A/N: Because I was bored and missed writing, I wrote this. Not really in the mood for something epic, I'm way too busy with school and work, but I need to start writing again. Also, I'm starting work on a full length Blackwater fic this Sept, and I'll need an experienced beta to help me. If you are interested and are willing to work with oodles of eccentricity, please do contact me.

"Seriously?" Her voice is laced with sarcasm as she takes a seat next to him on the Cullens' porch steps.

"What?" His voice is defensive as he tries to hid the book behind his back. It's Pocahontas, one of Rebecca's old books, and one of Nessie's favourite bedtime stories.

"You know that never happened, right?" She pushes on, "The whole Pocahontas thing? She was, like, ten when she met the guy. Smith, or whatever, She never liked him, at least not that way. They screwed up the entire thing, hell, they practically made Smith out to be-" She catches herself in time. Jake's never liked pedophile references of any sort, especially these days.

He wacks her on the arm lightly. Leave it to Leah to get more worked up on the misrepresentation of Natives than the fact that a grown man is forced to read books about Disney Princesses to his two year old soulmate every night. Just another little perk of imprinting. But then Leah always felt strongly about those things. Slammed stereotypes. The only John Smith she ever liked, she proclaims now, was between the covers of the Sherman Alexie book.

"You got something against everything Disney, Leah?" he asks, "Or just Pocahontas?"

She shrugs and looks away. Three years ago, she would have felt differently, but now, after all that's happened, it just seems...so annoyingly fake. Now that she lives in a world of magic, she knows its far from perfect. Fantasy is not always a world of ball gowns, wands, glitter and fairy dust.

It has its grim touches of reality.

And when fantasy is real, well, it sometimes that just makes it all the worse.

She wants to believe that magic is beautiful again. That wonderful, crazy things happen.

But now she that she's experienced the supernatural first hand, she knows it isn't always true.

Which is why it's a little hard to swallow warped animated versions of it.

"What about happy endings, Leah?" he asks softly, taking her hand in his. "Do you believe they exist?"

She leans against him. He smells of the woods, and musky and warm. He still manages to trip over things and make a big mess, he still leaves his clothes all over the place, and she gets made when he belches too loud. Not exactly Prince Charming material, but then again, she's never been one for fairy tales.

She scrunches her nose as she thinks.

"They don't have to be perfect." She finally says, "Just-"

"Just what?" He prods.

She smiles.

"Happy."