#and I think he thought I meant like. full blown bakery space. which like. no. no thanks.

[imwritesometimes]

So like.... what if I had many ideas for cake decorating? And what if I just bought some stuff to make some cute cupcakes? And this cake idea I have had knocking around in my head? And what if I actually tried?

[helahades]

The Goddess and the Grocer

(Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sappy and hopelessly romantic, the part time art student, part time grocery bagger, and full time fantasy creator Steve Rogers lives in his head, with you as his muse. Making puzzles out of your groceries, and portraits of your every curve and edge, he fears and craves every interaction, while living with you as a lover in his mind.

A/N: Well. I have struggled with motivation for the longest. Something hit me though, and by something I mean other supportive writers and great friends. Hugest shoutout to @threeminutesoflife for being a darling and @imanuglywombat for making TWO beautiful mood boards I stare at more than Steve stares at the Peggy compass.

Warnings: creepy, obsessive Steve. ideation of creepy thoughts. food focused talk. mention of overeating. dub-con concepts. two mentions of alcohol consumption.

New blog, new me! I’ll take this moment to say I’m taking requests, and I love feedback even more than Steve loves you! hope you enjoy

Word Count: about 3k

-

Now rain slicked, the sheen of oil and water twists the reflections of the tonights red, red, green—-“can I make the turn, no too late” on yellow—now red traffic lights into a twisted rainbow on the city streets.

Down those streets, and across a barren parking lot, parents, lovers, businesspeople and more squeak and clack and slap their rainy shoes on the old speckled tile at the entrance (that Steve had just mopped) as they do every week.

At the Potts Grocery Store, nothing ever changes. And never in the night.

It isn’t just night though, it’s dead night. The odd time after things have slowed for sleep, after the rush in between when people bumble in (promising themselves promises they won’t keep about doing the shopping sooner next month), after the ten minute period within which Dr. Banner wordlessly picks up the same array of bland teas.

The night has crawled beyond all the events that happen as they do, and entered the dead night.

Maybe Steve is too poetic—like his dad says he is—too tied up in fate, and hope in life’s mystique, but he holds hope for what happens where the night is dead.

When the night dies, and most are asleep, with it, facades die too. The only people to come in the dead of night, are drunks, doctors, various night shifters, and… you.

He hasn’t yet questioned your reason for showing up so late. Hasn’t really, technically, spoken to you at all, really.

Some part of Steve thinks, maybe if he startles you, says something that clangs too loud or awkward, all your pieces will blow away, like some agitated dandelion, and he will never know you again, if he ever even knew you at all.

No, Steve’s job isn’t to startle you, or to take up your space. It’s to try and meet your eyes as you hand him the reusable bags. It’s to try and figure out what meal you’re planning from what he’s bagging, and what he already knows lies unused in your kitchen. It’s to put the bags in your cart if you’ll let him.

He hasn’t seen you yet. It’s getting late, where are you?

Somewhere between cold fluorescent and neutral warm desk lamps, the lights of the grocery store seem to exist both to chase shadows on tired shoppers' faces, and to mock him, like a candle finally blown out by a stood up date.

Had he done something wrong the last time? If he had, that couldn’t be helped. You were wearing those shorts and looked like you had just gotten ready for bed and you had your hair pulled back, but just a little fell into your face anyway.

And your scent. It always wraps around him like the saccharine spice of pastries when he swings open the bakery door for his morning shift.

The moment you breezed by him after checkout was almost too much to bear. He caught the fresh damp scent of your tied up and deep conditioned hair. You smelled like fresh linens and a life he can only imagine having when he’s chasing orgasms alone and twisting up his sheets.

He could have devoured you.

But he didn’t.

Not even when your shoulder accidentally grazed him while you were rushing out in a frenzy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” came your frantic whisper.

He dreams of making you that delicate again. He thinks he could shape your unsure apologies in his hands like clay, or spread you thin on a canvas when you whisper so soft. But he didn’t do those things at all.

Steve being Steve, he tried to make his large frame slouch, your aura wrapping him up into a double life Clark Kent shyness, despite your gentleness.

He didn’t say a word.

A wordless, mirthless stretch of his lips. An “It’s okay, walk all over me” grin. You regarded him with a flicker of an odd glance, and then you were out the door.

As he finishes up with the last shopper in his lane, his worn Converse squeak as he leans his frame against the bagging station at checkout.

-

Last class, last week, his art teacher dropped a big assignment. Stuffy and sadistic, the man seemed to only eat the pain of lovers kept from expression, so of course, he relished in the moment he told the class to try a new medium, with a subject they hadn’t previously captured.

He seemed to look directly at Steve as he delivered the blow.

Steve's problem certainly isn’t creativity. It isn’t talent or lack of effort. He surely is adaptable, he rarely tells on his love!

For the still life project, he captured the tree that blocks your kitchen window. Heavy strokes in his sketchbook.

He even painted the park in blooms on a paper towel—yes a paper towel—when you justified to a cashier one day that all the crackers and deli meats were for a picnic.

So he has a muse. But he’s not a fool. Sometimes he spends so much time trying not to look like a fool, and paints so much around you instead of you, that it’s a self portrait of his own obsession.

Your face. Your curves. The many separated sections where he tried to master the texture of your hair. All those traces of you live in his sketchbook. Only twice has he turned in a portrait of you.

Being told he can’t have you makes Steve feel like he’s been too obvious. You’re his little secret. And he is no fool. He’ll have to be more careful. So here he is.

The canvas is as bare as the walls of his studio apartment.

Three jobs and a potted plant from his mom just aren’t enough to decorate life. He wishes he could capture sleep in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. When he got too tired and caffeine stopped working, he thinks he’d pick up those frames and absorb the sleep in the way he can absorb nostalgia when looking at a real picture.

Then, he thinks, that’s the sort of thing art majors say when they haven’t slept in three weeks.

The canvas is still bare. It isn’t like Steve. He always knows where to go, what he feels, what he wants.

His teacher told him to try something different. Had the nerve to clap Steve on the back after class and say something about stretching creative wings and finding a new muse.

He thinks the guy should have punched him in the face instead.

There’s nothing stuck about Steve. He knows what he wants and how to get there.

He also knows that schooling ruins the intent of art, he knows how to put love into colors, that art teachers know the least about expression out of everyone on earth, and that he works two night jobs a week to barely afford to be taught by that man anyway.

Life is full of oddities.

-

Some of life’s oddities are right there in your cart as you approach. Steve notices the rain has frizzed your hair, the lovely heart shaped curve of your lips as they stretch into a smile, and the way you yawn before you say hello to the cashier.

He makes a mental note that your hair might have a warmer tinge when illuminated by the sun. You’re already his sun. His stars too. Maybe even his whole universe.

You’re always warm in his paintings. Anything to separate you from the dreadful scheme of this commercial death trap.

What’s for dinner this week?

Your groceries thump onto the counter in practiced succession. Perishables together at the front, and non perishables as neatly as possible following behind.

So thoughtful, my sweet darling.

Your produce today mostly consists of fruit. It reminds Steve of how practiced he is with a knife. How he’d slice up your apples just right for you. He has the practiced skills of an artist. He’d take care of you.

Bucky likes to tell him that cooking is the art and baking is the science. That’s meant to mean that it’s no surprise that Buckys got a perfect little life with a perfect little baker who smiles like the sun and only trusts Bucky in her kitchen.

...And it’s no surprise that Steve’s artsy streak has led him here. Thinking about folding mandarin slices between your perfect lips and letting the flavor explode across your tongue.

He thinks about kissing you. How you would taste tangy and sweet as you try not so hard to push him off so he gets back to cooking and doesn’t burn the house down.

The house. A house with you. A home.

He sees you’re wearing a sundress, and tries not to pity you for the irony. In the closet of some cookie cutter three bedroom, you might ask him how you look in it. He would beg you to wear it just for him a little longer, but ultimately, he would have been able to warn you about the rain.

You wouldn’t have listened though, my stubborn angel.

He thinks about your thighs beneath your dress, and the heat between them.

Sometimes, his dreams betray him, and he steps through the threshold to your shared home, not an artist, but a “Honey, I'm home” suit wearing prisoner.

He fears the simple life, but with you, he believes simplicity could be enough. Maybe he would be rich enough to buy you a million sundresses.

But without his art, he’d be powerless to show you how rich you look, bathed in color, divine from his perspective.

Without his art, he has no outlet for imagination. The only thing that gets him off these days is imagining what you look like under your clothes, and how it might sound if you spoke his name.

When you buy lotion, or a candle, he makes a mental note of the scent, and uses it to color his experience later. You like warm sugary scents, or natural outdoorsy ones, with no in between.

As you small talk with the cashier, your card slips from between your fingers and clatters onto the unswept floor. Finishing a thought, you delay in retrieving it, but by the time you’re leaning down, Steve’s already handing it back.

Eyes flitting up to meet the baggage boy standing up at full height, you melt into an easier smile.

You notice first that his eyes are incredibly blue behind the dark window frames, and second that his hands are incredibly warm as he hands your card back.

Frazzled, and just a bit smitten, you smile kindly.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, regarding him fully, perhaps for the first time, and pausing only to let your eyes drift to the knitted cotton polo stretched across his broad chest—no, to the name tag resting on it…

“Steve,” you finish with a smile that makes it ring like an exclamation point. To hear you finally pronounce his name… it’s like church bells. But they’re muted because now he can only consider your eyes locked on his.

He’s never wanted to escape somewhere and go home with someone so badly. And would it be so wrong?

He could slice up fruit for you. He could bring sausages and deli meats and blocks of cheeses whole from the market where they slipped him things free. He’d slice them up nice and wrap them in cloth and surprise you with an old fashioned wicker basket picnic in the mountains.

He’d let you eat yourself round. And after you were full, he’d still offer to feed you grapes, to pour you more wine.

Steve never understood why the rich ate bread with olive oil, but God he wanted to be rich enough to give you that. All the things that sound ridiculous to people who work to live. He wanted to work so hard you’d never work again.

He wanted to kiss you dizzy, bunch up the fabric of your dress on your hip and tell you he loves you while you’re wine drunk. He’d carry you back to the car and surprise you with wildflowers in a bunch.

Later, he’d paint you nude with them in your hair, and he’d feed you more grapes.

He would tuck you in and wrap you up for later when you woke up missing him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave at all. Maybe you would want to spend the whole day with him too.

He’s got a twinkle of charm in his eye and just a bit of sadness that looks every bit like the starving artist people believe him to be. Bucky hasn’t stopped bringing him the leftover rolls at closing since he found out Steve spends more money on paint than meals.

And is it so wrong? As Steve looks into your eyes, he musters all that charm his mom said he was born with. He blinks brighter the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re welcome,” comes Steve’s gentle, but sure reply.

You pause at that, because really it’s nothing... But people always seem to say “Don’t worry about it!”, “It’s nothing”, or maybe nothing at all.

You pause at how the reaction seemed genuine, in a world of practiced replies, and on a day that you’re feeling shitty because the rain ruined your hair and happiness.

You smile at him again, grateful for a pocket of truthful kindness, and turn back to the cashier, effectively ending the interaction.

Steve’s mind is spinning in ways he just can’t bring himself to understand. So he bags your groceries. You forgot the reusable bags, he doesn’t pause to wonder why.

Click. Click. Click. Beep!

Tomatoes. He bags them with the apples. Double bags for good measure.

Beep.

Spaghetti. The good kind that most people overlook in favor of a more common brand. New bag.

Beep.

Frozen garlic bread. He adores you. You’ve got garlic and basil and more herbs than you’ll ever need at home. You’d probably make the spaghetti noodles and parmesan yourself if you could. But you love five minutes at 400 garlic bread.

He imagines your pretty little kitchen, with all its various knick knacks, smelling like garlic and tomato sauce. He can’t help thinking you’d be impressed with his chopping skills too. Just how his mom taught him.

He imagines cooking with you in the dead of night, instead of being here. He imagines you bending over with your legs straight and your back curved and the oven mitts on to get garlic bread out of the oven. You put the tray on the cold burners Steve’s not using.

Maybe he would ask you to try the sauce, he’d hold the spoon to your lips after blowing off for you. Your eyes always flutter closed to process the taste of things, and sometimes he swears he could read your mind.

Then they would open. Wide. The same way they did when you tasted the new product double chocolate brownie sample last Tuesday. You would tell him how perfect it is and praise how he finally isn’t shy about using garlic anymore. Turning off the burners, he’d pull you into his arms, he’d kiss you til you saw stars…

-

Walking you backwards, still entangled in the breathless kiss, he wouldn’t stop until you bumped the padded kitchen bench. Then he’d fall to his knees.

“Steve, honey”—

You’d cut yourself off with a breathy moan because he’d already be under your skirt.

Kissing up your thighs, flattening his tongue against you, kissing you gently, before sucking your clit, while working it with the tip of his tongue, he’d show you again, like always, how passionate of a lover he is.

You’d moan like heaven, because you are.

You’d lean back, propping yourself up on an arm and pushing the other hand through his golden hair. You just can’t stop your hips from rolling against his tongue that’s still worshipping you.

He won’t use his fingers. It wouldn’t be proper, he’s just been cooking. So instead, he uses those hands to pull your thighs up onto his shoulders.

Still swirling his tongue around your clit, Steve is drawing you closer, your body seeming to know it’s own ways to pull him to you too.

It’s electric. You can’t stop and you’d never want to. He’d make love to you every single—

-

That’s not where he is though. He grabs the paper bags he’s bagged up with your ingredients and some other oddities, and he places them in the cart you’ve pushed forward.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re going home alone. He tries not to think about how he’ll be sleeping alone, and in cold colors. Tries to skip forward to later when he has all the time in the world to imagine the way things should be.

A quiet goodnight and you’re on your way. You’re careful not to graze him as you walk away, and he’s careful not to be obvious watching.

The cashier leaves the station, and Steve puts his head down as he passes, before looking up in your direction as he always does.

Except… when he looks up to see your sundress swishing, it isn’t. And you’re turned back looking at him with this funny little look.

You smile. A twinkle of embarrassment, nervous to have been caught looking. He tries not to chuckle for all the irony.

He watches you as you watch him just a bit longer, before your sundress swishes out the door, and the light of your halo fades into the distance, consumed by the rain.

-

By the time his shift is up, the rain has stopped and the sky is colored like a bruise. The sun knocks at a threshold unseen, just slightly feathering light through the sky.

Steve is dead tired, but he won’t sleep a wink. Once he arrives at his apartment, he begins the project.

A mixed medium piece. Acrylic paint, charcoal shadowed details. It’s a wicker basket, full of apples, grapes, and wildflowers.

-

Later, as the sun rises, and the painting is half done, he flops into bed, finishing up a stale roll from the bakery, and dreams about waking up to you.

He pretends there’s no job to be at in three and a half hours, but instead, that it’s a quiet Sunday, and he’s waking up to you in his arms...

Soft and ethereal.

-

Thank you for reading!

Whether or not this is your type of writing, or you liked it at all, I just want to tag some authors who generally inspire me and helped in some way to motivate me posting my first piece: @threeminutesoflife @imanuglywombat @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18 @heavenbarnes @tropicalcap @allaboardthereadingrailroad @thotty-tatertot @sapphirescrolls

[fandomsilhouette]

you found me in the ashes then (and taught me how to thrive)

The glass he makes is fragile and firm, shatters at the touch of his hand but holds the weight of his whole heart strong and steady. It melts in the heat and bends to his touch, reshaped by the palms of his hands. Felix has left his mark, made something beautiful, something he could call art. 

There are scars on his hands from the cuts and the burns. Looking at them in the morning light, the crisscrossed lines look like art too. 

Happy @felixmonth​, y’all! 

Marinette doesn’t forgive him, necessarily. He’s too far gone for that, and he doesn’t expect anything more than… well, he had expected her to burn the pillow at first sight but clearly that didn’t happen. Felix finds himself absurdly, ridiculously grateful for every smile she sends his way. It’s not often, and usually in passing, but he’s finally getting to see more than the tips of her hair as she rushes around a corner and disappears. He missed this. Felix hadn’t realized how much. 

He also finds himself going back to the library, missing his kids (his kids? when did that happen?) and wondering how they’d been all summer. He’s surprised when most of them even remember him, ask about where he’s been and beg for their favorite stories to be read first. 

A little girl with black hair all tied up in pigtails pushes a book at him. Felix has never read it before, and, ignoring the guilt that comes with choosing a book out of simple curiosity, picks it up. Savvy, he reads, by Ingrid Law. The children settle down, and he starts reading. 

There’s something relaxing about beanbag chairs and bookshelves, and the warmth of a child like a cat on his lap. There’s something relaxing about reading children’s books, too: they reach to the deepest parts of his childhood Felix has yet to shed and call to him, pull him apart into all the pieces he’s broken into and find the spaces where the glass doesn’t fit and smoothes it over, burns him in the light of being seen and heals him in the same breath. There’s no judgement in reading it to the children. They’re a free pass to exploring the themes he skipped over as a child. Felix holds onto it with both hands. 

In the book, Mibs climbs onto a bus and hitchhikes her way to her Poppa, injured in the hospital. On the way there, she learns how to work her savvy, and learns that her strongest power is the one she’s had all along. Felix’s heart aches to have a power like that, to be able to touch someone and know what they feel, what they need. He wishes he knew how to be the person that the people around him need. 

“Mister Felix, you are what we need.” The little girl in his lap snuggles into his stomach and sighs, half asleep. Most of the other kids have wandered off or nodded off, holding their parents’ hands or clutching at their collar. He hadn’t meant to whisper it out loud. He’s sort of glad he did. 

“Where are your parents, noodle?” Her name is Maggie, but Felix calls her anything but. Her favorite is noodle, and he’s inclined to use it when she’s all soft spoken and sweet like this, wiggly and melted in his lap. 

“I dunno, I lost ‘em.” She makes no move to get up. Felix shrugs off his jacket and tucks it in around her, and starts in on the second book in the series. Her parents come to pick her up two books later, just as he’s wrapping up the last one, and he lets her take his jacket with her. She wears it gleefully, sleeves hanging past her fingertips and one shoulder sliding off. Her arms wave just to flap the sleeves and her eyes light up when her mama spins her around. He doesn’t expect to get it back. 

Marinette shows up with it two weeks later at camp with a note and a messily stitched cat, grinning. 

“You have a secret admirer.” The cat is stitched in with the same gap-toothed stitching that shows in the uncontainable joy of Maggie’s smile. On the back, in that messy careful writing, she’s scrawled “You are your own savvy!” Felix’s heart bursts. She’s too young to be so clever. She’s just young enough. 

“Very secret, mhm. Definitely.” And then he manages a wink, and that turns into a full blown smirk when Marinette turns pink. She hands him the jacket and Felix doesn’t jump when their fingers brush. It’s been washed out and has that lingering little kid smell, overlaid with something that smells like bakery and flowers. That night is Felix’s turn to fall asleep tucked into a jacket that feels like it fits just right. 

Marinette doesn’t avoid him that summer, but she doesn’t seek him out either. It’s a strange truce to be in, to go on hikes on paths they used to walk together, to see his messy stitches propped up against her neat ones in the project storage of the arts and crafts room. Felix makes an effort to wave, to nod at Nino and ask about his new music, to talk to the younger years when they get lost or lonely. Felix finds he has so many stories memorized from how often he read them at the library. He does voices, and the youngest campers are enthralled. The older ones are, too, but they skulk around at the edges, keep themselves busy with something else and act like they aren’t paying attention. Felix leans in, winks at them, and catches a little boy around the waist, throws him up in the air. The older campers laugh at the shock on his face, and when Felix gets overrun with kids demanding attention, he waves over the rest and slips out once everyone is laughing. 

He runs into Marinette leaning against a wall outside, waving Nino off so he can catch up with Luka. Felix can see the blush even on Nino’s dark skin, and tries something new. A nod, a wave, something encouraging and bright instead of sneering or snide. 

“I was waiting for you.” Her voice is teasing and light and makes Felix blush. He doesn’t respond. “You’re pretty cute with those kids, y’know. Allan is especially fond of you, he won’t stop talking about the voices you do.” 

“...you know them?” 

She snorts and pushes herself up, starts walking away. “I’ve been teaching them arts and crafts for years, so… yeah. I do.” There’s something sharp in her tone, chiding and playful all at once, and Felix’s heart races. He watches her back, her ponytail swinging, and worries. She pauses. “Aren’t you coming? You’re going to get caught in the rain again if you don’t hurry.” Then she winks, and takes off at a jog. 

Felix laughs in delight, shakes off the first raindrops on his skin and chases after her, a few steps behind but getting closer. 

By the time they’ve sat down with their lunch, the rain is coming down heavily. Marinette waves and splits off to find Nino, and Felix wanders over to an empty table. He can still see her, animated, waving and gesturing wildly, and Nino laughs with her. She glances over at Luka and Nino pulls a face, but he slides down into his seat too. When Marinette laughs, Felix does too. 

By 3PM, not a lot of people are left laughing. The rain is coming down hard, and with everyone stuck in the great hall with nowhere to go, counselors are rapidly losing any ability to keep everyone entertained. By 5, everyone’s irritated and scared, itching to be back in their own cabins or outside or anywhere else. There’s general discontent growing across the room. Felix slips away from his table to make space for the growing group of upset children huddling together in support and slinks into a corner. Cabin fever is setting in, which makes Felix almost smile. They aren’t in their cabins, and the irony would make him laugh if he wasn’t so listless-lost-lonely in this crowded hall. Thunder rumbles. Felix’s spine shivers in time with the skies. 

He’s still watching Marinette. He doesn’t know what that says about him. 

She hasn't looked back at him, but the lightning strikes and she makes her way away from the seat she’s curled up in for the last five hours. Nino sticks his tongue out behind her and she does the same back to him before turning around to look at Felix. There’s lightning again, sure, but it’s in her thundercloud-blue eyes. 

It’s shockingly beautiful. 

She slides down the wall, her shoulder barely brushing his. Electricity shoots across his skin and he shudders. Half an hour passes like that, each second tapped out with the beat of his pounding heart. 

Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks. 

“...why did you do it?” She’s not looking at him, but he can hear the strength it takes her to ask the question out loud. Felix draws circles in the dust on the floor with his finger. 

“I… wish I could tell you. I don’t know, Marinette. I’m sorry.” 

“I know. I just want to know why.” She pauses. “I… Nino says I shouldn’t care or I should ask you and get it over with, and I’ve never been one to not take my own advice.” Marinette doesn’t explain that statement and Felix doesn’t ask her to; in the time that Marinette’s been here, Nino has been edging his way towards Luka. 

“My… mother. I just… I spent so much time around people who just…” Words slip away from Felix and frustration roils in his gut. It’s bitter and biting and hurts, and he screws his face up, clenches his fists. Marinette looks away and leans into his space, and he feels seen and safely hidden all at once. “…this is going to sound so dumb, but I didn’t… I didn’t know what happiness looked like. I thought… I just… that’s what people did, okay? Growing up, everyone who smiled at me wanted something, and usually something I couldn’t afford to give. So instead it was torn out of me and after a while… you start seeing smiles with all their bloody teeth when all they’re used for is taking a bite out of you.” 

She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t speak. It feels like the walls are closing in, squeezing at his heart. The fever spikes. Felix thinks he might be sick; he gropes blindly for water and gulps it down. 

“I really did want to be your friend. I don’t know what it looks like but it’s damn hard making friends. Chloe spent the first whole decade of my life tearing down any scrap of self esteem I had. By the time I even figured out how to stand on my own two feet, everyone else had managed to make friend groups and build social skills and I was years behind. I worked hard to catch up. I made my way here and I refuse to be called manipulative for being kind.” Words come pouring out of her, like she spent the last half hour building them up behind a dam just to let them all burst now. They wash over Felix like waves, cool on his burning skin. 

“I think I’m… starting to get that, yeah.” He tries for a joke: “As it happens, I happen to be pretty behind too.” It makes her laugh, and pride wells in his smug grin. She bumps into his shoulder. 

“You’re not too bad, y’know. I’ve seen you with them.” She nods at the kids and then weighs her words on the scales of her tongue, decides to speak. “Thank you, Felix. I forgive you.” 

“Thank you, Marinette. You’re… not too bad yourself.” 

Counselors start bringing out dinner and the children rouse. By dessert, Marinette is singing and the kids come gather around her to listen, to sing along in their warbling voices. She nods at Felix and he joins in too; then someone demands stories and between the two of them, they manage to get through three Disney movies. She doesn’t move from beside him the whole time. 

She falls asleep first, still stuck in the great hall while the clouds pour down, tilts onto his shoulder. Felix doesn’t do anything but slide down until she’s comfortable, and keeps telling stories until his voice gives out and the campers are passed out around them. 

Come morning, the sun breaks through the clouds, bright and bold and shining. Felix wakes up to it, revels in the light of the morning sun, and grins.

[hushedhands]

Challenge 71

@everbeenminee​

*Maxon, America, and two-year-old Addy visit the bakery from Chapter 30 of The Laws of Inheritance

“Please, Maxon?”

“Ames.”

“Please?” America pouted just a little, this time cradling her enormous baby bump for added effect.

Maxon sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. America was still a couple of weeks away from her due date, but that was exactly when she’d given birth to Addy. She was liable to go into labor at any second, and the stress was already gnawing away at him. Now she wanted him to authorize a family trip into town?

“Hey! Daddy’s sad!” Addy came toddling up to her father from where she’d been playing with her dolls on the other side of the common space between her parents’ bedrooms and her nursery. “No crying.” she ordered.

Maxon chuckled, “I am not crying, Birdy. See? No tears.”

Addy studied him carefully, but he was right.

America added, “Daddy’s not sad, baby bird, he’s worried.”

“Worry?” Addy wasn’t sure what this meant.

“Scared.” America clarified.

“Monsters?” Addy’s eyes widened, returning her attention to her father.

Maxon chuckled and swept his two-year-old off her feet. “No monsters. Not anymore: Daddy, Uncle Aspen, and the guards defeated them all.”

Addy was too busy giggling at finding herself suddenly horizontal in mid-air to pay much attention to his words.

Maxon returned his attention to America, “But Ames, that baby could come at any second. I don’t want to have to deliver our next baby in the back of a car.”

America tilted an eyebrow at him, amused, “You think I want to deliver our next baby in the back of a car? Wouldn’t that be worse for me than you?”

“Yes, of course—“

“Maxon, I’m not proposing a road trip across the country! It’s fifteen minutes away—“

“There could be traffic! We could have to go into lockdown—“

“So we should hide away inside our Palace in case of my immediate onset of advanced labor, combined with epic mid-afternoon traffic, and a sudden resurgence of zombie Southern Rebels?”

“I’m serious, America!”

“It doesn’t sound like it—“

Maxon frowned, ready to argue with her, when Addy started squirming in his arms. “Fly me!” she encouraged.

Maxon sighed and stood, Addy still cradled to his chest, then he started tossing her body up a foot into the air and then catching her in a cradle again. She laughed riotously. After a minute, he sat her down and asked her to play dolls a little longer while Mommy and Daddy finished their conversation.

Maxon collapsed back down on the sofa, slightly out of breath, and returned his attention to his wife. “Any trip that involves the entire royal family is a risk to all of Illéa.”

“This is a good risk. The proprietors of the shop have served the royal family for centuries, the guards know how to secure the location because I visited there a couple of years ago, and it’s very close to home.”

Maxon eyed her and her stomach with suspicion.

“Gavril thinks it would make great press. The royal family on one last outing before the arrival of a new baby…”

Maxon still wasn’t sure. For all he knew, America was in labor right now and just hiding her contractions so that she could get her way. That was exactly what she’d done with Addy.

“Maxon, if anything goes wrong we’ll cancel, of course. If it doesn’t seem safe, or if I go into labor, we’ll just come home.”

“Hmph.”

America giggled at him and reached out for his hand. She placed it on her stomach and held it there. “Come on, Max. Don’t you want some chocolate cake?”

He did want chocolate cake. He was very stressed, and chocolate cake would help tremendously.

“Are you certain the baby wants strawberry tarts?” Maxon asked, one last effort to change America’s mind. But she’d been craving these very specific strawberry tarts all week, and he already knew the answer—

“Yes.”

Well? What kind of man would he be if he denied his wife and unborn child such a simple joy?

***

Addy still couldn’t get over the fact that they weren’t going to Gramma’s house. That’s what cars were for, in her mind, because the only time she rode in one was when she was going to visit Gramma. Her parents said they were going to get treats, but Gramma had treats, so why not just go to Gramma? It was all very confusing.

Addy rode in her safety seat with Elephanty, and her daddy sat beside her. Across from her, Mommy stared out the window at the city as they rode, fingers absentmindedly stroking her stomach.

“Ames? Are you okay?” Maxon was convinced she was in secret labor.

America furrowed her eyebrows, annoyed that he’d asked her that question so many times in the same day. “You really think I could hide labor from you? You must think I’m very tough, or labor isn’t really all that painful. Which is it?”

“Tough, of course.” Maxon hurried to save himself. “Obviously I’m concerned about the pain of labor, Love, that’s why I’m so worried about you.”

“Mommy hurt?” Addy attempted to join the conversation.

“No, my little Bird. Mommy is fine.” America reassured her daughter, then glared at her husband. “Maxon, we’re on the same team. You have to trust me. I will tell you when I have anything to tell.”

Maxon looked sufficiently chastened.

“You think I’d rather have desserts than hospital-grade pain relievers when I go into labor?” America challenged him.

“Sometimes.” Maxon teased.  

America shook her head at him, but she was smiling. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Mommy, we please go to Gramma?” Addy was getting antsy. The car was essentially a Gramma machine in her experience, and all this no Gramma was really wearing on her.

“We’re going to get some yummy treats at a very special bakery in town, my lovely.” America reassured her. “Then we’ll go back home and play with Astra and the twins.”

“Why?”

Maxon leaned over and pressed a kiss to Addy’s hair, “A long, long time ago, the very first King in all of Illéa ate at this bakery. And every single king, queen, prince, or princess has eaten there ever since. And now, you get to go for the very first time and have a yummy, yummy treat. What kind of treat will you get, Adrienne?”

Addy kicked her legs in thought, accidentally making contact with America’s knee. “Oops, sorry Mommy!” Addy rushed to explain that she hadn’t meant to wound her mother.

“That’s okay, baby.”

“Ummmmmm…” Addy drew her thought out, returning to the question at hand. “I want…” There was so much to consider.

“They’ll have cake, cookies, cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, stawberry tarts—“

“Cheese.” Addy decided.

America laughed, her big round belly bouncing in a way that made Addy giggle too.

Maxon chuckled, “They won’t have cheese, but they might have cheesecake.”

Addy turned to him, eyes wide, astonished, “Cheese… cake?”

“Yes, my little milk baby.” Maxon was thrilled to have blown her mind like this. “Does that sound good?”

Addy nodded excitedly, all thoughts of Gramma forsaken in exchange for cheesecake.

The car slowed down to reveal a rope line full of people eager to meet their king, queen, and princess. Uncle Carter said some words into his radio and then Uncle Aspen appeared beside the car and opened the door.

America required extensive help to get in and out of the backseat of the car, so Maxon went first, waved to the crowd, and then helped his wife up. While America got to work signing autographs and posing for photographs, Maxon unbuckled Addy from her safety seat and scooped her up on his hip.

The crowd was loud, but they were all smiling. Paparazzi yelled Maxon’s name, but there was a rule that they weren’t allowed to yell at Addy, so she didn’t feel scared of them. Maxon signed autographs with one hand and kept ahold of Addy with the other.

“Do you want to try signing, Love?” Maxon offered Addy, much to the delight of the woman whose paper was being signed.

“I write?”

“Yes.” Maxon handed her the pen.

Addy scribble-scrabbled on the paper, her very first signature. It didn’t have any recognizable letters, of course, but it was still a momentous occasion.

Shortly after, Addy lost patience with the repetition and asked to be released so she could go to Weaver. Maxon agreed, setting Addy down and watching until she’d dashed the distance back toward the car, where Officer Weaver stood waiting. He had a small toy car in his pocket that she immediately started playing with. She pretended the car was going to cheese-cake’s house, zooming it in circles, driving it up Weaver’s arm, and putting it in airplane mode so it could fly over to the real car and drive along the back door.

“Bird?” America called for her daughter. “Time to go inside.”

Addy handed the toy car back to Weaver and hurried to grasp her Mommy’s hand, then they led the way inside, followed by her daddy and the guards.

Inside the bakery, Roseabelle stood waiting in front of the display of desserts, her son and granddaughter next to her. All of them sank into curtsies and bows at the sight of the royal family. The only photographer allowed inside was the royal photographer, and he clicked away as Maxon shook hands with each proprietor. When it was America’s turn to greet them, Roseabelle welcomed her warmly, “It is an honor to serve you again, your Majesty.”

“I’m so glad we were able to squeeze this into our schedules.” America grinned. “I’ve been craving your strawberry tarts for weeks, I think this little one was trying to remind me of the promise I made you the last time I visited, before Addy was born.”

“You came here, Mommy?” Addy chirped.

“Yes, when you were in my tummy we both came here.”

“I don’t remember.” Addy admitted.

“That’s okay, honey.” America laughed, giving Addy’s hand a squeeze.

“Is now time for treats?”

“Are you hungry, your Highness?” the kind old woman asked, amused.

Addy wasn’t so hungry, but she was always ready for sugar. She shrugged, not wanting to lie.

Roseabelle’s son took charge, “Why don’t we get a picture for our wall and then we’ll hand out desserts?”

It took some negotiation to fit everyone into the frame, but the photographer managed it quickly enough. Roseabelle took a seat in a chair in the middle, with her son standing behind her and her granddaughter to her side. On her other side, Maxon held Addy on his hip with one arm, his other arm around America.

They said one, two, three, “cheese”, except for Addy who said one, two, three, “cheesecake”. When they were satisfied that they had a good image, one for the history books, Maxon took America’s hand and guided her to one of the empty tables. He pulled her chair out for her, and then asked Roseabelle’s granddaughter for a booster seat for Addy.

When the royal family was seated comfortably, with glasses of cold water in front of them, Roseabelle herself came out to take their order. Maxon wanted some of his favorite chocolate cake, America wanted one strawberry tart (to start with, and maybe more later), and Addy ordered for herself, “Cheesecake please”.

There were a few more pictures taken once the food arrived, which gave Addy time to study her toddler-sized slice of cake. It didn’t look like cheese, but her dad promised there was lots and lots of cream cheese inside, and Addy also loved whipped cream, so she assumed cream and cheese would make the best cake ever on earth. She also had a beautiful, bright red strawberry on top to match her mom’s dessert.

America bit in first, and made a dramatic “mmmmm” sound.

“C’I have a bite, Mommy?” Addy immediately started hustling for extra dessert. America obliged her with a fork full of strawberry tart. Addy mimicked her mom’s “mmmm” sound. Then she turned to her father, who had just taken his own first bite. “C’I have some, Daddy?”

Maxon offered her a fork full of chocolate and she “mmmm”ed again.

“Here, baby.” America helped Addy cut her cheesecake into small, bite-sized pieces and then used a disinfectant wipe to clean Addy’s hands. “Now you can use your fingers instead of a fork, okay?”

Addy preferred her fingers to a fork, because she usually dropped half her food onto the floor when she was using a fork. Aunt Silvia said she needed to practice, so she should use forks most of the time, but secretly her mommy and daddy let her use fingers if her hands were clean, to avoid the mess.

Addy pinched a piece of cake delicately between her thumb and pointer finger. It was cold and squishier than her dad’s cake. She popped it into her mouth, eyes wide as she tasted the creamy, cinnamon-y sweetness on her tongue.

“Good, Birdy?” Maxon asked, chuckling at his daughter’s rapturous expression.

Addy nodded, mouth still full, and held out a piece for him to try. He let her feed him, and “mmmmm”ed appreciatively.

“What do you think, Bird? Should we order some extra slices to take back to the Palace and eat with Astra and Meri this weekend?” America suggested.

Addy nodded again, still in the middle of her life-changing experience.

America smiled across the little round table to Maxon, who smiled back at her affectionately.

“You know, Ames… this is the best I’ve felt in weeks.”

“Me too.”

“You were right as usual, my love. I’m glad we came today.”

“Me too.”

“Feel free to remind me of this the next time I allow fear to cloud my reasoning.”

“Oh, don’t worry Maxon,” America chuckled, “I will.”

[pessimisticlatte]

Glass Roses - Chapter 4

Marichat - Adrienette - Lukagami - Marigami (platonic but Kagami is a fanon hopeless pansexual :P) - Chlobrina (ChloexSabrina, because they’re cute and I want to)

-Eventual reveal-

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette woke in her bed, tucked under the sheets with her dark hair splayed over her pillow like ink in water. She was groggy, her eyes still crusted with sleep and her mouth dry, but she felt strangely content, like something heavy had lifted over night that she hadn’t been aware of. Sitting up, Mari’s fringe fell over the face and she felt a warm tingle on her temple as she pushed the hair behind her ear. She tried to remember how she’d gotten to bed last night but her memory stopped with an image of Chat Noir’s face looking down at her as she laid in his lap. His green eyes had widened in the darkness and his golden hair was tousled from running his clawed hands through it. She remembered him scratching her scalp gently too, she ran her fingers through her hair with a smile.

Looking around the room, Mari’s eyes scanned for Tikki. Normally, the Kwami would’ve been curled beside Marinette’s head when she woke up but she hadn’t been this morning. Walking to the still open doors of her balcony, Mari looked out and saw Tikki sitting in the middle of her daybed, fins crossed in her lap with her eyes downcast.

“Tikki?” Mari walked over to the daybed and sat down gently next to Tikki, the Kawmi’s head turned and her luminous eyes lit up. “Are you alright?’

“I’m alright, Marinette,” Tikki floated up to Mari’s face and nuzzled her cheek, her antennae smoothing back as she did so.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Marinette took Tikki in her hands and pressed a kiss to the creature’s head as Tikki spoke.

~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the summer passed quickly. Marinette kept up patrols as Ladybug, Chat joined her occasionally but she found him looking into the distance with a strange, almost pained, look on his face. She made sure to steer clear of her parent’s bakery when they patrolled, not wanting him to duck onto her balcony and realise that she wasn’t there. As Mari’s stress grew regarding Chat discovering her identity, she began calling Rena Rouge or Carapace to patrol with them.

During the days, Adrien spent more and more time with Mari, Alya and Nino. When Luka, Juleka and Rose returned, their group grew bigger. Chloe appeared from nowhere and insisted on joining them, glued to Adrien near constantly. He hadn’t snapped at Chloe’s disrespect of his personal space yet, but he was continually finding himself seconds away from tearing his arm from the blonde’s grip. Marinette, as always, gravitated toward him and he appeared to be putting more effort into speaking to her than he had previously. Mari’s feelings were still confused surrounding Chat and Adrien, both of them were two ends of a spectrum she hadn’t seen just yet, so she fluctuated between a stuttering mess and and the most confident person she’d ever been in her life without the Ladybug mask hiding her face.

The first day of school rolled around too quickly, taking Marinette and her friends by complete surprise. A new school year had dawned and beckoned in yet another few hectic months juggling every aspect of her life. There hadn’t been any akuma attacks since everyone had started coming home, the thought of why had been lingering in the back of Mari’s mind during every patrol, every hangout and every text conversation in the lead up to school. Could Hawkmoth be one of her friends parents? Was he a student at their school? Could he even be one of her friends?

Mari’s musings over who he could be had stolen many hours of sleep from her, more than Chat’s visits ever had, but she’d found herself unable to mention them to even Tikki, let alone Chat.

Backpack slung over her shoulder, Mari let out a nervous breath as she stepped onto school grounds. Even though she’d been with the students here since she had started school, a new year was always daunting and the nerves that sparked throughout her body never dimmed. Her hair was pulled into two small space buns on top of her head with small ribbons tied prettily around them, she’d loved the hairstyle when she had become Multimouse and she couldn’t think of a better way to present herself on the first day back at school.

The courtyard was full of chatter, those who hadn’t seen each other since returning home sharing stories and presents. Seeing all her classmates reconnecting washed away the nervous energy that had her bouncing on the balls of her feet. Walking a few more steps, Marinette heard her name ring out through the courtyard, the almost accentless French of Kagami Tsurugi a welcome sound to her ears.

“Kagami! You’re back!” Marinette jogged over to her friend, who was standing with Adrien, Alya, Nino and Alix. It was a strange mix, Mari had to admit, but it wasn’t one she actively tried to avoid.

Kagami stood very still for a moment, her eyes meeting Marinette’s, before the Japanese girl took a step forward and stiffly embraced Mari. With a laugh, Mari wrapped her arms around her friend and felt Kagami’s stiffness melt away, gently rocking side to side, Mari squeezed Kagami slightly before pulling away.

“I missed you, Kagami!” Marinette’s head felt so much less full now that Kagami was back in the same time zone as her, and would likely be returning to her tried and true schedule. Talking to Kagami was different to talking to Alya but Marinette would never go as far as to pick who was her favourite to talk to. Comparing conversing with Kagami to conversing with Alya would be like comparing apples to oranges; they were both fruit and both very sweet but no way the same. Where Alya was all jokes and smooth edges, the aura of familiarity between them allowing their conversations to flow like a river, Kagami was facts and well researched advice. Both were welcome and Mari loved them dearly but they were so different and, for that, Marinette was thankful.

“I missed you too, Marinette,” Kagami gave a serene, genuine smile which Marinette returned enthusiastically. “Time zones can make speaking to friends quite hard, I discovered. I was almost unable to contact Adrien and I was very frustrated to not be able to contact you, Alix or Alya.”

“She called me at 3 in the morning!” Alix’s spiky pink head poked into the conversation. The much shorter girl talking at an incredibly rapid rate. Alix and Kagami had hit it off about a month before the summer break, both girls being competitive to their very cores and equally good strategists, even if Alix had more energy in her body than she should possibly be able to contain.

“It wasn’t 3 o’clock in the morning in Tokyo,” Kagami’s smile grew wider. Being around Mari, Alya and Alix had relaxed her considerably but Kagami had a tendency to snap back into her rigid way of speaking and standing very quickly as soon as she thought of her mother. The careful joking was new but both Marinette and Adrien took it as a sign that Kagami trusted them.

“You’re the smart one, ‘Gami, you shoulda known the time differences,” Alix began skating around the group, weaving through everyone with practiced ease.

“I did know the time differences. Maybe I called you because I knew it would wake you up,” Kagami’s smile turned almost cat-like, a feline interest sparking in her eyes as she watched Alix literally skate circles around them.

“Oi! I’m meant to be the rude one!” 

“I’m very sorry, your majesty, allow me to make up for my dreadful comment,” Kagami swept a joking bow. “Please forgive me, Queen Alix! Oh, please, please, please!”

Alix skidded to a halt in front of Kagami and poked her tongue out at her.

“I have something for you, Kagami,” Marinette reached into her school bag and pulled out a small package wrapped in white tissue paper with a careful bow loosely tied around it. Kagami’s green-brown eyes lit up, catching the sunlight and shining like glistening honey, Mari handed her the present and watched her friend slowly unwrap it, careful not to tear the delicate paper or drop the yellow ribbon now completely free from it’s bow. “I made it myself.”

Kagami unfolded the kimono jacket inside and held it up, Mari’s handiwork glittering and fluttering like real birds in flight. The whole group, including Alix who usually paid very little attention to things such as this when it wasn’t her receiving the gift, watched as Kagami’s jaw fell open and tears of liquid silver shone in her eyes.

“It’s beautiful, Marinette,” A blink sent a silver limned tear over Kagami’s lower lid and down her pale golden cheeks. Kagami unbuttoned the white blazer she was wearing, a new iteration of the regular outfit she wore to school, and folded it perfectly, placing it on the bench next to Alya and Nino. She slipped her arms into the wide, flowy sleeves and let the beautifully, deftly painted coat fall to her mid-thigh. Unlike the common reds, whites, oranges and golds Mari had seen in lots of traditional Japanese clothing, the kimono jacket was a medium blue with stunning snow-capped mountains and beautiful coursing waterfalls, birds flew across the fabric, their wings moving gently as the garment did. The swirling water of the waterfalls appeared to cascade across the rocks Marinette had painstakingly painted with the smallest brush she’d ever used in her life. “I shall treasure it forever.”

Kagami even went as far as unfastening the red and black checkered tie tucked underneath the collar of her shirt and removing it, she appeared so much more relaxed in her tights and skirt with her slightly scuffed red sneakers all topped off with the kimono jacket that made Kagami feel like the Empress of Japan herself.

“You made that, Mari?” Adrien’s eyes were like saucers. The blinding green of his eyes almost fully eclipsed by his blown-wide pupils. 

“Y-yes,” A blush started to paint Marinette’s cheeks, brightening her freckles. “I made it all myself.”

“It’s incredible!” Alya stepped forward to run her fingers along the silver stitched lining on the sleeves of Kagami’s coat. “Why don’t you ever make something like this for me?”

“I’m working on something for you currently, Alya!” Marinette giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. Suddenly, a yellow blur came hurtling out of nowhere and launched at Adrien. With a squeal, Chloe effectively tackled Adrien to the ground and wrapped him in a bone crushing hug. Adrien hadn’t been paying attention, the brightness of Mari’s smile and the melody of her laugh had sent his mind into an unending error message. Even with Chloe constricting his breathe, Adrien was still breathing easier than he was when Marinette had walked over to the group a few moments ago.

“Aaaaaaaaadrikiiiins,” The piercing shrillness of Chloe’s voice did little of snap Adrien out of his Mari induced daze. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Chloe recently and he guessed that he could pay attention to her later if it was really necessary. With some help from Alix, Alya peeled Chloe off Adrien and let Marinette pull him back to his feet. “Aren’t you excited to see me?”

“Uh, hey, Chloe,” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his hand burning from Marinette grabbing it, a searing and pleasurable numbness surging up his arm and sending his heart into overdrive.

“I’m messing with you,” Chloe threw her head back into a laugh. Marinette frowned slightly, confused. “Come on, guys! Can’t someone change for a new school year?”

“I-I guess so,” Marinette’s lips pursed, her forehead wrinkling beneath her soft fringe. “As long as it lasts, Chloe. You’ve been quite awful to us in the past and the only times you’ve apologised for it have been after Adrien makes you.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see if it lasts, Marinette,” Chloe threw Marinette a quick, but not insincere, smile and walked back over to Sabrina who was shaking a snowglobe and watching the fake snow inside it settle around the figurine. 

“She’s never called me Marinette before,” Mari’s confused frown deepened, dimpling her still blush painted cheeks. “Not even when she hung out with us in the holidays.”

“She didn’t hang out with us that often, Mari, we didn’t ever really invite her,” Alya grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, grabbing Nino’s hand. “I’m not generally one to encourage giving Chloe a chance but, as she said, it is a new school year. Maybe she’d actually turned over a new leaf.”

With a shrug, Kagami gave a single, solid nod. “It would be best not to underestimate her, especially this early. Let us see if she can sustain a positive behaviour toward us before we discard her,” Adrien gave a hum of approval with Kagami’s comment. Alix looked skeptical but the wary look on her face dropped quickly after realising that Kagami, ever the strategist, wouldn’t say something like this if she didn’t believe it. Nino looked at Alya who inclined her head toward him, Nino nodded his agreement. “Sometimes, people have the ability to change. We must not become a dam in the flowing stream of Chloe’s growth or we may never see the person she could become.”

Alya and Nino, still holding hands, looked at each other before excusing themselves and walking up the stairs toward their classroom. Alix checked her watch and reported that there were 10 minutes left before class started before zooming off to pick up her bag from across the courtyard.

“I have something for you too, Marinette, but I did not make it,” Kagami kneeled beside the bench she’d put her blazer on and pulled her school bag and a large, black box. “Adrien assured me that you would like it.”

Glancing at Adrien with another luminescent blush painting her cheeks, nose and chin, Mari took the box and opened it. Beneath a layer of tissue paper thinner than the one she’d wrapped Kagami’s coat in was a dress of the deepest red. Marinette recognised the garment as a cheongsam, the slightly stiff, high collar with pure golden lining giving away the styling of the traditional dress.

“A cheongsam,” Mari’s voice was barely more than a whisper. The fabric was pure silk and she was almost completely sure that the golden thread had actual gold twined into it. It was the most beautiful garment Marinette had ever touched in her entire life and she couldn’t believe that Kagami had given it to her. Mari didn’t take the the dress fully out of the box, not wanting to dirty it, but she knew that the rest of it was just as opulent and beautiful as the collar and upper part of the dress. “I didn’t think cheongsam were worn in Japan, they’re a traditional Chinese garment.”

“My cousin, not the one who was getting married but she is engaged, had brought it with her to Japan. She wanted to give it to me but it is not something I would generally wear, I prefer more comfortable clothing, so I thought that you might like it,” A blush of her own started to rise up Kagami’s neck, her normally stoic demeanor faltering. “You’re a similar size to me so I had no doubt that it would fit you, if it does not I am sure that you would be able to accurately adjust it.”

“T….thank you so much, Kagami,” Mari placed the lid back on the box, put the box in Alya and Nino’s now vacant spot, and surged forward to hug Kagami. With no hesitation, Kagami wrapped her arms around Marinette and pressed her cheek into Mari’s shoulder. “It’s so beautiful. Did your cousin have it made in China?”

“She had it made in Singapore, that’s where she and her fiance live. He has Chinese heritage and they visit his family in China occasionally, he’s very well connected so they attend quite a few functions when they go over there. Their engagement was arranged but they learned to love each other and I’ll be attending their wedding next year,” Kagami and Marinette pulled away from each other, Adrien was standing off to the side behind them, forgotten. He didn’t feel forgotten though, he’d witnessed one of the most beautiful exchanges he’d ever seen in his life. Kagami was his closest friend, after Nino of course, and Marinette was the girl he loved; seeing them as close as they were made him happier than he thought he’d ever been in his life. Adrien didn’t have siblings and his cousin, Felix, didn’t visit often anymore, so Kagami and Nino were as close to siblings as he had. Kagami was also an only child, so Adrien felt closer and more in sync with her than he did with Nino but they were both his family considering that he didn’t have much of one at home.

The school bell tolled out across the courtyard, summoning the students to class. Kagami wasn’t going to be in Adrien and Marinette’s class as her mother had requested a specific curriculum for her that was to be taught in the Tsurugi’s native Japanese with a mixture of French, German, Italian, English, Spanish, Latin, and Mandarin. Mari had thought it sad at first that Kagami would be at school with them but unable to be in their class, she’d later learned that Luka had qualified for the same class. The discovery had surprised her immensely, Marinette hadn’t thought of Luka as an incredibly intelligent, multilingual student and she had felt very guilty in never expecting him to be anything more than a handsome guitarist. This special curriculum and class enforced by Kagami’s mother wasn’t limited to just Luka and Kagami but a few other students, both older and younger than Mari, with incredible intelligence and multilingual families.

With a small wave, Kagami walked to the other end of the courtyard and began to ascend the winding stairs, leaving Marinette and Adrien alone.

“We’d best get going or Madame Bustier is going to have our heads,” Adrien’s lips had fallen into a lopsided, dimpled grin that sent a pang of recognition through Mari’s body. She’d seen that smile before but her mind, still racing from the incredible gift Kagami had presented her and the proximity to Adrien, couldn’t remember where to process the sudden, confusing recognition.

“Yeah,” Mari picked her bag up by one of the handles and slung it onto her back, careful not to disturb the small purse crossing her torso that housed Tikki and some macaroons for the Kwami in case she got hungry. They walked to the stairs together in an almost stifling silence, Marinette couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awkward around Adrien, especially considering the amount of time they’d spent in each others presence during the summer break. At a loss for how to conduct herself, Mari decided to infuse some of the signature Chat Noir confidence that she loved into her demeanor. The thought of the cocky, halo haired boy sent heat up Mari’s neck, he’d put her to bed a couple of weeks ago. She’d fallen asleep in his lap, of all places, and he’d put her to bed! Tikki hadn’t mentioned seeing him and Chat hadn’t asked why she had the Ladybug Kwami at all during their late night talks on her balcony or the patrols she ran with him as Ladybug; she assured herself that this meant Chat and Tikki hadn’t seen each other. Neither of them would have any reason to lie to her, right? Or hide things?

“Ladies first,” Adrien swept his arm wide as they reached the stairs up to their classroom. With a small chuckle, Marinette swept him a joking curtsey and walked up the stairs in front of him. Her mind was still overwhelmed with thoughts of that night with Chat, she’d been mulling over it for weeks and the longer she focused on it, the more questions it raised. Had she drooled on him? Alya said that she drooled in her sleep, if she’d drooled on Chat that would’ve been so embarrassing and Chat would’ve been too polite to tell her afterwards unless she asked. Why didn’t she ask?! Mari’s brow creased as she watched her booted feet ascend the steps, little did she know, that right behind her, Adrien was enjoying the view.

~~~~~TAGLINE~~~~~

@lady-charinette

@katieykat513

@nifflerstorm

DM to be tagged :P

[lycorogue]

Happy Anniversary,  “Peeping Tomcat”!

Found on AO3, on FFN, and on DA

(sorry, I lost the original copy of the cover art, so this is low-res version is all I still have)

Summary: Something called to Adrien, and before he knew it, he was addicted to sitting outside Marinette's window as Chat Noir; just watching her. His voyeuristic habit needs to stop, but things have gotten far too complicated now that he realizes he's growing a crush on her.

Rating: K / General Audiences

Pairing: Adrienette (And kind of MariChat... even though they don’t interact??)

Chapters: 17

Status: Complete.  84,239 words

**Disclaimer: This story is only semi-compliant with season 2 and does not take place within that season aside from post-Collector since that concludes Volpina.

A year ago today, I posted "Peeping Tomcat.” 

The previous August (2017), a month after I introduced myself to “Miraculous Ladybug,” I had written my first ever fanfic for the fandom. The one-shot was the original “Peeping Tomcat” (it has since been renamed “Peeping Tomcat - Teaser”). I enjoyed the story so much, I decided to expand this one-shot into a full-blown novel.

I worked on “Peeping Tomcat” during that year’s superhero-themed NaNoWriMo. I made it to 50,000 words, but I wasn’t done with my story. I spent the next few months editing my first draft, and there are large parts in the final product that barely resemble the original version. Even after I posted the first chapter on March 30, 2018, I kept working on edits and reworks for the rest of the novel.

I posted a new chapter every Friday for 3+ months. I officially finished the project when I published the final chapter on July 31, 2018. Nearly a full year after I wrote the one-shot.

This novel has been such a large point of pride for me, and I want to thank all of my fans for reading, faving, leaving kudos, bookmarking, commenting, and even reblogging my promotions for each chapter. A year later, and I’m still getting notifications about a new reader, new comment, or new fave/kudos. You guys all super duper rock!

So, how about a trip down memory lane, or how about a taste for those who may have missed this story’s original run?

Sample of chapter 1 below the break.

She didn't realize I watched her every night, and, frankly, I probably shouldn't have.

A thought pulled at the back of my head as I reflected on the akuma supervillains that had originated at that school. There were fifteen kids in my class, including myself. Fifteen. There were thirteen akuma victims that were my classmates. Excluding myself, that meant only one of my classmates hadn't been akumatized. One kid didn't have a school year punctuated with the guilt of becoming a Paris-attacking supervillain: Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Realizing that Marinette was the lone student, besides me, who hadn't been transformed yet, I had a protective need to check on her home, as if gazing upon the abode was enough to ward Hawk Moth from her. I shifted along the roof of the Collège Françoise Dupont so that I was again facing the Place des Vosges. Nestled between these two key points in my life as Chat Noir was the humble bakery Marinette's parents owned, complete with the apartment the Dupain-Cheng family lived in.

It was a simple home considering the entire first floor made up the bakery, which was still smaller than my bedroom. In fact, my two-story room may have been larger than the entirety of the three-level apartment. Neither Marinette nor her parents ever seemed lacking, though. In fact, part of me envied the small apartment. No one could get lost in there. No one could feel alone. Family was always a good holler away, not that Marinette ever needed to holler to get her parents' attention.

There was a warmth to that building that transcended the ovens Mr. Dupain started up at four every morning. Even at night, long after the bakery had shut down, and despite being across the street, I still felt that warmth. For the first time that day, I felt at peace. Just looking upon the Dupain-Cheng household calmed me the way being Chat Noir normally did, the way running through Paris normally did, the way the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue normally did, the way none of those did that night.

Family. I think that's what pinned me to that spot; what soothed my heart. That transcending warmth I could feel meters away was the idea of family. The idea that Marinette was always surrounded by hers, and how it was obvious that her family was immensely proud of her. Marinette's parents were constantly smiling and visibly beaming whenever they were around their daughter, or at least talking about her. Their pride in the woman Marinette was becoming was palpable. The same was true about Marinette's great-uncle Cheng Shifu. The entire clan radiated with love. Anyone could feel it, even from across the street.

I needed that sensation that night. After all of my failings, and with Father's stern talk of his disappointments in me, I needed a reminder that unconditional love existed. I needed to know that people could love others even with their shortcomings; a way to reassure myself that my father still did love me, and that Ladybug would still need me as her partner.

Like the scent of freshly baked croissants, the pacifying feeling of honest, familial love wafted towards me, and I breathed it in deep. I was no longer on edge as I pictured all the things that made the Dupain-Cheng home so welcoming and loving.

I remembered being Chat Noir in Marinette's home as I assisted Ladybug in hiding Kim from an akuma villain who was hunting him down. While Ladybug discussed her strategy with Marinette's parents and Kim, I had spotted a family photo displayed on a bookshelf in the living room. Marinette had her goofy little grin, and her parents sweetly smiled behind her. While I don't think I have a single picture like that with Father, the photo reminded me of the ones I had with my mom; both of us grinning ear-to-ear. Love shone through the pictures of me and Mom, just as it did with that photo in Marinette's living room.

My mind then wandered to when I helped Marinette by translating for her Chinese great-uncle. She was so nervous about dishonoring the master chef, but the man took to his great-niece instantly. I got to spend the day watching the two of them interact, and it was sweet the care each took to learn about the other. In the end, Cheng Shifu was so proud of his great-niece that he renamed his famous Celestial Soup after her. True, my father uses me as a poster child for his clothing line, but there was something different; something special in Cheng Shifu honoring Marinette the way he did. She was able to be her clumsy, awkward, unsure self and still manage to impress him. I have to be poised, reserved, and refined at all times to avoid disappointing my father. Which is probably why I needed Chat Noir so much.

The thing that brought me the most comfort, though, was remembering when I was at Marinette's house to practice for the Ultimate Mecha Strike III gaming tournament. Marinette may have been embarrassed by her parents, but I thought it was super sweet that they kept popping in to check up on us. The fact that they did so using the pretense of bringing us snacks was a nice added touch. They always had smiles that matched the warmth of the croissants, cookies, or quiche they brought for us. I get that Marinette was like most teenagers who just wanted some space to breathe, but I've had all the space I could want, and then some, since Mom went missing. To have someone check in that frequently, to have parents that so desperately want to be in their child's life; I don't think Marinette realized how fantastic that is, or how jealous I was.

I allowed myself to truly relax. I lounged across the roof of my school, my legs dangling over the edge, as I leaned back on my elbows and imagined what was going on in that warm apartment. What was it like to live there? What was it like to be part of that family? I pictured myself in Marinette's place: Tom Dupain was my father instead of hers, and Sabine Cheng was my mother. I envisioned it was me flailing around during a water balloon fight with my father, or that I was the one being instructed by my mother on how to roll out the dough properly to make the crust for a quiche. I could practically smell the smoky sweetness of a well-seasoned roast and fingerling potatoes being pulled from the tiny apartment kitchen oven and placed on the breakfast counter. I almost tasted the flaky butter of still-warm biscuits topped with a touch of plum jam. The chilled breeze of the night vanished from my notice as I felt snuggled into what would have been my lofted bed; should I have been the one who lived above the neighborhood bakery. I breathed in the sweet lingering smells of the day's baked goods as I pictured them being the cologne from the Dupain-Chengs as they tucked me in and kissed my forehead goodnight. I yearned for Marinette's reality to be mine, and imagined that it was.

I got so lost in that fantasy I nearly fell off the roof when I heard the scream.

Want to keep reading? Check out the full chapter here: Mistake

Want to read the whole thing? You can find it at these three sites: on AO3, on FFN, and on DA

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

Great OMGCP fanfics

All the Sights of Paris by writingonpostcards

Eric and Jack meet atop the Eiffel Tower. It's the beginning of a few whirlwind days together, but Eric's leaving soon. How much can really happen between them in just a few days?

--

Jack holds out his hand and Eric takes it. Instead of shaking it like Eric was expecting, Jack pulls him in gently, and kisses him once on both cheeks. “See you around,” Jack says with confidence.

Like breathing was easy by lillaseptember (part 7 of a series)

Jack has a panic attack. Bitty (and the kids) help him through it.

--

“We have seven kids downstairs who all think you’re their hero. And it’s not because of the reasons you think it is. It’s because you pick them up from practice with the same terrible puns every Tuesday, actually listen to what they know is their ridiculous teenage gossip, let them win wrestling matches in the most dramatic way imaginable, watch Aristocats with them 17 times in a row, kiss their injuries better, memorize presidents with them, make that godawful mac ‘n’ cheese for ‘em.”

Set Your Old Heart Free by IBoatedHere*

Jack doesn’t find Bitty after graduation. They don’t kiss. Jack doesn't go to Madison for the 4th. They still fall in love.

falling into place by furyofthetimelords

Your soulmark doesn’t settle until you’ve met your soulmate.

Neither Jack or Eric notice when it happens.

Irreplaceable by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle

Bitty gets too wrapped up in his worry that his relationship with Jack could cost Jack too much.

Breakaway by AntarcticBird

The first time Jack sees him is at the beginning of his sophomore year at Samwell, a completely normal Monday night, and at first he thinks he has gone insane.

Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy by PorcupineGirl

Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.

Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.

Mother’s Weekend by rosepetals42*

Hello there! Long time, no see (my bad I know) but, here: an Alicia Zimmermann-centric piece as she goes to Parents’ Weekend during Jack’s freshmen year. [focus on Alicia, Jack, and Shitty] 6k

Imagine being a tadpole though by rosepetals42

Outsider POV, zimbits, canon-compliant, 2nd person, 4k ish, yes this got way longer than expected

when it’s over (you’re the start) by onawingandaswear

Jack goes to sleep in Providence next to his boyfriend and wakes up in Montréal to discover he’s been in a coma since 2009. Refusing to believe Samwell, Bitty, and the Falconers were all a dream, Jack tracks down the real Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster to find they’ve shared the same group hallucination for years. Now, they’re on a mission to find Bitty, the love of Jack’s non-existent life, and the only member of SMH they can’t seem to get in contact with.

ABC by alphardhy

effort, n.

It is worth it.

Jack and Bitty's relationship told through short dictionary entries. (The title is quite self-explanatory, really.)

Ice Crew Please! by rosepetals42*

Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

a tale of love and how it finds you by nightswatch 

Bitty sees Jack Zimmermann almost every morning, but he’s never said a single word to him. Honestly, Jack Zimmermann probably doesn’t even know that he exists.

Revenge is best served @ by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)

The ESPN hockey anchors take a cheap shot. Bitty takes one back.

i'll see you with your laughter lines by the_one_that_fell*

Eric Bittle was fourteen when his soulmate died.

They'd never even gotten to meet.

Hold on Forever by an orphan account (part 2 of a series)

Eric Bittle doesn't think he's going to be standing at his boyfriend's sledge hockey game holding a sign that says, "Yo, Go To Prom With Me Jack Zimmermann," at almost thirty years old and yet...here he is.

these hands are meant to hold by worth_the_risk (part 1 of a series)

There are a select few times over the course of Jack and Shitty’s friendship when Jack, frozen like the Pond in January, has to be told to move.

Plans For The Future by ticktockclockwork

Contrary to popular belief, when Jack was spiraling, things did not move in slow motion. The frantic beating of his heart was anything but slow; the rapid fire thoughts pinballing around his mind almost incomprehensible in their speed.

In therapy, he'd often heard people describe their attacks as a slow motion train crash, a suffering drawn out experience that they were helpless to stop.

But for Jack, while ’train crash’ was definitely apt for what he felt, it was anything but slow and, in fact, he was usually the one at the controls.

All this to say, Jack was in a very bad place.

The Little Things That Give You Away by annathaema (moony)

"S'fine," says Jack, trying to keep it hidden from Shitty. "I wasn't really doing anything, just-"

"Knitting!"

--

Jack has an unusual hobby, but it helps.

Alive and Loved by Piehead

Bitty has depression. He lives with it.

Love Is To Be Made by DoubleNegative

“Jack turns in a slow, aimless circle in the middle of his living room. Blank white walls. Bare floor. A sofa, a TV, a coffee table: just the basics, really. Well, no wonder it doesn’t look like home; he can’t blame his apartment’s sudden coldness and its empty echoing spaces solely on the absence of one Eric R. Bittle. It just… doesn’t look like anyone lives here. It doesn’t feel like anyone lives here. He has no idea how to change that.”

(Or… Jack comes home from Madison to an apartment that doesn’t smell like cinnamon, and teammates who don’t know what he means he says ‘swawesome. It feels like it should be easier, turning the place he lives into a home and the people he plays hockey with into teammates. But even ‘easy’ things have always felt harder than they should.)

Puck Aversion: The Birth of A Goalie Superstition by Betweenthepies (Reikiari)

Every hockey player has their thing. Goalies? Even more so. So what is Chris Chow's? He will never touch a puck with his bare hands. (Five times Chris Chow won't touch a puck and one time he does.)

one of the gays by heyfightme

Bitty isn’t even sure whether he wasn’t meant to hear. It’s a party, and they’re all public, and it’s Bitty’s Haus too. More than that, it’s Bitty’s kitchen. There’s no discernible secrecy in operation.

“I mean, Bitty’s gay. One of my best friends; he put these curtains up.” The girl Holster is talking to – brown curls, white jeans, suntanned shoulders – looks to the curtains and coos, “Aww, that’s so cute.”

Bitty’s neck twinges.

—

in which bitty and jack are like: [sarcastic laughter] straight people

Wizarding sports by prongsyouignoramus and awfullyruby (not really a fic)

so @prongsyouignoramus and I had a convo that spun into a full blown hc so I thought I’d share this in the hopes it will one day inspire a fanfic author  *nudge nudge, wink wink*  or just for funsies, I guess

just two kids without their jackets by the_one_that_fell (3 part series)*

Jack makes a difficult decision and finds a new calling.

and not waving but drowning by the_one_that_fell (part 1 of a series)

Jack considered himself an Icarus of sorts. He never thought he’d learn to love the sun.

like a handprint on my heart by the_one_that_fell*

“Dude, we’ve got an over-competitive golf dad, a badass art freak, a pre-med lax bro on the verge of a breakdown, a chronically naked rugby player, a beat-boxing giant, and an itty-bitty, baking figure skater - there’s no way we came together accidentally. This wasfate.”

“Or it’s the normal progression of human beings making friends. Chill out, bro.”

(Or, the one where no one plays hockey, but it still manages to bring them all together.)

the messes of men by decinq (4 part series)

His first year in the NHL isn't easy, but Jack has spent his entire life playing through the hurt.

My Words on Your Skin by There_Once_Was_A_Girl (no. 1 in a 6 part series of standalones)*

Jack and Bitty have a unique soul connection, they can write back and forth to each other by writing on their own skin. They know each other long before they've ever met. But when Jack overdoses Bitty thinks he's lost the love of his life forever.

Your Fake Name is Good Enough by DoubleNegative

Eventually Jack came back to himself, as he always did, shaky and exhausted but alive, and Shitty wrapped up his rambling story. “Anyway, man, that’s why if you ever have kids you shouldn’t make bets with your hedge fund buddies on their names. You’ll end up with a son named Barnaby Sylvester Knight, and trust me, that is no way to start a father-son relationship.”

“That’s a pretty awful name,” Jack whispered. “Thanks, man.”

Shitty just squeezed him tighter and didn’t protest at all when Jack finally drifted off, drooling a little on his pillow.

you’ve got my number by ambrosius*

It’s not as if Jack was totally inept when it came to technology. He could handle his Tweeter (Tweety? Twits? Twitter? Did it really matter?) just fine and if he’s honest, he much preferred texting to calling most days. So when he gets added to a group chat full of strangers, well, he’s pretty sure he can handle whatever comes next.

Graduation Day by IBoatedHere

It takes Jack 50 days to finally see what's been right in front of him for the past two years.

Will Wonders Never Cease by PorcupineGirl*

Eric has landed his dream job: social media manager for the Providence Falconers! Not only does he get paid to tweet, for an NHL team at that, but it’s a job where he’ll be able to make good use of his magic - when nobody’s looking, of course. Everyone on the Falconers is a joy to work with… with the notable exception of Jack Zimmermann. Eric understands that Jack doesn’t like social media, but he could certainly be a little more polite about it.

Luckily, Eric has support from his Samwell buddies, as well as his best friend - a man whose face he’s never seen, and whose name he doesn’t know. They met on an online forum where witches can gather anonymously, since it isn’t safe for them to advertise their existence in a world where magic isn’t trusted. They’ve been friends for years now, but Eric is only just starting to realize that he might have deeper feelings for someone he can never meet face-to-face.

i didn't know i was lonely til i saw your face by dharmainitiative*

Still rebounding from a breakup, Derek Nurse moves into a loft in downtown LA and attempts to navigate living with five former college hockey players.

Or, a New Girl AU.

if you're going through hell (keep going) by onawingandaswear*

Eighteen years ago, Samwell suffered the tragic loss of one of their most promising young athletes. Ever since rumors have circulated that the school is haunted by the ghost of Eric Bittle. At least, that’s the only way anyone can seem to explain why the locker rooms smell like freshly baked apple pie on game days instead of the usual, omnipresent hockey funk.

Now in the twilight of his career, Jack Zimmermann is facing his own mortality and the last item on his bucket list?

Return to Samwell and disprove the rumor that his long-dead boyfriend is haunting Faber Memorial Rink.

And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? by RabbitRunnah

Bitty goes to bed after his "lucky shot" having made a decision. When he wakes up he ... is not where he expected to be. He has a career, and a baby, and -- this is the biggest surprise of all -- a husband who looks a lot like Jack Zimmermann.

And you may say to yourself, my god, what have I done? by RabbitRunnah

The last thing Jack Zimmermann remembers saying to Eric Bittle is "lucky shot." That doesn’t explain, at all, why he just woke up in Bittle’s bed.

A companion piece -- this time it's Jack's turn to get a peek at his future -- to And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

Inertia by foryouandbits

At the age of seven, Eric Bittle is tackled so hard in peewee football, it feels as though he's been knocked into another dimension. At the encouragement of his father, he avoids contact sports until he receives a scholarship to play hockey at Samwell University. The result is the same: every check on the ice hurts so much that Eric hallucinates another world. Eric spends the rest of his freshman year attempting to prove himself to his captain and his coaches. He questions his worth, his talent, and his sanity, and in his search for answers, he uncovers long-hidden secrets that change everything he has ever known.

Merry Christmas, I'm Yours by RabbitRunnah

It takes Jack only a couple months after graduation to realize he's in love with Bitty.

It takes him almost 20 years to actually do something about it.

(Or, five Christmases Jack and Bitty spend together.)

right as things grow by wit

Loving and longing, one thousand miles apart: the summer of 2015, in which Jack realizes what he wants just in time for it to get on a plane and leave for Georgia.

[badwolf-winchester]

The Winchester’s Legacy

i know i have posted this before but i decided to do it again because im re doing some things as well. i have posted this on my devianart as well so if you see it there its mine. i started writting this back in 2014 but have yet to expand on it. any and all feed back is welcomed.

Chapter 1

Memories and A Hell hounds revenge

<Coda’s POV>

"I’m going to kill Gabriel, I mean he didn’t even pay attention to the plan, that window must have been very interesting for him not to object to me being bait." I said as my cousin Isabel and I walked up the mansion’s gravel path.

She hates being called by her full name so I call her Isa. Mainly she hates her name because it belonged to her real mom who died a little while after she was born so my Uncle Sam thought it would be nice for her to have the name. My uncle basically raised her on his own after that; sure he would visit me and my dad but he soon became lonely and started to date one of the hunters he met while on a mission in Oklahoma, then after a couple of years Sam married Jamey Foster and became Isa’s step mom. Isa likes her but she doesn’t really interact with her, she said it’s because she never really knew her real mom and her dad doesn’t really pay attention to what she does so she feels abandoned in a way I think that’s why she envy’s me so much, because I still have my parents and they constantly nag me on everything I do.

My dad is Dean Winchester and my mom is Lisa Braeden I used to have an older half-brother named Ben but he died of cancer about two years ago he was an awesome older brother and I miss him like crazy so I go and visit his grave once in a while. Now I’m the only child, I think that’s why my mom is so protective of me; my phone has been going off for a while now and the ignore button was my salvation to not hear my mother's nagging voice.

"Will you shut that phone up? Turn it off before it wakes the dead, and I have no idea but Balthazar didn’t exactly say no either so you’re not the only one mad."

Isa sounded more irritated than I did witch isn’t good because if I know one thing about my cousin it’s that she might sound all nice but once you piss her off she goes bat shit crazy.

Isa and I have some similarities we both have the temper thing which comes in handy at times, we have the same body shape, not skinny like most of the other hunters but lean and our height is the same too five foot eight and our skin is the same color cream tan. But that’s where our similarity ends while I have dark brown hair and she has Jet raven black hair, my eyes are an emerald green and hers are deep electric blue. Even our taste in clothing is different I like skinny jeans, AirWalk shoes, and regular T-shirts, Isa likes shorts no matter what kind of weather it is, she never gets cold! Sometimes I like to call her a space heater because of it. And hoodies oh my god you never catch her without a freaking hoodie on I mean come on I wear sweat shirts sometimes but not all the time like her, you know sometimes I just want to raid her closet and burn all her hoodies but knowing her she would kill me if I did that so I will just let it be. Her favorite shoes to wear are just regular kick around tennis shoes mainly Nike though.

We kept walking up the long ass gravel path, Mind still on Gabriel I began to try and figure out what was so distracting that he couldn’t even pay attention, he has always found ways to irritate me but this wasn’t like him.

I thought back to when I first met him, at the time my dad and I were hunting vampires and no they don’t sparkle we live in the real world where vampires burn in the sun and the whole two fangs thing is bullshit, also sadly to all you poor hopeless fan girls most of them look hideous.

(Flash Back)

Gabriel was different back then he was more all business and attitude until I saved him, well we kind of saved each other; my dad and I were headed north for a case it was supposed to be a simple clean out about ten vamps or so we thought. They were spread out through the small abandoned town of Beldame five hours away from home (this was before my mom became over protective.)

We got our gear from the trunk of my dad’s impala, he had all sorts of stuff in there; you know the usual stuff holy oil, lighters, different types of shot guns and knives all different sizes but I didn’t need that stuff I had my own personal switchblade, 45 caliber, and lock pick. I took a look around it was your usual town with bakeries, toy shops, hotels, gravel everywhere and trees lots and lots of trees but only everything was beat to hell. Holes where in most of the buildings and stores the signs that used to hang were either on the ground or chard basically it looked like a bomb when off in the middle of the town.

After we loaded up all the other stuff we didn’t need my dad turned to me throwing the duffle bag over his shoulder and spoke in his oh so threatening parent voice.

“Do not wonder off and don’t get caught, this isn’t like the other times we hunted if you hesitate if you give them the chance they will kill you.” Even though I knew what I was getting into his warning sent a chill down my spine.

“Ok dad I get it no wondering off and keep an eye out for the blood sucking monsters got it” I said with a head nod he must have saw it for he rolled his eyes at me and mumbled under his breath, something on the line of “what am I going to do with you”.

We started moving from one building to the next going into them without any luck of finding one vamp, we were on our tenth building halfway into the town until we finally spotted several vamps going into a basement of an old tattered house, My dad and I were in between the vamps hide out and a half blown up shed when he put his arm out in front of me causing me to stop.

“Coda stay here I’m going in if I don’t come out in five minutes I want you to call Sam and give him your location.” This irritated me till no end, no way was I going to sit here and be excluded from the fight.

“Dad it would be easier to kill them if I went with you I mean we just saw more than five vamps walk in there I’m not going to stay here and have you get yourself killed just because you think I’m still a kid! well news flash dad I’m seventeen get over it and start treating me like a freaking adult.” He looked at me for several seconds then sighed.

“Your mother is going to kill me.” He said more to himself than to me then continued. “Right let’s go.”

We snuck our way up to the basement door, I surveyed the area just to make sure no vamp would get the jump on us but all I could see were trees around us. When my dad opened the door we were met with a flock of vamps staring back at us as if they knew we were coming. Dad slammed the door and we took off running for our lives.

“I thought you said there were only going to be 10!” I shouted as we booked it across town to the car.

“If I knew there would be more than 10 then we would have had Sam as back up!” He retorted.

We were halfway to the car when the vamps suddenly burst through every store door; even the ones we checked, and started to gain on us, by the pace we were going it wouldn’t be too long till we got caught.

That’s when I saw an opening close to the town boarder that lead into the woods, if I could pick the vamps off one by one then I should be fine I’m good at one on one combat.

Dad and I took refuge in the toy store luckily this one didn’t have any holes in the structure so we were good for a while, as we tried to catch our breath I told him my plan.

“What? No! Absolutely not, no way!” I knew he would fight me on this but we didn’t have time.

“Dad we need to split up divide the group so we have a better chance at surviving, unless you have another plan mines all we got.” After a minute he ran his hand down his face then looked at me and cursed.

“Damn it! Fine we’ll do it your way but take the machete.” He said as he dropped his duffle bag and took out the big hacker and handing it to me, I studied the long and wide blade tilting it back and forth to find the balance in it.

After sheathing it I wrapped the holster around my waist, before I went through the back door I gave my dad a hug.

“Be careful ok Coda your mother would kill me if anything where to happen to you.” He said into my hair, I let go of him and gave him my version of a reassuring smile which is a cross between a grimace and a half smile.

“I will.” Then I took off toward the opening I saw earlier, the vamps that where by the back door sprinted after me in a heartbeat. I could hear my dad yelling something close to “come and get me fuglies.”

         Some of the foot steps behind me took the bait and disappeared probably going after my dad but I didn’t check I was too busy pushing through bushes and branches while trying not to trip and fall. The footsteps that where behind me where gone now so I took refuge behind a big ass tree, while I hid behind the mother of all trees, I unsheathed big bertha and tried to slow down my breathing and heart rate.

When I got control and was able to breathe normal I noticed that there wasn’t any birds around because it was just silent and that usually meant a predator was lurking close by, a twig broke about a couple feet away from my hiding place proving me right. I took a deep breath and stepped out from my hiding place to take a look, sure enough a vamp was sniffing the air like a freaking dog.

I was about to try and figure out how to take him out when just then eight more jumped out of nowhere surrounding me. I was not good at multi fighting especially with vampires, one of the dicks saw my hesitation and shoved me to the ground, and my blade went flying. The one that shoved me was now on top of me no doubt about to bite me when a bright light flashed radiating heat like the sun, the vamp on top of me disintegrated.

My hands flung up instantly to cover my eyes but just as sudden the light disappeared, I laid their on the ground for a couple of seconds stunned until an unfamiliar voice spoke to me. “Its ok I’m not going to hurt you Decoda.” I got up with a quickness and looked at the guy standing a couple of feet away from me, He was about five foot ten maybe a little taller with broad shoulders; basically your normal football jock type body, his hair is bronze brown and his eyes where the most shocking green I have ever seen. His clothes consisted of a brown jacket with a sort of light blue T-shirt, Blue boot cut jeans, and brown leather shoes.

I dusted off my hands and clothes looking anywhere but at him then crossed my arms over my chest and eyed him suspiciously. “Thanks for the save. Now how the hell do you know my name?”

With a hint of wonder in his voice he replied. “Wow nothing gets past you, and from the looks of it you don’t seem afraid of me, which is different, people would freak if they just magically saw a light and then a guy standing in the middle of a forest.”

I shrugged and said. “I’m a hunter weird is basically the norm for me and you also saved my life so I owe you one, anyway you got a name vamp buster?”

He chuckled at me and shook his head. “Your funny you know that? But sorry sweetie you don’t have the authority to know my name at the moment and don’t worry about the IOU thing protecting you just became my job.”

I blinked at him, anger flaring up in me with a quickness. “I’m sorry I don’t think I heard you right could you say that again?” amusement flashed in his eyes. “Protecting you just became my job.”

Anger bubbled in me at his reply. “No the first part you dick.”

He stepped closer so that he was about arm’s length away and smirked at me. “You don’t have the authority to know my name.”

I was about to tell him where he could shove his authority when a movement caught my eye, sure enough in the distance a vamp stepped out from behind a tree. I pulled out my caliber and pointed it at my potential savior, he didn’t even flinch. “There is no need for the gun Decoda, could you put that thing away.”

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to shoot him too but he still had to answer a few questions first, giving him a blank face I said. “Duck.” Just then the vamp sprang at him, he was wise enough to do as I said and ducked, once he was out of the line of fire I pulled the trigger. The vamp jerked backwards as if he just hit an invisible wall, with a thud he fell to the forest floor.

I looked down at the mystery guy and pointed the gun at his head with a smirk and said. “Now how about that name.”

He looked at me kind of shocked then he shook his head and got up from his ducked position. “Well seeing as you have the upper hand why not, the names Gabriel.”

Putting my gun away I thought about it for a second I’ve heard the name before many kids have that name but how he said it seemed to hold some kind of power behind it, that’s when it hit me. “Gabriel as in the Arch Angel Gabriel?”

He smiled and opened his arms as if to say here I am. “The one and only.” I laughed and he gave me a confused look. “Why are you laughing?” shaking my head I continued to laugh. “You’re not surprised that I’m an angel?”

I shook my head again finally able to get ahold on my laughter I replied. “Nope not at all, I practically grew up with an angel as my uncle so I’m not surprised at all.”

He cocked his head to the right and looked at me. “What angel did you grow up with?” I smiled and replied. “Castiel.” Recollection crossed his face. “Ah I see so Dean did keep his boyfriend after all.” I shrugged not really caring but snorted at his title for Cas, I didn’t see Cass as an angel I saw him as my uncle that’s all I really cared about.

Then another thought accrued to me and made me smile even more, I have always wanted my own angel like my dad had, but I grew up with one thought and one thought only. If I were to have an Angel by my side it would always be Gabriel, you see ever since I was a kid that particular angel had always had a pull on me whenever my pastor would speak of him like as if I knew in my soul that we would meet someday, to have an arch angle as your protector was like having the answers to a final exam.

“Well isn’t this ironic.” I said more to myself than to him, He crossed his arms and gave me an impatient look apparently he didn’t like these guessing games.

“What’s ironic?” he said annoyance filling his voice, I debated whether or not to tell him then I looked him straight in the eye. “Gabriel is my favorite arch angel, has been since as long as I can remember.” I could see he was a little taken back by this because he dropped his hands and put them in his pockets while not looking at me and muttered “Oh… well… uh… Thanks?”

He quickly snapped his head back in my direction when I added “But I believe it started with a dream you were taller in it though.” I could see a vein popping out from his head as he yelled “What is that supposed to mean! I’m not short!”  

A gun shot broke our small talk and I remembered where I was and the situation that was accruing. “Crap my dad!” I was about to run toward the gun shot but Gabriel grabbed my hand and twirled me around to face him, we were a little too close to one another that my breath caught for a second, the smell of cinnamon sticks and vanilla filled my nose.

His deep green eyes bore into mine. “I can’t go with you.” He said in a serious voice, more gun shots rang through the sky like thunder.

I cleared my throat and recollected myself before I spoke. “Ok, But I wasn’t going to ask you to come.” He let go of my hand that I was now aware he was holding the whole time and racked it through his hair. “You don’t understand, I will be with you but you won’t see me.”

I gave him a confused look. “Wait, your confusing me so you are coming with me or not?” he smiled and said “yes and no.”

This little cat and mouse game was really ticking me off, why couldn’t he just give me a straight answer? He just shook his head. “I can’t be there unless you want me there its part of the rules I was given, if you need me call out to me.”

He was confusing me till no end, rules what rules? And who ordered him to protect me? Right now my dad’s safety was more important than my unanswered questions.

“How do I call you like just pray?”  He winked at me and then said “oh trust me you’ll now.” then he placed two fingers on the center of my forehead, Everything went white then color exploded around me, someone ran right into me knocking me down I looked over and saw my dad his shocked face mimicking my own. “Coda how the hell?”

Just then a vamp roared and jumped on him trying to get at his neck, I pulled out my gun and shot the blood sucker right in the head, my dad pushed it off and got up. “Thanks.” He said then helped me up, I looked around sure enough Gabriel stuck to his word and wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“You want to tell me how you just suddenly appeared in front of me?” But before I could say anything we were surrounded by thirty vamps all barring their pointy teeth at us, too many for my dad and I to handle. My dad put a protective hand in front of me but we both knew how this would end, then Gabriel’s voice rang through my mind scaring the hell out of me. “I can’t be there unless you want me there.” Ok a little weird having his voice in my head, but I definitely wanted him here I didn’t feel like dying today.

Again his voice invaded my mind. “If you need me call out to me I won’t come unless you call.” Ok now he was just messing with me, how the hell am I supposed to know what to say I barely said anything to the guy I mean come on I called him vamp buster before he told me his name that was about it.

“Oh you’ll know.” His voice rang again; oh my god you have got to be kidding me. “Nope.” You are so pathetic and a child I said to him mentally. “That’s a little harsh, Come on you know you wanna say it.” He taunted; Fine! I shouted in my head giving in.

I stepped around my dad’s arm sucked in a deep breath and yelled. “Who you gonna call?!” just on cue that same bright light flashed and just like before it vanished just as it appeared, in the clearing just a little away from my dad and I stood none other than Gabriel, he looked at me and raised one fist in the air and said. “Vamp busters!” I laughed and walked over to him and gave him a hug; he deserved it for saving our asses,

He then twirled me around un-expectantly and then put me down and said. “See I told you, you could trust me.” My dad cleared his throat and we both turned to look at him, he had on his you better start explaining now or I’m going to start shooting look. At a wave of my hand I introduced them to each other “Dad this is Gabriel, Gabriel this is my Dad.”

My dad walked over and gave Gabriel a skeptical look. “How the hell are you still alive I thought Lucifer killed you?” this was news to me, Gabriel only shrugged and said. “Yea I did die but Dad brought me back, before he set me lose though he gave me an order and some ground rules.” Dad had a worried expression on his face when he said that. “What order did he give you?” Gabriel looked at me and then at him. “I am to protect and aid Decoda Winchester in any way she needs.” Then he added. “Basically I‘m the Cass to her Dean.” I chuckled at that, my dad gave me his shut up look and went back to Gabriel. “What does Chuck want with my daughter?” he demanded Gabe only shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine Dean-o but I can’t go against daddy’s wishes so here I am.”

My dad ran a hand through his hair then asked. “One more thing what ground rules did Mr. Almighty give you?” Gabriel tilted his head obviously trying to think then he replied. “Rule one, protect her with my life. Two, when she calls me I have to come no matter what. Three… well I really say the rest till I’m given the ok so… Hey.” He said looking around. “Should I get you guys out of here cause this is so not my scene.”

After Gabriel got us to the Impala he yelled “shot gun!” and ran for the door, I swear he was acting like the biggest five year old I have ever met which was funny because earlier he acted like any other angel (A dick). I thought he would be just a bit more mature, I wonder what switched flipped in his brain but what can you do?

After the vamp hunt he just kept showing up in places we had hunts and he would pull the most childish stunts, soon we just started ignoring him but he would keep repeating that it was his job to protect me that I was special in some sort of way, I was annoyed having him around watching my every move but after a while the un thinkable happened he started to grow on me, I even pulled a few pranks on him myself.

The pranking would last for weeks but always come to a forced stop because my dad would go crazy and say “I have one kid not two! Gabriel get the hell out of here or act your age!" and Gabriel would say something childish like "But she stared it!" or “Common dean where’s your funny bone?" Or my favorite “look at me dean I am acting my age.” and then all hell would break loose and I ended up grounded for a week. Now it’s not so bad and we don’t prank as much anymore but when we do we don’t hold back.

(Present day)  

"Earth to Coda." Isa said snapping me back to reality. "Yea?" "Where here...” I looked up at the old rotting Victorian style mansion before me, the windows cracked and covered in dust, the paint peeling from the wooden frame.

When I stepped on the porch the wood creaked with old age, I looked over at Isa smiling "look Isa a haunted house isn’t that awesome?" she rolled her eyes and said " yea, yea whatever let’s just get this over with I have an exam in the morning and this is messing up my study time." I snorted.  “who cares about a stupid exam where hunting!" Isa smiled back repaying " you should we're in the same class moron. Plus if you fail, you can say bye bye to hunting." then she walked through the mansion door leaving me fuming.

I hate it when she gets the last word and when she is right... Oh well I’ll get her back later. “you gonna stand on the porch all night or are you gonna come in here and help me?" Isa shouted from what I think was the living room.

After getting inside I dropped my duffle bag on the floor by the front door and started fishing for the ghost detector with my flash light in my mouth, when I successfully found it I glanced at my black G-Shock watch it was about 10:30 pm that means Dad and Sam would be on the 3rd floor setting up the salt trap for Mr. Ghost boy.

I started scanning for any ghost activity in the hallway and ended up in the living room where Isa was doing the same thing, the living room was huge but barren except for an old broken coffee table and an ancient looking rocking chair in front of a brick fire place. “So who is this guy that we are hunting?” I said glancing at Isa who was still scanning the room.

“His name is Richard Bernard he was a rich guy who made his money by gambling.” She said not the least bit caring. I turned back to get a better look at the fire place and above it was an old picture frame of some old guy who I interpreted to be Richard. Glancing back at my ghost detector I asked “So how did he die, One too many slight of hands?”

Isa sighed and put the scanner in her coat pocket and turned toward me annoyance written all over her face. “You should have read the file your dad gave you, but if you must know someone offed him for cheating at poker. You might want to take a note on that coda.” I gave her my most playful shocked look “Ah, whatever do you mean my dear cousin? Me cheat at poker I would never!” I said in mock innocence, she just rolled her eyes. “Just get back to work.” As she walked away I stuck my tongue out at her.

“Get back to work.” I mumbled under my breath mocking her, Isa then turned and took the scanner out of her pocket to do another once over the living room. Eye of the tiger then filled the room with its sweet melody startling Isa and causing her to drop her scanner. “I thought I told you to turn that stupid phone off!” She shouted at me while bending down to pick it up. “Either answer it or I will break it.”

Raising an eyebrow I mumble “well then…” before taking my phone out of my back pocket; only one person would be calling me right now one very overprotective person, I flipped open the phone and said in my most casual voice “Heeyy mom what’s up how you doin?” I knew exactly what she was going to say and boy it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Don’t hey mom what’s up me young lady, you and your father both have been dodging my calls since you two bolted out the door at 8, it is now 10:45 and I’m now just hearing from you do you know how worried I am having you and your father hunting in the middle of the night doing god knows what putting yourselves in danger?” god you can practically see the smoking anger in her voice, I had to hold the phone at arm’s length just to keep my ears from bleeding, I can hear Isa laughing quietly in the back ground from my mom’s sudden outburst.

All I could do was roll my eyes she was always doing this overprotective parent thing and it was driving me nuts. “Mom calm down dad and I just got a last minute gig its fine and won’t take long trust me Gabriel knows where I am and if I get in trouble he will come ok?” maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Gabriel… “Gabriel!? So he knows where you are but your own mother doesn’t!” yea shouldn’t have mentioned him. “You know very well what I think of that man child. He is immature, reckless, a nuisance, and most of all irresponsible!” my mom as you can tell doesn’t like Gabriel for some unknown reason… who am I kidding sometimes I don’t even like him.

“God mom don’t do this now please I’m working.” I pleaded but she continued. “And another thing young lady you have school tomorrow, and from what Isa has told me you also have an important exam tomorrow in 3rd period. How are you ever going to pass that test if you’re HALF ASLEEP?” I looked over at Isa who was just sitting there laughing at me, I gave her my your dead when I’m done with this look and replied to my mom.

“I’ll be fine mom it’s a simple hunt don’t stress.” Another taboo word stress… crap today is just not my day. “Don’t stress?! Don’t stress?! How can I not stress when my daughter could be killed!” this is so not going to end well and I knew it. “Mom I’m not a kid anymore I‘m 17 now. Stop treating me like a child! I can take care of myself I’m a hunter mom and nothing is going to change that it’s a part of me.” I hate fighting with her but sometimes it’s necessary and I was mad, Luckily Isa’s scanner went off so I couldn’t yell at her anymore.

“Mom I got to go Isa found something and I have a ghost to catch.” After I hung up I looked at Isa. “What did you find?” I said bitterly, she gave me half annoyed half pity look. “Well sorry to disappoint you but it was just a scan goof… do you wanna crash at my place tonight?” leave it to Isa to always have a way out for me that’s one of the reasons why I love my cousin. “It’s ok and yea that sounds awesome.”

I looked away from her and started fiddling with my ghost scanner. “You know Coda she will come around eventually, you know that right?” I looked at her for a minute unable to answer. “I don’t think she ever will…” I said honestly.

Then something big crashed through the living room window causing Isa and I both to jump into hunter mode. A deep and low growl echoed through the barren room that growl I was all too familiar the beast has been hunting Isa since birth, but every time My dad and Sam were here and fought it off but now we are unprotected and no way was I going to let that thing hurt Isa.

Instinct took over and the hell hound jumped at Isa at the same time I did only I was closer, I shoved Isa and she fell to the floor and I took her place, the hound’s claws ripped through the my right side of my stomach like a chain saw. Agonizing pain rushed through me as I crumbled to the floor clutching my wound crying and screaming at the same time, everything was becoming blurry and the only thing I could hear was the rapid drumming of my heart in my ears. The drumming became weaker as I felt myself become drowned in darkness, the last thing I heard was a muffled gun shot.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ for @agentcalliope, part II of her 3 part gift for the @aosficnet2 exchange. It’s angst/hurt/comfort (my favourite genre) but after this other Fitz-related angst fest I had to sprinkle a liiiittle fluff in there too. Also inspired by the song Oh Mother by Christina Aguilera. Enjoy!

Rshps: Fitz, FitzSimmons, & Fitz’s Mother. set post-FW.

TW: references to domestic violence & associated trauma (after the fact; no actual depiction of physical, verbal or emotional abuse). Rated T.

Read on AO3 (~3300wd)

Part II - A Man Called Alistair

Real

I wear ties & dress shoes on a regular basis

I built a potato clock for the 7th grade science fair

I went to Shield Academy

Not Real

I like black coffee

I speak Latin

Aida went to Shield Academy

Real

I broke my arm in second grade

I broke my arm when I was six

I broke my arm. - ?

Fitz blinked down at the words, puzzled. He read them over again, and frowned. Memories of two separate lives clamoured for his attention, and his head hurt. He pinched his nose.

Jemma nudged him then, knocking him from his thoughts a little.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

It took everything in her not to look down at his page. These were his private thoughts – the path he had to walk to recovery inside his own mind – so she had to let him keep them to himself. But she couldn’t bare to let him walk alone.

“It’s dad,” Fitz explained, and sighed. “I keep getting stuck. I can’t figure out if he’s real or not real.”

“Of course he’s real,” Jemma promised. “You still have a dad, even if he is…”

“What?”

Fitz’s tone was sharp all of a sudden; demanding. Jemma felt like swallowing her tongue. Fitz glared for a minute, but the satisfaction of the trap she’d walked into was soiled by its implications. What did being a dad really mean? he had intended to challenge her – but it was a cheap shot, because what did he know about it anyway? Fitz lowered his eyes apologetically and then, so did Jemma. She took his hand and began to play with his fingers, reassuring him with her touch despite the heavy conversation.

“Fitz…” she began, “do you think – the things your father did to you in there, do you think some of it… might be real?”

“I don’t know,” Fitz replied. “That’s what I was thinking about just now. Like… remember how I told you I broke my arm?”

“In second grade,” Jemma finished.

“Yeah, but how? How’d I do it?”

Jemma blinked. Nothing came to mind, not even the slightest whisper of an idea. It was as if her memory had been wiped.

“I don’t – remember,” she confessed reluctantly. “Perhaps you fell? I’d guess always just assumed you’d got into trouble with some experiment or other and blown yourself up.”

Fitz snorted. “Who in their right mind is going to give a six-year-old explosives?”

“Well how did it happen then?” Jemma retorted.

“That’s the thing,” Fitz agreed. “I don’t remember either. And then, with all this, it’s got me thinking that, you know, maybe…”

He choked up, and his eyes were a little tearful when Jemma finally looked up into them. She tilted her head, flooded with pity.

“Oh, Fitz.”

He took a deep breath, blinking the tears away, and offered her what smile he could.

“I think it’s time for a visit home,” he said. “It’s the only way to get to the bottom of this.”

“Okay,” Jemma agreed, and squeezed his hand for good measure. “I’ll do the leave slips tomorrow.”

-

Once the decision was made, its morbid origins slipped to the sidelines as Fitz began to think about other things from home. He wondered what his old, miserable schoolyard would look like now; he recalled the computer store in town where he’d got his first job; he promised Jemma a bite of the best blueberry muffins in the world from the bakery around the corner from his house. He lamented the neighbours’ old dog, Fergus, who was long gone by now, and how it was a shame Hunter couldn’t come to watch the football with him. He longed for parts of his home life he could only remember in parts. Warmth. Patchwork quilts. The taste of mint leaf jube lollies.

“Did you ever have one of those tins?” Jemma wondered one evening. “You know, the biscuit tin that somehow never had any biscuits in it?”

“Yes!” Fitz cried. “Bloody sewing supplies. My Nan had one. Must be a nan thing. Honestly, I thought shortbread was a hoax for a while there.”

Jemma laughed, and hugged Fitz as she leaned in over his shoulder. He was sitting on the side of the bed, holding the picture of himself and his mother, out by the washing line of an old brick house, smiling. And this time, he was smiling too. Jemma kissed his cheek.

“Do you have any photos of your Nan?”

“Not in here,” Fitz said. “But Mum’ll have loads. She probably still has all Nan’s photo albums. They had a great wedding, Nan and Grandpa Henry. At least, I think they did. If I remember right…” He frowned, deep in thought, and thumbed the edge of the photograph in his hand. “Hey, Jemma, are you allergic to horses?”

Jemma frowned. “No, why?”

“… No reason.”

In Jemma’s opinion, she did quite a good job at hiding the extra distance her smile wanted to run in that moment. She had a flash of a vision of a fairytale wedding, being pulled up to the aisle in a magnificent carriage drawn by snow-white horses, in a ceremony drowned in grand romantic gestures. She would have gone with something a little smaller scale, but she was not going to begrudge Fitz arrangements of roses the likes of which their paychecks could never afford. Not in her fantasies, anyway. And especially not at a time like this, when Fitz was climbing out of a dark place by finding stable ground in his past, and already looking toward his future. Perhaps they were stronger than she’d thought.

Well, she’d known deep down all along, really, that they were stronger than all of this, but fear and trauma did a lot to make one doubt that. Fitz recounting his true memories though, piece by piece as they came to him? Itchy suits at Sunday school. Hiding out in the top of the climber at recess. The first time his mother had given him that picture of space he loved so dearly. That never failed to make her feel better.

And Fitz – well, Fitz surprised himself with how well he was feeling. He still had to manage his guilt and catastrophic thoughts, but looking back over his life – his real life – gave him a stability he had not quite realised he was missing. He had not often thought about why he was the way that he was, and this had not been the easiest of lessons, but differentiating between the real and the not-real forced him to reflect on his choices, on his feelings, on everything. From his love and respect for the wonderful women in his life, to his cherishing of small indulgences like food in a world that sometimes offered little else, his life rewrote itself down the tracks of his memories and he settled into the knowledge that this, truly, was who he was. Not that other man, whose life had been computer generated, but this one. This man, this life that he had built, and that had been shaped by the people that loved him at least as much as by those who didn’t.

By the time Fitz set food on the plane home – an average passenger jet, for economy and appearances’ sake – he had an indescribable sense of ownership over his identity that even the thought of eight hours in a chair too small for his legs and a meal too small for his stomach could not quell. The feeling was not as ecstatically empowering as he’d hoped, as his life had not been full of as much sunshine and rainbows as he might have liked, but all through the flight, he scribbled real’s and not-real’s into his notebook with vigour. Occasionally, though pretending to read, Jemma snuck a glance in his direction, and smiled.

(Only one question went left unanswered – almost forgotten – even as they took a cab to a hotel room and Fitz called his mother and she cried. So did he.)

-

“You can come back in now,” Fitz invited. Jemma had made herself scarce for a while so that he and his mother could talk, but she had an insatiable curiosity which, when combined with her protectiveness, meant that she was never far away. In fact, it was only a few seconds after he’d called, that Jemma came back through the door to the bedroom and climbed over the covers to embrace him. Fitz had barely finished wiping his eyes, and he relished the comfort of her arms around him.

“How was it?” she asked.

“I didn’t forget how to speak, at least,” Fitz evaluated. He sighed. “There’s just so much she doesn’t know. It’s so hard to talk to her… but I’m really glad I did. I am. She- she invited us over first thing tomorrow. Probably the only reason she didn’t insist we come over right away is so she can spend the whole bloody night cleaning.”

Fitz laughed breathily and Jemma massaged some of the tension out of his shoulders. He hadn’t so much as spoken to his mother in years – after the Pod, there’d been too much to say and no way to say it, and everything had just snowballed since then. It felt like his whole life hung from a string that could snap at any second. He was getting used to feeling like this, but he wasn’t keen to drag his mother into the rollercoaster-like instability he seemed to attract. At least now he had Jemma, who was getting better at just listening, just trying to understand – not that he didn’t love how she was always willing to charge to the rescue; it was just that sometimes, all he needed was a hand to hold.

Jemma smiled.

“That’s sweet,” she said. “We should bring something with us. Wine? Chocolates? Perhaps make some biscuits?”

“Now?” Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. “You want to make biscuits now?”

“Well, why not? There’s a corner store just downstairs. It’s the polite thing to do.”

So they made biscuits, and some of the sickening uncertainty was indeed driven back by obscene amounts of butter and sugar. The pair of them woke up the next morning in a floury heap, and scrambled to get ready. Today was the day – and it started well. Tears stayed behind their walls this time, albeit only barely. Praise was heaped on Jemma from both sides and Evelyn struggled to keep her hands off her son’s face; the face of a “proper young man” and “so grown up” and if the events that had forced him to grow up so fast and so hard had not been permanently engrained into his psyche he might have left them behind in favour of her contentedness and pride. Jemma stoked the fire too, giving his mother just enough heroic details and leaving out the more horrific parts – and of course promising that throughout their courtship, he had been a perfect gentleman.

“Quite right, too,” Evelyn agreed, puffing her chest and jutting her chin out like… well, like a proud mother hen. Like the very spit of one, and not unlike her son showing off an achievement of his own. Fitz smirked to himself, and caught Jemma softly biting her own lip too, trying not to smile. It was all humour and innocence; glad they had come, with their difficulties merely shadows on the horizon. Of course, Evelyn caught the both of them grinning at what seemed to be nothing, and smiled devilishly too.

“Don’t think your old ma can’t see you two lovebirds making eyes at each other,” she warned, and nodded at Jemma with a glint of mischief in her eye. “Not that it bothers me, mind – just see to it that he’s a gentleman in that area too, right?”

“Jesus, Mum,” Fitz hissed, blushing. Jemma near cackled with laughter as he tried to cover his face with just one hand.

“You have a lot to be proud of, is all I mean by it, Mrs Fitz,” Jemma clarified. Evelyn waved Jemma off with a sigh.

“Truth is, the boy practically raised himself,” she confessed. “Couldn’t for the life of me get him to play with the other boys his age and his mind – my goodness, I’m just thankful he’s finally found somebody who can keep up with him!”

Fitz smiled as Jemma modestly accepted the compliment. Usually, he’d take this opportunity to heap yet more praise upon her, but today, such a direct path to the topic of his upbringing could not be wasted. Or could it?

“Speaking – speaking of that,” he began – and paused. Did he really need to know about that after all? He’d been doing quite well these last few days, patching together more of his true past than he had anticipated. Maybe he could just let it go. Maybe it would be best not to know.

But then Jemma shifted in her chair, her eyebrows furrowed a little in concern. She opened her mouth, prepared to speak for him if his words failed, and Fitz remembered with a sudden lurch of bitterness, all those horrible feelings. The inescapable fear of failure. The need to prove himself, so intense that he felt like committing violence when he stumbled over a sentence. How worthless he felt. And why. Why had he felt like that? Why so intense?

“I – I was thinking I might get a peek at Fitz’s baby photos,” Jemma suggested, pulling Evelyn’s attention back to her with a winning smile while Fitz put his head in his hands, and pulled at his hair, in silent agony.

“He’s only been able to show me a few,” Jemma continued good-naturedly, pretending she hadn’t noticed, “and I’d love to get a look at his mysterious childhood. So secretive that one.”

“Oh, yes, he’s always been quite easily embarrassed, the poor dear,” Evelyn noted, smiling fondly as she obligingly dug out the requested album from under the coffee table. Jemma checked on Fitz while Evelyn was distracted, and nodded her head at the kitchen, suggesting he take a time out. Fitz all but fell over himself, feeling hot all of a sudden as he enthusiastically agreed. He stood, and tried to voice the word ‘tea?’ a few times, but in the end, just went for a fresh pot anyway. He needed the time and space to pull himself together.

In the kitchen, Fitz splashed his face with water, and stretched his neck. His thoughts were all in a knot by now and if he tried to go back into the other room, he’d just make an even worse knot of himself. Curse his tongue. And curse the crippling anxiety that tripled down on every stumbled sentence. Had it always had the voice of his father?

While the kettle boiled, Fitz paced the kitchen, massaging his bad hand. Now that, he remembered. He took a deep breath.

Do it. I have to do it. Just do it. Or you never will.  

But on the other hand; What difference is it going to make? You are who you are because of whatever happened, or didn’t happen. Don’t bring the mood down. They’re having fun in there.

But I wasn’t. Not in the Framework, not staring at that page, not thinking about kids with Jemma (kids with Jemma! How is that not fun?), not spending the evening at Nan’s on short notice because Dad was  

All of a sudden, Fitz felt very sick. All of a sudden, he remembered why the smell of mint leaf jube lollies had stuck in his mind – and why he hadn’t touched one in a good fifteen, twenty years.

“Leo?” Evelyn leaned back to check on him through the kitchen doorway. Her eyeline was quite obstructed, but Fitz couldn’t form words fast enough to stop her getting up. “Are you alright in there, love? Tea’s just above the stove.”

Jemma paused in her perusal of the photo album, and the smile slowly dropped from her face. It was too quiet. Then -

“Right, Mum. Yeah,” came Fitz’s weak reply. It had been a while since the kettle had boiled, and it was a few seconds more before the half-hearted clinking of cutlery and crockery resumed. Then, a little stronger, Fitz added: “Hey, Mum, can I talk to you for two seconds?”

Evelyn frowned back at Jemma, who almost leapt out of her seat despite knowing that she could not give Fitz the answers he was after. Instead, she dug her fingers into the photo album as subtly as she could and nodded for Evelyn to check on her son. Then, because it seemed proper, Evelyn gathered up their empty cups to be refilled and took them to the sink where Fitz was waiting, and grasping at the bench, trying to build up the courage. He rocked on his feet.

“Hey- it’s- um,” he began, and then figured it was best to be out with it before his lungs exploded with anticipation and he blurted: “did Dad ever – hit – you?”

Evelyn snorted, and the dishes clattered into the sink. “Don’t be silly, Leo, where did you get that idea from?”

He couldn’t help but notice her blustering tone, overconfident, and the way that she avoided his eyes, looking out the window and down at the faucet and the teacups instead. Fitz bit his lip, suddenly feeling bad not only on his own behalf, but for what he’d brought up. But he’d started something now; in for a penny, in for a pound.

“I’ve been thinking about my past a lot, is all,” he said, wanting to bite his tongue at his own necessary ambiguity. “Me and Jemma have… been through some things lately, that got me thinking. I – I remember some things, but not others, and I…”

Fitz trailed off. His mother was shaking – with anger or fear or sorrow he couldn’t tell. Tears shone on her face. It no longer mattered why he’d asked. He had. And he had his answer, and even though he’d been expecting it, it still broke his heart.

“Mum?” he repeated, a little softer this time. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His mother shook her head, and clenched a fist, but it didn’t do much good. She sighed, and confessed;

“You were just a wee boy, Leo. You loved your da.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to quell the memories of helplessness and pain, anger and frustration, like she had a thousand times before, but when Fitz put a hand on her shoulder she couldn’t resist it anymore. She tried – of course she still tried – but what else could she do but cry, when her son wrapped his arms around her as if he could protect her from a danger nearly twenty years past? What else could she do, when the boy she had rescued, and loved, and broken over – more times than he would ever know - whispered his thanks in her ear?

“Thank you.” He held her as tightly as if he could infuse his love into the very fibre of her being. “Thank you so much. For everything. It means – it means more to me than I can say. You saved me, you know? You made me who I am. Don’t ever doubt that. I love you, Mum.”

He buried his face in her neck and she could tell, he was crying too, so Evelyn let go of the instinct to brush off her own pain. What good was it now anyway? It was not as if she could straighten their collars and walk back into the next room; if nothing else, the lovely Jemma girl was far too perceptive for that. And Fitz, poor dear Fitz, felt as tense as a bowstring. Evelyn stroked her fingers through his curls.

“I love you too, Leo,” she assured him. “I love you too.”

[becoming-more-human]

Fading Hope Chapter 1

Abel looked around, adjusting to his surroundings. He knew where he was, of course, but everything was just so different from where he was used to being. As for what he was doing, he didn't exactly know. Well, he knew the basics of what he was supposed to do, but not what he had to do. He couldn't really explain it. But still, he was as excited as ever to help someone out. This time, though, it seemed like what looked simple on the surface was more complex than one might assume. Abel decided to stop thinking about what he was supposed to be doing and actually do it. Which brought him back to why he was there in the first place. Finding the blorb. Apparently, it hadn't been need for years but now it was. Again, it was hard to explain. Asking around the previous day didn't prove to be useful, as everybody just thought he was weird. He could wait for nightfall and go sneak into people's houses to find it. But then he wouldn't be any different from his brother.

Finding the blorb would be hard. But that didn't mean Abel could just give up, because this was probably going to be the Most Important thing he would ever do. And also, he had been standing in the same place for twenty minutes staring into space. That probably looked weird. A sudden wind shook him from his thoughts, and as he looked around, he realized he wasn't standing in the same place anymore. Had he been walking without knowing it? He thought not. Even so, something felt off. Maybe it was just the feeling of displacement, but Abel thought something was wrong. “So... you just gonna stand there all day or what?” An unfamiliar voice asked. Abel looked in the general direction of the voice, and saw that the speaker was a short guard, who looked slightly mad at something. “No?” “Well then what are you gonna do?” The guard demanded. “Um,” Abel replied, stalling for a little. “I'm.... going to go through the forest?” It wasn't a question, really, but it wasn't quite a statement either. Abel was just utterly confused about everything at this point, even though this conversation had only lasted a few minutes. Suddenly, he noticed a bright blue butterfly, that almost looked like it was made of crystals in the sunlight. “Hey! Did you hear me?” The guard barked. Abel looked at him. “Oh! You were talking to me? What did you say?” He asked. “I said, don't go into the forest! It's full of dangerous creatures that could rip the flesh from your bones, boy,” he growled. “No worries! I know the forest like the back of my hand!” Abel exclaimed cheerfully, completely missing the point. The guard sighed, and shook his head. “There's nothing stopping you from getting yourself killed, that's for sure,” he muttered. Abel didn't hear that, though, and was now wandering aimlessly around. At this time, it was almost noon, and most people were awake and going about their business. Even if he didn't notice, most everybody Abel came near while walking around without reason were either avoiding him, or giving him dark looks. Mostly, Abel didn't notice, but when he did, he was just more confused than anything else. What reason did they have to resent him? Nothing that he could think of, at least. Finally, he decided that walking around wouldn't help him find the blorb. And, it looked like the only way he'd find the blorb would be going through the forest. It couldn't be that hard, and it would only take a few days to get to the other side, right? Just find the blorb first. One thing at a time, even if it meant this would take longer. Although that also meant it would take him about a day to get everything, especially if he kept standing around thinking all day. First thing he'd need: food. Especially since he was hungry right then. Actually getting the food, though... Judging by people's reactions to him so far, that might be harder then one might expect. Abel thought that maybe people didn't have a good first reaction to him because he was just so different from most people. Still, he'd have to get food somehow. And then he'd have to get something else. He couldn't remember exactly what though. Maybe he could ask someone? Although it might be better if he could make up a list of what he would need before actually getting the stuff. Or, he could stop standing in one place all the time and actually move. That would work too. Abel finally focused on whatever he was staring at, and realized it was almost night. He hadn't been standing there that long... Had he? Either way, he'd have to get back to his makeshift shelter for the night, and make a list of what else he'd need before going through the forest and finding the blorb. It would probably take about two weeks to finish this job, so not that bad, right? As he was walking back to his shelter, Abel took the time to look around and see what all was in his surroundings. There were plenty of flowers, which would explain the pretty butterfly he had seen earlier, and some houses that probably doubled for small shops when it was day. Of course, there were probably more houses in the rest of the town, but it seemed nobody wanted to live near the outskirts of the forest. He didn't understand why, as it was a nice forest, with plenty of trees. (It was a forest, after all.) Soon, though, he reached his small  shelter, and went inside. Looking around, he realized that he didn't happen to have anything to write with. He'd have to either get that tomorrow, or make a list in his head, and remember that list for tomorrow. “I guess I'll need food and water? I can always make my own shelter with what I have, I guess,” he thought aloud. “besides, there's probably nothing else I'll need as long as I have those three things...” he trailed off as he started to fall asleep.

The next morning, Abel was woken up by the wind when it tore away part of his shelter. He didn't quite want to get up, but he knew he had to. He considered the possibility of needing a rope or something, then shrugged it off. It was probably just a flimsy shelter, he reasoned, and that was why it had blown away. “Guess I need to get food,” he said, then noted the fact that he had no money with which to buy food. Things became significantly harder once he realized that. Still, he could probably just ask someone for food, right? Probably not. It couldn't hurt to try, though! With that thought, he tore down the rest of his shelter, because he would probably leave later that day, just to save some time. He also didn't know how he would get water yet, but Abel decided that he'd figure that out later. And he was hungry, too, so that meant (again) he'd have to find a way to get food. All this to find the blorb! On the walk back to town, he tried to think of anything other than food, water, and shelter he might need. Some birds where chirping, and Abel saw lots of wildflowers on the ground. Maybe he'd need a tent or something like that as a more permanent shelter, but then again, there's only so much he could do with no money. He did remember seeing a knife in his bag, so that could possibly be useful later. As he arrived at the town, he noticed two guards at the entrance. Abel couldn't remember them being there the day before, but perhaps that was because he wasn't paying attention. He made sure to smile at them and say “hi!” when he walked past, because it would've been rude not to. Still smiling, he looked around to see if there were any shops around. There was a bakery, and a weapon shop, but that was about it. If there were any others, they must have been somewhere closer to the center of the town. Abel decided that he could ask whoever was at the bakery about what he would need for a few days in the forest, and how he could get food with no money. Walking to the bakery didn't take long, only about a minute, but when he got there he saw it was closed until noon. So that idea wouldn't work, but maybe the other shop was open? It was worth a try, at least. Once he was over there, though, he saw that that shop was closed for about two hours. Abel knew that if he tried to find the other shops that were probably here, he would end up getting hopelessly lost, so he decided that asking the guards at the entrance to town would probably be the best idea. So, he walked back over to the entrance. “Hi! What would one need for a few days in the forest?” he asked. The guards thought a bit before answering. “Well, I would say don't go in there at all, but if you want to get ripped apart, be my guest,” the first guard grunted. “yeah, I kind of agree with him, but I'd say lots of food, water, some shelter, and rope. Oh yeah, and you'd need a knife if you'd want to cut that rope for any reason,” the second guard answered with a smile. “Thank you!” Abel replied before heading back outside of the town. Stealing just wasn't an option, so he had to find some other way to get food, water, and a rope. And he didn't know where to get two of those things. He blinked and looked around, wondering where he was this time. It was kind of hard to get anything done when he was constantly getting lost in thought. It looked like he'd kind of stayed on the path, but not really. He could of course head back into town, but what would be the use in that? The shops wouldn't open for a while, after all. He decided that he should go find the part of his shelter that had blown away that morning and clean it up. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to just leave it there. So, he started walking back to the edge of the forest where he'd set it up the day before. Once he got there, he saw it hadn't gone very far, just into the forest a little. He'd have to go pick it up and figure out what to do with it once he did. Before going into the forest, he dug around in his bag for what little food he did have, and ate it. When he got into the forest, it seemed a lot darker than before. “That's weird... Still, this won't take long,” he reassured his self. Picking the piece up, he saw that it had been torn apart slightly. But it was probably just from hitting branches, right? However, once he turned around he saw that he was apparently much deeper in the forest than he had initially thought. Still, no worries, he could just keep walking and he'd get out in about an hour. “Right?” He asked the cold forest around him. “It's just an hour of walking, nothing more...” So,he set off, trying to stay in one direction. He kept running into trees, though, but he didn't think much of it. Just move to one side and keep walking. It couldn't have been more than a half hour when he decided to take a break. He looked around for a suitable place to sit down, and saw a conveniently placed rock. It had a lot of lichens on it, as would be expected in a forest. Humming a little tune, Abel sat down and looked around at the forest. It was odd, really, because despite it being summer, most of the trees looked dead. But then how had the lichens gotten on the rock? A very good question, one he was sure someone had the answer to. Just not someone he could talk to at the moment. Deciding that he'd taken a long enough break, Abel got up again, only to find he had no idea which direction he was supposed to go. Maybe don't take breaks when walking through a forest? Although he might have fallen over if he had decided to keep walking a few minutes ago. So maybe taking a break had been a good idea after all. Besides that, what had happened to the torn up shelter piece? It had been there a minute ago, and now he couldn't find it at all! Still, Abel decided to pick a direction and walk in said direction. Nothing could go wrong, right? Nothing at all...

After two hours of walking, Abel thought that he would've at least gotten somewhere, but it turned out he was now utterly lost. And very hungry. It didn't help that he had no food left, as he'd eaten it before going into the forest. Also, he kept hearing growls that he was absolutely certain weren't a result of being hungry. It was also getting very windy, and colder by the minute. Something seemed very off about the forest, but he couldn't tell what. And it was probably just his imagination that something was growling. It had been slightly windy when he woke up, and that was probably why it was getting windier now, he reasoned. Besides, how bad could the forest be? Still... Normally he wouldn't be lost. After all, he could always find a path no matter what. And being lost in the forest was just so unsettling. But it getting colder when it had been so warm just a few hours ago was just so odd. Abel shivered, and glanced around. Still no path, and yet he hadn't run into a tree for an hour. So maybe he was on a path after all! That seemed most likely, but it was now freezing, and he needed to stop walking. He walked of the path that may not actually be a path, and sat down. He would've had plenty of time to make some sort of shelter, but there were no actual materials he could use. Looking around didn't prove very useful, as there seemed to be a fog setting in. Everything was just going horrible, Abel was freezing, and he could still hear a growl every once in a while. All in all, finding the blorb would be much harder than he first thought. But he couldn't give up just because of a minor inconvenience like getting lost. Besides, he had found what may have been a path! So there was really nothing to worry about. Come to think of it, he was actually getting pretty tired. Taking a nap wouldn't hurt, right? Although the growling he kept hearing probably meant he shouldn't be taking a nap anytime soon. Or until it stopped, but he'd been hearing it for at least three hours, so it wasn't likely to stop soon. Suddenly, he remembered something the short angry guard had said to him yesterday. “The forest is full of dangerous creatures that could rip the flesh from your bones,” or something to that extent. It hadn't seemed like much at the time, but now Abel couldn't get it out of his mind. But other than the constant growling, there hadn't been any indication of monsters. So it was probably just nothing, right? Really, there wasn't much to worry about. He decided that if he wanted to get anywhere before nightfall, he should probably start walking along the path that might not really be a path. At this point he was freezing, and it felt like he was stuck to the ground. Even so, he forced his self to get up and start walking. It felt like he'd been sitting there for maybe an hour, and that was probably why it felt like he was stuck. Walking, or doing anything really at that point was hard because of how cold it was. And probably because he was starving at that point. Maybe there was an apple tree somewhere in the forest? It didn't seem likely, but it was possible! Then Abel reminded himself that he had found a path, and if he went off of it he'd get lost again. Still, he was getting somewhere, at least. Even if it took a while, he would figure out where the path led. Of course,there was the possibility it wasn't a path, but that was unlikely. He started humming a few minutes later, and noticed that he wasn't hearing the weird growl anymore, so that was nice. Of course, he could've just been humming over the noise, but he didn't really think he was being that loud. Besides, the growling could've just been his imagination. That was entirely possible.

After about another two hours of walking, and the occasional break, Abel was too cold to actually do anything. Besides that, it was now too dark to see much of his surroundings. And to top it all off, he was really tired. So, he found the nearest place that was comfortable enough to sleep on, and fell asleep. Just before he did, though, he thought he heard a growl. It seemed... Louder than the others.

                                                                         -

Now was her chance. She'd been following him for quite a long time, and it was hard to keep the monster beside her at bay. As she saw him drift off to sleep, the monster growled again. She didn't care, and besides, it didn't matter anyways. She could've attacked long before now, of course, but she didn't want his death pinned on her. Instead, she had decided to let the monster kill him. It would be easier, and she could just kill the monster afterwards. “But enough thinking,” she said quietly. “I'll let you go now.” The monster didn't seem to have heard her, but it must have, because it ran towards him.

Good. She'd never liked it anyways.