#also i have obtained a set of keys. to this store. i have too much power........

[mymarifae]

it is very funny being the only employee working a store that barely gets any foot traffic on a good day while 90% of the equipment and internal systems are busted so i can't do any of the online work. i'm just fucking sitting here

[tommykinard]

hi! i was wondering if you could share the overlay and/or explain how you made the first gif in the last set you posted? thank you very much in advance <3

Hi anon! I'd be happy to share how I created the ripped paper effect in this gifset !

You’ll need a basic knowledge of gifmaking and photoshop, and I’ll put the rest of this under the cut.

1) Creating your gifs

So to start off you're going to create your gifs in separate canvases. I work in timeline mode and I add my sharpening and colouring, and I put both gifs in groups (explained here).

Here are my gifs on separate canvases. For reference, I've called the one on the left "grocery store" and the one on the right "parents".

You'll then want to copy and paste your gif groups onto the same canvas. This is what my canvas and layers panel looks like once that's done. From here, you're ready to start the ripped paper effect.

2) Ripped paper overlay

For this step, you want to obtain your ripped paper overlay. You can find various ripped paper textures/overlays using google, but I used these overlays by @peytonsawyers !

You open up the overlay you want to use, and either copy and paste or just drag it onto your gif canvas. You can then resize and rotate the texture and orient it where you want.

I then drag the ripped paper layer so that it's placed between my two gif groups. I also hid the top group just so that I can see the overlay, but this is only temporary. Your canvas and layers panel should now look like this:

2.5) Filling in the overlay

So as you can see we have an issue because the ripped paper doesn't cover the entire area where we want our top gif to show. To fix this, I just use a white brush at 100% hardness and paint in the area that needs to be covered, making sure the ripped paper layer is selected (this doesn't have to be perfect, just make sure that the entire area is filled.

Now this is what it should look like:

3) Masking the top gif

Use the command (or ctrl) key and click on the thumbnail in the layers panel for your ripped paper layer (the square highlighted in white in that last screenshot). You should get a marching ants selection around the ripped paper like so:

Now reveal your top gif group (by clicking on the eye icon), and make sure you have the group selected in the layers panel. You should still see the selection around where your ripped paper is, like so:

Now go to the bottom of your layers panel and click on the little mask icon:

And now you should get a mask on your top group in the shape of the ripped paper, and you should be able to see both gifs simultaneously on the canvas:

If the black and white areas on your layer mask are flipped after you click on the mask icon, just click on the layer mask and use the command + i (ctrl + i) keys to switch it back so that you can see both your gifs.

4) Final touches

Now if you're happy with the result so far, you can absolutely stop here. However, I wanted to show the uneven rip (like how when you rip a piece of paper you can see some white bits on the edges).

To do this, select your move tool (shortcut: click the v key on your keyboard) and making sure your ripped paper layer (NOT the mask) is selected, use your arrow keys to move it slightly until it shows between the two gifs.

It currently looks a little too clean for my liking, so I like to move it slightly up/down as well so that it looks more uneven and natural. If your overlay is too small, just use the transform function (command + t or ctrl + t) to resize it so that it fills the canvas. This is what mine looks like after I mess around with it:

And you're done! If you want to adjust any colouring, just go into the gif group and you can edit the layers from there.

Hope this helps anon! Let me know if you have any questions!

[rayraygo1267]

A Gabenath Fanfiction: Admiration in Disguise Chapter Five

Note: Ahhh it's the last chapter you guys!

Rated: T

Warnings: Minor Language

Word Count: 3,716

Link to Chapter Four

Chapter Five

I greatly appreciate the opportunity you have given me—

Nathalie huffed, pressing a pointed finger to the backspace key of her keyboard. She could already feel a migraine beginning to form behind her eyes — pricking like sharp needles insistently into the crevices of her brain. She knew it would soon develop into a full fledged dizzy spell if not mitigated, but her focus was too captivated by her current objective to make any moves to do so.

This was her fifth attempt at a rough draft and once again she was staring at a blank white screen, the mouse cursor silently blinking back at her, daunting her as if they were in a silent standoff, the absence of words on her computer screen edging her on. 

It had been five days since she had tested the waters with Gabriel, crossing over the boundary line that she herself had set firmly in place, and five days since she'd made the decision that would alter her life in a way that she could have never anticipated, much less with permanent ramifications. 

Nonetheless, the decision had to be made and she knew it was the best option. It was the option that would give the Agreste family their best chance at being reunited with Emilie — their best chance at happiness. 

Nathalie  knew if she stayed with them any longer, she'd get in the way of that. Her feelings for Gabriel were only growing and getting profusely out of hand and if she pursued them any further she'd hinder any chances Gabriel had at accomplishing his goal. Her impending illness also didn't help matters, as it was seemingly only getting worse as the days went on.

She didn't know where she'd be going from here, for the Agreste's had been the closest thing she had obtained to any kind of family for the past decade. The mere thought of starting anew without them was akin to the feeling of a piece of dried up sandpaper being torn apart and shredded, like her own heart was being forcefully ripped from her chest. But regardless of how much it would pain her, she knew it was what had to be done.

Luckily, she loved the Agreste’s enough to let them go.

Gabriel Agreste was nearly finished with the spring's new clothing line. He just had to read over a few more documents and sign a few more waivers and then the line would be selling in stores worldwide, just in time for the beginning of April. The main features consisted of flowy spring dresses with the hem passing just below a woman's knees and brightly colored shirts with the Agreste brand logo printed across the front. Most critics would perhaps consider the design  to be overworked but Gabriel knew it would sell out like wildfire. 

And if he were being honest with himself, he couldn't wait to be done with this whole ordeal. It had been taking up too much of his time, and time wasn’t something he always had available to him — what with having another life as Hawkmoth? 

In spite of that, he wanted nothing more than to be rid of the fashionable obligation. Having a double life was far from easy and if he could take one burden off his plate then he’d also be able to turn his focus to more vital affairs. 

Just the thought of having such a weight lifted off his shoulders, made a small smile lift up from the corners of his lips as he took a sip of his miraculously still piping black coffee. As he swallowed, the warm liquid descending down his throat with a scorching aftertaste, Gabriel felt a small tinge waver through him, causing his tongue to go numb. He stared down into the mostly filled mug, then upward as his eyes reflected off the ceiling’s light fixtures then back down into the dark caffeinated fluid.

It was coffee, coffee that Nathalie had brought him just this morning. Her attitude had been stoic, permitting no comment other than regular pleasantries.

She had been, for lack of a better term, quite reserved these last few days, only assisting him when asked and of course firmly sticking to addressing him with respectable mannerisms.

Gabriel didn't enjoy the tension that was building up between them. It almost felt like two strangers living together in one house, only speaking when necessary and keeping to themselves their own personal lives. They had never previously held each other at such a distance and although they hadn't been as close as Gabriel wished for them to be, their friendship was better than this — than nothing. 

Friendship, Gabriel pondered, his eyes momentarily darting back to his design pad. It seemed they didn't even share that anymore. Not since that day, not since Nathalie had changed the wavelengths of their relationship to a more open ended setting.

He had wanted to talk to her about all this, in fact his brain started churning out speeches and scenarios — some with better outcomes than others — but how did one tell another of their desperate need for a closeness without opening their heart to them? Gabriel was not a social person, most people were aware of that. He didn't like overly drawn out conversations, or any sort of unnecessary intimate relations, he much preferred to keep to himself.

Just last night he had gone to see Emilie, asking her for her advice seemed like the best course of action to take. He felt foolish thinking back on it now, for Emilie seemed to be the only way he knew how to deal with his problems. Nevertheless, he had to inquire with her one last time and even without hearing her voice, he knew what she would say. He knew she would tell him to be honest with himself — with Nathalie — and he knew she was right.

Yet a problem still remained, one that had kept him up at night tossing and turning in frustration. 

He didn’t know how to proceed. He felt as though things were already set in stone, like even if he were to give Nathalie the world, she’d just hand it back to him with a simple but clipped, “No thank you sir.” 

Gabriel's forehead creased as he suddenly remembered his current task at hand and the time parameters that were in place along with it. He couldn't think of Nathalie right now, no matter how much his mind yearned to. He couldn’t… not when he had work to do, plus what most would call the ‘universe’ seemed to have a different agenda as a soft knock echoed from outside his office door.

"Sir," came Nathalie's voice, as velvety and soft as ever. Gabriel felt his sternum contract, his middle thumping soundly against his chest.

"I know you're very busy but may I please come in for a moment? There is something I'd like to discuss."

Gabriel stared down at the documents in front of him, frowning as a wet, brown smudge marked one of the pages, the remainder of a tiny droplet that had fallen from the rim of his coffee cup.

The knocking returned, though this time with a more forceful reverberation. Gabriel  jolted, the blood flowing back into his veins as he moved, hurriedly tidying up his mess of a workspace, suddenly self conscious of his cluttered surroundings. 

"Sir?" Nathalie called again, this time not accompanied with a knock.

Gabriel blew out a breath, forcing himself to remember how to speak.

"Erm, yes Nathalie, come in." He spluttered, mushing his work documents into somewhat of a neat pile.

Nathalie opened the door, her stance stiff and her gaze fixed. In her hands she held a manila envelope that her hands seemed to like fidgeting with the corners of.

"Hello, sir." She murmured, her tone vacant. Gabriel peaked up at her over the rim of his glasses, frowning.

"Is something wrong Nathalie? Are you feeling alright?” He spoke calmly, despite the soft yet consistent pound of his heart, “Is everything okay with Adrien?"

Nathalie blinked, "Your son is fine sir. He is currently at his fencing lesson."

Gabriel nodded, scanning her, trying to find an explanation for her unusual behavior, though this behavior had been rearing its ugly head for the last five days. 

Nathalie could see that Gabriel was trying to figure her out and rather than leave him in the dark, she pressed on, knowing that if she didn’t do this now, she wouldn’t be able to make herself do it at all.

"I'm resigning, sir."

The words were thick in her throat, yet somehow she had managed. Nathalie placed her letter of resignation on top of Gabriel's desk, not daring to meet his eyes.

Gabriel was stunned to say the very least. Perhaps he’d misheard her, for what she had just said had to have been a mistake. He couldn't bring himself to even acknowledge her words let alone some fruitless letter of resignation.

If he acknowledged it, it would take a presence as reality and he couldn't accept that. He could not accept Nathalie leaving. Not when he needed her — not when her presence was the one thing that brought him any amount of joy anymore. He wouldn't stand for this. He refused.

"What are you going on about Nathalie? I don’t think I understand," Gabriel snapped, voice shrilling as he bolted to his feet, his movements so haste that a splash of coffee flew from his white mug and landed in a nice little splotch onto one of his documents.

Nathalie sighed. She had anticipated this reaction but that did not take away from the fact that she didn't particularly want to witness it.

"I can no longer work for you, sir. I've come to realize that I am no longer a decent candidate in helping you achieve your quest in saving Emilie. Due to my illness and...other circumstances I know I will only restrict you."

Gabriel scoffed, scowling, color rising in his cheeks."Don't be ridiculous Nathalie. You know this is all pointless without you. I need you." As the words left his mouth, he could  feel all the emotion dripping from his voice like the ends of a drippy umbrella.

Nathalie's heart swelled at Gabriel’s words, though tinted with what felt close to a seething burning sensation. She really hoped Gabriel wouldn't beg her to stay. If he pushed too much she didn't think she'd have the strength to deny him.

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be sir. You know I only want what's best for you and Adrien—"

"You are what's best for me and Adrien!" Gabriel lashed, pounding his fist to his desk, causing his coffee cup to take a full tumble to the ground.

Out of instinct, Nathalie made a move to retrieve it but stopped short when Gabriel only kicked it farther out of reach, causing it to roll against the wall and crack on its side.

"Sir!" Nathalie yelped, "You need to get ahold of yourself!”

Gabriel’s cheeks burned, his eyes bulging, "How can I Nathalie?” He snapped.

“How can I? Huh? My assistant—” he paused, stumbling over his choice of phrasing, “my friend who has stood by my side for years suddenly decides to get up and leave? No notice, no explanation—"

Nathalie could practically palpate the sharp pang reverberating throughout her. She could feel a fervent heat building behind her eyes.

"I told you sir. I'm holding you back."

Gabriel huffed, crossing his arms,"You're not—"

"I'm sick aren't I?" Nathalie interrupted, causing Gabriel to hesitate. She was right. He had been taking precautions when it came to fighting for the miraculous and handling her illness, but he wouldn't say she was holding him back.

He needed Nathalie if he ever wanted to be reunited with Emilie. He needed Nathalie because without her his heart wouldn't be beating and oh how he missed that beat. The beat and thrum of loving another was something most only got to experience once, yet somehow he’d been fortunate enough to get to experience it for a second time. He was far too selfish to give it up now. 

Gabriel's telling silence had been enough of an explanation for Nathalie and a good decoy to shield him from the truth.

"I'll only make things harder. With me around, you won't be able to focus on saving Emilie, not if you have to constantly worry about keeping my health in check."

Gabriel's face twisted up into a bitter sneer, his eyes narrowed, "Your health can be dealt with. As long as you don't use the peacock miraculous—"

"But you need Mayura, don't you?" Nathalie reasoned, hands resting firmly on her hips.

Gabriel's eyes flickered, considering.

"Yes...which is exactly why you need to stay. I can't do this without you."

It was like being stabbed, her body leaking out from the inside. Those words confirmed it. That was all she was good for. She was his assistant, she was Mayura and nothing more.

Nathalie could feel her insides burn, her face heating with a flush of anger. Why couldn't she be good enough? Why did he beg for Mayura to stay? Why couldn't he beg for her? 

"I'm sure you can find a way to fix the peacock miraculous, sir. And then you'll be able to use it yourself. You'll no longer need me—“ she wavered, “er…or Mayura.” 

Nathalie sucked in a breath, prepared for Gabriel to have another outburst but all he did was sigh. A deep, wearied sound, his pointer finger and thumb resting over the bridge of his nose.

"Why are you doing this Nathalie? What have I done that has caused you to want to leave so badly? If you don't want to help Emilie, fine. I don't expect you to but I do want you here. You are my assistant after all."

The air in Nathalie’s lungs grew thick, her mouth parting. Sometimes one had to be more careful when it came to their desires.  "Sir..." her will power was crumbling before her like cracked plaster. 

Gabriel stared her down, his previous defeated demeanor glossing over.

"Is it a raise? Is that it? Is that what you want?" Gabriel hurled. He knew he was being unethical but his anger was getting the best of him — taking reign over anything else.

It was like being slapped, an abrupt showering burst of cold water while lying in the sun. A pang of hurt washed over Nathalie, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Are you serious?" She muttered, her voice hoarse and full of disbelief.

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow, testing her, despite his inner conscience trying to reign him back in.

Nathalie scoffed, her guilt for trying to let him down gently, washing away like dust on a surface.

"You really think I'm doing all this because...because I want your money?"

The fierce punctuation of Nathalie’s words halted Gabriel in his tracks. He immediately knew he'd overstepped, but he also knew it was too late to turn back, "Nathalie..."

"No!" Nathalie barked, raising a pointer finger. She was more than just angry now, she was pissed.

"I've known you for years, Gabriel. I was there when you were at your lowest, barely making damned near ends meet and you have the gall to think I, of all people, who has continuously stood by your side in all this," she paused, gesturing wildly, "madness? You really think that all I want out of this is your damn money? Are you kidding me?"

Gabriel felt himself unravel, even if he was aware that he was being illogical, he couldn't think of anything else to go off of, he was skin deep in this. 

"Then why Nathalie? Explain it to me! Why are you doing this?!"

Nathalie's eyes flared, red lights curving around the edges of her sight as she let out an enraged cry.

"Because I'm in love with you!"

The words hung in the air, potent and true and both parties were still in awe of them even after several moments. Nathalie's vision was fuzzy, shrouded by her tears. She imagined her face was blotchy, her glasses fogged, but she had to think fast, she had to say something. She had to make sure Gabriel understood. She hadn't wanted him to find out this way or rather at all but now that he has she had to regain control of the situation.

"And..." she breathed, voice choked and uneven, "that conflicts with your objective and this will only make things even more complicated."  She kept her gaze trained on the floor, not wanting to face the man she'd just admitted to loving.

Gabriel was dumbfounded. He felt like all the muscles in his body had turned to mush. His head spun, his heart raced. Was it true? Was Nathalie truly in love with him? Even after all he's done? Could she still have found a way to see the good in him? He wasn’t a fool, he was well aware that he was quite a difficult man to love but somehow, some way Nathalie managed.

Gabriel’s mouth parted, then closed again, words clogged in his throat, fighting desperately for release.

"Nathalie..." he breathed.

"Don't."

Nathalie didn't need to hear him say it. She didn't need his rejection when she was already planning to leave anyway.

"I'm going. You don't need to say anything." Nathalie said, moving back from his desk.

Gabriel tensed, his shoulders going rigid.

 "Nathalie—" he stammered again, trying to form words other than her name. He took a hesitant step towards her.

"Gabriel?" Nathalie questioned as she watched him move closer. His steps were slow and measured, as if he were a hunter approaching its prey.

"Nathalie," he raised his hands, gently cupping the side of her face, something he only dreamed about doing. Nathalie shuddered, for this was far more painful than any amount of rejection. Why couldn't he just scream at her and tell her to go, things would be so much easier then — painful — but easier.

Her eyes watered, tears spilling over, falling lazily down her cheeks. She trembled lightly as she felt Gabriel's thumb brush away the moisture dribbling down her chin.

"What are you doing?" She asked, breath eluding her.

Gabriel smiled softly, his eyes locking with hers, the fury in them completely evaporated.

"I thought you knew."

Nathalie frowned, "Knew what?"

Gabriel chuckled lightly, like an echo in a cathedral, his warm breath blowing against her face. Nathalie knew he wasn’t mocking her, Gabriel could be cruel but he wouldn’t do that to her. Nathalie took a step back, the step of her heel in time with Gabriel’s chuckle. Gabriel continued to laugh, a rare scarce sound. His hand took her own, pulling her back towards him, gently enough to give her enough room to object if she wished to. Nathalie let him guide her, her resolve completely abolished. 

Gabriel squeezed her hand, his smile giddy, "That I'm in love with you too."

Nathalie's heart jumped, her eyes dilating, a gasp escaping her. This couldn't be right. This had to be a faux pas of some sort. She couldn't let herself fall, not when all of this could crumble so easily.

"No...you…” She bit her lip, “What about Emilie?"

Gabriel smiled again, though bittersweet, his hand still holding her close.

 "I will always love Emilie,” He murmured, his eyes lighting with a misty-like haze.

“She was once the reason for all I did in life,” he paused and Nathalie watched as he let the nostalgia of his love for his wife consume him. Nathalie imagined that all those memories were flashing before his eyes, as people say they do when they are faced with accepting a loss. 

After a moment of this his focus returned to her, that smile that Nathalie had not seen in years returning once more, “but I've since found a new reason." He reached down to take both her hands in his, running his fingers over her knuckles.

"You, Nathalie. You are my reason. You are the reason I try so hard everyday in everything I do. I know I've made mistakes but I do truly want to be a better man for you...for Adrien. And although you may not believe me now, I promise I will prove it to you. I will not stop until you know just how much I love you."

Nathalie was full-on crying now, her lower lip trembling. She never thought she'd ever hear such words come from Gabriel's mouth, especially such words attuning to her.

"You...you...love me?" Nathalie murmured, still somewhat in denial.

Gabriel laughed softly, pulling Nathalie even closer, their chests pressed up against one anothers, foreheads nearly touching.

"Yes, my dear Nathalie." He replied. Nathalie’s heart pulsed as his gaze fell to her lips. Nathalie stared up at those grayish-blue eyes that resembled a hurricane once more. She could see the question there — that one small fragment of hesitation. She could only think of one answer.

Nathalie let her hands travel along the sides of his face, feeling the soft skin and crevices. She closed her eyes to him, allowing him to guide her.

The kiss was soft and gentle, almost as if he were asking her permission. Nathalie felt herself slipping away, not knowing where she'd land as she let herself fall. She'd never kissed a man like this. It was exhilarating and she couldn’t get enough of it — she couldn’t get enough of him.

Eventually Gabriel pulled back, his hands still cupping her face, his eyes studying her flushed cheeks and wet lips, his breath coming out rashly. He noticed that her glasses were fogged, similar to a murky sea. He removed them, setting them to the side. He used his thumb to push a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, his lips landing in a soft caress against her forehead. 

"Do you understand me now Nathalie?" He whispered against her skin, his question reminiscent of the one he asked her in her room all that while ago.

Nathalie leaned back, letting her gaze fully take in the man she loved. Her heart was rising, her features easing as she finally let herself go, “Yes Gabriel.” 

A/N: Eeeek! I hope you guys enjoyed the final installment of Admiration in Disguise! Please don't hesitate to let me know what y'all think. I'm really excited to start some new fanfic projects now that I've completed this one. Next up will be a short gabenath drabble, so keep an eye out for that! And as always if you have any requests for fanfics or anything gabenath related please let me know! I'll be able to attend to them much more frequently now, seeing as I've completed this project. Finally, sorry for any grammatical errors I'm not the best editor.

[finrays]

SO! Here is my lair;

Sockeye, on the right, is a Bambu Lab P1P, and Coho, on the left, is a Bambu Lab A1 with AMS Lite system! It allows me to print in up to four colors on the same print, which is radical! They needed designations in the app-and-program system I use to control them, so salmon species it is, haha! The foam-and-paver setup is to dampen vibrations, which makes for neater prints and cuts the print noise down; these guys can get LOUD, which is why they're banished to the basement.

Basically, the printer heats these strands of filament up until they're molten, then lays them down on the bed in tiny slices, cooling them with fans as it goes so the plastic doesn't run between layers. I usually print at 0.2 mm layer height, so that gives you an idea of how tiny these slices really are and why it takes a LONG time to print things, haha!

The A1 is a Cartesian printer, or "bed-slinger", which means the toolhead moves on the X axis, the printbed moves on the Y axis, and the Z axis is basically the toolhead rail which moves up and down... lots of moving parts! The P1P in comparison is a CoreXY printer, which has a toolhead that moves in the X and Y axes, and a bed that moves on the Z axis. There are trade-offs to each system, but I like them both for what I use them for!

There's a video of them in action.

I store my less-used tools on the teal cart, and my filament in those big tubs, which are absolutely JAM-PACKED with silica gel packets, haha. Gotta keep that stuff dry! PLA filament absorbs moisture really easily, and that messes up the print quality, so you wanna keep it as dry as possible.

Over here are my more commonly used tools and doodads! Clippers for removing supports from prints that need them, a bunch of little Allen keys, a bed-scraper and some cleaning tools I printed, a wire brush for cleaning the nozzles, and some spa day tools! Once a month, I use that canned air to clean out the nooks and crannies, clean off the rods and rails that everything moves on and re-grease them, check the belt tensions on everything and clean out my nozzles. It's a lot of work but it's better to do preventative maintenance than to have it break down on ya.

I also have a filament dryer (the round boi,) which can bake moisture out of wet filaments, and a heat gun, which I use to clean up prints that have gotten stringy. Wet filament CAN cause a print to look like a spider webbed it up, in which case, the heat gun will melt the little stringies back into the body of the print, which neatens it. Spare spools in the back corner in case I get an atrocious order that needs to be re-spooled onto something better (I printed a device called a Pastamatic that lets you re-spool filament, haha) and some spare beds!

The beds themselves are PEI, which is a material that has a MAGICAL interaction with the plastics used in printers; at certain temperatures, there's a reaction between the two materials that results in adhesion. But move away from that temp, and the adhesion fails. So I heat the beds to about 60 C for my PLA filament, and it sticks, but once it cools, I can just slide it off the bed. RADICAL. But having grease or debris on the bed will mess with the adhesion, so I scrub them down with dish soap and keep them clean with the IPA to maintain adhesion!

Software-wise, you manipulate models in a program called a slicer, which allows you to resize, designate colors to certain parts of the model, and generally just set up the print the way you like it before it's converted to a file format the printer can actually read.

CinderWing dragons are the BEST.

The cool thing about Bambu is that there's also a mobile device app that allows you to control and check on your printer from your phone! Very handy.

The hobby itself is front-loaded cost-wise; each of these systems was about $600 and I saved up for a bit to obtain them! But once you get things together, the filament isn't THAT expensive (unless you buy too much of it like I do.) The premium stuff is about $35/kg roll, and it's all downward from there. Typically, I pay around $22-25 for nice filament, and I can get like four full-sized dragons out of a roll.

If you're looking to get into the hobby, though, I'd say now is the time to start looking at printers; the Black Friday sales are revving up, and you can get a very nice single-color A1 Mini, the little brother of Coho, for about $200.

I don't print in resin because there's... a lot of prep work, mess, toxic materials safety, and the need for ventilation, which I don't have. Maybe someday!!!

Anyway... that's the printer shop!

[phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing]

How's the play style in star rail like and how does building characters work?

Well first building characters is like. level them up. you do need to ascend every few levels unlike Hi3 but it hasn’t been much trouble so far. Character lore and voicelines are not available yet.

Eidolons are basically Genshin’s constellation system, where they get extra abilities for up to 6 dupes. Each Eidolon unlocks a different 2D CG-style portrait of the character. The last one is an eyes closed nude portrait (except for the young kids, who keep their clothes). Got me giggling. (You can’t see anything weird, it just has a peaceful feeling. Though I’m sure plenty of people will thirst anyway).

As you level up the character you gradually unlock buffs in the form of Traces (it’s a mix of the classic “level up their main skills” and permanent, DIVERSE stat buffs, so not like Genshin where each character has one level up stat).

Then you have lightcones (easy to get). They’re replacing weapons.

You can superimpose (consume a dupe) a lightcone up to four times to make its effect stronger. Most 3* Lightcones are perfectly viable and easy to max out, downside being lower raw stats.

There’s no weapon type, but the lightcone’s alignment matching the character’s makes the extra effect work— so basically if you equip a Preservation lightcone on a Hunt character, you don’t get the extra effect, but you do get the stats. Stat sticks might be a viable strategy in a pinch?

Lightcones are obtained in some chests but mostly you just get them by rolling on banners. 3* drops are all lightcones. Oh and you can use lightcones as exp mats for other lightcones, too, which is handy for further exp needs once you’ve maxed out a copy of the 3* ones (which is easy, I’ve already maxed out some and it’s been one day).

Lightcones have lore that is a specific memory of a random character.

I like lightcones!

Then there’s relics.

Relics are similar to artifacts in Genshin but with some key differences. First off, you have six slots, which are split into 4 normal artifacts and 2 special ones.

2 of the normal artifact types have a set main stat, while the others are all randomized. Substats are randomized. You get a bonus effect for 2 and 4 matching set of relics, similar to stigmata sets.

The relic system is explicitly meant to boost your character’s stats and maybe add an extra effect, but the extra effects so far are pretty much all extra element damage, break effect bonus, or stat buffing like Atk+10%.

There’s no need to minmax considering that there’s no competitive, BUT you do have a support system where you can borrow a friend’s character under certain circumstances! Which is nice I got to try Welt that way.

If you do want to try and minmax you can just autofight the relic grinding, so it’s already much less of a pain compared to Genshin. You can also buy them from some stores.

Relics have longer text lore about more background stuff, like Blade’s backstory, side characters, or some other planets we might visit later for the special 2 set ones.

Overall: Gear is a pretty balanced system between gacha reliance but next to no ingame grinding (Honkai) and ingame grind gacha (Genshin), and lets you use anything on anyone at the minor cost of missing out on an extra effect, which makes gear sharing easier.

Levelup isn’t locked behind your literal level like in Honkai but instead thresholds like Genshin, and you do need to consume mats to ascend characters, but since you can auto fights it’s not as bad.

I’m pretty satisfied so far!

Note: Not done with the game, so I haven’t experienced some mechanics yet.

[blockchainx2023]

Is now a good time to buy bitcoin?

It depends on what you want to do.

You have two options:

Invest in bitcoin (buying)

bitcoin trading

They are not the same. In actuality, there are two options that are rather unlike. I explain them to you:

How to invest in bitcoin?

As I told you, we are going to see the following ways that exist to invest in bitcoin:

1 – Buy Bitcoin

2 – Trading with Bitcoin

3 – Mining Bitcoin

4 – Bitcoin Stuff

Let's see one by one with their respective risks.

1. Buy Bitcoin

You need to purchase bitcoin in order to maintain it. It is not to speculate, it is to have money from the future. Money that is shielded from Big Brother's abusive and confiscatory, corrupt hands, which are all around us.

Logically, you would invest with the idea that your money grows because you will be signing up for a long-term upward trend , but without caring too much if a specific year the price of your bitcoins is above or below that of the previous year. This is also known as holding.

In this case, you'll want to buy with the intention of accumulating. But you will not have a special interest in selling when the price rises.

Here, the logical and efficient thing is to take advantage of the contacts with the relevant supports to accumulate bitcoin. Stronger the lower the price falls. It has no mystery.

Can you go lower?

Of course.

But, as an investor, you don't care; you even like it: because you know that the underlying trend is bullish and because that gives you opportunities to accumulate more and at a better price.

Anyway, here's an in-depth analysis and bitcoin chart forecast, so you don't miss a thing.

2. Bitcoin Trading

Trading with bitcoin is already much more delicate and carries more risk: It consists of buying and selling, taking advantage of price changes. You can even make money on the dips by going short. It is usually much more beneficial than buying bitcoin if you know how to do it well and with a head.

But beware, that trading, even with cryptocurrencies, is not a game and you must train yourself to do it in an effective and profitable way. Everything else will only lead you to waste time and money in indecent amounts. The money can be recovered, but the time lost cannot, and that is very frustrating.

Therefore, if you want to learn how to do it correctly and not get discouraged along the way, I leave you here our complete trading course, if this is what interests you.

If you want bitcoin buy and sell signals, I'm not going to give them to you in a blog post, because it's not their mission. But you will find them in the Trading Circle, where we constantly trade cryptocurrencies (and stocks and other products, of course).

3. Mining Bitcoin

It consists of grouping a set of transactions in a block, which will later be validated by the nodes.

To mine bitcoin, you will need a very powerful computer to be able to form a block, pass the proof of work and thus obtain a reward.

The payout for mining Bitcoin is in BTC.

Cryptocurrencies can be subject to large price fluctuations. This means that your reward can be good, but also bad.

To use bitcoin mining, you must have extensive knowledge on the subject. In addition, you must be able to tolerate risks.

4. Bitcoin Stuff

It is not a step to follow, rather it is a solution.

This physical bitcoin wallet to store bitcoin is revolutionizing the Cryptocurrency market. And because?

If money costs less than yesterday, and each day that passes, it loses value, the important thing is to save it as if it were gold.

This is where Bitcoin Material plays a key role. Bitcoin has proven to be one of the most profitable investments in the world today, but most people still don't know how it is safely stored long-term.

With this wallet, your bitcoins will be safe, since it is a very secure wallet, which is not connected to the Internet: it resists hackers, fires and floods.

[shifuto]

this reminds me.. I have another theory... kind of grim and long so buckle up (and thank you folks for keep on talking about Zexal because it’s stuff like this that keeps my sanity and I’m able to create things WOO HOO I haven’t got this excited for any writing in so long ;_;)

PLEASE tell me I’m not the only one with this headcanon I cannot suffer alone in this.......

we never got to see Yuma as a baby

in the flashbacks of him with his family, there were a few things that one might overlook but if you stop to think about it.......

Mirai mentions at some point that Yuma is “special”, and he has some “special mission” or “destiny” to fulfill or something (haven’t watched this show in years forgive me)

Kazuma tells Yuma he’s looking for the “end of the world” (????? Can’t recall now), and apparently he did “find” it, almost dies, comes back with the Emperor’s Key and entrusts it to Yuma. Kid Yuma was clumsy and weak, but the key (and his father’s catchphrase) gave him confidence to conquer any challenges

so........ now we get to the attic:

the only entrance to the attic is through Yuma’s room

as OP correctly pointed out, his room is quite.. empty. It could be for a number of reasons: maybe Yuma doesn’t care about having decorations, maybe his parents/grandma made it so the room wouldn’t be too cluttered so that he wouldn’t be even more clumsy, maybe that room was some kind of storage or had other purpose before it became Yuma’s (and that would explain the attic and my bets are on this option)

the attic serves to store objects Yuma’s parents gathered during their adventures, and that’s the space Yuma (probably) spends most of his time when home because he enjoys it in there and maybe because he, unconsciously, feels like he belongs with the artifacts. The way he came to be was similar to them, he’s foreign to that place (his house, the city, etc) 

in one of my many headcanons, Yuma was found by his parents in one of their many journeys, and they probably know Yuma has some kind of link to some otherworldly entities. Kazuma is then set to find out the rest. Maybe he knows the Emperor’s Key is linked to Yuma, or actually belongs to him

when the accident with Faker and Byron happened, and he ended up in Astral World, the reason why he was able to walk freely and even managed to change Astral’s program, was probably because of Yuma. So.... let’s say, he made Yuma part of his family (gave him a name and a family, legally and whatnot), so maybe that would serve as some kind of contract, in which he would have some kind of influence on him - that also would mean Astral is technically also part of his family, and the influence extends to him. Maybe it explains why Eliphas seemed “powerless” to stop him from messing with Astral, and resented Yuma so much upon their meeting

I can’t recall if Yuma started having nightmares with the Door after obtaining the Emperor’s Key, but it wouldn’t be too farfetched. The Door served, maybe, to seal Zexal’s dormant powers, bridge the different dimensions and to seal contracts. It had a function to be fulfilled and it wouldn’t leave Yuma alone until that was done. This is why Yuma became inseparable with Astral once they met. This is why he kept on searching from him even after he was gone, they exist currently as two separated beings, but were originally one. Also, that would mean Yuma is from Astral World, and Astral is his only link to his home planet (at first)

tl;dr: Yuma and the objects in the attic might have much more in common than what it seems, and the reason why he’s always searching for Astral is because they were the same being originally

I just get very Emotional over the fact that. Yuma has a bedroom? A bedroom he doesn’t sleep in? A bedroom with no decorations or stuff in it.

 Like obviously the hammock is an adhd choice, but also. Also. A young Yuma missing his parents and asking if he can sleep in the attic to be closer to their stuff, Kari and grandma saying “Sure.” It’s only for few nights, after all. Might help him process his grief.

Thinking about a ten year old Yuma going up into the most haunted, most lifeless part of the house and just. Never coming down.

[iridecsense]

𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 - 𝘮.

⤷ summary: “You’re blue, I'm red, I wanna kiss your neck and make you purple all over.”

ꕥ word count: 33.7k ꕥ pairing: credence barebone | fem!reader  ꕥ genre: fluff, angst, smut ꕥ rating: 18+ ꕥ warnings: mentions of physical and religious abuse, mild violence and angst ꕥ kinks: femdom, masturbation ꕥ author’s note:  Credence’s first time requested by anonymous. Experimenting a new writing style with this one, I hope you still like it! This is very soft, but also sinful. I always suggest using Interactive Fics extension on Google Chrome and Firefox when reading my fics. Enjoy. ;) ꕥ key: (y/n) - first name (l/n) - last name (e/c) - eye color (h/c) - hair color (s/c) - skin color

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive. Humans aren’t as complex as they like to think. Humans are simple. Without realizing, it they put themselves into a routine. Eat, work, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat.

Albert Einstein once said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” And yet, most humans never fall into insanity. How is it humanity survives such a dreary existence? The answer itself is simple. It is because despite living simple, tedious, monotonous lives, they still have those few moments.

Credence wanted nothing more than to experience one of these moments. Life for Credence was human. It repeated on an infinite loop, no matter how much he prayed for it to stop. Unlike most people’s lives, Credence’s routine wasn’t something to accept comfortably. There was no eat, sleep, work, repeat for him. His day started with an unsavory meal. It was usually porridge or stale bread. Then he would go out and hand out his “mother’s” flyers while she ranted in the streets. After that, they’d return to the orphanage where he’d surely get beat for doing something wrong. After being denied dinner, he would return to his room and cry silently in his bed, trying to dream of a life better than the one he lived. Then repeat.

Today was supposed to be no different. Today, Credence would have to hand out flyers around Times Square until nightfall. He hated handing out flyers in Times Square. It was bright, loud, and crowded, and the rich people from The Eggs always came down to shop and attend the cinema.

Rich people are assholes.

For the most part, Credence was invisible amidst the hustle and bustle of the square. People were too busy chatting amongst themselves or rushing to the nearest store or restaurant to even bat an eye at him. He didn’t mind it. He welcomed invisibility with open arms. Being seen usually ended with new bruises and scars. That's what happens when you’re an outsider, and Credence was an outsider in every sense of the word. He was an outsider to the rich people that pushed past him on the sidewalk, an outsider to the orphanage, and an outsider to himself. 

So, the lowly outsider stood hunched over in the middle of the sidewalk next to a cinema. Above him was a large marquee lit up by five hundred flashing bulbous lights. Mobs of people dappered up in evening dresses and suits, tipping their fedoras and clutching their mink coats excitedly entered the theatre. Credence looked at the flyers in his hands. Mary Lou gave him three hundred flyers to give out, and he barely gave out thirty. Most of the ones he did manage to force into someone’s hand ended up on the ground not ten feet away from him. They couldn't even bother to find a trash can. He wouldn’t dare return home with such a disappointing turnout.

The sun had long since set. The roar of the night became corrupted with wealthy party-goers. The Square was alive with chatter and street music. The streets were filled with intoxicated drivers flashing their fancy topless automobiles and the pretty women that shouted inside them. It was rather scenic, and Credence often found himself staring longingly at all the people whose lives seemed much happier than his own. It was one of the few ways he could pass the time.

He would watch couples walk the street hand in hand, seemingly in love. The woman would occasionally point out something on display she fancied and sweetly coherence her partner to buy it for her—to which they always did. He would observe a gang of college gentlemen around his age hop from bar to bar, obnoxiously laughing and roughhousing in the streets, cat-calling passing dames. In his mind, he was one of them. He pretended he lived in a world where he wasn’t an orphan and grew up in a wealthy family. He would have a mother who loved him and a father who was proud of him. He would go to college and make friends with other boys. Maybe he’d fall in love with a girl along the way. Someone sweet to please the folks back home. Then it would be him parading down the streets with a pretty girl around his arms in Times Square, and some other poor guy would be miserable in his place.

As his eyes wandered the streets, watching the snippets of other people's lives and inserting himself in them, his eyes landed on her across the street. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of a boutique. Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves, neatly placed under a velvet green beret. She had on a slim fitting wool coat with mink trim over a lace-covered silk dress that shined in the night’s light. When she began to walk, his eyes followed her down the street like magnets. The way she seemed to carry herself was unlike the others around her. She wasn’t pink with liquor, stumbling in her heels on the pavement. Each step she took was one of elegance and confidence. He couldn't look away.

“Hey, watch it, punk!”

Credence found himself shoved to his hands and knees on the ground, the flyers in his hands dispersing in the air around him. He winced in pain and looked up to see a man angrily peering down at him.

“Watch where you’re goin’, freak!” The man cursed at him.

Credence kept his head down. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The man sucked his teeth and purposely stepped on some flyers in front of him as he walked by, pressing them into the wet sidewalk. Only when he was sure the man had gone did he find it safe to move. He ignored the soreness in the palms of his hands and tried his best to salvage as many flyers as he could. Passersby couldn't have cared less about the papers they ripped and crumpled under their perfectly pointed shoes. He picked up what little there was left unscathed—about a hundred at least. He was lucky most of them were still stacked together. He went to collect the last salvageable stack across from him when another pair of (s/c) dainty hands reached for them.

Credence’s eyes landed on a pair of green pumps pointed at him. His eyes trailed up past long legs shielded from the cold by nude stockings, green silk, and tawny fur until they met painted red lips and glossy (e/c) eyes. Up close, she was much more captivating. He could now make out her soft, round features and see how her (h/c) curls perfectly framed her face. Her cheeks were dusted a lush red. Whether it was from the early winter chill, or a detail of her makeup was unknown. Either way, she was stunning. It took him longer than it should have for him to notice the flyers she was holding out for him to take.

Credence awkwardly stumbled to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on the tips of her shoes to avoid her gaze. Even in his slouched state, he towered over her, but somehow he still appeared small.

“I saw that.” Her warm voice filled his ears, catching him off guard.

He lifted his head to look at her once more. “What?”

The girl looked in the direction the man from earlier had left and frowned.  “The prick who knocked you over was half-seas over! He could barely tell his left foot from his right! If he had, he would have seen that it was his fault knocking you to the ground like that.”

Credence didn’t know what to say. That was the most anyone had ever said to him without spewing insults his way. Even more peculiar was that the strange girl talking to him was trying to defend him. His awkward speechlessness didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest. Instead, her targeted vexed expression relaxed into a warm smile.

She urged the flyers towards him once more. “Sorry about your papers. I don’t think there’s much left to save.”

He carefully took the papers from her hands, noting how perfectly manicured her nails were. “It’s okay... thank you.”

“No need to thank me. No sense in being praised for common decency, right?”

Credence found himself speechless. He wasn't sure how to respond to such a statement. It was definitely something he should be grateful for. Most people wouldn’t look twice at him struggling on the street, let alone go out of their way to help.

The girl spoke through his silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?” She chuckled.

He shamefully bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she quickly assured him. “Sometimes, I think people talk too much. I don’t think people should say things they don’t need to, otherwise, words lose all valuable meaning. You know what I mean?”

He nodded slowly. “I think so.”

She seemed pleased with his answer, her smile growing ever so slightly. It wasn’t long before it was replaced with another frown. Unlike before, this wasn’t a frown of annoyance, but concern. Her brows turned upward and her red lips parted to let out a sharp gasp. She looked at him clearly for the first time, her eyes wandered over his slender form and taking in his appearance.

“Goodness! Aren’t you cold?” She asked, her voice laced with worry.

Credence shrugged half-heartedly. He was used to the cold by now. He only had a handful of clothes to begin with. He didn't have the luxury of having clothes that match the changing weather, he could only wear whatever clothes fit him from the donation pile. The warmest garment he obtained this winter was an old navy blue suit best designed for autumn’s chill, but useless against winter’s cold. She found it hard to believe he stayed in the cold for so long without freezing to death. Credence thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. It was a particularly cold November night, enough to keep the patches of ice and snow that had been shoveled to the gutters intact. With every shaky breath he took, a puff of white mist would follow. His nose and the tips of his ears were permanently colored red and, given his natural pale complexion, made him look rather sickly. But, he bore through it because he had experienced far worse.

Without warning, the girl took the liberty of placing her palms on the back of his hands. The gentle action was so alien, he flinched when he felt her warm skin.

“Your hands are like ice!” She gasped. “They’re two degrees short from falling off!”

It must have been true because the feeling of her hands was enough to send a fiery warmth throughout his body. Such affection was so foreign to him, he began to doubt it really happened. It wouldn't have been the first time his mind played tricks on him. Perhaps he was home in his bed, lucidly dreaming about a chance encounter with a pretty woman. In a moment, he would wake up, and the warm feeling of a woman’s touch would turn cold, and he’d find himself alone in his room again.

His theory was swiftly disproven when he felt her hands gently squeeze his. As if she had the brightest idea of the decade, the woman’s face lit up.

She took a step closer. “Say, why don’t I get you some tea to warm you up? There’s a coffee shop still open a few blocks away—I could drive you in my Ford!”

Credence blushed and swallowed. His eyes darted around nervously. “I’m not sure I should...” He mumbled.

“We can stand here in the streets like a couple of gulls if you’d like, but I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze, so you might as well say yes,” she smirked.

He wanted to say yes. But there was a voice inside him that warned him not to go. It was the same nagging tone Mary Lou barked in his ear. His mind spiraled, spewing scenarios of his adopted mother’s fury. He should be home by now. She never liked it when he returned home late. She would beat him again. She might even ice him—something she did when she was truly furious with him. The thought of it made his blood run cold.

“I-I can’t,” he stammered. “M-Mother is expecting me home—she’ll be wondering where I am.”

The woman’s once playful expression slowly faded. Her brows gathered at the center of her forehead and her smile faded. Credence was trembling and stuttering, helplessly trying to explain why he had to return home. His words slurred together into a tremulous speech. Passing pedestrians gave patronizing stares, actively avoiding the pair and whispering amongst themselves. The woman placed a comforting hand on Credence’s shoulder, silencing him almost immediately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” She said softly. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to upset you by it.”

She looked him in his eyes and offered a kind smile. There was a skip of his heart. A strange feeling weighed in his chest he had never felt before.

“Why don’t I drive you?” She suggested. “That way you can be home twice as fast!”

Credence took a moment to think about it. He found it increasingly impossible to say no. Against his better judgment, he found himself wanting to extend their encounter, if even just for a minute. He had the smallest inference that if he said no, it would disappoint her. The thought of disappointing her was something he didn't want to do. He felt obligated to appease her. She had shown him a kindness that he may never get again. He thought he could at least keep her pleased.

“Okay,” he relented.

The girl grinned up at him and linked her arm around his. His cheeks grew warm, and he tucked his chin to his chest to hide his blush. Not that she would notice either way. She gingerly led him down the street, trying to engage him with small talk. He tried to listen, but he would get distracted whenever he felt her chest brush up against him. She was so close and so warm. Her touch burned through the thin material of his jacket and made his skin tingle. He could smell her perfume, like lavender and vanilla.

Such an alluring scent it was. It smelled familiar and sweet in its flowery nature. It reminded him of the transition from spring to summer, when the flowers became the most vibrant and fruit ripened to perfect sweetness. He wished he could smell it every day. It would be a refreshing change from the stench of mildew and boiled cabbage he often smelled. He wondered if she always smelled so sweet.

“So, what’s with the pamphlets? Are you a part of that Second Salemers organization?” she asked, pulling him out of his fantasies. He looked down at her and saw her looking up at him expectedly. He couldn’t help but grow hot with embarrassment.

“Y-yes,” he answered.

“Really? So, you believe in witches?” She teasingly wiggled her fingers in his face.

"My mother does,” He answered.

“How interesting,” she thought aloud. “I can’t say that I believe in witches, but if they do exist I wouldn’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re human like us, right? People tend to demonize things they don’t understand. Just because they’re different doesn't mean we have to fear or prosecute them. I think we should embrace each other’s differences and learn to appreciate them, rather than forcing everyone to assimilate to one idea of normalcy. If we do that, then no one would be unique. We’d all be the same.”

He listened closely as she spoke. He was absolutely fascinated by her. It was rather profound, the way she thought. Most people would disagree with her sentiments, especially his mother. The world Credence knew was built on a system of separation. A system that separated classes, races, sexes, and the able-bodied—a system he was a victim to. Never once had he met someone who desired to rid of it just as much as he did, and he certainly didn’t expect to hear such scrutiny from someone who seemed to benefit from it.

When she finished her societal criticism, she stopped in her tracks and craned her neck up to face Credence.

“Excuse my rambling,” she flushed. “I talk nonsense when I go deep in thought. Don’t mind me, I probably sound crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Credence spoke up. “I wish everyone thought the way you think.”

Their eyes locked in a moment of tenderness. His bold sentiments were enough to make her heart skip a beat; unbeknownst to him. Their intimate trance was broken when a passing car flashed its blinding lights in their eyes, causing the girl to release her grip around Credence’s arm. The loss of contact made his arm feel too light; as if someone had taken a piece of his arm away.

The girl let out a sheepish chuckle. “Well, this is it,” she said as she walked over to the luxurious motor car parked on the side of the street. Luxurious seemed like an insult of a descriptor for the magnificent opulence of the machine. The streetlight illuminated the pearl-colored metal that matched the white-rimmed tires. Gold embellishments lined the rim. Tawny leather seats contrasted the exterior and matched the fabric roof. It was something Credence had only seen in advertisements.

“She’s a bit much, right?”

Credence hadn’t realized how apparent the astonishment written on his face was. He expected the girl to laugh at him, but the girl didn’t find joy in his culture shock. She was nervous, as if she were ashamed of her possession, like he had just discovered her most shameful secret.

“She was a gift from my father,” she felt the need to explain. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, I truly am. It’s just that I would never have bought something so ritzy for myself.”

“I like it,” said Credence.

His words seemed to relax her otherwise tense demeanor. “I’m glad you do,” she smiled as she opened the door. He watched her slide into the driver's seat. He approached the machine cautiously, eyeing the foreign object skeptically. The girl watched him closely, an amused smirk curling her lips.

“You’ve never ridden in a car before, have you?” She asked. Credence shook his head.

“I promise there’s nothing to worry about,” she chuckled. “I happen to be an excellent driver. My father wouldn’t have given me one so expensive if I wasn’t.”

This was true. Such a beautiful car wouldn’t be gifted to someone who would evidently wreck it. The girl pats the empty passenger seat invitingly, urging him to get inside.

Credence slid into the passenger seat, the cool leather seeping through the thin fabric of his suit, sending shivers down his spine.

“Here.” The girl reached in the back seat of the car and pulled out a large grey blanket. “The car will get warmer as we drive, but this should be good for now.”

Credence placed his papers on his lap and reached for the blanket.

“Wait,” she stopped him, a small frown appearing on her features. “You’re bleeding.”

Credence followed her stare to his left hand. He turned his palm upward to find the healing wounds on his palms had reopened. He didn’t notice the sting of the cuts before, but now his hand burned with the slightest movement. He couldn’t help but feel exposed. He hated his hands. They were ugly. Permanently blemished with raised scars that formed from healing and reopening and healing and reopening at contact with his mother's belt. It was unsightly. He shied away from her, mortified. She must’ve found them just as repulsive.

But the girl didn’t seem phased by his calloused and scarred hands at all. She didn’t hesitate to reach inside her breast pocket and pull out a pink handkerchief to wrap around Credence’s hand. Again he could feel her warmth. Her soft hands caressed his skin, pulling him closer. She handled him gently, delicately folding and wrapping the silk fabric around his cuts. She glanced at him as she did so, only to find him avoiding her gaze with his chin tucked into his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered as she tended to him.

“You’re sorry?” She let out a breathy chuckle. “And what are you sorry for, exactly?”

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “For making you drive me home. For ruining your handkerchief,” he said.

The girl sighed as she tightened the cloth around his hand and tied it into a bow to keep it in place. “Bunny, you’re not making me do anything. I insisted, remember?” She reminded him. Credence felt the entirety of his face grow hot. He turned to face her again, only to be met with the same (e/c) eyes and kind smile she had before. His heart felt as though it were beating a mile a minute.

“And don’t worry about my handkerchief,” she adds. “I have dozens of them. They’re more for looks anyway, I never use them.”

Credence nodded and silently thanked her. She gave his hand another squeeze before leaning back in her seat and starting the car. The car made a sound like a lion and roared to life. The seats trembled beneath them, and the headlights lit the road ahead. When the car jerked into drive, Credence felt uneasy. She drove the car well, and he suspected that she was driving at a slower rate for his benefit, but the feeling of the car moving made his stomach churn with excitement and fear. He walked everywhere he went. He’d taken the subway once before when he was younger, but somehow this was different. He fidgeted in his seat, finding anything to distract himself from the tight feeling in his stomach. His eyes fixated on his hands, brushing his fingers against the smooth fabric of the handkerchief. It was colorfully embroidered with flowers and lacey patterns. He followed the design with his eyes until they came upon two scripted letters embroidered in gold on the corner that wasn’t tied into a knot.

“Are these your initials?” He asked to distract himself with small talk.

The girl gasped dramatically. “I never introduced myself, did I? How rude of me! I’m practically a stranger and here I am driving you around Manhattan without giving you a proper introduction.”

The girl took one hand off the wheel and held it out in front of him. “My name’s (y/n) (l/n).”

Credence took her hand and shook it lightly. “I’m Credence. Credence Barebone.”

“Credence. What an odd name. I like it,” she grinned before pulling her hand back. “So, where am I taking you, Credence?”

He told her he lived in the old chapel on Pike Street. She fell flustered while trying to explain she didn’t know exactly where that was. Credence then told her she was going the right way, and if she kept going straight, he would tell her when to turn. While they drove, she did her best to get to know Credence. He answered every question she asked with a short and vague response. She didn’t ask him many questions to begin with. She mostly talked about herself or the people she knew, like her family and friends. Almost everything reminded her of them.

He figured she did it to make him feel more comfortable. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed hearing her talk. While driving, she saw a dress in a boutique and mentioned that her friend, Darla, would love to have a dress just like it. When they passed a tea shop, it reminded of her mother, who only drank earl grey tea; which, to her, is the most boring of teas. On the sidewalk, there was a stray cat running into an alleyway. She told him how much she wanted a pet cat as a child, but she couldn’t get one because her father was allergic.

He couldn’t help but be enthralled by her. The more she talked, the more relaxed he became. He stole glances at her when she wasn’t looking. Watching her lips move as she talked, outlining the bridge of her nose and the curve of her cheek. He had been staring so intently he hadn’t even realized she’d asked him a question.

“Credence?” Her voice filled his ears.

“Yes?” He answered.

“I asked if I turn here.”

Credence turned to look out the window and saw that they had stopped at the corner of Pike Street. It was a quiet neighborhood filled with old apartments that had dim windows and unfriendly doors. Sticking out like a tabby cat among tigers was the Church of the Second Salemers. A rickety thing dwarfed by the buildings that surrounded it. Credence’s heart sank. If only the ride was a little longer.

“I can get out here,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

Her lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. “Alright,” she simpered. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” He said truthfully.

There was a beat of silence. The two sat awkwardly, not really knowing how to say goodbye. Credence stared at his hands in his lap and began to untie the handkerchief.

“Keep it,” she stopped him before he could. “To remember me by.”

Would this really be the last time? He knew that she meant nothing by it, but hoped he didn't have to remember her. He wanted to see her again. He didn’t want it to end.

He gripped the cloth tightly in his hand. “Thank you.”

He reluctantly opened the car door and stepped onto the slushy street, closing the door behind him. She waved at him through the window, to which he returned in a less enthusiastic manner. He took a step back onto the sidewalk and watched as she drove down the street until she disappeared around the corner.

“Goodbye... (y/n),” he whispered.

It had been weeks since Credence’s chance encounter, and ever since his mind was consumed with thoughts and fantasies of (y/n) (l/n). Everything reminded him of her. The melting snow on the ground, the smell of flowers that mimicked her perfume when he passed the floristry, passing women in mink coats and tea shops; they all emulated her.

He often thought about how different things would have been if he did what he wanted that night. Would she be with him now had he gone to the café when she’d offered? Would she have liked to know him? Would she have enjoyed his company? The more he thought about it, the more he wished he’d taken the risk—his mother be damned.

Now all he had were memories and theories of what could have been. Though, fantasizing became his new favorite pass time. Reminiscing about her was one of the only things that gave light to his otherwise dark, mundane life. Like right now, he was thinking of what it would be like to make her laugh while scooping porridge into bowls for the orphans to eat.

He thought her laugh would sound feathery and jovial; the kind of laugh that makes you want to smile and laugh with her.

“You’re smiling.”

Credence was pulled from his thoughts by his sister, Chastity. He looked to the side and saw her smirking into the pot. “What?”

“It’s not just today,” she says. “You’ve been... different lately. Happier, I think. Always smiling to yourself. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Did you meet someone or something?” She persisted.

Credence scoffed. “How could I have met someone?” He refuted.

Chastity she glimpsed at Credence skeptically. “I guess not,” she hummed, much to his relief.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re blushing, though,” she smirked.

Credence’s cheeks burst into flames as he attempted to sputter an explanation. Chastity giggled to herself, finding amusement in teasing him.

“What’s going on, children?”

The sickeningly sweet voice was enough to raise the hair on the back of their necks and shudder their hearts. They turned around, craning their necks up to the banister. Mary Lou Barebone towered over them just as menacingly as she could in her own prim and proper way.

“Nothing, mother,” Chastity answered for them. “Credence was just telling me a joke.”

“This is no time to be joking,” she scolded. “We have a very important meeting today with Father Blackwell, and I will not allow distractions. We can't lose focus. This is our chance to spread our message to the church— to the city! You should be preparing, not laughing.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” Credence apologized.

“Don’t let it happen again,” she warned, before sauntering away.

Even in her absence, Credence couldn’t find the will to relax the rest of the morning. The threat of her looming presence was far too great. After the orphans had finished their meal and left, Chastity washed all the dishes while he cleaned the dining hall. Once they finished their menial tasks, Modesty came downstairs to tell them Mary Lou wanted them to hurry and dress in their best attire for Father Blackwell.

Father Blackwell was the priest of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He was the most famous priest in New York City and the priest of the mayor. Mary Lou was very anxious to present her case to him. According to her, once Father Blackwell hears her pleas and shares it with the church, the city would finally begin to take her seriously and put a stop to the heresy festering right under their noses.

So she believed.

It was Sunday. Today they would attend a mid-day service and attempt to get counsel with the priest. Though, Credence doubted Father Blackwell would even see them. As he got dressed, he looked himself over in the mirror. His ‘best’ attire was a dark plum suit so dark it looked black if you weren't paying attention. It made his already pale skin look even fairer and darkened the color of his raven hair and russet eyes. It was the only suit that fit him perfectly and had few blemishes. He’d probably look like a proper gentleman if his mahogany shoes weren't so terribly worn due to them being the only pair he owned.  

He took the matching hat off his dresser and put it on. Hidden underneath it was the pink handkerchief. He took the piece of fabric in his hands and held it up to his nose. It smelled like her. Remnants of her perfume still lingered between its stitches. He was grateful she allowed him to keep her handkerchief. He felt foolish for ever trying to part with it. It was the only proof he had that she existed; that their brief night encounter had truly happened.

“What are you doing?”

Credence instinctively hid the cloth behind his back, turning around to see Mary Lou standing in his doorway.

“I was straightening my tie,” he says, his voice wavering slightly.

Mary Lou looked him over for a moment, trying to find something out of place. “Come now,” she orders, having found no reason to torment the boy. “We’re leaving.”

She walked away. The sound of her heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs was Credence’s signal to breathe again. He pulled the handkerchief from his back and folded it neatly before hiding it underneath his pillow.

On their way to the cathedral, Mary Lou gave each of them a stack of flyers. She wanted them to hand out flyers to the congregation once the service ended while she talked with Father Blackwell. If there was one thing about Mary Lou, she was passionate and determined. When she set her sights on something, she will do everything in her power to execute it. She’d been planning this meeting for weeks. She readied herself in the only way she knew how: through constant prayer and tedious preparation. In a way, Credence was thankful for it. When Mary Lou became enlightened on an alternative approach, she was far too busy focusing on it to bother him. It was one of the few windows of relative freedom he had, and they came once in a blue moon. This meeting could mark the end, or the beginning, of this liberation.

Sitting in the pews during service, he could hardly concentrate. St. Patrick’s was a magnificent building, an authentic replica of the renaissance with its high, arched ceiling, stone engravings, and vibrant stained glass windows. It was the epitome of class and beauty. So, naturally, it would be the one church favorited by the high society. Wealthy families filled the better half of the sanctuary. While Credence and his family sat in the back with the rest of the commoners, they filled the front pews with tailored suits, mink coats, and Sunday hats. As Father Blackwell preached to the congregation, Credence searched the pews for a familiar face.

He knew his chances of seeing her were low, but he couldn't help but hope one of those Sunday hats would turn around and reveal those sparkling (e/c) eyes. His leg shook nervously, his eyes darting from one aisle of pews to another. It only stopped when a firm hand tightly gripped his thigh.

“Pay attention,” Mary Lou whispered, malice laced in her tone.

Credence swallowed, his body tensing immediately, afraid of even moving an inch in her presence. He turned his attention from the pews to the altar. Father Blackwell was standing in front of his pedestal, reading a scripture.

“We are living in a godless time,” He said. “Satan parades in the streets, preying on our sons and daughters! When the night comes, our children leave and venture into the streets. The devil and his minions tell them to wear promiscuous evening attire, commit sodomy, and fornication! Tempting them into Speakeasies to drink the Devil’s urine and feast on the bodies of Lilith’s daughters! Our city has become the devil’s playground. There is no God out there. Only sin.”

Flashes of her face imprinted in his mind. Credence frowned and tried to push it from his thoughts, but he couldn’t. His thoughts became consumed by her. As Father Blackwell spoke, he began to envision things he knew he shouldn’t.

“‘The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.’” Father Blackwell reads. “Don’t you see? It isn’t ‘fashion’ or ‘modernity’. The devil has infested the media to infect our minds. He wants to taint our bodies to further stray us from God. ‘Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body’... and therefore, is a sin against God.”

His cheeks burned, and he prayed nobody would notice. He’d never thought of her like this before. Yet, somehow, the sermon unlocked one of his most shameful desires. He imagined the feeling of her warm body pressed against his. He reminisced about the feel of her soft skin. He pictured the curves of her lips, chest, and hips. He wondered how they would feel on his lips. Would they be just as soft?

“Brothers and Sisters, we must rid ourselves of all sin. Protect your children, for the devil, has his eyes set on them. The greatest sin against God is the polluting of our holy bodies. We must practice modesty and chastity. Only then can we be saved... Let us pray."

The congregation bowed their heads and listened as Father Blackwell lead the closing prayer.

The priest’s words echoed in the back of his mind. Even as he and his sisters handed flyers to those exiting the church, his mind would drift back to the sermon. Mary Lou had left him and his sisters to talk with Father Blackwell. He watched as she walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar. Father Blackwell was already conversing with a member of the church, a stocky man wearing a cream-colored suit and matching hat.

She nearly approached him before another man stopped her. Credence recognized him as Deacon Ripley. Deacon Ripley was as galling as his face would suggest. His face was pointed and far too wrinkled for his age. Deacon Ripley had a habit of sticking his unusually large nose into other people’s business. He reminded Credence of a sewer rat, just as unsightly and full of shit.

He couldn’t make out what was being said, but from the looks of it, Deacon Ripley was reprimanding Mary Lou. Mary Lou did her best to get Father Blackwell’s attention, but he and the mustachioed gentleman ignored her calls. Mary Lou was never really one to lose her composure, but in her desperation, she attempted to divert Deacon from obstructing her access to Father Blackwell. She rushed to the altar, calling Father Blackwell. She began stating her case, catching the attention of those still left in the church.  

“There are evil forces at work, Father!” She shouted. “Heretics walk freely amongst us, doing the devil's work!”

Deacon Ripley came behind Mary Lou. “Pay no mind to her, Father Blackwell, she speaks fabrications.”

“This is not fiction, Father, I can assure you,” she says. “I have seen them with my own eyes. The devil’s concubine.”

“What is this you speak of?” Father Blackwell demands.

“Witches, Father. There are witches here in New York, working right under our noses—”

“I told you, Father, she’s insane,” Deacon Ripley cuts in.

“I am not crazy,” Mary Lou snarks. “And if we don’t stop them now, there will be hell to pay!”

“Enough, Ms. Barebone,” says Father Blackwell. “I will hear no more of these fairytales. Please, have decency.”

Father Blackwell turned to the gentleman and guided him to a back door where they disappeared from the sanctuary. Mary Lou, still determined to be heard, began shouting after them, preaching her testimony of witches infiltrating New York. This resulted in her being handled by a few clergymen and escorted off the premises. People whispered and gossiped as the Barebones walked by. It wasn’t hard to tell Mary Lou was humiliated. She put on a brave face, clenching her jaw and holding her head high. She grabbed Modesty by the hand and walked away. Credence and Chastity followed close behind with their heads down.  

It had been about a week since the church incident. Mary Lou hadn’t left her room since. The only one to see her was Modesty. Mary Lou always had a soft spot for the younger sibling. In any other circumstance, Credence would have taken such behavior as a blessing. Whatever wrath Mary Lou was feeling wasn’t being directed at him. But the looming threat of her presence left him little to no space to relax.

Credence was helping Chastity make pamphlets in the dining hall when the sound of Mary Lou’s door opening and closing halted their process. Small footsteps trotted down the stairs and into the hall.

“Credence,” Modesty called. Credence stood from his seat and walked to Modesty, who handed him a stack of flyers once he was close enough. “Mother wants you to pass out these flyers around town. She said not to come back until they’re all gone.”

Credence took the flyers in his hands and reluctantly walked to the door. It was snowing today. It wasn’t cold enough for it to stick, but it was cold nonetheless. He already wore his warmest clothes, which happened to be an old navy sweater vest, grey wool suit jacket, and matching trousers. He threw on a grey fedora and ventured into the streets.

He didn’t mind handing out flyers. Anything to get out of that awful place was enough for him. It was just about noon when he left. He thought it best to head towards the inner city. It was Saturday, so there were sure to be people bustling in and out of shops today. It usually wasn’t a long walk, Credence was used to walking long distances. However, the nipping cold slowed his pace a bit.

In the first hour, he spent walking around midtown and passing flyers around the park. Handing out flyers in winter rarely yields any results. People are far too cold and miserable to bother pulling their hands from their pockets to grab a piece of paper. After a very unsuccessful hour, he migrated further north, closer to Times Square.

“Credence?”

Credence stopped in his tracks, his heart jumping wildly in his chest. He slowly turned around to where the voice had come from. There, in all her grace, was the last person he expected to see. He could see her even more clearly than the last night he saw her. This time, she wore a large, white fur coat that stopped at her ankles and a matching fur hat. In her gloved hands, she carried a small beaded purse that glittered when light reflected off it.  In the day’s light, her skin radiantly glowed, much like her purse. Her eyes seemed bigger than what he remembered, mimicking that of a doll’s. They were enhanced by the brown eyeshadow that darkened her lids and the mascara that elongated her lashes. Today, her lips were raspberry pink instead of the deep red he remembered. Snowflakes nestled in the nooks of her curled (h/c) hair, making her appear even more angelic.

“Mi-Miss (l/n)?”

He hadn’t a moment to process her appearance before she rushed into his arms, catching him by surprise. She threw her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his broad shoulder. His hands instinctively gravitated to her waist, holding her steady as she stood on the tips of her toes. She felt lush in his arms, the heat from her body sent warmth spreading throughout his center. The expanse of his neck and cheeks blossomed into a dusty shade of rose. His mind raced as he tried to collect his thoughts. He was almost sure she could feel the rapid beating of his chest.

If she did, she didn’t seem to mind. She held onto him, squealing excitedly. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you!” She said between giggles. “I was hoping you’d be here!”

Credence raised his brows, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You... You were hoping?” he repeated.

She pulled away, falling back on her heels to look him in the eye. Her hands still held onto his arms. “Well, I wasn’t sure if I’d see you,” she says. “But every time I come down, I hope I do.”

“You visit often?” He asked.

“As much as I can,” she admits. “I live in Kings Point. Do you know where that is?”

He nodded. Kings Point was a village up North by the bay in an area commonly referred to as West Egg. Many wealthy families live there in their ritzy mansions, throwing parties, boating, and golfing.

“Yes, well, I can only visit on weekends. Mainly with friends. But, lately, I’ve made a habit of coming down on my own, since I met you.”

She had said it so casually he thought she must’ve not realized how it sounded. Had she been purposely coming to the city, hoping to cross paths again? A small smile formed on his lips.

Her hands slipped from his arms and returned to her side, much to his disappointment.

Just then, a man behind her coughed, drawing their attention. (y/n) looked back and gasped. “Oh! I’m sorry, Eddy. How rude of me! I completely forgot to introduce you.”

She stepped back to the man’s side. “Eddy, this is my friend Credence Barebone. I met him a few weeks ago in Town Square. Credence, this is Edmund Tully.”

Credence and the man made eye contact. The man, Edmund, was tall; even taller than him. He was built, with wide shoulders to match his thick neck and strong, clean-shaven jawline. His rectangular face was undeniably handsome, with strong, straight features Credence had only seen before on statues and hooded green eyes. His blond hair was almost completely hidden underneath his grey newsboy hat that matched the tailored grey suit he wore underneath a thick, black, fur-lined ulster.

Credence was already intimidated by the man. He was older, around his late twenties. If it wasn’t his overall overwhelming appearance that intimidated him, then it was definitely the pointed glower directed at him. (y/n) didn’t notice it. Her eyes were focused on him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Credence, bravely offering his hand.

Edmund looked down at Credence’s outstretched hand. “Yes, and you as well,” he said indifferently, reluctantly taking his hand and forcing a smile. (y/n)’s brows wrinkled slightly at the interaction as she looked between the two men.

When they stopped shaking hands, Edmund turned to (y/n). It was almost comical how drastically his expression changed when he looked at her. His face softened and his phony, tight-lipped smile became genuine.

“(y/n), darling, I’m afraid I have to go now,” He said.

“So soon?” She asked.

“Yes, actually. Your brother and I have a meeting with your father and Mr. Finnegan around lunch,” he explains.

“Oh, I see,” she hums in understanding. “Well, you better get going.”

“You’re right, I must.” He took a step closer to her. “It was lovely running into you today, (y/n).”

Credence watched as he bent down and placed a large hand on her waist. She too reached around to wrap your arm around his torso. He watched as the man kissed her right cheek before moving to kiss the other. This didn’t phase her at all. Instead, she smiled as if it happened all the time. Credence felt looked away, upset by the display. Why did he feel upset?

The two pulled apart, and Edmund began to walk away. “I’ll tell your brother you said hello, shall I?” He yelled.

“Yes! And tell him that mother wants him home by ten o’clock tonight!” (y/n) responded as she waved goodbye.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Credence spoke up.

(y/n) looked back to face Credence. “I have two older brothers, actually,” she told him. “Aaron and Channing. Eddy is Aaron’s friend. They met at Oxford University. He and my brother both work for my father now, so he’s around often. He can be a bit... overbearing sometimes, but he means well.”

“And your other brother?”

“Channing is only a year older than me, so he’s twenty. He’s my best friend,” she revealed. “He isn’t here, though—in New York, I mean. He’s currently studying abroad in Japan.”

“Japan?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Between you and me, I think he’s only there to follow this Japanese girl he met. And I don’t blame him! I met her before and she’s very beautiful, sweet too! Though, I do miss him a lot. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone with him when I had the chance.”

Credence looked down at his feet as he listened. For some reason, the thought saddened him. Did she miss her brother so much that she would end up leaving for Japan one day? Would he never see her again? Would she miss him if she did? He didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay so they could keep meeting like this. So he could see her face and have her smile at him so kindly, like she always did. Her brother might miss her, but he needed her.

Credence felt so selfish for thinking such things. How could he possibly think he deserved her time? If he told her what he truly thought, how would she react?

As if she could read his thoughts, (y/n) took a step closer to him. He picked his head up to face her and saw that she was smiling up at him.

“But, if I had done that, then I wouldn’t have met you,” she says.

Just as quickly as his deprecating thoughts had come, they left once her words reached his ears. Credence could only stare at her in disbelief.

“And he sends me letters every month, so, I guess it's all right,” she chuckled. “So, how have you been?” She asked, bringing him out of his daze.

“I...I’ve been well,” he says.

“I’m glad,” she smiles. Her eyes travel down his form. A small crease forms in the middle of her brows as she tilts her head to the side. “You still haven’t gotten yourself a coat, I see.”

Credence looked down at his clothes as though he had forgotten what he had on. “No, I haven’t.”

She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brows. “I suppose I could just buy you one.”

Credence shook his head, not wanting to inconvenience her for a second time. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I wasn’t really asking,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Really.”

She stared at him for a moment, squinting her eyes slightly. “Fine, then.” She began unbuttoning her coat. Credence watched her, confused by the sudden action.

“W-What are you doing?” He asked.

“If you won't let me buy you a coat, then I won't wear one either,” she says simply.

Credence furrowed his brows. “But you’ll be cold.”

She scoffed. “And you’re not?”

Credence was rendered speechless. A small smirk curled on her painted lips. “Either you let me buy you a coat, or I won’t wear one at all. I can’t walk with you knowing you’re freezing and I’m perfectly comfortable.”

She was impossible. No matter what he says, she would always find a way to make him give in.

“O-Okay,” he concedes.

(y/n) grinned brightly, fixing her coat back over her shoulders and hooking her arm around his as she had once before.

“This will be fun!” She beamed.

She led him back in the direction she had come while eagerly telling him about the boutique she knew would have the best selection for him. He increasingly became more comfortable in her presence. He even properly engaged in conversation, much to her delight. And whenever she smiled up at him, he found himself smiling too.

The boutique wasn’t far—about three blocks away to be exact. It was a small blue shop with gold painted windows. Through them, Credence could see posed mannequins dressed in all kinds of fancy coats, dresses, and suits. Written above the entrance in the scripted font was a sign that read: Vendicci’s.

Upon entering the store, their ears were filled with Italian opera. The shop appeared to be empty. There were no other shoppers, and the front counter was left unattended. Credence followed her to the counter. On its surface was a small golden bell that she tapped lightly. The bell rang, signaling their presence.

Shuffling could be heard from the back of the shop, catching their attention. From the back of the shop, they could hear harsh whispers and unintelligible curses. A short, thin man came stumbling in. He had dark olive skin and chestnut brown curls that fell around his Grecian face. He was disheveled—the first three buttons of his pink dress shirt were unbuttoned, and the fabric of his pressed white pants were creased. Without looking, the man made his way to the back of the counter, mumbling in a language he couldn’t make out.

Following behind him was a woman equally disheveled in appearance. Her short black hair stuck up in odd places, and she had missed one button of her blouse. She wandered the shop, to mind some clothes on the rack as the man drew near to the front counter.

“Stupidi Americani... Sorry, we are closed for now. You can come back later when—,” The man stopped when his eyes landed on her.

(y/n) smirked. “Hello, Raül,” she waved.

“Bella!” He gasped and hurried towards her with open arms. “How wonderful to see you!” He said in a thick Mediterranean accent. He placed hands on her shoulders and pulled her in to kiss both of her cheeks. “You look even more lovely since the last I saw you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Raül,” she chuckled.

“Where have you been?” He pouts. “It’s been so long I’ve barely been able to survive without you.”

“I’m sorry, Raül, I’ve been trying to be more mindful of how I spend my money,” she explains.

“Mind your money here! I have so many new items you would look molto bella in. I saved them just for you,” he winked.

“That’s sweet of you, Raül. I promise I will come by and try them on at another time.”

Suddenly, the man became aware of Credence’s presence in the room. He looked at him like something had left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Raül raised a skeptical brow and asked with pursed lips, “Is this man with you?”

“Yes, he is,” she says as a matter-of-fact. “We’d like to buy a coat. Something thick for the winter.”

Raül nodded and hummed, turning back to face her. “You’re just in luck,” he says. “Early this week I got a shipment straight from Italia: a fine selection of winter coats designed by Feliciano Romano himself.”

(y/n) gasped, clasping her hands together. “That’s fantastic! We’ll try those first!”

She took Credence by the arm and they followed him through the shop where they came upon a round archway covered by red velvet curtains. Raül pulled back the heavy curtains to reveal a separate room. It was small. The carpet was also red to match the curtains and the loveseats and chairs that decorated the room. In the center of the floor, was a circular platform. Above it was a circular ring of white drapes that had been pulled up. Across from the platform was a wall of mirrors, reflecting the room from different angles.

The woman from earlier had come in as well. With her, she brought along a rack filled with many expensive coats. She pulled it to the side of the room, right next to the platform. Raül thanked the woman with a playful pat on her buttcheek.

Credence blushed, having put two-and-two together about what was going on between the two co-workers before he and (y/n) had shown up. (y/n) was unfazed at all by the promiscuous interaction. Instead, she took off her coat and hat and threw them on one of the sofas facing the platform before taking a seat.

“Let’s begin!” Raül said excitedly.

“Stand up there, Credence.” (y/n) pointed to the platform. Credence did as he was told, and stepped onto the raised surface, awkwardly awaiting more instruction.

The dark-haired woman came up to Credence with a large coat in her arms. He didn’t need to put it on to know it wasn’t something that would suit him. She stood behind him and slipped the sleeves of the coat over his arms and shoulders. The coat itself was heavy enough to make him slouch slightly and tense his leg muscles to carry the added weight. The warm fabric engulfed his lanky form. It was made of strange, thick fur—not mink, but from another animal, he couldn’t guess. It was dark brown, and in some areas, it looked black. The length of the coat ended just above his ankles and the sleeves practically covered his hands, the tips of his fingers were all that were visible.

It was definitely a coat well suited for a more muscular type of man. It was the kind of coat that would be perfect for a large Russian mobster. However, on his lanky form, it just looked plain silly. (y/n) looked at him in the mirror, catching his eye.

“Do you like it?” She asks. “Be honest. I won’t buy you something you don’t like.”

“It’s fine,” he lied.

“Absolutely not!” Raül said as he took a step onto the platform and stood in front of Credence, looking him over intently. “I never thought I would say this to anyone, but, my dear, sable is not for you.”

“You don’t think so?” (y/n) chimed in.

“Miss (l/n)!” He gasped. “You are my most fashionable client! Tell me you don’t think this works for him!”

She looked him up and down, a smile stretching across her lips. “I think he looks cute,” she says. “like a cuddly bear.”

Credence blushed and shied away from her gaze. Raül tuts his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Well, he must be the skinniest bear in the forest,” he mutters as he pulls the coat off Credence’s shoulders.

“Want to try another one?” She asked. Credence nodded.

Raül went through the rack before pulling out another coat for him to try. He found one he thought might look best and took it off its hook before helping Credence try it on.

After he helped him slip his arms in, he took a step back to look him over. “How's this?”

It was a slim-fitting burnt orange fox fur coat that stopped halfway. It had a low collar and large brown buttons that trailed from his chest to the hem. He noticed how it was tighter around his waist and made his hips look bigger than he’d like. He thought it was a coat he would see on a woman. 

“It’s a bit bright for winter, don’t you think?” She pointed out.

“Nothing is ever too bright,” Raül argued.

She squinted at Credence’s reflection in the mirror, pondering the look. His face burned red and he silently pleaded she disliked the coat as well. His flustered expression made her stifle a fit of giggles. “I think we’ll try another one,” she smirked.

Raül sighs and slips the coat off Credence’s shoulders, much to his relief. The next coat was a black and white trench with large black buttons and a belt. Credence stood uncomfortably in front of the critical pair.

Raül crossed his arms, a small approving smile plastered on his lips. “Now this, I like!”

“I don’t know...” She hummed. “What do you think, Credence?”

“It’s itchy,” he says.

“It’s tweed,” Raül said, as though it made it better.

She giggled and looked at Raül. “Another?”

They went through several different coats, most of which were unflattering or uncomfortable. Credence thought the others were doing it on purpose — at least, he felt like she was. There was something about the playful smirk that curled the corners of her lips whenever he was dressed in a seemingly ridiculous or feminine coat that made him feel as though she had taken joy in dressing him up and watching his cheeks turn red from embarrassment whenever she expressed how ‘cute’ he looked. While there may have been no initial mal-intent when she initially insisted on buying him a coat, he was starting to feel like she was toying with him; teasing him for her own pleasure. 

Raül pulled another unsatisfying coat off of his shoulders only to replace it with another. The weighted coat comfortably slipped onto his shoulders. When Raül properly fit the coat onto him, he took a step back, a small smile gracing his features. Credence turned his neck to look back at (y/n) who had a similar expression of approval.

“Wow.” She whispered.

The coat was indeed impressive in a simplistic kind of way. It wasn’t too flashy or extraordinary. Just a simple black trench that fell to his knees. It was a sharp, angular cut, one that seemed to broaden his shoulders to imitate a somewhat muscular appearance. The shade of black complimented his pale skin and matched his raven locks, making him appear more porcelain than before. 

“Magnifico! So handsome, like a dark prince!” Raül cheered. His assistant then too voiced her agreement.

(y/n) moved from the sofa to the platform where Credence stood. She eyed him closely, circling him before stopping in his eye-view. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the material under her skin. She dragged them up and across his shoulders, before stopping at his chest. Credence’s heart drummed against his chest, excited by her touch. He wondered if she could feel it through the coat.

“Do you like it?” she asked him.

“I do,” he says, truthfully this time.

She smiled and turned to face Raül. “We’ll take it!”

(y/n) left with Raül and the woman from earlier to pay for the dashing coat, leaving Credence alone in the dressing room. He looked himself over in the mirror, admiring how he looked in the black material. He couldn’t deny how good he looked in it. For the first time he looked, normal. Better than normal—he looked like a proper gentleman. Sure, a real ritz could snuff him out in a heartbeat, but to the average New Yorker, he could pass for someone on the same caliber as (y/n). It was like looking at the version of him he always wanted to be.

It wasn’t long before the fleeting fantasy soured. The rational part of his brain picked at the flaws of this entire interaction. How would he explain to his mother where he got such an expensive coat? If she saw him wearing it, she would definitely ask questions he was afraid to answer. Either way, he knew he couldn’t be seen with it on while she was around. But he couldn’t throw it away; not when she went through all the trouble of buying it for him. And it was such a nice coat... Credence shook the worries from his mind. He couldn’t think about it now. 

After (y/n) paid for the coat, the two bid Raül goodbye and ventured back out into the cold. Already, Credence noticed a stark difference of the cold with the coat protecting his skin. It dulled the nipping chill that never left during the winter months. 

“Much better, isn’t it? ‘Not cold’ my ass,” she snarked playfully. She fished around her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. “Take these.”

Credence eyed the gloves questionably. (y/n) sighed and took his hand from his side, sliding the gloves on before doing the same with the other. “There,” she grinned. “I wasn’t sure if these were gonna be the right size, but look! They’re perfect!”

“But... you didn’t have to buy these for me,” said Credence.

“I didn’t buy them,” she says. “Raül gave them to me—well, to you. He says those gloves must go with that coat. I have to say I agree; they really complete the look.” She began walking down the street again, prompting him to follow her. “And don’t worry about the coat, okay? Like I said before, it’s on me,” she reminded him.

Credence still felt couldn’t accept something so valuable without thanking her. She bought him a coat because she cared about how he was feeling, just like when she helped him off the street all those weeks ago. He felt indebted to her—grateful to her. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he returned the favor tenfold. 

To her, this was obvious. She could tell buying the coat bothered him. He was so tense. He probably would never relax around her unless he somehow proved that he deserved to. Perhaps she can help him see. She glanced at the taller boy from the corner of her eye.

“But,” she sighed. “If you’re still looking for some way to repay me, I can think of something I’d like you to do.”

Credence perked up. “Really? What is it?”

She grins up at him, showing her pearly white teeth. “Go on a date with me.”

Credence’s eyes widened. “W-What?”

(y/n) chuckled. “If you don’t want to go on a date with me, that’s fine.”

“No!” He said all too desperately. He blushed at his own excitement. “I mean... Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“It’s why I suggested it, isn’t it?”

Credence blushed. A date? He’d imagined taking her on a date in his head about a hundred times. He thought of what he might say and do on the chance he got to be alone with her again. Maybe this time he’ll follow through.

“Okay,” he gave in. “Where do you want to go?”

“How eager are you!” She laughed. “I didn’t even say when and you’re already trying to sweep me off my feet, huh? Either that or you’re just trying to get rid of me.”

“T-That’s not how I meant it!” he stammered.

(y/n) giggled at his demise. “I’m just teasing you, Bunny. No need to turn so red,” she smirked.

She didn’t help his case when she slipped her arm between his to link their arms. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to her being so close to him. No matter how many times she touched him, he always managed to get flustered. It’s probably why she did it so much, just to see him blush.

“Now is as good a time as any,” she said while smiling up at him. “Are you hungry? I’m starving!”

They walked through the city together, arm in arm. Unlike last time, Credence attempted to be more interactive with her. (y/n) was definitely the more dominant converser, but his attempts to be more engaging with her didn’t go unnoticed. He asked her the questions that have been collecting in his head since they met.

He asked her what she did in her spare time (paint) and what her favorite food was (chocolate). He learned that she was a Columbia scholar currently on break and that she recently adopted a hairless cat named Onyx (it was the only cat her father wasn’t allergic to). Talking with her became easy. He even made her laugh a few times.

While they walked, Credence felt like they passed about twenty different restaurants and cafés he thought she would like. But whenever he thought they were about to stop, she kept going. He was wondering where exactly she was taking him. 

“Are we eating somewhere in particular?” He asked discreetly.

(y/n) nodded and hummed. “I’m taking you to one of the best places on earth. Salone’s! It’s not that far from here. It’s been a while since I’ve been, but I’m really craving it. Have you ever been there before?” She asked.

Credence shook his head. “Never,” he said, causing her to gasp dramatically.

“Oh, now we definitely have to go! What kind of person would I be if I let you go on living without experiencing God’s gift to man? And by ‘God’ I mean Dixie Salone, the owner.”

When they turned the corner, there was a small restaurant named Salone’s across the street. Taking precautious measures, (y/n) gingerly led Credence across the street and to the restaurant. When they opened the door, the smell of grease and peanuts filled the air. The place was reasonably packed, with average looking people all looking at them as they entered the room. (y/n) looked out of place in her rather extravagant attire, though now—with her on his arm and his new coat—he probably looked just as pretentious as she.

If (y/n) noticed the leering eyes of the other customers, she didn’t show it. Instead, she scoured the area for a place to sit, before landing on a booth tucked away in the back. They claimed the booth for themselves. Credence took the booth facing the door, shedding his outer attire and tucking it away in the seat corner. (y/n) slid into the seat across from him, shrugging off her coat and hat, revealing her clothes underneath.

Underneath the mound of fur, was a matching white dress. Unaccommodating to the weather, the dress underneath hung off her shoulders. It had long sleeves, but the upper half of her chest and her shoulders were exposed. Though, Credence figured when you have fur to wear over your clothes, it doesn’t matter much what you wear under it. The fabric was velvet, which must have also helped. From what he could see, it hugged her body well. Credence looked down at his hands on his lap, realizing he had been staring a bit too long. Lucky for him, she hadn’t noticed.

On the table were two menus placed before them. He looked down at the large printed sheet. Credence had never been to a restaurant before. He had eaten nowhere else but the church. He ate once a day (if he ate at all) and it was the same thing almost every time: porridge and stale bread. But on the menu before him, there was no porridge or stale bread at all. There was soup, steak, chicken, and almost every kind of pie. He felt his mouth watering just thinking about it. 

“Don’t bother looking at the menu,” (y/n) told him, gaining his attention. “I’m going to order for you. This place is really only good for two things, everything else is subpar, trust me.”

He looked at the menu again, mildly disappointed. He was looking forward to trying fried chicken. He took a moment to look around the diner. Most of the people there looked like working classmen: factory workers or nannies. Some still wore their uniforms under layers of sweaters and scarves. Others wore regular everyday clothes. Many of those who eyed them upon their entry returned their attention to their food and prior conversations. Though, there were a few that still snuck looks at their table in the back. Some were harmless, like the little girl who was staring at (y/n) in awe. Some were more menacing, like the rugged-looking man sitting on a stool by the counter who seemed annoyed by their presence.

(y/n) noticed that Credence’s eyes were shifting around the room pointedly. “Is something the matter?” She asked.

“It’s just...” He began. “I never thought you would be the type to eat at a place like this.”

“I guess it does seem a bit funny, huh? I look like someone who’d frequent an uptown steakhouse, right?” She chuckled. “Truth is, I’ve never had a big part in that lifestyle. Banquets and fine dining, I mean. It’s all fake and pretentious. But this—” she gestured to the room around them. “This is real. The food is real. The people are real. Do you know what I mean?”

Credence nodded. “I think so.”

“Some of my favorite memories take place here. My father would take me here when I was little on his days off. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I guess I wanted to relive that with you today.”

Credence took notice in the look in her eyes. He could tell that recalling such memories saddened her. He didn’t like seeing her upset, but, at the same time, he was glad she wanted to share something so important to her with him. One day, he hoped to do the same.

Not long after that, a young woman dressed in a red dress and a white apron with a stitched red S on the bottom corner walked up to their table with a notepad in hand.

“Hello and welcome to Salone’s, what can I get the lovely couple today?” The waitress asked. Credence couldn’t help but blush after being referred to as a couple.

“Yes,” (y/n) said happily. “Today we’ll—” she stopped mid-sentence before glancing at Credence across the table. She smirked and waved the waitress down to her.

The waitress smiled and got down on her knees next to her. (y/n) grabbed a menu and held it in front of their faces so Credence couldn’t tell what she was whispering. He watched in confusion as (y/n) whispered their order to the waitress.

The waitress nodded, and every once in a while he heard her giggle. “Yes, alright... okay... got it!”

The woman stood back up on her feet and smiled down at the two diners. “If you two just wait here, I will be right back with your orders,” she said cheerfully before trotting off.

“What did you get?” Credence asked once she had left.

(y/n) shook her head and held her fingers to her lips to imitate the motion of closing a zipper. “It’s a surprise,” she winked.

Credence nodded, having decided to trust her decision. In the meantime, while they waited for their food, (y/n) engaged in another conversation with him. It was a continuation of their earlier conversation about pets. (y/n) wanted to know if Credence had any pets. When he told her he never had a pet, she asked him what kinds of animals he likes. He told her that he never met many other animals before. He’d seen many rats in his life, but that just came with the joys of living in New York City. But he thought it appropriate to mention he once made a bond with a stray cat when he was younger.

It was a black skinny thing, with a chewed off ear, and part of its tail was missing. One day, when he’d been left out on the streets as a punishment (he told her he was walking home), the cat came up to him and was begging for food. Lucky for the cat, he had a piece of bread in his pocket. He gave it to the sad creature, and it ate it from his hand. He’d never pet a cat before then, but he liked how it’s fur felt when he brushed it, and the sounds of the cat’s meows. After he told her that story, he stated that he probably liked cats the best.

“We’re just alike! Maybe one day I can take you to meet Onyx,” she suggested.

The corners of Credence’s lips curled up softly. “I’d like that,” he said.

Just then, the woman from earlier came up to them with their order on a large silver platter. The waitress placed the hot food onto the table, along with their drinks before leaving them to enjoy their meal. Credence looked down at the plate of food in front of him.

“Burgers?”

“Burgers,” she repeated excitedly. “If there’s one thing this place can make, it’s a damn good burger. Well, that and a mean vanilla milkshake! The fries aren’t half bad either,” she says as she pops one in her mouth.

Meat and fried potatoes filled his nostrils. The burger was as big as the plate it came on. The sesame bun was soft and round, and the edges appeared to be lightly toasted. Crunchy lettuce, cheese, and two slices of bacon coated in mayonnaise and ketchup poked out from the sides on top of a thick beef patty. (y/n) smiled in amusement as she watched Credence carefully take the burger in his hands. His eyes were practically sparkling with excitement.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Take your first bite! I want to see the look on your face when the juicy meat hits your tongue.”

Credence glanced at her across the table, before opening his mouth and taking a generous bite out of the hefty burger. Various flavors overstimulated his senses. The beef and pork collided with the onions, lettuce, cheese, and condiments to create an unfamiliar taste he’d never experienced before. The meat was succulent and juicy, just as she said it would be. The cut of the beef was thick and chewy, and the bacon was crispy and flavorful. The bun was soft and crunchy and tasted as though it was toasted with butter. It wasn’t stale at all! It was like it came fresh out of the bakery just before it wound up on his plate. 

It was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Well?”

Credence hadn’t even realized he closed his eyes, but when he opened them, (y/n) was looking at him expectantly. He swallowed the delicious food and licked his lips greedily, chuckling softly.

“It’s good,” he smiled.

A wide grin stretched across her painted lips. It was the first time he’d laughed around her.

“You have a pretty smile, you know that?” She told him.

Credence’s cheeks reddened for the thirtieth time that day, and he lowered his head to hide it from her.

(y/n) chuckled softly before taking his basket of fries. “Here.” She took the red ketchup bottle from the side of the table and drizzled the condiment over the fries in a zig-zag pattern before sliding the basket back towards him.

“Thank you,” he muttered bashfully through a mouth full of food.

“You’ve got ketchup on the side of your mouth,” she told him.

Without thinking, he stuck his tongue out to lick the spot clean. (y/n) smirked in amusement, watching him do so, finding it cute.

“Did I get it?” He asked.

She snickered and reached her hand across the table to the side of his face. Her thumb gently swiped the corner of his mouth. The action took him by surprise. He sat tensely as she did it. It was a quick moment— a gentle touch, and yet his entire body burned with heat at the contact. When she pulled away and leaned back in her seat, the warmth still lingered. She looked him in the eyes, not breaking contact as she brought her thumb to her lips. The pink flesh of her tongue darted out and lewdly flattened against the pad of her thumb, cleaning it of the ketchup.

Credence felt his body ache at the simple action, the tips of his ears burning incredibly hot. (y/n), who was by no means ignorant to the effect she had on him, could only smirk and marvel at the rosy tint of his cheeks. Credence was grateful she didn’t draw attention to it. It was easier to hide how flustered she made him when they were outside, and he could blame his feverishness on the cold. Now that they were inside and it was warm, it made it harder to deny. He couldn’t bear being teased by her further, he felt like he might explode. She must have sensed it too, because she made no other moves to make him blush after that. She acted as though it didn’t happen and continued to eat her food. Credence then too returned to eating, praying that the ache he felt went away. 

It did, with the help of other distractions. (y/n) continued innocent conversation as they ate to keep the peace. As they talked she could tell that her earlier display still hindered his interaction. While they talked, she’d notice his eyes would linger on her lips rather than her eyes; and whenever they did lock eyes, he would trip over his words and look away.

It was cute, she thought.

Before she could decide to tease him further, the waitress had returned to their table, having noticed that their plates had practically been licked clean. She asked if they were finished with their plates, and they both nodded.

As she collected their dishes she asked, “Can I interest you two in some dessert?”

(y/n) pursed her lips and turned to Credence. “What do you think? Still have room for more, pretty boy?”

Credence flushed.  “I-I’ve never had a milkshake before,” he stammered, referring to the claim she made earlier.

She smiled, before gingerly holding up a finger to the waitress. “We’ll have one large vanilla milkshake with extra cherries, please!”

The waitress returned her smile and winked. “Coming right up!”

It wasn’t long before she came back with the milkshake. It came in a large glass cup filled with vanilla milkshake and topped off with a generous swirl of whipped cream. It was decorated with a cherry, but the extra cherries (y/n) asked for layered the bottom of the glass. The waitress placed the glass on the center of the table between the two. She handed them two big, red and white striped straws before leaving them once more. They both took one and put it into the glass.

(y/n) smiled eagerly at Credence across the table. “You get the first sip,” she said.

He thanked her as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around his straw. He sucked on it how he normally would without realizing how thick the milkshake was. (y/n) watched him struggle for a moment as he nearly ran out of breath trying to suck the ice cream up the straw. He got it eventually, the cool, sweet, vanilla filling his mouth. It wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really, but he just knew that the taste surprised him. He never had sweets before. Sugar is a gluttonous indulgence that Mary Lou found sinful. But as the sticky sweet cream slid down his throat, he wondered if all sin was just pleasures he was being denied.

He didn’t have to tell her he liked it. It was written all over his face. It was probably the most relaxed she’s ever seen him. She enjoyed seeing him that way, with a small smile on his face and flushed cheeks. Credence was so invested in the milkshake, (y/n) was sure he would drink it all if she didn’t get her sips in. Credence nearly choked when he looked up and saw her face mere inches from his own, sipping on the other straw in the glass.

She didn’t seem to mind at all, being so close to him. Her eyes were closed as she sipped. Her curled lashes brushed against her full cheeks and her glossy lips circled the straw delicately. This close, he could see the texture of her (s/c) skin, seeing the few freckles and moles that decorated her features he hadn’t noticed before.

When she did open her eyes, he didn't look away. This time he looked in her eyes and saw for the first time that her eyes weren’t just one shade of (e/c), but a combination of different shades and colors to make the color that was distinctly her’s. Similarly, she saw that his eyes were a deep brown, almost black if it weren't for the few streaks of chocolate brown and burgundy that reflected in the light.

(y/n)’s lips curled into a smile. She bashfully looked away from his eyes and into the glass. The two drank in comfortable silence, savoring both the milkshake and the tender moment. They drank the contents of the glass, leaving nothing but the leftover cream and cherries at the bottom. They wouldn’t go to waste. Cherries must have been (y/n)’s favorite because ate most of them. She did however offer one to Credence for him to try. She held the cherry by the stem and encouraged him to take a bite. He thought it was a bit embarrassing that she insisted on feeding it to him, but he took the cream covered fruit into his mouth and found it just as sweet—if not sweeter—than the milkshake itself.

She let him eat the remaining cherries himself. While he was eating, he watched (y/n) gather her things, putting on her coat before sliding out of the booth.

“I’m going to go pay while you finish,” she told him as she got up.

She walked over to the front counter where the waitress was counting money from the cash register. Credence watched as the two women talked. (y/n) smiled at the waitress and said something that made her laugh. She reached into her purse and pulled out several bills. She handed it to the waitress, who looked at the cash in her hands with wide eyes.

“For me?” He overheard the waitress ask. When (y/n) nodded, the young girl squealed in excitement and rushed from the counter to hug her. The two stumbled due to the unexpected force, but (y/n) didn’t seem to mind. She laughed and hugged the waitress back, patting her back in a friendly manner. Credence, having finished his cherries, got up to stand by (y/n)’s side.

“Thank you so much, miss!” Credence heard the waitress gush as he came up.

“It’s nothing, you deserve it,” (y/n) insisted. (y/n) turned her attention from the young girl to Credence beside her when she felt his presence. She looked up at him with a smile. “Are you ready to go?” She asked him. He nodded.

The waitress looked between the two and grinned softly. “You two make a sweet couple,” she said.

(y/n) returned the grin, hooking her arm around Credence and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, playing into the waitress’s assumptions.

“You two have a blessed day!” The waitress left to tend to a waiting customer leaving him victim to (y/n)’s smug grin. At this point, even his neck was red. (y/n) couldn’t help but find  it amusing. No matter how flustered he got, he wouldn’t protest.

She lightly squeezed his arm, making him look down at her. “Are you ready to go, pretty boy?” She asked him.

It was the second time she called him that, and it was just as startling as the first time. The pet name made his heart swell in his chest and his brain stutter. But again, he didn’t protest. He just nodded his head and turned his face away to hide his reddened cheeks. (y/n) giggled, satisfied with the reaction she got, and they both walked out of the restaurant and back into the cold.

Outside, the snow had stopped falling, but the sidewalks were still slick with slush and ice. (y/n) took a deep breath, breathing in the crisp air as she looked up at the sky.

“Is it that late all ready?” She muttered to herself, her happy features falling slightly. Despite the heavy, grey clouds blanketing the sky, they could still see the sun shining brightly behind them. Credence too looked up at the sky. From what he could tell, it was around three in the afternoon..

He turned to (y/n). “Do you have to go now?” He asked her regrettably.

Her eyes fell down from the sky to his own. Her lips pressed into a small smile and shook her head. “Not just yet,” she said.

“Why don’t you walk with me to the park.” She demanded more than asked and pulled him off down the sidewalk.

He walked with (y/n) a little while longer, back towards the park. Along the way, (y/n) would stop outside shops and look at the items displayed in the windows. Some things of the things she expressed an interest in were for her, sometimes she would see an item and would say something along the lines of “Mom would love this” or “Aaron has something like this”. But sometimes she would stop and turn to Credence and ask, “Do you like this?”

He had to talk her out of buying him things multiple times. She seemed so eager to spoil him. She wanted to buy him a new pair of shoes and a watch she’d seen on display. There was an expensive-looking suit outside of a tailor’s shop, and her eyes practically sparkled upon seeing it. She tried to convince him to go in and try it on, but he knew if he did, she would end up buying it for him. How he deterred her from the idea was a miracle in itself. But eventually, she dropped the idea, and the two continued on their walk. 

The two reached the park without buying a single thing. When they reached the entrance of the park, (y/n) stopped, and pulled away from his side. Credence halted in his tracks, turning around to face her. He looked down at her as she smiled up at him.

“Do you have anywhere to go after this?” She asked him.

Credence shook his head. His mother wouldn’t be expecting him until dark.

She pursed her lips and tilted her as if in thought as she sighed.

“Should I just kidnap you?”

The question took him by surprise. (y/n) laughed at the perturbed look on his face. “I’m joking, Credence,” she said between snorts. “I won’t kidnap you. Not unless you want me to.”

Credence smiled softly, letting out a soft chuckle of his own. This made (y/n) smile even bigger than before. She took a coy step closer to him, taking one of his gloved hands in her own and swinging it playfully.

“I had fun today, Credence,” she told him. “As first dates go, this is probably the best one I’ve ever been on.”

“Just probably?” Credence mumbled jokingly.

(y/n) smirked, amused by the sudden remark. “Yeah, just probably.”

Credence looked down at their hands, admiring how small her hands were compared to his. Somehow he hadn’t realized just how much shorter than him she was. He always felt smaller than her. He didn’t mind it: feeling small. It was different from how other people made him feel small; like his mother or strangers on the street. They made him feel tiny, like a bug— like something disgusting and inconvenient. To them, he was something they could easily step on. But with her, it was different.

With her, he felt small, like a flower. And to him, she was the sun. She was so big and so bright. Whenever she was around, he felt alive. And whenever she wasn’t, he felt like he might die. He didn’t mind feeling small around her, because, at least when he’s with her, he is consumed by light. 

“I had fun too,” Credence spoke up. “I really enjoy spending time with you, Miss (l/n).”

“Are you always this formal?” She teases despite her obvious blushing. “I enjoy spending time with you too, Mister Barebone.”

She gave his hand one last gentle squeeze before letting go. She brushed past him, striding down the street. Credence watched her as she walked, his heart sinking just a little.

As though she could sense it, (y/n) looked at him over her shoulder as she walked and grinned. “Don’t look so sad,” she yelled to him. “I’ll find you again.”

With a chaste wink, she disappeared around the corner and away from his line of vision, leaving him with a full stomach and an even fuller heart.

That night, Credence returned home alone. He reluctantly walked back to the crooked chapel. His mind was fogged with thoughts of her. When he came to the front of what he, unfortunately, called ‘home’, he hesitated to go in. He looked through each window. It was dark inside. Could everyone have fallen asleep already?

He looked down at the coat on his body. He quickly shrugged the heavy material off of his shoulders and folded it in his arms before quietly entering the house. The house seemed empty, and it was almost too quiet. He pushed his way through the dark and carefully made his way up the stairs as to not make a sound. He’d gotten good at being quiet in the house. He memorized each squeaky board and mastered the art of moving in silence despite his height. 

He crept up the stairs as he’d done many times and tip-toed to his bedroom, where he then quietly shut his door. Once he heard the door click softly, he released his breath and sighed in relief.

His room wasn’t much. It was small and comprised a bed with an old iron frame, an armoire, a sink, and a metal tub that he uses to bathe. He looked down at the coat in his hands. He moved to the armoire by his bed and opened its doors. There wasn’t much inside; he had little to put in it, anyway. But today, he would be thankful for that. 

The armoire was a rather fancy piece of furniture. It stood out in his otherwise destitute room. The armoire was just as old and worn out as the rest of the room, but it wasn’t hard to tell it was an ornamental relic of the 19th century. It had enough space to fill two weeks’ worth of clothes. It was almost offensive how little there was inside it. One detail about it was its hollow bottom. Credence could slide the bottom plank of wood to reveal a cubbyhole. Its original purpose must have been for shoes or winter blankets, but now it would serve a new purpose. 

Credence kneeled on the ground and packed the coat neatly into the cubby before throwing his new gloves on top. They fit perfectly inside and he was allowed to slide the wooden plank back on with ease. With that accomplished, he rose to his feet and closed the armoire doors. He began undressing, stripping his clothes until he was left in nothing but his boxers.

It was as cold in the house as it was outside, but credence had no pajamas that would keep him warm. He had but one pair of old satin pajamas that were too small for him. He decided not to wear them tonight. The naturally cool material wouldn’t provide him warmth or comfort.

After putting away his dirtied clothes, Credence fell back on his bed and stared up at the rotting ceiling above him. As he lay there, his mind would drift to the memories of his ‘date’. Just thinking about her made his heart beat faster. He pictured her in his mind, reliving the time he spent with her.

It was the most surreal thing. Being with her made him feel things he never felt before. She made his heart flutter and his cheeks warm in a pleasantly addicting way. When he was with her, he forgot everything bad. There was no anxiety, no judgment, no harsh words, or abuse. He was just a normal man with a normal woman. He wished he could feel that way all the time.

His hand reached behind his head and slipped under his pillow to retrieve the soft pink piece of fabric he kept there. He held it up in front of him, rubbing it between his fingers. The moonlight from his window reflected on its threads, and he could read the stitched initials in the corner.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name so tenderly. Just saying her name aloud made his lips tingle. He loved saying her name for the simple reason that it was her name. He would say it a thousand times aloud if he could.

He brought the cloth down to his nose and inhaled its scent. Her fragrance still lingered on the soft fabric, clouding his senses. Credence felt a familiar stirring rise in his stomach. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he pressed his legs together. His mind flashed to the other day in the church, remembering the lewd images of her he had fantasized about. A part of him was ashamed. Sexual desire was a sin he shouldn’t act upon. It was a vile, disgusting act. That’s what the church told him, at least. And his mother would have no part of it either.

Mary Lou made sure to reprimand him whenever she suspected him of sexual temptation, so much so he shied away from girls all together. Yet recently, he’s felt a bumbling desire well up inside of him. He knew what it was; he felt it before. Only once before had he fallen victim to his lusty desire. It had been in his adolescence. He was sleeping when he had a dream about a red-haired woman he’d seen on the street. She was most likely in her twenties at the time, but she was so captivating he remembered her face for a week. He dreamed of that red-haired woman touching and caressing him. She’d even kissed him like he’d seen couples on the street kiss. This mild fantasy woke him from his sleep with a shameful mess on his bed.

He was so humiliated and ashamed he rushed to confess to Mary Lou, who punished him greatly for his lasciviousness. He didn’t dream of the red-haired woman or any woman at all after that. That is, until he met her.

At first, his thoughts of her were innocent. He would fantasize about holding her hand and laying on her chest as he slept. She would caress his face and run her fingers through his hair.  He would give her chaste kisses on her cheek, and she would giggle and laugh, returning the favor. But that changed that day he went to church and listened to Father Blackwell’s sermon. That was the first time he thought of her in such an erotic way.

It was because of this he felt particularly suffocated by her presence today. He became even more aware of her touches. His eyes would stare at her lips more often and glance at the curves of her chest. He thought about how she held on to his arm; How warm and soft she was; Her small hands. He thought about how her finger felt brushing against his lip. About how her tongue darted between her plump lips to lap at her thumb.

Credence bit his lip to keep his whimpers from escaping. His thoughts were filled with images of her, his body reacted on its own. He curled on his side and pressed his legs together to relieve himself of his growing hardness. Instead of discouraging his growing lust, it seemed to only spur it on. The feeling of his thighs pressing against his length brushed an itch he desperately desired to scratch.

He wanted her by his side so terribly. If only he were as confident and manly as the men he saw on the street, she would be. If he were as confident as the man she was with today, then he could call her by her name. He too could take her by her delicate waist and kiss her cheeks. And, oh, did he wish to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her many times today. He wanted to kiss her the moment he saw her. He wanted to kiss her again in the boutique when she pressed her hands on his chest, and again when she asked him to go on a date with her. He wanted to kiss her multiple times in the restaurant for teasing him so viciously, and he wanted to kiss her deeply before they said goodbye.

He imagined what it would be like to be that kind of man; what it would be like to have her with him now, and what he would do if she was. If she was there on his bed laying next to him, he would want to kiss her now as well. He would have her under him, staring up at him with her beautiful (e/c) eyes. He would brush the hair away from her face and stroke her cheek. Her hands would hold his sides and pull him closer so their bodies lay flat against each other. He would feel her and she would feel him. Her warmth would consume him, and their bodies would mold together.

Credence closed his eyes and smelled her pink handkerchief. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she was there.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name once more. His hips rocked hesitantly, the undeniable bulge in his boxers was now too evident to ignore. Rocking his hips caused a pleasurable sensation in his stomach. It felt so good, he did it again... and again... and again; rocking his hips as he held her handkerchief to his nose and imagined her.

He thought of kissing her soft lips as he pressed into her, feeling her hands run up and down his sides as they had done before. He wanted to rock his hips against her like he was doing now. Would it feel as good for her as it felt for him? Would she breathe as heavy as he was now? Would she pant and whisper his name?

“A-ah...”

He panted lewdly, pleasuring himself with these thoughts. But it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He laid on his back on the bed. His body seemed to know what to do without thinking about it. He kept his eyes closed as his free hand snaked down his body to palm himself over his boxers. He rubbed himself through the fabric, his shallow breaths filling his ears. But to him it wasn't his hands, but hers; her soft, small hands touching him gently.

It was her delicate hands that slipped past the waistband of his boxers and gripped his length. It was her hands that stroked him slowly. She was there, whispering his name while he whispered hers. The more she stroked him, the shorter his breaths became. Each breath he took was filled with her scent. She consumed him, wrapping her essence around him, and filling his body with heat.

She stroked him faster as they kissed. He kissed her deeply, slipping his tongue past her lips as he’d seen couples do before. He could taste the cherries and vanilla on her tongue, as sweet as they were in the milkshake they’d shared. She moaned his name in her mouth, driving him crazy.

“Ha..-ahh. ahaa...”

More, he thought. All he could think about was how he wanted more. More of her scent, more of her touch, more of her.

Her hands became wet with his slick, gliding up and down his length with vigor. His body was overtaken with a foreign sensation, buzzing through his body, collecting where he wanted to be touched the most. The faster she stroked him, the better he felt. She felt good, so so good.

“H-Ha...-haaaa...(y/n)...”

He wanted to say her name over and over. He wanted to shout it, loud enough for the heavens to hear. He didn’t care if God heard him. He wanted God and the angels to hear so they would know how she made him feel. He was overwhelmed by love and lust for her. He wanted them to know that his body was hers and he willingly gave it to her. He wanted to touch her, please her, feel her.

His eyes clenched shut. Her hands pumped his twitching length excitedly, the buzzing heat collecting at his center. His legs began to shake, his back arching from the bed. Lavender and vanilla, that’s what he smelled as his vision blurred and the buzzing heat tingling in his core burst and was replaced with a cool wave of overwhelming pleasure.

His body trembled, somehow coated in a thin layer of sweat despite the room being cold. He stayed still, laying in silence as he let his body calm. When he finally opened his eyes, he half expected to see her hovering over him with that playful smile on her face, only to be met with the rotting rafters of his ceiling.

He sighed through his nose. Once the euphoric cloud in his mind cleared, shame and regret replacing his lusty desire, he moved from his bed to the sink across the room. He turned the knob and a low stream of water fell from the faucet. Taking the dingy rag that rested on the sink’s bowl, he wet it, using it to clean up his mess. As he wiped himself, he wondered if that was what sex was like. He never touched himself like that before, though he wanted to many times. Now that he had, the answer to his question was clear. Sins were just pleasures he was being denied. 

He returned to his bed, burying himself beneath the covers. He took the handkerchief back into his hand and held it by his face as he slept on his side. His eyes grew heavy, the scent of lavender slowly drifting him to sleep. A passing thought in his mind wondered if this is what it would feel like to sleep by her side. He would do anything to just hold her once, to lie on her chest and listen to the sounds of her breathing.

That was his last thought before falling asleep.

Several days would pass since the last time he saw her. They would be long, dreary days spent in the chapel. It snowed relentlessly for three days, making it impossible to venture out. During that time, he would clean and help Chastity serve meals to the orphans that sought refuge from the streets. The day when the snow finally ceased to fall, Mary Lou tasked him with shoveling the street in front of the chapel while she took Modesty and Chastity into town.

It was once he finished shoveling that he realized he had the rest of the day for himself. He pondered staying in the house for a moment, but quickly threw the idea. He couldn’t bear another minute in that house. Instead, he went on a walk. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this when he had the time. He would walk aimlessly just to get away. He only could afford to when his mother left him alone.

Today, Credence found himself at Central Park. It was no surprise that the park was packed. The low temperatures of the past week allowed the lake to freeze over, thick enough for people to skate on. Men, women, and children scattered across the area. Carolers were singing Christmas songs and street vendors peddled treats. It was a pleasant and lively scene.

He had almost forgotten that Christmas was so soon. He’d been so caught up with his duties it had slipped his mind. He liked Christmas, even though he didn’t celebrate it the way most people do. His mother forced him and his siblings to attend church on Christmas Day. But he could appreciate what others did on Christmas. He liked seeing the kids play in the snow, showing off their new toys. He liked the idea of parents spending time with their children by the fire. He even liked listening to Christmas songs that would play on repeat outside the record store.

Credence watched the people as he walked through the park. He liked to imagine himself in their place. Sometimes he was a kid playing fetch with his dog. Sometimes he was a woman making snow angels, or a man building a snowman. Right now, he was the man of a couple skating on the ice, holding hands with his partner. The pair laughed as they spun in circles, occasionally grasping at each other’s arms when they slipped.

He was too busy projecting he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. Like any other creature, he was susceptible to attack. He flinched as he felt icy-cold pellets burst against the back of his head. He heard a sharp gasp not far behind him, followed by a heap of childish giggles. Credence turned around, expecting to see a group of devious looking children. Imagine his surprise when he saw her standing ten feet away from him with a group of children looking incredibly guilty.

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry, Bunny! I was aiming for your shoulder, I swear!”

“(y/n)?” He muttered in disbelief.

How did she always appear in the least expected places? He stared her down as she rushed towards him. Today she was wearing a heavy, brown fur-lined coat and a green cloche hat that matched her boots. When she reached him, her hands immediately reached behind his head to dust the remaining remnants of her snowball from his hair.

She looked at him apologetically. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I feel like a total gink,” she pouted.

His cheeks burst into flames. The position she put him in had her chest brushing pressing against his as her hands brushed through his hair. At this angle he could see how neatly curled her hair was under her cap, falling in styled swirls around her face. Her swollen nose was red from the cold. Her breath that smelled distinctly of coffee beans warmed his cheeks.

Credence’s expression softened, a faint smile ghosting his lips. She was still apologizing to him, frantically brushing snow from his hair and shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said in hopes to calm her. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. Her head lulled forward, hiding her face in his chest. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” He heard her muffled voice say.

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat and nervously licked his lips. This was the closest she’d ever been to him. He reached a dithering hand to grasp hers and rubbed the back of her gloved hand with his thumb.

“I’m not angry,” he assured her.

(y/n) lifted her head from his shoulders to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of irritation. “Are you sure? You can get me back, if you want.”

Credence nodded his head. “I’m sure.”

She believed him this time, her relief washing over her face. “I really am sorry,” she said one final time. “I just saw you walking past by chance and I wanted to surprise you.”

“I was surprised!” He said a bit too excitedly.

This made her laugh and playfully push his shoulder. Her laugh alone was enough to put a smile on his face, one that made dimples appear on his cheeks. He felt her hand firmly grasp his, holding it properly.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new coat and gloves?” She asked. “Don’t you like them?”

Credence had forgotten he wasn’t wearing the coat you got him. He couldn’t, not without his mother seeing it. If she knew about the coat—if she knew about him seeing you—she would be furious. He kept the coat (y/n) had given him hidden with the rest of the precious things she gave him. He wore the old navy blue coat out that Mary Lou had recently acquired and given to him. It wasn’t nearly as warm or stylish as the coat (y/n)  had gotten for him, but it was enough for the winter, and it was the only thing he could wear in front of his mother.

“I do like them,” he answered. “I was afraid of ruining it. I don’t want to wear it out too much.”

It was the best excuse he could think of at the time, and after mulling over it for a brief moment, she seemed to accept it. She then told him that, if he did end up damaging his new coat, she would simply buy him another, and spoke no more of it.

She nodded towards the lake behind him. “Did you come here to skate?”

Credence looked back to the lake. “Oh, no,” he said. “I never learned.”

Another gasp left her lips. “You’ve never been ice-skating before?”

He shook his head.

“Then we’ve got to fix that, now don’t we?” She reckoned.

Before he could ask what she meant, she’d already left his side. He looked in all directions until he saw her talking to an older couple sitting on a mess of picnic blankets under a tree. It appeared she’d asked him a question because their answer was a shake of their head. She waved goodbye to them before walking off to pursue another person, who gave the same answer. He watched her do this a few times around a small area of the park with no luck. At one point, she stood in the middle of the snow pondering while she scanned the area. Curious, Credence walked up to her.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Looking,” she replied simply.

Her squinted eyes panned across the park, her lips pursed as though she were thinking very hard about something.

“Ah!” She shouted, a triumphant smile stretching across her lips. She turned to Credence and winked. “Follow my lead.”

She walked down a small hill towards a small group of children who were playing in the snow at the bottom. Credence followed a few steps behind.

“Hey, kiddos,” She waved.

The kids stopped what they were doing to look up at her. She waved her hands towards her, beckoning them over. The children shared confused looks, before cautiously making their way towards her. She squatted down Asian style to meet their eyes. Credence stayed a couple of feet away, but he could still make out what was being said.

“Can you keep a secret?” He heard (y/n) ask the children.

The kids nodded and hummed in confirmation. (y/n) grinned.

“You see my friend over there?” She pointed behind her, directing the children’s attention to Credence. “He’s never been ice-skating before!”

The children snickered whispered teasingly among themselves. Credence looked away, embarrassed to be taunted by children. (y/n) giggled with them and easily brought back their attention.

“I really want to teach him,” She revealed once their jeering ceased. “But he’s so silly, he forgot to bring a pair of skates.”

“That is silly!” One of the little girls yelled.

(y/n) looked between Credence and the children. “Now, I see you have a pair of skates.” Sure enough, there were a pair of skates laying in the snow where the kids were once playing, far too big to fit on their small feet.

“Do they belong to any of you?” (y/n) asked.

“No,” The little girl shook her head. “They were already there.”

“We think someone left them by mistake,” An older boy chimed in.

“I see,” (y/n) hummed. “Do you think I can take them for my friend, then?”

“But we was gonna use ‘em! We saw them first!” A small blond boy frowned. (y/n) looked at the boy and flashed her kindest smile.

“Oh, were you now? How about I just borrow them? I’ll bring them right back to you, I pinky promise!” She held out her pinky for him to take. The boy looked at her hand in front of him. He lifted his hand and stretched out his pinky.

“I guess that’s okay...” He mumbled through puffed red cheeks.

(y/n) hooked hers around the boy. “Aren’t you sweet?” She affectionately pat the top of his head. “I hope my kid will be as kind as you are.”

The boy blushed and swat her hand away from his head, adjusting his hat. “Whatever, Lady!” The blond boy ran away, the rest of the children chased after him with childish taunts.

(y/n) chuckled and rose back to her feet. She walked up to where the skates were laying and picked them off the ground before making her way back to Credence’s side.

“Are you ready?” She asked excitedly.

Credence shrugged his shoulders, still processing the events of the last fifteen minutes. (y/n) scoffed and rolled her eyes, forcibly taking Credence’s hand.

“Just come on,” she groaned as she dragged him towards the lake.

When they reached the edge of the ice, she handed him the skates and ordered him to strap them onto his boots. Credence did as he was told and sat down on the nearest bench, securely strapping the skates onto his shoes. After (y/n) had double-checked to make sure they were on right, she held out her hand for him to take. He grabbed it, using her to find his balance. When he stood to his feet his ankles wobbled, disrupting his balance.

(y/n) gripped his arm tightly to keep him from falling. “Careful,” she warned.

He held on to her as she guided him to the lake. She stepped on the ice with ease. She grabbed his other hand and helped him step on the ice. Immediately after his skates touched the ice, his heart raced.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” his voice fluttered anxiously.

“You’re okay, I got you,” she promised.

She pulled him further out onto the ice, still clasping his hands. Credence gripped her hands for dear life while silently trying to figure out how it was he ended up in this position.

Other skaters flew past them as he stumbled on the ice like a baby deer. (y/n) didn’t give up on teaching him. No matter how many times he slipped or tripped, she was always there to catch and pick him back up when he fell. Eventually, he got the hang of it. He started balancing himself on his own, gliding somewhat smoothly without having to hold on to her. It didn’t take long for him to relax and reciprocate her playful activities.

(y/n) eventually stepped off the ice, giving him the space to skate on his own. She watched him fondly, taking in the smile glowing on his face. He went around in circles, almost bumping into others a few times, but he directed himself easily. She would say he was a natural.

He went on like that for a while as she watched. When he’d had enough, he made his way back to the edge of the lake where she stood.

“Was that fun?” She asked when he skated towards her. Credence nodded his head and smiled bashfully. She helped him stop by taking his outstretched hands. 

“You’re a fast learner. I’m kind of jealous. I didn’t get the hang of skating until I was twelve,” she brooded jokingly. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” he said as he stepped back on the snow. 

They walked towards the bench, and Credence sat down to take off his skates. (y/n) stayed standing. “There’s a vendor selling treats across the street,” she told him. “Why don’t you give those skates back to the kids while I get us something to drink?”

“But––” Credence tried to protest, not having the courage or social skills to approach a group of children. It was quickly ignored, however, for (y/n) had already made up her mind, and began walking to the street. 

“I’ll be right back!” She said as she left him alone on the bench. 

Credence looked around, silently doubting his ability to find the kids. His eyes scanned the park until they landed on a group of children having a snowball fight. He recognized one of the children as the bratty boy (y/n) convinced to let them borrow the skates. 

He reluctantly got up from the bench and walked over to the children, skates in hand. The closer he got, the louder their shouting laughter became. Most of the children were boys between the ages of seven and thirteen, but three girls around their age had gained their friendship. One girl stayed off to the sidelines watching the others play. He recognized her as well.

“Excuse me... little girl?” He called. The little girl turned around and held out the skates. “Here.”

The girl took them and smiled. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

She looked behind him, frowning when she saw nothing there. “Where’s that nice lady?”

Credence pointed across the street towards the street vendor where (y/n) was patiently waiting in line. “She should be back,” he told her.

“I like her!” said the girl. “She’s very pretty, like a princess!”

This made him smile. It made him happy to know others, even children, saw her the way he did. “Yeah,” he agreed. “She is.”

The little girl looked at Credence, noting the soft smile on his face as he watched you. “Do you like her or something?” She probed unexpectedly. 

“Uh... I...?” Credence struggled to find the words to say. It's not that he didn't know the answer, it was just that he hadn’t expected to be asked that question. Especially not from an eight-year-old girl. Were his feelings that transparent? Did you know how he felt too?

The little girl didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I think she likes you,” she told him, surprising him for the second time.

Credence flushed pink. “Really?”

The small girl reached her hand to pat Credence's arm and imitated the look of someone wise beyond her years. “Trust me. Women know these things.”

Oddly, he couldn’t help but feel a bit hopeful despite the words coming from a child. He never felt about anyone the way he felt about her. The way he is when he’s with her—the way he talks to her and touches her—he can only be that way with her because he likes her. He could never be that way with anyone else. But he always felt that, for her, it was different. Seeing her interact with others like the children, the waitress, Raül—even Edmund—made him realize that she was kind to everyone. She didn’t treat him that way because she liked him. She treated him that way because that’s just the kind of person she was.

“Hey, kiddos!” (y/n)’s voice caught his attention. Both Credence and the girl looked up to see her holding a cardboard box of steaming paper cups. “I got something for you!”

The children playing heard her too and ceased their fight to run towards her. They circled her like a litter of puppies, excitedly asking what she was holding.

She lowered the box for them to see, showing off cups filled with light brown liquid. “For letting us borrow the skates. Be careful though, it's hot!”

The kids yelled enthusiastically as she began handing them each a cup. Credence walked to her side to help her.

“What is it?” He asked.

(y/n) frowned. “Hot chocolate. Have you never had hot chocolate before?”

He shook his head, causing her to gasp.

“I wish I had known sooner!” She pouted. “I got this is from a vendor across the street. I could have gotten better hot chocolate with marshmallows at a cafe a block from here.”

“I think it’s delicious!” The little girl interjected. 

(y/n) smiled down at her. “Well, if you think so, then it must be.”

Credence ended up being the one to give the bratty boy his cup of hot chocolate. (y/n) watched him as he drank it greedily. 

“What about you?” She asked him. “Do you like it too?”

“It’s pretty good, I guess,” he said, trying his hardest to sound indifferent, but it was hard to take him seriously with the chocolate mustache on his lips.

(y/n) laughed and took his cheek between her fingers, pinching them gently. “Gosh, you’re so darn cute! Do you have a big sister already? I can be yours, if you want. I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

The boy blushed and pulled his face away from her hand. “Lady, you’re crazy!”

He threw his empty cup on the ground stormed off angrily. The other children finished their cups and handed them back to her nicely before running off too, leaving her and Credence alone. 

“What did I say?” She mumbled to herself.

Credence couldn’t help but find it amusing. It was nice seeing her tease someone else for a change. 

“Maybe he already has a sister,” he answered sarcastically.  

(y/n) scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, just drink your cocoa,” she chuckled after handing him a cup. 

The two threw away the empty cups and cardboard box in a nearby trashcan. (y/n) suggested they take a walk around the park and talk. She asked him if he liked the hot chocolate, to which he answered yes. She then asked which he liked better: vanilla milkshakes or hot chocolate. He told her milkshakes. They talked like this for a while. Occasionally she would ask about his family and what he liked to do at home. He didn’t give her many satisfying answers, but that didn’t stop her from prodding.

“So, did you give up on hunting witches?” She asked.

Credence swallowed another sip of his hot chocolate. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t carry around flyers anymore. Did you give up?”

“Oh. No, it’s not that,” he said. “I don’t think my mother will ever give up on exposing witches. It’s just that right now she’s kind of stuck.”

“Stuck? Stuck how?”

“She wanted to speak at the church to let everyone know about what she’d seen, but the priest, Father Blackwell, wouldn’t allow it.”

“I know Father Blackwell,” she told him.

Credence perked up. “You do?”

“Yes! My father is a big supporter of the church. Personally, I identify as agnostic, so I don’t go to church with him unless it’s for a holiday like Easter or Christmas. I wonder if you’ve seen him. Not that you could miss him. He’s a rather large man,” she joked.

“Does he wear a white suit?” Credence asked, remembering the stocky man talking with Father Blackwell the last time he visited the church.

(y/n) grinned and nodded excitedly. “That’s his Sunday suit! He has four of them. For some reason, he only likes wearing cream-colored suits on Sundays.”

“I have seen him,” he admits.

“Small world!” She exclaimed. “Well, anyways, I can definitely tell my father to put in a good word for your mother to Father Blackwell.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course! Better yet, why don’t we go right now?”

“N-Now?” Credence gaped.

“It’s Wednesday, they have a service tonight. Father Blackwell will be there, and I can try to convince him to let your mother have a set this Sunday!

“But what about your father?”

“We might not need him. I know Father Blackwell well enough. He might be swayed on my word alone. It won’t hurt to try,” she explained.

“I guess not,” he agreed.

“Come with me, my car is just a short walk from here!” She grabbed his free hand and directed him towards the street where she’d parked her car. 

After they reached the car, she drove him to the church. It was a short fifteen-minute drive from Central Park. It was still too early for the service to start, but when they entered the church, a few people were sitting in the pews praying. An older woman was playing the organ at the altar while Deacon Ripley read scriptures from the Bible. He stopped only stopped when he noticed the two walking down the aisle. 

“Oh, God,” Credence heard (y/n) mutter under her breath. “Not this clown again.”

He wasn’t used to you outwardly showing your distaste for someone; you were always so nice. But considering it was Deacon Ripley, it wasn’t too surprising. 

He was a cunt.

As they came closer, Ripley marked the passage he’d finished reading and closed the Bible. 

“Miss (l/n),” he called her name with a sneer. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to speak with Father Blackwell,” she replied coldly. It was the first time Credence had ever heard her use such a tone. 

Ripley frowned, taking a step down from the podium. “What business could you have with him?”

(y/n)’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “My business with him would be his business and mine, so why would I tell you our business if it isn’t your business to begin with?”

Her witty remark clearly got under Ripley’s skin. His frown deepened and splotches of red began appearing under his grey skin. He didn’t get the chance to respond before Father Blackwell stopped him. 

“Give it a rest, Ripley.” Father Blackwell had come out from the door to his office. He moved between Ripley and (y/n), and held out his hand for her. “(y/n), it’s lovely to see you. It’s been a while. A year, I think?”

She took his hand and shook it. “Don’t be silly, Father. You saw me earlier this year, remember? For my parent’s Easter party.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he nodded, chuckling softly. “Must’ve slipped my mind. What brings your here, child?”

 “Ah, yes, about that...” (y/n) eyed Ripley. “Can we speak somewhere private, just the two of us?” 

“I don’t see why not. Step into my office.”

(y/n) turned to Credence and gave him a reassuring smile before following Father Blackwell to his office and disappearing behind the heavy door. Credence could feel Ripley’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head. He obviously wanted to say something to him. 

“Seeing that godless woman walk through God’s doors was not something I expected to see today,” he began, excited to get his two cents in.  “But I must admit, seeing you by her side surprises me more. I didn’t realize you two were so close”

What was his problem? Why did he hate her so much? Then Credence remembered what she said to him in the park. Could that be why Ripley hated her? Because she didn’t believe in the church? No, it had to be something else. His pointed anger felt too personal.  

“We’re not really,” Credence answered. “I only just met her.”

“So you say.” Ripley circled him. “I wonder... Does your mother know about you and Miss (l/n)?”

If there’s one thing Credence hated about Ripley, it was his talent for stirring up trouble. His hobby of collecting and relaying gossip often caused spouts within the church. Credence fell victim to this twice before, each time resulting in a beating from his mother. He had to be careful with what he says to Ripley because he will most definitely relay it to his mother if he thinks it will cause conflict. 

“She does,” he lied as best he could. 

Ripley raised his brows. “Really? I never took her for the kind of woman who would allow her son to stroll the streets alone with such... unholy company. If there’s one kind of person Mary Lou hates, it’s women like her.”

Credence frowned. “What do you mean by ‘women like her’?”

“Don’t you know? Not only does she not accept the Christian God, but she fully denounced him. Instead of saving her divine feminine for holy matrimony, she committed salacious acts with various men that would make the Virgin Mary cry.”

Credence fell silent. So this was the reason. The malicious smirk on Ripley’s cracked lips proved that he couldn’t wait to tell him what he knew. 

“Oh my,” Ripley sighed. “I suppose you didn’t know.”

Credence clenched his fist. He could feel his body vibrating with heat. He was so angry. How dare he speak about her that way? How dare he disrespect her? Spread rumors about her? Was gossip not a sin?  Who was he to degrade and scrutinize her?

So what if she did? He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change what he thought about her. It didn’t change how he felt about her. But hearing such demeaning words come from Ripley's mouth made his blood boil. 

There were times where Credence would get like this. It wasn’t often, but when he did, his mind would think dark, violent thoughts. They build up in his head until anger and rage blinded him. He wanted to say something—do something. He probably would have too, if her voice hadn’t rung in his ears, immediately calming his nerves and the growing anger inside him. 

“Credence, I did it!” 

He saw you rushing excitedly towards him with a big smile on your face. You came up to him, grabbed both of his hands, shaking them wildly. 

“Tell your mother that she can speak this Sunday at the end of the service!”

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat. His tightened chest released the tension it was holding and his hands unclenched to hold hers. Looking into her shining (e/c) eyes made all his violent thoughts disappear as if they were never there. 

He blinked a few times, already forgetting how upset he’d just been. “H-How?”

“Magic,” she winked. 

She hooked her arm around his and began walking him back down the aisle to the exit. “Do you want me to drive you home?” She asked, looking up at him.

Credence smiled, Ripley’s taunting comments fleeing his memory. “Yes.”

The drive took longer than expected. There had been an accident on Manhattan Avenue that detoured them to Harlem. Credence didn’t mind it. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. Driving through Harlem was an experience in itself. He’d never been past the Upper East Side. Harlem was a lively neighborhood. People played music and danced in the streets despite the cold. Murals lined the walls, and there was a hopping joint around every corner. Credence looked out the window in silent awe, taking in everything he saw. 

“Have you never been here before?” (y/n) asked, noticing his astonishment. 

“No,” he told her truthfully. “It’s really nice.”

“You know, I used to live here,” she revealed.

That, he found hard to believe. His doubt must have been visible on his face because she laughed and shook her head. 

“What? You don’t believe me? It’s true, I swear! I wasn’t always like... Well, we didn’t always live in Kings Point.”

Having something to prove, Credence watched as she made a sudden turn, off course from where they were heading. The townhouses they passed were tall, skinny, and faintly worn down. The further they drove from the commercial streets, the quieter it became. They rounded about four blocks before turning into a barren street. Some houses were completely dark, while others had lights in their windows. The car slowed to a stop in front of one of the dark houses. It wasn’t terribly worn, but chipping blue paint covered the exterior and there were cracks in the brick fence that protected it. 

(y/n) parked the car and moved to get out. Credence did the same, opening the door and stepping onto the pavement. (y/n) came to his side and eyed the house. 

“This was my house,” she spoke after a while. “I lived here until I was nine.”

She walked up to the gate and pointed at the mailbox inside it. Faded letters that spelled her last name were imprinted on the stone from where a sign used to be. He tried to imagine her living it; it was almost comical. He only knew her to wear mink coats and designer clothes. He’d only pictured her living in a palace—somehow it felt fitting. Imagining her in such a small house and living an average life didn’t seem right. But perhaps that’s why she kept surprising him.

“No one lives here now. Sometimes I come back just to look around and remember as much about the place as I can.”

Credence walked to her side. “What do you remember?”

A smile fluttered on her lips. “I remember chasing my brothers around the house. We sat by the fire during the winter while my father read us stories and my mother knitted blankets and scarves. I learned how to ride a bike right on this street!” She looked down at the cracked pavement. “We were happier, I think.”

“Are you not happy now?”

(y/n) looked up at Credence and flushed. “I am! I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just...” She sighed. “Now that my father has his own architect firm, he’s been so busy I rarely see him anymore. My mother and I were never really close, and it’s pretty easy for us to avoid each other in such a big house. I don’t know... Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it.”

“What about your brothers?” asked Credence. “You seem close.”

“We are,” she smiled. “We always had each other, and most of the time it was enough. Even when Aaron left to study at Oxford, Channing paid extra attention to me. Still, I want us all to be as close as we were.”

He could sympathize with that. Blood-related or not, Modesty and Chastity were his sisters. They’d been through a lot together, and that was enough for him. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a close relationship with a parent, having never had one in the first place—but he figured that’s what made it worse. 

“Anyway,” she elbowed him playfully. “D’you believe me now?”

Credence nodded. She chuckled softly, taking his hand and guiding him back to the car. They continued the rest of their drive uninterrupted. It was relatively quiet aside from the few comments she made along the way. By the time they reached Pike Street, it had started to snow again. It wasn’t heavy like the days before. The snowflakes fell slowly and softly, fluttering down gracefully on the window-shield. 

The care halted to a stop on the street corner. (y/n) turned to Credence, who was already looking at her. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands. “You don’t need to thank me,” she blushed. “I was happy to.”

“Still, I want to. Thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

They regrettably said their goodbyes, something Credence hated doing because he was never sure when he’d see her again. He stepped out of the car and onto the icy street, turning to wave goodbye at her one last time before watching her drive off down and disappear behind the buildings once she rounded the corner. Credence turned on his heels and walked back to the snow-covered chapel. His feet dragged behind him to stall his arrival. He walked up the creaking steps to the door and opened it lackadaisically. 

He began stripping himself of his outerwear when he noticed another presence in the room. He looked to the stairs and found his mother, Mary Lou, sitting there. Her icy blue eyes bore into his skull. Credence got a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, a vestigial remnant of primal instinct that signified impending danger. 

“Hello, Mother...” He said upon seeing her. She didn't respond. She only looked at him in a way that made him increasingly nervous. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I have some good news.” His mouth began moving before he could think. “Father Blackwell said he would let you speak this Sunday. It’s towards the end of service, and he is only giving us three minutes to speak, but that’s better than nothing, right?”

“Did your jezebel tell you that?” She spoke dangerously.

Credence’s body tensed. “What are you talking about, mother?” He asked, fearful he already knew the answer.

Mary Lou opened her hand to reveal the pink handkerchief. His stomach dropped as she threw the cloth down at his feet. Mary Lou rose from the stairs, her heels thumping loudly as she climbed down.

“I saw you at the cathedral, Credence. You and your little harlot,” she said as she walked towards him. “I was on my way to speak with Father Blackwell when I saw the two of you skip outside with her clinging to your arm.”

Credence kept his head down, staring at the handkerchief by his feet. Mary Lou circled him like a vulture ready to pick at a rotting carcass.

“I always knew your flesh was weak... but I didn’t know all it took was a pair of big (e/c) eyes to make you fall from grace.”

“Mother, I—” The sound of her heavy hand slapping across his face cut his sentence short, sending him to the ground. 

“Silence!” She ordered. Credence felt tears prickling behind his eyes. He stared at the handkerchief lying pathetically on the floor. Mary Lou’s pointed black shoe came into his view and stepped on the delicate silk. Mary Lou was never one to yell, that’s what made her anger so much more terrifying. She spoke barely above a whisper, in a sickeningly sweet and proper tone, the cruel words that left her thin lips.

“The worst part of it is: you tried to hide it from me. You knew what you were doing was a sin. You knew that God was watching, and you did it anyway.”

“Mother, it’s not what you think,” Credence said through his strained tears. “I didn’t touch her!”

“Don’t lie to me, Credence, I saw the way you looked at her!” Mary Lou seethed. “You think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking in late? That I wouldn’t smell the perfume on your clothes?”

Credence fell silent, realizing that denial was futile. It didn’t matter what he said. Mary Lou had already set her mind about his relationship with (y/n). He knew it was too good to be true. He had been happy for far too long. He should have expected it wouldn’t last. He always screwed everything up somehow. This was his own fault. He deserved this.

“You know what I have to do now, don’t you?” She whispered.

Credence did know. His heart thrashed in his chest, fear coursing through his veins. “Mother, please, don’t!” he begged feebly. “I won’t see her again, I promise!”

Mary Lou kneeled in front of Credence. Her hand reached up to lift his head. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, his vision blurred from his tears. They were unfeeling and as cold as the words that left her lips. 

“I know you won’t. We’ll make sure of that.”

More people die in winter than in any other season. That is a known fact. The blistering cold is more dangerous than the smoldering heat. During the winter, everything dies. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little.

“Credence?”

There was nothing worse than winter, he thought. There was nothing worse than being left in the cold, wet, nodding in and out of consciousness—somewhere between life and death. Maybe he was being dramatic. He’d survived this at least twice before. He will be allowed back home, eventually. He would be given a hot bath and warm clothes. He would be wrapped in a blanket and laid on his bed. He would be forgiven.

But, in this moment, he had no warmth. The clothes on his back were damp, sticking to his skin like icy sheets. His already pale skin looked almost as white as the blanket of snow that covered the city, save for the faint blue tint of his lips.

“Credence.”

At first he’d thought walking would make him warmer. Maybe if he moved his muscles, his body would produce what little heat it could. Thinking back on it now, it was a pretty stupid idea. If anything, it made it worse. The wind had picked up, and the snow fell faster than it was earlier. How long had he been out here? It could have been twenty minutes or an hour, he couldn’t tell. Time moves slower when you’re miserable. What he did know was that he had walked about four blocks from the chapel. He thought he might find a place, a warm place where he could sit and rid himself of the cold.

He’d try a tea shop, a restaurant, and a bookstore before giving up. No one would let him in. They were all closed early for the holiday season. He then became increasingly aware how late in the afternoon it was, and how much colder it would be once the sun finally set. And he would still be here, cowering in a filthy alleyway that smelled heavily of rotting food and urine.

“Credence!”

How did she always mange to find him? Her large eyes bore into his own, wide and unyielding. She was close enough that her short breaths gave him the first gust of heat he’d felt since he was thrown out of the chapel. Unlike before, it didn’t smell of coffee beans, but of the hot chocolate they had shared just hours before. If the sweet scent hadn’t filled his nose, he would have sworn she was a hallucination. This was the last place he’d expect to see her. Yet, she always had a knack for turning up in places he’d least suspect. Regardless of what she always said, it felt a little more than coincidence—something just shy of fate.

“What are you doing out here? Where’s your coat?” Her hands flew to his shoulders, her own body reacting to the lack of warmth jolted and shivered.

It was her kind eyes he liked the most. Her eyes had the greatest warmth, the kind that filled your chest whenever you looked at them. He could stare into them forever and never get cold. Her eyes are what he’d miss the most.

“You’re soaking wet! You’ll freeze half to death out here! Come to my car, It’ll warm you up.” She reached for his hand, but he would not give it to her.

“Go away.”

This he could not say while looking in her eyes. It would only make it harder. There was an unpleasant pause, one that continued for a second too long. Her voice, he would miss the sound of her voice as well. He wanted to remember it as best he could, even if the last words she would say to him were full of resentment.

“What?”

He turned his back to her, hiding his tears. He had to do this. It was bound to happen anyway. What was the point in watering a dead plant? The fantasy should have long since ended. It shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

“I’m fine. Just go away,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

But he wasn’t fine, and he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to follow her to the car, where she’d wrap him in the wool blanket she kept in the back seat, and she’d hold his hands to keep them warm.

She scoffed, her heels scuffing on the asphalt as she stepped back, exasperated. “Yeah, right, you’re one minute away from mummifying out here! Just get up and come with me!” She reached for him again, taking his hand. Her touch. He’ll miss her touch.

“No!” He jerked away from her gentle hands.

He didn’t need to see her face to know it hurt her. It hurt him just to say it. But he had to. He made a promise he had to keep. No matter how much it hurt. The next words to fall from his lips would be nothing but lies to mask the truth.

“I don’t need you.”

I do.

“I don’t need your help.”

Help me.

“I don’t want to see you anymore!”

Please don’t go.

Another pregnant silence. The lump in Credence’s throat was large enough to suffocate him. Every time he tried to swallow it down, it would grow bigger, prompting more tears to stain his cheeks.

“You don’t want to see me anymore?” She repeated. Her voice was as cold and steady as the snow that fell around them.

Everything dies in winter. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little. The sound of her heels knocking on the asphalt faded along with her warmth. He’d call out to her if he wasn’t a coward. He would tell her the truth and beg for her forgiveness if he had the strength. But when he couldn’t smell lavenders or vanilla, or feel her unwavering warmth, he knew that it was too late. She was gone.

He fell to the ground, burying his head in his knees to muffle his pained cries. The icy ground didn’t phase him. He felt nothing but the ache in his chest and the swell of his throat. He wondered if that pain would ever go away. Could he continue on like this? With the feeling that a part of him had been taken?

He unclenched his fist, revealing frayed pink fabric; the stitched golden letters staring back at him mockingly. It was the only surviving piece of the handkerchief his mother burned. He’d picked it from the ashes before she threw him out on the streets. The smell of ash and smoke dulled the scent of lavender and vanilla it once carried. But, if he focused hard enough, he could still smell the traces of her perfume. For now, it will be enough.

He sat in the alleyway until the early night sky replaced the setting sun. He would sit and listen to the passing cars and pedestrians in silence, until he could no longer feel the fabric in his hands, or the sting of his aching muscles. His swollen eyes grew heavy, barely staying open longer than a second. He closed them, letting his body relax and fade slowly into nothingness.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, he stayed curled in the alleyway, unaware of his surroundings. Unaware that a car had parked outside the alley entrance. Ignorant to the footsteps that neared his meek form and the shadow that loomed over him. He was oblivious to it all until he felt a weight on his head and shoulders. He pried his eyes open to find himself wrapped in a thick wool blanket.

A dainty (s/c) hand opened for him, tempting him to take it; his saving grace.

“I’m not going to leave you like this. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

Her eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t cold or full of resentment. They were as kind and warm as they always had been, perhaps even more. Her rosy lips held a gentle smile just for him.

“You don’t have to see me again after tonight,” she concurred. “But I need you to get in the car. Please, Credence. Just one more night, then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Had it been anyone else, he would have refused. The hold his mother had on him was stronger than the yearnings of his heart. His fear of her would keep him from acting on his desires—what he truly wanted. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. But now, with her hand outstretched for him to take, there was no nagging fear pulling him away. No voice in the back of his head vilifying him from acting on his whims. Because, for the first time, someone had heard what he didn’t dare to say aloud. For the first time, someone cared. 

Had it been anyone one else, he wouldn’t have taken their hand. He wouldn’t have stood from the frozen ground or walked towards their car. Anyone else, and he wouldn’t have gotten inside and felt the heat melt his frozen muscles. If it was anyone but her, he would still be wasting away in the freezing, damp alleyway. 

“Just try to relax and get warm,” she told him as they drove off. He didn’t have the strength to speak. He was far too tired. She could see from the corner of her eye that he was falling asleep. His head rested on the window, his bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open. She took his hand that rested in his lap. It was cold to the touch, like ice, as if no blood coarsed through his veins. 

She refused to let go, instead she held it tighter. “Rest. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

If he wasn’t already drifting to sleep, he would have asked where she was taking him, but his eyes refused to open, and his lips would not open to pose the question. Instead he let the motion and hum of the car lull him to sleep. 

New York City was known for many things: its gigantic skyscrapers, the lively scene, the people. But it was easy for tourists to see what the locals could not. New York City was by no means as glorious as its reputation would like you to believe. Everything great about it was reserved for people who could afford it. Shopping, clubbing, broadway, the cinema; it was all novelty. The grit of New York City was something the average New Yorker would like to escape. If the city was as great as it was made out to be, then why did the wealthy live upstate in their palatial mansions? It’s because beyond the smog and stench of the city was fresh air, and acres of woodlands and grasslands to admire. 

That’s all Credence could see when he opened his eyes from what felt like a year’s rest. From the passenger window he could make out the shadows of tall, snow covered maples and oak trees rushing past. The road was long and winding, twisting through the scenic route with ease. 

Beyond the trees, he could make out the orange lights of houses drawing near. It wasn’t long before the trees were replaced by vast mansions with plunging yards, overly decorated for the holiday season. The drowsy fog had barely lifted from his mind to take in such a foreign sight. As his mind awoke, so did the rest of his senses. He became aware of his body, and how it was no longer cold and wet. He could feel his blood circulating in his hands and feet, allowing them to move and wiggle as he pleased. His nose was no longer stuffed, and the numbness in his face had left. 

Taking a peak through the corner of his eye, he saw her; her eyes focused on the road. The light from the passing mansions cast shadows over her features. She was otherwise relaxed, if it weren't for the faint wrinkle of her forehead, the kind that appeared when she was deep in thought. He was too afraid to say anything. Even if he wasn't, he wouldn’t know what to say. Things had happened so suddenly, he couldn’t keep up.

Instead, he kept silent and watched the houses roll by as she drove. Trapped in his thoughts, he began to realize just where she was taking him. He didn’t know why she thought to bring him here, or what she planned to do, but he concluded she was taking him to her home. He’d never been to Kings Point before and he never imagined going within his lifetime, but he could say with confidence that it did not disappoint.

Kings Point was exactly how he imagined it, save for a few minor details. Under different circumstances he would be awestricken, but tonight he didn’t have the energy for it. All he had the energy to do was count the mansions they passed in his head. It was better than thinking of the events that lead him there.

He counted seventeen pompous manors before the car’s speed gradually reduced to a cruise. He watched as a large manor with swooping gable roofs and multiple chimneys came into view. An untouched layer of snow blanketed its long front yard. Windows were plentiful, all of which were lit with those distinct orange lights.

The car pulled into the long driveway, normally protected by a gate, but tonight that gate was left open, allowing them to drive through with ease. As they drove closer to the main manor, he could see the two other sprawling houses that surrounded a large courtyard highlighting a marble fountain.

When the car came upon the front of the manor, there was a man in a black tailcoat tuxedo waiting for them. The car came to a stop, and the man came around the hood to the driver’s door.

“Miss (y/n), welcome home,” he said as he opened the door. (y/n) thanked him, taking his outstretched hand and stepping onto the scalloped cobblestone.  

When the door closed behind her, leaving Credence inside. The two were clearly conversing, presumably about him. She would steal a glance at him through the window a few times while she spoke. The man, who he could now see was no longer in his youth, only nodded compliantly. When the two seemed to come to an understanding, (y/n) walked around to his side of the car, opening it for him to step out.

“Follow me,” She said, taking his hand.

She wasted no time pulling him from his seat and leading him off to some side entrance of the manor. The door they entered was smaller than the wide, double-doors he saw at the front entrance. Inside was just as grand as the outside. The door they took lead to a kitchen as big as the chapel he lived in. Currently, it was packed with chefs prepping large platters of food and servers organizing the trays.

(y/n) clasped his hand tightly as they bulldozed their way through the kitchen. She apologized to the passing help, weaving her way through to the door that stood on the opposite end of the room. Credence kept his head low, allowing her to guide him. Once they reached the adjacent door, she pushed her way through, pulling him down a hallway that he could see led to a set of stairs.

They were rushing down the hall when they passed a side room they didn’t realize was occupied. Their footsteps prompted the voice of a woman to call out into the hall.

“(y/n), honey, you’re back already?”

(y/n) stopped in her tracks, cursing under her breath. She held her finger up to her lips, telling Credence to stay quiet.

“Yes.” She answered.

The woman called out again. “I thought the shops would be busy today.”

“They were.”

“Well, did you get everything you wanted?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment’s pause before the woman spoke again.

“Alright,” she said. “Don’t go picking at the food in the kitchen! You’ll just have to wait until tonight like everyone else!”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “Alright, Mom.”

She signaled for Credence to continue walking towards the staircase as her mother continued to talk from the room.

“And once you put your gifts away, come back and help me finish arranging the poinsettias in the foyer!”

“I will!” She yelled back while pulling Credence up the stairs.

She practically dragged him down the upstairs hall and pushed him into a room, closing the door behind them. That flowery scent that was distinctly hers immediately overtook his senses. The wide, circular room was lit up by various lamps and a sparkling chandelier made of iridescent crystals that hung at its centre. The dark wood panelling of the walls contrasted the rosy accents: blush pink art deco wallpaper, tall white drapes that covered balcony doors, the various mix-match carpets that covered the wood floor like patchwork. The broad circular bed enclosed in a silky white canopy sat against the wall next to a small fireplace. On the other side was a door he assumed led to a bathroom.

(y/n) stood awkwardly by a three-mirror vanity, bashfully fiddling with a silver hairbrush. She’d shed her coat.  

“Sorry about her,” she muttered. “She gets like this around the holidays.”

It was overwhelming, being in her room. He’d barely had a moment to register all that was happening. Now that he had the chance to breathe, his anxiety got the better of him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should be in the city, on his knees begging his mother to forgive him, not miles away in King’s Point; and definitely not in her bedroom.  

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here—”

“You promised me, Credence,” she interjected, silencing him. “Please... Just let me have tonight.”

He clenched his jaw, turning his head to stare at the wall. It was better than looking in her eyes. He heard her move from the vanity. The sound of a cabinet being opened caught his attention. She had an armoire of her own, though hers was grander than his. It towered over her, composed of white and gold painted wood. From inside, she retrieved a blueberry colored suit. Credence recognized it as the suit she eyed in the window the week before. 

“I got you something,” she said, placing the suit on the bed, along with a fresh pair of brown oxfords. “I know you told me not to... but I just couldn’t help myself.”

Credence walked to the edge of the bed, brushing the material with his fingers. She got this for him.  

She moved to a dresser, where she pulled a neatly folded white towel and cloth from the drawer. She walked back to his side, holding the towels out for him to take.

“There's a bathroom behind that door. You can take a bath and get yourself ready. I’ll come back once I’ve finished helping my mother.”

He took the towels from her hands, leaning towards the idea of a bath. His body still hadn’t completely warmed from the ride, and his clothes still stuck uncomfortably to his skin. She left him alone in her bedroom, closing the door behind her as she left.

Credence stayed by her bed even after she had left. He took the suit into his hands. The material was thick and soft. He could tell by the fine stitches it was of high quality, unlike the suit he currently wore. He collected the pants and shoes in his arms and walked to the bathroom door. Much like the bedroom, her bathroom was big. A porcelain bathtub resting on top of golden legs facing a large window that looked over one of the gardens. Credence walked across the mosaic floor and turned the knob of the tub. Hot water rushed from the faucet and filled the tub. Steam rose into the air, forging the mirror above the sink. He placed his clothes on a stool away from the tub so it wouldn’t get wet.

Stripping himself of his clothes, he dipped his foot into the warm water. Pleased by the feeling of the hot water heating his skin, he pulled the rest of his body into the tub and submerged himself until only his head remained above water. He sat in the water unmoving for a while with his eyes closed. The water relaxed his tense muscles, ridding his body of the prickling cold. As he sat there, resting his head against the edge of the tub, he thought about how long this would last. Why did she bring him here? 

Credence opened his eyes and found a rectangular bar of soap sitting on the tub’s edge. He lifted his hand from the water and took it, bringing it to his nose. Lavenders. 

He really shouldn’t be here. There was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that was sure something would go wrong. His mind went back to what she’d said. He promised her he would stay with her tonight. He supposed he did, even if he hadn't explicitly say the words ‘I promise’. Taking her hand was more than an answer. 

But he had made another promise—a promise to someone he never dared to disobey so brazenly. He promised he would never see her again, to wipe her from his life and pretend like she never existed. And yet, here he was, laying in her bathtub, washing himself with her soap, wearing the clothes she bought him, and standing in her room. 

Credence stared at himself in the mirror by the armoire, now dressed in the blueberry suit she’d given him. It fit perfectly, as though it were made for him. It probably was. The shoes on his feet were comfortable. At first, he didn’t think they would fit; they were much larger than the pair of shoes he always wore. But after he pulled his socks up and slid his foot inside, he realized it wasn't that the shoes were too big, but his were a size too small. He could walk in them without his toes uncomfortably pressing against the tip. His toes could breathe and soles of his feet didn’t ache with every step. 

He almost didn't recognize his reflection. It was like another person was staring at him in the mirror. He looked like one of the men he admired in Times Square. The handsome scholars who came down from The Eggs to frequent the speakeasies to unwind after a long day of doing whatever rich boys do. He looked like the kind of man she belonged with.

A knock came from beyond the door.  “Are you decent?” Her muffled voice called from behind it. 

The door opened, and she peaked her head inside, meeting his eyes immediately.

“I knew it’d look good on you,” She smiled brightly, making her way towards him. “Does it fit nicely? I tried my best to guess your measurements. I was afraid it would be a bit off.”

He let her place her hands on his chest, smoothing the fabric of any wrinkles. His heart beat in his chest loudly, like it always did when she got this close. He watched her closely as she looked him over, avoiding his eyes. Her hands flew up to the black tie around his neck. 

“Your tie is a bit crooked.” She chuckled softly, taking the tie into her hands. “Let me.”

“Why are you nice to me?” He spoke lowly as she untied the knot. 

She furrowed her brows, her hands halting. “I’m sorry?”

“Most people would have ignored me had they saw me lying on the streets like I was today, and the day we met. Many people did. But you...” Credence struggled to find the words. “You helped me after I had fallen and dropped my papers, then you drove me home. The other week you insisted on buying me a coat, even though I told you I was fine without one, and then you took me to that restaurant. And then today, you convinced Father Blackwell to let my mother speak. You’ve been kind to me without even knowing me. Why?”

(y/n) lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Do I need a reason?” She countered. “Can’t I just want to?”

When he didn’t answer, she understood that wouldn’t be enough. She sighed, focusing her attention back on the tie. 

“Why did I do those things?” She bit her cheek in thought. “The night we met, I saw what that jerk did and wanted to help you. You looked so... sad. People walked over you—ignored you. It was like you didn’t exist, like I was the only one who saw you. I didn’t like it—seeing you like that. I just thought it would be nice to see a smile on your face. Maybe if I saw you smile, it would make me feel better.”

“Now that I’ve seen your smile, I’ve become a bit fond of it. Addicted is probably the better word. After seeing you smile for the first time, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to see it all the time. If stuffing you full of burgers and teaching you how to skate put a smile on your face, I would do it. I would do anything to keep you smiling.”

She looped the tail of the tie and pulled the knot, tightening it around his neck. She adjusted his collar and let her hands fall to her sides. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. 

“So, I guess the answer to your question is: I did those things because I like you.”

Credence swallowed the lump rising in his throat, sending it back down to his chest. His eyes glistened in the light, glazed with rising tears. His heart ached in his chest, still hanging on to her words. ‘Like’? She liked him?

“And now?” His voice cracked. “Do you still fell that way? Even after the things I said?”

“Why did you say those things?” It was clear she had been wanting to ask this for a while. “Did I do something—say something to upset you?”

Credence vigorously shook his head. “No!” 

He clasped her hands tightly, taking her by surprise. “It’s not you,” he tried to explain. “It was never you.”

She held his hands just as tight, like she was afraid he would fade away if she let go. “Then?”

He swallowed again, looking down at his feet. “It’s my mother... she...” 

(y/n) frowned. She lifted Credence’s hand, turning his palm upward to expose the raised scars on his palms. 

“Was she the one who did this to you?” She whispered, though it sounded as if she already knew the answer. 

Credence stayed silent. He didn’t have the strength to say it out lout. 

“Did she leave you out on the street?” She asked, anger rising in her voice. 

“She doesn’t want me to see you anymore,” He muttered, shamefully. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Credence stilled. Nobody had ever asked him what he wanted. They locked eyes, (y/n)’s stared deeply into his, yearning for an answer. He barely opened his mouth to answer when a knock came from beyond the door, the person behind it bursting into the room. 

(y/n) dropped his hands, turning to face the culprit.

“Aaron, how many times have I told you to wait for me to answer before coming in my room?”

Aaron was a stocky man, just a few inches shorter than Credence. His angular face was covered with a tapered beard. He had the same (s/c) skin and (h/c) hair as (y/n), but his eyes were a light brown. He wore a black formal tuxedo with a matching bowtie. The smile on his face fell slightly as he looked between her and Credence. 

“Sorry sis, I didn’t realize you had company.”

(y/n) sighed, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

Tearing his eyes from Credence, Aaron turned his attention to his sister, his smile widening. “I just thought you might like to say hello to someone.”

(y/n) raised a curious brow. “Who?”

The answer to her question walked in not a second later, dressing in a black fitted full dress tuxedo. He too shared a similar complexion to (y/n) and Aaron, but unlike Aaron, his eyes were the same has hers. He smiled, displaying a row of perfectly straight white teeth. “Hey. Did you miss me, street rat?”

(y/n)’s eyes widened, “Channing?”

Channing chuckled as she sped towards him. “The one and only—Ow!”

(y/n) had punched him hard in the shoulder. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?!”

Aaron snickered to the side. “Told you she would do that.”

“Well, that would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, now wouldn't it?” He said, clutching his sore shoulder. “Can’t you act like a normal sister and be happy I’m back?”

“I am happy, you jerk,” she smiled, pulling him into a hug. He hugged her back gladly. It was clear the two missed each other greatly. 

“(y/n), who’s this?” Channing asked, looking over her shoulder at Credence.  

(y/n) too looked over her shoulder, her lips still holding her elated smile. “Aaron, Channing, this is Credence. He’s my plus one for tonight.”

“Right.” Aaron skeptically squinted at Credence. “And do Mom and Dad know that you have a boy in your room?”

(y/n) placed a hand on her hip. “I don’t know. Do Mom and Dad know about you and Mr. Finnegan’s daughter?” She deflected with a glare. 

Aaron cleared his throat, wrapping an arm around his younger brother and pushing him towards the door. “We’ll see you downstairs.”

“Wait,” (y/n) went to grab Credence by the hand and pulled him towards her brothers.  “Why don’t you show Credence around? You can bond and do whatever boys do while I get ready.”

They all looked at Credence, who was too petrified to protest the proposition. Aaron gave Credence a look that made him think he wasn’t too keen on the idea, but kept his otherwise cheerful smile. 

“I don’t see why not,” said Channing kindly, flashing an inviting grin much like the one (y/n) had given him many times before. He was starting to see the similarities between the two. 

“Yeah, come on, Credence,” Aaron agreed, throwing his free arm around Credence’s shoulder. “Hang with us guys for a while, we’re much more fun than she is.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, escorting the men out of her bedroom. Credence’s pleading eyes silently asked for her not to leave him on his own, but she said nothing to stop them. She only gave him a comforting smile from the doorframe as they pulled him from the door. 

“I’ll see you in a bit.” She promised. 

Aaron and Channing dragged Credence down the hall, guiding him to another set of stairs. Unlike the ones (y/n) had sneaked him up an hour before, these stairs weren’t hidden in a corner at the end of the hall. It was a grand bifurcated staircase, with wide, velvet-clad sweeping steps that plunged into a wide landing that split in two directions: upwards to another wing of the manor, and downwards to the foyer. He could hear the music and babbling chatter clearly from the top of the staircase. The two brothers led him down the many steps, and again down the steps to the foyer where a great crowd of well-dressed men and women conversed under dropping garlands and mistletoe.

Without warning, they pulled him into the crowd, weaving their way through fur shawls and padded tuxedos. Tucked away in a corner of the room, Credence saw something he’d least expected: a familiar face. 

There, resting against a paneled wall, was Edmund Tully, drinking from a half finished glass of brandy. His eyes were distant and seemed to dart around the room, looking for something or someone. He wasn’t entirely sure if Edmund found what he was looking for, because when Aaron had called out to him, he gave up on his previous endeavor. 

It appeared that Edmund was not only friendly with Aaron, but Channing as well. They greeted each other as old friends do, with open arms, harmless roughhousing. Credence stood idly by, feeling out of place. It was only when Edmund set his green on him that Credence was pulled into their circle. Aaron noticed his friend’s stare and pointed his attention towards him. 

Aaron gestured to Credence, snapping his fingers. “Eds, this is uh—this is—give me a second—”

“Credence,” Edmund made up for Aaron’s forgetfulness. “Am I right? We met before.”

Aaron and Channing looked between the two unlikely acquaintances. “You have?” The eldest brother asked. 

Credence nodded, confirming Edmund’s claim. 

“Through (y/n), of course,” Edmund clarified. 

“I see,” Aaron hummed. 

A server in a tight vest came up the group of men with a tray full of glasses filled with a pinkish liquid. Credence watched as they each took a glass from the tray. 

“Do you drink, Credence?” Asked Channing, noticing Credence’s empty hand. 

“Sure he does!” Aaron exclaimed, taking an extra glass and shoving a it into Credence’s unsuspecting hand. “It’s Christmas!”

Giving into the pressure of the situation, Credence accepted the drink. It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done today. The gentleman made a simple Christmas toast, before taking their own respectable gulps. 

Credence brought the glass to his lips, letting the strange liquid slow past his lips and hit his tongue. Somehow the cold liquid felt like heat on his tongue, vibrating down his throat and spreading that warmth into his chest. It was a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. While it was strong with alcohol, the sugary sweet after-taste made it palatable. He took another sip. 

Credence found Aaron and Channing to be decent men. Channing was more friendly to Credence that Aaron, but it had more to due with the age difference and the extenuating circumstances in which they’d met. He supposed it must have been hard warming up to the strange man who was found alone in your younger sister’s room. 

Edmund on the other hand didn’t address him much at all, only speaking to him when obligated. He had the sneaking suspicion that Edmund didn’t like him at all. Credence could care less. To be fair, Credence wasn’t sure he liked him either. 

Like (y/n) had asked, the two brothers, along with Edmund, showed Credence around the mansion. They took him upstairs and downstairs, through long halls and into opulent rooms that were also filled with partygoers. All the while, they continued to keep a full glass in their hands. Credence had drank four full glasses of pink drink by the time they circled back to the foyer—and they hadn’t even venture half of the vast manor. He wasn’t fully convinced that just one family lived in such a palace. 

They loitered the foyer, the music in the next room traveled well, distracting him from the conversation he wasn’t completely involved in. His eyes darted around the room, glossing over the painted and shaven faces of the other guests. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he found it—or rather— her. 

Descending from the heavens that was the staircase landing was her elegant figure, clothed in a velvety red dress that hung off her shoulders. Her hair fell in waves around her face, adorned with pins that resembled holly. The long pointed sleeves clung to her skin along with the rest of the dress, hugging her figure dangerously. He was the first to see her, and in parallel, she saw him first; her painted red lips curling into a wide grin once their eyes met. 

His chest was filled with a fluttering excitement as his eyes followed her movements drawing nearer. She walked straight towards him, bowing her head shyly as she got closer. The others noticed her too, hooting and hollering as she came, embarrassing her more. 

“The Princess has finally decided grace the party with her presence,” Aaron playfully jeered. 

“It’s not easy being the most attractive in the family, it takes a lot of work to look this good,” She bantered. 

“Tons of it, if you ask me,” Channing muttered snidely as he took a sip of his drink, causing a fit of harmless laughter between all of them but Credence. 

“You look amazing,” Edmund complimented over the giggles. 

(y/n) thanked him, her eyes drifting back to Credence expectingly. Flustered, Credence sputtered the first words that came to mind. “You look beautiful, you always do.”

(y/n) blushed, her girlish smile reaching her ears. Her brothers found the interaction equally amusing, stifling their laughter. Though Edmund didn’t find it so amusing, his once joyous expression faltering. 

“I have to steal my brothers for a moment,” (y/n) revealed. 

“What for?” Channing asked, unaware that he was needed. 

“Mom wants to see us all for a portrait. You were supposed to have been there by now. Daddy’s getting restless,” she told them.

Aaron cursed under his breath, having forgotten about the detail. He turned to his friend and handed him his drink. “It will only be a minute.”

Aaron and Channing hurried off towards the stairs whence (y/n) had come. Before she left, she met Credence’s eye. “Just wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

She then disappeared up the stairs with her brothers, leaving him alone with Edmund. And then there were two. 

“Why don’t I show you to the gardens,” Edmund suggested after an awkward beat of silence. 

Credence didn’t get the chance to deny the offer before Edmund turned on his heels and headed towards the door, beckoning him to follow. Out of pure obligation, Credence followed, venturing from the manor and out into the cold (though the consistent warm buzzing in his head and chest kept him warm enough). 

Edmund guided Credence around to the main garden that sat in the center of the sprawling houses. Snow covered the hedges and statues that scattered the grounds. 

“Where are you from, Credence?” Edmund asked suddenly as they walked the garden path. 

Credence shrugged his shoulders. “Here.” 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You might be from New York, but you’re not from here.”

Credence’s brow furrowed. What was he playing at?

“How did you meet (y/n)?” He pestered. 

“In Times Square,” Credence answered. “She helped me when I fell on the street. We kept running into each other ever since.”

Credence wasn’t sure why he was telling him all this, but he felt if he wanted to know, why not tell him? 

“You know, it's charming,” said Edmund. “How you’re sweet on (y/n). It’s pretty obvious. You look at her like a little puppy dog. It’s almost endearing. But it’s pointless.”

“Pointless?” Credence repeated. 

Edmund stared blankly at the younger boy. A sly smirk teetered on his lips.  “Oh, come on. Do you... Do you actually think you have a chance with her?”

Credence’s silence only amused him more, spurring him to laugh tauntingly. “Oh my God, you do! I almost feel bad for you!” It was only now that Credence noticed the subtle slur of his words. “Listen, mate, I’m only saying this because I feel like we could be friends. It's not going to happen. (y/n) is a sweet girl, almost too sweet. She’s oblivious to these kinds of things, you see?” He leaned against a stone post.

“How should I explain this? I’ve watched her grow up, and I have seen many young chaps like you fall all over her. She doesn’t realize her kindness attracts people. There have been many broken hearts left at her feet. You don’t want yours added to the pile, trust me.”

Yes, Credence decided in that moment he didn’t like Edmund at all. He took too much of a likeness to Ripley; they had the same condescending leer. The buzzing of his head wouldn’t allow him to hide his obvious disdain, and for the first time Credence would speak his mind, unafraid of the consequences. 

“Is yours one of them?” He asked boldly. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your heart,” he reiterated. “Is it one of the ones she broke?”

“I—”

“Do you feel threatened by me? Are you afraid that she might not like you as much as you think?” 

“What did you just say to me?” Edmund sputtered. 

Credence continued, feeling no shame for what he was about to slur and stutter. “She’s only nice to you because you’re friends with her brother and she’s known you for so long. But that isn’t enough to win her affection. Deep down, you know that.”

Edmund took Credence by the collar, “I suggest you stop talking,” he whispered dangerously. 

“You say that I don’t have a chance, then what do you have?” Credence chuckled provokingly. “She said she likes me. Has she ever said she likes you?”

“You don’t know a damn thing!” Yelled Edmund, red in the face. “To her, you’re just a pet. A sad little puppy she has to take care of. She’ll give you treats and dress you up like a doll, but it doesn’t mean anything. She’ll never see you as a man.”

“Is this what you do?” Asked Credence. “You drive away any person who you think might come between you and (y/n)? There’s nothing to come between. She’s not yours. She never was. And she’s not mine either. I don’t care if she doesn’t feel the same way I do. That doesn’t matter. But she said she liked me... and I like her.” Credence smiled. “And that is more than anything you’ll ever have with her.”

A powerful fist collided with his left cheek, sending him to the ground. The pleasing buzz in his head was replaced with rushing blood pounding against his temple. 

“I told you to stop talking,” the assailant heaved. 

Credence struggled to his hands and knees. The punch left a metallic taste in his mouth, and a bubbling rage in his stomach. Without thinking, he lunged forward, tackling Edmund to the ground. The two fell in a heap on the cobblestone, wrestling and thrashing violently. Credence got the upper-hand, landing a satisfying punch in the face, leaving Edmund with a bloodied nose. It didn’t last, because as soon as Credence wrestled his way on top, he was back under him, taking blows to the face and ribs. 

He couldn’t react fast enough to defend himself, and honestly, it was a miracle he landed a punch in the first place. He curled into himself to protect his face and ribs. The same vibrating rage he felt earlier that same day with Ripley danced under his skin. His thoughts faded in and out between consciousness, each unfamiliar thought being one of violence and rage. Pure, dark rage. 

Edmund may have got a peak at this entity—a glimpse into it’s glassy white eyes. If he had, he didn't say so. He only hesitated, a look of both confusion and fear flashing over his once blinding anger when their eyes locked. If he had seen those shining white eyes, they disappeared as soon as they came, her voice retreating the beast inside. 

“EDDY! CREDENCE! STOP IT!”

It was a trick of the lights, Edmund would later conclude. A figment of his drunken imagination. But it wasn’t true. The truth was Credence had a part of himself he couldn’t control—a part of himself that could destroy buildings and uproot roads—a part of him he couldn’t control, that is, until he met her. Until the sound of her sweet voice reached his ears and calmed the blackness to its dormant state.  

Edmund was pulled off of him, pushed several feet back while she dove for him on the ground, dirtying her red dress. The light from the lamppost and house gave the illusion that she glowed in the night.

Her eyes were big with worry. “Credence, are you okay? Does it hurt?” She helped him sit up, taking his face gently in her hands. It didn’t hurt. He couldn't feel anything but her warm hands caressing his cheeks. 

“I’m hurt too, (y/n),” Edmund croaked from his place. Aaron and Channing were there, barricading him away. “I got hit too. Why don’t you ask me if I’m okay? Huh?!”

(y/n) glared back at him. “You’re drunk!”

Edmund’s red face became wet with hot, angry tears. “WHY DON’T YOU ASK ME, (Y/N)?! DON’T YOU LIKE ME TOO?”

She held on to Credence's arm, holding him close. “I think you should go,” she muttered. 

Edmund sniffed, a look of pure heartbreak slapping over his chiseled features. “(y/n)...” He called for her one last desperate time, but she turned away, shutting him out completely. 

“Come on, man,” Aaron said sternly, pushing him back. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

“GET OFF ME!” Edmund pushed Aaron away from him, staggering backward. He took one last long look at (y/n), hoping that she would look at him again. But she didn't. Her eyes stayed trained on Credence. He stepped back, defeated. 

“I can walk by my bloody self,” he slurred bitterly, retreating further into the garden, Aaron chasing after him. 

“Can you stand up?” (y/n) asked softly, taking Credence by the hand and pulling him to his feet. 

Channing helped as well, guiding them both back into the house. They stayed away from the festivities, taking the hidden stairs back up to her room. Channing had retrieved a medical kit after they reached her room, leaving once (y/n) insisted she could care for Credence on her own. 

Now, he sat next to her on her bed, while she shifted through the medical kit. His eyes trained on a young, black, hairless cat played curled up in a stuffed bed by the fire. This must’ve been the cat she had told him about. 

“Do you mind telling me what that was about or are you just going to stay silent?” Asked after the long silence. 

“It was nothing,” he told her, as she took his face in her hands to examine the wounds on his cheek and lip. 

“Yeah, right.” She muttered, taking a wet cotton swab and dabbing it on his scraped cheek. It burned, causing him to wince. She stopped immediately, looking apologetic. “Sorry.”

She went for the medical kit again, rummaging through it messily before stopping abruptly.

“You know what, I’m not sorry! Serves you right worrying me like that! I leave you for one minute and you’re picking fights in the street! Just look what he’s done to your face!” She cupped the side of his face where Edmund had punched him. She sighed, taking another cotton swab from the kit. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to yell. I don’t like seeing you hurt is all.”

He looked at her deeply through lidded eyes as she dabbed the cut on his lip. 

“We were fighting about you,” he confessed.

She stopped, her eyes flickered to his for a moment, before focusing back on his lip. “Me? Why on Earth would you be fighting about me?”

He didn’t say. She waited for an answer, but soon concluded she wouldn’t get one. He hissed when she began applying cream on his cuts. “Fine, then,” she mumbled irritably. “Don’t answer me. Just hold still—”

His lips were on hers before she could finish her harping. The swab fell from her hand in shock, her eyes wide as saucers. He was kissing her. His eyes were closed, his lips plush against hers. He ignored the sting of his cut as he pressed his lips onto hers like he’d seen couples do many times before. His heart pounded in his ears. He would have kept kissing her if he hadn’t held his breath for too long. When they parted, and he opened his eyes to see her staring, awestruck. 

His ears turned red, and a wave of embarrassment crashed over him, realizing what he’d done. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have—”

Her soft lips crashed into his with passionate force, her hands flying to caress the nape of his neck. Now, it was his turn to be taken aback. Credence had kissed her how shy young couples do: pressing his lips onto hers. But she kissed him like lovers do, moving her lips feverishly against his, licking his lips coyly with her tongue. Imitating her actions, Credence let his eyes fall shut, opening his mouth for her. Her tongue slipped passed his lips and swirled around his, welcoming the foreign sensation.

“(y/n)...” He whimpered out of pure instinct. 

She pulled away, leaving him a blushing, panting mess. 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you call me by my name,” she whispered. A smile stretched across her lips.  “Say it again.”

Credence’s cheeks burned, but he gladly did what she asked. 

“... (y/n),” he called her name again.

“Again.”

“(y/n),” he repeated.

“Credence,” she whispered his name, sending shivers down his spine.

“(y/n),” he whispered breathlessly. 

“Credence.”

“(y/n).”

She captured his lips in another sensual kiss, pushing him back onto the bed. The medical kit fell to the ground, forgotten. She laid on top of him, her legs wrapped around his thin waist, pressing her body against his like he’d imagined many times before. His heart thundered in his chest, his mind consumed by her. Lavender and vanilla, it was all around him; pressing against him, kissing him, caressing him.

“Credence,” she said between fiery kisses. “I want you.”

“Y-You want me?” He flushed, making her giggle. 

“Yes,” she chuckled, taking his hand. “Do... Do you want me too?” Her voice was small and unsure. 

Credence nodded, lacing his fingers between hers. “I’ll always want you.”

His words seemed to spur her on, reviving her confidence. “Is this okay?”

The touch of her hand on his thigh traveled down to his waist, sending shivers up his spine. The beat of his heart pulsed powerfully in his chest, ringing in his ears. He watched expectantly as she drew nearer, hovering over him. One of her hands rose to tenderly cup his cheek. Her hand was soft and warm against him. The way she touched him was unlike any other. She was always so gentle with him, so kind. 

Their lips were mere inches apart. So close he could feel her warm breath on his skin. She looked at him through hooded lids, her eyes darkened to a deep shade of (e/c).

Credence swallowed. “I...I’ve never...”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. ��We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” 

She grinned, kissing his lips tenderly to calm his nerves. He felt her fingers move to unbutton his suit jacket. She pulled it off his shoulders, discarding it to the floor.

“Just relax,” she cooed. “I’ll take care of you.”

His black tie slipped off with ease, the buttons of his white dress shirt opened one by one the sound of fabric rubbing against each other and sultry sighs filling their ears. His shirt joined the jacket onto the ground, leaving him half-naked under her. He felt exposed, his eyes nervously fidgeting around the room. 

Her warm hands grazed the sides of his waist, delicately dancing up to his chest. She noticed the change in his breathing, his chest rising up and down in anticipation. He’d never been touched like this by anyone, not once. But now, as her hands glossed over his torso causing goosebumps to rise even though his skin was burning hot, he realized he wanted to be touched by her all the time, in every way. He wanted to kiss her over and over again; to feel her lips against his. He wanted to be close to her in the closest way possible.

As if answering his silent prayers, she pressed her chest against his, her breath tickling his cheeks. She kisses the mark on his cheekbone tenderly, then the corner of his lips, then his jaw. His eyes lull back. He let his head fall to the side, presenting his neck to her. Her hot breath on his neck excited him. Her lip pressed soft kisses down his jaw and neck, marking him with her red lipstick. Her wet tongue licked a stripe up his jugular, and he made a sound he’d only made once before in the confines of his room. 

She did it again, licking, sucking, and biting at the sensitive flesh of his neck. Credence bit his lip, muffling his desperate mewls. 

Her lips kissed up to the spot just under his ear. “It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear. “No one else can hear us. It’s just me.” 

Hoping to drive out more sweet moans, she sucked on the flesh of his neck she learned to be the most sensitive. His hips bucked upwards, grinding between her legs. He squirmed pathetically under her, his desperate pants and moans filling the room. 

His body was sensitive to her every touch, each kiss sending jolts of electricity through his body. She left love bites on the expanse of his neck and collarbone, coloring his pale skin purple and mauve. 

She caught his lips in another open-mouthed kiss, assaulting his mouth with his tongue at her pleasure. 

“Is... C-Can I touch you?” He asked through her kisses. 

She pulled away, her nose brushing against his. “Always,” she breathed. 

His hands daringly glided over her arms, reaching around her back. His fingers found the zipper to her dress and pinched, pulling it down her back until it stopped at her waist. She slid out of the dress with ease, slipping it off her body and letting it pool around her waist. His eyes glued to her bare chest, turning red from the neck up. She took his hands and guided them up her sides, outlining her feminine curves. 

She brought his hands to cup her breasts. His touch was hot on her skin, her own blush burning undeneath. He could feel her heart pounding wildly in his chest, and he knew she was just as excited as him. He let his body act on its own, his hands massaging her breasts. She let out a shaky breath, her mouth falling open. 

He continued, brushing his thumbs against her hardened nipples. Her hips rocked sensually against his twitching member. Her name slipped past his lips, his eyes trained on her figure above him. Her hands pressed on his chest, her hips moving in circles over him. Credence sat himself up, snaking his arms around her hips, gripping them firmly. They stared at each other breathlessly through half-lidded eyes. Credence’s already dark eyes turned to black pools reflecting in the moonlight. 

He mimicked her affections, placing chaste kisses under her jaw. He kissed the expanse of her neck, tasting her soft skin. He pulled her hips into him, guiding her movements in his lap. His length strained against his trousers, aching to be touched. 

“You said you want to touch me, right?” She panted. “Touch me here.”

She moved his right hand from her hip, slipping it under the velvety veil that covered where she wanted him most. He could feel her through thin lacy fabric, her heat already slick with arousal. He experimentally rubbed his fingers up and down her slit, studying the twitches and jolts of her body. She seemed to really enjoy when his fingers brushed against a certain spot, so he kept his attention there, rubbing steady circles around the sensitive area. 

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her head falling to rest in the crook of his neck. He enjoyed hearing her high-pitched moans, even as they were muffled against his neck. He pressed harder, picking up his pace to hear more. Her hips jut against his hand, jerking every so often. Her breaths quickened, and she whimpered his name in his ear. 

“Faster,” she’d pant desperately, her grip on his shoulders tightening. 

He did, circling his fingers as best he knew how. Her thighs tightened around his legs, her body stilled but he didn't stop. Only when he felt her body shake and relax against him did he stop, her sweet satisfied moan reaching his ears. 

He held her in his arms, peppering kisses on her shoulder and neck as she steadied her breathing. When she did lift her head from his neck, she pecked his lips and cheek. She held his face in her hands and moved to lie on her back, pulling him down in the process. 

He planted his hands on either side of her head. He admired her from above. Her red lipstick was faded, smudged messily on her chin, having been transfered on his own lips and neck. She didn’t break eye contact as her hands unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down his waist and kicking them off with her feet along with his boxers. They lingered like that, just staring and admiring one another. He didn’t feel embarrassed. He felt strangely calm. The rest of the world seemed to float away. Nothing else mattered. Not the party down stairs, or the people laughing and drinking. Not Edmund and his jealousy, and not his mother and her vilification. Nothing mattered but her and him together in this room, together in her bed. 

He bent down to kiss her with all the passion and love he could muster. She was everything he could ever want and more. She was his saving grace, his goddess. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. ‘Closer,’ he thought. He needed to be closer to her.

Their lips and hips magnetized, their bodies melded together. He whispered her name like a mantra because he knew she liked hearing it as much as he liked saying it. He felt her hands slip between their bodies, grasping his length. She guided him to where she needed him, his tip pressing teasingly at her entrance. With her help, he eased inside, feeling her wrap tightly around him. They sighed in each others mouth, devouring their intoxicated moans. Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him further. 

She opened for him like a flower in bloom. His hips moved without having to think. Being with her felt so natural. Every move he made came to him like second nature. His thrusts were slow and gentle, drawing wanton moans from her lips. Her hips rocked into him with equal fervor. She collected his moans with her kiss, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair. 

He lost himself in the feeling of her, his pace quickening. He watched her pretty face morph into varying expressions of pleasure, each thrust of his hips creating a new one. He’d never felt so good in his life. His body tingled and his skin burned pleasantly. He didn’t know it was possible to feel such pure, utter euphoria. 

He fisted the rosy silk sheets, his breath stopping in his throat. She tightened around him, and like a wave crashing down on a cliff side, he came. His body vibrated and twitched above her. He called her name into the air, his spastic thrusts edging her to her end, which—by the sounds of her shameless cries—was as powerful and illustrious as his. 

There was a moment of stillness; a moment in which they heard nothing but their shallow breaths and the crackle of the fire. They could do nothing but stay in their connected position with eyes locked. Credence fell to his side next to her on the bed. His muscles ached and his skin was slick with sweat, but he was filled with unwavering adulation. Eyes still locked, they said so much without needing to say anything at all. His hand found hers, lacing his fingers between her small ones.

They laid there, staring lovingly in each other’s eyes for what felt like hours. He silently adored her, memorizing the details of her features until his eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, slowly falling shut as graceful as the falling snow outside.  

Credence pried open his tired eyes. The fire still burned beside him. It crackled and danced, keeping the exhausted pair warm under the thin sheets. The moonlight broke through the balcony glass door and cast shadows of the curtains across the room. There was no music heard from downstairs and the manor outside sounded empty of all festivities. 

He took the time to embrace her presence. She laid on her side, facing him. Her eyes were still shut, soft snores falling from her lips. She held his hand between their bodies. Her thick (h/c) hair sprawled wildly around her, messed by their passionate love affair. And still, even with her hair a mess, and the corner of her lips wet with drool, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He reached his free hand to brush the fray hairs from her eyes, watching her lips twitch and curl into a sleepy smile when his thumb brushed against her cheek. That smile alone rid his mind of any and all doubts that still lingered. 

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive, and when they weren't, they were bleak and agonizing. He’d been through it many times before, taking in so much pain he thought death was a kinder fate. But, as he lay next to her, listening to her slow steady breaths, watching the rise and fall of her chest while she slept; he knew he would face it all again, if it meant he could have more of these moments with her.  

[mammonshuman92]

- Watched -

Mammon & GN!MC

** TW: Stalking, cussing, religion (ish? I guess?)

| part two | | part three |

It’s been nearly 6 months since you left the Devildom. You picked up where you had left off in the human world: college, work, home, repeat. Sure, you missed your family while you were away, but now your heart aches almost constantly for the new family you loved so much, that you had to leave behind. (Not that you really had a choice in the matter.)

 As much as it hurt to leave the brothers, Diavolo was right. Establishing harmony and unity with the three realms won’t go over too well if one of the human representatives doesn’t go back to the human world, now will it? Still, it sucks. Life is so boring without all of them.

And quiet.

It’s not like you don’t talk though. Yeah, Diavolo has that rule in place where they have to take turns talking to you because “human’s lives are short” and they were “taking up too much of your time”, but that’s not really going to stop them, is it?

Well kinda, actually.

You can’t really argue with a direct order from the demon lord, after all.

-

Is it Asmo's day to call? You thought to yourself, trying to remember (not that you ever could) the schedule Lucifer came up with. Your own schedule was hard enough to remember.

You had been picking up extra shifts at work and staying late to study at school when you could. Finding any reason to stay busy or get out of the house. The deafening silence was too much to bear.

"I wonder when I can go visit? I should call Diavolo.." you said to yourself quietly.

You were walking home from your shift at the coffee shop near campus. The sun was just starting to set and the air was slightly crisp, causing you to pull your jacket a little tighter.

If it weren't for the brilliant pinks and warm oranges cast on the sky by the setting sun, it would've felt like a regular night in the Devildom. Memories of your last few days spent there came flooding back, bringing the sadness along with them.

In just one year, you had gotten so close to everyone, but you had gotten especially close to Mammon. He was responsible for you in the beginning of course, but the connection was undeniable (no matter how much he did deny it). He was a total simp for you, and you for him. It was rather cringey to everyone else. He could be a handful at times, but that tsundere really is a great boyfriend. Leaving him behind was... well, there's no words for it.

Rounding the corner, you could see your house perfectly. Now that the sun had gone down a bit more, it was getting darker and you were suddenly thankful that you remembered to turn on the porch light before you left.

You pulled your keys from your jacket pocket while climbing the few steps to your front door, and something caught your eye. Your stomach dropped.

Not again..

You plucked the folded piece of paper that was stuck in the screen door and quickly made your way inside, locking the door behind you.With a heavy sigh, you tossed your keys on the table by the door and dropped your bag on the floor beside you. You immediately went to shower and change not giving the paper a second thought.

Not everyone in the human world agreed with the Devildom exchange student program. After you and Solomon had arrived in the Devildom, there were numerous protests by a group much like the Westboro lunatics. They were without a doubt against the program and called for it’s immediate termination. Thankfully, their personal hatred was no match for the opportunity for the realms to find peace.

 When you had returned, you noticed people whispering about you, calling you names and giving you dirty looks. You've even received quite a few pieces of hate mail. Granted, the people opposed to the program were very small in numbers, even if it didn’t seem that way. It didn't bother you though. Demons ended up being some of the most important people to you. Not to mention you were kinda in love with one of them. People could say what they wanted about the Devildom and about you, their words didn't bother you.

You were still towel drying your hair when your phone rang. Tossing the towel, you rushed to the living room to fish it out of your bag, Asmo's face popping up on the caller ID. You were right, it was Asmo’s night. You were secretly hoping it was a certain greedy demon’s turn to call (not that he doesn’t text you almost constantly.)

Asmo was the same as usual. Talking animatedly about this and that, gushing over new beauty products and outfits, filling you in on all the gossip you were missing. While he was rambling, your eyes fell onto the paper that was in your door. Might as well look at the newest piece of hate mail, right? 

You began unfolding the paper, quickly giving Asmo an “omg!” about the gossip he was dishing (even though you hadn’t been paying attention.)

Upon seeing the contents, all the color drained from your face. You were sure your heart sank into your stomach, but you could hear the rapid beating in your ears. You suddenly felt hot, and the air around you seemed thick.

Then the adrenaline kicked in.

With shaky hands, you quickly checked the front door making sure it was locked, and headed to the back door to do the same. You rushed around checking the windows and pulling all the curtains closed. Everything seemed fine, nothing out of the ordinary. Still, that didn’t settle your nerves any.

“MC, dear? Did you hear me?” The sound of Asmo’s voice brought you out of your frantic state.

“Huh? S-sorry Asmo. I guess I s-spaced out.” You tried your best to keep your tone normal and steady your breathing, as to not alert him to anything. You really should give him more credit, though.

“MC? Is everything alright?” His tone was different, no longer playful and flirty. You could hear the concern.

Shit.

“Yeah, I’m fine. More hate mail is all. No biggie.” You lied. Maybe he would believe it..

There was a pause on his end, “You’re STILL getting it? Don’t they have anything better to do?” Good, he bought it. For now, anyway.

After about 10 more minutes Asmo said his goodbyes, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

This piece hate mail turned out to be something much worse than the run of the mill stuff you usually received. Inside there were pictures. Of you. At work, at school, the grocery store, ...outside your house. There was also a newspaper clipping that had a picture of you and your family, from when your parents first opened their bakery a few years back. There were red ‘Xs’ marked through everyone’s faces...

The only words scrawled inside read, “I’ve been watching you. You will pay for what you’ve done, whore. And don’t even think about telling your demon fuck buddies. I know everything about you and your family. It’d be a shame if anything happened to poor old Mom and Dad because their child is an unholy slut.”

You read it over and over, tears streaking your cheeks. Hate mail was nothing new, but now this? A stalker? 

Maybe I’m just over thinking it. The other hate mail was spicy too. But these pictures... There is NO way I’m over thinking this..

“Regardless, I can’t tell the brothers.” You shuddered at what their reaction would be like. It would definitely make all of Diavolo’s hard work on the exchange program obsolete. It wouldn’t be good for any of the three realms. There was still a long way to go, but the program was a giant step in the right direction to obtaining peace and understanding. If dealing with some backlash and hate mail could help get closer to that goal, then for the sake of the greater could, you could handle it.

“For now, I will bear this burden myself.”

- {3 weeks later} -

“Are you okay?”

The simple question nearly made you squeak and nearly jump out of your skin. You turn and meet the worried gaze of your lab partner. You weren’t super close with her, so you knew your current state had to be bad if she was picking up on it.

God, do I really look that bad? You got a good look at yourself this morning, and yeah, you absolutely look that bad. But then again, you haven’t really slept in a few weeks. You had gigantic purple eye bags, your hair looked like a family of birds took up residence in it. Your skin was pale and lifeless, and you began skin picking at your nails due to the anxiety. You’d even lost about twenty pounds.

“Sorry, I guess I was spacing out.”

“It’s alright. It’s just- no offense, but you look awful. Have you been sleeping?” She asked, eyes scanning your face.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine. Promise.” You lied. She nodded and gave you a weak smile, dropping the subject for now.

You hadn’t really been paying attention to class today. Well, for the last several days, really. You’ve been putting in less effort for a lot of things lately. You’ve been slacking off bad at school and barely keeping up at work. Not to mention you never sleep anymore. How can you though?

You left class early and although it was still early in the day, you decided to skip the rest of your lectures for the day. You’ve always been a fantastic student, so taking a day off wouldn’t really hurt anything. And seeing as today was Thursday, you didn’t even have work today. Same as every week.

 Upon arriving home, you were relieved to see that there weren’t any notes left for you. Yet, anyway.

Ever since the first letter a few weeks ago, they’ve been showing up constantly. Only a few times the first week or so, but now you get at least one every single day. They’re also increasing in severity. The sender seems to be becoming more and more unhinged with every passing day.

“Dirty demon whore!!”

“You’re a HUMAN!! How dare you taint your body with demons!”

“I will cleanse you and make you pure again.”

There was so, so much more. All of it growing more and more explicit with each letter.

The whole thing was taking a huge tool on you, but what could you do? Your family’s safety was on the line. You so badly wanted to tell Mammon of even the cops, but you couldn’t live with yourself if anything bad were to happen. Whatever this psycho had planned, you would gladly put yourself in the line of fire to save those closest to you.

The whole situation has also affected your relationship with Mammon and the rest of the brothers as well. At first, you tried to hide what was happening, but they started getting suspicious and asking questions. Always wondering why you sounded so tired and why you kept cutting their phone calls super short. You always rejected their face time requests, knowing that your drastic change in appearance would be alarming and alert them that something was wrong. Lately, you’ve barely talked to any of them. Especially Mammon. He’d be the first to figure out something was wrong with you and come here ready to fight.

That honestly didn’t sound too bad. You wanted nothing more than for him to hold you while you ugly cried. Breathing in his scent while he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

Your heart started to ache.

-

When you got home you decided to take a nice, hot shower to hopefully help ease some of your tension and possibly begin to get a handle on your quickly deteriorating self care status.

Once you felt somewhat normal again, you put on your comfiest pj’s (which included one of Mammon’s shirts) and plopped yourself on your bed in the fetal position. It was the only thing that kinda helped ease a tiny bit of the feeling that everything was spiraling out of control. The warm scent of your most favorite demon helped calm you.

*bzzz* *bzzz* *bzzz*

Damn. I almost fell asleep..

You sat up, rubbing your eyes and reached for your D.D.D. on your nightstand. The called ID made your heart rate accelerate and your palms sweaty.

It’s him.

“Mammon..? I thought it was Beel’s turn to call?”

“I don’t care about Lucifer’s stupid schedule. I need to talk to ya.” His tone made him sound like he was on edge.

“Oh, ok. What’s up?”

He scoffed, “Really? You’ve barely messaged me back in three days. The last time I called, ya hung up after five minutes.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy.” Every lie helps break your heart just a little more. 

“You’ve never been too busy before. Besides, shouldn’t ya be in a class right now or somethin’? It ain’t even noon.”

“I left class early and I’m skipping the rest of the day.” You explained.

“..Hmm.” He replied, you could detect suspicion in his response.

It was quiet on his end for a moment.

“MC?”

“Yeah?”

“..Do ya got another boyfriend? Cause The Great Mammon is definitely better! And-and, I’ll kick their ass!”

“What? Mammon, no. One boyfriend is almost more than I can handle.”

“Wha- hey!”

For the first time in who knows when, you actually giggled. It felt so good.

“So, you swear nothin’ is wrong? You’ve been actin’ so weird.” His voice was heavy with concern.

“Yeah, I swear.” Lie.

As good as it felt to talk to him, you needed to end the call before he ended up dragging the truth out of you. If any one could figure out what was wrong with you, it’d be him. The two of you had spent so much time together, that you can practically read each other like a book.

“I gotta go, ok? I have work later and I need to get ready.” Lie. But, you needed to get off the phone with him before he suspects anything.

“Yeah, sure.” He sounded so defeated. You could almost hear him pouting.

After a quicker goodbye than you usually have when getting off the phone with Mammon, you fell back onto your bed with a heavy sigh.

That was a little rough, but he seemed to believe it. I hope this will all be over soon.

With that, you quickly fell asleep, lulled by the memory of your demon’s voice. Although you wouldn’t sleep long, at least you got to fall asleep to the thought of him.

-

*bzzz* *bzzz* *bzzz*

Geez, are ya gonna answer or not? Ya always pick up on the second ring when I call ya.., Mammon thought.

Finally, on the sixth ring, “Mammon..? I thought it was Beel’s turn to call?”

Man, hearing your voice is like music.

“I don’t care about Lucifer’s stupid schedule. I need to talk to ya.” His tone made him sound a little rougher than intended, but it was all the same. He needed to hear you voice.

“Oh, ok. What’s up?”

He scoffed, “Really? You’ve barely messaged me back in three days. The last time I called, ya hung up after five minutes.”

I miss ya like crazy. Ya keep avoiding me..

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy.” 

Huh? But, MC is always busy doing somethin’ and it never stopped em’ before..

He started getting an uneasy feeling deep in his stomach. He could tell something was off, but he just didn’t know what it was.

Is it ...someone else? Nah, MC wouldn’t do that. ...Right??

“You’ve never been too busy before. Besides, shouldn’t ya be in a class right now or somethin’? It ain’t even noon.” He didn’t try to hide the pout, that he knew you could hear, in his voice. His own thoughts were beginning to hurt his feelings.

“I left class early and I’m skipping the rest of the day.” MC explained.

“..Hmm.” He hummed. Thoughts started swirling around in his head.

MC never skips school, not even at RAD. Somethin’ is definitely going on. And what’s with the short answers? MC always talks like crazy. Maybe they’re mad at me?

It was quiet for a moment while he tried to sort through his thoughts.

“MC?” He asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“..D-do ya got another boyfriend? Cause The Great Mammon is definitely better! And-and, I’ll kick their ass!”

“What? Mammon, no. One boyfriend is almost more than I can handle.”

“Wha- hey!” You giggled at his response. It was small, but he heard it. It made his heart swim.

All joking aside, he did believe you. Something was definitely not right with you though.

“So, you swear nothin’ is wrong? You’ve been actin’ so weird.” His voice was heavy with concern.

“Yeah, I swear.” Those three words caused his heart to sink.

That was a lie.. MC only says ‘I swear’ while tryin’ to act like somethin’ ain’t wrong..

He pushed his thoughts aside for the time being and continued the conversation. It only lasted a few more minutes before you started saying your goodbyes. Again, cutting the call short.

“I gotta go, ok? I have work later and I need to get ready.” 

Hmm. Why does that seem weird?

“Yeah, sure.” He sounded so defeated.

There was, without a doubt in his mind, something going on. Something that would make you lie to him..

One way or another, he was going to find out.

-

“Mammon? Are you alright?”

Mammon was sprawled out on the couch in the common room. After talking to you, he was lost in his thoughts and feeling rather down. Beel passed by the common room on his was back from the kitchen when he saw his older brother. Noticing that he looked sad, Beel went to investigate.

Mammon looked up to meet Bee’s concerned gaze and with a sigh, he sat up.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Mammon said, as he stood up to leave. Beel could tell he was obviously lying, but decided not to press the issue.

Mammon stopped a few paces away from Beel, and turned back around to face him.

“Hey, Beel. Was MC actin’, I don’t know, “off”, the last time ya talked to em’?” He asked the sixth born, thinking maybe you had accidentally let something slip.

Beel’s face seemed to twist up a little bit, and he nodded.

“Yeah, kind of. MC used to sound excited when I called, but now they hardly talk at all. And they used to send me pictures of the food they were eating and new recipes, at least twice a day, but it’s been about two weeks since the last one they sent.” He explained, sadness in his voice. While in the Devildom, you were his favorite person to eat with.

Mammon nodded at his brother, getting lost in his thoughts again.

So, it’s not just me. MC is actin’ strange with Beel too..

Neither of them had paid been paying enough attention to see Asmo enter the room.

“Mammon, there you are. I’m going out, and I need my new bag from Majolish. The one I let you borrow. And i swear, if you sold it-” Asmo stopped mid sentence when he noticed the sad state two of his brothers.

“Is it about MC?” He asked, nonchalaunt.

Mammon’s head snapped toward his brother.

“What do you mean? Did they say somethin’ to ya?” Mammon asked quickly, taking a few steps closer to his brother.

MC and Asmo always gossip with each other, so maybe they’d tell him somethin’..

“Calm down. MC really hasn’t talked to me much in the last month. I’m so hurt! Who else am I going to talk beauty products with? Lucifer? Goodness, no.”

“Asmo!” Mammon said loudly, trying to get the fifth born back on track.

“Oh, right. Let’s see.” He put a finger to his chin and thought about it. “Hmm. The only thing I can think of was during the last normal conversation I had with them. They said something about receiving a piece of hate mail. They said it was no big deal, but I distinctly remember MC seemed flustered by it. Which I thought was weird, considering it’s definitely not the first one they’d received..” Asmo explained.

Hate mail? MC has only mentioned it to me a couple times. Do they really get it that often..?

“How long ago was that?” Mammon asked. He felt like he was on the brink of something. Just a few more puzzle pieces..

“Hmm, it was right before MC started acting distant toward me. So, about three or four weeks, maybe.” Asmo explained. That’s around the time you had started acting weird with Mammon too.

“So, maybe something happened to MC.” Beel suggested.

“No, MC would tell us. ..Right?” Asmo questioned.

Mammon was so confused.

What is goin’ on with you, MC?

-

After talking with his brothers, Mammon holed himself up in his room. He didn’t really want to be around anyone at the moment. His thoughts were driving him crazy and giving him a headache. What was he not seeing? What piece of the puzzle was he missing?

He started going over your last conversation again, for the millionth time, looking for any kind of clue. But, you seemed normal. Well, your new normal, anyway. Distant, short answers, not giving too much to the conversation. What were you hiding?

It was something about the end of your conversation, but what was it?

He remembered your small giggle. The memory caused a smile to break out across his face. It gave him a tiny bit of hope that you were still there. That you still loved him. That whatever was troubling you, wasn’t making you forget them completely.

It was after that though. You had said “I swear”, which was a red flag, considering you only say it when you’re trying to convince him you’re ok when you’re really not.

He sighed, and rolled over on his bed. He looked at the alarm clock on his night stand, numbers glowing an angry red.

MC is probably at work right now..

Something caught his eye.

Today is Thursday... MC never works on Thursday. I guess the schedule coulda changed. No, cause MC specifically requested to always have that day off for some reason. Delivery day at their family’s bakery, I think. ...MC lied, again..

Then it hit him.

The small little lies. Avoiding all of them, even him for weeks now. Barely talking when you do answer the phone. The way you always sounded so tired and out of it.

It had something to do with what Asmo said about the hate mail.

“Hmm. The only thing I can think of was during the last normal conversation I had with them. They said something about receiving a piece of hate mail. They said it was no big deal, but I distinctly remember MC seemed flustered by it. Which I thought was weird, considering it’s definitely not the first one they’d received..”

Mammon didn’t even know that you’d been receiving that much hate mail. Sure, you’d told him about it a couple times, but he didn’t think it was that bad. Maybe it was actually pretty serious. Is that why you’d been so distant.

Mammon got up from his bed, and began pacing around the room. He almost had it figured out, he could feel it.

Asmo said MC seemed flustered, so it had to have somethin’ to do with the hate mail they received that day, since after that is when MC started actin’ weird.What if it’s somethin’ bad. Like, bad bad. 

He stopped pacing.

The thought of MC being in danger was...

Mammon grabbed his jacket, where it was thrown onto the pool table and left his room in a hurry. He was on his way to Lucifer’s study, mentally preparing himself on the way. He was sure he knew what his brother’s answer would be, but he wasn’t going to just sit here. He needed to know that you were, in fact alright, with his own eyes.

I’m going to the human world. Whether Lucifer allows it or not.

| part two | | part three |

[mings]

Some context...

...in relation to that last post. This is a lo-o-o-o-ong read, so feel free to skip right by if catharsis bores you.

This starts way before I joined tumblr; in fact, long before tumblr was even a thing.

Twenty years ago, we lived in a huge house backing onto the English Channel. We moved there from Scotland, which turned out to be (probably) the biggest mistake of my life. 

Within nine months of buying the place, the company I’d moved to work for nearly folded. I and most of the workforce were made redundant. That set in motion an existential battle with our mortgage insurer, which refused to pay out because I “must have known” when taking out the insurance. (I didn’t, and they eventually caved in after destroying my credit record, but that’s another story.)

Work wasn’t immediately available; none that would at least cover the bills. We got inventive, wrote a business plan, obtained finance & bought a franchise. It went pretty well for the first three years, but we had to bust a gut to make the required income. It wasn’t easy. Eventually, the franchise operator messed up relations with several key players in our insurance market. Within three months, we lost 75% of our revenue. I had to close the workshop & find part time work to make ends meet. Ultimately, we decided to close the business, sell the house and downsize to something more manageable.

What’s the relevance of this? We tried hard to keep our precarious financial state form the kids. Maybe we didn’t do as well as we thought. Our son had already become withdrawn. He’d fallen in with a group of local lads about whom we had grave misgivings. Of course, there was no discussing it. We were “over-reacting” and unreasonable. It was around that time that he decided to jack in his education. I couldn’t criticise; I’d done the same. I pulled some strings and got him a job at our local Royal Mail delivery office.

We moved to our new place. It was a stressful move. Trying to fit into a house that was literally half the size was never going to be an easy task. One afternoon, our son came home from work and soon after announced he was going out. “See you later.” Only we didn’t. He didn’t come home that night. Nor did he turn up for work the next day. Nor the day after. And nor the day after that. Within a week he was written up for unauthorised absence. We had no way of contacting him. His case was heard in the following weeks. I could offer no mitigation. He was sacked for abandonment of duty. That tag that means he’ll never work for them again. 

We still had no idea where he was. We only knew he was alive because we met a couple of his friends who couldn’t believe he’d not been in touch. Still no word. My wife was in shreds; I suspect any of you who are parents can identify with that. I was alternating between trying to prop her up and stay on top of my job, all the while under a constant barrage of barracking (Oh, we don’t mean anything by it, it’s just banter....)

About three months in I’d had enough. Sleep was a scarce resource so I rose at the crack of dawn and started on a trip, rousting one after another of the friends and acquaintances that I knew, following leads until finally I tracked him down to a sordid bedsit several towns and 40 miles away. At least he answered the door and looked sheepish. He offered no explanation or apology, and has never done so to date. He refused to come back home, but promised to keep in touch. 

We know he bounced from one sofa to another in the next few months. He spent time in some of the worst areas in the county for drug abuse. He fell into a relationship with a girl that looked promising initially and subsequently fell apart. Later, he surfaced in another town with another girl whom he subsequently married. She often spoke of his irascible temperament and moods. Ultimately the marriage was doomed; she was younger than him, found a new interest and moved out. One wonders now how much of that was her and how much she’d put up with before voting with her feet.

He’s stumbled from one financial crisis to another. Money just evaporates. It’s as though adulting is a mystery beyond his reach. I’ve lost count of the times that we’ve thrown money at him and I don’t want to even think about how much. It’s literally thousands, always a loan, yet he never, ever pays back.

He left his job. That was inevitable too; he worked for his ex-father-in-law’s company. Heaven only knows how long the writing was on the wall; it was pretty swift once she left. He drifted again. He chose to live in a squalid flat with no heating rather than move back with us. Absolutely his choice, not ours. 

We moved to Scotland. That meant all his stuff had to go into storage. Quick rewind - he moved all his stuff to ours when he gave up the house he & his ex lived in, but refused to move back home. I had to rent a storage unit to make space for all his gear & when we moved I shifted all his gear into the store, gave him the key & told him I’d paid three months up front; after that it was his to deal with. Apparently, he surrendered the store and moved all his gear into the flat...

Fast forward to a couple of months back. He’d run out of options at the flat. His flatmate was “really difficult” to live with. His ex had moved away, taking their son with her. He had nothing left to stay for and, surprise, he’d lost his job again so he couldn’t afford the rent. 

My wife convinced me we should give him one last shot, citing his fragile mental health. I agreed on the strict understanding that we are simply no longer in a position to support him. He assured us he’d be applying for work as soon as he got here. We rarely see him before midday...

We agreed the end of the first week in March. We knew he’d arrive with a ton of stuff so we had (again) to create space. That’s infinitely more difficult now we’re running a B&B, but we set to the task. Suddenly, two weeks sooner than we’d agreed, he rented a van and was on his way. No discussion, no warning. We only found out because he put something on FB. 

Finally, after trying to reach him most of the day, he phoned. Whilst we should have been relieved, instead we were treated to a barrage of abuse because all the petrol stations were shut. Of course they were. It was in a national lockdown and why would they stay open when there was no one on the roads? JFC, who embarks on a journey in sub-zero temperatures across some of the most inhospitable country in the UK without enough fuel? With a six year old child. Yes, not only did he forget to tell us about his change of plans, he forgot to tell us he was bringing his son too.

We drove south through the night for two hours to find him somewhere in the Cairngorms where he’d run out of fuel. No fuel meant no heaters at 1500 feet in deep snow. The ambient temperature was -5ºC/23ºF & with wind chill that was probably around -10ºC/14ºF. We found him & refuelled his van. No thanks, just another barrage of abuse, because he was tired. We took his son into our car & drove the two hours back in near silence. I think we knew then that it was an awful predictor of what was to come.

We’ve had row after row. He accused me of being passive-aggressive in the last. He actually ticks all the boxes for passive-aggressive behaviour. I’ve never been tagged with that before; if anything I’m too forthright, blunt even. That’s a failing to which I will admit. If by that he meant that I don’t talk about the elephant in the room, it’s only because we fear it’ll lead to another explosion.

He never saw the damage that we sustained during our fostering years. He was never there. Yet here we are, experiencing flashbacks to those traumatic incidents; the parallels are exact. We have the benefit of years of training. We recognise manipulative behaviour when we see it - we were trained by some of the nations best exponents - and we know divisive tactics implicitly.  What he doesn’t know is that he will succeed only in pushing us closer together and alienating himself even further.

There are clear and well-documented links between cannabis and mental health issues. He is allowing the drug to determine his life choices. Although I may be wrong, I think he’s cultivating skunk, which is nothing like the weed that circulated in my youth. The smell that pervades our hallway is instantly evocative of high strength Afghan resin. It’s also going to be acutely difficult to eradicate before we’re due to open.

We’ve endured 20 years of this treatment. I know that even if we have a ritual burning, it will only be a matter of time before we’re back here again. We’re old. We’re tired. And we’ve worked our socks off (and still do) to achieve what we have. Maybe somewhere along the way we missed something. But I’m at a stage where I’m so far beyond this I just want it to stop.

[fandomnetworks]

MILK RUN

PART 1

Summary: As you’re getting used to your new apartment, our favorite DEA agents are assigned to check up on you from time to time. Only, one of the DEA agents is nicer than the other. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2K

Carrillo knocked on the open door that led into your brother's office, the president's office. He stepped in without pausing for a reply, you lingering behind him.

Your brother sat behind his desk while two towering men hovered over him. One of them was a tall white man with a mustache, his left hand running through his air. The other man was tanner; a distinct mustache also cemented on top of his upper lip. The three seemed to be entertained with papers across the desk.

All three gazed towards the door. First, they saw Carrillo, his broad body obstructing your view. But then you pushed to the side, "Y/n!" Cesar stood up and dumped the papers that were in his hands. He passed Carrillo and gave you a lasting hug. In return, you hugged him but not as lovingly, irritated at him since he had you caged in like a bird.

Once he let go, he glanced back at both men who were staring at your interactions, "Muchahos, this is my sister, Y/n." Cesar made his way to his desk.

Both men acquainted themselves as Steve Murphy and Javier Peña. You noted that both men were handsome, but Steve had a band occupying his left ring finger.

"Hi," You timidly smiled at both men, feeling all eyes on you, "can I talk to you?" You directed Cesar, not knowing what else to say.

"First, I need to settle some things," He motioned for the four of you to take a seat in front of his desk.

Once settled, Cesar began his speech, "As we all know, Escobar's men have been abducting high ranking women for a while now. My sister is one of them." You rolled your eyes and achieved a chuckle from Murphy. "But now that Escobar is in prison, I think it time to loosen the chains."

You liked where this was going, "Wait, you're saying I ca-"

Your brother lifted his hand, trying to silence you, "I have made some arrangements, and with an empty apartment in the same building as these men. Noonan agreed that the two of you" he looked at the DEA agents, "should check up on Y/n from time to time."

His words were music to your ears.

Freedom.

Freedom to an extent, but it was still freedom.

Some rules were laid out, but it was nothing you couldn't manage. One of the main things that stuck out was that you couldn't go out in the evening unless Peña or Murphy took you or one of Carrillo's men.

Standing up, you went over to your brother's desk and hugged him, a little more festive than when you had first entered, whispering a heartfelt thank you.

In the interim, the other men stood up and discussed among themselves while you wrapped up your conversation with Cesar.

It had been a week since you relocated into the new apartment. It took approximately three full days to unpack and furnish your new home. Steve had been the only one to come check up on you every night before he went to his apartment to Connie. Connie had become a close friend of yours. Multiple times a day, you would both visit each others' apartments. The two of you would chat about life back in America, what you missed the most, and really just talking about anything. Her adoptive daughter, Olivia, had taken a liking to you as well; she'd give you her toys whenever you'd go over.

Tonight you knew for a fact that Connie and Steve were going out on a date, and Steve wouldn't be doing his daily routine to come check up on you.

You hadn't seen Peña since you last visited your brother, and you didn't expect him to be coming. You and Connie had gone earlier to get some sweet bread, but as the night rolled in, you noted there was no milk to go alongside.

No one would notice you left your house at 8, right?

You picked up your purse and keys and walked out of the building, only going to the convenience store down the store. You'd grab milk and some eggs for tomorrow's breakfast, and slip back into your apartment as if nothing happened.

You passed by a few stores and restaurants in order to reach the convenience store.

----

Javier Peña sat at a bar, drinking away his thoughts, a beautiful woman on his right. He and she knew well how the night would end. She would be in his bed by midnight and be gone before sunrise. He should be ashamed of these habits, but in reality, he found comfort when there were women in his bed. For just those few hours, there was nothing but the lucky lady and him.

Peña happened to look up towards the bar's entrance, see your face passing by, and your hair flowing behind you. He didn't think much as he stood up in a fury. He and Murphy did not just spend a whole week trying to keep you safe, only for you to break one of the only rules your brother put in place.

Peña laid some money on the bar and walked off, apologizing to the woman for the abrupt absence.

He silently followed behind you, making sure to make no noise. He noticed you were walking with a light step to your feet. The creamy silk blouse that wrapped around your back was loose as it swayed with the soft wind of the night. He was gaining ground, and now he was just a few feet behind you. You were oblivious to what was happening behind you, which only made Peña even more enraged.

He was three feet away...then two...he was just inches away now.

----

You felt someone push your body up against the brick wall, your face being slapped onto it, and your hand being twisted behind your back. A sharp yelp left your lips, and your heart didn't know how to handle the adrenaline. It was beating as fast as it ever had, and you felt like it would collapse at any minute.

"What are you doing out?" A gruff voice asked as he leaned against you. His face near your ear, giving you goosebumps. You could smell alcohol in his words.

You recognized the manly voice but from where?

"Answer." He tighten his grip on your forearm, waiting for a reply.

Then it hit you, "Peña?" You tried turning to look at his face, but only until he loosened his grip could you entirely turn and look at the man. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" You shoved his chest to try and get some space between the two of you.

He was quiet, waiting for your reply to his previous question. His nostrils flared and his eyes fixated on you/ 

You huffed and walked away, not wanting to deal with the DEA agent.

Peña followed you silently, not uttering another word.

You passed a few more stores before reaching the desired one and walked in, Peña a few feet away. Going straight towards the refrigerators at the end of the store, you went to open the door, but Peña beat you to it. His body was brushing up against yours as he grabbed the handle, opening it for you.

"Uh, thank you." You reached for the milk, turned behind, and realized how much closer he was then you expected.

Due to the nervousness you felt being watched by Peña so closely, you forgot about the eggs and went straight to pay. You placed the pint of milk on the counter and pulled your purse towards you in order to pay but were surprised to see Peña pull his wallet faster and handed the change to the elderly lady.

"Mira que bonita pareja! (Look, what a lovely couple!)" The lady said, handing Peña the change.

"No seño, ni me gusta. (No ma'am, I don't even like him)" You tried laughing the awkwardness off and looked at Peña to see an emotionless stare looking back at you. He picked up the carton and thanked her before walking back to the apartment.

During the walk, Peña led in front of you, waiting for you often when your short steps couldn't catch up to his long strides. The walk was so silent; you swear you could hear the faint music of a party that was going on, on the other side of town.

In a few short minutes, you were back in the building and heading up the stairs. You expected Peña to depart to his apartment next to yours or go back to whatever hellhole he climbed out of. But to your astonishment, he remained behind you as you fumbled with the keys until you obtained the right one.

Once inside, Peña set the milk on the counter and looked at you. "You went out for some fucking milk?" He bombarded, letting what he had inside out. "You risked your life for fucking milk?" His long steps reached you, where you still stood at the doorway.

"Fuck off." You stepped to the side and walked into the kitchen.

"Y/n!" He grabbed your forearm for the second time that night. You hated to admit it, but his cologne alongside the sweat he had accumulated throughout the day gave off the best odor you have ever smelled your whole life. If it weren't for how rude he was, you would have leaned in closer to get a better smell.

You took a second to question your thoughts. You just admitted to yourself you would smell Peña. What the fuck were you? A dog? Maybe you should ask Carrillo to formally invite you to work alongside the canines during a raid.

Plus, you would not be thinking about him like that.

"Are you even listening to me?" You jogged your train of thought back to the present and saw a red-faced Peña standing in front of you.

"I wanted milk, sorry." Your sarcastic tone did not help ease Peña's anger. "Why the hell do you care so much, anyway?" Going to one of the cabinet's you got a cup and filled it with the milk.

He gave a heavy sigh and began to walk towards the door, "Just don't go out again, ok?"

You offered him a tight grin and watched his body retreat towards the door.

Just as he was about to leave, a voicemail on the receiver was left,

"Listen, little girl, next time you leave me waiting like you did tonight, I will kill you. Do you understand? I will fucking kill you."

You closed your eyes shut, hoping in God's name Peña was too far to overhear it.

"Who the fuck is that?" Peña came striding into the room again, his face fixated on anger, his jaw tighten as he waited for a reply. His eyes were tired but thoroughly scanning your face for any sign of distress or upsetness.

You opened your eyes and made eye contact with Peña, but soon looked down shamefully. You twirled the cup of milk in your hands, "He's someone I used to go to school with, back in la prepa. I thought I'd give him a second chance." You went digging inside the paper bag that contained the sweet bread. "Turns out, he's still a prick." You looked up to see his eyes trained on you, hoping you'd elaborate. 

For a few seconds, the two of you just stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

Breaking the silence, his first question was, "Does he know where you live?" His voice was laced with less anger this time.

"He knows where my last apartment was. I highly doubt he knows I'm here now."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" There he goes, raising his voice for the millionth time that night.

"He's a nobody, that's why. He's just doing it for attention. We met up a few days ago, but I realized he's the same guy as before. He hasn't changed. When he asked me on another date, I felt bad to say no, so I agreed. But I never planned to go." You took your bread and milk in your hands and walked towards the dining table. "I guess I pushed the wrong buttons."

PART 3

lmk if you want to be added to the list:

 luvzoria

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH8

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 8: Resurrection Overture (VIII)

When Qi Leren arrived at Chen Baiqi's store, it was 20 minutes earlier than the appointed time. Chen Baiqi was chatting with a woman with her back to him. They both looked at Qi Leren in the doorway, and Qi Leren also looked at the woman.　

That person was a very gorgeous and charming beauty, wearing a gorgeous and complicated low-cut witch's dress and a European top hat. Although her whole person was dressed in dark colours, it made her skin more white, and her bright red lipstick and smokey eye makeup were particularly attractive. When he noticed this, Qi Leren first reviewed why he noticed his sister's makeup at first sight... Was it really a matter of sexual orientation?

"Since you have a guest, I'll take a walk first. I'm tired from the task I just finished. Let's talk about it another day." The beautiful woman smiled at Qi Leren, picked up the women's walking stick at the table, and walked out of Chen Baiqi's shop gracefully.

"Who was that?" Qi Leren asked.

"The Illusionist," Chen Baiqi said.

Qi Leren suddenly remembered that the Court’s Miao Li had mentioned during his dream lessons that the Illusionist had helped cover up his tombstones on the Undead Island in order to hide them from the Slaughter Secret Society. Was it that beautiful woman just now?

"Have you had breakfast?" Chen Baiqi asked him.

Qi Leren nodded: "I’m full."

Chen Baiqi smiled meaningfully: "Don't eat too much next time, lest you throw up."

"..." Qi Leren felt that his future was grim.

"Although we’ve known each other for some time, I’ve never introduced myself properly. Since you will train with me from today, I will introduce myself again. Come with me. " Chen Baiqi led Qi Leren inside. Qi Leren had never been to the back part of the store. When he found that there was a basement with several floors, he couldn't help crying deeply for his future self.

"I used to be the executive officer of the Trial’s Heresy Court. I was mainly responsible for executing the Devil worshippers. Later, because of an injury, I could no longer continue such a high-intensity and dangerous job, so I retired early. Now I’m half an insider who does intelligence." The elevator stopped on the third basement floor and Chen Baiqi led Qi Leren out. The third basement floor was as big as a basketball court. The ground was made of concrete, without any obstacles, and it was scary.

Qi Leren wasn’t very surprised. He had always felt that Chen Baiqi was familiar with the Trials Court. It was to be expected that all of the information she had was somehow related to them.

"In the Nightmare World, so many players have explored 'playing methods' about this 'game' for more than 20 years. Today, I will briefly talk about the 'professions'," Chen Baiqi said.

Qi Leren pricked up his ears and listened attentively.

"Players will receive a skill card when they are in the Novice Village. This skill card is not given randomly, and most players will eventually build their own fighting style around this skill card. That is to say, the original skill card has actually selected the appropriate profession for the player. Take your Novice Village as an example: Dr. Lu, who is with you, is obviously a healer, while Xue Yingying is obviously a berserker. As for you, because your basic skill card is very delicate, it's the first time I’ve heard of such a skill card, so it's hard to judge your basic profession. But it doesn't matter. Most of the skill cards that players get in tasks will follow a certain rule. For example, a healer rarely draws a berserker-type skill card when drawing their card. That is to say, the skill cards obtained in the future are actually based on what you receive as your first skill card. They build around this 'profession'."

Qi Leren suddenly realized: so the skill cards he got later, such as "Rain-Day Laundry", "Primary Fighting Skills", and "Devil Etiquette", including the latest one, "Secretly Observing", all emphasized his profession.

—Assassin.

"I only know some of your skill cards, but I can make a rough judgment about you. You’re an assassin." Chen Baiqi folded her arms and looked at him laughingly. "So congratulations, I’m in the same profession. However, even amongst assassins, they will be subdivided into different categories because of their different personality traits and abilities. After all, everyone's skill cards are different. If you trust me, you can tell me your existing skill cards, and I will not disclose it to others."

Qi Leren vaguely felt that Chen Baiqi would sincerely teach him, and that his answer was the key. Of course, he couldn’t say it. Chen Baiqi would still train him, but she would not give everything to him. Chen Baiqi was... Qi Leren's brain flashed. She was looking for a successor!

Yes, Chen Baiqi entered the game very early and she said it had been eight years, which meant that she was an old player with high strength and rich experience, but it also meant that her time wouldn't be much longer.

Chen Baiqi was optimistic about him and willing to teach him, which was only too important for a newcomer who was still groping for his footing shortly after entering the game, and Qi Leren was very grateful. He didn't think Chen Baiqi had any malice towards him. After all, the gap in strength between the two people was right in front of him. If Chen Baiqi wanted to, she could kill him.

After figuring this out, Qi Leren relayed his skill cards and even told her of his items.

Chen Baiqi said, "You are an assassin. You already have basic premonition skills, detection and latent skills, and even half a camouflage skill. Right now, you still lack a skill to escape and strengthen combat effectiveness—Primary Fighting Skills is too low, it takes too long to upgrade past the basic stage. You can sell it after you’ve been trained."

Qi Leren nodded, "I’ve felt an obvious lack in combat effectiveness. I have no effective means of attack, and often I can only take the same route."

This also led to his excessive dependence on S/L Data as his solution.

"Although skill cards are very good and greatly improve newcomers’ survival rate in this world, I don’t advocate relying too much on them. The Nightmare World is a surreal world. There are many things that we can't do in the real world that can be done here. It also has its own power system. If you want to integrate into this power system, relying too much on skill cards will only hinder you. To put it simply, if you want to become a field-level master, you must quit your skill cards," Chen Baiqi said seriously.

"When you say the power system, you mean the Devils and the Holy See?" Qi Leren asked.

"Yes. With our status as players, if you want to reach the field level, you’re bound to become close to one of them. Because you’ve been parasitized by Slaughter before, I originally thought that your attributes were more inclined to the Devils, but now it seems that maybe you’re more inclined to the side of divine power," Chen Baiqi said.

"How do you see it?" Qi Leren was puzzled.

Chen Baiqi's mouth crooked and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were already a pair of red eyes: "The holiness of your body has exceeded the standard. Maria gave you an important gift before she sent you back."

Qi Leren recalled the warm and comfortable feeling when the dotted light of endless faith had poured into his body, and nodded silently.

"In fact, in addition to these two power systems, there are many magical powers in the Nightmare World. For example, I seldom use investigation skill cards because I once learned the language of birds from an elder. Although I’m not very proficient, I have no problem with basic dialogue. You can imagine how desperate it is to meet me in a wild jungle. This is better than the ability of any reconnaissance skill card. After all, there is no cooldown."

Qi Leren imagined that if he had met such an opponent in the forest during the Witchcraft Sacrifice mission... The birds in the whole forest were her eyes. She could observe every enemy 24/7 without cooldown, avoid any danger she wanted to bypass, and set traps to deal with anyone she wanted to deal with. This was simply terrible.

"Well, with this said, I’ll now begin to test your abilities, including your physical quality, judgment, intuition, and so on. I’ll test your intuition first. If you want to be a good assassin, you can't do without phenomenal intuition. You stand there blindfolded, this won’t take more than a minute," Chen Baiqi commanded.

Qi Leren obediently went to the place she indicated and took the red cloth she handed him, tying it over his eyes. Suddenly, there was only a suppressed scarlet: "How do we test it?"

Chen Baiqi's voice floated from in front of him: "It's very simple. I'll throw some knives at you. You can dodge them with your intuition. I won't tell you when I throw them."

???

! ! !

This wasn’t a test, it was a threat on his life!

"Put away Rain-Day Laundry and only use S/L Data, or else you’ll really die," Chen Baiqi said with ease and pleasure.

"The Prophet told me to use it less," Qi Leren protested weakly.

"Oh, then you don't have to. I’ll try not to aim at anything vital," Chen Baiqi said.

"...Forget it, I'll use it." Qi Leren surrendered and thought he would use it just this once.

S/L Data was activated and the current position was set as the save point. Qi Leren looked at the red before his eyes and his heart beat fast with nervousness. He counted the seconds for S/L Data in his mind.

30, 29, 28...

Chen Baiqi didn't throw, she was walking—Qi Leren couldn't see her or hear her footsteps, but he had a strong feeling that Chen Baiqi was walking around him... She was on his left... Behind him...

Danger, danger, danger!

Clearly there was no warning, no noise, but Qi Leren's mind had already sounded the alarm. He quickly squatted without thinking and a slight wind flew over his head, cutting off two floating hairs.

"Eh? The response was good." Chen Baiqi's voice came from behind him. It was behind him!

Qi Leren stood up and continued to count the seconds: seventeen, sixteen, fifteen...

Under your feet!

Qi Leren suddenly jumped up, and the throwing knife shot obliquely downward and struck the ground with a tang.

Even though he wasn’t hit, Qi Leren still felt a dull pain in his feet, probably from jumping too fast and cramping.

"You’re really good." This time the voice came from above his head!

Qi Leren flung himself forward and rolled on the ground for three or four meters. There was a continuous sound of breathing behind him. Obviously, several throwing knives stabbed one after another—into the concrete ground, and he stopped breathing from nerves. In such a dark place, he directly evaded the ubiquitous fatal danger that made him feel on the verge of a breakdown.

When he stood up again, Qi Leren had forgotten to count the seconds and Chen Baiqi's voice came from ahead of himt: "Well, let's stop here for now."

Qi Leren breathed a sigh of relief and his whole person relaxed from his panicked state, stretching out his hand to untie the cloth over his eyes. When the cloth strip was torn off, there was no figure of Chen Baiqi in front of him—only a parrot standing on the ground and talking with Chen Baiqi's voice, which laughed at him: "Fool."

Qi Leren stood stiffly and a cold wind struck into his torso from behind, the knife piercing his heart. After 30 seconds, S/L Data successfully read the file.

The real Chen Baiqi came from behind Qi Leren with a cheerful demeanor: "This is the first lesson for you: never let off your guard down too early in the face of danger."

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[deancas-fanfiction]

A Daydream Away - Chapter 4

Word Count: 19k+

Summary: After multiple couples go missing from a resort in northern Minnesota, Dean and Cas are forced to pose as a couple to investigate the mysterious entity. As Dean and Cas navigate their fake relationship, it leaves Dean questioning what's real and forces him to confront his feelings for Cas.

A story in which Cas is human, Dean is sometimes an idiot, and Sam acts as matchmaker.

Tags: fake relationship, case fic, sharing a bed, human!cas, Sam ships Dean and Cas, fluff, eventual smut

also available on ao3

Dean awoke to his phone buzzing on the nightstand next to him. He squinted against the morning sun filtering into the room. He could feel that it was still early but he carefully reached for his phone nonetheless. Much like the day before, Cas was practically entangled with Dean. Today he was pressed against Dean's back, with their legs intertwined. Cas' arm was resting over Dean's waist. It all felt very possessive. That thought sent a thrill through Dean. Cas has always seemed like a possessive bastard but knowing he felt possessive over Dean unlocked a lot of complicated feelings that made Dean nearly blush.

The phone buzzed again, and Dean reached for it, careful not to move so much as to jostle Cas. He managed to reach it with his fingertips and dragged it to the edge until he could grab it. Dean unplugged it and saw he had a few texts from Sam.

'I found a potential lead last night at the staff happy hour. Call me tonight and I can fill you in after I finish some research.'

'Don't forget about your dinner reservation tonight at 7. Go to the main lodge and they'll direct you.'

Just as Dean was starting to type out a response, one last message came through. 'Hope you lovebirds are enjoying your honeymoon. Make sure you use protection' followed by a bunch of heart and kissy face emojis.

Dean rolled his eyes and typed out a bitchy response but ultimately assured Sam he'd call him before their dinner reservation. After sending the message, Dean glanced at the clock and saw it wasn't even eight. If they got up now, they may even make it to breakfast in time for the cinnamon rolls Jake and Amy raved about.

"Cas, wake up," Dean half-whispered, shaking him. Cas remained unmoved and fast asleep. "Cas." He said more urgently this time. "Get up." Still no movement. Dean tried a new tactic and shook him a little harder.

Cas frowned and rolled away from Dean, grumbling to himself but still fast asleep. His hair was sticking in different directions and his shirt was bunched up, revealing a tan expanse of skin on his lower back. Dean poked him a few more times but Cas was unmoving and snoring lightly.

Dean rolled his eyes and decided to just get the damn cinnamon rolls himself. He wasn't going to miss out because Cas is a grumpy bastard in the morning. To soften the blow of attempting to wake him before 9, Dean started a pot of coffee in the cabin's kitchen for Cas to enjoy when he awoke. Then he threw on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and was off towards the lodge.

Sure enough, Jake and Amy were correct -- this was the perfect time to grab breakfast. There were few couples and families milling around, otherwise most of the tables were empty and there was no line at the buffet. Dean grabbed two to-go boxes and filled them with eggs and bacon for himself, pancakes and syrup packets for Cas, and of course a few of the large mouthwatering cinnamon rolls set up by the coffee station. He was attempting to close the lid on the full box when he made eye contact with Amy.

"I see you took our advice to get the cinnamon rolls," She smiled and grabbed one for herself.

"You two made them sound so good, how could we resist?" Dean flashed her a victorious smile as the lid gave in and finally shut. "Besides, Cas has a total sweet tooth, there's no way we would ever leave without him trying them."

"Yeah, Jake is the same way. If it were up to him, he would have pure sugar for breakfast. Before we started dating, he would have mountain dew and twizzlers for breakfast."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "That sounds like a college student's wet dream."

Amy threw her head back and laughed. "Precisely! I'm going to use that. The man is in his thirties, sometimes I think he even forgets that." She shook her head, a wistful smile forming on her face. "He wanted to have a candy buffet at our wedding. It took forever to talk him down from that idea."

"A candy bar sounds awesome," Dean pointed out. He paused and looked at her expression. "Oh God -- you don't mean as dessert, do you?"

"No, he wanted that for the dinner buffet!"

Dean laughed loudly. "That's something Cas would do. If we had a wedding -- I mean, a large wedding -- I'm sure he would have preferred if we just serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. They're his favorite."

"That's actually adorable. And it would make for a cheap reception dinner."

Dean nodded in agreement as he poured coffee in a to-go cup in case the cabin coffee isn't up to Cas' standards. "Careful, if he were to hear that, he would totally hold that against me and be all pissy we didn't actually do that. Then I would have no choice but to tell Jake his candy-dinner-buffet is genius."

"Okay, okay truce! I won't say anything about the sandwiches." She responded, laughing.

Dean returned her smile. "Good thinking. You wouldn't want twizzlers and mountain dew as your wedding dinner."  He grabbed the to-go boxes and coffee carrier, carefully balancing them in his arms. "Well, I better bring this back to Cas before the cinnamon rolls cool down. I know he'd want to experience them in their warm and gooey glory."

"Of course, enjoy! Tell him I say hi and that's it -- nothing else at all relating to sandwiches." She winked.

Dean playfully rolled his eyes and slowly made his way back to the car, without catching sight of Sam. Probably for the better anyway, he'd likely make some kind of dick comment about bringing Cas breakfast in bed. Which -- okay, may be true. But that's only because Cas refused to wake up this morning and he didn't want to miss out on the famous cinnamon rolls. And sure, if he was with Sam, he wouldn't have brought him anything back and would have just said "you snooze, you lose, Sammy. You can eat oatmeal and yogurt like the rest of the late sleepers."  But that was part of being the older brother -- you get free reign to be a dick sometimes.

And! Cas is his fake husband! This is totally something a married couple would do for each other, Dean reasoned. So it's not weird or a romantic gesture. And okay, maybe there was a moment last night after they went sledding down the hill. At least, to him it felt like there was a moment where he wanted to kiss Cas and Cas -- well, it seemed like Cas wanted that, too. Or maybe it was just part of the case. There's really no way to know, except y'know, talking about it. But that sounded about as appealing as eating one of Sam's "nutrient rich" meals, whatever the hell those consisted of. All Dean knew was that it was mostly of veggies and no meat, so he didn't want any part in it.

Regardless, Dean wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. If he was imagining something between them, he'd never be able to recover from the embarrassment. Besides, he didn't want to ruin their friendship. For the first time, Cas has agreed to stay with them, and Dean refuses to do or say anything that would make Cas uncomfortable, thus driving him out of the bunker and away from Dean. Not for the first time in the last few days, he bitterly wished he knew what was going on in Cas' head.

By the time Dean returned to the cabin, Cas was sitting up in bed, blurry eyed with a frown etched on his face.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Dean chirped, setting the food down on the bed.

"Do I smell coffee?" Cas grunted.

"Sure do. I put a pot on and brought you a cup from the lodge. Here you go," He handed over the cardboard cup and settled next to him on the bed. Cas' frown eased as he began gulping down the coffee. "I tried waking you so we could get cinnamon rolls, but you were not having it."

"Sorry," Cas said sheepishly. "I don't even remember."

"You and your damn sleep," Dean muttered, opening the cartons of food. "Good thing you have a really thoughtful husband who ventures out into the frozen tundra that is northern Minnesota to obtain cinnamon rolls."

"Yes, good thing." Cas agreed softly. He tipped his cup back, draining the remaining of his coffee.

"Jesus, Cas. It's been like two minutes."

"It's good coffee. If you want me to also be a 'thoughtful husband,' then you should be thankful for my high caffeine intake first thing in the morning."

"Yeah, I remember that time we ran out of coffee at the bunker. You were on a warpath. Sam hid in the dungeon because you nearly called him an 'abomination' again."

"Yes, Dean. I recall. I already apologized to your brother for that."

Dean took a bite of bacon, amused. "Hey, I thought it was funny. I'm just glad you didn't turn on me, too."

"You're the one that went to the store to supply me with more coffee."

"Jesus, you make it sound like I'm your dealer or something."

"You may as well be," He pointed out, grabbing Dean's cup of coffee and taking a long drink of it.

"Yeah, yeah. Eat your damn breakfast. Those cinnamon rolls better be worth the trouble."

Cas opened his mouth, surely to respond with some sassy comment but at the last moment thought better of it and took a large bite of the cinnamon roll. The sound that emitted from his mouth was absolutely sinful.

"Oh my God, Dean." He moaned. "This is amazing."

"You want a room for just the two of you?"

"What do you mean?" Cas tilted his head as he chewed thoughtfully. "We have a room, we're in it right now."

"I -- never mind, Cas. It was a joke. It's that good, huh?"

"Yes, you must try it." He tore off a piece of his cinnamon roll and held it up to Dean's mouth. "Eat it." He ordered.

And wow, okay. The demanding tone from Cas was really working for Dean. He hesitantly leaned forward and took the piece into his mouth. His tongue momentarily brushed against Cas' finger and he swore that he saw Cas' pupils dilate. Huh.

"Yeah, 's good, Cas."

Cas looked pleased with himself and continued eating it in silence, the only sounds in the room were his small moans as he finished it off. Dean felt dazed and forced himself to finish his own breakfast.

"Dean, you have --"

"What?"

"Just, let me -- you have icing on your mouth." Cas leaned forward so he was in Dean's space and slowly dragged his finger along Dean's bottom lip. Against his lip, the pad of his finger felt calloused and rough. Cas' gaze flickered to Dean's lips before they focused on Dean's eyes.

Wait. Is he going to -- ? Dean's brain immediately stopped working as Cas held his gaze and put his finger in his mouth, sucking the frosting off it. Holy fuck, if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Dean knew his mouth was agape and he probably looked like an idiot but he couldn't find the strength to care. Cas basically licked frosting off of him. His pink, plump lips were wrapped around his long finger and Dean's brain not-so-helpfully supplied a lot of fantasies relating to that.

Cas pulled his finger out of his mouth and went back to drinking Dean's coffee with a little smirk on his face. Asshole.

"I, uh -- I'm going to take a shower." Dean mumbled and hurried out of the room.

Dean hurried from the room and locked himself in the bathroom. He leaned against the heavy oak door and took a deep breath. Was it his imagination or was Cas flirting with him? Why else would he suck the icing off his finger like that? Sure, Cas used to have that whole 'innocent angel' going for him but now he's human and he actually acts like it. Probably Dean's bad influence, but whatever. The point is Cas had to know what he was doing, right? No one in their right mind would clean icing from their friend's face and then lick it off if they didn't want to be more than friends.

The worst part is that it was really fucking hot. Dean was already struggling to suppress his feelings for Cas and that nearly pornographic display was really not helping. But maybe he didn't need to actively suppress those feelings, not if Cas felt the same way. But did he? Dean still couldn't be sure. If Cas truly was messing around or didn't understand the connotation of his actions, then Dean would be fucking mortified. Regardless, he couldn't keep sitting around waiting for something to happen between them. So he'll push their boundaries a little and see how Cas reacts. Hopefully then he'll get a better idea of where they stand.

Dean rolled his eyes at himself for how complicated he's making this. If only he felt comfortable straight up asking Cas, but that's never been his style. At last, he peeled himself from the door and turned on the shower. He undressed and briefly considered taking an ice-cold shower to calm himself down, but he changed his mind. Turning the temperature dial to hot, he decided to address his not-so-little problem. After all, he would need to have his mind clear if he was going to read Cas for any indications of his feelings.

He stepped under the shower and nearly groaned as the hot water washed over him. The water pressure was excellent and soothed his sore muscles. His thoughts immediately turned to Cas as he began to stroke himself. The image of Cas’ pink lips sucking on his finger filled his mind as he expertly flicked his wrist around the tip. He imagined those lips around him instead and within no time he was groaning Cas’ name as he spilled into his fist.

---

Dean and Cas spent their afternoon lounging on the couch watching movies. Once Cas became human, Dean compiled a list of movies that Cas needed to watch. Most were movies that came out after Metatron uploaded all of the pop culture references into his mind so that way Cas could truly watch something for the first time. However, Dean snuck a few of his favorites onto the list like the Harry Potter series, Lord of the Rings, and a few spaghetti westerns. When Dean saw there was a Star Wars marathon on tv (another series on the list) Dean declared they would be having a lazy afternoon until it was time for the bourbon tasting.

This brings them to where they are now: sitting with their backs against opposite arms of the couch, legs tangled together under a large shared blanket and the box of chocolates from their honeymoon package sitting half eaten between the two.

Cas grabbed another piece of chocolate out of the heart shaped box, humming happily as he chewed.

"Which character is your favorite?" Cas asked, as he swallowed the candy.

"Han Solo, hands down."

"I should have known."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Dean. The parallels between you and his character are so obvious. You have the whole 'I'm better off alone' thing going for you, even though deep down you're really caring and would do anything to save your family."

Right. Cas has always been able to read him perfectly. "Whatever, man. Han Solo is cool. And Harrison Ford is a good looking dude." Dean snuck a glance at Cas to see if he'd react to that.

"I suppose," Cas acknowledged, tilting his head as he surveyed Dean. If anything, he seemed curious with a glint in his bright eyes.

"So, uh - let me guess. Your favorite character is Princess Leia?" Dean ventured.

"Actually, yes. She's always out for the victory of many, rather than personal gain. Leia is very brave and independent, too."

"Yeah, I can see why she would be your favorite. It's like you -- always working towards the greater good."

Cas smiled at Dean and his eyes crinkled around the corners. He looked so happy and so human in this moment that Dean was almost tempted to just blurt out his feelings for the man. Almost.

Instead, he threw a piece of chocolate at Cas, which he caught in his mouth, looking very pleased with himself. "You're a dork," Dean said fondly, rolling his eyes.

"I know."

"Did you just Han Solo me?"

Cas looked amused and just turned his attention back to the movie. That asshole totally Han Solo'd him.

- - -

By the time the movie ended, it was nearly time for the bourbon tasting. Dean forced himself up from the couch that had no business being so comfortable, so he could get dressed for the day. He quickly threw on some dark jeans, a t-shirt and a blue button down, which he left open. Deeming it satisfactory for the day, he threw on a coat and waited by the door for Cas to be ready.

While he waited, Dean shot off a text to Sam asking how research was going. Sam immediately responded with 'slow' and an eye rolling emoji. Dean was about to reply and rub it in Sam's face that he gets to go drink bourbon while Sam is stuck reading tomes, but it was at that moment that Cas came out of the bathroom. He was clad in black jeans that were mouthwateringly tight and one of Dean's Zepp shirts. He had become so accustomed to Cas' pristine suit and tie ensemble that sometimes seeing him dressed so casually in Dean's clothes, nonetheless, causes Dean's brain to stop working.

"Am I underdressed?" Cas asked, eyeing Dean warily. "Should I throw on a button down like you?"

"God, no." Dean said, internally wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. "I mean -- it's just a bourbon tasting. You don't have to dress up or anything." Besides, it would be an absolute crime to cover those arms. They were tanned and muscly and Cas should always wear t-shirts to show them off because damn. Dean so badly wanted to run his hands along them, feeling the muscles flex under his touch.

Cas threw on his jacket, interrupting Dean's train of thought. God, it's like he reverted back to a 14-year old's body with the way it constantly responds to Cas.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Cas confirmed, sliding on his Grand View mittens with a soft smile.

The bourbon tasting wasn't very crowded. High-top tables filled the room but only about seventy-five percent were filled. Dean and Cas grabbed a table towards the back of the room so they could keep an eye on everyone. Each table only had 2 chairs which were facing towards the front where the speaker would be. Dean realized this must be another 'couples only' event. The room was dimly lit with dark wood paneled walls, making it feel very warm and intimate. Small table lamps were on each table, along with two flights of bourbon glasses with 5 shot glasses each.

"Cas, are you going to be able to handle this? 5 shots of bourbon is a lot, this shit is strong. I don't want to have to carry you out of here."

Cas sat in the chair to the right and rolled his eyes. "I can handle my liquor just fine, Dean. You've taught me well."

"Hell, I suppose that's true." Dean joined him, sitting in the remaining chair. He scooted his chair closer to Cas and rested his arm on the back of Cas' chair.

"Right," Cas murmured. "We better get in character." He leaned in against Dean's side and rested his hand on Dean's upper thigh. It was enough inches above the knee that it certainly wasn't an innocent placement. His hand was a welcome weight on his thigh and Dean moved his arm so as to rest his hand on Cas' shoulder. He got a small smile in response, letting him know that was okay so Dean rubbed his thumb in circles against it. A soft sigh escaped Cas' mouth which was frankly adorable.

"Did Sam say he found anything else about his lead?" Cas asked, leaning into Dean's ear. Goosebumps prickled along his neck in response.

"Not yet," Dean muttered. "He said he's doing research but hasn't found anything concrete. We'll give him a call after this, we'll have some time to kill before our dinner reservations."

Cas nodded. "I feel like we haven't done much to help move this case along. I do not want Sam to feel like he's doing all of the work."

"I know. But we knew we were unlikely to get any information from guests. All we can really do is try to lure whatever it is and go from there."

"I suppose." Cas chewed on his bottom lip and Dean wanted nothing more than to release his bottom lip and kiss it. Maybe bite it, then smooth it over with a swipe of his tongue. What kind of sounds would Cas make?

"Dean."

"Hmm?" Dean dragged his eyes from Cas' lips to his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, leaving only a small ring of blue.  Another look he wasn't used to reading on Cas.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"We need to move the case along. Kiss me."

Right. The case. That's why Cas wants to kiss him. No other reason. Dean sighed, a little dejected. He was hoping to avoid this because he knows once he does, it's going to be torture knowing what it's like to kiss Cas without being able to do it again whenever he wants.

"Are you su--?" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence because with a frustrated growl, Cas grabbed the collar of Dean's shirt and pulled him in, pressing their lips together. It started chaste.  A dry press of their lips, soft and warm and innocent. Then Cas sighed into Dean's mouth and made a small sound in the back of his throat. And that made Dean absolutely feral.

His fingers pressed into Cas' hips as he licked into his mouth. He was warm and tasted like honey and chocolate. The smell of his aftershave surrounded him, and it was all just so delicious. Their lips perfectly slotted together, and the kiss was slow and languid, like they all had night and could take their time exploring each other. Dean always imagined their first kiss would be frantic and rough, filled with the unresolved sexual tension from over the course of ten years. He never imagined it could be so sweet, yet so hot. It was everything he'd been waiting for and so much more. Except that it still wasn't enough. He needed more -- he needed to feel Cas against him, he needed to explore every part of him and kiss him so hard that he becomes dazed and all he can do is chant Dean's name like a prayer.

Distantly, a door slammed shut, reminding the two that they were in a very public place, and not in the privacy of their cabin. They jumped apart, flushed and hearts pounding. Dean stared at Cas, his lips were parted, red and swollen, as he breathed heavily.

Dean momentarily closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he tried to calm his body down. The last thing he needed was for someone to see he was rock hard at a bourbon tasting. He peeked at Cas, who looked just as debauched.

"Jesus, Cas." Dean groaned. One kiss and he was completely hooked. How the hell would he ever be able to look at Cas and his mouth and not think about kissing him?

"Sorry," He nervously licked his lips. "I may have gotten carried away."

"You -- ? No, man. If anything, I got carried away. It's just -- ah, it's been a while since someone kissed me like that. That's all."

Cas nodded, his small smile back. "I'm glad I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Dean laughed humorlessly. In reality, it just solidified his attraction for the guy and he's pretty sure that kiss is going to be the thing that ultimately kills him. "If anything, we just made sure we're target number one."

Something flickered on Cas' face, but it was gone before he could get a good read on it. Before he could analyze too heavily, the speaker greeted everyone and began giving an overview of the brands of bourbon poured out in front of them.

Dean half-listened as he introduced himself and gave his credentials. He told Cas it had been a while since he'd been kissed like that, but truthfully had he ever been kissed like that? He didn't think so.

"The first glass in front of you is Old Forester 1897. From Kentucky, Old Forester is known for making affordable high-quality bourbon," The man explained. "Tasting this first glass, you should note rich vanilla with roasted coffee notes and spiced overnotes. This one is big and bold, with a dark caramel finish. Take the next few minutes to try this one and discuss it with your partner. I recommend trying it in sips, focusing on each of the flavors I mentioned. Enjoy!"

Quiet conversation broke out in the room. Dean sniffed the amber liquid and his mouth nearly watered. Typically, he drinks the cheap stuff because that's what is always around. So, having the opportunity to taste some high-quality bourbon put Dean in an instant good mood. Any awkwardness from the kiss quickly faded and Dean was grateful for the distraction.

"Cheers," Dean said happily. He clanked his shot glass against Cas and drank it all in one go. It burned down his throat into his chest and instantly he felt the warmth spread through him. And now that the guy mentioned it, yeah, he could taste the hint of caramel.

"You were supposed to sip it." Cas frowned. "Not drink it all at once."

"It was just a recommendation, Cas. You can drink it however you want."

Cas didn't look happy with Dean's answer and took another sip of the bourbon. Dean watched as Cas' throat swallowed the bourbon and suddenly he was regretting drinking it all in one go. Watching Cas savor the drink made him wish he had something to distract himself with.

He quickly tore his eyes away from Cas' mouth for the millionth time that day. "What do you think, Cas?"

"I like it. It makes me feel...warm."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, bourbon will do that to you. It's the best drink to have in winter for that exact reason."

The bourbon man clapped his hands together to gather everyone's attention. "I see most of you have finished the 1897, so I'll move forward onto the next one. This next one is perfect for the colder months - "

Dean lifted his eyebrows at Cas as if to say see, I told you so. Cas smiled and turned his attention back to the speaker.

" - it is another Old Forester bourbon, but this one is the 1910. It has notes of cherry, dark chocolate, maple syrup and a hint of spice. For those of you who prefer sweet to spice, this is the bourbon for you." He continued sharing trivia about the Old Forester brand and the barrels used to make these bottles. "Now that I've given you all time to clear your taste pallets, enjoy the 1910!"

Dean focused this time on savoring the glass instead of drinking it in one large gulp. He had to admit, Cas was right. When he took the time to savor the flavors he could actually pick up on the cherry and dark chocolate. Before all he tasted was the burn of it.

"I really like this one." Cas announced. His cheeks were a little pink from the alcohol which Dean thought was endearing as hell. "I like the maple syrup flavor."

"When we get home, I'll have to introduce you to the finer bottles of whiskey I've been saving for a special occasion. You'll love it."

Cas titled his head. "But you said you're saving it for a special occasion?"

"Hell, Cas. We saved the world and we're all together. It can't get more special than that."

"I suppose not."

The rest of the tasting continued the same. The speaker would explain the bourbon they were tasting and include some interesting facts (all bourbon is whiskey but not all whiskey is bourbon) and sometimes some gross ones (like before there were strict FDA regulations, distilleries used to include substances like tobacco spit and dirt in their whiskey barrels for flavor) and by the time they finished their fifth and final glass, Dean and Cas were feeling the effects of the bourbon. Cas more so, his speech was a little slurred but he could hold himself upright just fine. He was in that perfect tipsy zone and Dean wasn't far behind him.

The lodge offered a free shuttle service for everyone back to their cabins so the guests wouldn't have to stumble back to their cabins in the cold. Dean happily took them up on that service because he knew he wasn't in the right state to drive. The shuttle was a small bus with only a few rows of seats. They grabbed a seat in the back while a few of the other couples from the class climbed in.

With a low rumble, the shuttle started and lurched forward. It headed along the road towards Dean and Cas' cabin, making stops along the way for the other guests. Cas leaned into Dean's side and sighed happily, nuzzling his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder.

"Mmm, 's nice." His voice was muffled against Dean's coat. "You're warm."

"You're drunk."

"Just a little," He pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Dean's breath hitched. Was this part of the act or was this Cas with his guard down? He leaned more into Dean and gripped Dean's arm. To any onlooker, there would be no doubt they're a couple. That thought sent a little thrill through Dean, secretly pleased by that idea. Who knew he was so possessive?

The bus stopped at the access road leading up to their cabin, so Dean nudged Cas and ushered him off the bus. They stepped out into the cold and Dean felt it sober him up a little. Cas must have felt the same because he was holding himself up straighter and his eyes seemed a little less cloudy. They trudged up the road leading to their cabin and Dean grabbed a hold of Cas' hand, noting the small smile which formed.

"Should we call Sam?"

"Yes, good idea." Dean pulled out his phone with his free hand and dialed Sam's number. It rang a few times then went to voicemail. "Did he reject my call?"

"That seems very out of character for Sam."

Dean tried again. On the second ring he picked up, sounding out of breath. "Dean?"

"Dude, did you reject my call?"

"Uh, sorry. I was - uh in the middle of something."

Dean and Cas exchanged a confused look. "Why are you out of breath? I know you're not running in this weather."

"No reason. I just -- what's up? Are you guys alright?"

"Dean and I drank bourbon at the tasting and now I feel really warm," Cas announced.

"Are you guys drunk?" Sam sounded amused.

"No!" They both said in unison.

"Just, tell me about the lead you found."

"Oh, right! I don't really know much yet. But last night at happy hour the staff was talking about local legends and there was this one that targets young people in love. I don't remember the name of it, but it sounded like it fit the bill. The locals didn't know much that sounded helpful so I'm having Donna look into it."

"That sounds promising," Cas agreed. "Do you remember any other details?"

"Not any that are helpful. I had to really sift through a lot of stuff that isn't our kind of thing. You know how these legends get so twisted over the years."

"Well, keep us posted if Donna finds anything."

"Yeah, will do. Just hang tight until --"

A loud crash echoed over the phone and a woman's voice carried through, saying something intelligible.

"Sam." Dean warned. "Who's there with you?"

"Um --"

"So help me -- if you are with another woman I'm going to be pissed. Eileen is so beyond your league and the fact that you're even willing to risk that..."

"Shit." Sam sighed over the phone. "Switch to facetime."

Dean did as Sam said and was greeted with Sam's anxious face. "So uh -- Eileen is here." He turned the camera and was greeted by Eileen smiling sheepishly.

Cas signed something to Eileen and she laughed in response. Dean focused the camera back on his face so Eileen could read his lips. "What are you doing in Minnesota?"

"My hunt in Iowa wrapped up early, so I came up here to join Sam."

"I thought your hunt was in Ohio?" Cas questioned.

Eileen had a look that was equal parts sympathy and panic on her face as she handed the phone back to Sam.

"Sam, what the hell? Was Eileen not actually on a hunt?"

"No." He admitted. "She wasn't."

"Then why the hell did you send us on this hunt when you two could have done it?"

Now Sam just looked uncomfortable and Dean suddenly realized what was going on. "You've got to be kidding me." Sam opened his mouth to respond but Dean cut him off. "Nope. Not discussing this with you. Not now, not ever. We have to go, keep us updated on the case."

"Bye!" Eileen yelled from the background before the screen went black.

"I don't understand what just happened." Cas said, looking genuinely confused. "What did Sam do?"

"He set us up! To take this case when he and Eileen could have done it."

"But what did he set us up with?"

"Each other, Cas." Dean said strained.

"Oh." He squeaked and blushed furiously.

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe he wasn't going to kill Sam after all.

[antisocial-af]

Title: A Chance at Forever

Gift for: @brightasstars

Chapter: 1/2

Square Filled: Time Travel (For @shadowhunterbingo​)

Raiting: T

Wordcount: 1355

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Angst with Happy Ending, Time Travel, Good Friend Ragnor and Catarina. 

Summary:

Magnus receives the key to keeping his husband with him forever after a year of looking. But a misstep from the past has caused Magnus his forever. Or has it?...

Read on Ao3

Story:

Magnus looked over to his desk and sighed as the ingredient list taunted him. He snapped his fingers and refilled his wine glass. The frustration of past carelessness had closed another door for him. If he had stored his ingredients better, he wouldn’t be in this mess. 

“Are you just going to glare at it?” A voice broke his spiraling thoughts. Magnus turned and looked at one of his closest friends and colleague, Ragnor. 

“I messed up, my dear cabbage,” Magnus mumbled through the pain. “I ruined my only chance.” 

Magnus observed as Ragnor moved to the apothecary’s desk and picked up the simple list. 

“Cat came and delivered it this morning after Alexander left for work,” Magnus recalled, placing his glass down to join Ragnor. “I understand why now she knew I wouldn’t be able to retain one of the ingredients and didn’t want Alexander to see me upset.” 

“One vial of Unseelie blood willingly given,” Ragnor read off with a gruff, and his face pinched in an annoyed fashion. “Where’d you even obtain such a thing?” 

“After you almost got Will exiled for a bet, Tessa asked me to take him out instead of letting him run around wild with you,” Magnus smirked for a moment. “It was during one of the usual rounds that an Unseelie joined in. Everything was underground, so no one made a fuzz. If you had the stuff to bet,  then they wouldn’t turn you away. I lost quite a few things because of this, but it wasn’t till the final round that it mattered. The Unseelie had put up a few rare items, but then when the pool got more interesting, they offered a vial of their blood for the last round. Back then, I just knew it was rare and could be used as an ingredient or a trade of something I needed.”

“What did you do with it?” Ragnor asked, setting the potion list down and crossing his arms.

“I put it in one of my safe houses, but during the Uprising, I had used that house as a sanctuary for Downworlders,” Magnus explained, running his hands over his face as he replayed the memories. “It was found and burnt down with everything inside by some of The Circle in the 90s.” 

“It’s gone then,” Ragnor summarized and kept looking at Magnus. “Was that the last place it was at?” 

“Yes, Ragnor, my only chance at forever with my husband was burnt to the ground,” Magnus bit back, trying to control his anger. He knew that Ragnor was not trying to provoke him. “I kept the vial stored in the St. Albans safe house. Valentine’s Shadowhunters demolished it in 1990. At the time, I didn’t think anything of the loss. Just things happen, oh well. I didn’t have a plan for it.” 

“So say in 1989 in May it would still be there?” Ragnor asked as he started to undo the cuffs on his coat and roll them up. 

Magnus squinted at his friend and started to feel Ragnor’s magic pulling itself together.

“Yes, it was undisturbed before The Uprising,” Magnus cautiously answered as he started to grow concerned at the vast amount of energy Ragnor began to siphon from the ley lines. ��Ragnor?” 

“What I am about to do will never be replicated or spoken of again,” Ragnor sternly stated as he held Magnus’ gaze. “Do you understand, Magnus?” 

“What exactly are you doing?” Magnus questioned while still trying to keep his composure. “Ragnor, you are going to set off the Institute’s alarms if you keep pulling!” 

“I’m sure your husband will cover for us once you give him the immortality potion,” Ragnor waved off as he closed his eyes and tried to center himself. “You above most know of my fascination with dimensional travel, and while researching those theories, I stumbled onto a warlock’s abandoned work.” 

“That’s great and all, Ragnor, but what does it have to do with this moment at all?” Magnus pushed as he started to get worried. He heard his phone go off on the desk and knew it must be Alexander with questions. 

“I finished the work. It was complicated, and it took three decades, but I was able to complete the time travel spell. It will only allow you an hour max; the magic is too volatile for me to stabilize any longer than that. If you stay longer, I can’t guarantee that I will be able to pull you back to the present. I don’t know what will happen if you do end up getting stuck in the past, though,” Ragnor kept going as he snapped his fingers and summoned his supplies. 

“Wh-,” Magnus was trying his best to keep up with him, but he still didn’t understand anything Ragnor was saying. “Ragnor, are you okay? Did you hit your head? Time travel spell?” 

“There it is set!” Ragnor declared as he finished the intricate circle on the apothecary’s floor. 

Magnus looked down and noticed it was a stabilizing circle. Usually, younger warlocks used this the first few times they tried summoning spells or any high-class spell. 

“Keep up, Magnus,” Ragnor sighed and pulled Magnus towards the middle of the circle. “Just need you to stand here, and I can send you back. Remember only an hour.” 

“Send me back?! What do you mean, Ragnor?” the slight agitation in Magnus’ voice was growing with every pull from his friend. 

Ragnor stopped and looked at Magnus straight on with a determined demeanor. “I can send you back to get your ingredient, my friend. I can give you a chance at forever.”

Magnus gulped but nodded. He didn’t know if Ragnor could actually send him back, but if he could, Magnus would have the last piece to keep his happiness for a long time. 

“I trust you, Ragnor,” Magnus nodded and stepped into the circle. 

“Of course you do! Who else has smuggled you out of 3 countries cause you partied yourself into felonies and jail time?” Ragnor teased as he started to push his magic to force the portal. 

“Hey, I only remember 2!” Magnus protested, watching the unstable-looking tear starting to form. 

“Remember is the keyword in your statement,” Ragnor chuckled and pressed the last of his magic into place. “Just like a normal portal, you need to think of the place you are going, but you also need to think about the time period of the place. It works off intent; if you aren’t clear, I don’t know what will happen.” 

“Why do I feel like you are also using me as an experiment as much as you are doing me a favor?” Magnus grumbled and closed his eyes. He tried to remember the rose bushes he had planted outside.

“Magnus, listen, if it weren’t you, I wouldn’t be offering to use this magic.” Ragnor sighed as he activated the stabilizing circle. “It is extremely taxing and can leave me drained for a month.” 

“Then why!?” Magnus asked, shocked and fingers already inching for his cellphone to call Catarina. 

“Because Magnus, if anyone deserves a do-over, it’s you.” 

Magnus held Ragnor’s gaze and gulped at the weight of his best friend’s actions. “Thank you.” 

“Just get in the middle and hurry. I wasn’t kidding when I said that this would take most of my magic for a while, and I can already feel it consuming it,” Ragnor grunted as he watched the portal finally stabilize enough for entry. “Go.” 

Magnus nodded and readied himself. He would go in, get the vial, and back through. He knew the layout intimately, and he could maneuver it blackout drunk. Hell, he might’ve done it a few times. 

“MAGNUS!?” 

Magnus turned around to see his husband before cursing as he tripped and fell head-first into the open portal. Magnus focused on his destination and felt a set of familiar arms wrap around him tightly as the portal’s magic started to push them through to the other side. The warlock held a firm grip and wrapped his magic around his Shadowhunter to protect them from being separated on the journey. 

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 43: Jon

There aren’t words to describe what being home feels like.

It’s not just the four walls of the house they’ve bought together, or the warmth and beauty of a March sunset, or the sounds of a London evening. It’s Charlie flying down the sidewalk to attack Jon with a hug and a bright smile and a flurry of words about how much they’ve all missed him and then coming back two hours later, pleased as Punch and bearing a “welcome home” cake he baked himself. It’s Sasha calling, not texting, to tell Tim she’s home safe and then asking to talk to Jon so they can reassure each other that they’re both okay. It’s Martin gently tending to the marks on his wrists and ankles, still raw from his desperate attempts to pull free before his strength started to desert him, and singing the song he remembers from when he was a little boy and his father came back from a voyage. It’s Tim cooking Jon’s favorite dinner, but serving him in small helpings so that he doesn’t overstretch his stomach after two weeks while still making sure he eats his fill. It’s the cool, clean sheets and the thick, warm quilt and the weight and security of Tim and Martin on either side of him as he falls asleep, and it’s Tim and Martin soothing and reassuring him, as much with their presence as with any actual words, when he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night.

Going back to the Institute is harder than he would have thought. Only the fact that he knows he can’t be away from it for long gets him to go back—that and the fact that he can’t, won’t, leave his team alone to deal with Elias. Once there, though, he slips back into the routine easily enough. Despite Elias’s snide insinuations, the Archives ran fine without him, but he knows they’re glad to have him back.

They take Tuesday morning to regroup and plan. It’s all very well for both Elias and Jon Prime to tell them to find Gertrude’s notes, but Gertrude was, in Tim’s words, a paranoid old bitch, and it’s not likely that they’ll find a conspicuous notebook with detailed plans on how to stop the Unknowing. More likely that whatever they find will end up being more memory aids than anything, cryptic jottings that only mean something to Gertrude, and sussing it out won’t be easy. But it’s a place to start nevertheless, once they figure out where those notes are.

In the end, Tim and Martin take to looking through the shelves of statements—Tim looking for anything to do with the Stranger, Martin looking for a few of the tantalizing little threads they’ve noticed weaving through the tapestry of their database. Sasha attacks the filing cabinets, with the logic that Gertrude may have pretended to file something important. And Jon takes his counterpart’s advice and goes through his office.

It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s in all the drawers of his desk, but he does his due diligence, pulling everything out of each drawer, tapping for false backs or false bottoms. He does find, stuck in the back of the drawer where he keeps the spare statement forms, a creased and faded concert program printed on green stock from 2003; it doesn’t seem to have any immediate significance, though, so he sets it aside with the intention of looking into it later. Perhaps it’s simply a concert Gertrude attended that she enjoyed, but it might also be a clue to the Unknowing. He’ll have to research.

It isn’t until Wednesday morning that he finds the laptop, hidden along with a key under a floorboard that’s been creaky as long as he’s been working in the Archives. There are scratches on some of the floorboards that Jon’s always hoped aren’t fingernail marks, but several of them are loose and one of them levers up fairly easily, revealing Gertrude’s hidden stash. He digs around a bit but finds nothing else, only the laptop and the key. He sets both on his desk next to the concert program and goes to tell the others.

The laptop is dead, of course. Jon vaguely remembers seeing a charger for it when he was in Gertrude’s apartment, but he didn’t grab it then and it’s far too late to go back now. Luckily, Sasha’s laptop is almost the exact same model, so she simply swaps over the cable and lets it charge while they go over what they’ve found so far. Tim has three statements he thinks might be Stranger ones, but hasn’t looked at yet to be sure; Martin found a third statement involving the Daedalus, which Tim seems positive is a Dark statement, and another statement involving Salesa. Sasha hasn’t found anything in the filing cabinets—yet—but she does have Elias’ schedule, so they’re able to plan their briefings when they know they won’t be observed.

She also kindly hacks into Gertrude’s laptop for him, once it’s charged, and he spends most of Thursday painstakingly going through the files, emails, and Internet history. The latter is by far the most voluminous. It almost makes him laugh to discover the account name “grbookworm1818”—how had he not figured out that was Gertrude, attempting to buy Leitners? She seems to have obtained three, one of them being the copy of The Key of Solomon he found fragments of in the tunnels and the other two being ones he’s never seen or heard of. There are also purchase reports for Archival supplies, airline tickets and travel bookings, and sporadic but suspiciously large orders for petrol, lighter fluid, pesticides, and high-powered torches.

When he comes out of his office at the end of the day, eyes bleary and with no clear plan, he finds a number of dusty boxes scattered about and his assistants attempting to find space for them, but they refuse to tell him where they came from or what they’re for. The next morning, however, Martin and Tim usher him into one of the storage rooms they’ve never really got around to sorting out the second they arrive in the Archives. It’s completely empty, save a table, four chairs, a low set of shelves, a whiteboard, and a corkboard, to which Sasha is tacking a large map of the world. The shelves hold fourteen boxes of the kind designed to hold photographs, a large box of pushpins, three different-colored balls of string, and a laptop cord, ready and waiting.

“We thought we needed a war room,” Tim explains, obviously trying to fight back a grin. “You know, somewhere we can keep everything together and not…get mixed up with the rest of the work we’re doing.”

“Allegedly doing,” Sasha says over her shoulder. “I’m still not sure how much of this job is what was presented to us when we took it and how much is the sort of thing we’re doing right now…can one of you give me a hand here?” she adds as the upper corner of the map flops over onto her head, just above her outstretched hand. Tim comes over to assist.

Jon looks around, surprised and pleased, and opens his bag to pull out Gertrude’s laptop. “Why did you pick this room, out of curiosity?”

Martin pulls the door shut behind him. “The molding.”

“What?” Jon frowns at him.

Tim gives the map a firm stroke to smooth out any air bubbles and presses the pushpin deep into the cork, then turns to give Martin a warm, approving smile. “You know how Elias always seems to know what’s going on in the Archives whenever it’s least convenient for us? Martin realized why the other day.”

“It was an accident,” Martin insists, face turning slightly pink.

“It was brilliant.” Tim claps him on the shoulder. “Those fancy decorations at all the joins in the molding? You know, those elaborate carvings at the top of the fake columns and the corners of all the doorframes and whatnot?”

“Not…I’ve never paid much attention to them.” Jon’s only five foot seven, and since he’s never had to worry too much about clearance or anything like that he’s never really looked too much at anything over his head.

“It’s at the corners of all the shelves, too,” Martin offers. “At least the ones where the statements are stored, the ones that are pretty obviously original to the Institute. You know, with what looks like a medallion in the middle?”

Those Jon has seen. “It’s the Institute seal, isn’t it? Or the Magnus family crest?”

“That’s what I always thought, too, but Martin got a good look at one the other day while he was getting down a statement for me.” Sasha’s eyes sparkle behind her glasses, which instantly puts Jon on edge; these days, anything that excites Sasha is likely to have bad ramifications for them. “It’s an eye.”

“And if he can ‘see through any eye, real or image’…” Tim spreads his hands out invitingly.

Jon sets the laptop down harder than he probably should, eyes wide. “He’s been watching us through the moldings!”

“Yep. It’s anybody’s guess whether or not Gertrude knew about it. I ran it down right after I told them and got a lot of stammering and profanity. Although not from who you might expect,” Martin adds with just the tiniest bit of a smirk. Sasha practically cackles. “Anyway, this room doesn’t have anything like that, we double-checked. So we just…cleaned out all the stuff that was in here and set this up. Give us a bit of breathing room, anyway.”

“At least until Elias comes down to the Archives to figure out why he can’t see us easily,” Tim adds. “But, you know, it’s a head start.”

Jon is six inches shorter than Tim and a full nine inches shorter than Martin, so there’s no way to make it look less than deliberate if he attempts to give either one of them even the most casual kiss on the cheek, but good Lord, he wants to. Instead, he just beams at them both. “God, you’re brilliant. Right, let me get a cup of tea and we can get started.”

“I’m on it.” Martin slips out of the little room.

Sasha smirks at Jon behind Tim’s back, but he does his best to ignore her and focuses on the boxes. “What are these?”

“Tapes. We made copies of all the recordings we’ve done so far of the real statements and sorted them by which fear they belong to.” Sasha taps the lid of one of the boxes and indicates the label on the front. It’s a bright yellow set of concentric circles—no, Jon realizes, it’s a spiral. “Tim did the labels.”

Jon glances up at Tim, both impressed and worried. “You didn’t—”

“Nope.” Tim pulls out a box and shows him the label, simply the word US in a rich, vibrant green. “I don’t know how detailed the ‘image’ has to be, but I’m not risking it. Everything else I tried to do the symbols they described, or…something that made sense. Like antlers for the Hunt.”

“And the ink colors? Is that corresponding to—it’s not the labels we use.”

“No. Those are the colors I’m pretty sure the fears are.”

Martin comes back in with four mugs of tea. Jon takes his with a grateful smile. “Actually, let’s start there. We’ve never really talked about the colors, beyond…”

“What I told Elias,” Tim completes.

“And the little bit you described when you took a look at all of us.”

Tim takes his own mug from Martin, and for some reason Martin’s ears turn slightly pink. Jon’s distracted for a moment until Tim muses, “It’s…weird. Some of them are obvious. Like I said, it’s super obvious the Eye is green and the Stranger is indigo, because I saw that one at the Trophy Room with no other colors interfering. And the Corruption being yellow-green is obvious because of—”

“Me,” Martin finishes.

Tim nods. “And the Spiral being yellow—Christ, that door. The others I…sort of had to guess. Even with…you know…it was hard for me to suss out. The Eye is everywhere. Looking at him is like looking at the shelves in the Archives. The scars are pretty obvious, but not completely.” He frowns. “Like the Hunt and the Slaughter. They’re really close in color. I think the Slaughter’s got a bit more orange in it, the Hunt’s a true red, but especially under the cover of the Beholding, it’s hard to tell the difference. And, actually, sometimes it’s hard to tell the Stranger from the Web at a glance. I mean, until you really start looking at them. The Web is purple, so if it’s not by itself…I mean, it’s a subtle distinction.”

Jon glances uneasily at the carefully-inked purple spiderweb, then turns away. It still bothers him.

They manage to get nearly two hours into their discussion, moving from the colors to the Stranger threads they’ve picked up to what Jon’s gleaned from Gertrude’s laptop. Tim is just jabbing a pin into Nairobi on the map when Sasha stiffens and glances over her shoulder. “Incoming.”

Jon’s about to ask what she’s talking about when the door opens and Elias pokes his head in with a patently false smile. “Knock, knock.”

Tim and Martin make nearly identical noises of frustration. Jon clasps his hands behind his back and gives Elias his best I’m-annoyed-at-being-interrupted-but-you’re-my-superior-so-I’ll-be-polite look, which is only partly put-on. “Can we help you, Elias?”

“I simply wanted to see how you were progressing with finding out about the Unknowing.” Elias looks around the room with interest, and Jon has to work hard to use the tricks Jon Prime has been teaching him to keep his excitement from being obvious. Martin and Tim are right; Elias can’t see into this room. “What have you uncovered so far?”

Jon is immensely proud of his team. They manage to weave an incredibly tight explanation of how much they’ve learned, within limits, that doesn’t let on how much information they were given ahead of time, listing steps without revealing that anything other than chance led them to it. Elias completely acts the part of the mildly interested academic and bureaucrat, but he’s also obviously fishing for information. Martin does a masterful job of acting like he’s falling directly into Elias’ traps while neatly sidestepping them, Tim cracks jokes at the appropriate times to distract him while putting just enough bite into them that Elias will assume they’re simply angry and sarcastic jabs, and Sasha throws a flurry of technical terms into the discussion that are certainly relevant to the topic at hand but serve to make Elias change the tack of his questioning. Like Jon, she knows the value of a well-placed info dump.

There is no redirecting him from the map, however. While he must have known about Gertrude’s travels, at least in a general sense, it’s clear he knew little about her actual movements. Jon masks his reluctance with annoyance and gives Elias a clipped version of his findings.

“Is there any significance to the colors of pins you have used?” he asks, gesturing to the map, where they’ve been marking out Gertrude’s travels. “Or is it random? Or for the…aesthetic?”

“We were trying to do it by what year she took the trip, but we only have so many colors,” Jon answers. “We’ve just switched over. Red are trips that were very definitely expensed back to the Institute, white are ones that were not, and yellow are the ones where we aren’t quite sure.”

“Mm…Gertrude did request a rather high travel budget, comparatively. Of course, if the Archivist job was as simple as it is in other institutions, she would have required no travel whatsoever, but in her capacity to stop the rituals…” Elias seems particularly fascinated by the pin on Beijing. “Why is this one in blue?”

“We just haven’t swapped the pin over yet. That’s one of the last trips we have a record of in Gertrude’s laptop.” Tim tilts his head at Jon. “From, what, six months before she died?”

“Closer to nine. Actually, Martin, can you change that one out, please?” Jon gestures at the box. “It’s a yellow one, I think.”

Martin mumbles an excuse me and switches out the pin. Elias purses his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t recall there being a ritual anywhere near Beijing at the time. What could have sent her there?”

“No idea. What’s bothering me is that we don’t know where she went from there.”

That draws Elias’ attention away from the map and back to Jon. “Surely she came back to London.”

“No.” Jon folds his arms over his chest. “Or at least, not that we can find. As I said, we’re largely tracing these trips from booking confirmations sent to Gertrude’s email address, and she largely purchased one-way tickets. Her last flight purchased out of London was to Paris, and then she booked a flight from Paris to Beijing. From there…I don’t know. I suppose she was buying tickets as she went along. It’s not like her credit card statements list where the flights went, only what airlines she flew and when she purchased the tickets. No hotel accommodations, though. Doubtless she paid cash, or else Gerard paid for those.”

“Gerard?” Elias says with interest. “Gerard Keay? Who told you he was traveling with Gertrude?”

Panic strikes Jon. Most likely it’s something he gleaned from Jon Prime—but on the other hand, did the Primes actually mention that? Flustered, he stammers, “I—someone must have—”

“No, no one told you. You Knew.” Elias sounds delighted.

“I probably just—gleaned it from the statements.” Jon glances at the shelves.

“No, Jon, this is a good thing. You’re getting stronger! It’s one thing to be able to—” Elias gestures vaguely and almost dismissively at Tim and Martin “—glean something from somebody in the room, but just Knowing something like that, that’s a big step.”

He sounds like a proud father, and it makes Jon feel incredibly uncomfortable. He balls his hands into fists, gathering up the cuffs of the sweater he definitely didn’t steal from either Tim or Martin, to stop himself from reaching out to one of them for protection. It’s stupid. Elias won’t hurt him, not here, not now; he needs him too much. He knows he’s safe. It just feels…dangerous, and he wants them to make him feel safer. Rather than risk Elias knowing how much he depends on them and doing something about it, he grips the sweater.

Elias practically beams at him. “It seems to me your next step should be obvious.”

“It should?”

“You should start retracing her steps. Are her notes from this trip on there?”

“Ah—no.”

“Then you’ll need to go where she was. Find out where she stayed, what she did.” Elias clasps his hands behind his back. “Where she went from there. How soon do you think you can leave?”

Jon blinks. This is going a bit faster than he expected. He turns to Tim and Martin. “Do you two have a passport?”

Martin looks a bit stunned. “N-no, I’ve never—never needed one?”

“Mine’s still in good standing,” Tim answers. “But if Martin needs one, that’d be—what, four weeks, at a minimum?”

“Jon, I asked when you would be able to leave,” Elias says, mildly enough but with a bit of steel behind it. “Your assistants need to stay here. We do need to get all of this straightened out still, and there’s research that needs to be done from here. You can relay whatever information you find back to the Archives, and I’m sure they can assist you if needed, but really, the Institute can’t spare the funds to reimburse more than one of you for an extended trip.”

Jon is pretty sure that’s a lie, but he knows Elias won’t reimburse them, and he also knows that neither Tim nor Martin can actually afford to pay their own way to come along, not with the house payments and Martin’s mother’s medical bills. He sighs heavily and fights to maintain eye contact with Elias. “I can get a flight out Sunday night or Monday morning.”

“Monday will be fine,” Elias says without batting an eyelash. Jon knows Sunday, statistically speaking, is the most expensive day to fly, so anything to save the Institute a few pence, he supposes. “Well, it seems you’ve all done marvelously well. I think you all deserve to take a half-day today. With pay. Finish up what you need to do here, and you can leave at twelve. Jon, do keep me appraised of your flight information.” He flashes them an absolutely terrifying smile, turns on his heel, and leaves the room.

The second the door shuts behind him, Jon sags, bracing himself against the table. “God.”

Sasha collapses into a chair, looking absolutely wiped out. “Tell me about it.”

“Hold on.” Martin picks up Jon’s mug, then Sasha’s, and slips out of the room.

Tim tentatively reaches out and touches Jon’s arm. “Sit down before you fall down. You look almost as bad as she does.”

“I’m all right.” Jon sits down anyway, grateful for Tim’s concern.

A phone buzzes from somewhere; Jon instinctively reaches for his pocket before remembering that he hasn’t replaced it yet. He spent longer than he should have trying to resurrect his shattered phone after Martin silently handed him its remains, but finally had to give up. “Is that yours, Tim?”

“No, I think it’s Martin’s.”

With that rare sort of timing that almost never happens, Martin comes back in, bearing two brimming mugs of tea; he hands one to Sasha, then one to Jon. He has to bend over to do it, and Jon brushes a quick kiss against his cheek as it comes past before he loses his nerve, then tries to play it off like he didn’t notice he did it. “Your phone went off.”

Martin’s ears are pink, and he goes to pick up his phone rather quickly. He actually snorts with laughter and shakes his head, a slightly amused smile on his face as he taps out a reply.

“Everything okay?” Tim asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s from Melanie. Just says ‘Jet lag sucks balls.’ I’m guessing she’s back in town.” Martin slips his phone into his pocket and sighs. “What do we do now?”

“Unfortunately,” Jon mutters, “I think we do what Elias said. Finish up what we’re doing here, and leave early.” He looks over at Sasha. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sasha manages a smile that even Jon can tell is fake, then drops it immediately and sighs. “I was trying to keep on top of how much he knew, or thought we knew. It’s a weird sort of balancing act…thing. Like keeping just the right tension on a rope.”

“Sasha.” Martin sounds upset. “You were reading his mind?”

“Just—skimming the surface,” Sasha protests.

Jon sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have to stop doing that. I know it’s tempting. God knows I know that. But you can’t just—and you knew he was coming. Was that intentional?”

“Sort of. It’s not like I’m constantly trying to read his mind or whatever, but…I don’t know. I just got a sense of…something.”

“All right, Gwen Stacey,” Tim says with a smirk. “Jon’s right, though, you’ve got to quit feeding it or it’s going to start feeding on you.”

Sasha sighs heavily. “I’m…trying to try.”

“Well, it’s a start.” Jon takes a sip of tea.

They get the room straightened up, then head back into the Archives. Martin keeps periodically replying to text messages on his phone, but the others don’t ask. It’s not until Jon, having brought his laptop out to join the others, is finalizing his booking that he frowns at his screen and looks up at the others. “Melanie wants to know if the rest of you’d like to join us for lunch, seeing as we’ve got the afternoon off and everything.”

Jon hesitates. On the one hand, he’d like to decline; he and Melanie tend to prick at each other whenever they interact, despite his best intentions. On the other hand, he admittedly wants to spend as much time with Tim and Martin as he can before he leaves on this trip. Heaven knows how long he’ll be gone and he’ll miss them, he knows that.

“If I’m included in that,” he says at last, “I’d be honored.”

They lock up at twelve and head to the pub Jon has begun to think of as “theirs”, even though they don’t go often. It’s cool and overcast, and there are definite signs it rained earlier, most notably the worms on the sidewalk. Jon notices Martin carefully avoiding treading on them and reaches over to take his hand comfortingly just as Tim throws his arm around his shoulders from the other side. It makes Sasha laugh, which makes them laugh, too, and at least gets Martin to stop watching his feet.

Pat waves when they come in and gestures to one of the tables, and Martin steps forward with a warm smile as Melanie King rises from a chair and meets him with a hug that would probably make Jon jealous if he didn’t know Martin was gay, and also if he had any right to be jealous. “God, it is…surprisingly good to see you.”

Martin huffs a laugh. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

Melanie actually laughs and gives Martin a friendly punch on the arm. Martin laughs in earnest as he reels back in an exaggerated manner, rubbing at his arm. “Ow! Hey, I need that!”

“Sure.” Melanie turns and offers Sasha a smile and her hand. “Sasha, good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Sasha shakes her hand, then turns slightly. “Sorry, don’t think we’ve met.”

Jon turns, too, and his brain pulls up short. She’s changed up her hairstyle and shed her glasses, there’s a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of her t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure there are a couple additional holes in her ears, but the smile is unmistakable to someone who’s spent six years running from it.

“Georgie,” he stammers.

Georgie Barker’s smile gets a bit more uncertain, but there’s at least no hostility in her eyes. “Jon, hello. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I, ah—” Jon gestures vaguely, either at Martin or at Melanie, he’s not sure which.

Melanie shrugs. “I did say the invitation was open to everyone. Kind of didn’t expect you to accept, to be honest, but—”

“Frankly, it’s been a shit month and we’re an all-or-nothing deal right now,” Martin says. He looks slightly quizzical and slightly worried as he eyes Georgie. “I—did I talk to you on the phone once?”

“Right, introductions. Georgie Barker, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, and—” Melanie waves at Tim. “I actually haven’t got a clue who you are.”

“There are some who call me….Tim?” Tim quips with an arch of the eyebrows.

It’s the right thing to say to diffuse the tension, especially as Melanie and Martin both let out exaggerated groans as Georgie, who consumed every bit of media even vaguely associated with Arthurian legend during a time when she was obsessed enough to qualify as a minor expert on the subject, bursts into laughter. The six of them arrange themselves around the table as Pat brings over a tray of pints, then takes their food orders and heads off to get them together.

Martin takes a sip of his pint and evidently starts to speak three times before saying in a carefully neutral voice, “I hope you had a…successful trip.”

Melanie lifts an eyebrow at him. “You were a lot less cagey before. Is it them?”

“No, I’m a bit tired,” Martin says. “Like I said, it’s been…a lot.” He hesitates, glancing at Georgie for a brief second, then evidently gives up. “Remember how I said we all had…weird stuff we could do? My thing is that I can make people answer questions when I ask them. And if I’m tired or not really paying attention, sometimes I do it without meaning to, and that’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Melanie folds her arms over her chest. “Prove it.”

Martin hesitates. “Okay, um…what made you so upset when I asked if you wanted to come to lunch with me when we met?”

“If you weren’t a bloke, you’d be exactly my type and I had just a second where I wondered if I was actually a lesbian,” Melanie answers automatically, then blinks. “Fuck.”

Martin’s face catches fire. Tim grins and winks. “That just proves you’ve got taste.”

“Yeah, well, still.” Melanie presses her lips tightly together. “S’pose I can’t get too mad. I did tell you to prove it. Not your fault I didn’t actually expect it to work.” She snorts. “Successful? Yeah, I guess. I found out what I went to find out. And I didn’t die, so…promise kept?” She shrugs. “I owe you the whole story, but maybe not here.”

“Come by the Institute on Monday,” Sasha offers. “We can get your statement—oh, right.” She looks at Jon. “That okay with you?”

“No, that’s fine. Ah, take your pick on who you want to tell it to,” Jon says to Melanie, indicating the other three. “I promise you don’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind all that much,” Melanie says with a sideways glance at Georgie. “You’re not…actually that bad to talk to. At least you’re trying not to be a prick.”

Georgie turns a laugh into a cough. Jon studiously avoids looking at her. “Thank you, I think, but I didn’t mean that in a ‘you can choose to talk to someone else’ way. I meant that as in ‘I’m leaving on a business trip Monday morning, so I won’t even be there.’”

“A business trip—for an Archivist? What, are you going to the Library of Alexandria or something?”

“No, the last one blew that up,” Tim says under his breath.

Jon kicks Tim under the table. “Beijing. My…predecessor traveled there some time before her death, but she didn’t leave any notes behind on what she may have learned there. So, lucky me, I get to follow behind her and try to pick up a three-year-old trail.”

“You can’t tell me the idea of piecing together something like that doesn’t appeal to you,” Georgie says, sounding amused. “What’s your—hang on, what was it called—your PFX count these days?”

“I haven’t—yes, all right, I suppose the idea of the hunt’s not altogether unwelcome,” Jon admits. “I just…would really rather not be doing it right now. For God’s sake, I only just got back from my last—unexpected absence.”

Martin’s hand tightens on his glass. Tim takes a huge swallow of his. Georgie looks back and forth between the two of them, then frowns at Jon. “So why are you leaving so quickly? If it’s been three years, it’s not like the clues are going anywhere.”

“Yes, but the situation is…somewhat time-sensitive.”

“Critical,” Martin supplies.

“Life-or-death, you might say,” Tim offers.

Georgie’s frown deepens. “You’re an Archivist. Which I’m still wrapping my brain around, by the way. You were a researcher, Jon. I know you don’t just have a degree in library science lying around.”

“No,” Jon says with a sigh. “The Archives at the Magnus Institute are…interesting, let’s put it that way. Library training in the actual Archivist is surprisingly less important than you might think. Besides, we have Martin, and what he doesn’t know about organizing and categorizing isn’t worth knowing.”

“Christ.” Martin buries his face one hand. Both Sasha and Melanie snicker at him. If the two of them are going to be friends, Jon thinks, God help them all.

Only Georgie can manage to frown while simultaneously arching an eyebrow in a knowing fashion. Jon tries very hard to pretend he doesn’t understand what she thinks she knows. “So you have a degree in library science.”

“No,” Martin says, voice still muffled by his palm. “I don’t have a degree. But I worked in the library at the Institute for ten years before I got assigned to the Archives, so I kind of know what I’m doing.”

“Right. Still. What do you have to do, as an Archivist, in China, that is life or death?”

Protect my team, Jon wants to say but doesn’t. The ritual, according to the Primes, can’t succeed; Orsinov’s Unknowing will collapse on itself. They’re probably going to try to stop it anyway, because he doesn’t doubt that Orsinov will survive the ritual’s failure and try again, and they can’t let anyone else fall prey to that. This world tour, retracing Gertrude’s steps, won’t give them any information to help them with that. But Elias doesn’t know they know that, and Jon can’t risk what he might do to the people he loves if he doesn’t obey orders.

“It’s…a long story,” he tries.

Georgie shrugs. “I’ve done my recordings for the week and I’ve got plenty of time for editing. And I thought you got off early today.”

Pat turns up then with everyone’s lunch. Jon waits until he heads back behind the bar to say, “I don’t…know where to begin, honestly. Trust me when I say it’s all pretty unbelievable.”

“You’re an archivist. We left believable behind a while ago.”

“Ha, ha.” Jon gives Georgie his best glare. As usual, she sticks her tongue out at him and rolls her hand for him to continue. “I—really, I don’t know where to—”

“Jon.” Martin sets down his glass, reaches over, and covers Jon’s hand with his own. Jon meets his eyes instinctively. “In thirty words or less, what is the story behind this trip?”

“There are monsters in the world, tied to different fears,” Jon answers immediately. “They’re trying to reshape the world in their own image and basically kickstart the Apocalypse. We’re trying to stop them.”

Martin sits back, looking miserable, and it’s only then Jon registers the wash of static receding from his mind. “Sorry, Jon. I really should have asked first.”

Jon grabs Martin’s hand before he can pull it away and squeezes. “I’d have sat here dithering to the end of time if you hadn’t. Thank you, Martin.”

Martin manages a tentative smile. Georgie’s frown has eased back a little. “Huh. How many of these things are there?”

“Monsters? Or rituals?” Jon blinks at Georgie. “You believe me?”

“Well, yeah.” Georgie waves a hand as if to say duh. “It’s not like I didn’t know there are monsters in the world.”

Sasha’s hand tightens on her fork, and she pushes back from the table abruptly. “Be right back. I—I need a minute.” She strides purposefully for the front door.

“Sasha, don’t—” Jon begins to call after her, but too late; she’s out the door.

“Did I say something wrong?” Georgie looks concerned.

Martin sighs heavily. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’ve seen…monsters before.”

“Yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?” Georgie asks with a deepening frown.

“Oh…damn.” Jon looks at Georgie, and now he can feel it, too—the static building behind his eyes, an almost imperceptible itch beneath his skin. This shouldn’t be happening, he’s taken two statements already this week, first Michael’s and then Tim and Martin’s, and even if Sasha siphoned off most of that one…he can’t possibly need one this badly, not now. But it’s not need, it’s want, it’s a desire at this point, so he can fight it…

“The Institute serves one of those fear things we’re talking about,” Tim tells her, his voice subdued. “In our case, it’s about knowledge and secrets and…hidden information and stuff like that. We usually just call it the Eye, it’s quicker than most of the other names. But one of the ways it sort of feeds itself is with other people’s stories of their spooky encounters. Usually with something touched by one of the other beings.”

“You’ve got a story to tell,” Martin explains. “The Eye wants it. And Sasha and Jon can both…” He hesitates, looking at Jon. “Sense it?”

“Better than saying ‘smell it,’ I suppose,” Jon says softly. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, forcing the static back.

Georgie blinks. “I mean…I’ll tell you about it. If you want.”

“That…would probably not be a good idea. I can’t—we can’t take but so many statements in any given period of time.” Jon opens his eyes, feeling a bit calmer. “Not without wearing ourselves out, or hurting ourselves. And I’ve had two already this week.”

“And we’ve had one each,” Tim adds, gesturing to himself and Martin. “Right? You just read—”

“Statement of Manuela Dominguez, regarding her unconventional religious beliefs and their intersection with her project aboard the space station Daedalus,” Martin recites. “And you read yours yesterday, it was—”

“Not, as it turns out, a Stranger statement. The Web. Statement of Darren Harlow, regarding a failed psychology experiment at the University of Surrey.” Tim rubs his forehead and sighs. “Actually, I need to talk to you two about that one. We may have a problem.”

Melanie looks back and forth between the two of them, blinking. Jon sighs, too. “Anyway, yes, it’s…there’s a lot. The ritual we’re trying to stop right now is the Stranger’s. It’s—kind of the opposite of the Eye? The ritual’s called the Unknowing. We’re still piecing together what it’s all about, but anyway, that’s what I’m about to go haring off around the world about. Which I would really rather not do, but I don’t have much of a choice. Our boss made that perfectly clear.” He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Sasha comes back in, looking much calmer, and slips back into her seat with an apology. Melanie looks at Tim. “So what about you, then? If he can ask questions and make people answer, and they can tell when someone’s got a story—”

“It’s not quite that. It’s more—” Sasha spreads out her hands. “Less stories and more secrets. Things people haven’t told. At least, that’s how it is for me. The ones who come to make statements and will talk to anyone, they’re not as interesting to me. It’s the ones who just…don’t want to talk about it, I guess. Or choose not to. Sometimes I know things without meaning to, but I’m trying to throttle that back. Jon is more…all of it.”

Jon nods. “I have the—the question thing, too. And the knowing, although it’s not just hidden things, it’s facts or important information. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it’s getting worse. On top of that, there’s the compulsion to read out the statements, and…it’s just a lot.”

“None of which actually answers my question,” Melanie says. “What did you get out of all this?”

“Oh. I can…look at people, or things, and see if they’ve had anything to do with one of the fear…things,” Tim says. “They glow different colors.”

“You can see auras,” Georgie supplies.

“Not—exactly. I mean, I can’t say ‘oh, you have a calm personality’ or ‘you’re a very troubled person’ or anything like that. But if you’ve bumped into one of the powers, if I concentrate, I can see where it marked you and…usually figure out from there.”

Georgie folds her hands on the table and meets his eye. “What color is mine, then? Or am I making it up?”

Tim hesitates, then takes a deep breath. His eyes go slightly unfocused, and Jon feels the faint crackle of static—not quite the same as when Martin asks questions or Sasha blurts out a secret, but close, like the dial on a disused radio station turned a single click in a different direction. After a moment, Tim’s shoulders relax and he blinks. “White. Bright white. The one you’ve met is Terminus. The End.” He hesitates. “Death. Am I right?”

There’s a short pause before Georgie looks at Jon and says, “You’ve got a good bunch here.”

Jon looks at both Tim and Martin and says, softly, “I know.”

[sciencespies]

This Molecule Could Be the Key to Understanding Why Concussions Have Such Long-Term Effects

https://sciencespies.com/nature/this-molecule-could-be-the-key-to-understanding-why-concussions-have-such-long-term-effects/

This Molecule Could Be the Key to Understanding Why Concussions Have Such Long-Term Effects

Denver Bronco player David Bruton grabs his head on the field after a reported concussion. Many patients with such head injuries suffer symptoms months after their diagnosis, even though their brains look healthy on CT scans. Doug Pensinger / Getty Images

Imagine you fall down the stairs in your house and bang your head. Or perhaps you hit your noggin during a car accident. Or maybe you are football player who has just taken yet another blow to the head. You are diagnosed with a mild or a severe concussion, and you end up in a hospital and even an ICU.

Eventually your injury heals weeks later, or so it seems, because your CT scans look clear, and you go on with your life. But in a few years, strange things start to happen. Bright lights and loud noises begin to bother you. You have trouble sleeping. You can’t concentrate, can’t keep up with your daily routine and your work performance plummets. That’s because deep within your brain, in the areas where the imaging technology can’t see, that old injury never healed. Instead, it became a chronic inflammatory process that will eventually damage your brain tissues, explains a study published this month in Science.

According to a 2018 study in the Journal of Neurosurgery, about 69 million individuals around the world suffer from traumatic brain injury every year. Geoffrey T. Manley, a trauma neurosurgeon at San Francisco General Hospital and professor of neurosurgery at the University of California San Francisco who wasn’t involved in the study, sees patients every week who seem to recover, only to suffer from debilitating symptoms later that develop as a consequence of the initial injury. Over time, this slow-brewing process can trigger cognitive impairments, sleep disturbances from abnormal neuron firing and even epileptic spikes—short “electrical explosions” that don’t happen in healthy people. Manley says this process is very prominent in brain injury patients and is severely disabling. The inability to have a normal, healthy sleep is particularly detrimental. “Sleep disorders affect all aspects of your life,” he says.

Neuroscientists had known for years that brain injuries can linger, but the underlying molecular mechanisms weren’t fully clear. They don’t have any therapies to stop these secondary injuries from occurring. “I have no treatment for traumatic brain injury other than symptomatic relief, or medication for seizures once patients develop them,” Manley says. However, epilepsy drugs often have such profound side effects that people don’t want to take them. “So we are really, really desperate for anything,” he says.

Now, the new study sheds some light into the brain areas where CT scans can’t see and where the inflammatory process takes hold. Led by Jeanne Paz, who studies neurological diseases at Gladstone Institutes, the study identifies that a specific molecule, named C1q, is present in certain brain areas at unusually high levels for months after the initial trauma. The study also describes the team’s efforts—so far only done in mice—to show that a drug prevents the inflammation from setting in.

Most brain traumas affect the cerebral cortex, which sits right underneath the skull, absorbing the impact. But Paz’s team found that the ill effects can propagate to the thalamus—a small area located near the brain’s center responsible for processing sensory input. The constant communication between the thalamus and the cerebral cortex is what enables us to make intelligent decisions—the thalamus processes the input and the cortex decides what to do. For example, if you’re talking on the phone and your toddler suddenly lets out a loud scream, you know you must stop the conversation and attend to the child. The thalamus processes the sounds from the conversation and the toddler, the cortex decides what’s important.

As part of the study, scientists examined human brain tissues obtained from autopsies of patients who ultimately died from their head trauma. The team found that the C1q molecules were present in the diseased patients’ thalamus for over a week after they were originally hurt. “We were surprised to see such high levels of this molecule in the brain region that wasn’t even affected by the initial injury,” says Paz. “Our hypothesis is—it’s because the thalamus is very closely connected to the cortex and the two constantly talk to each other.” This constant talk and coordination generates a certain rhythmic activity in the brain that is important for attention, consciousness and sleep. So when the cerebral cortex is hurt, the communication between the two is disrupted, and some neurons within the thalamus die. As a result, the brain’s cellular cleanup crew shows up.

Called microglia, these cleanup cells remove damaged neurons and fight infections. To do this, they release the C1q molecules, which, overall, play a very important role in brain health. C1q trims synapses—the points of junction between neurons—to avoid having too many of the connectors. C1q promotes brain development and helps humans forget memories, which is necessary for storing new memories. When things go as normal, C1q trims synapses as it should. When injuries happen and neurons die, C1q helps clean them, but instead of stopping, it continues to trim what it shouldn’t trim anymore. “So C1q can be both good and bad,” Paz says.

Normally, in the adult person’s thalamus, no C1q is present, she says. Researchers believe that in some cases, the microglia cells just keep releasing the molecule within the thalamus, making the process chronic. “We wanted to know what makes the process chronic and how we can interrupt it,” Paz says. So her team tried treating brain-injured mice with a potential therapeutic, shortly after the trauma and before long-term symptoms appear.

Paz worked with collaborators at Annexon Biosciences, a pharmaceutical company that is developing and testing an antibody therapeutic that can block the activity of the C1q molecule. The antibody was initially designed to treat Guillain-Barré Syndrome, which is also linked to the aberrant activity of overzealous C1q. Paz wanted to see if the drug would have beneficial effects in brain injury cases in mice.

The team treated brain-injured mice with antibody cocktails within 24 hours after injury and then did twice-weekly treatments for three weeks. That brought down the amount of the C1q molecule and prevented chronic inflammation and the loss of neurons in the critters’ thalamus. It also prevented the development of the epileptic spikes and restored their sleep. But when the researchers studied how mice genetically engineered to not have the C1q molecule dealt with trauma, their initial brain injury was much worse—they suffered much greater neuronal death in the cerebral cortex, where the blow struck. So ultimately, the C1q indeed lived up to its “good and bad” reputation.

The C1q molecule shouldn’t be blocked at the time of injury, because it seems to protect the brain and prevent cell death, Paz explains. But blocking the C1q shortly after the initial injury may reduce inflammation.

Manley describes the study as an important milestone in the brain trauma treatment paradigm. “It demonstrated that after the initial injury to the cortex, there is the secondary injury to the thalamus—you can see pathology evolving,” says Manley. But what’s really promising, he adds, is that an antibody drug can help remediate that secondary injury. Antibodies are drugs that do exactly what their name suggests—they work against the body’s proteins or molecules that have somehow gone rogue and are now causing harm rather than performing normal functions. Designed to bind to rogue molecules and disable them, antibodies have revolutionized how medics treat many diseases—neurological, autoimmune, cancer and most recently, Covid-19.

So far the C1q antibody has been tried only in mice, which means it is still at least a few years away from arriving to the brain trauma wards. The therapeutic would have to be tested in human trials and approved by the FDA first. But this is an important step in right direction, Manley says, because the currently available meds can’t prevent the injury from progressing. “So when I see a paper that not only explains the mechanism that generates the pathology I see in my patients every day, but says that here is a monoclonal antibody that apparently suppresses this pathology, I find it very exciting,” Manley says. “We need better ways to treat people.”

Biology

Brain

Health

Medicine

Mice

#Nature