the chair closer to Brooke’s bed.

Brooke shrugs. “It’s okay, I guess. We sleep at night. If we want to fly we have to take a plane. They’re really big and scary. I go to school during the day, which isn’t that fun, and if you’re a grown-up you go to work, and it makes my mom and dad grumpy a lot so I don’t think that’s much fun either.”

“But you get to do human stuff, though,” Vanessa insists. “You get to really live, and that’s what I really, really want more than anything. You get to go outside in the sun and play during the daytime and stuff. And the beach! I’ve always wanted to go to the beach and pick seashells.” Her face looks dreamy, like she’s thought about doing those things several times.

“How come you sound excited about it?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Vanessa whispers.

Brooke nods eagerly. She’s never had a friend to share a secret with and knows she’ll keep it with her forever.

“Me and my family are gonna become human. My parents said there’s a rit–rich–this thing we do, but we have to wait till I’m older. Like, 16 or something.”

“That’s like, forever from now,” Brooke whines, even a school day lasting for centuries when you’re seven.

“I know,” Vanessa agrees. “But someday, we could go outside and play together! I won’t have to come in your window at night!”

“That would be nice,” Brooke breathes, reluctant to hope but hoping all the same.

“It would,” Vanessa smiles, then heads out when they realize it’s well past midnight.

That night, Brooke dreams of her and Vanessa playing together under a bright sun.

—

Brooke grows to leave her window unlocked at night, sometimes opening it a crack even in the winter and just piling on another blanket in the hopes that Vanessa would come see her. Vanessa couldn’t come that often because she didn’t want other vampires to know where Brooke lived and put her in danger, but she crawled through Brooke’s window a few times a month, and nights with her were enough to get Brooke through almost anything the third grade threw at her.

“Where’d you get that from?” Vanessa points to the scrape on Brooke’s arm, which the nurse at school had rubbed with something that stung like a million needles.

“School. Some kids were making fun of me and one of them pushed me. He told the teacher we were just playing. He didn’t even get in trouble for it.”

“That’s not fair!” Vanessa swings her arm around in anger. Brooke knows by now how fiery Vanessa can get and figures this is all she can do without yelling.

Brooke shrugs, having long accepted the unfairness of school, an unfairness she figures will follow her afterwards too.

“How come they make fun of you anyway? You’re so nice.”

“I’m really quiet in school. Sometimes…sometimes I get scared when I talk and I mess up,” Brooke explains, face flushing with the memory of that morning, when the teacher called on her and she knew the answer but it got all twisted up on the way out her mouth and the kids’ laughter rang in her ears.

“They shouldn’t make fun of you for that!” A little line forms between her eyebrows. “What if we got them back?” she asks.

“How do you mean?”

Vanessa just winks.

Five minutes later Vanessa has her arms securely around Brooke as the cool night air bathes their faces and the moon twinkles above. Brooke holds the rolls of toilet paper Vanessa insisted they bring, and this high up, with Vanessa’s hands so close and making Brooke warm, everything that bothers her seems so small. She is free, her blue house with the doors the squeaked and the floors that creaked far behind, the school with mean kids and oral presentations just a speck. All that exists are her and Vanessa gliding through the air, Vanessa’s laugh, the real one, not the quiet one reserved for Brooke’s room, rippling in the night and leaving an eternal smile on Brooke’s face.

They swing around to Billy’s house, the meanest one, the one that had pushed Brooke that afternoon. They toss toilet paper over his house, hanging it from sparse, orange-leaved branches and laughing until they cried.

By the time Vanessa lowers Brooke into her bed, sharing a hug with only one heartbeat between them and pulling Brooke’s blankets up for her, she’s not even worried about school tomorrow.

—

“The house smells really good,” Vanessa says one night. “You have something good for dinner?”

“Beef stew,” Brooke replies. Vanessa must have some sort of advanced sense of smell, because Brooke couldn’t smell anything.

“Mmm,” she breathes longingly. “How ‘bout lunch? What do you bring to school?”

“My mom makes me peanut butter and jelly.” The sandwich had been in Brooke’s lunch box since she was five and ate in a crowded, noisy cafeteria, and is still a piece of comfort four years later as she takes her lunches in the open, quiet library.

“That sounds so good!” Vanessa exclaims, eyes wide. “Do you think I could try one?”

“Sure,” Brooke answers. “I can’t do it tonight in case my parents wake up, but come back tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!”

Brooke went through the next day counting down the seconds until it got dark, legs bouncing as dusk crept closer, guaranteed to see Vanessa.

“You can eat human food, right?” She checks, shoving Peanut under her pillow as she plops next to Vanessa. Brooke still liked having the elephant to hold in her arms while she slept, and though she doesn’t think Vanessa would make fun of her, she doesn’t want it on display.

“I mean, nothing bad will happen if I eat it,” Vanessa answers, taking the sandwich into eager hands and chomping down.

“Brooke, this is amazing!” Vanessa declares around a mouthful of creamy peanut butter and strawberry jam. Her eyes are shining so bright it distracts Brooke from her worry that her parents will hear, and her attention pulls to watching Vanessa instead of eating her own sandwich. The only thing better than seeing that joy on Vanessa’s face is knowing that she put it there.

She gives Vanessa half of her own sandwich just to see it again.

—

Brooke is awake, has been awake the past two nights, when Vanessa arrives.

“Happy birthday!” Brooke exclaims as loudly as she dares. “I asked my mom to make cupcakes the other day, and I saved some for you.”

“You saved cupcakes for me?” Vanessa’s mouth falls open.

“You only turn 11 once,” Brooke insists, offering her the plate, rainbow sprinkles bright against chocolate frosting. Vanessa’s eyes sparkle and she takes a giant bite, sighing in delight.

“And, um, I got you a present.” Brooke pushes the box over to her.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s not anything exciting, it’s just…” she trails off as Vanessa opens it, running her hand over the seashells, softly clinking together.

“Brooke, I love them,” she breathes.

“I know how much you want to go to the beach.”

Vanessa picks up a large spiral shell. “Let’s listen to the ocean together.”

Brooke leans her head in. Their cheeks touch, Vanessa’s cool as Brooke’s warms up. Vanessa has no heartbeat but Brooke’s is beating enough for both of them. The shell roars in their ears, and Brooke imagines the two of them going to the beach one day, listening to the ocean for real.

—

Brooke rolls over, searching for a position that soothes the ache in her legs from the growth spurt that started when she turned 13 last month, when the window rattles, a groan following.

“Brooke, you gotta help me,” Vanessa hisses when she’s through the window, hand clutching her arm and face scrunched up in pain.

“What happened?” Brooke jumps out of bed, heart twisting when she sees the blood spreading down Vanessa’s sleeve.

“Some vampire that’s mad at my father attacked me.”

Vanessa is so kind, so human, that sometimes Brooke forgets she lives in an entirely different world, one where vampires that weren’t kind like her family flew around and did terrible things. She wishes she could keep Vanessa in her room forever, protect her from anyone that would hurt her. She takes a breath, forcing down the panic at seeing Vanessa like this. “Hang on, okay? I’ll get some stuff in the bathroom.”

Brooke tries not to make a sound as she rifles through the bathroom, drawers flying open as she thinks of what to get. She’s never had much worse than scrapes and bruises, and there was a lot of blood… she gathers the supplies in her arms, dodging the creaky spots on the floor as she hurries back to her room, Vanessa wincing with pain in Brooke’s desk chair.

“Okay.” Brooke tries to sound like she knows what she’s doing. Vanessa’s arm is soaked in blood and she cringes. Blood had always made Brooke squeamish. She quickly wrapped a Band-Aid around her finger anytime she got a papercut to hide the blood and had cried when they took a blood sample at the doctor’s when she was four, but she had to be brave. She couldn’t let anything happen to Vanessa. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Vanessa insists. “I think you are, though.” She grins and winks even as the bloodstain grows.

“I just don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I’m gonna be fine, Brooke. I have you, don’t I?”

The kind smile that accompanies the words give Brooke a rush of courage, and she tells Vanessa to take her shirt off, figuring that jumping in her stomach as Vanessa exposes her smooth skin is just concern.

For all the blood, there’s only two slashing cuts on her arm, and Brooke feels she can handle this. Maybe if she just thinks of them as two giant paper cuts, she can do it. She presses paper towels against her arm, whispering a sorry when Vanessa winces. She manages to avoid staring at the blood but can’t avoid how calmly Vanessa looks at her, how trusting those eyes are, like she would rather have Brooke’s hands on her than anyone’s.

Brooke dabs on antiseptic–the cream one, not the one that stings, thank you very much; Brooke doesn’t Vanessa to hurt anymore than she is. She winds gauze around her arm and secures it with tape, feeling like she’s secured her own heart now that she knows Vanessa is okay.

“Thank you,” Vanessa says, hand wrapping around Brooke’s.

Brooke nods. “D-do you want to stay here tonight?” she asks, this night bringing out every ounce of bravery tucked away inside her.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Vanessa’s voice is apologetic as she pulls her shirt back on. “I don’t my want my parents to worry, and you might get in trouble…”

“Right,” Brooke agrees despite the hollowness in her chest, not pushing it further because she’s all out of bravery.

“I really wish I could though,” Vanessa says before she leaves, and the room rings with her sincerity and regret until sunrise.

—

A teardrop splashes onto the math equation in her textbook. Her fingers are shaking so much she has to put her pencil down. It’s almost 1am and she should be asleep but she needs every second to study, even though she’s been working for over 3 hours and feels no less worried, shoulders tightening by the minute. The trigonometry test tomorrow is 20 percent of her grade, and if she doesn’t get this–

“Brooke, what’s wrong?”

Vanessa kneels beside her desk chair. Her eyes are worried and it only makes Brooke cry more to know how much Vanessa cares about her.

“It’s stupid,” she mumbles, face flushing at the thought of Vanessa seeing her this upset over a math test.

“I don’t care how stupid it is, if it’s making you cry like this I want to know, so I can help,” Vanessa insists softly, wiping one of Brooke’s tears with her thumb. “Tell me, please.”

“It’s-it’s my math class,” she manages. “I have a test tomorrow and if I can’t get this I’ll fail it, and then I’ll probably fail the class, and then–”

“Hey, hey, slow down. Just breathe a second.”

Brooke takes a deep breath, air flooding her lungs. Vanessa isn’t laughing at her, telling her not to worry so much, like her mother did, or scolding her, telling her to study harder, like her father did. She has that adorable wrinkle between her eyebrows that means she’s thinking, and Brooke’s body loosens just knowing she’s here.

“Okay.” Vanessa rubs her hands together and Brooke knows she has a plan. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You pick out some problems you’re worried about and do ‘em, and I’ll look up the answers and you go over it if you don’t understand. But only for a little bit, ‘cause you need to sleep, Miss Thing. You look like you sleep less than I do.”

Brooke smiles. “Okay.”

Brooke renews her focus and picks out 10 problems, scribbling into her notebook as Vanessa reads answers and rants about how trigonometry is the most useless thing she’s ever heard of in her life.

The worry that had taken residence in her chest gets lighter as her eyelids grow heavier. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when her alarm wakes her hours later, she is tucked into bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin, Peanut wedged under her arm, and the textbook placed neatly on her desk.

She swears her skin tingles with the ghost of a kiss on her forehead, but it’s probably just her imagination.

—

“Wasn’t there some dance at your school tonight? I saw a bunch of kids leaving it on my way here,” Vanessa says as she slips inside and sits on Brooke’s bed.

“Yeah, the junior prom,” Brooke explains, putting her book down. “I didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“No one I wanted to go with.” What she doesn’t say, what she can’t say, is that the only person she could have possibly braved something like that for is in front of her right now.

Vanessa stands up and holds her hand out, and Brooke is hit with a memory of the first time she did that, to prove that she was real. Brooke isn’t sure what she’s going to prove now.

“Will you dance with me?” Vanessa asks.

“Of course.” Even though her stomach is churning about what might unfold, she can’t deny how badly she wants to.

She rests her hands on Vanessa’s waist and Vanessa’s hands stroke her back as they sway around Brooke’s bedroom, past the bookshelves and dance ribbons and academic medals and tickets from midnight movies she and Vanessa went to, a room that has been most like home when Vanessa is in it with her.

“Brooke, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

Vanessa takes a breath. Whatever it is, it’s scaring her, and Brooke holds onto her a little tighter. “The ritual to become human is next month, on the solstice, and I need to get ready for it, so I won’t see you before then. And the thing is, sometimes it goes wrong. If that happens, I might not remember you. So I…I wanted to come here tonight and tell you that I love you. I have for a while now, and I want to tell you while I can.”

Vanessa loves her too. But the joy rushing through her is derailed by worry. It might go wrong. For a minute, Brooke almost sinks into desperation and begs Vanessa not to do it, to stay a vampire as long as she’ll remember her. But Vanessa has wanted to become human since Brooke met her almost 10 years ago, and Brooke can’t ask her to put that dream aside.

“I love you too,” Brooke says finally. “And I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time.” She bends down and lets her lips meet Vanessa’s, and it’s something she’s dreamed about so often it’s hard to believe it’s really happening. Just like when she flew with Vanessa, the rest of the world fades and it is just them, Vanessa’s smaller body nestling against her.

Vanessa pulls away too quickly, but even at eternity would have been too quick for Brooke. “I have to go, okay? I promise I’ll do my best to remember you.”

She’s gone, out the window before Brooke even drops her hands, still holding on to Vanessa in her dreams.

Brooke crawls into bed and cries, hoping Vanessa won’t be taken from her.

—

Days go by outside her window, trees bright and green with summer, but Brooke feels a cold, dark winter in her bones. The solstice comes and goes, and it’s the middle of July when Brooke slams her window shut, not wanting to hear children laughing outside, the way she dreamed her and Vanessa would one day.

She’s tidying up her already neat desk one night when something pings against her window.

Hoping against hope, she pulls back the curtain and throws the window open. Vanessa stands in her backyard, rocks in hand.

“Hey, Brooke,” she calls up. “You gotta let me in the front door, I can’t fly anymore!”

Brooke sprints down the stairs, not even thinking of waking her parents. She can’t fly anymore. She can’t fly anymore, which means…

Vanessa is on her doorstep, flashing a brilliant grin and throwing herself into Brooke’s arms. Vanessa’s heart is dancing against Brooke’s chest for the first time. “It worked!” she yells. “And I felt really weird at first, but then I saw those seashells you gave me, and I remembered everything! I love you so much, Brooke.”

“I love you too.”

They tumble into bed together, and Brooke falls asleep to the sound of Vanessa’s heart beating.

[artificialqueens]

Yoü and I Ch. 5 (Shalaska) - pradatrash

AN: HOLY SHIT! WOW, I am so, so sorry for how late this is. There’s really no excuse for how this has been neglected but if you have stuck with this and waited for an update I love you, please accept my apologies, and I hope you can continue enjoying this xx

Maybe one day I won’t sing about you, I’ll sing a song about someone new

He sees him when he comes through the doors with the rest of the passengers from the plane and it’s like taking in a breath of fresh air after being locked in a prison cell for years. Aaron’s grin gets even wider as he grips the handmade sign in his hands, waving it when the Justin’s tall lanky figure comes into view.

WELCOME HOME ALASKA THUNDERFUCK!

Justin doesn’t even have to look through the crowd to find his boyfriend, his spikey blonde hair, big bright eyes and the giant homemade sign in his hands his heart tug and for the first time in months he cracks a genuine smile.

Home. Aaron is home.

He walks so fast through the throngs of people his suitcase’s wheels give up and just allow themselves to be dragged along, he follows the sign in the air and once everyone pulls apart like a movie he stares at his world.

“Welcome home, J.”

Arms wrap around each other, bodies press together and he collapses full force into his boyfriend, his nostrils instantly taking a deep inhale of Aaron’s cologne and scent. Tears come to his eyes and fall down his cheeks in steady streams his vision so cloudy he doesn’t even realize that his entire family is standing behind Aaron.

There stood his mom, step dad, Cory, and Brooke the only person missing was Ryan of course but they were there and they were real and there. It took his breath away to just think about the lengths Aaron had gone to to arrange this welcome party for him and it only makes the guilt sit like a brick in his stomach more.

His mom runs forward and pulls him into a tight embrace as he lets out a laugh and kisses the top of her head before he hugs Cory and Brooke. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here to greet me!”

“Duh we did, Aaron insisted!” Cory smirks as Aaron shrugs nonchalantly, Justin biting his lip as another wave of guilt washes over him. “Noodles, you didn’t have to do this…”

Aaron shakes his head and links their hands the group walking towards the parking lot, “I had to welcome home my favorite person the right way.”

Justin smiles crookedly and leans into his boyfriend’s shoulder while everyone talks around them but all he can concentrate on is Aaron’s hand in his and the way his thumb brushes over the back of Justin’s knuckles. He didn’t realize how much that one little thing comforts him until he feels it after months.

All he can do the entire ride back to their small apartment is stare at Aaron. He takes in his blonde hair, which has definitely gotten blonder if possible, his soft smile, and the way he uses his hands animatedly when he speaks. It’s as if he’s relearning and re-experiencing everything he is absolutely enthralled with about Aaron.

It’s like he’s brand new but at the same time he’s the oldest and most comforting thing Justin has had in his life. Aaron notices him staring and smiles at him shyly before he raises an inquisitive eyebrow,

“Sorry…just exhausted from the trip and so, so happy to see you.”

Something is off in Justin’s tone and his body language is clingy but not in the usual sense, Aaron notices he’s gripping his arm like any second he’s going to disappear. He doesn’t say anything in front of his family but gives him a gentle squeeze, a feeling of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

The rest of the car ride is good with Justin mainly speaking about the tour and everything else and Aaron remains silent the whole time, his eyes scan Justin up and town like he’s studying him.

Once they were finally alone with no more family to attend to, just the two of them sitting in the silence they finally had a chance to look at each other fully. The sight of Justin in front of him; real and tangible crushed Aaron’s chest and made him feel weak.

Bodies crash into each other and they’re groping everywhere they can, grabbing clothing, touching hot skin as their mouths found one another heatedly.

“I can’t believe how much I love you,” mutters Justin into Aaron’s neck as they embrace skin on skin. Aaron takes a second and pulls back, scanning his eyes over Justin’s face closely. He hasn’t shaven and a little stubble was growing around his chin and it was incredibly hot.

Even though it had only been a few months Justin looks five times older and mature. It’s incredibly attractive to Aaron but there’s a sadness to it for some reason.

Justin had grown up and Aaron had missed it.

Justin senses where Aaron’s mind is going because he knows his boyfriend that well so he reaches out a hand and links their fingers together, bringing them to his lips he places gentle kisses on his knuckles.

“Hey, it’s still me baby…”

“Is it?”

An uncomfortable silence falls over them as Justin begins to panic that Aaron somehow knows. But there’s no way he could, is there? His eyes flit quickly to Aaron’s face but it’s not a knowing expression, it’s just a sad one. He knows something is off and that kills Justin all over again.

All Justin can do in that moment is yank Aaron closer to him and press their lips back together, tugging off the rest of their clothes as they fall tangled onto their bed. Their bed. It’s familiar and so, so comforting to Justin in his moment and he takes a second to let himself smell the sheets that are home to him.

A moan rips from Justin’s throat and brings him back to the present as Aaron climbs over him and presses a soft kiss to his clavicle.

He looks down where he’s hovering over the love of his life-right? And it’s all too much. It’s been four months too long. Four months changes things. It was all…different.

Justin looked different, acted different, felt different.

There’s just one thing that Aaron knows won’t feel different and it’s the feeling of them together, as one, when they’re just tangled in each other and the world around them doesn’t matter.

So that’s what they do—get lost in one another and rediscover each other and what it’s like to be loved once again. It’s a little after one in the morning when they pause and Aaron looks down at Justin and pauses.

He was beautiful. Everything was new and everything was the same—he was perfect but a complete stranger to Aaron in this moment.

“Aaron? Noodles?”

Noodles.

“Sorry, just tired out from that last round…”

Justin smiles reassured and kisses his forehead, pulling the covers around their satisfied and tired forms. “We can sleep…I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Aaron almost has the courage to ask; “will you?” But stops not wanting to start anything tonight. This time Justin watches Aaron fall asleep which doesn’t take long and he almost feels the urge to throw up with the guilt that creeps back into his system as he watches his sleeping boyfriend.

—

Christmas 2009. Aaron Coady is standing in the doorway of his house. His fucking house.

The MySpace photos had become a reality. A handsome, tangible, sexy reality and Justin was way in over his head.

“Go talk to him!”

Brooke’s excited yet quiet words hit his ear and he almost jumps at the surprise but still doesn’t take his eyes off of Aaron. “I-I can’t believe he even showed up…”

She doesn’t even give him a second to process before she shoves him forward through the crowd to the front door to greet the new guest.

Justin feels his body moving in slow motion as he approaches Aaron, the blonde turns just as he hangs his coat up to immediately lock eyes and then it’s all over.

That’s it, Justin feels it like running full speed at a brick wall. His eyes widen slightly and he can’t tear them away from the man in front of him because right now it’s just them in the room.

Sound fades out and all that’s left is the sound of Justin’s heartbeat in his ears. It’s overwhelming and fucking terrifying, yet at the same time Justin thinks he may just be content with staring at Aaron for the rest of his life. Is it possible all the oxygen has been sucked out of the entire house?

“Justin, right?”

He blinks when suddenly standing right in front of him, so close that the smell of his cologne wafts over him in heavenly waves, is Aaron. Justin stutters for a second before he’s able to compose himself…until he looks at his face.

That damn smile. Those soft lips. God fucking dammit!

“Y-Yeah…I can’t believe you actually showed up.”

Aaron raises an eyebrow as a soft laughter comes from him, his eyes are nothing but gentle towards Justin and this is the first time he’s ever meeting Aaron but already he feels incredibly safe with him.

“After all that back and forth on MySpace I had to meet the real deal.”

He smiles at Aaron and in that moment feels an overwhelmingly warmness seep into his bones, through his skin and into his heart. Something felt like home. He felt like home.

—

Justin looks at the tall man in front of him, his blonde hair glimmers in the dim hotel lighting and for a split second he’s able to convince himself it’s Aaron.

The older man takes a step closer, calling Justin to him, and even though everything about this feels absolutely wrong the alcohol flooding through Justin’s veins somehow make it right.

“Aren’t you and that Needles queen still together?”

His breath smells of cigarettes, something that Aaron’s occasionally does too but not in the same way. It makes Justin a little sick but he just gives a shrug of his shoulders and feels the other man’s laugh resonate in him like dead weight.

“Sweet. I didn’t know you guys had an open relationship.”

We don’t.

But none of that matters now as Justin’s clothes are coming off and he’s touching someone that ins’t Aaron. He’s kissing someone that isn’t Aaron.

He didn’t even get the other guy’s name, he came and left within two hours and barely any words were spoken between them. The minute the hotel door clicked behind him Justin was instantly under the hot spray of the shower, his makeup and tears running down his face in streams.

The only word that he could hear in his head was: Aaron.

His Aaron, his sweet, sweet boyfriend. What had he done?

His eyes snap open and he wakes with a small jolt, the covers over him which are meant to feel warm and comforting do the opposite as he gasps into the darkness.

He feels Aaron shift next to him as he rubs at his eyes, the clock on his bedside table reading 4:30am.

“Another nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“About the finale?”

This wasn’t the first time something like this had plagued him in his sleep yet every time he lied about it. He claimed it was the season 5 finale that always haunted him, but both of them in a way knew it wasn’t that.

“It feels like just yesterday that…that it happened.”

Aaron nods in the darkness, shifting closer to his boyfriend in comfort.

Justin had one too many drinks once again, usually it ended up with both of them drunkenly fighting about something, but this time it hadn’t. They’d avoided angry sex for once, but instead of doing anything they had done nothing.

They had been at the Blue Moon bar as they usually were most nights now—both of them drinking to prevent themselves from speaking about their relationship which is what they should have been doing.

They were both wallowing in some sort of misery and drunkenness.

A few minutes pass in silence and then those minutes turn into two hours as the two lay there, both very much awake, but unsure of where to go until Aaron’s voice breaks the silence—

“I feel like there’s an ocean between us.”

“I feel it too.”

Another silence falls over them and in this moment Aaron is thankful for the darkness so Justin can’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He knows the truth, he just needs to hear Justin say it himself.

“Who was it?”

Justin blinks and turns his head to the side,

“Who was what?”

Aaron scoffs, anger finally seeping its way into his veins after a delayed moment.

“I know.”

Justin inhales a sharp breath as he starts to fill his whole world come crashing down. His stomach drops and his heart pulls at itself angrily. He had to face the music now, there was no way out.

“I didn’t even know his name, he was from Florida.”

The small sob that comes out of Aaron’s mouth rips Justin’s hearts to shreds and instead of reaching out in the darkness to hold his boyfriend he stays still. Frozen in shock at finally admitting it out loud.

“I will always love you…”

Justin lets out a small sob of his own at Aaron’s words, knowing very well what he means.

“But you’re not in love with me anymore, are you?”

Aaron shakes his head in the darkness, biting his lip to stop the onslaught of tears.

“No.”

Justin shakes his head, refusing to believe this conversation is happening right now. It’s 4:30am and they’re in their bed, in the house they’ve shared together for almost four years.

He can’t imagine his life without any of this, his life doesn’t have a purpose if Aaron isn’t in it.

“W-Why did you leave me for a whole year?”

In reality it had felt like a lot longer than a year to him.

“I…I needed more than you, I needed to make something of myself or else I was just going to continue living in your shadow.”

“Was it worth it?”

Justin didn’t have an answer then and he still doesn’t now. His words catch in his throat and that’s all the answer that Aaron needs.

“My dreams always had you in them. My dreams were captured based on feelings for you. Your dream was about being something exclusive from me…and I guess you’ve found it.”

Aaron’s words aren’t biting or cold, they’re just filled with pure truth and hurt and Justin can feel it, every word is a dagger straight through his already battered heart.

“I can’t be Alaska Thunderfuck if I’m with Sharon Needles.”

Justin finally speaks the truth he had been wrestling with the entire year, it tears him limb from limb but right now that’s all he can feel what with the alcohol still humming in his system and the very reality that right now is the end of their relationship.

“I need out. I can’t breathe.” Aaron wipes at his eyes furiously and sits up, throwing the covers off his body as he stumbles to find his shoes.

“Out?”

“Out of this.”

“You want to quit?”

They leave the lights off purposefully, both of them very well aware that if they were to see each other in the light, if they were to see the real emotion in both of them that this was only going to get worse.

“My heart already has and it looks like yours did too back in that Marriot hotel room.”

For some reason the mention of the night with the other man prompts Justin to leap out of bed, in a string of seconds he’s suddenly compelled to keep Aaron with him, no matter what the cost.

The very reality dawns on him that in a moment the two would have oceans between them.

“I came back though, I came back Aaron…”

“You came back to me too late. I fucking waited.”

Justin reaches across the bed for Aaron’s arm but the older man tears it away from his grip almost violently.

“I came fucking back!”

“A year too late!”

Justin feels anger, fear and sadness rise in his throat and he throws his arms up, taking a step towards Aaron in the darkness.

“What then? Do you—do you want to hit me to make yourself feel better? Do you want to fuck so angrily that all of this goes away? I want to fix this, I can’t lose you for fucks sake!”

Justin practically screams at the top of his lungs in in their small room, his voice full of anger and half pleading. “Hit me! Just fucking hit me, Aaron!”

So he does. He hits Justin and he hits him right back. Before they both know it the night is a blur of fists, crying, screaming and kissing and then Justin’s gone and Aaron’s left in a heap on their bedroom floor sobbing.

—

In case you hear this, then know you’re the love of my life want to tell you I’m sorry, I miss having you by my side