#look in there anytime I walked by there were several dogs loose in locked in cars

[barksbog]

when you're a big dramatic collie but the neighbours ducks outside the fence refuse to listen to you so you have to throw a tantrum about it

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Undercover Lover prt 7

7

Three days off suddenly were rare. A storm had rolled through Shinganshima leaving most of the city without power. Even with the back up generator at work, it was too dark to work safely, Rod forced to send them home until power was restored. Sitting in a daze on his sofa, Eren damn near jumped out of his when there was a knock on his door. Having spent the majority of the day sleeping, he’d been intending on enjoying the last of the sun light before turning back in when it got dark again... not that there was any on account of the rain.

Dragging himself off the sofa, Eren sighed as headed to the door. Unlocking the chain and turning the deadbolt, he expected it to be one of his neighbours needing help. He’d already had to help the lady down the hall when her kid accidentally locked her out her apartment. The kid too upset and too young to calm down, so he’d climbed up the fire escape and coaxed the kid through the window until finally he was let in and able to unlock the door for her. Instead, Levi stood there. The man wet from the downpour outside. Shopping bags hung from both arms

“You going to make me fucking stand here dripping filth, or are you going to let me in”

Moving aside, Levi grumbled about the “shitty fucking rain” as he slipped past, Eren closing and the locking door behind the alpha, confused as to what was happening

“Sure, come in, make yourself at home. What are you doing here?”

“Tch. You can blame Hanji. Fucked up and told her we’ve got work off on account of the weather”

“And that led to you...”

“Escaping. Besides, this place is a fucking dump”

That explained sweet fuck all. Sure, they’d talked the day after Levi’s fight. The alpha hiding bruised knuckles under his gloves, Eren scolding him that he should have iced his hands when he got home. It seemed he’d never escape being a doctor’s son

“I was planning on sleeping through the storm”

Levi had already dumped the bags of shopping on the bench, sorting through them as Eren watched on

“Tch. Tough shit. I can’t go home with Hanji on the loose. She brought way too much shit over yesterday, consider it payment for hiding me from her”

“She’s not that”

“Tell me that again in a few years time”

Eren’s heart gave a weird beat at the thought of knowing Levi years from now. It simply wasn’t going to happen. People moved on... he’d be moving on. Still, Levi was there now

“Sure. Remind me and I’ll remind you. She does know the power’s out?”

“Yep. It’s all canned shit and long life shit. Who knows what they put in that crap”

Canned food made up much of his diet. Cooking for one was never as much fun as cooking for friends and family

“Probably a lot less shit than you find in cigarettes. I still don’t know why you came here”

Levi paused, before turning to Eren, frowning heavily. Eren had never seen anyone frown as much as Levi did... it was kind refreshing to see someone so honest and not forcing a fake smile to his face because that’s what he thought was expected. Levi’s scent was also kind of refreshing... Except something was bleeding through and Eren couldn’t pinpoint what that meant

“Because I had all this and nothing to do with it. And she doesn’t have your address. If I went to Erwin’s she’d be there in a heartbeat. There’s only so many of her theories you can listen to before the urge to strangle sets in”

“Right, well, I’ve got to warn you, there’s nothing good on TV”

Levi needed a moment for that one, before a can of something was thrown at him. Eren finding himself laughing as Levi huffed

“You nearly had me for a second”

“Would I be making it worse if I said I’d been watching the same show all day”

Lobbing another can at him, Eren felt his mood lightening. Despite how grumpy on the outside Levi was, he still held a somewhat childish streak from the look of it

“You’re a brat”

“I’ve been told. Still, with the power out, there isn’t a lot to do”

“You got cards?”

“Somewhere...”

From Mikasa... for when he’d babysit his niece and nephew... They would have grown so much since he last saw them. Only God knew what Mikasa had told them about why Uncle Eren wasn’t around any more

“Good. There’s some shitty candles in here somewhere. That should be enough light to kick your arse”

“How bold of you to presume you’re going to win”

Resuming pulling items out the bags, Levi joked back

“Even bolder of you to presume I won’t. Go sit down or something, you’re too damn tall”

Dropping the two cans on the bench, Eren headed to his bedroom. All his personal shit still remained pretty much boxed up. In the kitchen Levi was bagging cupboard doors, Eren could only shake his head. He didn’t know how to handle having Levi over again, yet he couldn’t bring himself to be an unhappy about having a visitor...

*

Levi didn’t know what he was doing. He’d lied to Eren. He’d shown up, then lied. He couldn’t exactly tell Eren he’d shown up worried about his health given the storming weather outside. It wasn’t a complete lie. Hanji had asked him how Eren was. Levi didn’t have his number, so couldn’t just call the brat to make sure he hadn’t gone and expired from whatever stomach bug he’d seemed to be suffering from for the last two weeks. Heck. He didn’t even know what Eren actually had wrong with him, no, he just knew that the brat had been looking worse and worse since their chat and it didn’t sit right with him.

Having cleaned his apartment through, the memory of Eren’s sadly dreary apartment decided to haunt his arse. The kid was probably huddled up all sniffly, sick as a dog, with no one there to drag him to hospital if he collapsed. Technically Hanji was a trained medic, but he could hardly turn up with her on Eren’s doorstep. Gathering up a bunch of random shit out of his cupboards, the fact that Eren had met Hanji actually worked in his favour. Blame it on her and Eren would never question it.

“I’ve got Uno... and it’s pink”

Walking out his bedroom, Eren seemed to be reading the back of the box. Fucking uno not his first choice if he’d had one

“Uno comes in pink?”

“My sister bought it for when I’d baby sit my niece and neph-... never mind. It’s that or nothing”

Right. Levi vaguely remembered hearing about this “mythical sister”. Whenever Eren seemed to think he was getting too close to opening up, he’d shut right down. Levi not knowing how to deal with that given all of his friends had big fucking mouths

“So you’ve got a sister? And she’s got kids? Look at Uncle Eren now”

Eren snorted with a shake of his head

“Oh, she would not approve of this at all. But yeah... She got married at 22, then popped out Mina and Thomas while still managing a full time job”

Levi let out a whistle. Kids were a damn handful at the worst of times. His “niece” took after her mother in every way possible

“Reminds me of Izzy and Farlan. They’ve got a daughter. Farlan was paranoid he’d be the worst dad ever...”

“What about you? Any cranky Levi juniors running around?”

God. Hell no. Kids with their sticky fingers, snotty faces and no etiquette as they chewed like cows, were not his idea of fun. He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, and had yet to meet anyone he actually wanted in his life that long

“Tch. No. There’s a reason they invented condoms”

“That there is. I still feel kind of bad you came all this way. You’re still wet from the rain”

Did Eren really have to remind him? God only knew what germs clung to his damn clothes

“It’s fucking filthy. I’m stealing a shower once I’ve got this shit away”

“You can chuck your clothes through the dryer... I know I’ve got germs and all, but I’ve got clean clothes if you want to borrow something”

Levi sighed heavily at thought of the ridiculousness of him in Eren’s clothes

“One of your goddamn shirts would be a dress on me”

“So you’re used to wearing dress- stop throwing shit at me!”

Lobbing a can, Levi smacked him the shoulder. Too bad the brat couldn’t catch. Not sure if he’d actually be let in, Levi hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes. Fuck. He’d fucked this up. His anxiety over showing up shattering his normally impassive look at the world. Eren was the first friend he’d made in a while, and the first that didn’t look down on his bare knuckle way of getting shit done. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d fucked the lanky shit, or that he’d actually enjoyed doing so. This was why tea would forever reign as the best drink in all situations

“Stop being a shit and I won’t keep throwing things at you”

Throwing a hand up, Eren getting cranky brought a certain delight with it

“This is my apartment!”

“I’ve seen turds with more street appeal than this place. No wonder you’ve looked so sick lately”

He’d crossed a line. Eren visibly tensing. Shit. Fuck. Even his alpha was shaking its head at him, telling him gone and shot himself in the foot. Eren’s voice several degrees colder as he asked

“Is that why you’re really here?”

“I already told you, Shitty Hanji forced this on me. Besides, if you up and die, who’s going to work all the over time at the garage?”

Eren seemed guarded, though his posture did relax marginally, voice still colder than before as he fidgeted with the Uno box

“You know... actually. No. I don’t particularly feel like going into this. I’m fine. Not going to drop dead anytime soon”

That was deserved. Levi didn’t have a right to be prying. He didn’t know why he was... or what was it about the brat that drew him in. He’d been through so much shit and knew from personal experience that getting close to people would only end badly. How he managed to still have friends was beyond him

“That’s good to know. Light some candles already, it’s dark as fuck in here”

Eren sighed heavily, shaking his head at whatever thought had popped into his brain

“Yes, sir”

That was another goddamn thing about Eren. Every time he called him “Sir”, Levi’s alpha felt a sense of pride. Having had his alpha so long, and having been called “Sir” many a time, the pride aspect should have worn off. Eren never failed to rile it back when being a cheeky shit. Rod’s warning hadn’t left his head, but Levi seemed to be pulled towards the brat in a way that made him doubt there was any kernel of truth in the other alpha’s words. He hardly would have turned up there if he really believed Eren capable of murder. His own self preservation instincts would have kicked in had his alpha felt the fellow alpha a threat. And, honestly, what kind of dark killer had pink Uno cards?!

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 4: Bust A Move •

TRIGGER WARNINGS: sexual assault implications. This very first scene with Beverly involves her and her father, and her fear of him doing something to her. If you'd like to skip I have marked the end of the encounter with this: [●●●] When you see this marker, that means it is over and you can read the rest of the chapter in peace. This chapter will begin with this scene so if you are skipping, proceed to scroll until you see the marker.

A/N: you certainly will not hurt my feelings if you skip the scene. This was a very difficult mindset to get into myself and I struggled a lot emotionally with writing it. But I promise, the rest of the chapter is heartwarming and fun and overall is the foundation of friendships and significant to Y/n's arc, her induction into the Losers Club [including her link to Henry and what "makes her a loser" and the budding relationship between her and Eddie.

WORD COUNT: So big I had to add a word count, 7849. Oof, take some breaks peeps.

×××

    With a terrible sinking feeling and a churning stomach, Beverly walked through her front door. She tightened her grip on the plastic bag she held behind her back, praying her father wasn't around to see what she had bought. As she crept through her apartment, scanning for any signs of life, she absentmindedly heard the words of the children's program echoing throughout the residence.

    "Toilet and bath water travel down the drains and into the sewer." The front closed, not as quietly as Bev had hoped. "The sewer is a fun place to play with all of your friends. Just follow the water into the drains and down into the sewers you go."

     The words of the cheerful program hostess echoed off the walls and went unnoticed by Bev. "When you're with your friends in the sewers, you can be as silly as a clown!"

    She poked her head cautiously into the living room, it was empty.

   "That's right, it's the word of the day."

    Bev walked quickly and briskly down the hall, nearing the safety of the bathroom when the large looming figure of her father appeared. Beverly met his eye, fear settling in her chest as she gulped.

    "Hi, Daddy." Her voice came out in a choked whisper, a side only her father could bring out in her.

    "Hey, Bevvie." His eyes flickered down at her grocery bag and back up at her. "Whatcha got there?"

    Her eyes fluttered down to the concealed box of tampons in the bag, knowing, no, dreading this day. This is what she had feared would happen. Why, she cursed herself. Why the fuck hadn't she just done this in the safety of Y/n's apartment?

    "Just some things,"

    "Like what?" He took the bag from her hands and rifled through.

    He grinned suddenly and his eyes zeroed in on Bev. She felt her whole body stiffen in terror. He knew now. And there was no telling what he would do. Her eyes drifted to the wall behind him, and there they stayed, much too frightened to look him in the eye. His rough and calloused hand touched the side of her face and she fought her instincts to recoil, knowing better.

    He brought her in close, and he closed his eyes. He took a long lingering sniff of her hair and she felt the icy cold grip of fear grasp her heart. Tears pooled in her eyes and his hand fell to her long red hair, and he now held it in his palm. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, fear prickling her skin and he stroked her red locks with his thumb, possessively.

    "Tell me you're still my little girl."

   Two little words, she told herself. Two little words she had to say and it and he would be on his way. Hopefully.

    "Yes, Daddy."

    "Good."

    His palm returned to the side of her face, and he motioned her away. A flooding sense of relief washed over her and she slipped around him and disappeared into the safety of the bathroom.

    Her palms gripped the sink, and the running faucet almost completely covered the noise of her distraught sobs. Her salty tears that fell from her cheeks landed in the sink and were carried down the pipes along with the rest of the running water. A long and slender pair of silver scissors lay next to her palm on counter. With a shaky hand, she brought the scissors up to her loose hair.

    The hair that he strokes, the hair that he smells, and the same fucking hair that draws every unwanted eye in town, including her own father. Grasping a long lock of hair, she hesitated. Only once. But countless memories flooded her at once. How many times he looked at her, how he looked at her. No. No more.

    She snipped a lock of hair and she smelled the whiff of freedom it brought. The feeling disappeared just as quickly as it had come but and was soon replaced by more spite. Spite and fear.

    "This is what you did," she whispered, cutting another chunk of hair. "This is what you..."

    She grabbed another chunk of hair, eagerly. Desperately.

    "This,"

    Another lock gone.

    "And this,"

    She kept her eyes on the sink, watching wisps of orange hair circle the drain before disappearing. She angrily grasped larger chunks of hair, working feverishly. The hair fell from her head so fast, it began to pile up in the sink. Sobs racked her body and her hand returned to her head and she realized there was no more.

    For the first time she let her herself look at her reflection. There stood a sad and frightened young girl. Beverly ran a hand through her shortened hair, lingering on her scalp as she adjusted to the new feeling. Her once long and gorgeous head of hair was no more, choppy and uneven curls was all that was left. It was short and messy, not unlike hair she'd find on most boys at her school.

    Good.

[●●●]

    Y/n didn't know why she bothered looking in her drawers for clothes, she barely had any in the first place. Decent clothes at least, just about everything she owned was second hand and it was not uncommon that they were torn slightly in places.

    She wondered why the hell she was nervous in the first place. Then her fingers found the familiar nylon of the swimsuit fabric, and she sighed. Right.

    Y/n and Bev had agreed to go swimming with a bunch of boys they barely knew. It wasn't that hard to connect the dots when they mentioned where they were going, it was the quarry after all. But it never quite dawned on her until now, that she was going swimming with several boys she barely knew. Even though Bev would be there, that wasn't exactly a comfort. She never quite had her friend's confidence.

    Despite her home life and all the nasty whispers that floated through town, Beverly didn't let it affect how she saw herself, a quality Y/n admired. The same couldn't quite be said for herself. She could barely afford to go to school at Derry High, her family worked paycheck to paycheck just to send her to school. And she didn't like to talk about it, but Beverly had time and time again lent her money for little things that she couldn't afford herself. In fact, she had a few old jackets and shoes that Beverly had given her.

    The two girls were more than thankful for their friendship, both a perfect fit for one another, like two pieces of a puzzle. Each of them were able and willing to give the other what they could provide, whether it was some borrowed money, or a safe haven away from a leering father, and of course a never ending source of love and support. But of course, occasionally, no matter how hard she fought, the little green monster wormed its way into her mind. It always managed to pluck her most treasured memories with Bev, and stain it with jealousy, rotting it with envy and disgust. It picked at her confidence and fed her venomous lies that completely contorted their friendship.

    Like the only reason people knew about her was because she was friends with Beverly. It was the beautiful Beverly Marsh and ol' What's Her Face. She would occasionally catch herself wishing she could draw attention like that, but she quickly dismissed it. No, she shook her head, ridding herself of the thought, no it's not worth it. She reminded herself of all the horror stories she had heard from Bev, and had witnessed for herself, in the many years of their friendship.

    Sure, she was easily noticed by cute guys at her school, and that was fun and exciting at her age, but she was also noticed by older men. Men like Mr. Keene, and he was only one example in dozens of men all over town. Not to mention her own father. Any time the little green monster returned, it diminished itself in the pity Y/n felt for her best friend. But that didn't mean it wasn't hard for Y/n to hear the many names she had been called. "Filthy little tramp!"

    And not to mention the countless side glances followed by surprise from boys - and girls - that she had in fact been there standing next to Bev the whole time, and they only just noticed her. She was always the sidekick. "So ditch the street rat and we'll go to the movies, you and me."

    Anytime anybody thought she couldn't hear them, they spoke ill of her. Hell, not even then, most people didn't care if she overheard. Usually, they were trying to persuade Bev in one way or another to leave her behind.

   "What is she, your little puppy dog? Just tell her you're sick or somethin' and you're home free,"

   "Look, you're friend seems... nice, but she doesn't fit in with us. Either come alone or don't come at all."

    Of course, Beverly never bought into that crap. Y/n was too important to her, she was Beverly's saving grace after all. And there was no way in hell she would let anyone talk about Y/n that way.

   "Then I guess I'm not coming." She'd reply. "If you really need a date so bad just take the stick up your ass,"

    Y/n smiled at the memory. Oh, how she relished in the shock on their faces. That particular comeback had them running away with giddy laughter as they wove through the halls, the angry trio of boys after them. They found sanctuary in a small hiding spot behind the school where they remained until the trio gave up and went home with slightly deflated egos.

    This was another reason Y/n was ashamed to have these thoughts, Beverly clearly cared for her and would be very upset to know she thought these things of herself.

    As Y/n pulled her worn out jean shorts over her bathing suit, she searched her bed for the t-shirt she had set aside. She slipped it on and as she looked in the slightly cracked mirror she felt a small bud of confidence blooming in her chest.

    Beverly had her back, and she had hers. And she knew if Richie ever made some comment about her, Bev would shut it down if she hadn't first. The bud of confidence spread in her chest as she could feel herself being persuaded.

    That was, until she noticed the tag on the outside of her shirt. She sighed exasperated, and quite frankly, rather exhausted. Y/n hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night. If she tried hard enough, she was able to push the memory to the back of her mind and forget, but only for the day. Then of course, if was time for her to go to bed. Then every detail of what she saw, what she felt, was amplified in the silence of her room. She flinched at every creek in the walls, every car that passed by.

    And she didn't dare move her feet out from under her blankets, no matter how hot she felt. Of course, this ended up being one of the reasons it was difficult to fall asleep.

    Y/n counted herself lucky she fell asleep at all. And yet, the thought of being unconscious, completely unguarded and unprepared, where anything could happen - anything could get her - was just as unsettling. She wished Beverly was there with her, but she knew she had to sleep alone eventually.

    Right on cue, she heard the soft rap on wood come from down the hall in the living room. Beverly was here. Casting one last glance at her reflection, and her shirt now fixed, Y/n took a deep breath and made her way to the front door. She made the mistake of glancing at the carpet and the faded red stain and she felt a sudden prick of fear in her heart and the sudden hyper-awareness of her injury. Trying not to give it much thought, she took a deep breath returning her attention to the door, swiftly stepping over the spot on the carpet.

    Her attention focused on undoing the many locks on the door, she failed to notice her friend's new look through the window. It came as quite a surprise to Y/n, having only known Beverly with long hair. She would have brought it up if it wasn't for the look on Beverly's face.

    Her eyes were on the ground and when the door opened, Bev slowly met Y/n's eye. She recognized the look in Bev's eye, a look that screamed 'I really don't want to talk about it right now.' A look she had given to her not too long ago herself. Y/n plastered on a smile and broke the small moment of silence.

    "You ready?"

×××

    Richie Tozier does not hold back when it comes to spitting contests. Himself, Stan, Bill, Ben, and Eddie were standing at the cliffs edge, stripped down to their underwear and Richie was first up to bat. He did not shy away from whatever method he needed to conjure the spitball, no matter the foul noises he made in the process. He reeled back and launched the spitball over the cliff, and the rest of the boys followed suit.

    Eddie flinched when his own mucus landed on the rocks near his feet.

    "Oh, my God, that was terrible. I win." Richie exclaimed.

    Eddie looked at him, dumbfounded. "You won?"

    "Yeah."

    "Did you see my loogie?"

    "That went the farthest!" Richie argued, gesturing where he spit. "It's by distance."

    "Mass. It's always been mass."

    Richie began sputtering in disbelief, but Eddie continued.

    "Who cares how far it goes? It matters how cool it looks, like it's green or it's white or juicy and fat."

    Ben cringed, and he met eyes with Bill who gave him a look that said 'see what I have to put up with?' He shook his head, shutting down the conversation before it continue further.

    "Who's first?"

    There was a brief moment of silence and the boys looked over the cliff into the emerald waters, contemplating the jump.

    "I'll go!"

    They turned their heads to see Beverly Marsh and Y/n L/n. Beverly had been the one to speak and she dropped her bike to the ground before discarding her dress. Their eyes widened and Beverly smiled.

    "Sissies," she laughed.

    She broke into a light jog, the boys parting like the red sea and she launched herself off the cliff.

    "What the fuck!" Richie exclaimed.

    They looked at the water in which Beverly had disappeared, completely dumbfounded. Suddenly and in perfect sync, they looked to Y/n, almost expecting to see her do something equally surprising but she merely gave them an odd look. She set down her bike and shifted on her feet uncomfortably.

    "What?"

    They all broke out of their gaze, rather obviously, and tried to look anywhere but her, knowing they'd been caught.

    She had to remind herself that she wasn't the only one who would be undressed, and everyone else, besides herself, already was. Taking advantage of their distracted nature, she quickly slipped off her shorts and t-shirt, making sure to slip out of her shoes as well.

    "Come on!" Beverly's voice was distant, but it grabbed everyone's attention.

    Bill was the next to make the jump, followed by Ben. Next was a less than eager Stan, leaving Richie, Eddie and Y/n who had cautiously joined them at the edge. Richie looked between Eddie and Y/n, then back to the water.

    He sighed deeply, taking a step forward and removing his glasses, and tossing them on his pile of clothes.

    "Well, fuck" He took a deep breath and jumped off the cliff, leaving Eddie and Y/n alone.

    They shared an equally nervous look with a few uneasy smiles. Y/n peered over the edge, scanning the water for a safe space to land. As she waited for the moving figures of Richie and Stan swimming away from the landing zone, Eddie couldn't help but look at her. Observing the small crinkle of her brow and how unsure she felt, he felt his own fears vanish. Something inside him wanted to make her feel less nervous, and perhaps that was his own way of deflecting his own fears but he didn't care.

    "I'll go if you go," he offered.

    She looked at him in slight surprise, and a small smile tugged at her lips. Y/n looked between Eddie and the water, shifting weight off of her bad leg. This smile was less forced, and genuine, it was thankful. And Eddie felt a wave of nerves bubbling in his stomach, not at the jump, but the kindness in her eyes, and the way she mentally built herself up.

    She nodded and they both gazed at the lake below, everyone was looking at them now. They had cleared a space and Eddie and Y/n could hear the remarks being made by their friends.

    "On three?" She asked, quirking a brow.

    "On three." He nodded, backing up slightly. "One,"

    Y/n suddenly shook her head, stepping back and spoke at a rapid rate, cutting Eddie off.

    "Fuck, if I wait that long I'll change my mind. Let's go," Without warning, she grabbed his hand and jumped off the cliff, giving him no choice but to jump with her.

    It never even occurred to Eddie that he could have let go of her hand.

    Eddie felt his heart leap into his throat and he was certain time stopped still as he was suspended in air. Perhaps it was the sudden change in view and the fact he was practically pulled off the cliff and how high he was above the water, or maybe it was her hand around his - no, nope. It was the height, definitely the height.

    On their way down he gasped in fear at the rapidly approaching water and he felt her hand leave his as she braced for impact. Eddie tried not to think of the millions of germs in the water, and he could feel the thousands of bubbles grazing his body as he sunk deeper into the water. When he emerged he gasped for air, reminding himself to steady his breathing, less he have an asthma attack. He realized his throat was sore and that he must have screamed the whole way down.

    He looked round at the cheering figures of his friends, whooping and cheering them on. Though he tried not to panic when he counted only five figures above the surface. Just before he could ask where she was, Y/n burst out of the water next to Ben, gasping for air.

    "Holy shit!" She wiped her face with her hand, clearing the drops of water obstructing her vision.

    "Took you long enough," Bev smirked.

    Richie nodded. "Yeah, too bad you guys missed out. We were just about to pack it up and call it a day."

    Eddie rolled his eyes and Y/n sunk further into water, all the way up to her nose.

Y/n concentrated on kicking her legs and her arms moved back and forth under the water keeping herself afloat. The others, specifically Richie and Eddie, had already launched into another debate.

    "Do you have any idea, how filthy this water is. We'll be lucky if we don't contract something, I am serious right now. So forgive me if I am a little hesitant to jump into this cesspool of germs and bacteria. Not to mention the several loogies that are floating around here somewhere, or did you forget already?"

    "Oh sure, now you're worried about loogies, Mr. 'juicy and fat'"

    Bev, who had begun looking around her in confusion and slight concern, spoke up. "Loogies?"

    "Juicy and fat?" Y/n asked disgusted, her face scrunched up, looking questioningly between Richie and Eddie.

    Eddie blinked once, and shook his head. Desperate to change the subject, he diverted his attention back to Richie, pretending Y/n hadn't heard that.

    "Besides, if we weren't careful enough, we could have seriously hurt ourselves jumping from that height. Even if we knew there were no rocks in the water, a fall from from anything higher and we could have died, I'm not doing that shit again. If you want to go swimming, fine by me, but I'm not jumping anymore, I'll just meet you guys down here."

    "Don't be such a drama queen Eds, you jump a million times if it meant you had a pretty hand to hold on the way down and you know it, "

    Y/n looked to Richie, her brows furrowing and she was thankful the water was already concealing her pink cheeks. Eddie, unfortunately did not have the same luxury.

    "Fuck you, Richie,"

    Richie smirked. "Eddie, please, now's not the time for romance."

    Eddie's face scrunched up and he splashed Richie in the face, who had began chuckling at his friends response. Immediately, he retaliated with a splash of his own. Unfortunately, it hit Stan who frowned, and splashed back. It wasn't long before the entire group was involved, save for Y/n who was giggling off to the side where she was free of any water hitting her face.

    "Alright, alright," Stan waved his arms around, signaling for a truce. "Alright!"

    Everyone settled down and the water began to calm.

    "We should-" Stan was briefly interrupted by splash to the face, and he stopped to glare at Richie and sighed, wiping his face. "Chicken, we have enough people, who wants to play?"

    "Me against wheezy first," Richie jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at Eddie, who had in fact been wheezing. "I need to defend my title and he made it awfully clear last time he thought he could take me,"

    "I can asshole, I already told you. I had an asthma attack, if I hadn't I would have won and you know it."

    "Wanna prove it?"

    "Oh, it is so on, dickhead. Same circumstances, same partners, Stan come on!"

    Already regretting his decision to bring it up, Stan fell in line with the others as they entered shallow waters. Bill lifted Richie on his shoulders, and Stan lifted Eddie. Beverly had swam over to join Y/n and the two girls watched the chicken fight with great amusement.

    Y/n almost didn't notice the quiet figure of Ben, who had joined them off to the side. He had been neglecting to speak, but she recognized the longing look of wanting to fit in. She smiled, and swam over to join him. He seemed surprised she had joined him, but he returned the smile, albeit a bit nervously.

    "How's your stomach, Ben?"

    "Huh?" Ben gave Y/n a funny look, but before she count point out his stomach injury, it seemed to click "Oh! Oh, yeah, uh, it's feeling better, thank you. What about you? H-How's your leg?"

    "Better, thank you."

    A genuine smile tugged at her lips, feeling herself relax at the company of the boy. Y/n had barely known him, but she was intuitive enough to know that he was timid and kind. And though she was enjoying the new company of the other boys, it was nice to have a more relaxed presence. Though there was Stan, but Y/n had yet to get to know him.

    Their attention was pulled back to the chicken fight when they heard a sharp yelp and felt the water shift around them. And there sitting atop Stan's shoulders, waving his arms triumphantly was Eddie, whooping and hollering.

    A smirk grew on Y/n's face at this. It only grew wider when Richie emerged.

    "Foul!" Richie exclaimed, pointing at Eddie and shifting effortlessly into another persona. "Aaaaand Kaspbrak is outta the game!"

    "What? What the hell are you talking about?" Eddie asked, waving his arms slightly.

    "You pushed me, that's a foul."

    "That's the whole premise of the game! Of course I pushed you!"

    "You know what I mean, dillhole, you shoved my shoulders! That's a foul!"

    "No, that's allowed. The attackers get to use any means necessary to knock the opposer down, that's stated very clearly in the rules!"

    "Show me this rule book Eds, cause it's sounds an awful lot like you're making this shit up just because you can't win without playing dirty!"

    "Or maybe you just can't stand the fact that I beat you! I'm the one with the title now, aren't I?"

    "Oh, is that so-?"

    Ben, who had been growing uncomfortable from the heated argument, spoke up nervously. At least he tried to, but Y/n was the only one who heard him so she cleared her throat, grabbing everyone's attention. Ben seemed relieved.

    "Why don't we just do new teams?"

    "G-good idea," Bill spoke up, and he looked around the small group. "W-who wants t-to go next?"

    "Oh, I want to play!" Bev smiled walking against the water into the shallower parts of the water, but she stopped briefly, looking over her shoulder. "Ben, do you want to be my partner?"

    Ben tried to hide his blush, and he shyly nodded his head. "Uh, sure, yeah."

    Ben joined her, but she began looking around. "Alright, who's opposing?"

    Beverly caught Y/n's eye, and gestured hopefully over. Y/n smiled nervously and shook her head, her lips pressed into a firm line, and Bev shrugged.

    "Alright then, Richie, why don't you play us, if you're clearly an expert."

    "Gee, I would but my shoulders are killing me, I think I'm out for the season,"

    "Grow up, asshole, just go." Said Eddie, who had dismounted Stan's shoulders.

    "Well, since you asked so nicely," Richie said. "Bill, you're up."

    "W-why don't we let someone else g-go?"

    "Why? S'the matter with you?"

    Bill shrugged. "N-nothing. Just thought I'd l-let someone else go."

    Richie gave him an odd look but shrugged it off. "Fine,"

    Richie then spotted a Y/n, at least who he assumed was Y/n - he didn't have his glasses after all - who was hiding in the water, despite how shallow it was. It finally clicked that she had barely said a word since, well, since she and Bev showed up, he realized. She seemed different, she held herself differently than how she was in class. In class, she usually was able to keep up with his quick wit. He never told her this, but he enjoyed her company. He pegged her as someone who was quick witted and didn't take shit from anyone, and he admired that.

    But now she was quiet and reserved. Hell, she must be sitting on her ass right right now just to stay under the water. Richie didn't understand this. Now facing her, he dug his hand in the water and splashed her face, ripping her out of her thoughts, and she looked at him startled.

    She had to wipe away the fresh water droplets running down her face, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

    "What the hell?"

    "Come on, I need a partner and Denbrough bailed. You're up."

    She scoffed, slinking deeper into the water.

    "Come on, whatya', chicken?" He quipped, quirking an eyebrow.

    If he knew anything about this girl, she wasn't one to shy away went it came to making a comeback. Sure enough, she rolled her eyes and raised her head ever so slightly so her lips were above the water.

    "No, I'm not, that's why I'm not playing." She said snidely.

    He smiled triumphantly to himself, considering it a win he was able to get her to speak more than three words.

    "Come on, toots, it'll be fine. We'd make a great team!" He exaggerated a dopey grin and gestured for her to join him.

    Richie may have been blind as a bat, but he could tell she was considering it. She looked around at everyone, who was watching the exchange expectantly. Y/n didn't know if it was everyone's stares or the fact the fact she was genuinely tempted but she gave in and made her way over to him.

    Richie, who still wasn't completely sure is she was moving or not, gave her a cheeky wink, and pushed his luck even further. "I'll let you be on top,"

    Richie expected a comeback or a even a scoff from her, not a pair of hands roughly shoving him into the water by his shoulders. Naturally he figured, one of his friends had done this, tired of his antics and found a unique way to shut him up, but then he felt a pair of legs take a seat on his shoulders and he knew it was Y/n.

    Once he was sure she was secure he rose up out of the water, gasping for air when he reached the surface. The others, cheered her on, welcoming her to the fun.

     She nearly tipped over as he readjusted in the sand, but she grabbed onto his hair by his scalp and he winced.

    "Ah, watch it! I am quite fond of my scalp, you know,"

    "As long as you watch that trashmouth of yours Tozier, one more comment like that and I'll drown you," she peered over his head, giving him a light but slightly teasing glare.

    Nevertheless, she loosened her grip and he blinked a few times, his scalp tingling. "Duly noted,"

    Nobody seemed to hear the small chuckle that escaped Eddie who had been watching, quite impressed with her ability to shut the boy up. He'd have to ask her how she does it.

    "Alright, come on, we gonna play or what?" Bev asked, despite the grin that worked its way onto her face.

    She too was happy to see her friend coming out of her shell, she could tell she had been nervous and Richie proved to be a big help, much to her surprise.

    "It's on, we have got this in the bag!" Richie bragged, getting into position across from Ben.

    Richie cast a glance up to his partner and smiled cheekily, batting his eyelashes. "Right babe?"

    Immediately she whacked his head with her hand and he winced once more. "What did I just tell you?"

    "Alright, alright! Jeez," He tightened his arms around her legs, securing her in place and he took a step forward towards their opponents. "But do keep in mind, we are on the same team, you want to hit the other players"

    He missed the eye roll she gave, but nevertheless she smirked, shaking out her arms, getting ready for the match.

    Bill, who usually announced the beginning of a round, did just that. With one simple word, the girls locked in on one another, theirs hands interlaced and they each pushed with all their might.

    There were several close calls, on both teams, but they always persevered. Unexpectedly, Richie took a few steps back, and Ben, confused by his tactic, stepped forward after them. Though both of them moved slowly, their speed affected against the water, and Y/n nearly tipped over, but her balance was regained when Richie leaned forward and ran forward against the water, tipping Y/n forward and giving her more momentum.

    Catching Bev off guard she was able to prove successful in her efforts to push her over. Beverly came tumbling off of Ben's shoulders, and almost kicked the poor boy in the face on the way down. Richie and Y/n cheered victoriously, and even Ben cracked a smile at their unexpected move.

    Eddie, who had found himself rooting for them, despite his previous grudge against his old opponent, whooped and hollered at their win. Bill and Stan cheered as well, and Beverly broke the surface, a big smile on her face.

    Y/n had already forgotten her nerves and felt a swelling sense of comradery and a growing respect for her partner.

    "Alright, ready to put this to the ultimate test?" Richie asked, addressing his partner and the rest of the group. "New champs, versus old champs,"

    Y/n smiled, looking to Eddie and Stan hopefully, now completely invested in the fun. Eddie felt a swell of confidence and gave in, Stan joining him.

    "Fine, but no playing dirty," Eddie mocked, looking at Richie.

    Richie smirked. "No promises,"

    Eddie, who now struggled to climb onto Stan's shoulders, scoffed.

    Eventually, everyone was situated and Eddie suddenly felt a small flurry of butterflies in his stomach that he briefly mistook for nausea. But he realized that it was in fact butterflies when he saw Y/n opposite him. They were brought closer by their respective partners who stepped forward, preparing for the match. She glared playfully at him, a small smirk on her lips and she outstretched her arms ready to fight. He hadn't realized the match had begun until he was forced to scramble for balance on Stan's shoulders when she went for his arms.

    Their hands interlaced for the second time that day and now he was certain his racing heart was caused by this. Nevertheless, he pushed those feelings aside, reminding himself he wanted to beat Richie again, but the motivation to do so was weaker this time. Though he didn't let this shake his competitiveness so he matched her strength and the two laughed and grunted as they both tried desperately to push one another down.

     Each of them found the other to be a surprising match for themselves. They would often find themselves going for the same opportunities only for the other to be prepared for it. Everyone was now completely invested in the match, everyone cheering them on though they didn't quite know which team they were rooting for.

    Eventually, Stan and Richie had had the same idea and moved in closer in an attempt to push the limits. Both Richie and Stan were beginning to lose interest in who would win, eager to give their arms and legs a break. When they both moved in closer, hoping one of their partners would take advantage of the distance and strike, but once again the pair had the same idea. They leaned into the momentum, each giving one last push and much to everyone's surprise, they both fell on their backs, crashing against the water and earning a small sting from the contact.

    Y/n sunk into the water, slower and slower and she felt her back lightly hit the sand. She felt something graze her ankle, her bad ankle, and before she could stop herself her eyelids ripped open. She flinched in the water, pulling her leg away and she had to blink several times just to adjust to seeing underwater, her heart pounding in fear. But much to her relief, right where her ankle had been, she saw a piece of plastic poking out of the sand, swaying back and forth.

    She would have breathed a sigh of relief but she saved her breath and returned to the surface. She had already lost a small puff of air when she had inadvertently yelped at the contact the plastic had made with her foot.

    Her small panic seemed to have gone unnoticed by the group and everyone had begun milling about, getting lost in their own conversations.

    Y/n looked around at her new friends, and she felt a warmth grow in her chest. By now, she had joined them in deeper waters, once again slinking back into the water but this time it wasn't from fear of judgement but staying cool in the warm June sun. Everyone was lost in their own conversations but she knew she was just apart of this group as everyone else was. As she looked around at all the smiling faces, she relaxed.

    An unexpected laugh escaped her as she saw Eddie holding Richie under the surface and she swam over in their direction. Richie popped up for air and slapped the boy away, though he still wore a goofy grin. Eddie, unlike Richie, was unaware of her approach, a fact Richie declined to give away.

    Y/n was now just behind him, a sly grin on her face and Stan, who had noticed her intentions, called out Eddie making him turn around.

    Sure enough, he whirled around, his face half a foot away from Y/n and she splashed the unsuspecting Kaspbrak boy in the face. On instinct, he whirled back around, only for Richie to do the same and he desperately wiped his face.

    "What the hell is happening!" It came out in shriek that amused everyone in the group.

    Richie and Y/n both let out a chortle of laughter, and soon even Stan had joined in. Though he didn't know whether or not it was from the excitement he felt or the fact the trick he had fallen for that twice in a row, Eddie began to feel the effects of his friends contagious laughter ripple through himself. He shook his head, hoping the smirk he was fighting would be shaken off as well but no matter his efforts, is was glued on his face.

    Though something in Stan compelled him to get back at Richie - who was enjoying all too much the fact he now had help in teasing Eddie - that he decided to splash Richie without warning. Perhaps it was because he wanted to catch Richie off guard, like Richie had done to him earlier. No matter the reason, Stan enjoyed doing it anyway. Richie retaliated and and yet another water war had begun.

    Y/n wore a smile as bright and warm as the sun above her as she looked around at her new friends, more than grateful she had fallen down the steps and met these boys. Y/n chuckled at their antics, grabbing Eddie's attention. He hadn't realized he had been staring until she turned to meet his eye. His first instinct was to pretend he hadn't been looking but instead he broke eye contact briefly and chuckled weakly and he smiled at her.

    Y/n didn't seem to mind, and she smiled back and her shoulders moved slightly as she chuckled.

    "It's okay," His pulse quickened, scared she was speaking of his staring. "I won't splash you anymore,"

    He chuckled and nodded slightly, words failing him. He directed his attention to Richie and Stan and her gaze followed. They were both struggling to submerge the other under the water, past them, Bill and Beverly watched equally amused.

    Y/n yelped when she felt a small nip on her foot and she quickly retracted her leg. Oh, come on! She swam backwards, eyes scanning the water though it proved to be useless. The others joined her side, worried expressions on their faces.

    "W-what happened?"

    "What's wrong?"

    Eddie, who looked particularly worried and rather startled, knowing he would regret going swimming one way or another, began scanning the water backing up.

    "What! What is it?"

    "I think something bit me!"

    Everyone began shifting around the water and Ben, with a burst of bravery, disappeared under the water and began searching.

    Y/n was curious as to why these kids heard about something lurking in the water and biting and somehow thinking it was worth exploring, but a part of her was curious too. Bill soon joined the boy underwater and Y/n had almost begun to grow worried when Bill popped back up, pointing where Y/n had been.

    "It's a turtle!"

×××

    Not long after they kids found the turtle lurking at the bottom of the quarry, their skin began to prune and their limbs grew tired from swimming.

    The boys, who had come prepared with Bill's boombox and Eddie's towels, the kids had dried off. The boys had all found a spot on the rocks and after much persuasion, Beverly had convinced Y/n to sunbathe with her.

    Her confidence from earlier had waned, but at the time, the boys were far too distracted fighting over the radio channels and what they wanted it on.

    Tuning out the guys, Y/n allowed herself the distraction Beverly provided with small talk. The two had been laughing about the day's events and Y/n had even begun to drift off. She hadn't realized how tired she was until she had lied down. After all, she had only gotten roughly three hours sleep the prior night and her limbs had grown exhausted from swimming all day, her leg especially.

    Unaware of how much time had passed, Y/n stirred awake when she realized the lyrics of Young MC's Bust A Move had slipped into her subconscious.

   "These here's a jam for all the fellas, Tryin' to do what those ladies tell us,"

    Stan, Richie, Ben and Bill look on in disbelief at the two beautiful girls sunbathing before them. How did this happen, they wondered.

   "Get shot down cause ya overzealous, Play hard to get females get jealous,"

    Eddie, who had yet to find a seat, stood frozen next to the guys. He blinked several times, trying desperately to look anywhere but their direction, Y/n especially, though he couldn't help but steal a few glances. An act he felt ashamed of.

   "Okay smarty, go to a party, Girls are scantily clad and showin' body"

    Y/n felt a yawn escape her and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand out of habit, her eyelids fluttering open. She had to squint, her eyes readjusting to the light and her stomach did a small flip when she felt several pairs of eyes in her direction.

    Timidly, she turned her head slightly to see the boys all staring at them. She felt her skin flush and she was sure she had turned pink, but the boys seemed even more mortified and they looked away, pretending not to have been staring at them.

    Beverly's attention was drawn by the noise of several throats clearing, and she was aware of how silent it had been. She tilted her head and made eye contact with Y/n, giving her a knowing look from behind her sunglasses accompanied by a small smirk.

    Y/n sat up, her bad leg stretched out and she pulled her other leg close to her chest, while Beverly had rolled on to her stomach. Richie began digging though Ben's stuff, holding a fake microphone to his face.

    "News flash, Ben," he was now speaking in his posh reporter persona. "School's out for summa!"

    "Oh, that?" Ben asked, looking at the evidence he had collected from the library. "That's not school stuff."

    Richie pulled out a postcard of Derry, a picture of the standpipe on the back. "Who sent you this?"

    Before he could read what was written on the other side, Ben had snatched it back. "No one. Give it..."

    Richie didn't think much of it, his attention fell to the blue folder sticking out of Ben's backpack and he eagerly pulled the folder out.

    He opened it up, Stan and Eddie peeking over his shoulder to take a look.

    "What's with the history project?" Eddie asked, curiously.

    "Oh," Ben shrugged looking around at the group who was now listening intently. "When I first moved her, I didn't have anyone to hang out with,"

    As Ben spoke, Richie handed the folder to Bill who had shown interest.

    "so I just started spending time in the library."

    "You went to the library?" Asked Richie, his face scrunched up in confusion. "On purpose."

    Y/n scoffed. "Don't listen to him Ben, he's just insecure that he can't read above a fourth grade level."

    She sent Richie and smirk and a wink, knowing full well of his intellectual capabilities. Something she had picked up in the year spent in class with him. He was in fact a very bright kid, despite his poor manners and his inability to not speak out of turn. Richie just rolled his eyes.

    "Well, I wanna see." Beverly got up from her spot on her towel and took a seat next to Bill.

    Stan had caught a glimpse of the scratchy handwriting on the old photograph Bill and Bev were looking at.

    "What's the Black Spot?" He asked.

     "The Black Spot was a nightclub that burned down years ago by that racist cult."

    "The what?"

    "Don't you watch Geraldo?"

    Y/n chuckled at the utter disbelief and surprise on Eddie's face and Richie met her eye, joining in. He was just about to give him more grief when the pair heard Bill begin speak.

    "Y-y-your hair..." He had been talking to Beverly, but Y/n couldn't help but listen in, curious herself to why her friend had cut it.

    Before he could finish, Ben jumped in and Beverly peered over to meet his eye. He smiled warmly at her.

    "Your... Your hair is beautiful, Beverly."

    Her face had been neutral throughout the entire exchange but she smiled politely at the boy, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

    "Oh, right. Thanks."

    No one but Y/n seemed to notice the awkward looks exchanged between Ben and Bill, and her lips pressed into a firm line, feeling awkward having witnessed this herself.

    Richie, whose attention was still on the folder that was now going unread by Bill, gestured for it.

    "Here, pass it."

    Bill complied, folding it up and passed it back to Richie. Y/n used her hands to shift herself up onto her feet, walked over and took a seat across from Eddie, facing everyone in the group. Richie was now shifting through the folder, Stan leaning over his shoulder for a look.

    "Why is it all murders and missing kids?" Richie asked, passing the folder to Stan.

    Y/n, who had shifted off her bad leg, readjusting so she was leaning on her arms and her legs outstretched in front of her, was now listening intently to Ben.

    "Derry's not like any town I've ever been in before. They did a study once, and it turns out, people die or disappear six times the national average."

    Everyone had been listening, and the group all fell silent for a brief moment, a quiet shock falling over them. Bev was first to break the silence.

    "You read that?"

    Ben shifted on the rocks, ever so slightly, and nodded. "And that's just grown-ups. Kids are worse. Way, way worse."

    Y/n's eyes had fallen from Ben to the ground, where they trailed over to he bandaged ankle and she gulped.

    "I've got more stuff if you wanna see it." Ben offered.

    Eddie's gaze, which had been worriedly fixed on Y/n and the frowned etched on her face, was torn away to the others, shaking his head 'no' and hoping they didn't say yes.

    They did.

+++

@seasidecrowbar​​ @bevxmarsh​​ @supernovavisionary​​ @readyforitbitch​​ ​ @edsloveshisrichie​​​ @sivords​​​  @ravenclawsprincess​​​ @pigwidgexn​​​ @kricketwritesstories​​​  @sweetpeasserpentprincess23​​​ @plum-duels​​​ @edmunds-torch​​​ @eddiegaykaspbrak​​​ @rosi3e​​​ @welcome-to-derry​​​ @beepbeep-pennywise​​​ @candycorntroll​​​ @bibliophilesquared​​​ @ongaku-ato-kakikomi​​​ @cocastyle​​​ @peachysinnermon​​​ @mochibarnes​​​ @captainshazamerica​​​ @kaitlynjones12​​​ @songbird-writes​​​ @traceylader​​​ @eggytozier​​​  @annimalq​​​ @lexylovesfandoms​​​ @russian-romanova​​​ @paigey-mcfreedomly​​​ @whitetrash12345

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[winterisakiller]

Get Better - Chapter Two

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 2/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @noplacelikehome77 @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @wolfsmom1 @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER TWO

 The heat of August gradually cooled into early September. It was with a twinge of nostalgia that Tom found himself sitting around with Joanna Hogg, Mary Roscoe, and Kathryn Worth discussing Unrelated. It had been his first film and therefore quite the learning experience. But one that he remembered fondly. Later that same week he’d found himself on a red carpet and then on a stage presenting an award to a man he’d first seen on a big screen in a film he adored, and feared, as a young boy. The same man he later had the pleasure of working with in another film in Australia of all places. Funny thing time, he thought smiling as he stood beside Jeff Goldblum, chatting about life and film and the world. It still brought him up short the chances and opportunities he’d been blessed with in his career. Funny, sometimes painful, but wonderful all the same.

 And now he found himself once again waiting on the side of another stage, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He chatted amicably with his fellow actors and readers, waiting for the signal from the now closed double doors. He could clearly hear the excited murmurings of the crowded auditorium and felt the familiar nervous energy bubbling in his gut. It was the same feeling he got anytime he’d prepared to walk onto a stage or a set. It was an old friend at this juncture and one he both missed and dreaded.

 When he’d been approached with this project two months back, he had all but jumped at the chance. Getting not only to read but debate with fellow actors and writers over literature he’d loved for years, to be able to perform and share that love with others. It would a nice testing of the waters, so to speak. He hadn’t been on stage in a performer sense in over a year, and hadn’t done something of this nature since school. It had seemed like an interesting challenge and one he couldn’t see turning down. Rehearsals had been full of laughter and amusement.

 Tom was sharing the stage with several talented actors; amongst them an actress in talks to join him in the Pinter production he was very much looking forward to in the New Year. Zawe Ashton was her name and while he’d seen bits and pieces of her work in the past, she was not someone he’d had the pleasure of working with beforehand. He found her funny and a delight to play off of. She had a wicked sense of humor that went very much along the lines of his own. And what was best was she hadn’t seemed to give a toss who he was. Yes, she’d known his name and was familiar with his work, but none of that seemed to matter to her. He could very easily see them getting along quite well during a grueling show run. If things went well tonight and the following week at the gala, then schedule permitting she would be a shoe-in for the role of Emma.

 Beyond the doors, a hush fell over the crowd and he could see the lights begin to dim. Not long now. He could feel the tension and excitement running through their small group as the talked and laughed amongst themselves.

 “Alright, places,” the woman manning the door called. Tom took a deep breath and walked through the doors and onto to the stage.  

 The debate itself seemed to fly by and Tom found that he had enjoyed himself immensely. His competitive nature was certainly getting its chance to shine and he was absolutely delighted when his team, the correct team as far as he’d been concerned, won. They’d taken their respective bows and headed off stage in ones and twos. “That was absolutely fantastic,” Zawe breathed, smiling as she turned back to face Tom.

 “Oh completely. I haven’t had that much fun in longer than I care to admit.”

  Zawe laughed in earnest. “Same.”

 They were ushered around the auditorium and handed collection buckets before being let loose to collect as much money for charity as they could. Tom had smiled, laughed, and talked with as many people as he could; never fully able to turn off the ‘public Tom’ persona he’d worn for so many years now. It was him, in a way, but more like a perfectly sculpted mask. Something he could slip in and out of depending on the place and the company he kept. In the past he’d been more open, more playful and less guarded with how he spoke and acted, but time and experience had taught him to pull back. To keep a respectable distance between who he was and who he was expected to be. To still be warm and engaging, but to never cross that line. It had been a difficult lesson to learn.

 It was with a grateful sigh that Tom folded himself into the backseat of the black cab, leaning his head back against the seat rest. He watched with half lidded eyes as the brightly lit streets of London flitted past. He loved the city; loved its hustle and history. It was one of the main reasons he still lived in the converted terrace he’d owned for several years now when he could so easily have moved to California like so many others had before him. London held his heart in a way very few other places had.  

 He blinked in momentary confusion as the cab slowed to a stop. It took far longer than he cared to admit to realize that he was, in fact, home. With a warm smile, Tom paid his fare and lumbered slowly to the black gate surrounding his home. He absently entered the code, pushing the gate open and heading up the dimly lit walk to his door. From behind it, Tom could hear Bobby’s excited barking and smiled to himself. It wasn’t quite the welcome home he’d longed for, but it was nice to have someone waiting for him. He made quick work of the lock and slowly pushed the door open.

 The spaniel’s barking increased in pitch and volume, jumping and wagging his tail as if his life depended on it. Tom sighed and shook his head. “Alright you heathen, let’s get you outside.” More excited barking followed as Tom padded through the hallway and into the kitchen towards the back door into the garden. While Bobby rummaged around outside, Tom filled his food bowl and topped off his water bowl. “Come on now, food’s ready!” he called out the door to little effect.

 Tom let out a grunt of exasperation and headed out into the dimly lit back garden. Bobby was snuffling around the bushes at the far end of the garden, telltale small piles of dirt surrounding him. Tom grumbled under his breath and yelled for the dog again. Reluctantly, Bobby heeded his master’s call and trotted back up the yard and into the kitchen.

 “You, my friend, are very lucky indeed that I am as fond of you as I am.” Bobby raised his head from his supper bowl and gave Tom an astonished look before returning to his meal. Tom merely shook his head and headed back through the house and towards the stair case to the upper level and bed. He stripped mechanically, making a brief stop in the bathroom to wash his face and clean his teeth, before falling into bed.

 The next morning dawned bright and cool. Tom stretched his arms above his head, a jaw cracking yawn echoing through the sunlit room. Bobby, who had been curled up contentedly at the edge of the bed, raised his head. He’d tried, when the spaniel was younger, to keep him downstairs in his own crate overnight. It had lasted all of about the span of a week for the puppy’s pitiful cries to break Tom’s resolve and allow him into the bedroom. ‘Just for the night,’ he’d sworn. And now nearly a year later, it was quite clear Tom had lost that battle.

 With determination, Tom pushed himself up and out of the bed, padding down the stairs and into the kitchen, Bobby quick on his heels. He opened the back garden door and let the spaniel out, turning his attention towards the coffee press and feeding his much needed caffeine addiction. He set to work boiling his kettle and gathering the bag of coffee from the cabinet above the sink. Tom took great pleasure in setting about brewing his morning coffee, loving the way the strong, warm scent filled the kitchen.

 Once it had brewed he poured the steaming liquid into his mug; a green one with a chip in its lip, one that Amy had given him. The thought of her still stung, though the pain had lessened throughout the intervening years. He still missed the life they’d had…Still bitterly regretted the stupid and selfish choices he’d made that had broken them. But he had slowly begun to come to terms with them and, in turn, with himself. Little things still caught him off guard but he’d learned to accept them and to try to move on from them. It was a hard road but one he was beginning to believe he could navigate on his own.

 Coffee doctored to his liking, Tom headed out into the back garden. He lowered himself into one of the wooden patio chairs and watched Bobby run around like mad chasing squirrels. It was a wonder any still dared to enter the garden with how valiantly Bobby guarded his territory. That dog was a menace and Tom loved him dearly for it. Closing his eyes, he savored the warmth the bloomed inside him as he sipped the gently steaming mug in his hands. There were many things he could make do without, coffee was most definitely not among them. He took his time, enjoying the sun on his face and the slowly dwindling coffee in his mug. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that man could not survive on coffee alone.

 “Bobby!” He called, pushing himself to his feet. The spaniel, paused mid-bark and turned to face his master. “Come.” Tom laughed as the spaniel broke off into a mad dash towards the door, nearly knocking him off his feet. Apparently someone was wanting his breakfast as well. Once kibble was added to Bobby’s bowl, Tom turned his attention towards his own meal; a quick toast and egg would do. He’d glanced at the clock above the stove when he’d entered the kitchen and found it to be well after nine. He would need to get moving soon, especially if he wanted to get a decent run in before heading into town to meet Emma.

 Not bothering with a shower, after all what would be the point if he was just going to end up a sweating mess again, Tom changed into his running kit and slipped into his trainers. He thundered down the stairs and towards the front door, grabbing Bobby’s lead from the key hook. Bobby, sensing walkies were afoot, was standing at the front door and began to twirl in tight little circles as Tom approached. He laughed and hooked the lead to the spaniel’s collar before leading them both out the door and into the crisp, late morning air.

 Several circuits around the neighborhood and nearby park helped to clear his head and focus his mind. He loved running, loved being able to lose himself in the rhythm and peace of it. It was the one pastime he could do anywhere and had been a godsend on long and grueling shoots. Tom was, in fact, a sweating mess when he and Bobby pushed their way back inside the house. Unclipping Bobby, and patting him playfully on the back, Tom climbed the stairs two at a time, stripping his clothing as he went.

 He showered quickly, enjoying the feel of the steaming water on his protesting muscles, and padded back into his bedroom to dry and dress. A quick glance at clock on the bedside table told him it was half eleven. With a grunt, he pulled on a pair of jeans and his well-loved blue jumper, which he noted with a fair bit of disdain was starting to get a hole in one of its sleeves. He ran a quick comb through his damp hair and shoved his feet into the grey boots he’d had for nearly as long as he could remember.

 Another quick glance at the watch he’d fastened onto his left wrist as he pounded down the stairs told him he needed to leave, and quickly, if he had any hope of meeting Emma at the restaurant she’d chosen on time.

 “Shit,” he cursed at himself, ushering Bobby into the back room and his kennel.

 Things situated, Tom grabbed his wallet and keys from the hallway table and darted out the front door. He considered trying to cab it in, but all things being equal and knowing London traffic far too well, he dismissed the matter out of hand; the tube was often a great deal faster than the car.

 Forty minutes later, Tom dashed into the warmth of the fairly busy café; woolen coat open and breathing heavy. He’d made a mad dash from the underground station once the train had finally come to a stop. He was late and Emma was sure to give him hell about it. He scanned the room, finally resting on her strawberry blonde head at a table in the corner.

 She smiled up at him as he took the opened seat across from her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I lost track of time and…”

 Emma simply rolled her eyes and held up her hand. “Tom, the day you show up to a non-work event on time is the day I know the world’s ending.”

 “Oh ha ha,” he retorted, shaking his head. “I’m only what, ten minutes late?”

 She snorted, “Only…But I guess coming from you that is actually pretty decent. I was honestly expecting at least twenty minutes.”

 Tom looked up at her, affronted. True he did tend to run slightly behind if not harassed, but surely not that badly and with such consistency? “I am not that bad.”

 “My darling brother, unless you’ve got someone there to push and pester you, you are indeed that bad. Need I remind you of mum’s birthday last year…?” Emma quirked an eyebrow at her brother as if daring him to challenge her.

 He scoffed. “That was once time…”

 “And I can list at least a dozen others offhand, if you’d like. My wedding, Sarah’s wedding, last Christmas, the Christmas before…I could go on,” Emma countered. “But I don’t have all day. I left Jack minding Alice and while I love that husband of mine, our offspring has been cutting a new tooth and has frankly been crankier than you on a bad day.”

 Tom narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. “Why are you always such a brat, Brat?”

 “Because someone needs to put you in your place, brother dear. And since I am here, I guess that leaves me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked on Tom’s. “Lord knows you aren’t going to manage it yourself and Luke’s earned a break don’t you think?”

 The teasing volleyed back and forth throughout their meal. It had been a good while since he had done anything with his baby sister, save for larger family gatherings. She’d been busy between the chaos of new motherhood balanced with local and national theatre work and he’d been in and out of the country with promotional work. He smiled as he watched her talk, the way her face lit up as she told him about the latest thing his tiny niece had done or the mishap she’d had with a prop during a sold out performance. It was difficult to reconcile the grown woman before him with the bratty little sister she’d always been in his eyes, but it was wonderful all the same.

 “Oh,” Emma started, placing her half-drunk mug of coffee onto the table. “Have you talked with mum recently?”

 Tom shook his head, “Not in the last week or so? Has something happened?” He leaned forward, anxiety clearly painted across his features.

 “No. No, she’s fine. She’s just trying to get things sorted regarding Christmas.”

 “Christmas? It’s barely October,” he countered.

 “Which I tried telling her, but alas, she wants to get everyone together this year and with you and Sarah and your insane schedules, she figured starting sooner rather than later would make sense.”

 Tom laughed and shook his head. He loved his mother, loved her dearly, but she was a planner. Had been his entire life. And the holidays were her weakness. They had always attempted to gather for Christmas, with varying success; between Tom’s own insane schedule over the last several years and Sarah and her family living and working in India, it was rare to have all three Hiddleston siblings under one roof. And as inane as it sounded, Tom could see the sense in her trying to plan so far in advance.

 “…usual nonsense. And she is thinking of trying to have Amy and her family around on Boxing Day.”

 Tom blinked in confusion as Emma’s words sank in. “What now?”

 “Mum is talking about inviting Amy, Teddy, and their little one over for either lunch or dinner on Boxing Day.”

 His heart clenched at the mention of Amy and her husband but slowly relaxed as he let out a breath.

 “Is she now?”

 While he’d run into both Amy and her husband on several occasions since the wedding, the idea of spending time with them in his mother’s home felt…strange. Not as unbearable as it would have been even a year ago, but still strange. ‘And their little one.’ He’d known they’d been expecting, Emma had mentioned it months back, but hadn’t really let himself think on the matter. He was…happy for her, for them both, even if they idea set uneasily in his gut. And it wasn’t the idea that it should have been him, he’d long since come to terms with that, more so a longing. Something he’d felt when he looked at Sophie as she held either of her and Ben’s sons. Stupid and selfish, but very much real.

 Emma nodded. “Henry will be four months by then and mum is desperate to meet him.” She sighed, “You’d think she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own with the way she’s acting.”

 Tom shrugged. “You know mum, she always had a soft spot for Amy…”

 “That she did,” Emma echoed. “But still…The nerve of the woman.” They both chuckled at that. “So just be aware that she’s most likely going to call and pester you.”

 “I don’t doubt that for a single moment,” Tom laughed. “Has Sarah said if they were coming yet?”

 Emma took another sip of her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, they should be able to come. You are the wild card at the moment.”

 Tom stroked his beard with his free hand. “I should be able to come…As of now I don’t think I have anything that would make that impossible. The con in Phoenix isn’t until the new year…I’ll double check with Michael and Luke to make sure.”

 “I still cannot believe people pay actual money on purpose to meet my dork of a brother. Cannot wrap my head around it.”

 He chuckled, “It’s still strange for me, Em.”

 “I bet.” She paused and pulled her mobile from her purse, glancing at the screen. “And on that note, I have to run. It’s nearly three and I promised Jack I’d be home before four.” She reached for the bill their server had left on the edge of the table but Tom beat her to it, flashing her a warm smile.

 “My treat,” he said in way of explanation.

 Emma shot him a pointed glare, “You are a menace, you know that right?” She pushes her chair back and pulled on her coat.

 Tom chuckled, climbing to his feet himself and pulling his sister into a warm hug. “Give Alice a kiss for me and give Jack my best.” Nodding, she slipped her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. Tom followed behind, pausing to pay the bill before venturing into the chill of the late afternoon and home.

 He spent much of the following week juggling the things he’d been putting off. He’d called and visited his mother; and she, as Emma had predicted, pestered him about his schedule around Christmas. He’d assured her, with back up from Luke, that he was indeed free and would most definitely be coming home this year. He’d also started sorting through his clothing and washing and packing for his trip to the states. He found himself both excited and wary for the trip. Conventions could be a thoroughly enjoyable experience; he’d had several wonderful ones and had enjoyed interacting with fans at the events. But just the same they could be draining and demanding. Sometimes it seemed, no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Tom hoped for the former this time around.

                                                             —

 The evening of the gala celebrating the life and work of Harold Pinter arrived far sooner than Tom had anticipated. He was excited and anxious and terrified all at once. He’d been so wrapped up in trying to organize his life and make sure he had his lines memorized, that when the driver rang the bell on his gate he’d stood staring in complete confusion for several seconds before realization dawned. God, feared he’d lose his head if it weren’t attached. Tom had been approached for the event shortly after talks began regarding his involvement in reviving Betrayal in the West End. He’d agreed almost immediately, looking forward to sharing the stage with several talented actors and testing out the material on stage before fully committing to the play. The nervous energy had run off him in waves as he’d darted upstairs and dressed quickly. Thankfully, Luke had seen to having his suit pressed and waiting in his closet. Tom dressed in a mad dash before heading back down stairs and out to the waiting car.

 It was half past five when Tom slid into the leather backseat, apologizing profusely for his tardiness. Luke would murder him if he were late. As the car started off, Tom pulled out his mobile, shooting his publicist a quick message that he was on his way. It most likely wasn’t necessary, but Tom knew Luke liked to be kept in the loop as much as possible. Shoving his mobile back into his pocket, he turned his attention back to the present. He made small talk with the driver as they moved along, chatting about the weather and later about the dismal amount of traffic they’d run into. They’d pulled aside the theatre half an hour later and once he’d climbed from the car, Tom was ushered inside and backstage. He chatted with Zawe and several other familiar faces as they waited for the theatre to fill and for the start of the evening.

 Things had been going rather well, in Tom’s humble opinion until he’d gone to grab his folder and managed to slice his thumb open. He’d stared, dumbfounded, at the welling blood before he was rushed towards the side of the room and quickly patched up. “Score one for my dumb luck,” he joked as he once again picked up his folder, this time taking much greater care. His scene with Zawe had gone off splendidly. They played well off each other and he looked forward to working more with her, providing she was willing and able to commit to the run.

 Bows taken, they were all rushed backstage and then quickly to their waiting cars to be driven to the Brasserie Zedel for the after party. Once arrived, Tom walked the short carpet and took his time talking with the various reporters encamped along it. He enjoyed talking about not only Harold Pinter and the fun he’d had that night but of theater and acting in general. He knew, without a doubt, that he was allowing his inner theatre and literature nerd run amuck, but couldn’t find it in him to care.  

 Tom mingled with the arriving guests. He caught sight of several familiar faces and did his best to talk with them all. As he allowed himself to scan the room once again, he found his eyes drawn to the short dark haired figure talking animatedly with Zawe. She was all of five foot nothing in her heels but commanded the attention of those around her as though she were much, much taller. Her dress was navy in color and came to mid-calf, clinging to her curves in ways that made Tom desperate to trace with his own hands. Her dark hair hung in a low, loose pony over one shoulder. She tossed her head back, laughing at something Zawe had said and the sound that echoed from her lips was captivating even from such a distance.

 Stealing himself, Tom made to start for the both of them, wanting nothing more than to know just who this tiny, vivacious woman was. He just managed to work his way through the densely packed room when the announcement was made for all to begin to filter their way into the restaurant proper. He cursed under his breath and allowed himself to be moved with the crowd inside. He’d found his table easily enough and was quickly pulled into conversation. He caught glimpses of the mystery woman throughout the night but never quite managed to catch up with her.

 He’d managed, however, to catch Zawe on her own and, despite feeling very much like a desperate twelve year-old, ask her about her earlier companion. Confusion flitted across Zawe’s features for a moment before understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh! That was Cath. She is a doll. Worked with her on a few projects a handful of years back.”

 “Is she an actress then?”

 Zawe shook her head, “Nah. She works behind the scenes; hair and make-up. Talented as hell, that woman is.” He tried then to arrange an introduction, ignoring the odd regency undertones such a thing invoked, but the woman, Cath, had been nowhere to be found.

 Tom sighed, just as well then. He did his best to let the disappointment flow off his back and made a few more circuits around the room, smiling and talking with various guests before calling it a night. He had a flight to catch in the morning (an international one at that which tended to be a headache at the best of times), and while he could sleep just about anywhere, he wanted to have at least one last good night’s rest in his own bed. Hotel beds, and airplane seats for the matter, were never quite as comfortable as his own bed. A few moments later, Tom stepped out into the brisk October evening air and climbed once more into the backseat. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the seat and allowed the hum of the car’s engine to lull him into a state of almost sleep.

Next Chapter

[winterisakillerwrites]

Get Better - Chapter Two

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 2/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Previous

CHAPTER TWO

The heat of August gradually cooled into early September. It was with a twinge of nostalgia that Tom found himself sitting around with Joanna Hogg, Mary Roscoe, and Kathryn Worth discussing Unrelated. It had been his first film and therefore quite the learning experience. But one that he remembered fondly. Later that same week he’d found himself on a red carpet and then on a stage presenting an award to a man he’d first seen on a big screen in a film he adored, and feared, as a young boy. The same man he later had the pleasure of working with in another film in Australia of all places. Funny thing time, he thought smiling as he stood beside Jeff Goldblum, chatting about life and film and the world. It still brought him up short the chances and opportunities he’d been blessed with in his career. Funny, sometimes painful, but wonderful all the same.

And now he found himself once again waiting on the side of another stage, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He chatted amicably with his fellow actors and readers, waiting for the signal from the now closed double doors. He could clearly hear the excited murmurings of the crowded auditorium and felt the familiar nervous energy bubbling in his gut. It was the same feeling he got anytime he’d prepared to walk onto a stage or a set. It was an old friend at this juncture and one he both missed and dreaded.

When he’d been approached with this project two months back, he had all but jumped at the chance. Getting not only to read but debate with fellow actors and writers over literature he’d loved for years, to be able to perform and share that love with others. It would a nice testing of the waters, so to speak. He hadn’t been on stage in a performer sense in over a year, and hadn’t done something of this nature since school. It had seemed like an interesting challenge and one he couldn’t see turning down. Rehearsals had been full of laughter and amusement.

Tom was sharing the stage with several talented actors; amongst them an actress in talks to join him in the Pinter production he was very much looking forward to in the New Year. Zawe Ashton was her name and while he’d seen bits and pieces of her work in the past, she was not someone he’d had the pleasure of working with beforehand. He found her funny and a delight to play off of. She had a wicked sense of humor that went very much along the lines of his own. And what was best was she hadn’t seemed to give a toss who he was. Yes, she’d known his name and was familiar with his work, but none of that seemed to matter to her. He could very easily see them getting along quite well during a grueling show run. If things went well tonight and the following week at the gala, then schedule permitting she would be a shoe-in for the role of Emma.

Beyond the doors, a hush fell over the crowd and he could see the lights begin to dim. Not long now. He could feel the tension and excitement running through their small group as the talked and laughed amongst themselves.

“Alright, places,” the woman manning the door called. Tom took a deep breath and walked through the doors and onto to the stage.  

The debate itself seemed to fly by and Tom found that he had enjoyed himself immensely. His competitive nature was certainly getting its chance to shine and he was absolutely delighted when his team, the correct team as far as he’d been concerned, won. They’d taken their respective bows and headed off stage in ones and twos. “That was absolutely fantastic,” Zawe breathed, smiling as she turned back to face Tom.

“Oh completely. I haven’t had that much fun in longer than I care to admit.”

Zawe laughed in earnest. “Same.”

They were ushered around the auditorium and handed collection buckets before being let loose to collect as much money for charity as they could. Tom had smiled, laughed, and talked with as many people as he could; never fully able to turn off the ‘public Tom’ persona he’d worn for so many years now. It was him, in a way, but more like a perfectly sculpted mask. Something he could slip in and out of depending on the place and the company he kept. In the past he’d been more open, more playful and less guarded with how he spoke and acted, but time and experience had taught him to pull back. To keep a respectable distance between who he was and who he was expected to be. To still be warm and engaging, but to never cross that line. It had been a difficult lesson to learn.

It was with a grateful sigh that Tom folded himself into the backseat of the black cab, leaning his head back against the seat rest. He watched with half lidded eyes as the brightly lit streets of London flitted past. He loved the city; loved its hustle and history. It was one of the main reasons he still lived in the converted terrace he’d owned for several years now when he could so easily have moved to California like so many others had before him. London held his heart in a way very few other places had.  

He blinked in momentary confusion as the cab slowed to a stop. It took far longer than he cared to admit to realize that he was, in fact, home. With a warm smile, Tom paid his fare and lumbered slowly to the black gate surrounding his home. He absently entered the code, pushing the gate open and heading up the dimly lit walk to his door. From behind it, Tom could hear Bobby’s excited barking and smiled to himself. It wasn’t quite the welcome home he’d longed for, but it was nice to have someone waiting for him. He made quick work of the lock and slowly pushed the door open.

The spaniel’s barking increased in pitch and volume, jumping and wagging his tail as if his life depended on it. Tom sighed and shook his head. “Alright you heathen, let’s get you outside.” More excited barking followed as Tom padded through the hallway and into the kitchen towards the back door into the garden. While Bobby rummaged around outside, Tom filled his food bowl and topped off his water bowl. “Come on now, food’s ready!” he called out the door to little effect.

Tom let out a grunt of exasperation and headed out into the dimly lit back garden. Bobby was snuffling around the bushes at the far end of the garden, telltale small piles of dirt surrounding him. Tom grumbled under his breath and yelled for the dog again. Reluctantly, Bobby heeded his master’s call and trotted back up the yard and into the kitchen.

“You, my friend, are very lucky indeed that I am as fond of you as I am.” Bobby raised his head from his supper bowl and gave Tom an astonished look before returning to his meal. Tom merely shook his head and headed back through the house and towards the stair case to the upper level and bed. He stripped mechanically, making a brief stop in the bathroom to wash his face and clean his teeth, before falling into bed.

The next morning dawned bright and cool. Tom stretched his arms above his head, a jaw cracking yawn echoing through the sunlit room. Bobby, who had been curled up contentedly at the edge of the bed, raised his head. He’d tried, when the spaniel was younger, to keep him downstairs in his own crate overnight. It had lasted all of about the span of a week for the puppy’s pitiful cries to break Tom’s resolve and allow him into the bedroom. ‘Just for the night,’ he’d sworn. And now nearly a year later, it was quite clear Tom had lost that battle.

With determination, Tom pushed himself up and out of the bed, padding down the stairs and into the kitchen, Bobby quick on his heels. He opened the back garden door and let the spaniel out, turning his attention towards the coffee press and feeding his much needed caffeine addiction. He set to work boiling his kettle and gathering the bag of coffee from the cabinet above the sink. Tom took great pleasure in setting about brewing his morning coffee, loving the way the strong, warm scent filled the kitchen.

Once it had brewed he poured the steaming liquid into his mug; a green one with a chip in its lip, one that Amy had given him. The thought of her still stung, though the pain had lessened throughout the intervening years. He still missed the life they’d had…Still bitterly regretted the stupid and selfish choices he’d made that had broken them. But he had slowly begun to come to terms with them and, in turn, with himself. Little things still caught him off guard but he’d learned to accept them and to try to move on from them. It was a hard road but one he was beginning to believe he could navigate on his own.

Coffee doctored to his liking, Tom headed out into the back garden. He lowered himself into one of the wooden patio chairs and watched Bobby run around like mad chasing squirrels. It was a wonder any still dared to enter the garden with how valiantly Bobby guarded his territory. That dog was a menace and Tom loved him dearly for it. Closing his eyes, he savored the warmth the bloomed inside him as he sipped the gently steaming mug in his hands. There were many things he could make do without, coffee was most definitely not among them. He took his time, enjoying the sun on his face and the slowly dwindling coffee in his mug. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that man could not survive on coffee alone.

“Bobby!” He called, pushing himself to his feet. The spaniel, paused mid-bark and turned to face his master. “Come.” Tom laughed as the spaniel broke off into a mad dash towards the door, nearly knocking him off his feet. Apparently someone was wanting his breakfast as well. Once kibble was added to Bobby’s bowl, Tom turned his attention towards his own meal; a quick toast and egg would do. He’d glanced at the clock above the stove when he’d entered the kitchen and found it to be well after nine. He would need to get moving soon, especially if he wanted to get a decent run in before heading into town to meet Emma.

Not bothering with a shower, after all what would be the point if he was just going to end up a sweating mess again, Tom changed into his running kit and slipped into his trainers. He thundered down the stairs and towards the front door, grabbing Bobby’s lead from the key hook. Bobby, sensing walkies were afoot, was standing at the front door and began to twirl in tight little circles as Tom approached. He laughed and hooked the lead to the spaniel’s collar before leading them both out the door and into the crisp, late morning air.

Several circuits around the neighborhood and nearby park helped to clear his head and focus his mind. He loved running, loved being able to lose himself in the rhythm and peace of it. It was the one pastime he could do anywhere and had been a godsend on long and grueling shoots. Tom was, in fact, a sweating mess when he and Bobby pushed their way back inside the house. Unclipping Bobby, and patting him playfully on the back, Tom climbed the stairs two at a time, stripping his clothing as he went.

He showered quickly, enjoying the feel of the steaming water on his protesting muscles, and padded back into his bedroom to dry and dress. A quick glance at clock on the bedside table told him it was half eleven. With a grunt, he pulled on a pair of jeans and his well-loved blue jumper, which he noted with a fair bit of disdain was starting to get a hole in one of its sleeves. He ran a quick comb through his damp hair and shoved his feet into the grey boots he’d had for nearly as long as he could remember.

Another quick glance at the watch he’d fastened onto his left wrist as he pounded down the stairs told him he needed to leave, and quickly, if he had any hope of meeting Emma at the restaurant she’d chosen on time.

“Shit,” he cursed at himself, ushering Bobby into the back room and his kennel.

Things situated, Tom grabbed his wallet and keys from the hallway table and darted out the front door. He considered trying to cab it in, but all things being equal and knowing London traffic far too well, he dismissed the matter out of hand; the tube was often a great deal faster than the car.

Forty minutes later, Tom dashed into the warmth of the fairly busy café; woolen coat open and breathing heavy. He’d made a mad dash from the underground station once the train had finally come to a stop. He was late and Emma was sure to give him hell about it. He scanned the room, finally resting on her strawberry blonde head at a table in the corner.

She smiled up at him as he took the opened seat across from her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I lost track of time and…”

Emma simply rolled her eyes and held up her hand. “Tom, the day you show up to a non-work event on time is the day I know the world’s ending.”

“Oh ha ha,” he retorted, shaking his head. “I’m only what, ten minutes late?”

She snorted, “Only…But I guess coming from you that is actually pretty decent. I was honestly expecting at least twenty minutes.”

Tom looked up at her, affronted. True he did tend to run slightly behind if not harassed, but surely not that badly and with such consistency? “I am not that bad.”

“My darling brother, unless you’ve got someone there to push and pester you, you are indeed that bad. Need I remind you of mum’s birthday last year…?” Emma quirked an eyebrow at her brother as if daring him to challenge her.

He scoffed. “That was once time…”

“And I can list at least a dozen others offhand, if you’d like. My wedding, Sarah’s wedding, last Christmas, the Christmas before…I could go on,” Emma countered. “But I don’t have all day. I left Jack minding Alice and while I love that husband of mine, our offspring has been cutting a new tooth and has frankly been crankier than you on a bad day.”

Tom narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. “Why are you always such a brat, Brat?”

“Because someone needs to put you in your place, brother dear. And since I am here, I guess that leaves me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked on Tom’s. “Lord knows you aren’t going to manage it yourself and Luke’s earned a break don’t you think?”

The teasing volleyed back and forth throughout their meal. It had been a good while since he had done anything with his baby sister, save for larger family gatherings. She’d been busy between the chaos of new motherhood balanced with local and national theatre work and he’d been in and out of the country with promotional work. He smiled as he watched her talk, the way her face lit up as she told him about the latest thing his tiny niece had done or the mishap she’d had with a prop during a sold out performance. It was difficult to reconcile the grown woman before him with the bratty little sister she’d always been in his eyes, but it was wonderful all the same.

“Oh,” Emma started, placing her half-drunk mug of coffee onto the table. “Have you talked with mum recently?”

Tom shook his head, “Not in the last week or so? Has something happened?” He leaned forward, anxiety clearly painted across his features.

“No. No, she’s fine. She’s just trying to get things sorted regarding Christmas.”

“Christmas? It’s barely October,” he countered.

“Which I tried telling her, but alas, she wants to get everyone together this year and with you and Sarah and your insane schedules, she figured starting sooner rather than later would make sense.”

Tom laughed and shook his head. He loved his mother, loved her dearly, but she was a planner. Had been his entire life. And the holidays were her weakness. They had always attempted to gather for Christmas, with varying success; between Tom’s own insane schedule over the last several years and Sarah and her family living and working in India, it was rare to have all three Hiddleston siblings under one roof. And as inane as it sounded, Tom could see the sense in her trying to plan so far in advance.

“…usual nonsense. And she is thinking of trying to have Amy and her family around on Boxing Day.”

Tom blinked in confusion as Emma’s words sank in. “What now?”

“Mum is talking about inviting Amy, Teddy, and their little one over for either lunch or dinner on Boxing Day.”

His heart clenched at the mention of Amy and her husband but slowly relaxed as he let out a breath.

“Is she now?”

While he’d run into both Amy and her husband on several occasions since the wedding, the idea of spending time with them in his mother’s home felt…strange. Not as unbearable as it would have been even a year ago, but still strange. ‘And their little one.’ He’d known they’d been expecting, Emma had mentioned it months back, but hadn’t really let himself think on the matter. He was…happy for her, for them both, even if they idea set uneasily in his gut. And it wasn’t the idea that it should have been him, he’d long since come to terms with that, more so a longing. Something he’d felt when he looked at Sophie as she held either of her and Ben’s sons. Stupid and selfish, but very much real.

Emma nodded. “Henry will be four months by then and mum is desperate to meet him.” She sighed, “You’d think she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own with the way she’s acting.”

Tom shrugged. “You know mum, she always had a soft spot for Amy…”

“That she did,” Emma echoed. “But still…The nerve of the woman.” They both chuckled at that. “So just be aware that she’s most likely going to call and pester you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a single moment,” Tom laughed. “Has Sarah said if they were coming yet?”

Emma took another sip of her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, they should be able to come. You are the wild card at the moment.”

Tom stroked his beard with his free hand. “I should be able to come…As of now I don’t think I have anything that would make that impossible. The con in Phoenix isn’t until the new year…I’ll double check with Michael and Luke to make sure.”

“I still cannot believe people pay actual money on purpose to meet my dork of a brother. Cannot wrap my head around it.”

He chuckled, “It’s still strange for me, Em.”

“I bet.” She paused and pulled her mobile from her purse, glancing at the screen. “And on that note, I have to run. It’s nearly three and I promised Jack I’d be home before four.” She reached for the bill their server had left on the edge of the table but Tom beat her to it, flashing her a warm smile.

“My treat,” he said in way of explanation.

Emma shot him a pointed glare, “You are a menace, you know that right?” She pushes her chair back and pulled on her coat.

Tom chuckled, climbing to his feet himself and pulling his sister into a warm hug. “Give Alice a kiss for me and give Jack my best.” Nodding, she slipped her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. Tom followed behind, pausing to pay the bill before venturing into the chill of the late afternoon and home.

He spent much of the following week juggling the things he’d been putting off. He’d called and visited his mother; and she, as Emma had predicted, pestered him about his schedule around Christmas. He’d assured her, with back up from Luke, that he was indeed free and would most definitely be coming home this year. He’d also started sorting through his clothing and washing and packing for his trip to the states. He found himself both excited and wary for the trip. Conventions could be a thoroughly enjoyable experience; he’d had several wonderful ones and had enjoyed interacting with fans at the events. But just the same they could be draining and demanding. Sometimes it seemed, no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Tom hoped for the former this time around.

                                                           —

The evening of the gala celebrating the life and work of Harold Pinter arrived far sooner than Tom had anticipated. He was excited and anxious and terrified all at once. He’d been so wrapped up in trying to organize his life and make sure he had his lines memorized, that when the driver rang the bell on his gate he’d stood staring in complete confusion for several seconds before realization dawned. God, feared he’d lose his head if it weren’t attached. Tom had been approached for the event shortly after talks began regarding his involvement in reviving Betrayal in the West End. He’d agreed almost immediately, looking forward to sharing the stage with several talented actors and testing out the material on stage before fully committing to the play. The nervous energy had run off him in waves as he’d darted upstairs and dressed quickly. Thankfully, Luke had seen to having his suit pressed and waiting in his closet. Tom dressed in a mad dash before heading back down stairs and out to the waiting car.

It was half past five when Tom slid into the leather backseat, apologizing profusely for his tardiness. Luke would murder him if he were late. As the car started off, Tom pulled out his mobile, shooting his publicist a quick message that he was on his way. It most likely wasn’t necessary, but Tom knew Luke liked to be kept in the loop as much as possible. Shoving his mobile back into his pocket, he turned his attention back to the present. He made small talk with the driver as they moved along, chatting about the weather and later about the dismal amount of traffic they’d run into. They’d pulled aside the theatre half an hour later and once he’d climbed from the car, Tom was ushered inside and backstage. He chatted with Zawe and several other familiar faces as they waited for the theatre to fill and for the start of the evening.

Things had been going rather well, in Tom’s humble opinion until he’d gone to grab his folder and managed to slice his thumb open. He’d stared, dumbfounded, at the welling blood before he was rushed towards the side of the room and quickly patched up. “Score one for my dumb luck,” he joked as he once again picked up his folder, this time taking much greater care. His scene with Zawe had gone off splendidly. They played well off each other and he looked forward to working more with her, providing she was willing and able to commit to the run.

Bows taken, they were all rushed backstage and then quickly to their waiting cars to be driven to the Brasserie Zedel for the after party. Once arrived, Tom walked the short carpet and took his time talking with the various reporters encamped along it. He enjoyed talking about not only Harold Pinter and the fun he’d had that night but of theater and acting in general. He knew, without a doubt, that he was allowing his inner theatre and literature nerd run amuck, but couldn’t find it in him to care.  

Tom mingled with the arriving guests. He caught sight of several familiar faces and did his best to talk with them all. As he allowed himself to scan the room once again, he found his eyes drawn to the short dark haired figure talking animatedly with Zawe. She was all of five foot nothing in her heels but commanded the attention of those around her as though she were much, much taller. Her dress was navy in color and came to mid-calf, clinging to her curves in ways that made Tom desperate to trace with his own hands. Her dark hair hung in a low, loose pony over one shoulder. She tossed her head back, laughing at something Zawe had said and the sound that echoed from her lips was captivating even from such a distance.

Stealing himself, Tom made to start for the both of them, wanting nothing more than to know just who this tiny, vivacious woman was. He just managed to work his way through the densely packed room when the announcement was made for all to begin to filter their way into the restaurant proper. He cursed under his breath and allowed himself to be moved with the crowd inside. He’d found his table easily enough and was quickly pulled into conversation. He caught glimpses of the mystery woman throughout the night but never quite managed to catch up with her.

He’d managed, however, to catch Zawe on her own and, despite feeling very much like a desperate twelve year-old, ask her about her earlier companion. Confusion flitted across Zawe’s features for a moment before understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh! That was Cath. She is a doll. Worked with her on a few projects a handful of years back.”

“Is she an actress then?”

Zawe shook her head, “Nah. She works behind the scenes; hair and make-up. Talented as hell, that woman is.” He tried then to arrange an introduction, ignoring the odd regency undertones such a thing invoked, but the woman, Cath, had been nowhere to be found.

Tom sighed, just as well then. He did his best to let the disappointment flow off his back and made a few more circuits around the room, smiling and talking with various guests before calling it a night. He had a flight to catch in the morning (an international one at that which tended to be a headache at the best of times), and while he could sleep just about anywhere, he wanted to have at least one last good night’s rest in his own bed. Hotel beds, and airplane seats for the matter, were never quite as comfortable as his own bed. A few moments later, Tom stepped out into the brisk October evening air and climbed once more into the backseat. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the seat and allowed the hum of the car’s engine to lull him into a state of almost sleep.

Next

[im-fairly-whitty]

Cecilia de Verde

A “No-Murder AU” Ernesto Love Story: Fanfic for Pixar’s “Coco”

[The death of Ernesto’s father cuts short Ernesto and Hector's doomed music tour before anyone gets poisoned, making them both return to Santa Cecilia so that Ernesto can care for his mother and rethink his life’s trajectory. Ernesto meets a sweet but sassy girl with a green hair ribbon who seems to be able to see right through his ego, and now he can't get her out of his head. ]

Part 1: Verde

It had been two months since Ernesto’s entire life plan had been completely smashed to pieces.

He sighed as he swung himself down off his horse, his boots hitting the dusty old cobblestones of the dusty old plaza of dusty old Santa Cecilia.

He looped the reins over Dante’s grey head and securely tied them to the plaza hitching post. At least when his father had died two months earlier his shady “friends” hadn’t made off with the family horse before Ernesto returned home. All his father’s prized fighting dogs and massive stash of alcohol, yes, but Ernesto would have gotten rid those the moment he returned anyway.

He patted the horse’s neck before turning to stroll into the plaza, weaving through the loose market-day crowd. He pasted on a relaxed smile as he nodded and waved to the all-too-familiar faces around him, passing the mats lining the street that were spread with all sorts of colorful foods and goods. The late October morning was cool for now, but everyone was already staking out areas that would be shaded when the hot Mexican sun came out in full force in a few hours.

As he neared the pavilion in the middle of the square he saw a lone teenager was already sitting inside, plucking away at an old guitar. Ernesto stifled a grimace upon recognizing the half-strangled tune of “Un Poco Loco,” but at least it meant this next part was going to be easy.

“Hola muchacho!” Ernesto smiled widely as he ascended the cement steps of the pavilion, making sure the guitar slung on his back didn’t smack the green metal railings on either side.

The teen looked up, jolting out of his song with a twang of guitar strings when he saw Ernesto.

“Señor Santiago!” He said, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “H-Hola! I was just playing one of your songs, I really like your music.”

Ernesto and Hector had only barely started getting traction when they were abruptly called home for the funeral, but Santa Cecilia was backward enough to still think they were famous anyways. It was a useful card to play around town, even if it chafed at Ernesto every time he used it to think how far they hadn’t gone.

“Muchas gracias, it’s always nice to meet a fan.” Ernesto said pleasantly, not allowing himself to show how nettled he was to be called by his father’s name. “And please, I go by De la Cruz.”

“Oh, of course! Señor De La Cruz.” The boy said.

He was still sitting on the floor of the pavillion. Alright. Time to be more obvious then.

Ernesto pulled his guitar strap so that the instrument swung up in front of him, letting the boy see its polished surface. It was a much more expensive instrument than his dinged one. A real, professional guitar.

“Would you mind if I took it from here?” Ernesto asked, walking into the gazebo and pulling the guitar’s strap off before the boy could respond.

“Oh, uh, sure.” The teen scrambled up with his own scuffed guitar as Ernesto walked in. “Do you usually play here?”

“Every time I come to the plaza.” Ernesto said brightly, pulling a pick from his pocket and setting about tuning the instrument. “And keep practicing your guitar, you’ve got potential, amigo.”

“Thank you Señor!” The teenager said, his face brightening as he backed out of the gazebo. He waved as he walked away, having conveniently forgotten that he’d just been kicked out in the glow of having been complimented.

Ernesto sighed as soon as he was gone, his smile dropping away. Most of the other “musicians” in town had gotten the message that the gazebo was Ernesto’s, but he still had to enforce it every now and then. It was ridiculous, you left town for a few months and everything slid into chaos.

He leaned against the green metalwork railing and began picking out a tune, starting off with one of Hector’s early wordless melodies to warm up. Escaping to the plaza to play had become his escape whenever he needed to catch his breath. Settling his father’s affairs was unpleasant work, unearthing memories Ernesto had buried two years ago when he’d been forcefully thrown out of the house.  

He’d moved on, had launched into his plan of becoming a new man with a vengeance, never expecting to return home, in this life or the next. And yet, here he was.

The feeling of doom that had always hung over his childhood home had mostly dissipated now that it was just Ernesto and his mother living there, but he’d found that the urge to escape it was still deeply ingrained in him.

The plaza gazebo was the perfect escape too, it had plenty of room to clear his head, but also still had a crowd around to appreciate his music. Even if it was a thin and uncultured one.  

He continued to play, warming up to a more energetic arraignment. He smiled and nodded to the townspeople that paused to listen, close enough to see him, but still walled back by the metalwork of the gazebo.

Playing during market days was also a good reminder to the whole town that their two musical sons were back and ready to be hired for whatever quinceanera or birthday or other musical need they had. Ernesto played the guitar for free in the market, he was not a desperate busker, but everyone knew that if they wanted to hear his voice they could hire him and Hector anytime.

Ernesto looked up to watch the colorful chatting crowds beyond the bars, but was surprised to see someone had come up the steps, leaning against the archway instead of keeping the usual distance. He didn’t recognize her, which was odd since she looked only a little younger than him, and she was resting a bolt of cloth on her hip. He couldn’t help noticing that her white and green dress somehow matched her soft smile.

Ernesto smiled back and kept playing, assuming she’d turn and leave soon like the others. But she stayed, all the way until the end of his song.

“That was nice.” She said, pulling a coin from her pocket.

“Gracias Senorita,” Ernesto tipped up his guitar to rest from playing for a minute, “but you can keep your coin, I don’t accept money for street playing, just events.”

“But, you’re a musician.” She said, her smile looking puzzled. “Don’t you have to eat?”

Ernesto bristled just a bit, but kept it from showing. Just because he was a performer didn’t mean he was desperate for every spare peso a passerby could stoop to bestow on him. Hector may have a family to support, but Ernesto had plenty saved from their tour to tide him over. He wasn’t a teenager playing on the street corner, he was a professional.

“This music is my gift to the community,” he said, grandly sweeping an arm to gesture at the square around him. “I give it to them freely. Besides, I have to play. The music isn’t just in me, it is me.”

That usually got a good reaction, but she just cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s one of the most ridiculously showy things I’ve ever hear someone say.” She sounded like she was stifling a chuckle as her smile widened.

Ernesto frowned, feeling wounded. He quite liked that line, he’d spent a lot of time coming up with it. And who was this girl anyway? It wasn’t often that there was someone in this small town that he didn't at least vaguely recognize.

“Well it’s true,” he said, “My music partner and I are successful professionals, we can afford to give back to the people.”

That was stretching the truth just a bit, but this was an emergency.

Then her eyes widened in realization, “Oh! I think I understand, you must be Ernesto!”

Ernesto smiled. Good, he was back in his comfort zone if she knew his reputation.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” She said, her smile looked knowing and amused.

Or not.

“Oh? And what have you heard?” Ernesto said, taking the bait she was obviously offering. He unconsciously propped up his guitar in his lap again, like a shield.

She laughed at him, not unkindly. “That you have an ego bigger than this whole town.” She replied, struggling to control her grin.

“Well, it’s not that big of a town.” Ernesto said without thinking.

It wasn’t helping that her smile was as sweet as piloncillo, which somehow made her barbs more painful. Why didn’t she take him seriously like everyone else? And who had been talking about him having an ego anyway? He wasn’t proud, he was just unusually talented and handsome, everyone knew that.

“Well, it’s bigger than the last place I lived.” She hitched her bolt of cloth higher up on her hip. “Good luck with your coinless music, músico.”

Ernesto was still scrambling for a good comeback as she turned and lightly descended the cement pavilion steps. He only had time to see the glossy green ribbon woven into her braided hair before she walked behind a fruit merchant stall and disappeared from sight.

Before quite realizing it, he was standing, clutching his guitar and looking at where she’d gone.

And good luck with your small town sensibilities, small town girl. That’s what he should have said, that would have shown her who the real wit was.

He idly tugged at the lock of hair that always curled on his forehead, the fingers on his other hand tapping the guitar’s neck as he thought.

No, that was a dumb comeback. He could do better than that.

He sat back down on the cement, his body pretending he was going to start playing again. Good luck with your, your bolt of cloth? Your green hair ribbon? He really didn’t have much to work with. Not that it mattered. What did he care if one pretty stranger didn’t believe he was amazing? Her opinion didn’t control his life, he didn’t need her approval.

Several minutes passed before he realized his hand was still suspended over the guitar strings, not having played a single note.

He grunted irritably and stood. Alright, fine, so his focus was wrecked, that didn’t mean anything. He was still his own man with his own confidence. He just needed some closure, and to be prepared if such an attack ever happened again. Señorita Verde ribbon wasn’t from around here, but Santa Cecilia wasn’t much of a place for short stays. She might come back to the plaza another day, and if she did, he would be ready.

He slung his guitar strap back over his head and walked to where Dante was hitched up. If it as a witty comeback he was looking for, there was a certain gold-toothed music partner of his that he knew he could rely on for help.  

[Read Part 2: The Name of the Enemy]

-----------------------

Here we go again :)

So excited for this story to play out, I’ve realized while writing this that the only thing more emotionally terrifying than revenge is falling in love. *evil cackle* If you want to see me in full revenge-story mode check out my other Ernesto fic ”For Whom the Bell Tolls,” which takes place one year after the movie ends.

Be sure to follow me or [#Cecilia de verde] to get the next chapter as soon as it comes out in a few days. Like and reblog, looking forward to reading your comments!

- Wit

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Four

Connection.  Read Chap One here. Two. Three Four.  Five. Six. Seven. Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve.  Thirteen.  Fourteen.  Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.  Eighteen.  Nineteen.  Twenty.   Twenty One.   Twenty Two. Twenty Three.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: an American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.

Word Count: 4500

Your name: submit What is this?

You were sitting in front of the third building on Vic’s list and quickly losing to Will’s boredom. It didn't help that you had been stuck in the car all day. Planes were interesting but sitting in a car was apparently where Will drew the line. You were planning on taking Will back to the safe house when Vic finally spotted some movement.

“I’ve got something. We need a closer look. What do you think Will? You want to stretch your legs?”

“Yes!” Will hollered but you glared at Vic.

“He can't go near…”

Vic turned around with a grin and a quirked brow, “do you honestly believe I’d ever put him in harm’s way?”

“No.”

“There's a coffee shop up there and you or I can take him in there while the other sits on that bench out front. Perfect view without drawing attention.” She pulled on her jacket with a wink at Taylor, “see you at the meet point, super fan.” Then she slipped out the passenger door with Will following right behind slinging on his backpack.

You jumped out of the car and ran around to catch up with them strolling up the sidewalk. You stopped in front of the coffee shop getting an odd flashback to Germany. It was nothing like that small shop yet the feeling wouldn't dissipate. Vic walked inside with Will and you figured you were taking the first bench warming.

You sat down and lifted your phone. It was a common enough occurrence, someone reading or playing something on a phone that it was actually terrifying how easy it was to open your camera and zoom in on the building across the street. There was more than enough movement but no one that really stood out.

Twenty minutes later, Vic and Will walked out and Vic played up the friendly banter of an old friend. You glanced at your phone as you stood and something caught your eye. A woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a severe bun had stopped at the gate in front of the building and you could swear she was looking at you. You turned to get a better look and that tingling at the base of your skull stood those little hairs on end. The woman flashed recognition and smiled, she knew you but you had no idea who she was. You hit the small shutter button a couple times hoping you got a good shot before she turned and walked off. You glanced down and noticed in the last picture what you hadn't in real time, Moran was standing right behind her.

“We need to go.” You tapped a few buttons and sent the picture to Vic’s phone. “This woman saw me, she knows me and I have no clue who she is.”

Vic pulled out her phone, “okay, give me a second.” You felt exposed and wanted to move immediately but you knew Vic had a handle on this much better than you did. “Got her.”

“What?” You turned and looked at her phone. She had a facial recognition program open with not only the picture but a keyword filter of Moran. This app wasn't something that just everyone could get but you wanted it now.

“Elizabeth Moran, Sebastian’s little sister. A Chemist and talented hacker apparently. It’s weird, I didn't know he had a sister. I'll try to follow her, you get to the meet point and Taylor will take you back to the safe house. I'll see if I can track where she's going then check in with Mycroft.” You nodded as she jogged off then you took Will’s hand and turned back the way you came.

You strolled along the sidewalk looking just like the rest of the people taking in the shops on either side of the street but all you saw was that woman’s face. The way she had looked at you, the surprise and yet… happy. You couldn't understand it and it was… haunting. You didn't mean to but you were distracted and if it wasn't for that creepy crawly feeling up your spine and the tingling at the base of your skull yet again, you might have missed him. Someone was watching you.

The first street sign you came across was only a block away from your meet point and then you spotted Taylor’s cab at the next corner. Something wasn't right. Taylor specifically said he would not be parked but idling and he’d pull around the corner once he spotted you, but the cab wasn’t even running. You followed your instincts that Taylor was not an option and stopped by the first store front with a clean window. You caught the man who blended in without a single thing to make him memorable in the reflection while searching for something in your bag. He paused instead of closing in on you or continuing his path.

“Will, remember what I told you about the sun and moon?”

He glanced around with a subtlety that was almost an art form before looking up at you, “so high we can all see it?”

“Yes.” Your hand brushed over your gun but didn’t remove it. You continued on in the direction you were heading at a leisurely stroll with Will’s hand still in a loose hold. “I’m going to send you to Greg so you can see Daddy but I want you to know that anytime you look up at the sun or the moon, know that I am thinking of you. Just like we talked about with Daddy.” You spotted another man at the other end of the street with the same look, glancing at you but hiding it very well. Your grip on Will’s hand tightened and you continued moving.

“Mama? We both go to Greg?”

You turned down the first alleyway. “Someone is following us but you’re going to get to safety while I’ll draw them away then I’ll meet you in a few days, okay? I promise, my love.” You bent down and picked him up, squeezing him a little as you hustled toward the other end of the alley. “You are the most important and I will never stop fighting for you.”

He wrapped his arms around you holding on tight as he shoved his face into your neck. “I know. I’m always with you, Mama.” Lorcan’s head stuck out the top of his bag staring at you as you ran and tears pricked your eyes.

You rushed out of the alley and glanced back, one of the men had just entered. You continued your hurried pace down the street looking for a taxi and keeping an eye out for the second man. A taxi pulled up to the curb at the end of the block and a woman got out.

“I love you, Will.”

He squeezed and his voice wavered, “I love you.”

You ripped open the door and placed Will on the seat buckling him in quickly. “Find Greg, okay? And give Daddy and Uncle John a hug for me.” His mouth quivered and you turned to the driver, “national security. Get him to Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Lestrade.” You kissed Will’s cheek, “Lorcan will stay by your side. I’ll see you soon, love.” You closed the door not taking your eyes off him until a whizzing past your ear sent your adrenaline into overdrive. The driver said something out his window but you smacked the top of the cab and yelled as you pulled out your gun, “GO NOW!”  

The taxi took off from the curb and you slipped in with the passing crowd moving quickly away from the mouth of the alley you came from. You were shocked that no one was screaming about a man with a gun which only heightened your state of panic that you had to use every ounce of control to stamp down. You had the fleeting thought of raising the gun alarm yourself but chucked it quickly knowing any panic could block the street which blocked Will from getting away.

These guys weren’t working with normal suppressors, you should’ve still heard the gunshot before the bullet sped past your ear. If they lost interest in you, it would turn to the cab. You glanced back and saw him still on you and released a sigh of relief as Vic’s suggestion that Moran had someone with power behind him flitted through your head.

Tucking your hands in your jacket pockets, you admonished yourself. You didn’t have time to think about that. You kept a good pace while watching the taxi from the corner of your eye until it turned the next block and the man was still focused on you. You doubled down, tossing out the information that wouldn't help you get out of this alive. You focused on the layout of the streets around you while you moved and then caught sight of the second man as he turned onto your street from two blocks down. With a quick glance behind, the man with a high-tech gun was closer and you gave him a good view of you before dashing down the next alley.

You needed to predict how these men could split to try to corner you and if possible either lose them or get them turned around chasing their own tails. Sherlock had pressed the importance of a complete knowledge of the street layout in London and if you pulled this off, you owed him big for it. Now all you had to do was spin these idiots into a knot and hopefully, their tech didn't include drones with fancy lenses that could lock onto your heat signature, but just in case you'd take a few more precautions. There was too much at stake not too.

~~

Greg Lestrade was walking to the small kitchen to get a cup of coffee still reading the file in his hand when he heard a change in the normal office soundtrack. He glanced up and froze. The child was taller but there was no mistaking that mop of dark curly hair and those eyes. Will Holmes was clutching a brown dog to his chest walking beside a middle-aged man with a cabbie badge bouncing on his chest.

“Will?” Greg called before his limbs responded.

Will’s head snapped in his direction and he took off running toward him. “Greg!”  

Greg squatted down and opened his arms. Will jumped on him and he dropped his file as he folded the boy in his arms and stood. “Where’s your mum?”

Will sniffled, his small voice choking out, “the bad men.”

Greg looked at the cabbie who raised his hands in front of him in surrender. “A woman threw him into my cab yelling national security, Scotland Yard, Detective Lestrade before slamming the door and dashing off.”

“Dashing off? Was someone chasing her?”

“I tried asking her what was going on but she just screamed for me to go and flashed a gun so I went.”

Greg patted Will’s back as he felt the boy shutter. “How bout we go see Uncle John?” The cabbie stood there staring at him, “anything else?”

The man fiddled with his badge and cleared his throat, “well, I do have a fare to collect.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Greg barked and a detective nearby rushed over and pulled the cabbie to a desk as Greg turned until he spotted Donovan and called her. He walked toward her and she met him halfway, “I'm taking him to a relative. You cover things here.”

She nodded staring at the child in his arms. “Isn't that…”

“Not a word.” He turned and headed toward the elevator spotting the file he dropped. “Oh and Donovan, can you get that for me? Thanks.”

The drive over to Baker Street felt longer than it was. Will was still sniffling with his face buried in the brown stuffed dog but had calmed down since they got in the car and he whimpered. Greg called John who was already at Baker Street. He had glanced at Will then simply told John, “I’m on my way, there's been a development.”

He parked the car in front of 221B and Will reached up with both hands when Lestrade opened the back door. “Come here, little man. It’s going to be okay.” Greg carried him over to the door and knocked as he prayed he hadn’t just lied to the child in his arms.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and cried out. She ushered him inside then looked behind him before shutting the door but she didn’t say anything, just followed as he moved up the stairs.

He made it to the first landing before John appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson… Jesus!” His gaze swept the stairs behind them then returned to Greg’s as Sherlock stepped into the doorway.

“Greg?” Sherlock’s smile slipped as his gaze flicked up to Greg’s.

Greg’s brows rose but then Will turned his head and peeked out as if he didn’t completely believe the voices around him. There was a brief moment of pause where no one moved and every eye was fixed on Will. Will stared at Sherlock and John then suddenly wiggled frantically until Greg got him to the floor and he bolted to Sherlock. Sherlock squatted down just in time to grab the boy who slammed into him locking his arms around him. His cries renewed as he squeezed him, “daddy! Uncle John!”  

Sherlock frowned as he stared at Greg and stood. “Where is she?”

“Mama ran away bad men.” Will wailed and John pivoted looking at Sherlock before turning back to Greg.

Greg told them what he little knew and John cursed under his breath. John noticed Mrs. Hudson was no longer on the stairs and turned to suggest they move into the flat but when he looked at Sherlock holding Will and rubbing his back in a calming gesture, words failed him. The unknown boys laid out on cold tables in the morgue flashed across his vision and he forced it away.

Mrs. Hudson came bustling up the stairs with a tray and shooed the men inside the flat. She set the tray down on the table. “Will, are you hungry?”

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock snapped but Will reached out for her.

“Nana.”

Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock a sympathetic look and he walked to her then started to hand Will over but Will turned and clung onto him. Sherlock’s brow shot up and Mrs. Hudson smiled and walked over to the couch, “why don’t you sit here and you can have a snack?” Will looked at Sherlock and shook his head. Sherlock walked over to the couch with a pinch in his brow, his mind racing but trying to be present. He sat Will down before sitting beside him then jumping up but didn’t move far from the couch.  

Mrs. Hudson smiled at Will and handed him some crackers. “It's going to be okay. Mama’s strong and she’ll be home soon but we need to keep your strength up.” She glanced at the dog still clutched in his right hand after all the movement. “Who is this adorable little thing? Is he hungry?”

Will lifted Lorcan and quirked his brow, “Lorcan the brave stuffed, Nana. He can't eat.” He hugged him to his chest and looked down. “He protects from bad men in dreams.”

Sherlock’s small smile soured before it could reach his eyes.

Sherlock knelt down in front of Will then asked, “did you see the bad men?”

He nodded as he chewed on a cracker. “Mama saw him first. I saw him run after us.” He hugged the dog to his chest, “she needs Lorcan.”

Sherlock brushed his hand down the stuffed dog’s back. “She'd never allow your dog to leave your side. That's his place.”

Will looked up at Sherlock with big eyes then jumped up and hugged him. “Give hugs to daddy and Uncle John. Greg take me safe. She meet me laters.” His gaze had swept the room and then landed on John’s.

John walked over to the couch and knelt beside Sherlock arms open ready for the leap Will took. “Miss you.” Will squeezed, “miss you so much.”

John closed his eyes and patted his back. “Me too, little man. But you're not so little anymore.”

Will sniffled as he pulled back and flexed his arms. “Big! Battle ready.” Will wiped his nose on his sleeve and puffed out his chest as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled and ruffled his hair. Will yelped and fixed it.

John and Mrs. Hudson chuckled then Will crawled across the couch cushions to her side. He picked up another cracker and grinned at her, “I know my abc’s.”

Mrs. Hudson gave a big gasp, “really? Already?Let’s hear it then!”

John and Sherlock stood sharing a glance before John walked over to Greg then continued with him into the kitchen but Sherlock couldn't move.

Sherlock watched Will talk with Mrs. Hudson so animated as he went on about all the things he'd learned. Y/n said he’d gotten big and maybe it was just because Rosie was still small, but he couldn't believe the boy sitting in front of him was that tiny boy who tripped over his pants because they were too long. Those pants wouldn't even fit him anymore. She had told him he wouldn't believe it but he thought it was just a thing people say. Once again, he had missed so much and this time it hurt a hell of a lot more. Of course, last time he didn't know he had a child to miss.

~~

Later that night, Sherlock sat with Will in his lap reading him book after book as his son’s eyes kept flicking to the door. It wasn't until Will’s eyelids started to close that he suggested they try going to bed. Will finally left his living room vigil and held his hand as they walked to the bedroom. Once they stepped inside, Will saw the window and pointed, “pick me up, please!”

Sherlock picked him up and looked at the window, “sure. What is it?”

Will yawned but his eyes were glued to the panes of glass. “I need to see the moon. Mama’s looking at that same moon and we’re not so far anymore.”

Sherlock pulled his gaze from Will’s illuminated face to the window and for a moment, he could see her outside fiddling with the lock then that smile on her face as she sat on the sill. Hi, her voice whispered in his mind and his chest clenched.

Will laid his head against sherlock’s chest and murmured, “goodnight, Mama. Love you.” Sherlock looked down and Will’s small eyes gleamed up at him. “Bed?” Sherlock nodded, turned with a single glance at the window, and walked to the bed. Will wiggled down and jumped onto it giggling.

Sherlock watched him with a giddy energy unleashing at the sight. He smiled as Will asked for one more bedtime story. “You sure you’re not too tired?”

Will crawled up to the pillows and laid his head down on one then patted the other. “I’ll tell one.”

Sherlock smirked as he jumped onto the bed then settled down on his back while Will howled with laughter. Once he calmed down, he snuggled into Sherlock’s side then looked up at him, “ready?”

Sherlock nodded, “riveted.”

Will’s brow smashed together, “what?”

Sherlock smiled, “it means you have my complete attention.”

Will nodded then snuggled back into his side laying his head on Sherlock’s arm. “Once was a mean man, real bad guy, wanted all the world in his hand.”

“Was he a big man?”

He thought it over then continued, “ah, yeah. Maybe. Bad guy was smart, not daddy smart, but clever. He had bunches of peoples he made work with him.”

Sherlock leaned his head down toward him and whispered, “how did he force them to work with him?”

“Deals and stuff. He was good at that.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, “where did you hear this story?”

Will turned his head and frowned, “innerruption is rude.”

Sherlock smirked, “true. I'm not good with all that.”

Will smiled and shrugged. “That's okay. I still love you.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he laughed, “you're my daddy.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Will pursed his lips and his little brow scrunched together as he looked up at him, “mama trusts you. She cares about you a bunch and nothing ever change that. People we trust-” He stuck out his little hand and started to count off with his fingers. “Daddy, uncle John and Mary, nana, grands, Greg, Molly, uncle Myk. We trust people that care cuz they never change.”

Sherlock felt the stab of pain in his chest at Mary’s name but tried to hide it. “Mama is very smart.”

His gaze dropped down to Sherlock’s chest and he played with the button on Sherlock's shirt. “The bad men hurt and want you unstand them but mama come home, right? You keep balance?”

Sherlock frowned trying to puzzle out the words but he still couldn't follow the meaning. “What?”

“You and mama good, you keep balance from bad. She will come home to keep balance in world.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly and looked at the window. “I know she will try her hardest because she loves you.”

“Peoples don't unstand love. Throw it around like nothin.”

Sherlock looked down at him seeing so much of her there. “How old are you?”

“Four.” He yawned, “how old are you?”

“Older.”

Sherlock watched him as his eyes began to fall. “Love is connetion and it take bunches to have.”

“But mama does love you with everything she is. You know that, right?”

He looked at him like he was crazy. “Yes. Mama made me with love.”

“I'm afraid you’ve confused me again. Are you sure you’re only four?”

He giggled and pressed his hand to sherlock’s cheek. The images jumped forward so quickly and heat flooded his chest as younger versions of the boy in front of him doing that to Y/n more times than he could count. Will stared up at him with such raw innocent emotion it took his breath away. “She love you so much you gave her piece of you and she made me. Our bond never, ever be broken. Bad men can't take away. I always be her love.” He yawned again, his hand slid down and came to rest on Sherlock’s chest as he cuddled into his side, “I stay?”

Sherlock ran his hand through Will’s hair as a weightlessness came over him and a small lump formed in his throat. “Yes. Goodnight, love.” He tried the term out and a small smile curled his mouth.

Will’s small hand patted his chest. “Sleep tight, daddy.”

Sherlock watched him and felt his small chest rise and fall against his ribs then his little arm muscles loosened making his arm go limp and yet even in sleep, his fingers clutched his shirt. He couldn't help but think of Y/n, how well she raised their child to be smart and caring even with everything that had happened during his short life.

He closed his eyes as a dozen memories bombarded him; Will touching her face, her reading to him, Will in her arms as she sang and danced around the room, the two of them laid out on the sitting room floor doing puzzles, her holding his sleeping form at the wedding as she watched him with so much admiration, her carrying Will through the hotel, and then her watching over his crib. Then the memories changed, flipped on its head and it was Sherlock standing beside the crib, his hand brushing through Will’s curls prepared to leave for what could’ve been the last time and her voice desperate yet soothing, I know love can be a destructive force, the force that can crush you is the same one that can build you back up.

Sherlock blinked and shook his head just a bit to shove away the clutter and concentrate. Too much going on can dampen the solution his mind was working out but her voice wouldn’t completely fade as he looked down at Will. A child can mean different things to different people; burden or gift, legacy or dream crusher, stressor or future caregiver, and sometimes all of the above in their time. He could still picture that smirk of satisfaction on her face that first day when she knew she had outdone him because he didn’t believe the talk about the new woman in Mycroft’s employ.

He was surprised that the memories didn’t hurt him in some way. She wasn’t here and yet the thought of her didn’t immediately lash him with torment. In fact, they made him feel stronger, cleverer somehow, or maybe it made him want to be stronger. Not just for her but for Will.

This world was messy, a cesspool of distasteful waste and stupid people but Y/n and Will made it feel different. It was there before, the sudden joy at something small that made no sense before they came into his life but he could never pinpoint what it was that made him feel like things had changed. Suddenly, John’s speech from the other day played in surround sound.

Don’t give me the bullshit romantic entanglements speech again. Y/n and Will complete you as a human. You can’t honestly believe that you are still that person you were when we met because those who actually know you can see it clear as day and hopefully you’re not that much of a moron that you don’t.” He pointed his finger at him, “the sooner you stop lying to everyone and yourself the better because you are going to need to be more than that man to finish this. We both need to be better than those men.

He supposed he always knew what it was but didn't have a term for it. Y/n called it connection. It was his connections making it different but he was still trying to play the card he’d used for so long when pressed about friendships or anything else. The sociopath with no entanglements but that ship had long since sailed.

He smiled thinking of her until he remembered why Will was with him tonight. Because she was running and he had no way of knowing if she was okay and yet somehow he was confident she was. She was off working some angle with Vic knowing that he would keep Will safe because the world depended on it. Even if it was just their world, but that’s what made them stronger and fight harder. The destructive force that could not only rebuild but could also enable them to be more to keep that world safe.

As in most cases of this manner, John Watson was right.

Next Chapter 

@missmotherhen , @run-your-cleverboy ,  @samanthasmileys , @panic-at-space-camp , @trash-trashaf , @whaledenwtf , @http-steve-rogers , @dead-lee-15 , @changingtimes , @hcndredwolves

[champagnespankzandbacon]

Sunday evening, and it seemed like a good idea…after at glass of rose’.  “I’m going on a cleanse!”…I bellowed to my husband. He has been on a ‘eating healthier and working out more’ routine. He randomly drops to the floor and does sets of 40 push ups. He has also been knocking out more reading; which is NOT my thing. And he listens to a lot of Podcasts…which I do enjoy. But one of the books/podcasts he told me about was “Fit for Life”, in which the dude eats ONLY fruit until noon every day and has for 20 years! Twenty. Twenty years. If some dude can do it for twenty years, surely I can do it for a week!? Right? So, Monday morning…off to the grocery we went (before I changed my mind) and bought ALL of the veggies and fruits we could agree on, and some we didn’t…and coconut milk, coconut water, coconut blend. Here we GO! This blog will be a daily recap & proof of me not killing anyone due to lack of intake of pasta and champagne…. #pray #alliby

See…random push up sessions. Moe is NOT impressed.

Monday 4pm. Well,  I kind of want a huge bowl of pasta and bacon right now. Really, it’s not too bad. Breakfast; I had a smoothie. Got the banana, strawberries and mango out and I was ready to go. Now, I have never cut a mango. And apparently there is a method and I didn’t do it right…so the little punk ended up butchered and in the trash. Fail #1. But I sure did enjoy my banana, strawberry and orange smoothie! Lunch was a tomato and avocado salad….if I closed my eyes, I almost fooled myself to think it was cake. #AtLeastIdidntCutMyself #damnMango #EveryoneISstillAlive

yes, I know this is a bit obsence. I have to entertain myself…

Tuesday Morning.  I’m not “I need to eat a snickers hungry”…but I sure would like some bacon. Instead, I took my frustration out on a watermelon. I was not happy finding out that it was not seedless. But I guess that means it has not been genetically modified? Hell, I don’t know. I do know that it took me twice as long to cut it up and clear all the seeds out before storing it….that was fun. I better feel like Superwoman at the end of this week.

Tuesday Lunch. I just ate enough watermelon to sustain a small vegan army….or at least to make me pee every 20 minutes for the next several hours. Sidebar; I really need to wash my hair, but I am not mentally prepared to blow dry it. #ugh

Tuesday night. I broke. A soon as the hubby got home from work…”Open the liquor cabinet”. You see, we have it locked because we have two boys, and we aren’t stupid. But, I didn’t fall tooooo far off the ‘raw wagon’. In fact, it wasn’t even off the seat of the wagon! It was a 1/2 a shot of Tito’s (Gluten, fat, carb & sugar free), sparkling water and watermelon…and I do have to say it was quite tasty. Dinner wasn’t to yummy, I am not going to lie. I can’t even type it out…the poor hubby ate it with me. #blessHim

Gluten Free, Organic 🙂 and VERY refreshing!

Wednesday Morning….we are on the road to NOLA. (business dinner) But, I mean really? I have to do this in the BEST place to eat in the country? shit. But, no worries…this OCD chick already looked at the menu online and I know exactly what I’m going to order for dinner. Lunch consisted of sashimi & mineral water with lime at Tsunami’s…I can’t complain about that!!! And I got a compliment on my outfit as SOON as I walked in the door. That will put some wind in your ‘raw’ sails! #yaaasQueen

I am realizing that it is VERY hard to come to NOLA and be at our favorite hotel, even thought this trip is for business for the hubs, and NOT drink and eat my heart out. This is the ultimate test. I mean, that is what you do…when in Rome.  At the current moment, I am trying to convince the hubs to stop working for 15 min and come downstairs with me to the Carousel Bar, sit in our favorite spot and people watch with me. #hesNotMoving #WorkWork #MayhaveToshowSomeCleveage #Kidding!

The hubs is on call after call for work… So I go downstairs to get inspired. Notice my ROAR organic drink in the corner of the pic? OMG…SO good! He is NOT moving from this spot anytime soon….he loves his job, thank goodness! #lovethatman

Now I’m sitting in a window seat…writing, watching. I LOVE people watching. And in NOLA there is a never-ending stream of entertainment. Locals, NOLA regulars, tourists, street performers, suits…and it was about 3ish and this is the time where the ‘day shift’ is heading out of the French Quarter and the ‘night shift’ is heading in. Oh…and of course, a bachelorette party. Complete with open toed high heels and headed straight for the street slime of Bourbon Street! Hep C here we come! Kidding…but for realz. Bless their little 24 yr old hearts. #NightTime #OnlyPediCab #orUberforMe #ILOVENolaButIDontlikeSlimeOnMyShoes

Thursday…I wake to the hubby typing away, getting ready for an early business breakfast. He hears me stirring and offers me a “hot tea”. HOT TEA? “I would like a coffee, please put me a k-cup to brew.” I am a coffee drinker. Even with this raw diet thing, coffee is a NON negotiable. First I drink the coffee then I do the things….and I am NOT very pleasant before coffee. The hubs looks at me with this cute grin and says “I drank both of the coffee cups…you can run one of the pods again…?.” (my eyes are about to pop out of my head).  “No” I say in disgust, disappointment, “I will order room service and it will be here in 2 hours…”  Good thing Monteleone room service has always been quick and within 20 min I had my coffee and fruit tray. Praise the coffee gods! In the hubs defense, he did offer to shower and go downstairs and get me a cup of coffee. But, in my coffee-less decision-making, I opted for room service. #ItwasAGoodChoice

Friday. Still eating fruit.

Saturday morning, I went to a local organic farmers market, Inglewood Farms, and stocked up on veggies, some chicken, eggs, even bacon! I picked up what I thought was squash & zucchini …turns out it was cucumbers. #fail #IDidntKnowThereWereYellowCucumbers? #farmersMarketGoober #IdespiseCucumbers

For lunch, we went to our usual Saturday lunch spot. Spirits food & friends in Alexandria, LA. It is a SUPER yummy restaurant and locally owned. If you are ever in Alex, stop in and eat/drink there. Really cool outdoor patio, pet friendly…if your dog is cool, LOL. Now, it is VERY hard to go here and not just chow down. But I was very good, had the Tuna Poke. Great as usual and I had only one champs cocktail, not as usual. I mean, I have been good for 6 days! My body is sooooo used to champs almost everyday. It was so good, not going to lie.

Sunday. Trip to Monroe for Fathers Day church and lunch for the hubs grandfather who is a young 94. Backing it up a few…while we are getting ready, I ask the hubs “Where are we going for lunch?” He tells me…they are just doing something easy and picking up pizza. (Well, that is just great. I am glad I asked! Men….) So, in a rush, I pack up my lunch; fruit, an avocado, etc. in my chilled bag and we get on the road.  It was a lovely day and the hubs even stopped at a grocery before church and I picked up some fresh sushi…all was forgiven. (got rid of most of the rice)

Sunday night. Chicken Cordon Blue-ish was on the menu. Now I call it ‘ish’ because I adapted the recipe…on the fly. I hammered out the pasture raised, organic chicken breasts and stuffed with fresh, organic dino kale, that had been lightly sautéed in non-salted, organic butter and garlic. Then laid down Turkey slices and a small amount of shredded mozz cheese. (the only think that was not organic on this dish was the sliced turkey, mozz cheese and bread crumbs). Rolled each up and secured with toothpics…in the oven for 50 min at 350. In the meantime, I decided to try something I had NEVER done before. Now, I am a night owl, and my nighttime routine, after everyone else gets fed and to bed is a little TV time. I DVR my shows and BRAVO, HGTV and Food Network are the majority of the recordings. I have been on a “The Next Food Network Star” kick and recently they made hollandaise sauce from scratch and topped over a perfectly poached egg. Like old school way, in the pot, with vinegar, stirring and dropping in the egg… I AM ON IT! I can DO THIS! So out comes the organic eggs I just got the day before at the farmers market…and I am ready to make some sauce and poach some eggs!

HOLY MOLY…nothing will show you how OUT of shape you are in your forearms like whisking a hollandaise sauce for 5 minutes straight, then over the water for 15 seconds…then off…then more wisking… then adding components and wisking the whole time. I felt like a beast! Now on the poaching. Im not going to bore you with the details, but lets just say I may have missed my calling! My first three poached eggs were perfection. I placed them on top of the Cordon Blue-ish….and sweet mother of organics, it was heaven on a plate! I wish I would have videoed the moment we cut into the egg. I was really proud of myself! Here is the recipie for Gordon Ramseys Eggs Benedit..it has the poach & sauce directions. I encourage you to YouTube if you have never done it before. I didn’t use tarragon, and added more lemon juice…I like my sauce tangy.

Monday….I made it. One week of eating RAW. I weighed myself and I gained a lb. WHAT the heck? But I FEEL different, I am sleeping better, my clothes fit better. My IBS isn’t toooo much better, but that is a whole different issue. I didn’t do this to loose weight, although I can see it having that effect in the long run. I did this for health, to feel better.

So what did I learn and what will I do from this point on? I learned that I CAN do what I set my mind to do, no matter how difficult it may seem at first. I thought…No Champagne for a week? RAW for a week? WHAT??  It is one day at a time, one meal at a time, one choice at a time.  I will continue with the fruit until noon, occasional splurges, I’m sure. (#brunch) I will READ labels more. We put CRAP in our bodies and in our kids bodies. Stop that shit! I will use organic more…and we used organic a lot, but I can do better for me and my family.  If only there was organic champagne…

You, me, we…WE CAN do what we set our minds and bodies to do. Are you scared to challenge yourself? To try something new? Whatever you are finding yourself up against…just try it. What is the worst that could happen? You could fail, yes. So what! Who freaking cares. You could also totally win and rock it! And friends, it is so worth trying. 

Much Love

KP

My “Raw” Week Sunday evening, and it seemed like a good idea...after at glass of rose'.  "I'm going on a cleanse!"...I bellowed to my husband.

[southparkcoven]

Craig Tucker

Mun Information

NAME: Harvey

AGE: 22

PRONOUNS: he/him

TIMEZONE: CST (Central Standard Time)

RP EXPERIENCE: going on 10 years

ACTIVITY LEVEL: i work full-time overnight, but have access to my phone during work hours. starting classes in the spring

OTP/NOTP: i’m not even picky. i like cryle a lot, but anything else with craig idm

DISCORD: harvey#3357

ANYTHING ELSE: i’d like to think i’m pretty laidback and chill.

  Muse Information

NAME: Craig Tucker

AGE: 17

GENDER: Cis-male

SEXUALITY: Gay

BIRTHDAY: January 25th, 2000 (Aquarius)

OCCUPATION: Student, Cashier at the retro diner off of main st

SPECIES: Witch

POWER: Clairvoyance/Divination

CHARACTER APPEARANCE:

FACECLAIM: Matthew Bell [ x ] [ x ]

Craig Tucker stands at a whopping six-foot-two, weighing about 150 pounds. He participates in track and field during the spring, therefore retaining a rather lean physique on top of his lengthy legs. If given a body type label, he would be considered on the bridge between ectomorph and mesomorph. His hair is a soft black color, kept in a taper-fade cut with a loose side-part, and he has brown-green hazel eyes. He had his nose broken once in middle school from horsing around on a longboard, and a few scars littered on his arms and knees from childhood rough housing, falling off of bikes, etc.

  CHARACTER HISTORY:

Craig’s clairvoyance has actually been something he’s been able to tap into since he was a young child, however he found the capability rather unsettling after he vividly predicted the death of their first family dog –  to which they haven’t had a dog since – at the age of four. He never told anyone about the things he’d seen, not even his parents, therefore it became fairly easy to start pushing his divination to the background in attempt to ignore it. It never really left, but this resulted in his premonitions becoming much less intense. He’d prefer it be a lot more dull, anyways. However… after the incident in Peru, the Pandemic, Craig’s capability became revitalized and he was back at the first square he’d been avoiding all these years. Regardless, he still kept this matter private, not caring to share any of his visions, no matter who it involved. It wasn’t everyone’s business how much he knew, how much he knew that little blonde girl in kindergarten –what was her name?– was going to walk in front of that bus without looking. She was going to die, squashed flat in front of the entire school. And so she did. It’s now high school, the divination won’t leave, and Craig has already resigned to his fate –much to this utter dismay. While he’s at it, he might as well try to figure out how to control the damned thing as to prevent it from being a continuous nuisance. He really has nothing to go off of in order to get things under control, so all he can do is make it up as he goes. It’s a work in progress.

  1) Craig was taken to inpatient over in Denver for a good two months during a severe episode of depression he experienced the middle of his sophomore year. He’s since been diagnosed with a mood disorder and has refused to see any doctors following. The situation caused him distress about his own mental health internally, but he’s really afraid of finding out what’s actually going on with him. But, since he internalizes a lot of his emotions, the unaddressed stress had caused his clairvoyance to heighten –especially in the form of nightmares or viewing only negative outcomes. Craig became more reclusive during this time, growing apart from all of his friends and family. Because of his reluctance to talk about his issues, everyone just assumed it was part of the depression he was struggling with. It took that full year for things to finally go back to how they had been before the episode, and for Craig to get back to his usual self again. The incident should have taught him that shadowing his emotions is dangerous not only for his mental health but also for his already haywire ESP. 2) Dating Tweek for about five years before they both mutually called things off really helped Craig mature in a more positive light. He’s learned a great deal about how to handle more hectic and stressful situations, being emotionally supportive ( to the closest extent he’s capable of being, Craig struggles with empathy ), listening and understanding, etc. The two of them ended up mutually breaking things off, not ending on a sour note in the slightest, and Craig believes that’s due a lot in part by their willingness to understand one another throughout.

  As far as social life, Craig remains within the same group of friends he’s been around since elementary school. There’s not much room to roam around anyways. He’s stuck more to himself over the years, however, withdrawing but not alienating. He’s usually seen hanging around Tweek, Kyle, Kenny, or his cousin Red. His family life remains pretty uneventful. The common parental arguments here and there, a threat of divorce once or twice… maybe three times. Craig tries to ignore most of that bullshit, keeping an eye on his sister throughout these trying times. It doesn’t appear to him that his parents will separate anytime soon, and likely won’t until his sister is out of high school at least. If not, then they’re shitty parents for putting that on her.

  CHARACTER PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: Pragmatic, Candid, Inquisitive, Capable Leader, Rational.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Cynical, Stubborn, Apathetic, Cold, Reckless.

MBTI: INTP

TYPE ENNAEGRAM: 5w4 (548)

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral

Once a hot-headed kid who wouldn’t back down from a good fight, Craig Tucker has mellowed out starting in fifth grade onward. His relationship with Tweek really aided in his maturity throughout middle school, helping him become more intune with other people on top of knowing some of their immediate futures ( that was already intimate enough ). Craig has retained a lot of his apathetic and cynical demeanor regardless, still blunt and rational. The one thing that’s been revving inside of him since high school is his sense of adventure. Unlike in his childhood, Craig Tucker desires to go out and do something nonsensical, something extraordinary. It wasn’t until after his brief period of hospitalization that he became restless, maybe anxious to break from the ordinary. He retains a deep interest for space, the unknown, even the paranormal, ironic to his otherwise cynical and realistic demeanor. There’s somewhat of a rift between two sides of Craig and he’s almost fed up with it.

*SEE ABOVE FOR POWERS

  ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:

        Weekend shifts were the worst shifts because everyone else gets these days off and swamp to cute places like the retro diner off of Main Street. It’s only five after lunch hour and Craig already wishes he was locked dead in the freezer until next shift came to check. The place was full of families and teens as per usual at a time like this. One group of girls hadn’t even ordered anything the whole half hour they’d been sitting there, only then realizing that these tables weren’t waited at. Another family of four ordered, what felt like all of the menu, and complained three separate times about it taking more than fifteen minutes for their entire order to be served.

        Craig was tired, just like he was every single time lunch hour rolled around without fail. The bags under his eyes were never more prevalent as he stood there at the cash register, monotonously reciting his customer service role. His ultra obvious enthusiasm is a real kicker with the guests, they really love to watch a deadpan kid tap a touchscreen and swipe their cards. He’s a sight to behold.

        Speaking of sights to behold… a hot second of a break settles in as everyone in the building has placed their order and no longer require Craig’s immediate assistance. Rubbing the heel of his hand into one of his eyes, the dark-haired teen glances off to the right, free eye settling on a small kid with an open cup in his hands. And before he can even blink, a vivid series of pictures plays out in front of his eyes. The kid appears to be running with the cup in his hands, soda sloshing around violently as he does so, only to spill some of the sticky liquid on the floor in front of him. Unsurprisingly, it looks like the kid slips and falls straight onto his front, mouth banging into the floor with an ugly slapping noise. Craig already knows this ends in him having a mess of coke and red to clean up.

        All of this imagery plays moments before the kid actually does do a sprint forward, spilling his drink in the process, only to slip and slam his face into the hard floor. And, as promised, there’s blood to clean up. Just wonderful.

       With a very, very deep sigh to drown out the shrieks of the child on the ground, Craig Tucker leaves his spot at the front counter in order to retrieve the mop and bucket. Hey, at least he saw it coming.