#cocoa never really Cared about her. she simply did her job. it took until well near the end for her to start getting annoyed tbh

[trainingdummyrabbit]

Tell us about The Guys what's their dynamic like

ok thats kind of on me for starting with the hardest character dynamic first

so. cocoa and luci. they're both characters that, narratively, are barely expected to be characters at all. let me explain. im entering unskippable cutscene mode. sorry <333

luci takes the role of the silly lil ai assistant... kinda. shes not supposed to be. shes Supposed to be just a basic guide/support mechanic, but she sure. Isn't. it was an accident. dont worry about it. nobody else did.

cocoa is cocoa. she wasn't always cocoa, but now she's all there is. easypeasy ^w^ she's like if an npc was a person, mostly. she just kinda stands or wanders around until shes needed, rarely speaks beyond basic preset responses, she just goes here :] shes just a silly lil thang, kinda confused but got the spirit, etc. And Also She Happens To Be The Highest Ranked Agent Here. dont worry about it. nobody else did.

they also happen to be, most likely, the two characters to change the most across the entire throughline. with like one exception, maybe. which is what makes this hard. im not going to waffle about too long, dont worry. probably. ill try.

so for a while it seems like...

...aka they dont seem to notice each other much at all. and it stays that way for pretty much the entire throughline! bbbecause everyones too busy running about to worry about The PA Voice and Their Shockingly Chill Coworker. unfortunately, The Problems.

see, they're both burying the lead. Hard.

because luci is The problem. Capital. as something that Super isnt supposed to be conscious (let alone alive,) she has a Lot of shit to figure out. and a Lot of issues. it takes a while for her to figure out her bearings (no thanks to everyone else, who was too busy squabbling about a "data compromise" and ""trying to find a new manager"". eyeroll.) but more or less, she's decided:

1) humans are fucking annoying. they worry about so much mess, care about all the wrong stuff, and insist on shoving it on other people. unfortunately, they're also deeply entertaining. theres 100% a superiority complex going on there. 2) she has Got to become something else. she wants something. deeply and desperately. its just... well, she's still figuring out what that is.

luci, as a character, is obsessed with Character and Relevancy. the deepest throes of passion and hatred, desire and purpose. to know for certain what your place is. (this doesnt say anything about her.) those that burn brightly like that never seem to die. not truly. (this says absolutely nothing about her.) to become a single, unshakable, irreplaceable star. (this means absolutely nothing about anything to her.)

and one of those things that grabbed her attention the most was that of abnormalities. irreplaceable, undying, bastions of Meaning. That was what it was. unfortunately, as Emotion isnt one of the things that she's inherently built with, it becomes a bit of an issue.

thus begs the question: how do you bring out that spark in something? and well, that's not a question she has the information to answer. however, if theres one thing shes good at, its Fucking Around And Finding Out ! and well, if there's some collateral damage or casualties about it, well. oops. not like they ever cared about death and the like here before. soooo whatever ^w^

and well, she has to practice her ominous dialogue with Someone who won't rat her out, soooo...

cocoa, on the other hand, is... well, she's different, for sure. that wasnt always her name, for one. or i guess, it always was. if i tried to explain her entire deal id be here another 10 paragraphs or so, but to make a long story short... living under the specific pressure that the city pushes onto its residents is taken better for some than others. cocoa is not one of these. the constant pressure of needing to provide and prove your worth to forces beyond your control put a ridiculous amount of strain on her, and even still, it could decide to snuff you out without a moments notice on a whim. and well, there's little you can do when you're someone like her.

its something she tried to bottle up for a long, long time. unfortunately, making it into Lcorp did not, in fact, help with this At All. and all of that dread and paranoia, the misguided self loathing, and the sheer inescapability of it all... well, of course she snapped. it wasn't anything loud, bombastic. just quiet. quietly, whoever it was that she used to be had vanished in an instant, snuffed by her own hand, before anything else could get the chance to do it first. and what remained was cocoa! a name to an absence. more Function than Person, she simply... became what was needed of her. and nothing more. and unfortunately, with how everything else was... this change slipped completely under the radar. for all except for one witness.

it doesnt mean anything to her. (it cant mean anything to her. not yet.)

all of that happens before the story even begins.

unfortunately, a superiority complex + the inability to process your own flaws + being allowed to be in control completely unchecked for an extended period of time allows luci to. spiral. to put it bluntly.

it becomes a horrible little race to figure out what exactly is going on before too many people end up dying in horrible ways. luci simply watches them run in circles like little mice. by the time they manage to scramble together enough to confront her, its a tiny group of maybe 4 against luci... and also cocoa. who, in trying to avoid thinking too hard about the meddling that luci was doing and the holes poked in her persona by the rest of the cast over time, has once again completely shut off in favor of simply doing whatever was asked of her. and well, luci was technically the one who had the authority to be dealing out directions, so... well. not gonna think about it too hard. shes had to suppress other agents before, so...

this, ultimately, becomes where cocoa's arc comes to a head. as stable as she seemed, turns out she was constantly teetering on a very dangerous edge. that edge between allowing outside influence, the bravery and will to push, to face uncertainty and risk... and erasing yourself entirely, forgoing the harms of failure and performance in favor of becoming something more akin to a tool, unable to perceive, but also unable to be hurt.

luci believes she knows cocoa. she's seen the depths of her-- she thinks-- has seen the dissatisfaction, the fear, the rage, the desire to reach and tear what she wants from anyone she can reach. for just a brief moment, she'd seen all of it, just before cocoa became... cocoa. and she sees herself in that. sympathy was not something that was afforded to her. it was not in her capability to feel that attachment. (it doesnt mean anything to her.) they were the same, werent they? held back by things out of their control. (it means absolutely nothing to her.) so it would be a kindness-- no, an act of pity, to grant this one the ability to truly Feel that, to Understand the self in its entirety. grant her that freedom. (it means absolutely nothing about anything to her.)

but to cocoa... this was just another will overriding her own. the reason something snapped-- she wanted to do good. to be good. but this world does not allow it. shes angry, yes. more than anything. but shes angry because of her own perceived uselessness. more than anything, she's exhausted. that buildup of anger and resentment-- it was something she desperately didn't want to inflict on others. so instead, she turned those teeth inward, and tore herself out for the crime of feeling. she doesnt want to act. she doesnt want to run. she doesnt want to be anything. she just wants to rest.

luci, insistent on her correctness but inherently oblivious, convinced she is giving a gift to someone she has done nothing but harm. and cocoa, afraid to let down the veneer of distance, to allow herself to want and hope-- afraid to take on the responsibility of being a Person again. but these two werent the only players in the game.

and well. cocoa makes her decision.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

It's Good | Clintasha

Well-- it's 1:15 and this isn't what I expected to write and post today but it's what happened and I'm not mad at it. It's a deviation from my usual style and I think that's good. I love them and this made my heart happy so I might do more when I need a break. Please enjoy this change of schedule my lovelies!

Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 1.9k

Tags: Fluff, slight angst

Clint’s fingers weave through her messy red curls, not tugging hard enough to hurt her, only enough to untangle the soft strands. Perhaps, if it were a year ago and the first time she’d stumbled back into the compound— face muddy with streaks of dirt and dried crimson, hair a wild mane and fingers too shaky to do it herself— he would have tugged too hard and earned a shocked yelp. It wouldn’t be his fault— being gentle isn’t really how he operates. At least it wasn’t until it had to be. Now he knows better—

“One or two, Natty?”

It’s taking the redhead a few beats longer than usual to answer, her head slumped towards her chest, and he sighs, quiet enough that he can be sure she doesn’t hear it. He’s not mad at her— or even annoyed— braiding Natasha Romanoff’s hair is one of the few moments of peace he gets to enjoy in his usually chaotic life. One of the few moments he wants. He just wishes it wasn’t here— he wishes it wasn’t so fleeting.

Can you braid hair for the rest of your life and not get tired of it?

He’d like to try.

Just— maybe in a nice house with a dog. Nothing too extravagant— he’ll leave that to Tony— but something cozy. Homey. That’s all he wants— a home. He glances down at the girl in front of him, eyes drawing over the slope of her neck, counting all the little scars— still only seven; that’s good. Maybe he doesn’t want a home— maybe he just wants a home for his home.

“Natty.” He tries again, fingers pushing against her warm scalp, coaxing her tiny body further against his.

She still doesn’t answer and he instantly understands why, her back rising and falling with even inhales and exhales, breaths so much steadier than normal. She’s asleep. Still, he sweeps the fluffy mane as lightly as possible from her cheek, head peeking around to glimpse at her closed eyes— yep, asleep; that’s good. She doesn’t sleep nearly as much as she should. He would never call her out on it. He would call her on other things— and he has, many times— for not eating enough, not relaxing enough, not thinking of her own well being enough— but he would never call her out for not sleeping. He knows better.

He understands.

He has them too— the very same nightmares that have her screaming so loud in her sleep that he’s out of his bed and at her door before his own eyes are even fully open.

It’s why he continues on his mission, his movements somehow even gentler than before.

Grabbing the comb from beside him— a wide tooth thing he picked up once this became a regular happening in order to keep his shitty brush from destroying her curls— Clint rather skillfully parts her hair down the middle, using a band to gather the left half into a loose knot. He learned quickly that if he leaves the halves down at the same time the strands will gravitate back towards each other and re-tangle. It’s like magic how easily her hair becomes untameable. He supposes that’s just her though— wild. Wild but not so free.

He sets the comb back down, running his fingers through her curls one last time before setting to work. Taking three tiny sections from close to her forehead he, almost mechanically, begins to plait the hair on the right half of her head. He always starts on the right. He’s not superstitious but he figures he does it for a reason so who is he to stop doing it now. Testing fate isn’t Clint’s main objective in life— not when he has something to lose.

The movements are locked in his muscles, hands moving from sheer memory. The right strand goes under the middle strand. The left strand goes under the middle strand. Repeat. It’s simple— so simple he wonders why it took him so long to pick it up in the first place. Right strand under, left strand under, repeat. Pick up more hair as you go. Simple. Maybe he just wanted to feel her hands on his for as long as possible— to hear her giggles as she taught him, much too tired for his liking but still mesmerizing. Pick up more hair. Right strand under. Pick up more hair. Left strand under. Natasha is always so damn mesmerizing— even when she’s stumbling through his door, hair still wet from her shower and so worn out that she doesn’t even knock.

He likes it better like that anyway; when she chooses him to help her.

She doesn’t ask for help enough.

He knew that before he started braiding her hair. It simply became more obvious after. He shouldn’t have been so surprised— this is the same girl he saved all those years ago. The same girl he was sent to kill and instead came back with, body tossed over his shoulder, out cold, gun still in his hand and pointed at Nick Fury, daring him to take the next step. The same girl he fought for because something inside him snapped when he had that very same gun aimed at her head and she had begged him to pull the trigger. That was the only time he’s ever seen Nat beg and god if it didn’t spark something almost as wild as her curls inside his chest. He should have known then how hard it would be to get her to ask for help.

Clint sighs again, tying the plait off with another band. He runs his fingers over his work— not half bad. Nat can do it better— of course she can. It's her hair. She can but she chooses not to. So he doesn’t care— not about the little bump halfway down the braid or the way a few strands poke out near the bottom where his movements started to get choppy. None of that matters, only the fact that she’s here, in his arms, finally safe. Even if only for a few hours. His chest squeezes and he forces himself to move his fingers from the completed braid.

God what he wouldn’t do for a secluded house and a golden retriever and a farm.

He starts on the second braid. Under, under, more hair, repeat. He doesn’t know how to farm but it really can’t be that difficult. It would be more for fun than anything. To pass the time. To sit in the sun with this breathtaking woman and not have to think for five minutes. He can’t say that he can picture it— he’s not a liar. Not intentionally, at least. He can’t picture it but he wants to. A dog and a porch and some lemonade. And her. Simple.

It’s so simple and for once something so simple hadn’t taken him ages to learn. He knew right away. It wasn’t like braiding— he didn’t knot his wants the way he knotted her hair for months, fingers stiff and harsh. No, it was simple. How he feels is simple. Love should be simple and with her it is. Loving her isn’t like braiding hair— he didn’t have to learn how to love Natasha he just knew and he did it. He still does it. Like the braiding, it’s now muscle memory. It’s a part of him. It won’t go away.

That’s good.

Sometimes he has to remind himself what in his life is good because, honestly, there aren’t that many things. Most of them— all of them— include the redhead sleeping in his arms. Drinking coffee with her before the sun rises is good. The smell of her cocoa butter lotion on his sheets is good. The softness of her hair, the little black dress she wore to Tony’s party three months ago, the way she stands so close to him at briefings that her shoulder brushes his. Good, good, good. The way his chest feels when she rolls her eyes at his jokes but then the corners of her lips pull up, almost like she’s trying to stop herself from smiling but can’t.

Amazing.

Wonderful.

Life— her smile is life.

She is the embodiment of life— she’s his life.

His entire damn life.

That’s good.

As Clint finishes tying the second braid Natasha stirs against his chest, legs stretching out in front of her and knocking into his which are sprawled on either side of her. Her arms are next, reaching high above her head before falling, landing a little awkwardly against his face. Chuckling, he captures her fingers, smoothing them properly against his cheeks. They’re cold and he’s expecting it, used to the chill of her skin by now and more than happy to share his warmth. She scratches through the stubble on his jaw for a moment, yawning into the dim space of his room.

“What time is it?” She murmurs, rolling her head onto his shoulder.

Her voice is a tad squeaky, laced with the same sleep he can now see clouding her blue eyes and he laughs again, massaging her hands. He has to force himself to not get lost in her stare— a job easier said than done.

“I think eleven— not really sure though.”

She raises a brow, nose scrunching, and he can hear her words before they’re even out of her mouth. They drive a knife through his chest before they’re even out of her mouth.

“Shit ‘m sorry— didn’t mean to pass out.”

If braiding her hair is muscle memory for him then apologizing when she shouldn’t is muscle memory for her. Maybe it would hurt less if she didn’t mean it. But she does— she always means it— and he wishes he could erase the lines around her mouth as it tugs into a frown. He doesn’t have an eraser though.

He only has his arms.

So he does his best to curl them around her shoulders, pressing his face deeper into her wandering fingers. They creep over his jaw and under his eyes, tracing the ridge of his nose and the slight bump that she gave him. He grins at that— she’s a fighter. That’s good. That’s why they’re such good partners— not that she would admit it. She’s too damn hard on herself. Like him tugging on her hair; she’s always too rough.

“How many times do I gotta’ tell you that it’s okay, Natty?” He mumbles, guiding his nose along her fingertips. “You don’t gotta’ apologize.”

She only smiles— I know.

That’s good.

She yawns again, dropping her hands from his face and instead curling them around his arms, her blue eyes fluttering tellingly. It’s what she does when she’s tired but doesn’t want to say anything. Like she’s afraid to tell him that she wants to sleep. Like she’s afraid to sleep at all or she’s afraid he’s going to tell her no. As if he could ever tell her no. There are a lot of things he wants to tell her— ask her. No isn’t one of those things. There are too many other things to let something so silly come between saying them.

Can we paint the walls of our house blue? Can we name our dog Lucky? Will you mar—

Time for bed— he’s losing his mind.

Still, he asks— she always has the deciding choice with him. “You ready to sleep?”

It’s not the first question he would have chosen if he could ask her anything but for now it works— for now it’s good.

Just like her answer— her answer is good too.

It’s a nod and a hum and a “Can you carry me, Clin?”

Yeah, it’s good.

And he knows better than to say no to good.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

31. The One That I Get to Build With

Previous Word Count: 7608

Hazel was less irritated with Grace and Simon when they were honest with her and told her that they were going to be involved in a relationship, but not openly. They didn’t want anyone else to know, mostly because Grace was very secretive and didn’t want the same people who often intruded into her social media to find their way into this relationship, as they attempted to build it.

So, the simple rule was that if someone made a comment about the relationship not to respond to it and if someone asked about it, not to answer. They just moved the conversation right along, like the relationship had not been mentioned. Grace and Simon used to do that all of the time. Hazel, they worried might find it more difficult, but they were counting on the fact that most people who might ask her would be online, where she could easily ignore them.

Simon went to his parents’ for Thanksgiving. Apparently, his dad begged him to , because he was certain that this would be his mom’s last one… Simon guessed that Grace was making him soft, because he couldn’t say no. It felt wrong to just refuse. “You gonna be okay?” Grace asked, the night before his flight.

“Yeah,” he answered, sadly. “I’ll stop by to see your parents, while I’m out there.”

“They’ll probably be at a banquet or something. Hazel and I are going to do some charity and bring some people to shelters, then have dinner together and retire in our jammies to have movie night.”

Simon groaned, “Why do you have to rub that in my face?”

“Don’t complain.” He pouted silently. “You’ll be able to be around for Christmas, if you’re still playing your cards right.”

“I’m never gonna mess this up.”

“Awww. Well… see you when you get back.”

She made sure that was correct, because whenever Simon got back, the Monday after Thanksgiving, Grace was asleep in his bed. He’d given her a key almost as soon as they decided that they were going to give themselves a try, but she didn’t really use it. He was grateful that she had that night. Seeing his family had been enough to make him grateful for what he escaped from. After he washed up, he slid into bed and wrapped his arms around her. She stirred to ask him how it went, and when he said he didn’t want to talk about it, she simply rested her head on his chest, kissed his tattooed pec, and went back to sleep. The scent of her hair gave him a comfort that he had forgotten existed the previous few days. This was one of the things he was thankful for, wrapped up tightly in his arms, in his bed.

.

Simon and Hazel decorated his house for Christmas. Really, Simon decorated and Hazel critiqued, but it was “helpful,” for her to tell him everything that he seemed to be doing wrong… for a while. It was actually extremely cold and he didn’t usually spend that amount of time outside in such weather. Plus… the criticism. He wasn’t fond of being criticized, even after years of therapy. Eventually, he told her, “I think I can handle some lights, Hazel. I graduated from MIT.”

Hazel rolled her eyes and told him, “You say that to me and I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean any more than you know what you’re doing with these lights.”

“Hazel…” He said it then took a pause to catch his breath and realign his patience. That was what Grace called it. Realigning your patience. She’d take a look at him and ask, “Do you think maybe you need to realign your patience?” Not to calm down, and not accusing him of getting upset, but asking him to realign his patience and somehow, every time, he got soft and did exactly that. “Good job, Gray Eyes,” and a strum of his ponytail later, he’d be a cool pile of putty for her to mold… But Grace was inside of the house and her little Christmas slave-driver was not the model of invoking patience…

“Gra-a-a-ce!” Simon called out. “GRACE!” He said louder and more short.

She came running outside and immediately checked on Hazel. “What is it? Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“Please, get her cocoa or something,” Simon said. It was given like an order and gave Grace pause, to look at him like he was out of his mind. “Please?” He repeated, softer. “I need to realign my patience and it’s hard to focus in this cold…” She softened up too.

“Come on, Haze,” Grace wrapped an arm around Hazel’s shoulder and guided her inside. Simon got more done now, but he hoped that it looked okay. Hazel had caused some doubts. Eventually, Grace called him and told him to come inside and recalibrate. He groaned, but knew that it was a commandment, not a suggestion. Besides, he was freezing his balls off.

Whenever he walked in, it felt so refreshingly warm. The house smelled like pine, fire, and some sort of candles that Grace had lit all over the opening of the house. Hazel and Grace were in the kitchen. Hazel, seated at the island with an absurdly large mug that her GlamMother got her for winters in New York and a plate of something that smelled remarkable. Grace took his coat and hung it on the rack and gestured at his shoes. He set them on the rack next to the door and she led him to the kitchen. “Since Hazel is a great helper, she helped me to try out my first recipe from a recipe book that I got as an early Christmas present!” She cheered.

Simon didn’t look excited about it. Everyone knew that of Grace’s many talents, the only ones that happened in the kitchen were usually DIY natural beauty products. She gently forced him into the seat next to Hazel and began to excitedly prepare him something.

Simon leaned towards Hazel and whispered, “I’m sorry about losing it out there. Level with me. Should I be worried?”

Hazel smirked and tilted her head, “Are you suggesting that Our Grace can’t follow the instructions in a recipe book, Simon?”

“No… Just… wondering if she can…” Hazel snorted. It didn’t escape his notice that she hadn’t devoured her gingerbread men.

“Okay, SO… Here is a cup of crock pot hot chocolate and…” she turned around with a mug and a plate and it looked vaguely familiar. “Gingerbread Man VS Snowman S’mores…” Simon gasped, recalling being with his Nana dad's mom, before she died and making an entire murder scene with her gingerbread man cookies and the marshmallow snowmen that she was going to melt into the cocoa… he then let out a hearty laugh about that situation.

“I wanted to try to be a good girlfriend for Christmas, so I called your dad while you were away and he shipped me your grandmother’s recipe book that she gave your mom when she passed away. He said that nobody has used it in years. It is SO descriptive! AND… She notated the stuff that each of her kids, grandkids, and their spouses and stuff loved. So… I found all the ones marked “Simon,” bookmarked them, and discovered that you helped her create one of her treats!”

“I can’t believe she recorded that!” He laughed, explaining, “What I did was ruin a bunch of her stuff and whenever they caught me, my dad was ready to give me a spanking, but Nana intervened and asked, “Don’t you see that the boy’s a genius? Why, he just created my new favorite treat!” We took the broken gingerbread cookies and the snowmen, made smores and pretended that it was the after effects of a warzone. She let me tell the story of how they were fighting, because she’d missed out on that part of my game… That was… actually my first creative story that I shared with anybody. So, you actually just gave me a really special gift, because I hadn't considered that historical memory in years.” Grace’s eyes were wide and glossy. Simon stopped laughing to come to hug her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Grace.”

“Don’t thank her yet, you haven’t tasted it,” Hazel teased. She bit off the head of one of the additional gingerbread man cookies that weren’t in the war. It was actually really good! Simon’s grandma must’ve left great instructions, or Hazel was to thank for Grace following through so well with them.

Simon put off the rest of the decorations until the next day. Whenever he finished, Hazel was actually awestruck. The scene? Elves taking the sleigh on a joyride, one of them hanging off of the rails, one on a reindeer's back, one controlling the sleigh and one ducking in it, peeking out.

“How did you do this? How did you do that?” She asked about various aspects of the scene.

“I graduated from MIT,” Simon said, taking a sip of a mug of cocoa with a melting snowman marshmallow in it. Hazel still didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but she now at least respected it.

Christmas Eve at Grace’s was everyone’s wildest dreams come true. At least the three of them. Grace had arranged matching jammies - they weren’t identical, but you know… the same designs/color pattern. They were reindeer themed and she had some for Samantha, as well. Samantha and Hazel had wearable antlers. Simon and Grace had hoodies that “turned them into” reindeer.

They worked on each other’s hair - Grace being exceptionally good at braids now gave Hazel an elaborate celtic braid that she had been wanting for a while, and Simon two French braids. Hazel and Simon bickered over who could be better at doing Grace’s hair and she wound up with one of them on each side, turning her into a lopsided headed hot mess. She took selfies of the act in progress and even went live to show people what she was doing with her Christmas Eve… just because sharing certain parts of her life was fun…

OF COURSE, she anticipated that she might accidentally get a shot of Simon’s face as she did this, but she was careful to try not to. Whenever she DID accidentally do so (or maybe someone heard his voice or Hazel say his name in the background or something), she had plenty of comments to ignore about the matter. But, someone within minutes had already created posts about Simon and Grace in family pajamas and doing each other’s hair.

When she turned it off, she reminded them that they weren’t saying anything about it. But, all of them had their own photos and people definitely were piecing together the matching pajamas, even though Simon wasn’t posting full photos of himself on his… he DID post photos of Hazel, Grace and Samantha. Eventually, Hazel, with her doe eyes told them that she wasn’t used to having a Christmas like this and she wanted an actual family photo. Simon made it happen, as the one who was best at it, and Hazel changed her profile pic to it. This was a Christmas dream come true for her, so Grace didn’t raise a fuss about the nosy people. Simon was grateful for that, too, as he wrapped himself around her, while Hazel laid her head on her lap for them to watch Christmas movies until Hazel fell asleep. Simon tucked her away in her bed, setting the atmosphere of the room the way that he had seen Grace do several times in the time that they had been spending time sleeping over at each others’ - the lighting, the diffuser, her Tuba stuffie, and Samantha had come into the room and curled around her feet. Simon gave Hazel’s hair a strumming and shut the door quietly behind him.

Whenever he went back out, Grace wasn’t in the living room anymore and she’d turned off the TV, so he presumed she went to bed, as well. He picked up any clutter they left laying around and put things back where they belonged before he retired too. Grace was… awake… She wasn’t in her matching pajamas anymore. Instead, she had on a red nightie that hardly covered anything, with some fun stuff beneath. He froze, shut the door, locked it. She leaned back against the pillows and smirked, “It’s Christmas Eve. I believe that you have something to show me.”

“Permission to present, Ma’am?”

“I consent.” Simon smiled and removed his pajamas before approaching the bed and removing his boxers. “Bring it here, for further inspection,” she said, with a teasing smile. He climbed into bed, and saw that she had on pasties that read “Naughty” and “Nice” and her thong had a picture of a mistletoe on the front. He stared at it and looked up at her. “I consent,” she repeated, to answer his unasked question.

They still weren't going all the way. Grace wasn't sure when she might be ready for that and Simon wasn't pressing his luck by asking for more. Besides, there were things far more important than sex and while her using favors and acts as a means to keep him… in line, he was more than appreciative about the fact that he was invited to spend New Year's Eve with she and her friends.

Whenever Mr. and Mrs. Monroe came over for the opening of the presents, Grace was back into her pajamas again and nobody ever would have known just how naughty she had been the night before. Hazel got more presents than were even reasonable, and Grace was given a lot by her parents and Simon, as well. Simon was surprised that her parents had bought him gifts as well. He had expected ones from Grace (was unsure about Hazel, but glad to receive from her too). There was… a lot of love he was feeling. It reminded him of whenever he used to spend holidays with the Monroes and be treated at least like he mattered, if not like family. He cried about it, apologizing to the Monroes for everything he'd done. Mrs. Monroe brushed it off, but he and Mr. Monroe wound up talking at length about things men are supposed to do and not supposed to do, why he had been disgusted by Simon's decisions, etc. At the end of it, Simon did feel like Mr. Monroe forgave him. Mrs. Monroe was always going to feel how she felt, and that was alright. It had to be, just like it had to be, that Simon was always going to feel how he felt about his parents… who also sent gifts for him and Hazel with the Monroes. Hazel and him decided that they would video call them together to thank them. Faith looked terrible. She looked like a fading ghost. But, she was starting to be nicer. Probably the guilt and the fear of thinking that something was next.

For Simon? What was next was here on Earth. Christmas Day yielded him having to put together things for Hazel and Grace, finish making sure that dinner was right, and continually try to score brownie points with Grace. The Monroes were staying at an upscale hotel, but stayed at the townhouse well past nightfall. Grace had kept certain things steady - the candles, sometimes throwing a little handful of herbs she selected into the fireplace, everyone’s drink glasses, and check-ins with Simon, to make sure he was still feeling okay, as this was their first Christmas together and her family could be stressful, etc. He was great. He never wanted it to end. He felt needed and wanted. He felt cared for and acknowledged. He didn’t even have that anxious feeling that it was all going to go away.

He wound up having to carry Hazel to bed. She fell asleep on her grandparents’ laps, playing on a new device they got her, which he put away first and tucked her in, accordingly.

“He seems very comfortable here,” Mrs. Monroe said.

“We’re working on things, Mom,” Grace said, nodding. Her parents had about the same amount of information that everyone else had about this situation. The more that they knew was that Simon would be there for Christmas. They hadn’t expected him to have slept over, in matching pajamas, to be cooking the food, building the toys, and certainly not for him to be tucking their granddaughter into bed. “We’ve been working on things since maybe a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, give or take a few days.”

“So, he’s made this place a second home in a month’s time.” It was a statement.

“Mommy! Stop.”

Simon returned, just as cheerful as before and paused when he noticed the energy in the room. He pointed his thumb towards Hazel’s room and said, “I may have to add something in there to make storage more optimal, with all the new stuff..” Grace just smiled and nodded. “Did I interrupt something.”

“Just my reservations about you being here,” Mrs. Monroe said. Simon frowned and he nodded. “But, my daughter is an adult now. She makes her own decisions and if you tell her too much that she doesn’t like, she moves across the country and rarely calls…” Grace groaned, “SO! I guess my reservations will merely dissipate, like they’ve done in days past.”

“I think you should definitely feel how you feel…” He bit his lip and told Grace, “I’ll head home.”

“Head home? You’re not gonna stay?... and… help me clean up in the kitchen?” She asked… not wanting him to leave her alone with her parents and not wanting to say that either. But, he took the hint.

“Right! Sorry. Of course, I am.” He squeezed her hand and sat down beside her. There was some silence, then he broke it, “I know that everyone has reason not to believe me and I’m not going to beg anybody anymore… except for Grace, sometimes. At this point, it is out of everyone’s control whether or not I can be trusted, as Grace has decided to try to trust me. It’s now up to me to live up to that opportunity. Everyone is welcome to come to my house tomorrow and go through and see what I’ve been up to lately.”

They spent some time at his house the next day and now, Mrs. Monroe wondered, “Why didn’t you just host Christmas here?”

“Maybe next year,” Grace said, with a shrug. It was the best thing that Simon had heard. He smiled and blushed and puffed his chest out. She was considering that she hoped to still be with him next year. That was a perfect ending to his Christmas, and he prayed for New Year’s Eve to go well, too.

.

Shana fortunately was not going to be there. She and her girlfriend were in Cali for Christmas and New Year's. In fact, there were several other people that were there that hadn't been around for the birthday party Simon had sort of crashed. Tulip, Mikayla, and Julliard chick who he found out was named Chapa were there, along with the Black ginger dude, who they called Meta, and Damita, Grace's alleged best friend. There were about a dozen other people too. Among them, Ghairrisahn, and truth be told, seeing her again, and in close quarters, Simon was still a little bit smitten by her. But, he also kept looking at Grace, who had worn what was essentially sparkly jewelry out.

It was luminescent chain mail two piece, pleated like victory curtain swag that flowed like water and sparkles like embers whenever the light caught it. The cup only bra and seamless panty beneath was so customized to her skin tone, he'd thought that she was naked beneath and initially almost injured himself when she took off her fur coat.

Nobody in the room was as sexy… Though… he really had to admit… Her friends were all pretty sexy.

Someone offered him a beverage, and he declined, "I don't drink."

"Are you both straight edge?"

"No. I take a lot of meds and have a partially functioning liver and less than stellar spleen. Couldn’t afford to drink, if I was even tempted to."

"Jesus! A medical condition?"

"Ummm… the meds, yes. I've got delusional tendencies, ummm… not heavy, but enough that I need the additional assistance. The organs were the consequences to one of my many, many aggravated episodes."

"Which… were not actually related to his psychosis," Grace offered and threw him a look, wondering why he was divulging the information this way.

"Not directly. I have some struggles, but I also can be an asshole," he chuckled. "A little childhood trauma, poor early development resources and a personality disorder that I've been working through, with a lot of help…" he looked at Grace and she cupped his chin and smiled at him. That was enough to help him relax.

"You don't have to tell people all of that, Gray Eyes. “I’m on medication” is enough, or even, just “I don’t drink."

"It's… fine." He smiled back, his heart uncontrollable as he looked her way. God, she was beautiful and precious. He loved her so much. He loved that she was with him again, and that it was more than it had ever been before.

"How bout a virgin daiquiri?"

"Sure, thanks."

The night mellowed out after a while. Grace went to call in with the nanny to check on Hazel when it was her bedtime. Simon watched her as she stepped out of the room, sparkling and waited to see her strut back inside. "Hazel just went to bed," she told him.

A few moments later, Meta asked Simon, "Have you heard Grace freestyle?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Freestyle."

"Freestyle?"

"Rap…?"

"Rap…???" Simon immediately thought about when they were younger and Grace tried to rap. She was probably 13 he was sure not 14 yet, and it was both miserable to hear but the absolute best thing because it was so comical. That thought alone steered him from the surrounding conversation that followed onto laughing uncontrollably.

Grace and Ghairrisahn stared at him and others tried not to laugh at his response. Grace simply thought, ‘So, you’re just gonna sit here and laugh in my face like this?’ Tears were streaming from his eyes! When he finally composed himself he took a few moments trying to breathe again and asked, "Hmm?" he repeated, “Rap? Like… rap music?” He got up to find some tissue and Grace folded her arms, smirking. “I’M GONNA PEEE!!!” Simon called out, rushing to the bathroom.

He returned a few minutes later, seemingly composed, but muttered the word, “Rap,” and laughed again, though not as hard, this time.

Ghairrisahn suggested, "Let him listen to her Fat P**** verse."

Simon choked and his eyes were wide, "Her what?"

"Oh my God, you guys! That was so long ago!" Grace said. "Please, nobody have that! I already had to sit here and watch this man laugh harder than he ever has in all the years that I’ve known him."

"I have it," Damita said. “I still jam Fat P***y. Salty that they never made and released that. That was dope. We can always use more p***y songs, in my opinion.”

Simon was definitely on board to keep hearing pretty women casually say the P word, but his face must have shown his confusion, because Grace explained, "Whenever I first tried to make my mark in the New York music scene, they were wondering if I could rap, and I had been practicing…" Simon started laughing again, but she talked over him, "BECAUSE, I didn't like the way I used to sound. So I was trying to tap into like the hot girl aesthetic and when Sahn called to ask me if I wanted to write some songs for her and maybe work on demos with her, one of my more risque songs that was all singing of course, they asked, can you throw in a rap verse?"

“Here’s the verse,” Damita said and turned it up:

“Ever since I was a baby sucking on my mama teet, everybody realized, wasn't nobody hot as me.

I was born with it, true, I got it from my mama. Grew up, glowed up, now these b****** want drama.

Can't be mad at me cuz your men keep flocking. Girl I don't want them n****s, I tell them to keep walking.

Why do she? Act like she all that, stuntin hard, swear to God on all them alleycats.

Why she never shook when every other bitch would be?

I got too much of my own to ever act like a groupie. Every real n**** know that girl so bougie.

Why so many high rollers be wanting her to choose he?

Maybe that's because they know she got that good coochie.

That's right, fat p***y on my stat sheet. They wanna hit, but I only let ‘em eat me.

Pucker up, work that tongue until they can't breathe -

And only if they got the energy to please me… Fat P***y…”

The song went on to soulfully and smoothly sing about fat P, and there were whispers and ad libs that he knew were Grace. By the end, he wondered where her rap was. "What happened?"

"I practiced and got better at rapping, so my verse sounded good, but they didn’t like it. They felt like it was too much.”

He laughed. "That wasn't you!" They played it again and she rapped and sang along. Simon had a look in his eyes as he was forced to admit, "Well… you definitely got better than the rapping I remember."

Then, he was once again thinking about how she sounded way back when. It caused another fit of laughter. “Boy, fuck you!” Grace said and playfully kicked him. Even still, he couldn’t stop laughing.

What made matters worse was whenever Damita asked, “Was your rapping as bad as the freestyle you did on Tuba’s show?”

“WHAT???” Simon asked and howled at the sky. “PLEASE! PLEASE… Do you have that?”

“It’s online,” Damita said.

“Woooooow. You are such a fake friend,” Grace said.

“You… did it in a studio audience…”

Simon found the clip and it wasn’t actually bad. It was definitely of the Kids’ Bop variety, but he loved it. “You’re good at rapping now. Because, I mean… do YOU remember when you first tried?”

She shook her head, “No, that sounds made up. I think you imagined it.” Simon stopped smiling and stopped to think, with an anxious look on his face. Grace caught her mistake and winced. She climbed onto his lap and said, “No, no, no… I'm sorry. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t mean that. You didn’t imagine it. I definitely tried to rap and sounded like somebody’s suburban Becky with a struggle blaccent.” He took a deep breath and nodded. She took his chin in her hand and forced his lips to pucker for her to kiss. “Sorry about that. I promise, I didn’t mean to make you panic.”

“S’ok.” He smiled.

Ultimately he had Damita to send him the audio of the demo. As funny as the idea of her wrapping had been before, he couldn't deny that there was something very appealing about getting to hear her say that word over and over.

Ringing in a new year kissing her lips in front of other people felt like a tremendous accomplishment. Appearing in several of the photos with her and her friends that were circulating social media, and then leaving with her on his arm, in that goddamn bracelet from Tiffany's and the fur coat. Ghairrisahn gave him a kiss on the cheek goodnight. He and Tulip exchanged contact info for a possible work project later. Nobody punched him. He was able to get some friction action from Grace, to the point of losing control in his pants, and he had a new catchy song to sing and rap about.

Every time he brings it up, it's either him laughing about how he remembered her old rap, or him rapping sporadically about having a fat P… which.. also gave him a little chuckle. Neither of them knew at that time that he would walk around the house rapping it for a few weeks, every few months, for quite a while.

"For someone with little compact titties and a tight little petite butt, you do have a pretty fat pu-"

"I will definitely react in displeasure if you finish that statement…" They gave each other wincing smiles. He punctuated his by kissing her on the nose real quick.

.

Whenever Valentines Day rolled around, she told him that she didn’t really want to do anything… which he HATED, because he loved that day! But, she wanted to be lowkey and she didn’t think that he could manage lowkey. She decided to make him one of his beloved ASMR videos, of her eating chocolate covered fruit and sucking on ice cubes with edible flowers in them. “This is gonna help smooth me over for a long time,” he said watching it. “I made you a video too.”

“Send it to me!” she said.

Whenever she opened the video and it was a fanvid compilation of her dancing in music videos or her social media posts, played to match up with Fat P***y, she cackled, then shook her head, “I am so tired of your ass,” she joked.

That was around the time that the revised second book of Esmoroth: The Idol Princess Falls was released.

Hazel decided that she would read them to Grace, because it had become obvious that Grace was never going to read them for herself and things were always easier to hear when they came from Hazel. She loved Hazel’s voice. She was able to get both books read to Grace by the end of Spring Break that year. Grace frequently texted Simon her complaints with this Idol Princess and how she was depicted. He was working a lot of the time and grateful of that fact. She wasn’t cool with most of the first book. She warmed up with the second one, EVEN THOUGH the Idol Princess died near the end. Correction: The Future King KILLED her! KILLED HER. He tried to explain that he couldn’t change that portion. That it was important to the plot of the third book, where the Future King would be hunted down because of this murder and go on a journey to bring the Idol Princess back!

It was extremely important.

“Okay, but how does she ever forgive this motherfucker after the way that he turned on her for something that was a misunderstanding?? HE KILLED HER, SIMON!” He knew that most of her emotions were because of who those characters represented. That book sold more than the first one and she found herself in the Esmoroth fandom… at least incognito, seeing that the Idol Princess was actually quite hated and many were relieved of her death. They didn’t know yet that she would be back and it took a lot out of her not to tell those punks! Did they even read the same book?? Simon found her on the porch swing, with her phone, crying.

“Grace…”

“It’s the exile from the Apex all over again.” He kneeled beside her. “They’re treating her exactly like they treated me and what am I gonna do? Get upset over a fictional character? No. I’m upset over the fact that whether she’s fictional, or whether she’s real, this is what people always do. We can’t do anything right.” She wiped her tears. “She tried really hard to make everyone happy and she died trying to help him. Trying to SAVE him, and he purposefully killed her, and they STILL see her as the bad guy. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the Apex and I’m sorry for the Esmoroth fandom…”

She sighed and shook her head, “Fuck them nerds, Man.” She said. But, she was still hurt. Mostly, because it felt so much like reopening wounds that she thought she had healed from. It got so bad to the point that Simon almost backed out of publishing the last one, but he HAD to publish that one! That was the story of how the Future King was willing to go through every trial and tribulation, face every danger and fear just to get his friend back. What he hadn’t told her was that the character ultimately has to be willing to die, himself in order to awaken her. He had a few different possible endings and he wasn’t sure which one was most sufficient. He figured that might be because his future with Grace wasn’t always very clear. Particularly after he awakened that pain of betrayal inside of her.

The couple’s and group therapy was especially helpful during this time, because she honestly felt unreasonable in how upset this story made her, and had to remember and realize that her feelings weren’t necessarily towards the book’s feedback, but her own unaddressed hurt for the way that she had been treated. Sure, she had forgiven Simon, but at Simon’s initial harm, she had been subjected to thousands of hurtful opinions and harassment. She had spoken to a few people and rectified things - Shana, Simon, her parents… but what about the general public? What about her former “friends” and “followers” online? The people who she didn’t know before who appeared simply to speak on how much they hated a 16 year old girl. The people who made her life hell by forcing their way into her mentions, and into her mind… and once again… Simon, because he KNEW that they would and he KNEW it would hurt, because she had been very open with him at the time that such things were hurting her.

How was she supposed to build with someone who she would apparently for at least a long time, if not forever, she would think about how he tore her down. How he learned everything about her when they loved each other only to use things against her when he thought they didn’t.

Once upon a time, Simon was convinced that he had never done anything wrong in his life and that every time something happened that was wrong in his world, it was because of the people around him doing things to him, which was true in certain cases, but certainly not in every case, and definitely not in Grace’s case… But, once he felt attacked, all bets were off and he wasn’t letting up on her. It reached the point where she wondered if it was her fault and while she suffered her breakdown, before he was ever forced to get help of his own… she had attackers from all sides. Strangers. Associates. Fake friends… And they all rose against her, despite the fact that she was already down and the fact of the matter was and always would be that she was already down because Simon KNOCKED her down.

And… she had loved him through it. She’d always loved him. It was something that she felt so stiupid about for so long, while she was recovering, and for a time, she didn’t feel that way. In fact, as of the moment, Simon had done absolutely nothing to make her recall the hurt. She might have been offset by reading those books, and escalated it by checking out the fandom, but while he would always have a fear of abandonment from his mom or whatever… she was starting to feel like she would always have the fear of his betrayal. She was willing to hear him out, to work on establishing boundaries and rebuilding trust, rebuilding love, but there would probably always be the underlying torment, “I didn’t know how much he hated me, before. How can I ever know that I haven’t made one of his hard to determine mistakes and that he isn’t in the process of making me pay for it?” She asked, crying. “I just… have to trust him… but… I thought I did, then suddenly… I realize out of nowhere, maybe I don’t. Maybe I can’t. Maybe I never will.”

Simon started crying but he put one hand over his face and tried to suck it up. “The worst part is that he’s done nothing to provoke this wave of distrust… so it feels like there's not really anything that he could do to reassure me. He was already in the process of reassuring me and this just arose…" Simon sobbed. "Simon…" he shook his head. "This is what happens. When something comes up, he feels responsible, then I feel bad."

"I AM responsible. It doesn't matter if it was years ago. The damage was done and I'm the one who did it."

"Have you to tried taking some space apart to just be able to find each of your bearings without leaning on how each other makes you feel?"

They hadn't. But, now that the counselor suggested it,they would. Grace worried about Simon… that he might… react. She spent the first few days paranoid, checking behind her and being startled by every surprise sound at home.

During that time, one of her music videos released and the internet was abuzz with the racy nature of her single Lovedrunk Country and certain scenes in the video, including her choreography which included pole dancing, a peepshow setting, and at least one lapdance in which she is seen dancing with her thighs open in the recipient's face.

Someone (many someones) asked Simon what he thought about the video and he said, "It's an incredibly sexy video with awesome costume design and chorography. Who doesn't want to be the guy in the chair?"

She'd warned him whenever they were filming of some of the stuff in the video, but she had forgotten by the time it aired and worried that he might have too.

Grace: Heyyy… How is everything?

Simon: Confusing.

Grace: How do you mean?

Simon: I'm on so much meds right now.

Grace: For what?

Simon: The usual + I'm sick. ☹️

Grace: Do you need some help?

Simon: I don't want to trouble anybody.

Grace: Ummm. Who is "anybody?" Your concerned lovelady is worried! I'm coming over.

Simon: You don't have to do that. I need you to feel safe.

Grace: Are you contagious?

Simon: It's an infection. But… I meant because of therapy…

Grace: It's passed. I miss you, Fool.

Simon: 🥺 I've been miserable.

.

That happened from time to time. They'd be flourishing. They'd be fine. Then, they'd be frustrated and need to give each other a little room (technically, it was almost always Grace), as Simon really did seem as though he was willing to go through anything just to make sure he was always near her. Sometimes that meant going through time apart from her. But they didn't put their relationship on hold. Whenever they were taking space it was literally just that. Going to their own homes for a little bit until everybody was comfortable again.

By May, Hazel's 11th birthday, they threw the party at Simon's house. That June, Grace's album came out. That July, Mrs. Monroe said that she was looking for a surrogate, so that she and Mr. Monroe could try again at another child. Simon's 24th birthday, he announced that a major studio made a deal with him for the Book of Esmoroth. By Grace's 24th, the Monroes had found their surrogate. That Halloween, Simon and Hazel had dressed as some characters from some sci fi or fantasy world of theirs and Grace was dressed down, in a hoodie and some yoga pants with her fro pulled forward. Because, she was always dressing up and having to look amazing. Halloween was a day that she dressed up by not dressing up at all. Four days later, Simon's dad called to tell him that his mother had "Gone to be with the Lord."

Simon didn't want to go back to her services if Grace wasn't going to be with him. So, her parents kept Hazel while she went along for emotional support… and Simon needed more than he thought he would for losing his mom..

She was "dead to him" long ago. Even in her last days, it was like staring at a corpse that was making groaning noises. She'd lived past when they thought, but she never actually told Simon that she forgave him, and people's insistence on saying that now Faith and Hope were together just made him furious.

He took a leave of absence from work and saw the grief counselor a little more frequently. Grace made recipes she had bookmarked, hoping that might make him feel better on the home front. He wasn't coming out of the house, so she and Hazel spent Thanksgiving week at his.

Hazel wondered, "Are you going to be well enough to cook for Thanksgiving? You might not remember, but you said that you'd make turducken… if you don't… Grace will try… three birds will have died in vain…" Simon snorted and tousled her hair. "She's really worried about you."

"I'm trying really hard to get better for you two…"

"No. That's not what you need to be doing. You need to be trying to get better for you."

"My therapist has told me that before."

"And what? You pay him to not listen to him?"

Simon shook his head, "I don't understand why I'm so sad. She was a bad person who was bad to me. She hurt me and made me as bad as her, maybe worse. Why would I care that she's gone?"

"It doesn't matter why. You do, and that's gotta be okay, because you obviously can't control it. Let yourself feel whatever you need to and try to get better for you. In the meantime, I wasn't playing about that turducken. You… can't let Grace try to take on something like that. She just started making edible food like… this year…"

He cackled and Grace peeked in, "Hey Ho Whoa! Is my loveman feeling better?" He caught her eye and forced a smile. She knew it was fake, but it was the first he'd tried in weeks, so she felt better. Simon forced himself into the kitchen that week to make Thanksgiving happen. Grace and Hazel followed whatever instructions he gave for additional help, and after he was actually up and about making himself useful and spending time with his favorite two people, he felt better too.

This year, he was thankful for another year with them… "Oh God… I let our first anniversary slip by!"

"Simon… I don't know what day that was even."

"November 5th," Simon said. "Because that remember, remember the 5th of November rhyme was in my head…"

"Ohhhh." Grace winced and she bit her lip. "I mean… it makes sense you forgot… the day started with your mom…" Simon frowned. That was the same day?

"SHE. RUINS. EVERYTHING!" he roared. Hazel squealed and fell to the floor. Simon got up and stormed out of the back door. Grace heard him screaming and hitting things and it had been a really long time since he did anything like that. Hazel was crying… so she wasn't a turtle. Grace helped her up and brought her to her room then went to check on Simon.

He was bound to snap, the way that he had been holding everything in all month. He was pacing and she stayed on the porch and observed. "Simon?"

He shook his head, "No. No, I'm not coming back inside like this. "She just… with her last breath had to take something else away from me…"

"She took nothing but her last breath, Si."

"That day can't be special without me having to think about her dying!"

Grace came down off the porch, "That day can be whatever we say it is, because we're still here. She's dead. Her power should be gone, Simon." She offered a smile, then asked, "Did I ever tell you about the first ceremony that Hazel and I ever attended together?" She explained meeting Hazel, and the way that she put everything to rest for her… "I think one of the main reasons that you can't get past this is because you felt like you were supposed to be giving her tribute. You felt like because you were sad and morning that that meant that you had to pay your respects. But when you tried you didn't find any. That's okay Simon. You don't have to pay respects. You could simply send her off with your truth. Whatever that is you've got to face it. you can't bottle everything in and then just explode like that in front of Hazel. She was terrified."

He looked guilty and sad as he rushed back in to apologize. Hazel took it well. And when he mentioned that ceremony of theirs, Hazel and Grace went back outside with him so that he could have his own. It was mostly accusations, frustrations, and some yelling… but he got it all off of his chest, the way that couldn't be done at a proper funeral. After that, he honestly and truly started feeling like his good self again.

By Christmas, as was hoped the previous year, Grace still had him in her life. They did Christmas at his house that year.

Next

[sparkie96]

Umbrella Leon and BSAA Chris part 2, please? Love u💕

He couldn’t help the butterflies in his belly, nor the fluttering of his heart as his plane landed in the Eastern Slav Republic. They did it. They were almost free and in the clear. Just a couple more stops and they didn’t have to worry about anything. The plane landed at the designated terminal, the stewards and stewardesses helped the passengers out of their seats and to the designated areas. Leon had been surprised at how long it had taken, but this time…he didn’t dread the trip here. 

No, this time, he wasn’t here for an assignment for Neo-Umbrella. They didn’t even know he was here, nor did they know he was never coming back. He was here for a different type of mission. One that didn’t involve BOWs or civil wars. This was a more…personal mission for him. And this time, he wasn’t alone. 

“Where are we?” A female voice asked next to him, Sherry Birkin pulling her carry-on bag from the storage compartment above them, “Are we safe?" 

Leon gave a nod, "Yeah…for now. We’re going to be staying with a friend of mine…just until my contact pulls through on the rendezvous." 

Sherry gave a knowing smile and a cocked brow, "You mean when Captain Chris Redfield meets up with us to sweep you off your feet and take us to whatever BSAA Headquarters will have us until he sets everything up." 

”…Right.“ Leon chuckled, giving her a kiss on the forehead, "But…you and I are almost in the clear…then we’re free." 

A sigh left the blonde, "We should have been free when Wesker died in Africa." 

"I know, kiddo.” Leon replied, getting his own carry-on, “But luckily, we were able to escape when they were switching everyone and everything over to new facilities." 

Sherry nodded, stepping in front of Leon as they filed out of the plane. While waiting for their luggage at baggage claims, she had initiated a game of "I Spy” to take their minds off of things and pass the time while waiting for their ride to this “mysterious hide-out”. The game reminded her of when she was little and when Leon came back from assignments for Umbrella. Or while they had been traveling to new facilities between company takeovers.

She had been grateful that Leon had been there to take care of her when Umbrella picked them up after Raccoon City. He had been angry that they had been in the hands of the enemy, but he vowed to never leave her side, becoming like a father to her. And now, all these years later, he had taken her with him in hopes of finally getting freedom. A new start at a better life far from BOWs and evil corporations. 

Well, sort of…considering Leon’s fiancé’s job with the BSAA. 

“I spy…” Leon said, looking around the airport terminal, smiling when he saw a yellow suitcase next to an elderly couple, “Hm…something yellow." 

Sherry gave a thoughtful hum as she looked around the terminal, trying to figure it out. She spotted a little girl with a bright yellow rain slicker, "Her jacket?” She guessed nodding toward the little girl. 

Leon shook his head as they sat down, “Nope.”

“Darn.” Sherry pouted, looking around some more before spotting a woman with yellow rain boots, “What about that lady’s boots?" 

"Here’s a hint; It’s not clothing.” Leon said, chuckling when Sherry gave an overdramatic groan. 

“Okay!” She sighed, looking around at all the possibilities, “Does it have anything to do with clothing?" 

Leon gave a nod. Okay, so, it was yellow and it wasn’t clothing…but it had something to do with clothing. What could it be? She analyzed the area, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she looked around at their surroundings. She spotted an elderly couple sitting together, a yellow suitcase at their feet. She snapped her fingers together, giving a "Ah, ha!” Before pointing to the suitcase, a confident smile on her lips as she looked between the suitcase and Leon.

The former agent laughed and nodded, “Yup. You got it, Sherry Berry.”

“Sweet! Now you owe me hot cocoa!” She cheered with a playful smile and a wink.

“When did we agree on cocoa?” Leon asked with a smile of his own.

“Best out of seven. I won! Loser buys hot cocoa." 

Leon gave a mock groan of annoyance and defeat, "Fine…”

____________

After cups of piping hot cocoa, and an hour or two of waiting, as well as keeping watch out of pure paranoia, their ride finally arrived. A silver car with partially blacked out windows rolled up in front of the airport entrance. A man, a bit taller than Leon, stepped out first, looking quite skeptical of them both. He merely made an odd sound that sounded like a grunt before nodding to the car, taking their bags for them. Sherry couldn’t help but notice that it had started raining pretty hard out here. 

“Not happy to see me, Buddy?” Leon asked with a mock pout, “I’m surprised you’re able to walk." 

"Chris Redfield and the BSAA hooked me up with a back brace and neurotransmitter for my back.” Buddy said, “Helps with traveling…you know, after you shot me." 

Leon opened the back door for Sherry, giving a shrug and a tilt of the head, "Well, it was either shoot you or allow the parasite to take hold and then I would have had to shoot you in the head." 

"True…” Buddy replied, looking at Sherry, “This is the girl, I presume?" 

"Yes, sir.” Leon nodded.

“I thought you said she was a little girl?" 

"She was when I found her and she was when we were taken.” Leon replied, “Sherry, this is Buddy. Buddy, this is Sherry.”

Sherry gave a nod and offered a hand for the man to shake, “Hi!" 

Buddy gave a small smile, shaking her hand in return, "Nice girl…how did you manage to get stuck with Leon?" 

Leon scoffed and rolled his eyes with a playfully smile, "Now…we gonna stand out here in the rain and chat or are we going to the safehouse?" 

"Whatever.” Buddy replied, “Get in. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“Okay, Buddy.” Leon simply said before settling in the passenger seat. 

Sherry looked between them, unsure of the relationship between them. Leon had said that he and Mr. Kozachenko had been friends, but right now, they weren’t exactly the shining example of “Friendship Goals”. But judging by what Leon had told her of his misadventures whilst working for Umbrella…he was probably the closest thing Leon had to an ally that wouldn’t be seen as a threat nor would Buddy be on the Organization’s radar. 

Outside of whatever was going on with him and Claire’s brother. 

It had taken seemingly hours, but they finally made it into the small village Buddy now lived…and most likely the area closest to their rendezvous point. They pulled up to a sort of lodge or a mountain house, she couldn’t exactly tell. Either way, this must be where they were to stay until Chris would arrive to extract them. Leon and Buddy began unpacking the bags, Buddy handing Sherry a set of keys and handing Leon another. Sherry looked between them, Buddy saying that there was enough space for them to stay in separate rooms. 

“Don’t worry,” Leon said, looking at the numbers on the keytags, making their way inside and up the stairs to where they would be lodging, “We’ll be either right next door or across the hall. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.” 

Sherry gave him a smile, hugging the brunette, “I know. You always keep your promises.” 

Leon returned the gesture, giving her a hug and a small smile. He handed her her bags as she unlocked her door, waiting until she was able to settle inside. Once her door was closed and locked, Leon turned to his own door and bags. Buddy explained that the television had a couple of channels, the shower had running water and a phone, but it was mostly for room service. They didn’t have the mini fridges or a kitchen, but if they wanted food, there was a cafe downstairs and a diner across the street. Leon looked to Buddy and thanked him for this favor and his help. 

“Don’t mention it, American.” Buddy replied with a smile and a wink, going downstairs to talk to Marina and a couple of locals. 

Leon gave a small chuckle as he unlocked his own door. He gently nudged it open and grabbed his bags, heading inside. There wasn’t much to the room, but he really didn’t need much. A bed, a dresser with a television on top of it, a working bathroom, and whatever else one would need for staying under the radar until the BSAA showed up…which wouldn’t be for a couple days, according to what Buddy said in the car. 

On the bright side, Sherry was safe, Buddy was safe, and he was safe. Chris was also in town, but he was currently at the Embassy across town finalizing their arrangements. 

After unpacking his own belongings, and kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket, Leon took a moment to sit down on his bed and decided to just relax and…think about everything. As he laid back onto the pillows and stared up at the white tiled ceiling, he thought about everything he and Sherry had been through. 

Thirteen years…it had taken thirteen years of planning in order to get out from under Wesker and his organization’s thumb. Thirteen years to finally get Sherry out of there and hopefully, move her out and into a better life. He had been working behind Wesker’s back for years, sneakily working with Chris and playing double agent in order to get any semblance of freedom. It had been a lot easier once Chris had killed the man in Africa. 

He felt a fluttering feeling in his chest and stomach, almost as if there were butterflies tickling his insides, a giddy feeling washing over him. Leon felt like he was going to either cry or laugh…or maybe both. He was just so happy, still in disbelief that this all was happening. They were going to have a happy ending…like the kind he used to read from those Fairy Tales Sherry and he used to read at night. 

Leon let out a sigh of relief as he curled up on the bed, glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table. He had some time before Chris got here and before them and Sherry were going to eat dinner. Maybe he could squeeze in a quick snooze. He could finally relax…and maybe finally be able to just…nap in peace. And he did…and it was the most peaceful and relaxing naps of his life.  

About an hour later, there was knocking on his door, rousing the brunette from sleep. The knocking continued, Leon getting up out of the bed and rubbing at his eyes, telling the person that he was coming and to hold their horses. He unlocked the locks and opened the door, eyes focusing as he gave the newcomer a lazy smile. 

“You get all dressed up for me, Handsome?” Leon asked in a sultry purr, wrapping his arms around Chris’s neck. 

Chris chuckled, standing before the younger in yet another suit, but this one was different from the one Leon had “soiled” a couple of months ago. This one was more like a military suit complete with badges that showed Chris’s accomplishments in the field. The bigger man wrapped his arms around Leon’s waist, meeting him halfway for a sweet, chaste kiss. 

“I did actually.” Chris said with a smile, walking Leon backward before kicking the door shut with his foot, “I could have changed but…I thought this appropriate for the occasion.” 

Leon leaned up and kissed him again, pulling him into a tight embrace, burying his face into the crook of Chris’s neck, “I missed you…so fucking much.” 

“I know.” Chris replied, resting his head on the younger’s shoulder, “I missed you too…but I kept my promise. You and Sherry are free now.” 

Leon pulled away, looking up into Chris’s eyes with a relieved smile, giving a nod as he felt tears in his eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. Chris peppered feather light kisses all over Leon’s cheeks, forehead and the bridge of his nose before giving one more kiss to his lips. He sat down with Leon, wanting to know how his and Sherry’s ride was and if Buddy was treating them alright. Leon chuckled, saying that Buddy had treated them kindly and Sherry was relieved to see the world outside of the facilities and the vast nothingness that surrounded the grounds. 

“She’s most excited to see Claire again.” Leon admitted, “Though, of course she’ll be ecstatic to see you too.” 

Chris chuckled, “Well, yeah, she met Sherry first. Claire can’t wait to see her again. Both of you actually. She had been worried sick about you two and is already making space in her house for Sherry. She was helping me make room for you at my house too.” 

Leon chuckled, Chris wiping away his tears for him, “This is still all so surreal…after all this time…” 

“I know.” Chris said with a nod, kissing his cheek again, “Just a couple more days, and we’ll be home free.” 

Leon looked up at him, a smile on his lips, “I love you, you know that, right? I never got to tell you…but I always wanted to. Even after all those times I had to leave, I never stopped or doubted that.” 

“I love you too, Leon.” Chris smiled, hugging him close, “And I won’t let you go ever again.”

(Can’t get too much into it. I might accidentally slip and put in spoilers!) 

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Paint Job

A/N: Here we go again :)

>>>>——————————>

"Oh my god, is this symbol painted on your bike?"

"Of all things, that's what you pick up on?!" The vigilante yelled back in an exasperated yet distracted tone, evidently frustrated as he released his sleeping hold on the final thug.

"I wouldn't have if it wasn't so bad - it's all over the headlight. You do this with your helmet on or something?" You wittily responded, standing from your crouching position in front of his motorcycle.

"I don't have to explain myself to you now run along and stay out of trouble!" Red Hood waved you off, at this point simply wanting to get on with the rest of his night.

"Ooooh, look whose getting defensive - how 'bout you bring it to my shop, (L/n) Autos, tomorrow night once I'm closed and I'll give it a custom paint job free of charge, think of it as a..." Your hands rested on your hips as you drifted off toward the end of your statement apparently in thought. The way your brows furrowed was quite cute actually.

"A thanks for saving your life?" The vigilante cockily finished for you once getting on his bike, but you shook your head and sassily shot him down.

"Ew, no. An upgrade, I mean wow."

"Rude, so ungrateful nowadays." The tone was unbelievably sarcastic and you knew he was rolling his eyes under the helmet but you couldn't care less, only folding your arms and responding with a dead tone.

"Uh Huh, I'll see you tomorrow 11pm. Got it?" You called after him, the male speeding off into the night - maybe Mrs C keeping you late had its meanings. God that mysterious woman...

.

In honesty you didn't think he'd show up, or if he'd even heard you after he'd raced off. Maybe you should've thanked him for preventing those assholes from robbing you instead of insulting his ride yet you stayed up after closing just in case.

A diligent knock brought you back to reality, the sound of clanging metal echoing through your workshop as you heaved open the massive entrance door. There stood your knight in leather armour, helmet still covering his identity as he leaned against the wall.

"That offer still open?"

"For that atrocity, hell yes." You internally winced at your inability to be kind to your saviour but breathed a sigh of relief when he laughed and handed you his keys.

"How long do you want it?"

"Hmm, give me a week."

"Whatever you want doll." And with that he was gone, off grappling across Gothams skyline with nothing but effortless beauty.

.

It had been a taxing week without his baby, but hopefully you didn't disappoint - Jason creaked open the door to your unique workshop, immediately noticing his newly designed motorcycle and it took his breath away.

"Woah..."

He walked around it admiringly, fingers delicately tracing your beautiful handiwork as he went, still unable to comprehend that this masterpiece was once his bike before coming to a stop at the station a metre or two away and inspecting your handwritten checklist.

Red Hoods ‘Thank You’:

• Matte Black = nice finish

• Red line detailing throughout cuz the guy likes red apparently.

• Detachable symbol, nicely painted

• Fixed engine -> more efficient

• Customised weaponry

• Taunt Hood about upgrades

A content laugh escaped him at the mocking words, you truly hadn't changed since he'd been gone and it only made him miss you more - where were you anyway??? He'd carefully scanned the area, finding your sleeping form curled up on the couch and shaking his head he made his way over, stopping in front of you with an amused expression only faltering when he took in your appearance. A red hoodie draped your figure - his hoodie, the sleeves reached the joints of your fingers and it was now stained with motor oil over the time you'd worked in it but honestly you rocked it better than he ever did. He’d given it to you when you were walking through Gothams back alleys together, yourself smugly complaining about the dropping temperatures before Jason had mercilessly thrown it at you rather than admit he cared about your wellbeing as his closest friend. It didn’t stop you from taunting him about his feelings though.

It was apparent you'd attempted to wait up for him so you could check off the last thing on your list but had failed to do so, it was rather late and you'd clearly worked hard on his ride that day. Jason knew he shouldn't wake you, and he couldn't handle making conversation knowing you wore what was once his, that you hadn't forgotten him. Instead he covered you with the fluffy blanket folded over the arm and left $500 on the table beside the takeout bag marked with 'C's Diner', memories of that place came flooding back and he'd silently decided to take Roy there that week. Muttering a thanks before leaving, Red Hood took his bike and left little evidence of ever being there at all.

.

The scent of the 60’s themed diner was always pleasant, it was a common occurrence for you to stop by after working late. It reminded you of Jason, and the elderly owner remembered you two well considering the liveliness you both once brought and honestly that charming woman was basically a parental figure in your life. Although she always has a suspiciously omniscience aura about her - Nanny McPhee incarnate as you and your lost friend had joked when you were children.

Unbeknownst to you, Jason remembered this place too though he regularly avoided it until tonight and ensured to drag Roy along with him out of convenience. The pair sat in a booth discussing Jason's bike upgrades when a mug of hot cocoa was set in front of Jason much to his confusion.

"Excuse me, I'm pretty sure I didn't order this."

"Ah, it's on the house. Mrs Cayce’s orders." The (h/c) waitress who Jason knew wasn't an employee proudly winked, saluting the elderly owner who waved over to him.

"Hey uh... do I know you at all? Just you seem familiar and Mrs Cayce clearly does..."

"Nope, don't think so, I would've remembered a beauty like you." The ravenette shrugged, you nodded walking back over the counter to converse with the owner once more.

Roy gave his partner a questioning glance, the sudden realisation and content smile briefly crossing Jason's features had him worried.

"Damn... Mrs C remembers me, I was hoping she'd forget. A friend and I used to come in here on the regular before the whole death thing, sometimes even help out and we would always order this."

"I didn't know Jaybird, sorry... But for the record this is the best diner we've been to in a while and I get if you don't wanna talk about it - but woah who was the waitress, d’ya think she’s single?" His partner questioned, gaze lazily drifting over to your laughing form.

"That was the miracle responsible for my bike, but (Y/n) doesn't work he-"

"Really?! EXCUSE ME?" Roy abruptly cut his best friend off, ensuring his wave caught your attention - eyes practically sparkling after hearing that information.

"What the fuck was that?! Don't, it's more conplicat-" Jason grabbed Roys offending arm, pinning it down to the table with his hushed warning.

"Despite me bringing over the drink earlier, I'm not actually a waitress here so you might wanna call -"

"(Y/n)! They're nice boys who probably wanted to talk to a beautiful lady, would you be polite for once in your life?" Mrs Cayce's words caused you to wince, your 'motherly scolding' spurring a frustrated sigh but in the end the judgments always brought you not necessarily what you wanted but what you needed.

"... How can I help you sir?" It was incredibly forced, as was the brief uninterested smile you gave them and the low but polite tone.

"I'm Roy and this is Jason. I was wondering if you could take a look at my ride if that's okay? The Red Hoods' or whoever’s is pretty sweet and he gave all credit to you." Admittedly, they noticed the positive change in demeanour at the mention of mechanics as Roy continued his request.

"Seriously?! He did?! Yes, 100 times yes! I’d lo- wait... Jason... as in Jason Jason? I do know you, don't I?" You were on the verge of squealing before that name registered, how the face matched your memories of your long lost friend and almost immediately your attention focused solely on the ravenette in front of you.

"..."

His silence wasn't considered useful, although his signature guilty expression gave it away, the awkwardly sheepish smirk he always wore when he knew you were right, his facial features were more mature and he was more handsome than you remembered - though you'd wished he'd never died in the first place. In fact you didn't even give a second thought to how he was sitting before you, instead trusting in the happiness he always blessed you with when in his presence.

"Fuck you nerd." Instantly you'd excitedly tackled him to the booth cushion regardless of your contrasting vocabulary, his arm wrapped around your waist whilst the other grabbed the back of the booth for stability since you'd almost pinned him to the seat.

"Rude much?" He abruptly commented, a playful undertone to his voice.

"Give me a break, you're supposed to be dead! I don’t know how or why but it's me Jason, we've always told each other everything..."

"I know, I didn't want to put you through anymore pain."

"You were a pain that I enjoyed having dumbass." Your tone was soft, more meaningful than he'd expected and it encouraged him to tell you everything.

"(Y/n) I-"

"Save the explanation for later, let me just enjoy your company for now and then I gotta show you my place! I managed to get my own mechanic shop and I fixed up Red Hoods bike - the Red Hood! God I have so much to tell you!" Despite knowing the excited tone you held was technically for him, he had no intentions of telling you who he was just yet, after all he was more than content to have you in his life again rather than longing for more of your time when saving your dumb ass under his alias.

That was the only reason he'd come to your garage that night, to enjoy your familiar company a little longer, if it were anyone else he wouldn't have bothered but for you? He'd still do anything for you.

"Me too doll, for a start this is Roy Harper..."

.

The owner Mrs Cayce carefully studied the scene, towel drying off your favourite mug as she continued to watch with a small smirk on her features and mysterious glint in her eyes.

"Why, it's about time you finally brought those two together isn't it Universe? Better late than never I suppose - but don’t you start any love triangle business ya hear?"

[13-reasons-ideas]

How did I just now stumble across your blog?!! It’s awesome and your Monty story is top notch. Would u take a request that isn’t from a prompt list but my own idea instead? If so can u pls do a Monty x reader where the reader’s ex boyfriend moves back to town and Monty feels threatened by him because personality wise he’s a polar opposite and fears that she might get back together with him (because they were once in love) but the reader ensures Monty that it’ll never happen❤️

Hey, of course you can!  Sorry this took so long. I was having some issues with inspiration and work has been super busy. Here it is. I hope you like it! It ended up way longer than I intended it to. 

(Y/N) = your name  (Y/L/N)= your last name

FISTICUFFS AND DARTMOUTH 

I never expected Nathan and I to break up. He was my first love and though naïve, you never really expect it to end. Our romance was one of shared interests and common goals and kind love. We did not fight and we pushed each other to achieve our goals. We knew what we wanted and what we needed to do in order to get it. He was the first boy I’d ever fallen in love with. It wasn’t a whirlwind, but it was, in a word, nice. Our love story was nice. Which is probably why when he moved away from Crestmont to Dallas for his Dad’s new job, it didn’t affect me the way everyone expected. People expected me to be crushed, but while I was sad, I was able to continue without much impact to my life. And they certainly did not expect me to fall for the man I did after he left. I did not even expect it myself. Although, Montgomery De La Cruz is not someone you expect to fall for.

Nathan Martin is put together and driven. He has it all figured out. He has dreams of going to an Ivy League school and being a doctor who discovers the next medical breakthrough. But those dreams aren’t just unattainable ideas. He has the grades and the work ethic to achieve his goals. He is the guy that the good girl brings home to dad and dad praises him and invites him to watch the game on Sunday, even though the boy has no interest in sports. He goes to the game on Friday nights because he needs a break from studying, not because he actually cares about who wins or loses. Nathan is the boy your mom pictures when she sees your wedding or prays you will meet and love when she thinks of your future. He is kind and avoids physical conflict in any situation. He truly believes that there is a diplomatic way to resolve any issue that could lead to physical conflict. Nathan is the kind of boy who would leave this little town for school but come back after he is done and have the white picket fence life. He wants the wife and the two kids and the dog. He is the kid who spends time with his family because they actually like each other. He is the boy everyone expects me to go for.

           Montgomery De La Cruz is the opposite of Nathan in many ways. He is not the boy who has dreams to change the world. He only wants to change his world. He is not the boy who avoids conflict. In fact, he actively seeks it out. He is the boy you bring home to piss your dad off. He is arrogant and isn’t afraid to argue and hurt your feelings. He plays ball because it’s his ticket out of this little town. Montgomery is the boy who will graduate, go to school, and those of us still here will be lucky if he comes back to visit once a year for the holidays. He is the boy who doesn’t want to plan a life with someone because he is still trying to figure it out for himself. He is the rough and tumble kid who has family problems and spends as little time at home as possible. He is everything I shouldn’t want. And yet, he is everything I want.

           Nathan moved in the middle of sophomore year. His Dad got a job in Dallas at a larger law firm just after Christmas, and by mid-January they had left Crestmont behind. Our breakup wasn’t one of drama and rumors nor was it full of animosity and he said she said. It was simply that neither of us were in a place where we felt up to doing long distance. I laid low for a while and threw myself into writing during my free time. That is how Montgomery came tumbling into my life- literally. I was sitting by a tree working on some writing on a slow day at the beginning of junior year. I heard someone yell, when suddenly I was being tripped on and pushed over by a larger boy. I was disoriented at first but then I saw the tell-tale plaid shirt. “Montgomery! Watch it.” I exclaimed, surprised as I watched my notebook go flying through the air.

           “Sorry Doll. I yelled for you to watch out. Not my fault you weren’t listening.” He replied, chuckling. I simply rolled my eyes at him before gathering my notebook and dusting myself off. Picking up my bag, I nodded to him as I walked away. “See you around?” He called after me.

           “Maybe. It’s a little town De La Cruz.” I called back.

Its not like I didn’t know about Montgomery De La Cruz. Everyone at Liberty knew about the short-tempered athlete. We all knew about the fights with Alex. And the fights with Tyler or anyone else he felt like fighting. We had English and History together and since Nathan left, my friends had started dragging me to various games, so I had seen him on the field more than once. But after that ever so graceful accident, I started to notice him around town or school more. He was usually accompanied by Bryce and his teammates but there were times you could find him on his own. One such occasion was at Monet’s on a dreary day, unusual for California. He walked in while I was ordering another hot cocoa. “You struck me as more of a three cups of coffee a day kind of person.” I heard him say from behind me.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me De La Cruz.” I responded after I placed my order.

“What can I get you Montgomery?” Skye asked, obviously using her best customer voice, to mask her desire to tell him where he could shove it.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” He replied smoothly. I could feel him smirking at me during the quick exchange. After our orders were put through and made, I made my back way to my favourite table at the back of the cafe. Skye usually had it reserved for me because of the view of the rest of the shop. I was not expecting Monty to follow me, nor was I expecting him to pull up a chair for himself.

“Uh… can I help you?” I asked, confused as I set to my writing trying to ignore him watching me.

“What are you working on?” he asked, trying to glance at my notes.

“Writing.” I replied, shortly. He laughed at my answer prompting me to glance up and give him a ‘what’ look.

“I see that (Y/N). I meant what are you writing?” He retorted.

“Stuff. Now are you going to sit there and ask me stupid questions, or is there something I can actually do for you Montgomery?” I replied, hoping to all hopes he would take the hint and leave me alone. Unfortunately, he did not get the hint. Instead, he took it as an invitation to remain seated and continue to distract me. Several annoying questions later I finally snapped. “Okay Montgomery. That is enough. I am trying to focus, so if you want to stay, then you have a choice. Either sit there and shut up or get up and kindly leave me alone.” I huffed. His brows shot up in surprise at my outburst. After a brief pause, I shook my head to say ‘well?’.

“Alright. I’ll be quiet. You wont even notice I’m here.” He replied and made a zipping motion across his lips.

“Thank you.” I sighed and got back to work.

After some time, I went to take a sip of my cocoa and noticed it was empty. Before I could get up and ask for another, Monty took the cup from my hand and went back to Skye. When he returned, I set my pen down and looked at him questioningly. “Consider it a peace offering. I have to head out but this was… nice.” He said before gathering his letterman and turning to leave.

“Monty wait a second.” I called after him. He paused, turning his head to look at me. “See you around?”

“Maybe. It’s a little town (Y/L/N).” he replied, smirking.

That became our routine. He would happen upon the little coffee shop after I arrived, order what I got for himself, and he would sit to watch me write for a while before heading out for the day. We would still see each other at school and in class, but we never spoke of our time at Monet’s together. I’m not sure when it morphed into something more, but one day he asked me out for coffee and I decided to accept. By the next week, we had made it official and at school found out. We grew closer to each other and I became friends with some of his friends. Scott and I connected quickly and while it caused some issues initially, Scott was able to make Monty understand that it was nothing more than friendship. Things were going very well. We had talked about Nathan and everything seemed to be sorted out in that regard. Or at least I thought it had.

No one expected Nathan to come back to Crestmont until he was at least done his bachelor’s degree. Certainly not after only just over a year and a half. I heard whispering that October day of senior year as I walked from my car to the school. The whispers died down as I passed so I figured Montgomery had gotten into yet another fight. That was one thing I was never really able to help him get a handle on. However, when I saw Monty down the hall and searched his face for bruises or anything, I saw he looked fine and knew that couldn’t be what prompted the whispers. Though not bruised he did look conflicted. Monty simply slung his arm over my shoulder when I got to him and we walked to my locker. Something was definitely off I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly. It wasn’t until I walked into Biology and saw him sitting in our usual seat that it made sense. Nathan was back. I knew that the few kids in class already were watching with bated breath, waiting to see what I did, so I walked confidently and sat in my usual seat beside Nathan and greeted him politely. Due to the lack of animosity in our breakup, we were easily able to make small talk until the teacher started class.

After what could only be described as a very long and tiring day, Montgomery and I were in my bedroom studying, or rather I was trying to study on the floor, and he was tapping his pen against his paper while sitting on my bed. “Is there something bothering you Monty? Or are you trying to tap a hole through your textbook?” I asked him, distracted by his incessant tapping.

“He’s   back…” He said, hesitating to continue.

           “Yeah.” I respond, not bothering to look up from my assignment.

           “Yeah? That’s all you have to say (Y/N)?”

           “Yeah, I know? He’s in my AP Biology class.” I expand, still trying to work out the answer.

           “You seem awful nonchalant about it.” Montgomery countered.

           “Am I not supposed to be?” At this point I look up and push my work aside.

           “I don’t know. You tell me. Do you have a reason not to be?” Monty beings to sit up as I stand.

           “Montgomery, where is this all coming from?”

           “Nathan is back (Y/N). So there’s no reason to keep pretending here.”

           “Pre-Pretending? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, somewhat insulted.

           “Yes pretending. You can stop pretending you care and go back to him now.” He retorts, his voice beginning to rise.

           “And why pray tell, would I go back to Nathan now that he’s back in town?” I question, my voice also beginning to rise.

           “Because (Y/N).” He states, as though that is an actual reason.

           “Because why Montgomery? That’s not an explanation and you know it.”

             “He’s all Dartmouth and Harvard medical school and volunteering to tutor kids. He has an actual plan for his life (Y/N). Nathan is going to be a fucking doctor for God’s sake. I’m all football, baseball, and fisticuffs.” Montgomery argued.

           “And?” I ask, confused about where he is going with this.

           “And? And you’re the good girl who smiles at everyone, not because it is polite, but because you actually want to. You sit and read books while I dick around with the guys at lunch. You get good grades and you care about school. I get the bare minimum to stay on the team. You’re… perfect. You could leave any time. You loved him then, you can love him again. I wouldn’t blame you. I have ball and he has fucking med school. I have a full ride scholarship and he has actual grades.”

           “Montgomery, we have been over this. You aren’t the guy I brought home to fill the time until Nathan came back. If I wanted to be with him, I would have left as soon as he came back. I am still here. Therefore, I do not want to be with Nathan.” I explain, exasperated.

           “He can give you what you want. He can give you everything you want.”

           “Mont-” I start but he cuts me off.

           “(Y/N). You want to be a writer and spend your days curled up at your desk. You love books and you’re nice to people and you don’t have rude or angry bone in your body. I have anger and I want to play ball and get through school so I can leave this crappy little town behind. He can give you the life you want. He can go to work and save lives while you sit in your nook in the office, writing to your hearts content.”

           “Maybe I don’t want that anymore Montgomery. Maybe I want you. And the life you can give me.”

           “Don’t kid yourself. He’s everything I’m not. We are polar opposites. You’ll get bored or have enough of me eventually.” He told me, crossing his arms.

           “Montgomery de la Cruz. Do you honestly believe that? I like that you’re nothing like Nathan. That’s the point isn’t it? I like that you’re… unpredictable and temperamental and yeah, sometimes you make really bad decisions. But you’re also caring and protective and spontaneous. I would never leave you for Nathan.” I paused, walking towards him to take his hands in mine. I reached up to tilt his head down towards me before continuing, “I love you Montgomery.” I told him quietly.

           “I- you- what?” He stuttered, shocked at my admission.

           “I love you.” I repeated looking up at him sincerely.

           “I love you to (Y/N).” he responded leaning down to kiss me gently. I smiled into the kiss before pulling away.

           “So no more arguing about Nathan?” I asked him, giggling.

           “I guess not. But maybe a few more kisses will fully convince me.” He replied before kissing me again. I felt him start to step forwards and my knees hit my mattress before we fell back onto my bed. We spent the next couple of hours cuddling and talking before falling asleep in each other’s arms contentedly, our homework and any discussion of Nathan long forgotten.

[thedyingmoon]

💚 See Me Now 💚

***

XII. Drunk

***

Hange was laughing so hard.

So hard, that it was irritating the shit out of Levi.

"Will you shut the fuck up?!" he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it!" she was treating the wounds on his fist, cleaning it and putting a bandage around it. She was readjusting the bandage when she squeezed his broken knuckles by accident.

"Ouch! Fuck! Will you be careful, shitty - eyes?"

Hange was still laughing hysterically. "S-sorry,... Hahaha!"

Levi rolled his eyes.

After what happened in his office earlier, he couldn't go back there, knowing that (F/N) would still be there. And probably still angry at him.

"Anyway, that's what you get for insulting a woman, Levi."

"What did you say?"

Hange finally let go of his hand and took away her medicinal kit. He couldn't go to the infirmary to get his injury checked, for the nurse might get suspicious on how he actually got his wounds. His secret might be revealed, then. So, he had no other choice but to go to Hange's office to have it treated. He was actually quite regretting the decision he made to have the mad scientist treat him a few minutes later after telling her everything that happened between him and (F/N) an hour ago.

And she was still laughing like mad at him.

I swear, if I get my strength back,...

"What I mean to say is that we women are kind and patient. Just don't test our kindness and patience or even make us mad. You will surely regret it if you do. (F/N) is no exception to that. That's what you get for making her mad."

Levi looked at her and finally decided to ask her the one question he dreaded so much. "Is she always like that? That girl?"

"(F/N)? What do you mean by that?"

Levi looked away, embarrassed. No other female in his life has given him a total backlash of insults like what (F/N) did, not even Mikasa. The gloomy brat would just glare at him with murderous intent for ordering Eren around, but that's about it.

(F/N), on the other hand, may be timid and obedient. But, damn, the wrath she displayed,...

...she was even creepier than Mikasa, herself.

"What I mean to say is, does she always get angry like that? I mean, she's your subordinate, and all, you must've known her for quite a long time."

Hange smiled. It was actually the first time that he asked her about (F/N).

Levi,... seemed to have learned his lesson, she thought. But, that injury! If he didn't infuriate (F/N) in the first place, it would surely not get this bad.

"I've known (F/N) for almost two months, yes." she stood up and went to her desk to fetch herself some sweet treats. "She's a very quiet and shy person. As you may have witnessed, yes, she's weak compared to other girls here. But, she more than makes up for it with hard work and dedication to her job, which are the two things that others lack in this line of profession." She went back to the pink sofa where Levi was currently sitting and offered him a treat. He shook his head in refusal and she just plopped back down beside him, eating the treat she offered him. "But, you know, it was actually the first time I've heard her act like that. Considering the fact that, well,..."

Hange was hesitating but, Levi knew exactly what she was being hesitant about.

"I heard you, you know." he said. "That day when,..."

Hange looked at him and immediately realized what he was talking about. "Oh. So, you really heard us?"

He nodded. "Was it true, though? Does (L/N) like me?"

The scientist grinned at him. "What kind of a question is that? Of course, she does! Frankly speaking, after what you did to her, I strongly opposed her attraction towards you. I mean, come on, you know what I'm talking about. You keep pushing her away, and she knows it. And yet,... I don't know if she's just plain obsessed with you, or she just had a deep reason for hanging around you long enough until this,..."

The man absorbed all this, not making any objections of some sort. He was actually used to hearing stories about numerous girls who adore him to the point of obsession. But, he somehow felt that (F/N) was different. He knew it from the first time he met her.

"Those stories I heard from her batch, that she seduced her way to the Trainee Corps and that she was always referred to as a slut because of it, it honestly affected how I see her as a person. I thought that she even had you, Erwin and the others from your Squad bewitched because you all seem to give her special treatment. Particularly you. And Erwin."

Hange made an effort to keep her mouth shut. They were under the orders of the former Scouting Legion Commander to keep their mouths shut regarding the true reason of (F/N)'s presence in the group. They may have blundered one of his orders, but this time, Hange would not fail.

Levi,... must never know about it.

"Why? Doesn't she deserve it? She's willing to learn as a Scout, and we're doing the best we can to educate her. It's the best we can do for someone as dedicated and selfless as her. You, Levi, will never understand it, since you have not the slightest idea of her abilities, its possible worth to us,... or even her past, for that matter."

And that's just scratching the whole truth.

Levi crossed his arms. He was fully aware that Hange was not telling her the whole thing. "Her past?"

"Yeah."

"And what about her past?"

"Not telling."

Levi clicked his tongue, stood up and opened the door. "Thanks." he simply said and left her office.

If Hange would not tell him, he would find a way to know it, himself.

******

Erwin knocked for the third time at the door.

"Please, come in." a little female voice finally said.

Erwin entered and what greeted him inside awed him. Levi's office,... was so clean and tidy that he could even go to sleep on the floor without getting even a speck of dirt in his person.

But, where could Levi be?

"Here are the next documents to be filled out." he handed it to the girl, who was still wearing her cleaning outfit. She took it and put it on the desk. He noticed Levi's gear there. And he was a hundred percent sure that it has never looked that shiny before.

(F/N) felt guilty after what she did to Levi. A part of her was telling her that the awful man deserved it, and a part of her was crying out loud to her, regretting her impulsive actions. Levi is sick. He was probably only acting like that because he badly wanted to have his strength back, plus he was getting more and more frustrated because he could no longer do the things he normally does. Like cleaning.

I should've been more patient to him. This is all my fault!

Erwin felt the girl's unusual silence and decided to know the reason behind it. "(F/N), where is Levi?"

The girl looked as though she was about to cry. His suspicions were right on. "Did he do something to you?"

(F/N) shook her head. "N-no,... he didn't."

Erwin smiled at her. He could simply ask someone to deliver the documents to her. He,... just wanted to see her.

"Then,..."

"Commander?"

"Yes, (F/N)?"

She was still not used to the Commander calling her by her given name. "I've been meaning to ask you, what is Captain's favorite beverage?"

What - ? "Sorry?"

"W-well, ah, do you know if he prefers something? I mean, he doesn't like coffee, or hot cocoa,..."

Erwin sighed. Of course, she still has feelings for Levi.

He, on the other hand, must not let his emotions get in the way of Shadis' plans for her in the Legion.

"It's,..."

******

(F/N) slowly entered the quiet and dark mess hall, the cup of warm black tea in her hand. She was certain she could find him here, for after all, he hasn't had anything to eat, yet.

It was past eight in the evening. She perfectly knew that the Scouts, if not all of them, were already in bed. She knew that he would not hesitate to eat here, since no one would see him.

And she was right. Right there, in the middle of the room with only a single candle for a light, was the Captain, himself, drinking booze. And not just booze; the girl noticed that there were three different bottles of wine at the table, all empty.

He'll be fine, right? After all, it was rumored that the Captain never gets drunk. Right?

"Captain? Captain Levi?" she called. No answer. His back was turned against her. She slowly made her way towards the offended Captain, ready to atone for hurting him. "Look, I understand how hard it is for you, Captain. And I'm truly sorry for what I've done to you. I should've been more patient. But, you have to remain hopeful for yourself. I'm pretty sure that you'll get your strength back. I'll never leave your side until then. So, will you forgive me?"

Levi didn't say anything. She was about to place the cup of tea on the table when he suddenly grabbed her hand.

"Captain!" (F/N) said, but it was no use. Levi pulled her and brought her down on the table, the tea spilling and the cup shattering on the floor. The man placed his knee between her legs and brought his lips to her ear. His mouth reeked of booze. "Captain, please,..."

"Petra,..." he said. The girl's eyes widened. "I want you,..."

What,...?

"Captain, I'm not Petra. I'm (F/N),..."

Levi suddenly bit her neck. It would surely leave a mark there. "Please, sweetheart. I want to make love to you. Just like the old times,..."

Just like the old times,...

Levi groped (F/N)'s chest and rubbed his knee on her soft spot. "Please, Petra, I want you so much,..."

Fire suddenly raged inside (F/N)'s head. She forcefully pushed Levi away. He landed pitifully on the ground with an ugly thud.

"Ow! What the - "

Levi was stunned. In his drunken state, he was only aware that his beloved Petra was refusing him. So, is it true? Is she really cheating on him?

(F/N), on the other hand, was feeling different kinds of emotions, all at the same time.

Levi stood and tried to tackle Petra once more. "Why are you being such a bitch tonight, Petra? I said, I want you! Don't you want me anymore?" he whined.

(F/N)'s brows shut up to her hairline. "I'm. Not. Petra!"

"Petra,..."

Levi went for the hug,...

...and was met by (F/N)'s hardened fist.

The man fell unconscious on the floor, knocked out by the girl's powerful punch.

******

A/N: Okay. To tell the truth, I removed the last line because I was laughing too hard on it. Anyone who wanted to know the last line, just let me know. 😅👍👍👌

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @clovemcpandas , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , and @shortbty14 . 💚

***

💚💚💚

***

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Maternal Instinct (1/1)

Title: Maternal Instinct Summary: Only after a wave of rainbow light washed over her did Snow White understand. All those feelings, those little snatches of deep emotion, all those times that she could sense Emma's troubled mind had a name now. Spoilers: If you've seen everything, we're good. Characters: Snow and Emma, with cameos by Charming and Killian. Rating/Warning: K+, for language. Family fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox. Author's Note: I had sudden and strong Mama Snow feels so I decided to share. I also apparently missed writing these two like this but this piece ended up being way longer than I anticipated. I've only tried the connected vignettes style a couple of times, so hopefully this works. Feedback makes my little day! Enjoy. :)

-----

At ff.net and below.

-----

Mary Margaret Blanchard opened her eyes and stared up at her darkened ceiling, trying to determine what had woken her.

When a shaft of dim light appeared under the curtain separating her bedroom from the apartment proper, the answer came to her: it was Emma. Something was troubling Emma.

Mary Margaret had no idea why she was so in tune with her new roommate's moods. She didn't understand why she would lie awake until she heard Emma come in for the night. And she certainly didn't understand moments like this, when she would start awake in the dead of night simply because Emma was unable to sleep. It had happened a few times now in the short time that Emma had been living here, though, and Mary Margaret had learned to trust her new instincts, confusing though they might have been.

She threw the covers off her legs, climbed out of bed, and padded to the curtain. When she brushed it aside, she squinted against the comparative brightness of the kitchen.

The range light was on, which accounted for the light Mary Margaret had seen from her room. Emma stood at the fridge, peering into it as if she could somehow find the answers to her troubles among the leftover chicken, jug of milk and bottles of soda, and Mary Margaret's lunch for tomorrow.

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to ask Emma what was wrong but closed it again, unsure how to broach the subject. She was still learning how to navigate around and through the tall walls Emma Swan had erected around her heart. In the short time Emma had been here, she had discovered that asking a direct question was a bit like walking through a minefield. Most times things would be fine and Emma would answer the question no problem but sometimes a question could trigger a metaphorical landmine.

Opting for a gentle teasing, she leaned against the doorjamb and said, "The food on offer isn't going to change the more you look at it, you know."

A startled Emma slammed the fridge door closed. "Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," Mary Margaret told her, though she wasn't quite sure it was the truth. Nothing Emma had said or done had woken her. She'd been quiet as could be, except for the thoughts tumbling through her head.

Without a clue as to where the instinct was coming from, Mary Margaret nodded towards the kitchen table, a silent instruction for her roommate to sit and make herself comfortable. The hesitance in Emma's eyes caused a confusing but deep stab of pain to Mary Margaret's heart. The pain eased when Emma's curiosity won out and she sat at the table as instructed.

Mary Margaret pulled a pot and the cocoa powder from the cabinets and the milk from the fridge. Within minutes, the entire apartment smelled of sweet, warm chocolate. When the drink was ready, she poured two mugs, topped them off with whipped cream and the requisite sprinkle of cinnamon, and carried them both to the table.

Emma smiled after taking her first sip. "This is so much better than whatever midnight snack I would have come up with. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Mary Margaret replied, returning the smile. She decided not to mention that she knew Emma hadn't been searching for a snack. No, Enma's racing mind had left her unable to sleep and she'd gone downstairs in an attempt to quiet it.

Part of her wanted to push, wanted to simply ask Emma what was wrong. She wanted to help Emma the way she helped her students: identify the problem and figure out how to solve it. But there again was that little voice telling her that pushing was not the way to go. The way to make Emma comfortable was simply to be there and willing to lend an ear when she was ready.

The two of them sipped their cocoa in comfortable silence for a long moment. And sure enough, Mary Margaret's patience was rewarded when Emma set her mug down with a soft sigh. "Graham offered me a job as his deputy. I took it."

Of all the things Mary Margaret thought Emma might say, that was nowhere on the list. Taking a job meant Emma was thinking of staying in Storybrooke for at least a little while. It was a little surprising to her how much her heart sang at the thought. "Oh, Emma, that's wonderful!"

Emma nodded, a pensive expression clouding her features.

Uh oh, Mary Margaret thought, her grin dropping to a frown. Why didn't Emma seem happy? "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No," Emma insisted, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "Not about the job. It's just ... well, Regina said something to me today about things not being able to grow if they didn't get a chance to put down roots."

Once again, she didn't understand why her heart swelled with joy and pride at the implication of her roommate's words. "You think Storybrooke is where you want to put down roots?"

Emma lifted one shoulder in an uncertain shrug. "I don't know but ... I think it might be time to try. I've just never had a connection to a person or place to keep me anywhere before."

For some reason, the thought of Emma drifting through her life with no place to belong made Mary Margaret's heart clench deep in her chest. All of a sudden, she wanted nothing more than to give Emma the hugest hug in existence. "Never?" she asked, emotion she couldn't explain choking her voice.

Thankfully, Emma was too preoccupied with her own emotion to pick up on Mary Margaret's. "Not really. There was someone once. A couple of someones, actually, but I guess I just wasn't enough. One of them ended up being crazy and the other ..." She trailed off, staring down into her mug, getting lost in the pain of her past.

The urge to wrap Emma in a tight, comforting hug still overwhelmed Mary Margaret but she managed to restrain herself. She simply reached across the table for Emma's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "The other is a story for another time?"

Emma nodded, giving her roommate a little smile of gratitude. "But now I'm here and so is Henry and I can't just leave him."

"Because you know how that feels."

"Better than most, yeah." Emma took a deep breath and shook off the rest of her emotion. "Anyway, I thought if I'm going to be staying here for at least the next little while, why not get on someone's payroll? All the better that it's ultimately Regina's." She arched an eyebrow and gave her roommate a conspiratorial smirk. "That's what she gets for running her mouth."

Mary Margaret muffled her snort with a sip of cocoa. "Well, congratulations, Deputy Swan. Tomorrow, I'm make a cake to celebrate."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know. I want to."

A touched smile lit Emma's face. "Thank you."

Mary Margaret smiled back. That little instinct she didn't understand had made her offer to bake a cake but she was glad it had. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd be making up for lost time in doing so.

-----

Only after a wave of rainbow light washed over her did Snow White understand. The Curse was broken now and she remembered. Her Emma - her sweet little girl, her precious baby - was no longer a newborn, so small Snow could hardly believe she was real. No, now her precious Emma was a grown woman and for the past few months, she had been living under Snow's roof.

All those feelings, those little snatches of deep emotion, all those times that she could sense Emma's troubled mind had a name now. For the past few months as Mary Margaret, Snow had been heeding her maternal instinct.

She'd felt her baby from the moment she'd laid eyes on her in Mary Margaret's classroom on Emma's first day in Storybrooke. Her heart had recognized her daughter even when her magic-muddled brain couldn't. That maternal instinct had been the driving force behind all of their interactions: Mary Margaret inviting Emma to stay with her, getting to know her, burrowing underneath those tall walls of hers, giving her gentle love and companionship and support and advice.

She'd been mothering Emma this whole time, simply by being her friend.

Snow's family had been whole for a brief shining moment but almost as quickly as they were reunited, they were separated again. Unwilling to lose her daughter a second time, Snow had leaped after her into a magic hat and now they wandered a war-torn Enchanted Forest with a princess and warrior in tow while searching for a way to get back home to their family.

Snow missed Charming more than words could express. Emma missed Henry just as much. But Snow had no doubt in her mind that Charming was taking good care of Henry and so she tried to take care of Emma as much as her stubborn baby girl would allow.

In that way, then, the breakthrough this evening in Emma's destroyed nursery had been just what the two of them had needed. The broken remnants of Snow's dreams for her family was a punch in the gut for her but it had been good for Emma. After spending her entire life believing she'd be found along the side of the road, the loving preparations her parents had made for her arrival were something she'd sorely needed to see. It had helped her believe that she was wanted, that she was loved before she was even born, and that, but for the Curse, she would have been cherished.

Despite how good it was for her, it had also hurt more than either of them could express. Once again, Snow's maternal instinct was tingling. Just like back in Storybrooke, she knew that Emma needed her.

Snow opened her eyes and pushed herself up on her elbow. Flickering firelight cast dancing shadows across their little camp. Beside Snow, Emma lay wide awake on her back, her hands clasped behind her head, staring up at the night sky.

A quick glance around the camp told Snow that everything was quiet. Aurora seemed to be asleep on the other side of the fire. Mulan, who sat on a log at the edge of camp on watch, gave Snow a nod of greeting. Snow nodded in return and settled back down, turning on her side to face her little girl. "Is everything all right?" she asked softly.

Emma jumped as her mother's voice drew her out of her reverie. "It's fine," she replied with a dismissive shrug.

"It's clearly not fine if you're still awake."

"No, really, it's fine. I just can't get comfortable. I hate sleeping outside."

Snow drew in a soft breath and let it out through her nose. Should she push or should she let things stand? Emma had already revealed many more of her feelings than Snow had ever expected of her. She'd clearly needed the release, though, and arising from that conversation was a shift in their dynamic, a lifting of the tension between them, and perhaps the start of the healing of some of their deepest wounds.

Hesitant to upset this delicate progress, Snow decided not to push. She simply turned onto her back and copied her daughter's positioning. The stars winked in the sky, familiar constellations Snow hadn't seen in almost thirty years.

Just like when Snow was Mary Margaret, waiting Emma out was the correct choice. After a long beat of silence, Emma murmured, "The sky's different."

"Yes," Snow replied. "I didn't remember how different it was until I looked up just now."

Emma shifted uncomfortably under her makeshift blanket. "Everything's different here. You, me ... we're different."

For the space of a heartbeat, Snow froze. Knowing that she had to handle this delicately so as not to shut Emma down again, she asked softly, "How so?"

"Back in Storybrooke, I kind of took care of you. I mean, you took care of me, too, but I felt very protective of you. And now you don't need me to look out for you and you're being really protective of me, too, and it's different."

Snow blinked in shock. A memory came to her, then, of Emma confiding in Mary Margaret that she wasn't sure what place she would have in Henry's life if he didn't need her to be the savior. Was she having the same kind of crisis of faith now? Did she think that she wouldn't have a place in Snow's life if she didn't need to take care of her? "Emma, I may not need you to protect me from the big bad world like before but I will always need you. You're my daughter and I love you."

Her gaze remaining fixed on the sky, Emma swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good. And as for being protective of you, do you want me to tone that down?" Not that she was entirely she could but if Emma wanted, she could try to restrain herself from acting on her overprotective-mom tendencies.

Emma was quiet a beat or two. "No. It's just different." Her voice was soft and Snow noted with amusement that her eyelids were starting to flutter. "Mary Margaret?"

"Yes?"

"We're going to make it back to Storybrooke, right?"

Don't blow this, Snow, she said to herself. "Of course we are. I don't care what we have to do or how long it takes us, we will find a way back to our family."

Emma smiled in the semi-darkness. "Good."

The two of them lapsed into silence again. When Emma spoke up next, she sounded like she was teetering on the edge of consciousness. "Mary Margaret?"

"Yes?"

"Was all of that really for me? In the castle, I mean."

"All of that and more," Snow whispered. "We wanted you to have everything."

Emma let out a soft hum and was asleep before she could fully respond. Snow blinked back fresh tears, pressed a soft kiss to her daughter's forehead, and lay down beside her little girl. She reached out and took Emma's hand and smiled when Emma's fingers tightened around hers, unconsciously acknowledging the comfort. "You would have been so loved," Snow whispered to her, "and I'm more sorry than you can ever imagine that you weren't."

Emma wasn't loved then but she could be now, and Snow vowed to give her all the love she'd missed out on.

-----

Snow wasn't sure which was worse: the war-torn Enchanted Forest where the ogres roamed free or the overgrown humid jungles of Neverland. At least this time, Snow and Charming were together. Once again, however, her baby girl was without her son and fighting tooth and nail to get back to him.

And once again, Snow had had to face a heartbreaking revelation from her baby girl. Though she was a grown woman now with her family surrounding her, her poor sweet Emma still felt like the orphan she had been. Perhaps she didn't feel that way all the time (at the very least, Snow hoped not) but definitely here with the profound sadness thick in the air, with her own child missing, trying so desperately to get back to him so that he didn't feel abandoned like she once did.

Her years on the run had taught Snow a great many things and as such she was used to trying to hunker down for a night's sleep on the hard ground. She was used to keeping half an eye open even in sleep, watching for an ambush. Emma, however, had only those weeks in the Forest, not long enough to become accustomed to attempting sleep without the benefit of a mattress or pillows.

It was more than that, though. Just like when she was Mary Margaret and just like in the Forest, Snow could sense when her baby girl was troubled. If she opened her eyes, there was no doubt in Snow's mind that she would find her daughter wide awake and staring up at the sky as if the stars held the answers to her questions.

Sure enough, Emma was awake and staring up at the sky. In the flickering light of the dying campfire, Snow could see tears in her baby girl's eyes. After gently disentangling herself from her husband's unconscious hold, Snow crept over to Emma and settled beside her bedroll. "Is everything all right?" she murmured.

Emma heaved a sigh and pushed herself into a sitting position. Hook, who had been sitting watch, paced over to the other side of the campsite to give mother and daughter as much privacy as he could. Snow sent him a quick smile of gratitude and he gave her a reverent nod in return.

"Sleeping outside sucks," Emma said in response to Snow's question. Sleeping outside was only part of her problem, though, and Snow's gentle look must have said as much because Emma sighed again. "I can't sleep. It's too loud."

"What's too loud?"

Emma blinked confusedly at her mother before rolling her eyes and frowning. "Oh, right. You can't hear it."

"Hear what?"

"Never mind."

Part of Snow wondered whether she should just let this drop. Whether she should do what she'd done as Mary Margaret and let the silence spill out until Emma filled it when she was ready. A stronger instinct overrode her hesitance, reminded her that pushing had been the right thing earlier. Emma had required a push to admit her feelings, admit who she felt she was deep down, and instinct was once again telling Snow that pushing was needed now. She couldn't let this go because Emma would never let it out if she did.

And so she pushed. "I can't hear what?"

Emma looked surprised for a beat, then defiant. Within seconds, however, her resolve crumbled. "The crying of the Lost Boys," she murmured, rubbing a furious hand over her face to mask her tears. "I can hear them but you guys can't. I guess because the Lost Boys and I have something in common."

They were all orphans. Snow swallowed hard and rested a comforting hand on her daughter's knee. "I wish you couldn't hear them."

Emma gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, me too." She trailed off, listening to a sound that only she could hear. "Even though I don't want to, I keep trying to hear him in the cries."

The admission was so unexpected and so painful that Snow wrapped her arms around her little girl in a hug on pure instinct. "Oh, sweetheart, Henry's voice won't be in there," she murmured into her daughter's ear, the pet name slipping off her tongue unbidden. She let Emma out of the hug and looked into her eyes. "Henry isn't an orphan. He knows we're coming for him."

"I hope so," Emma sniffled.

"I know so. Look who his family is, Emma. We've never backed down from a fight. He knows that better than anyone."

Emma nodded as a little bit of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. Mother's instinct was pinging again and this time it told Snow that Emma didn't need more talking at the moment. She needed comfort and she needed support.

And she needed to sleep.

If the crying of the Lost Boys was bothering Emma enough to keep her awake, then Snow would just have to find a way to muffle the sound for her. After a quick glance around the campsite, the answer came to her. She tore a couple of tufts of fraying fabric off the tent covering her and Charming's bedroll and rolled them into small wads. "It's not much but it's the best we can do right now. Care to try some Neverland ear plugs?"

It was another little push but after a brief moment of waffling, the internal conflict between wanting to be cared for and railing against it clear on her face, Emma shrugged and tucked a fabric wad into each ear. "That's a little better. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Snow smiled. "Lie back down."

She did so, shutting her eyes and settling on her side with her hand under her makeshift pillow. Her eyes flew open when Snow shifted the blankets up to cover her. "Are you tucking me in?" she asked, sounding vaguely horrified.

"I told you it was my job to change your feeling like an orphan," Snow smiled gently.

Though she still didn't look all that comfortable with the idea, Emma allowed her to continue. Once she was settled, she closed her eyes.

After a brief internal war, Snow decided she'd pushed Emma enough for one night. She started to make her way back to her own bedroll and to Charming but Emma's hand clamped around her wrist. Though Emma hadn't opened her eyes, Snow could see a faint flush on her cheeks as if she were embarrassed.

Still, her baby girl had silently asked her to stay, so she was going to stay. Taking her cue from Emma, she didn't say a word. She simply settled down beside her daughter on the hard jungle floor with her head on her hand, propped up by her elbow. It took a while but she stayed until Emma's breathing deepened and evened out. "Good night, sweetheart," she murmured, once again using the cover of sleep to drop a light kiss on her daughter's cheek.

-----

After what Snow had witnessed earlier that evening, it was a miracle she'd let her baby out of her sight long enough for either one of them to retire to her chamber. However, here Snow lay in a borrowed bedchamber in Camelot with her baby girl in her own borrowed bedchamber down the corridor. The thick, luxurious blanket on the bed was not quite enough to ward off the chill from the stone walls, though Snow did wonder if perhaps her chill wasn't entirely due to the cold stone.

Just the memory of Emma carrying on a conversation with thin air was enough to send shivers down Snow's spine. They were losing her. Slowly but surely, they were losing her to the darkness.

Snow could feel her precious girl slipping away little by little. She wanted desperately to hold onto her, to keep her here, to refuse to let the darkness overtake her. She wanted more than anything to keep her little girl in the light long enough to find Merlin but she had no idea how.

Her maternal instinct was being put to the test in a way it never had before but it hadn't yet given up. It was calling to her now, telling her to go to her baby. To do everything in her power to keep her here as long as she could. As always, she heeded her instinct, sat up, and threw the blanket off her legs.

"Where're you going?" Charming mumbled through a sleepy shiver at the loss of his wife's warmth.

"Checking on Emma," Snow whispered in return, stifling her own shiver when her bare feet touched the chilly stone floor. "I might be a while so you can keep an ear out for Neal?"

"Of course," Charming smiled. "I've got our baby boy. You go take care of our baby girl."

Snow gave him a grateful smile, lit one of the lanterns, and slipped from the room.

The door to Emma's bedchamber was closed when Snow arrived. Since Dark Ones apparently didn't require sleep, Snow had no fear of waking her daughter. Still, she knocked softly to announce her presence before pushing the door open. "Emma? Can I come in?"

Emma was seated at a table in front of the windows, her back to the door. She whirled around upon hearing Snow's voice, darkness glittering like ice in her eyes. The darkness receded when her gaze landed on Snow. "Yep."

Snow crept into the room and closed the door behind her. On the table in front of Emma lay all manner of twine, feathers, sticks, and pebbles. The various bits were grouped together by type, as if making up an assembly line. What on earth was Emma doing?

"How are you feeling?" Snow asked, easing down on the edge of the mattress.

Emma simply shrugged. "Okay."

The monosyllabic answers were troubling but even more troubling was the low monotone of Emma's voice. She sounded nothing like herself and Snow's heart sank into her stomach. Oh, sweetheart, she thought, wanting nothing more than to pull her little girl into a hug and hold her until the light of her love chased away the darkness. "Are you sure you're all right?"

That rated a nod but nothing else. Emma's gaze shifted to just past Snow's shoulder and Snow got the sense that she was losing her again. Partly to recapture her attention but mostly out of concern, Snow asked, "Emma? What happened earlier?"

Emma's eyes locked on her again. "I saved Robin."

Three words this time. Snow would take whatever improvement she could get. "No, before that. You were talking to an empty chair, sweetheart."

"It was nothing."

"That wasn't nothing."

A little more of the darkness fled Emma's gaze. "Okay, it wasn't nothing but it doesn't matter."

Though Snow wanted to keep pushing, her maternal instinct told her to stop. Instead, she reached up and cupped Emma's cheek in her palm. "Baby, I'm so worried about you."

"I know," Emma whispered and for a brief moment, the darkness was gone and she was just Emma. Just Snow's precious little girl. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. We're going to free Merlin and he'll tell us what to do. You just have to hold on a little longer, all right?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, I know. I will."

Snow smiled, removing her hand from Emma's cheek and grasping her hand instead. "Good. Now, get up from that chair and come lie down in bed."

"Mom, I can't sleep. I don't need to."

"I know but you can still relax. And I'm going to stay here with you."

"I can't ask you to stay with me all night."

"You're not asking, I'm offering."

Since it was clear Emma wasn't going to win this argument, she gave in. She got up from the chair and settled on the bed, curling up on her side. Snow pulled the covers up over her baby girl and climbed in beside her. "I love you, baby," Snow murmured.

And she smiled when once again the darkness fled and her little girl, her Emma, said, "I love you, too, Mom."

-----

Snow's baby girl was living all the way across town now, with a husband and baby of her own. The days of villain-chasing and realm-hopping were behind them now that the realms had been united. Snow's maternal instinct hadn't faded, however. Oh, no, it had only gotten stronger as Neal grew and as she watched Emma settle in with her own family.

Now when she woke from a sound sleep in the middle of the night with the feeling of being needed, she didn't even have to question why. One of her babies needed her, either her baby boy down the hall or her baby girl across town.

Tonight the deep silence in the farmhouse when she dragged her eyes open told her that it wasn't her baby boy who needed her. Taking care not to jostle Charming, Snow climbed out of bed and slipped her phone off the nightstand. She tiptoed from room and crept downstairs so her phone call wouldn't disturb either of her slumbering family members.

A concerned Wilby settled beside her as she plopped down on the couch. She pulled up her daughter's contact info and pressed send while running her hand over the dog's back to let him know that nothing was wrong. Nothing he would be able to handle, anyway.

A breathless Emma answered the phone after three rings. "Mom? Is everything okay?"

The clarity in her daughter's voice proved that Snow's call hadn't woken her even at this late hour. The shrill baby wails filtering through the phone explained why. "Everything's perfectly fine over here, baby," Snow replied, sympathy for the sleepless night in the Swan-Jones house clear in her tone. "I just had the strangest feeling that things might not be all right over there."

"Oh, it's so far from all right over here," Emma said, exhausted helplessness creeping into her tone. "Teething babies are not happy creatures, especially not in the middle of the night."

No, they certainly were not. Snow remembered quite well that harried days and long nights when Neal was teething and nothing seemed to soothe the ache in his mouth. Nothing except ... "Neal used to like gumming a cold wash cloth when he was teething."

"Yeah, I remembered," Emma sighed, "but Hope won't take it for more than a couple of minutes. She won't take teething rings at all. She was gnawing on Killian's finger for a little while earlier but now she won't let either of us near her mouth and she won't stop crying and we don't know what to do."

It had all come out in one helpless breath, making Snow wish she could run over there and fix the situation for them. She couldn't, though, not because it was the middle of the night or even because she knew beyond a doubt that Emma and Killian would figure it out eventually. She couldn't because she didn't know what else to do, either.

Neal had liked teething rings and he'd loved the washcloth. All she or Charming would have to do when he got fussy was pull one or both of them out of the fridge, give them to him, and let him chomp away. She'd never had to find alternates because he'd always ...

Wait. There was one more thing he'd liked. She hadn't had to use it very often, only as a last resort if the washcloth and teething rings thawed before completely soothing Neal's aching gums. "Try a cold baby spoon."

"What?" Emma sounded like she'd completely forgotten she was on the phone. Given her state of exhaustion and frustration at the moment, Snow wouldn't have been surprised if she really had forgotten.

"Put a baby spoon in ice water for a couple of minutes and then try to run it along her gums."

The baby wails grew louder as Emma relayed the message to Killian. She must have taken Hope while he prepared the glass of ice water in which to put the spoon.

For a few minutes, Snow simply listened to the sounds of her baby girl and her baby girl's husband trying to soothe their own cranky baby's pain. Eventually, Hope's cries dwindled to choked hiccups. "Thank the heavens," Snow heard Killian murmur. Then, in a louder voice so he could be heard on Snow's end, he said, "Thank you, milady."

"Oh, Mom," Emma said into the phone. "I don't know how you knew to call when you did but thank you so much. We never would have gotten her to quiet down without you."

"Yes, you would have," Snow assured her. "You both are doing wonderfully. It's just not always easy to think when you're dealing with a screaming baby at one in the morning."

"That's an understatement," Emma snorted. "Still, thank you. We love you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Snow replied, smiling. "I love you, too."

Oh yes, Snow's baby may have had a baby of her own now but maternal instinct was forever.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Eighty-Five: An Artist ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

He’s never been one much for the arts. That’s always been more his brother’s calling, despite their father’s begrudging acceptance. While Itachi pursued music, Sasuke took to filling Fugaku’s expectations and going to school to major in business.

Granted, Itachi’s doing quite well - arguably better than his younger brother. Lessons from age four, of course, give him a little edge. Add in natural dexterity and talent, and he’s already playing in recital halls packed to the brim to hear him play his melancholy notes.

But Sasuke can’t bring himself to be jealous. Sure, he’s still hanging from a rather low rung of the corporate ladder, but it’s stuff he finds fairly mindless and easy. While many hate their jobs, Sasuke simply...does his, neither actively enjoying or disliking it. It’s just something he does for about eight hours a day, five days a week. So far he’s managing a rather frugal lifestyle just fine.

Granted, it’s also a rather lonesome lifestyle. Sasuke’s not much of a socializer to begin with, but occasionally a friend will drag him out for something. But mostly, he enjoys doing things either with his family, or on his own.

Today is one of the latter days.

Just down the street from his apartment is a niche little coffee shop he frequents. Itachi teases him about how hipster it seems, but Sasuke just brushes the comments aside. He doesn’t much care what it’s like besides being quiet, quaint, and hosting (in his opinion) perfectly brewed black coffee.

Which is why he’s currently seated at his favorite corner table, sipping a cup and going over a presentation he needs to deliver next week. It’s already finished, but it’s an excuse to get out of his living quarters and get some liquid energy. While he can’t practice the auditory part here, he can tinker a few details and...mostly spend the afternoon browsing his favorite sites.

...that is...until he feels eyes on him.

His own flicker up, the only part of him moving as they search for the intruder. But every other face is turned away - either browsing their own laptops or phones, reading, talking to a table mate, or...scribbling on a rather large pad of paper.

Dark eyes squint just a hair, watching.

It’s a young woman - about his age, maybe a little younger...her face is rather soft, so it’s hard to tell. Seated in a booth along the opposite wall, she has her knees brought up to rest against the lip of her table, and a sizeable sketchbook is propped atop them. He can tell she’s not writing - her hand flies across the paper far too much to be anything but drawing.

Huh...he has to wonder what she’s sketching. Not that he knows much about it, but surely the setting is quite nice. A still life, maybe - seems like something rather eye-catching to draw. Or so he’ll guess. Itachi would have far more idea about than he. His talents might lie in music, but he knows the artistic side of things in general better than Sasuke ever will.

After a minute or so, he goes back to his laptop screen, sipping his coffee and absorbing back into the work.

When he starts packing up to head home, she’s already gone.

The work week passes, and it’s not until the following Saturday he can make it back. Unlike his last visit, it’s pouring rain this time. A wet umbrella rests against his chair. The same project - to be presented Monday - is back on his laptop screen...but mostly just as an excuse. He told Naruto he couldn’t go to some local league basketball game he’s playing in due to work.

It’s...half true. He hasn’t given the presentation yet. It’s still a work in progress. But he also hasn’t touched it in three days because the powerpoint part is done. While he could be home rehearsing it...Naruto has a nasty habit of dropping in even when told no. Hence hiding out here.

Besides, he’s got it memorized already. He’s not missing much by loligagging here.

The shop’s a bit more crowded today - probably because warm drinks are the perfect staple for a cool, rainy Spring day. And who wants to be out in the weather? Better to just...cozy up here until the rain stops.

The numbers don’t bother him - he got here early enough to claim his table, and no one’s dared ask to steal a chair or join him. Whether he intends it or not (though usually he does), Sasuke has a rather distance-inducing aura. Or at least, that’s how his brother oh so politely puts it.

Sasuke, on the other hand, knows he just has a major case of resting bitch face. And he’s more than glad for the annoyances it spares him...at least, with anyone intelligent enough to read it. Hence why Naruto still hangs around...he just doesn’t quite get it.

Today he’s indulging in a bitter cup of sugarless hot cocoa when that same feeling returns: like someone’s watching him. Looking up, he still doesn’t catch anyone staring.

...but he does notice she’s back. Sketchbook lady. Returned to the same spot, shying a bit from her neighbors but still scribbling away. This time it’s not just a pencil - some colored...somethings sit in a neat tray atop her table. Not pencils, and...he doesn’t think they’re crayons? Oh, who cares what they are. Either way, she must be coloring her previous shot, given her same vantage point and what looks to be the same sketchbook.

Huh.

A bit more curious this time, Sasuke takes to watching her. Every so often, she looks up and studies the wall behind him: the one directly across from her. Shrewd, pale eyes squint as she examines it before going back to her coloring.

...he sort of wants to see it.

Sasuke also can’t help but wonder how she’s accounting for the change of people. There’s more of them, and they’re surely different than last weekend. Did she just...go over what she had? Or is she improvising? He’s never really given such things a thought before, but...watching someone in the act of creating, admittedly, piques his interest.

But after a little while, it gets a bit repetitive...and he can’t exactly see what she’s doing. A little disappointed, Sasuke goes back to his procrastinating, eventually noting that the rain has stopped. Should he risk going back home…?

Maybe not yet.

He stays a few hours more, ordering another cup and an everything bagel to pass the time. Not the best lunch he could have, but...meh. He can have something better for him for dinner. Only once he gets a text from the knucklehead proclaiming victory (and whining he didn’t show up) does Sasuke deem it safe to head home.

The next morning, he wakes to his phone vibrating against his nightstand. Groggily he grabs it, swiping to answer and mumbling, “Hullo?”

“Sasuke, good morning.”

He blinks slowly. “...’tachi?”

“Forgive me for calling so early, but I wanted you to be the first to know: I’m going to be back in town for the week. I’ll be flying in this afternoon.”

Dark eyes quickly brighten, sitting up. “Really?”

“Yes. I was going to tell Mother and Father tomorrow morning - I thought, for today, it could just be the two of us.”

A kind of childish glee at both the falsehood (his brother never lies) and his indulging of Sasuke’s constant pining to see him beget a smile. “Yeah, sure - got anything in mind?”

“Oh, I thought we’d just wander around downtown and see what jumps out at us. I haven’t been back in almost a year, I want to see what’s changed.”

“Okay, yeah - sure.”

“I’ll meet you at your building - I’ve got a rental car arranged. I should be there about three?”

“I’ll be waiting!”

Hanging up, Sasuke can’t help but grin at his brother’s number before it fades back to the homescreen. Well...talk about a great start to a week!

By the time Itachi makes it, he’s been bored for hours, having little else to do on a Sunday but wait around. They immediately leave again, going on foot to simply explore.

“I’ve missed this city,” Itachi admits wistfully, hands in his coat’s pockets and simply looking around.

“And we’ve missed you - how’re all your gigs going?”

“Wonderfully. I’ve been planning a little tour with another artist: a vocalist who’s been practicing with me the past few weeks.”

“Any stops near here?”

“In here, as a matter of fact - but not for a few months. We’ve got quite a bit of practice and arranging to do. But I will let you know.” Slowing to a stop, Itachi cocks his head curiously at an open door. “...Sasuke, care to go in?”

“Huh? What is it?”

“Apparently an art exhibition - locals, seems like.”

It might not be his scene, but...well, Itachi’s the guest, and it’ll make him happy. “Yeah, sure.”

The pair enter, quickly seeing a variety of works and mediums by a vast array of artists. While Itachi speaks to the host, Sasuke starts wandering, not as invested as he’s sure Itachi will be. Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, he glances over several pieces before coming to a standstill.

Wait...but that’s…?

Still staring as Itachi joins him, Sasuke barely hears his question. “...huh?”

“I asked if you found something you like…? Oh...well that looks an awful lot like -”

“It’s me.”

“...are you sure?”

“Yeah, I…” A bit flabbergasted, Sasuke shifts his weight, gesturing. “I go there all the time. That’s my table, and my laptop -” His umbrella even made it in the shot. There’s no doubt about it: even the angle matches. This has to be that woman, from before! She was drawing...him…?

“Can I help -? Oh!”

Both brothers turn to an approaching figure, and Sasuke locks surprised eyes with none other than the artist. Her own are wide, and color lightly tints her cheeks.

“It...it’s you!”

“Yeah...me,” Sasuke replies. Now it makes sense: why he kept feeling watched.

“I...I-I hope you don’t mind me using you as a model, I...I mostly do street drawing. I just...draw what I see. I was lucky to catch you twice, and so quickly! I just finished this piece this morning, I almost couldn’t bring it…” A hand tucks stray hair behind her ear. “...I’m Hinata.”

“Sasuke. Nice to actually meet you, I guess.”

“L-likewise!”

Behind him, Itachi gives a knowing smile. “May I ask, are your works for sale?”

“Oh, well...no, technically not.”

“Ah...forgive me.”

“No no, that’s okay! Would you...like to buy it…?”

“It’s rare to see my brother captured in such a way,” Itachi muses, earning an embarrassed glower from Sasuke. “You truly did a fantastic job. Of course, if you’d like to keep it -”

“No, I understand! I’m just delighted you f-found it! This city’s rather big, after all…”

“As am I. And I’m always a fan of supporting local creators. So, may we negotiate…?”

As the talk turns to money, Sasuke scowls and sulks off to one side, eyeing her other works. True to her word, most are just...captures of various local places and people. Though stylized to a point, he can still recognize quite a few places just at a glance, and further looking shows a great amount of detail.

Signing a check, Itachi hands it over with a smile. “A pleasure, miss Hyūga. I do hope you keep creating - your works are lovely.”

She ducks her head shyly, and then glances to the slip, eyes going wide. “...but you said -?”

“Please, consider it a well-deserved tip. I know enough artists to know they often undersell themselves. And yours is a talent worth supporting.”

Looking awed, Hinata breaks into a soft smile. “I’ll...go see about packaging this for you. Thank you s-so much.”

Itachi nods, turning as his brother steps back up. “Are you truly so opposed to the piece?”

“No...I’m not. It’s just kinda weird.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just is.”

“Well, it’s clear your territories overlap - perhaps she’ll be able to draw you again, hm?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that.

Returning with the framed artwork carefully wrapped and bagged, Hinata hands it over with another thank you. “Um...s-sorry again for stealing your visage.”

“Don’t worry about it. I guess now I get to see what you were working so hard on.”

Another light blush pinkens her cheeks. “I’ve wanted to do a portrait in there for ages...you just had the right...look, I guess.”

That earns a small snort. “Suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Miss Hyūga, might I have your cell number in case I find any other potential investors in you and your work?”

“Oh! Um...sure!”

“Sasuke, you should do the same.”

“What?”

His brother gives him a look that clearly says not to question him. “It’s never a bad idea to stay connected. Besides, given I’ve taken her only copy, Hinata might want to arrange another portrait.”

Squinting suspiciously, Sasuke nonetheless agrees, exchanging digits.

“Thank you so much, miss Hyūga.”

“Oh, please just call me Hinata.”

“Very well - I hope you enjoy your evening.”

Once the brothers take their leave, Sasuke rounds on Itachi. “What was that all about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“All of that!”

“What, I can’t buy art of you?”

“No, that’s - you were - and the number -”

“It’s clear she finds you intriguing,” Itachi replies briskly. “And not just in a superficial way. She could have captured anyone in that shop, but she chose you. Hinata saw something that caught her eye about you that no one else had managed. I just thought keeping a person with that impression of you close might be...wise.”

“...you’re setting me up.”

“Connections, Sasuke - they’re important.” Itachi gives him a smile, eyes twinkling. “Don’t they teach you that in your line of work?”

Having no retort, Sasuke just stuffs his hands in his pockets. “...c’mon, we’ve still got daylight to burn.”

“If you insist.”

     Oof, this is...very very long compared to most entries, and now it's super late, I gotta get hopping to bed xD      I got the idea not long after reading the prompt, and honestly thought it wouldn't be long enough...and then it ended up twice as long as most drabbles I've done for this challenge! But it was a cute concept, even when I realized it was gonna sop up the rest of my evening, haha!      Anyway, I'm wiped, so I better call it. Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!

[screamingregrethelp-blog]

Stranger Things Imagine (Adults/Teens)

Prompt: Everyone (Adults/Teens) reacting to the Reader cutting themselves. (if there's someone I missed that you’ll like to see tell me!)

Warning: Mention of cutting, thoughts of wanting to end it all 

A/N: Request are open, so go crazy. And sorry for being cheesy with the gifs lol  

Jim Hopper:

Jim may not show it, well at all, but he loves you to death. You think he doesn’t notice due to the fact he’s always busy with work. You never understood how Jim could just carry on with life with no fucks. You’re always so worried and always in a state of panic. One day you heard something about cutting helping people calm down. Of course, you knew better, but it soon got the best of you and you began to cut. Jim would show up to work and give you a slight nod or a ‘hey’ or even a ‘good morning’. You would give a soft ‘hello’ to him as he walked by. That later stopped though due to you just giving up on everything even life itself. Jim noticed right off the bat, he also noticed you itching your arms more and more. You even had blood on your sleeve one time. When he asked you simply said you had a small nose bleed and that was the end of it. 

Jim, however, didn’t see it that way. He invited you over to his cabin one day out of the blue. Well, it was more of a demand. “I want you at my place, we need to talk.” That was all he said. You figured you were getting fired, that it was the end of your job so you prepared for him telling you so. When you got to his cabin he was having a smoke outside, waiting for you. Jim didn’t say anything as you both entered his little cabin but you saw that he made dinner for the both of you. This, of course, made your face grow red and give off heat. Not to mention, his cabin gave off a lot of heat, you were burning up. Jim planed this, he wanted you to roll up your sleeves because he wasn’t 100% sure of you being a cutter. Sadly, you didn’t fall for it. 

Jim and you both laughed and joked, but every time he asked you about your life and asked what has been happening you just sat there and asked him a question about his day. Jim was fed up, he didn’t mean to but he yelled. Not wanting to make you upset but he wanted the truth. “Are you cutting?” 

The heat was getting to you, everything happened at once. You just ran into one of his rooms and tried to lock yourself in it but he pushed past the door. All he wanted to do was talk, but he knows he fucked that chance up. You couldn’t stop crying, you gave up and rolled up your sleeves. Jim didn’t say anything, but he did leave you alone. You thought he was disappointed in you, you made him sick. Until you heard music playing in the cabin. It took you a moment to calm yourself down, but you still didn’t move. The record was already on the second track when you decided to walk out into the living room. Jim was happily dancing to his toons as you stood there with your arms across over your chest. Jim didn’t ask you to dance with him but he did give you signals that he wanted you to come closer to him. You gave in and walked over to him and just stood. He grabbed your arms and just swung them back and forth with the beat of the song. 

This is how the night went. You and Jim just dancing and talking about small things until you told him everything. He told you he wanted to help in any way shape or form, he even asked if you needed to go to the hospital. You told him all you needed was him to show you that's everything was going to be alright. 

           Joyce Byers: 

Joyce loved everyone, even you. Ever since you two met at her job she loved you. No matter what happened you were there for her and ready to listen. When Will became missing she fell apart and she depended on you to put her back together. And you did, she loved you and told you how much you meant to her. Yet you wanted to end it, you felt no one was listening to you and that no one cared. You also began to kick yourself at the fact that you were falling apart and Joyce wasn’t even though her son was missing. You felt useless like you couldn’t do anything right.  

When Joyce did find Will you were overjoyed. She came to work better than ever, but you stayed the same. She talked about what she did with her two son’s, what Will drew that day, what Jonathan took pictures of. And every time, she didn’t mean it, she forgot to ask how you were doing. What was your day like, what did you have for breakfast. She just forgot. And you knew she didn’t mean to but it ate you alive. You didn’t want to just tell her your problems, so you tried different ways. And one way was cutting, well you didn’t do it right off the bat. 

Joyce asked you to watch Will for her because it was your night off. Of course, you said yes to her, how could you say no? Even though you were supposed to watch Will he wanted to go to Mike’s house to play DnD. You knew there was no harm there so you said yes, as long as he was home by 8-9. Will gave you a quick hug and biked with his friends to Mike’s house. Jonathan was out with Nancy probably partying and you knew Joyce wasn’t gonna be home until maybe 10 or even midnight, so you just had to watch the house. The thought of cutting began to nip at the back of your neck. You couldn’t shake it. Maybe one cut and then you’ll stop, just to test it. You couldn’t possibly get addicted.  

You walked around the house looking for a sharp object. You then thought of the garage, and that’s when you saw it. A razor blade. It was in a pack of four, it looked like Joyce bought them for something but never opened them, so you did. You only took one, because you were only testing. Walking over to the bathroom you looked for a band-aid. As you found one you stayed in the bathroom to do the job. Rolling up your sleeve you turned your arm over and cut under your elbow, to make it look like you fell. After that, you knew you were fucked. 

Will came home around 8:30 pm and you sat on the couch to greet him.You both talked about the DnD session until Jonathan came home. You soon put Will to bed and told Jonathan to have a safe night. You then patted your pocket to make sure the blade was still there.    

The next day at work Joyce talked about taking the day off, and you agreed with her, she really needed it. However, she asked if you wanted to come over to her house or maybe even go out to a dinner. You asked her ‘why?’ in confusion. Joyce said it was because the two of you have never hung out and that she wanted to treat you to the night before. You nodded and spent the whole day daydreaming about the day you were gonna have with Joyce. 

The day came faster than you expected, and it was a freezing one. You decided that staying at Joyce’s house would be the best choice. Having a cup of tea/coffee/hot cocoa was the way to go. Will and Jonathan were out again, they were just being kids and having fun. Once you sat comfortably on the couch with your drink Joyce sat next to you. You asked her how her day was, but she waved you off. And she said that one sentence you’ve been waiting for. 

“Let’s talk about you.” 

You stuttered, what were you supposed to say? You told Joyce all the good things in your life, which wasn’t a long talk. After a few moments of silence, she asked if that was all you had to say. You just sat there, you didn’t want to lie to her but you didn’t want to hurt her with the truth. You just started to cry. Joyce just began to hold you ask you told her it was all your fault. She told you that you’ve done nothing wrong but all you told her was that you were too stupid. Joyce calmed you down and you both talked. She knew you took one of the blades and she just wanted to know why and now she does. Now she wants to make sure you’re safe. Joyce set updates for the two of you to meet at her house or at a dinner so you can talk, just the two of you. She even calls you at nights to make sure you’re ok. Joyce cares about you and will never stop.

   Steve Harrington: 

Steve is an idiot at times, and this is one of those times. You weren’t friends with Steve right off the bat, but you did know him since freshmen year and freshmen year was when you began to cut. It just seemed like nothing was going your way, so you turned to harming yourself. However, P.E. was a bitch, but they let you wear long sleeves after you told them you were self-conscious about your arms. No one really cared because no one really knew who the hell you were. So because no one knew you, Steve didn’t know you. It wasn’t until way later that you two began to talk due to being on a project together, but Steve never stayed. Being ‘King of The School’ made him busy, so you had to do the project by yourself and this fueled your sadness. 

You and Steve began to part in a split second once the project was over. Steve just carried on with his life like you didn’t even appear in it. One day though you were asked by Nancy if you were going to a party that was coming up. You said no in a heartbeat because you knew Nancy was gonna get drunk and have fun while you stood in the corner having no one to talk to. She begged you to go, you couldn’t tell if she wanted you to go because she wanted you there as a friend or someone to take her home when she had one too many drinks. Giving in, you said yes to her begging. 

Of course, at the party, you stood in a corner by the kitchen as you held a drink in your hand. You couldn’t tell if music was playing or if people were just yelling. You wanted to leave like right now. However, you couldn’t leave Nancy alone. You stood in her shadow as you watched her dance and jump around with her drink in her hand. Itching your arms you needed the release. You needed to cut. You thought this was gonna happen so you brought your blade with you and a few band-aids. Pushing past people on the dance floor you saw that Jonathan was here and made your way to him. You then asked him if he could watch Nancy for you as you went to the restroom. Of course, he said yes and moved closer to Nancy. 

Pushing past people you rushed to the restroom only to find kids making out, and you could tell that the making out was headed down south fast, so you left. You looked for a quiet place but there was not a single room in this house that was not full of horny, drunk teens. Your mind raced alongside your heart as you panicked while looking for a place to yourself. You then ran outside and moved to the side of the house. No one was here, you could hear people but you saw no one in this spot. Pulling out your blade you also pulled out a big band-aid. You knew you felt like cutting deep because of this party and everyone in it. Once you pulled up your sleeve. You felt up your arm looking for a place to cut or a place where you could put your band-aid without ripping it off on your opened scars. 

“Holy shit!” 

In a panic, you dropped your blade and turned around to see Steve standing next to you with his shades in his hands. He had a shocked expression on his face and stepped back a bit. 

You grabbed the blade from the grass and tried to rush past him to avoid talking to him. However, he grabbed your wrist. You began to push off of him and struggle in his hold. He gave a soft ‘Shh!’ and held onto you. Steve then dragged you to his car as you still struggled. He held onto you until you stopped struggling and asked if you were done. You huffed out your breath and nodded. He let you go and told you to get into his car. You wanted to run back into the house but you didn’t want to make a scene. Opening up his car you just sat in it with your hands crossed. Steve told you he was going to drive you home. You only nodded because that’s actually what you wanted. 

You felt a bit bad on the drive to your house because you left Nancy, but you knew Jonathan was with her and he was a great guy. Steve didn’t say anything until he stopped a block down your house. He then told you to explain to him, everything. You shook your head no and tried to leave the car, but he wouldn’t let you. Steve just kept demanding that you tell him what’s wrong. And you finally did. 

You cried and punched his car a few times as you told him everything. How you were just tired of everyone and everything. You soon stopped and asked him why he stopped talking to you. Steve didn’t say anything and then told you he thought you stopped talking to him. You told him you wanted to leave and go home. He let you out of his car, but he told you he’ll start hanging out and bugging you more. He also told you to stop cutting but in a little playful way. He didn’t really know what to say, but he sure as hell was gonna try. You shrugged it off as him just trying to be nice but the next day at school he asked you how your night was and did you sleep well. 

This continued forever, he even began to come to your window at night and talk to you until you fell asleep to make sure you didn’t cut. Steve felt it was his fault and that he should’ve paid more attention to you. Steve cares for you a lot. 

Jonathan Byers:     

Jonathan’s just like his mother, he’s very caring. So when he finds out something is happening to one of his friends he intends to find out what and how he can help with it. You knew Jonathan for years, you both always got bullied and you could never understand why Jonathan could take it better than you. You think it’s because he has his camera and his pictures. You never really got the hang of it, even when Jonathan helps you take a few pictures you just never liked it as much as him. You tried to find something to take your mind off of everything, but nothing worked. The only thing left was cutting, and you sadly fell for it. 

No one knew, not even Jonathan. You were too scared to tell him your problems because you thought he’ll think you bitch too much. Cutting was painful and you didn’t really understand why you kept doing it but you felt you deserved the pain and that it was needed. 

One day at school you didn’t know why, but you just forgot you had cut too far up your wrist and when you folded your sleeves just a tiny bit back, everyone saw. No one said anything to you, but once you left the room to use the restroom everyone began to talk. However, once you entered the room it was like nothing had ever happened. 

Jonathan heard about your cutting but it seemed like no one has told you that everyone knew. He didn’t know if he wanted it to stay that way or if he should tell you. Jonathan didn’t know if any of the teachers knew yet nor did he know if your parents knew but he did know you were going to be in some deep shit. 

Jonathan asked if you wanted to hang out at his house after school. You said yes without a second thought. He only gave a weak smile as he waved and mumbled  ‘see you then’. You always loved going over to Jonathan’s, Will was fun to talk to and his mom was so nice. There was little to do at Jonathan’s house, but it always ended with listening to good toons. 

Once the day ended you went over to Jonathan’s house. His mom wasn’t home and Will was getting ready to leave to go to Mike’s house for a DnD session. You happily waved to Will goodbye as Jonathan walked over to his room. You followed behind him and sat down on his bed and waiting for the music to play so you two could talk or just lay in bed and think. 

Jonathan doesn’t put on any music though. You looked at him confused as you watched him just sit next to you. He begins to ask you if it’s true. You didn’t know what he was talking about until you saw his eyes were on your arms. Your breath got caught in your throat and you thought about your answer. “Yes.” You said as you just rubbed your arm. He then told about basically everyone in school knowing you cut. 

You cried, you didn’t want anyone to find out. You didn’t want Jonathan to find out this way. Jonathan hugged you and rubbed your back as you cried. He told you everything was going to be alright and he’ll be there every step of the way. Jonathan knows you’re not going to be the same person he knew years ago and that’s ok. He still cares about you. 

Nancy Wheeler:

Nancy will go to the end of the universe and back for you. It’s hard sometimes to really understand her. Sometimes you think she’s using you but it’s just mixed signals really. Nancy doesn’t mean to give them, but still, sometimes they hurt and you don’t know what to do with the pain. A few kids made fun of another kid who would cut. That kid soon moved and all the jokes were done for. You never understood the cutting thing, doesn’t hurt? Why use pain to stop the pain? Not until now, now you realize it was pain that you deserved. You couldn’t stop cutting, it all just happened so fast. No one knew until some kids saw you changing in the locker room. The whole school soon found out and everyone was talking about you. 

Nancy stopped talking to you. A lot of your friends did. You saw this coming though so it was no shocker, one day when Nancy asked if you wanted to come over to her house you almost had a panic attack. Why did she want to talk to you again? Did you do something? Did she want to hurt you more? You didn’t know what to say, but you nodded. She smiled sweetly and said ‘See you then!’ and walked off making it seem like it was no big deal to talk to you. 

When you came to Nancy’s house her parents let you in. They said Nancy was in her room. You walked over to the stairs, you think her brother is having a DnD session because it’s pretty loud down lower down in the basement. Walking up the stairs you see that Nancy has her lights on. Her door was opened to, but you still knocked. Nancy laid on her bed and smiled as she saw you walk in. She sat up and patted next to her on the bed. She asked you to close the door as you entered. 

You were so nervous, you felt that you were shaking. You wanted to ask why she asked you to come but she answered you before you could even make a sound. 

“Could you show me?” Nancy was very curious about what your scars looked like and how deep you would cut. And you were scared she’ll make fun of you or get mad and yell at you. But she told you she wouldn’t get mad. Nancy then said that you could show her only if you wanted to. And you did end up rolling up your sleeves and showing her. 

Your hands began to sweat and your hairs began to stand as she moved her hands up and down your arms feeling ever scar and bump from the scar as she took you all in. Then you felt your face grow hot and tears roll down your cheek as Nancy kept a sweet smile. She then pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back as she told you everything was going to be ok. She then began to apologize to you for not talking to you. She told you that she wanted to make you feel safe and that she didn’t know how and asked everyone she could. 

Nancy loves you, but she has a hard time explaining it. She knows what’s it like to be hated and she knows what’s it like to want someone to hold her. 

[facethroughthemirror]

IN THE END, WE COME RIGHT BACK

CHAPTER THREE

They’d seen Maine get back up after taking massive amounts of damage. And every time, he would get up and keep swinging, rush his opponents like an angry bull, shrug off the pain like it was nothing. This was Maine. Hulking, indestructible Maine. Maine with god-tier endurance and an adamantine skull. Maine with the strength of, according to Agent Pennsylvania, about twenty-three bears, give or take a bear or two. Maine, who was both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

But Maine didn’t get up.

Cross-posted on ao3

Recovery One was decidedly the worst of the Recovery bays to be placed in. It was the most heavily-monitored, as the most critical injuries and those just out of very major surgery were set up in there. The whole bay felt like the waiting room for a morgue. There were actually drains in the floor for the explicit purpose of quickly cleaning blood and other fluids away.

Despite the arguments with the Director, Wash was, as ordered, sitting right beside the massive, unconscious form of his bunkmate and partner. He was, for the first time in a couple days now, out of armor completely, freckled shoulders and tattooed arms exposed by a faded gray UNSC tank top. He hadn't showered yet, but he had dumped half a bottle of water over his head to freshen his hair up a little bit. If he got too grungy-looking, he was sure the staff would probably kick him out until he cleaned up.

Maine had looked a lot less like garbage than before once they finally settled him into a cot in Recovery. Thanks to the QuikClot gauze the medical team had been provided through their partnership with the UNSC, Maine's bleeding seemed to have stopped entirely by now, though his next few bandage changes would have to be combat gauze just to ensure that the bleeding was actually stopped. He still wouldn't be happy to see the needle in his hand when he woke up, but Wash could deal with that later, when Maine woke up.

If Maine woke up.

The bleeding was stopped, there was very little chance that bleeding could kill him now, and his injuries were being covered and kept clean. But, some of the staff was reluctant to say Maine was out of the woods yet. There was always a lurking chance that one misstep could turn into an infection and kill the big guy anyway. But, if he woke up, he'd be fine. Mute, but alive. And able to keep fighting.

Maine let out a tortured, pitiful little noise, drawing Wash's eyes down toward him and prompting the blond to place a comforting hand on the wounded soldier's forehead. "It's okay, buddy. You're okay."

"How's he doing?"

Wash looked over his shoulder at the speaker. "... oh, hey."

North said nothing, he simply offered a gently-steaming mug of cocoa to the younger agent. He gave a smile and sipped from the mug he still held when Wash took the offered one and thanked him. From behind North, CT stepped into view, holding her own mug.

"How's his bleeding?"

"Stopped for now, Scarlett's gonna show me how to change his bandages next time they need doing, so that once he's out, because once he's out of Recovery, he'll still be on bedrest, I can take care of his bandages for him and he won't have to be stressing himself out walking all the way down here."

"That's good. Has he woken up at all?"

"No. They've got him doped up pretty good, he's really knocked out." Maine moved again, and Wash put his free hand back on his forehead as he shushed him. "... I guess it's better than him being awake and in pain."

"Yeah. ... you know, you're allowed to leave and go get some sleep, Wash."

"Yeah I'm not going anywhere. I..." Wash bit his tongue, looking down and away. He refocused on Maine and took a drink from the mug. He had enough trouble sleeping when Maine simply wasn't in the room, it'd be downright impossible to sleep while he was worried about him like this. "... I'm not leaving him."

"... I thought you'd say that."

"... besides, if Maine wakes up and sees that needle in his hand, he'll tear everything apart within arms' reach and probably put CT through that window. He..." Wash trailed off, shaking his head a little when he found himself nearly explaining how needles really made his partner and bunkmate feel. "... really can't deal with them."

"That's like South and clowns," North shrugged. He sat down on the edge of the cot beside Maine's, CT settling beside him and pulling her legs up to cross them as she got comfortable. The older blond sipped from his mug again. "... how are you doing?"

"Me? Fine. Never better."

"... we really can keep an eye on him for you. ... if you're tired."

"I'm not tired."

"... has anyone else been by?"

"York and Carolina stopped in for a minute. Pennsylvania and Massachusetts heard about what happened and dropped in, said Jersey would've come up but Jersey's on a mission with Cali."

"I haven't seen Penny and Mass for ages," North beamed. "How're they doing?"

"They're doing alright.

"They even let Wyoming come in for a minute and see how Maine was doing, too. He's looking good, by the way."

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah. You really did a great job taking care of him in the field," Wash complimented, focusing on CT as he spoke. "He said they told him he'd make a full recovery, and he'd do it pretty quick. He's sure he'll be back in action in a few days."

"Good."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a minute, Wash sitting back down and reaching to fix the blanket draped over Maine's unconscious form. He could hear North and CT shifting and moving behind him, drinking from their mugs.

Finally, it was North that broke the silence this time. "I didn't know you had that tattoo."

"Huh?" Wash turned his right arm a little to examine the tattoo that North was talking about. It was a rendering of an orange, black and white calico with yellow-green eyes, drawn and shaded as if it was tearing its way out of Wash's upper arm with its claws. It was one of a few cat tattoos he'd gotten in the course of his life. "Oh, yeah. Got that one on leave while I was still UNSC."

"You've got a few of those, huh?"

"Yeah. Got some pawprints one my hip, some tiger stripes on my ankle, a black and white cat with a smudgy nose on my leg. Think I'm due for a new one, so I'm getting something next shore leave. We're supposed to hit a colony world with a few big cities in two or three weeks. If Maine's recovered enough to come with me, he might actually get one."

"... I thought he didn't like needles?"

"Tattoo gun doesn't look like a medical needle, and it doesn't feel like one either. He knows what he wants to get. If we're being honest, though, what he wanted to get, if he wanted me to, I could just do it with a safety pin and some ink, it wouldn't be hard."

"Maybe not do that, if he gets an infection it's probably gonna get you in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah, you're right."

After yet another moment of no one saying anything, North finally sighed. "... y'know, Carolina's real torn up about this."

"Really? I couldn't tell." Wash sighed, finishing his drink and setting the mug down behind him on the edge of the cot that North and CT had settled on. "It's like... she understands that she's supposed to feel sorry, but she doesn't understand that... well, that I don't really wanna hear her apologize. Y'know? She can be sorry all she wants but it feels like she's expecting me to tell her it's okay."

North and CT looked at each other, saying nothing.

"... Like she's acting like I blame her for this, or like I'm mad at her, and I'm not mad at her because Maine got hurt, but I'm getting mad that she won't stop apologizing. She's just... she's not like this and I know I should really be concerned because she's acting this way. But I just keep getting mad because I want her to stop saying she's sorry. Am I the crazy one here?"

"... you did snap at her a little, Wash," North pointed out.

"Okay, yeah, I got a little mad, and I stood up to the Director when he started yelling at her, why wouldn't I just shut up and let her take it if I was mad at her about this?"

"I mean, it'd make sense to step in."

"Not when it means back-talking a CO. Yeah, I was mad about how she was talking, but it's not like she's the one who shot Maine. And yeah, I was angry because she's supposedly such a perfect solider and a perfect leader, and this still happened on her watch, but y'know what? Until she came in and started apologizing again, I was over it. And I'm pretty much still over it. This shit happens in the field. It happens, and when it happens, we just have to deal with it. Getting worked up about it doesn't change anything, it just creates tension that'll come back to bite us the next time we're assigned in a squad together, and I'm not gonna let my feelings be the reason someone else gets hurt."

[cocoatothrill]

Shipping Chocolate Shoes, as seen on Channel 5

Please don’t Melt!

If you're wondering how we shipped over 100 Cocoa To Thrill Chocolate Shoes into the desert - we're here for you!

"People Deliver Chocolate All Over The World...Right?"

When we received the call asking us to bring our Cocoa To Thrill Chocolate Shoes  to Arab Fashion Week, we did a little dance and jumped for joy. Arabia, how exotic, how beautiful, how…hot! In our chocolate celebration we neglected to consider the challenge ahead of us. In an attempt to comfort ourselves we placated ourselves with this “People deliver chocolate all over the world right, we can do this”. At this point we had no idea whether chocolate had ever been imported into Dubai or indeed who had ever done it.

We weren’t just taking bars of chocolate either, we were taking delicate, fragile, beautiful yes but extremely fragile chocolate shoes into the dessert. It wasn’t going to be easy, especially since our precious cargo hadn’t even been out of London let alone 4639.5 miles away.

Being the mavericks that we are, lead by an unperturbed boss lady, we ventured into the unknown and began lovingly producing our chocolate masterpieces one by one. We fielded countless questions about how we were going to make sure it wasn’t going to melt by smiling through the insanity, “People deliver chocolate all over the world” became our mantra, not chocolate shoes mind, but stop picking holes in our plan.

Channel 5's, The Wonderful World of Chocolate, watches the whole ordeal

This task in front of us was similar to when Richard Branson decides to do another epic but dangerous adventure. We love Richard Branson, so why not. However we added a little more danger into the mix when

Channel 5 contacted us and said they wanted to film us on this dangerous adventure, we did another chocolate dance, paused to think, “what if we can’t do it” and then relished the thrill, this was going to be more than a hot balloon ride.

Researching the problem with no time...

The research into how we were actually going to get over 100 chocolate shoes to Dubai didn’t actually start until most of the chocolate shoes for Fashion Week were completed. Some might see this as slightly risky business move, but don’t forget the mantra.

Our first thought was to put our chocolate shoes on a refrigerated plane, “they have those right?”. Tah dah, we’ve solved it. Of course, it’s not that simple. Access to resources on how to get our chocolate shoes onto a refrigerated plane was limited and no one was really able to tell us how exactly to do it. Shipping companies like Fed Ex and DHL provide this service but they expect you to be a massive company shipping huge refrigerated shipments a month, “Oh, that’s how people deliver chocolate all over the world”. We found that being a bespoke, small but perfectly formed company was not the best outfit to get international shipping done. Worst of all it took weeks to get to this conclusion, countless phone calls and dead ends and guess what, fashion week was only 2 weeks away. In our defence we only had 5 weeks to get over 100 chocolate shoes to Dubai, another chocolate madness we will save for another blog.

Work it out in an Uber

It was 10 days to go and our team was zipping to Chelsea in an Uber. We had to shoot an advert for the big screen at Fashion Week. We had only had 3 days to work on this, (another blog). Channel 5 were coming to film us and we still hadn’t found a plan to get over 100 shoes to the desert without melting. You’d think we’d be a little stressed. Our girl boss, Samona Williams,  loves a list, and she had a very long one in that Uber. The strategy was to phone as many third-party shipping companies as possible until someone could do it. Apparently she learnt this strategy from Bill Gates. She said, “It’s simple maths, you can try a 100 and get 100 no’s but 101th call will say yes."

Ten minutes away, fielding anxious calls from cast and crew and around 5 calls in, we got our answer. Thank you chocolate angels. You see, we had been approaching things a little too over the top, as is our general mood here at Cocoa To Thrill. Neil, the amazing refrigerated shipping expert at

Rhenus Logistics Liverpool

told us that we didn’t actually need to go on a refrigerated plane. Made sense, chocolate isn’t actually refrigerated, in fact the ideal temperature for our chocolate shoes and any chocolate for that matter is 12-15 degrees. “Oh, so we need temperature controlled, sounds expensive”. For those wondering, temperature controlled shipping does exist and usually used for medicines and can be temperature controlled within the degree in special boxes. These shipments are usually small and yes,  it is expensive. You can find out more here.

Thankfully Neil was a little more practical in his approach. Gel packs. “Gel packs? No surely they can’t keep the shipment cold enough in the dessert.” And further anxiety inducing in this conversation is that the shipment could not be delivered to the UAE in a day, as we had previously thought, it actually would take three days. Three days, surviving with just gel packs, impossible.

5 minutes to the ad shoot, the director can’t get into to the Fort Knox secure location (we’d tell you who lives there but we can’t). The rest of the crew are looking for props and we talking about gel packs and what seems like the longest shipping time in the world. Luckily for us, Neil was wise and experienced. He explained that the chocolate had to be packed a certain way and with the right amount of gel packs our chocolate shoes could easily be kept cold for three days, “I won’t tell you 100% they are not going to melt, but I haven’t had many casualties”. Thanks Neil super encouraging.

Neil Says

"To be honest the UK side wasn’t an issue and never worried me.  We made it clear to transport how fragile the shipment was and that we needed to handle with super care and attention.My main concern was initially the heat in Dubai.  We send shipments to Dubai pretty much on a weekly basis.  Most will travel frozen and we will pack with additional coolants to combat the extensive heat.  I then saw that all chocolate shoes were handmade with fancy decorations and pearls attached.  Upon looking at Cocoa’s Website I quickly realised how difficult the job in had was going to be.  I literally didn’t sleep for the next few days!"

In business, you have to take a certain amount of risk, especially when there’s no choice and your pulling into the gates of the filming location to the expectant faces of the crew. The Uber driver looks at us expectantly. “Oh we have to get out here? We’ll do it Neil”. This is how it went down. We jumped out of the car and were faced with the whole new problem of getting all the shots we needed, with no time, a channel 5 crew and the wrong lighting kit. If you’re interested to see how the ad turned out, click here.

How Do You Wrap and Package Chocolate Shoes?

Of course, the story didn’t end with a frenzied shoot day. Once we wrapped we realised that no-one had dealt with the fragility of shipping chocolate shoes. Chocolate yes, but chocolate shoes, that have delicate temperaments, no. We set about packing and packaging. There were reems of bubble wrap, there were late nights and disgusting stale sandwiches. There were kind family members and polystyrene beads in our hair,  all the time.

Refrigerated Chocolate Truck!

We worked like crazy and Neil sent us an amazing temperature controlled truck to pick up our very well wrapped chocolate shoes just 6 days before we were due to fly to Dubai. Channel 5 were on hand to shoot the whole heart wrenching experience, “It’s great telly”. Off  our precious chocolate shoes went rattling along the m25 to our pattering heartbeats.

The truck made its way on a 4 hour 20 minute journey, 207.6 miles to Manchester to meet Neil. There , our chocolate shoes bound for Arab Fashion Week in Dubai were packed with their gel packs on palettes. Once they were all packed up the shipment was huge, it weighed 54 kilos, which in shipping terms is not that much but the volume was over 190 kilos. Over 100 shoes went on a large shipping palette and an extra-large shipping box.

Neil Says

“After much discussions between myself and Cocoa To Thrill, I came up with a good idea to keep the chocolate in layers and separate each leg on the pallet with stanchions to give the pallet some strength and the chocolate would not be touching each other and the weight of the top layers not sat on the bottom layers which can cause unwanted damages.  Unfortunately the shipment came in much larger than anticipated.  Initially I thought it was an impossible take but once I had a few moments to take it all in and have a think I realised we had some box pallets in stock which enabled me to pack the shipment ready to export.  The chocolate shoes were already packed quite well by Samona and her team, a lot of time and effort from both companies have clearly gone into the packing of these very fragile shoes.  It allowed me to pack and separate into one large box pallet.  Shipment was packed and coolants placed on the top of the pallet to keep the chocolate nice and cool while in transit and more importantly when the shipment arrived into Dubai.”

This is how you ship chocolate

Our gorgeous and brave chocolate shoes  were packed in a matter of hours, with a whole lot of gel packs,  at a temperature of between 2-8 degrees Celsius and before we knew it, they were on their way to get on their first plane to Germany. Honestly it was like sending kids for their first day of school, excruciating, but you know you have to be brave. In these situations, it’s not a good idea to wonder if all your hard work will melt or break. Our Chocolate Executive Officer (CEO) was having none of it. There was packing to do, outfits to choose, press releases to write. There was no room for “If the shoes get there”, it was simply “when”.

To help with the heat, customs clearance was completed while our chocolate shoes were sat in Germany. We loved the forward thinking. What we didn’t love however was the fact that our chocolate shoes were split up in Germany. Only half of them arrived in Dubai while the others were stuck in Germany. If you’ve ever been separated from a loved one, you will know the sheer panic the was filling the office. Neil was as chill as the box they were travelling in. “Don’t worry” he assured us, “this happens all the time”. To this day we are not quite sure if this is true or whether there was a calm duck frantically treading water beneath the surface kind of situation but thankfully, the next day, the two boxes were reunited in Dubai. The refresh button on the tracking  browser was a little overused during those nail biting 8 hours.

It was heart wrenching, nail biting, chocolate madness all captured by Channel 5 for you all to enjoy. Thankfully our beautiful chocolate shoes arrived in Dubai without melting and not one breakage. "People deliver chocolate all over the world, right". Chocolate magic thinking, isn’t that something. 

We will be posting the  the moment we realised the chocolate shoes were ok  for your viewing pleasure. In the meantime you can watch the whole ordeal on Channel 5, The Wonderful World of Chocolate, Sunday 28th July, 9pm. It will also be available on catch up here after 28th July 2019.Thank you to the team at Rhenus Logistics and Neil, you’re one cool dude.

[crvdence]

and i feel love is dead (i am loving angels instead) ; a credence barebone fanfiction

Pairings: none, credence centric Rating: G Words: 1633 Disclaimer: work of fiction, original story and universe belongs to the one and only jk rowling no profit gained out of this Comments: i haven't written in forever and i thought it would be a good idea to give it a chance, i love credence, he deserves all the good things in the world and i can't imagine someone sweeter than queenie goldstein to provide that. i like to fantasize with these two in the next movies, with credence growing hair and queenie's cocoa ♡

this was inspired by queenie's “what is a niffler?” question and the fact she's the embodiment of an ANGEL ;3; just a small sneak peak into credence's new life living with the goldstein sisters and his relationship with queenie

and this is obviously NOT A DRABBLE because apparently i don't know how to stop myself fml

any comment and constructive criticism is highly welcomed ;3; ♡♡♡

Credence didn't really remember much, spirals of panic and anxiety, and a pain so deep he felt it in his bones, wanting to tear him a part. A lot of dark fog and fear, but nothing else until he found himself wrapped in a blanket in the middle of a rainy day surrounded by he assumed it was a group of witches and wizards. Because wizards and witches and magic, were more than real, probably one of the little things his mother had been right about; probably the only thing his Ma was right about.

Days had moved way too fast after that for Credence to register everything that had been going on, too many changes in such a little spare of time, too much new information, and too many questions that remain unanswered. Credence was too afraid of asking, anyway.

He guessed he got the basics of the whole story: He was an Obscurus, a friendly British guy with shy mannerisms explained to him one day. A parasitic force, something that often took over magical children when they were forced to repress their magic. Credence didn't understand, though, because he was no longer a child, and he hardly believed he was magical. But Newt (“Ah, please, call me Newt, Credence, no need to such formalities.”), simply smiled at him with his head tilted and shiny eyes, telling him that he was some kind of miracle. Credence blushed, but he didn't think his doubts were really answered after all.

Then, who he thought it was Mister Graves was, in fact, a dark wizard from Europe as Newt had explained to him as well, because magicians could use magic to pass as each other, he assumed. The real Mister Graves, the one who took Credence out to eat once, to a place which smelled like dark coffee and deep fried bacon; was still nowhere to be found, even if Miss Tina was looking for him with another group of Aurors. Credence wasn't sure what an Auror was but he had assumed they were something similar to the police. Miss Tina promised him they would find him, and Credence's thoughts often drifted to Mister Graves' safety.

Because it was easier to separate the bad memories and the fear Mister Graves gave to him, the coaxing and the bad words, when it wasn't the real Mister Graves. The real Mister Graves who still called him boy and came to check on him, who would give him cups of warm dark coffee to drink, and sneak candy bars into the battered pockets of his jacket, for Modesty and him to eat when Ma or Chastity weren't looking. This was the Mister Graves Credence thought about.

All of this left Credence in Miss Tina's apartment, in the company of his sister, Queenie. Because Miss Tina told him he was under their “temporary custody” until things cleared out. Credence didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but Miss Queenie explained him that he was just going to live with them for a while, that she took a few days off in her job (which wasn't that important because she only made cups of coffee, she explained to him with a giggle) and that their guest room was big enough for him for the time he needed.

It was easy to live with the two sisters, Miss Tina left early to her job, and that left Credence alone with Miss Queenie for the rest of the day until she returned, around supper. There were habits difficult to break for him, wicked schedules and unconscious reactions. He still woke up too early even if he had not to, like his body reminded him that the meetings on Wednesday were still at 6:15 and the Tuesdays at 7:45. Even if he didn't need to sleep on the floor any more, instead he was sleeping on a mattress so soft he didn't think he was worthy. He would flinch at the smallest of the unknown noises, and he wouldn't do things unless he was told to. It even took a few days to look into Miss Queenie's eyes, even if she was, by far, one of the selfless and kindest people Credence had encountered.

In fact, if the blonde wouldn't have introduced herself as Miss Tina's sister the first time they met, Credence wouldn't have believed they were related. It wasn't like Miss Tina wasn't nice, she was, she was the first one to care and to worry about Credence in a really long time. But there's something about Miss Queenie that was completely different.

She smiled like she had heard a hilarious joke the rest of the world had missed, and she always had a nice word to say, she always called him sweetie, or honey or sweetheart; in such an endearing way that Credence wondered if that was how mothers were supposed to call their children, and she always smelled sweet, like something Credence couldn't recognise because the church was a grey place, and the only distinctive smells he could vivid remember were the sour scent of his mother's perfume, mixed with her sweat, and the smell of his own blood.

She used magic for cooking, and Credence always looked around in pure astonishment when she saw her flicking her wand effortlessly, the ingredients of the food she was preparing floating around her in perfect harmony. Miss Queenie always looked happy, and pretty, but there was something in the way she looked when she made hot chocolate and pastries that Credence thought it wasn't magical, but godly and ethereal, she looked like an angel.

Like right then, when he was sitting down at their kitchen's table with a steaming cup of hot chocolate between his hands, looking up at her while she babbled about her sister and Newt, with flour, butter and sugar floating harmoniously all over her head, before landing into a bowl, mixing themselves together.

“What is an Angel?” Queenie asked sweetly, her eyes growing as she looked over the shoulder of his dark blue dress, smiling with curiosity. There was another thing that made Miss Queenie different from her sister, she always asked questions about what she didn't know, and she could read minds. Credence learned both of this things the very first day he had moved in.

Miss Queenie had promised not to peek into his mind too much, but she also said that she couldn't really help it, that he wasn't shielded and it was too easy to read his mind. When she said that, her usual glistening eyes got clouded with a hint of sadness and Credence wished he was a wizard too, so he was able to read her mind as well, and know the source of that sadness and what she was thinking about.

But right then, his eyes just widened, looking at her like she had discovered the worst of his secrets, and he felt exposed and shy, she was still looking at him expectantly, the food still being prepared behind them, unaware of Credence internal turmoil.

He didn't even know how to explain what an Angel was. Angels were associated with intelligence, pureness and beauty, but also with kindness and benevolence. They could be protectors and messengers. Ma forbid any kind of “distraction” to enter the church, and when Credence wasn't busy with services, pamphlets and beatings, anything else he could do was read the Bible and learn about other Christian knowledge.

In the images he had seen of Angels, they always had blonde curly hair and understanding smiles, they were helping others, and they had unmarred and fair skin. Queenie, looking at him with expectation shinning in her eyes and a dimple adorning her cheek, was the closest thing to an Angel that Credence had ever seen in his life.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the melodious sound of Queenie's giggles, who had turned around, and moved to sit down in front of him, cupping her own chin with both of her hands. “Oh, sweetie!” She exclaimed, like she was absolutely delighted by something and Credence just waited because he couldn't possibly imagine what it could be. Like that fact she was probably, surely, reading his mind again was forgotten for a minute.

“If those things are true, then you're definitely an Angel too!” She said, smiling faintly. “I know nothing about No-Maj's things!” She continued, even if Miss Queenie was always so curious about everything, and he tried to answer to all her questions, even if a lot of them were weird. “But you're so kind and nice, Credence, so now you're an Angel for me too.”

Credence was speechless at her words, looking up at her through his lashes, almost feeling his hair brushing the ends of his eyebrows. Now that his Ma didn't keep his hair short, it was starting to outgrow the bowl haircut. He really didn't know what to say, and he felt overwhelmed by a warm feeling that he didn't feel often. He wasn't definitely used to people being nice to him, but Angel was something he never expected to be called. All his Ma called him was wicked names and hurtful slurs, but Miss Queenie who was kind and nurturing, was calling him the nicest of the compliments instead.

She was silent for a few seconds too, and her eyes clouded with that hint of sadness for a fleeting moment, before she shook her head again. “Now, do you want another cocoa?” The blonde asked, getting up again, her short curls bouncing as she did so, in a cascade of shinning gold, and Credence nodded to the sound of her laugh.

It was Miss Queenie the one who was definitely an Angel.

[crvdence]

i tried to go on (like i never knew you) ; a credence barebone fanfiction

Words: 2987 Prompt 2/20: complicated Summary: credence remembers about his ma, about the real mister graves and about the darkness living inside of him, and when he feels like he's in the deepest he can fall, the light of queenie reaches out to him. Disclaimer: work of fiction, original story and universe belongs to the one and only jk rowling no profit gained out of this Comments: i am still thinking what to do about credence and the obscurus thing, but i am going to focus on credence being happy and supported by queenie now because he deserves it ♡ as a disclaimer, i do not want to romanticise the relationship credence and graves/grindelwald have in the film, i refuse to dwell into manipulation, abuse and toxicity or any kind, i reject it and reprimand it. this is just credence feelings and memories about that time, but there's no attraction/love about it. i will try very hard to separate the “real” graves from grindelwald, and explore their dynamics in a less toxic and abusive way. title is from backstreet boy's song incomplete, english is not my first language so there might be some grammar issues here and there. any positive thoughts, comments, and criticisms are more than welcome!

read it here at my writing lj or here at ao3

The Goldstein household was the closest thing Credence had experienced to a home. Even after a few weeks when Miss Queenie resumed her working and he was left by himself, Credence felt more at ease there than he remembered the church, forever. Miss Queenie left him with a few books, “Ilvermorny textbooks!”she said to him excitedly, about History of Magic, and Charms, and Herbology. Credence read very slowly, his Ma had never spent any time trying to teach him properly enough, and most of the words went all over his head, but he had the patience and the perseverance of someone who was starving to learn, to know more, as many other things Credence had been deprived of. And Credence's days passed by immersed in the fascinating world of Magic, often too lost into it until Miss Queenie returned from her job. But before she came back, Miss Queenie took him once to a Non-Maj mall, because she couldn't bear the sight of Credence in such old and battered clothes, and she seemed more excited to be there, than him. Credence had tried to insist that his clothes were fine, that there always had been, but one thing he had learned about the Goldstein sisters was that, if they set their mind on something, there was no way to convince them otherwise. Like so, that night Credence came back home with two shirts, jackets and trousers, and even a new pair of shoes. Shoes! Credence didn't really remember the last time he owned a new pair of shoes, the ones he was wearing had holes everywhere, and when it rained outside, he would comeback to the church with muddy and wet socks, and frozen toes. As he tried everything on, to show Miss Tina after dinner, he promised himself that one day he would find the way to repay Miss Queenie's and Tina's kindness, even if he knew that neither of them were ever going to ask to do such things. But even with everything they did for him, there were moments when the darkness was too big, and not even Miss Queenie's smiles and mugs of warm cocoa could help Credence to fight against the monsters and the ghosts living inside of him. The worst part of it, was that all those ghosts and those monsters had his face, and the memories of the things he had done and the people he had hurt, were too big for Credence to handle. Ma had been a cruel, distant and cold woman and she had raised her children in fear, silence and violence. In the learnings of God's rage and punishment, in hatred and suspicion. Credence had learned too early to conceal his true feelings and thoughts, to label any action as impure and ungodly, to expect punishments, insults and beatings for every single action and word, whether he thought he deserved it or not. It was a matter of time for him to start feeling the darkness expanding inside of him, like oil dripping on top of water. Unstoppable and fast, like rats hiding away from a fire. It contaminated everything, it reached everywhere, from the tips of his toes to the palms of his hands, making him even more wicked, filthy and unworthy. Forsaken by God. Abandoned and tossed around, like a freak, freak, freak. The darkness took over him, and in the end and Credence didn't know where the spirals of dark fog finished and where he started, or if he could tell the difference any more. There was no light in Credence's world, no colours apart from grey and red and no feelings but fear and shame. Resilience was a valiant act, but it needed strength and a foundation of kindness and respect for yourself to work, and no one even taught him that. And like so, more into the darkness Credence fell. The falling was always about him succumbing to his memories, falling to the tricks his mind played on him. It was almost funny, how it associated faces with scents, places with tastes, eyes with touches and voices with feelings. And how, in the end, they left him in the same place, drowning and thinking about the same person. In one of the most secluded places in Credence mind, the one he hoped it was even far away from Miss Queenie's powers, was riddled with slivers of skin and flickers of calloused fingers, the strong scent of dark coffee and the faintest of spilled ink. Raspy voices and low curses, curled smiles and hints of throaty laughs. Because Credence wasn't only starved of knowledge and warm food, he was craving for understanding, for kindness and for friendliness. In a world of beatings and cruelness, it was only normal he would fall easily into whoever treated him with the slightest touch of kindness, with care, like he was actually worth of something more than being tossed around and getting ordered at. He will never forget the day Miss Tina started to come, the days when she asked, when she smiled at him sadly, when she actually took care of him. Her anger towards Ma was scary, but at the same time, it felt like relief. Because it meant someone cared, beyond Modesty. Someone who was an adult and maybe capable of stopping Ma was willing to help them, but then, one day Miss Tina stopped showing up, and Credence's heart dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. Mister Graves came next, the real Mister Graves, for what he had managed to find out after talking with Miss Tina. She pleaded him to keep an eye on him, and Mister Graves did. But Credence only saw him two times. The first time, he simply stood in front of him and asked for a pamphlet, actually asked, like he was interested in what Credence had to say. That day was forever going to be imprinted in Credence's brain. Mister Graves was like a hero of those novels his Ma forbade him to read. His clothes were possibly the most elegant thing Credence had laid his eyes on, and when he came closer to take a few pamphlets from his hands, the heat of his body, surely well kept with the rich fabric of his coat, emanated and reached Credence like the breeze of a sultry spring morning. He didn't say much, he didn't call him boy, he just asked him to explain him briefly what the cause was about, and the hours of their meetings. Credence remembered with embarrassment how he stammered when he started to speak, choking on his own spit, and praying for the eloquent, sophisticated man in front of him not to notice. If Mister Graves did, he never said anything. He simply listened, bushy eyebrows frowning together as he nodded, a hint of a ghost of a smile as Credence kept talking. When he was done, he folded the pamphlets into the pocket of his coat. “I will see you soon, Credence.” When he saw the broad shoulders getting smaller and smaller as Mister Graves walked down and away from Pike Street, Credence noticed with a blush he had never told the man his name. He came back a week later, and he still asked for more pamphlets. Credence never understood why, but he gave them anyway, his calloused, full of blisters fingers brushing against the smooth fabric of Mister Graves' leather gloves. He didn't ask him again for the hours of the meetings, or the content of the pamphlets, instead he asked Credence how he was, with such a sincere curiosity, the younger man was taken back. He said he was okay, sir, and it was then when he noticed he still didn't know his name. He was far too shy to ask, but it was like the man in front of him could read his mind as easily as Miss Queenie did. “Percival Graves, Credence.” Credence remembered thinking how even his name seemed sophisticated and smooth as he was. “Mister Graves.” He repeated with a rigid nod, taking time in feeling the name rolling on his tongue, a luxury that made him smile, the action reaching to the corner of his eyes making their edges curl. Soon after, Mister Graves excused himself, talking about work and left, with a fleeting touch on his bony shoulder, a word to take care of himself, and the linger promise of seeing him again. Credence was still smiling when the older man walked away, the folds of his coat undulating with the crisp air of the end of autumn. Mister Graves took much longer than a week to come back the next time and Credence knew too little of him to notice any change. He started to call him boy along with using his name, and it was the first time someone called him by a name that showed kindness, instead of an insult. Credence fell too easily, too deep, into the kindness and the company of someone as interesting, cultivated and mature as Mister Graves. He was everything Credence was not, he was everything Credence aspired to be, one day, maybe, away from the evil hands of the woman he still called mother, even in the aftermaths of cruel beatings. He was gullible, how could he not be? Blinded by a virtually stranger showing him kindness and care, Credence fell in a trap of manipulation he never saw coming until it was too late. Sometimes Mister Graves kindness would harden, and what it usually was a friendly touch, became something too close to how his mother used to treat him. He desperately wanted to help Mister Graves, he really wanted to, but he wished he could tell the older man about the darkness he lived with, the monster hiding inside of him, to ask him for help, to see if those same hands which touched his face tenderly would also be there when he needed to be saved from himself. But it wasn't like that. It was never like that. And those memories were still the worst, they came after a lifetime of suffering: The almost dull feeling of his own belt when it came in contact with his back after minutes of beatings and Modesty's cold and small hands on his face, wiping away the tears and pleading him to be quiet, before Ma could heard. Chastity scolding him for being slow and dumb, for making their work more difficult when every step felt like blades piercing into his skin. Cruel hands dropping the pamphlets he was holding into poodles of rain and dirt on the ground, along with merciless whispers, cracklings, snorts, every time he passed by the street near the church. And finally, Mister Graves: A ghost of grey hair, a swept of a long coat, icy fingers on his neck and a clammy whisper against his ear, a snarl of  “I am done with you” as the darkness was starting to consume him. That was the deepest Credence could reach, the last threads of his poor self-control. He didn't know if there was a place on earth that could be called heaven, but Credence was sure he had inhabited in an earthy hell for too long, and there was no signs of eternal salvation or redemption. He wondered if these thoughts were the ones that made God left him behind like this, or if God was even there to start with. What he knew it was, once he started to descend into the depths of the darkness of his mind, it was hard to resurface, it was hard to put an end to it. But somehow, when he had reached to that point, when he was on the brink of feeling the fog, the pain and the panic absorb him, in the middle of all that chaos, and anxiety, Credence found himself listening to Miss Queenie's voice. “Oh, Credence.” She lamented, with a deep sigh. “It wasn't your fault, sweetie.” Her voice echoed inside of him, a voice so, so sweet, it almost felt like liquid honey, sticky like amber dripping down the trees. “It was never your fault, Credence.” And she always made him came back to where he was, in their main room, a book on his lap, a lukewarm cup of tea resting on the table next to the couch, with Miss Queenie kneeling in front of him. She always looked sad when she seemed to read any of Credence's deepest memories, when she saved him from another attack, but still beautiful, kind and understanding. She was so full of light, it illuminated every corner of any space she was at, piercing even through the darkest places of Credence's soul, like his Guardian Angel. But he hated himself more when he looked into her eyes, and he noticed that he was making someone so bubbly, optimistic and beautiful like Miss Queenie sad because of him. “I am not sad because of you, Credence. I do feel for you.” Queenie would say instead, and her fingers would curl lovingly around his wrist. She had such a loving touch, warm and affectionate as the rest of her, and Credence smile crept up to his face no matter how dark his thoughts were, how sour his mood was, how deep the guilt caved inside of him. “That person wasn't Mister Graves.” Miss Queenie kept talking, the pads of her fingers touching the delicate skin of Credence's wrist, because her power wasn't only to read into people's thoughts, was also to say the right words, to calm even the worst of Credence's monsters and ghosts. “It wasn't Mister Graves, it was Grindelwald, the wizard from Europe, Newt explained it to you, right?” Miss Queenie talked to him like a mother would speak to a frightened child, but Credence never felt stupid or ignorant next to her, instead, he felt safe, he felt understood, he felt at home. Without looking up at her, he nodded weakly, trying to find the words inside of his mouth, like they got lost in the way from the depth of his throat to the tip of his tongue. “The bad wizard.” He whispered, his voice deep and hoarse with feelings, and Miss Queenie would nod, her curls nodding along her when she did so. It wasn't like she did know much about the real Percival Graves, it was her sister who worked with him on a daily basis. She was never able to enter into his mind, not even once, and from what she had seen in the bustling corridors of Macusa, Graves was just a very dedicated Auror, too focused and devoted to his work. But she also knew that when Tina got in trouble for attacking that evil woman Credence called Ma, she asked him to keep an eye on Credence while she was demoted to wand permits. And she knew her sister too well, she would never trust someone cruel and manipulative to help Credence, who was in such a difficult and hurtful situation already. “Grindelwald said horrible things, but none of them were true.” She kept on, and moved from her kneeling position on the floor to sit down on the couch next to Credence, even if she always tried to keep a distance between them, and her two hands were now cupping Credence's ones, making them rest on top of her thigh. “You never deserved to hear any of them.” She continued, and this time her thumbs were stroking all over Credence's knuckles. “And Mister Graves would have never said them.” It was the last words the ones which made a difference, a crack inside of Credence's tortured mind. Finally, he looked up and the caring smile on Miss Queenie's face started to blurry the moment tears filled his eyes, feeling them hot and thick, pooling on his eyelashes. He desperately wanted to believe her, he wanted to cling to her words like a crying child would cling to their mother's skirt after scrapping their knees. But no matter how much he liked Miss Queenie, and how Credence knew she would never, ever lie to him, it was entirely too soon. His wounds were too fresh and his memories too vivid. The pain of his loses, of the realizations, the new life he was thrown too... He was like a tickling bomb, and he was never sure when he was going to explode, when the darkness was going to win. He felt like he was always making a fight against time, and was always on the verge of losing the final battle. Right now, nothing seemed to be going well, he was still consumed by his past but maybe one day, he would manage to be. Maybe the light infused to him by the good people surrounding him, would find its way deep enough for clearing out all the darkness. When the tears spilled, down his cheeks to arrive to his chapped and abused lips, his vision cleared and Miss Queenie was still sitting next to him, holding his hands, rubbing a soothing circle on a patch of skin right above his wrist. She was saying nothing, her lips pressed together into a thin line, but she still looked relaxed, like she was simply waiting for him to say something instead, to calm down. Credence was sure she could listen to whatever what he was thinking about, but he didn't think it was an intrusion, she felt like a guest, like a friend. Right now, nothing seemed to be going well, but when he looked at the sparkle of Miss Queenie's eyes, who smiled to him with a last squeeze of her hands, getting up and saying something about Miss Tina and dinner, Credence felt her light seeping into him, and basking into that warmth, Credence felt himself believing that maybe one day, he would be.