#Chapter Four

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part four: a familiar stranger

word count: 2.2k (sorry)

warnings: none, i think

three | four | five

Y/N stood behind the counter, arranging a new batch of books by the window, her fingers brushing the spines absently. The scent of fresh coffee mixed with the fragrant blooms that lined the shelves, creating an atmosphere that felt homely.

She was distracted, humming softly to herself as she dusted off the shelf when the door jingled again. Looking up, her eyes widened slightly at the tall figure stepping inside—a man in a dark suit, his posture casual but commanding. Her heart skipped a beat.

It was him – the man from the other night.

She recognized him instantly, though she couldn't place his name. That face—the sharp jawline, the slight stubble, the cool, collected demeanor—had stayed with her since that awful night in the alley. She still hadn’t quite figured out what had happened, or why she couldn’t shake the memory. His face lingered in the back of her mind every time she found herself alone, but the thought of him often made her skin prickle with unease.

She froze for a moment, unsure what to do. He wasn’t looking at her yet, and he seemed absorbed in browsing the shelves, his hands casually brushing over the books. Without thinking, she blurted out, “Hey, you!”

Lando's head snapped up, his hand twitching for his holster as his eyes locked onto hers for a moment. Lando kept his expression neutral, though his mind raced until he could finally place where he’d seen her before. His brows furrowed then – he hadn’t given her his name. He had left her with nothing: no reason to remember him, no reason to seek him out. 

Unless… 

No. She was looking at him with something almost like gratitude.

The girl looked different then the last time he saw her– not pale and shaking, not clutching a cup of tea like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. She was standing behind the counter of the small shop, wearing an apron dusted with flour and smelling faintly of cinnamon and roses.

Oh, and she was looking right at him.

A slow beat passed. Lando tilted his head slightly, schooling his features into something neutral. “Do I know you?”

She waved, stepping forward through the swinging gate, shifting slightly on her feet like she wasn’t sure if she should be doing this. “I—uh, I don’t know if you remember me—”

He let out a quiet laugh. 

Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.

The Brit allowed recognition to seep into his expression. “Yeah, yeah! Of course I do,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “How are you?”

She brightened at that, clearly relieved. “Oh! Good. Yeah, um—” she gestured vaguely toward the shop, where books lined the windowsills and flowers spilled over wooden crates.

“I—uh—” she faltered, awkwardly pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, clearly realizing only after she had called out to him that she didn’t actually know his name. “I just—um—” She gestured vaguely, eyes darting to the street like she was suddenly unsure about everything.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly, playing along. “You just…?”

She hesitated, then let out a nervous little laugh. “I just—wanted to say thanks.”

Lando raised a brow, feigning curiosity. “For what?”

She blinked up at him, almost as if she was debating whether or not she’d imagined their last encounter entirely. “The other night,” she clarified, soft but certain. “When I… you know. Sort of… had a moment.”

A moment. That was one way to describe it.

Lando allowed an easy smile to curve his lips, playing the role easily—the kind stranger who just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

She wrung her hands nervously, trying to pick the right thing to say. “I work here. And, well, I saw you passing by, and I just—I felt bad about not thanking you properly before, and since you’re here now, I thought maybe—” She motioned awkwardly to the coffee bar. Her hands flailed a little, as if trying to physically grasp the right words.

Lando raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself.

She huffed, exhaling sharply before blurting out, “Do you want a free coffee?”

That… was not what he had been expecting.

He blinked. “What?”

“A coffee! Or, uh—” She hesitated, then pointed back to the menu boards. “I mean, we also have tea. And books. And flowers. I wouldn’t recommend eating the flowers, though, even if some of them are technically edible—”

Lando bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. 

“Or, um. A scone? If you like those. I mean, you don’t look like a scone person, but—”

She stopped herself, her cheeks warming. “Sorry. That was weird.”

Lando blinked. What the fuck.

This stranger who had seen something she shouldn’t have, who had been this close to being food for trees, and now she was… offering him free coffee. 

She was worrying about whether or not he was a… scone person?

Something twisted in his chest, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He wasn’t sure whether it was amusement or exasperation. For a moment, Lando just stared at her. He had been expecting to have to keep an eye on her from a distance. To make sure she hadn’t started asking too many questions, hadn’t put together the jagged pieces of what she had seen that night.

But here she was, looking at him like he was just some good Samaritan who had done a kind thing. Not the monster who had left blood on the pavement.

She gestured at the display case just beside them. “I also made cinnamon rolls earlier? They’re, um, not burned. So that’s a plus.”

He stared at her, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

She was odd, and noticeably so. There was a softness to her, like she wasn’t used to talking to people for too long. But she was also determined in that way people got when they had made up their mind about something.

It seemed she had made up her mind about him.

Lando should have walked away. Should have brushed her off, ignored her, let her exist in her little café world and left it at that. The smart thing to do would be to walk away. Instead, he found himself saying, “I wouldn’t say no to a coffee.”

Her whole face lit up. “Really?”

Lando smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, alright,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “Surprise me.”

As she spun around and practically bounced into the backroom, Lando followed along the counter, shaking his head. 

She doesn’t remember my face. 

Good.

Lando watched as she hurriedly started making something, moving with a little too much focus—like she wanted to get it right. He leaned casually against the counter, surveying the shop. It was small but warm, shelves lined with books and carefully arranged bouquets of all sorts of flowers from lilies to chrysanthemums to peonies.

It suits her, he thought.

She quickly ducked behind the counter to prepare the coffee. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. Her hands fumbled a bit as she worked—milk, no milk? Sugar?—she couldn’t decide. She didn't want to mess it up.

But as she focused on pouring the hot liquid, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him. He was still standing there, leaning against the counter, watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. She almost wanted to go back up to him and apologize for how weird she was being, but instead, she took a breath and tried to settle herself. She could do this. She could just be... normal.

"How’s your day been?" she asked suddenly, giving him a tentative smile. 

Is she being too friendly? Not friendly enough?

“I mean, I don’t... I don’t know what you’re in town for, but…” she gave him a once over,” —like business or something?”

Lando chuckled lightly, scanning the passing people through the large windows with an analytical gaze. “Yeah, something like that,” he replied absentmindedly, leaning back against the counter. “Mostly just meetings n’ shit. Nothin’ too excitin’.”

The coffee machine hissed, a brief distraction from the awkward silence that lingered between them. For the first time in hours, the knot in her chest loosened just a little. Surprisingly, it was him that broke the silence. Turning his attention back to her, he suddenly asked, “Why books?”

His question about the books caught her off guard, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that books were the one thing that hadn’t ever failed her. She clung to them like a lifeline, especially nowadays.

“Margot lets me do pretty much whatever I want,” she laughed lightly, clearly fond of the elderly shopkeeper. “I… uh, like to read, so I curate some stuff for here, and then if anyone finds something they like, they can just buy it.”

“D’you have a favorite?”

To his credit, he almost appeared genuinely curious. But Y/N had given her bookish rants to enough people to know how boring they were, so she gave him a smile anyway.

She hadn’t noticed how intense his eyes were – geodes of green and gray and gold. It took a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with him. His gaze was always direct, as if giving the person in front of him his full attention. Something about it made her feel nervous, analyzed.

“I… I don’t know. There’s this one I really like. The Night Circus? It’s a fantasy — sounds dumb, I know— but it’s not just about magic. It’s about… well, people, really.”

Lando’s eyes glimmered, his head tilted in interest. “Fantasy, ay? Didn’ think you were the type, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” she laughed weakly, smiling a little easier now. “It probably sounds cringey, but that one… it’s different. It’s dark, but beautiful. Like… it’s about choices. And sacrifices. The kind of things people don’t think about until it’s too late.”

He appeared to consider her words, nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’ve got a thing for dark, complicated stories.”

She laughed. Before she could think too much about it, the next words were already out of her mouth. “You’re one to talk.”

Lando smirked, but there was no malice behind it, just acknowledgement. “Fair enough. I s’ppose I’ve got a bit of a story m’self.”

The way he said it, with such casual ease, made her wonder. But before she could ask, he went on, his voice soft and steady.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re safe.”

His words were simple, but there was something in the way he said it. A beat passed before she finished making his drink and slid it toward him, smiling nervously. “Here you go. I hope you like it.”

Lando took a slow sip, keeping his expression unreadable. He could feel her eyes on him as he did.

“...So?” she asked, her voice almost hopeful.

He let the silence hang just long enough for her to start rocking on her feet. Then he gave a small nod. “Not bad.”

She visibly relaxed, pleased with herself.

Lando smirked against the rim of the cup. 

She had no idea who she was dealing with.

“You’re a good person.”

She looked up from the counter she’d been wiping at.  

Well that was unexpected.

“You’ve got a way with words,” she laughs softly.

He shrugged, the motion effortless. “I’m good at getting people to trust me.”

Just then, for a second, her pulse quickened. His words hung in the air, almost too heavy, too meaningful. But he didn’t give her too much time to think about it. Before she could think too hard about it, she watched him slip back into his suit jacket with a pensive look on his face.

"What do I call you?"

The question hung in the air for a long beat.

Lando’s heart skipped—just a beat. His brain moved fast, calculating options, weighing the risks. He could lie, give her a fake name. But there was something about her that made lying feel wrong.

He considered his options, the name he might give, but all of them felt too close to the truth. Out here, in the open, surrounded by people. It was all too exposed.

Lando opened his mouth, and the lie came naturally, like a practiced reflex. "I go by… Liam."

Liam. It wasn’t far off. Close enough to feel realistic, yet distant enough to keep his true identity unknown.

Her eyes sparkled, expressing brightening at that. "Liam. That’s nice. A strong name."

He just nodded, hoping she couldn’t see the tightness in his jaw. His phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.

"Well, Liam, it’s nice to finally know your name."

And for a moment, Lando almost believed her. For just a moment, it almost felt like he was just a man in a coffee shop, having a drink with someone who wasn’t afraid of what he was capable of.

It wasn’t long before he realized how dangerous that thought was.

Because she didn’t know.

"Yeah," he said, his voice quieter now. "Nice to meet you."

He needed to leave before he started thinking too much. But as he turned to walk out, she stopped him again. "Liam," she said, her voice softer this time, as if testing the weight of his name in her mouth. "Will I see you again?"

Will you?

The only answer that felt honest was the one he couldn’t give. Instead, he smiled—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—and nodded.

"Maybe." And with that, he stepped out into the evening air, leaving her behind as he headed back to the real world — his world.

[ranmacapss]

[Ranma ½] ✥ Chapter 4, Never, Never, Never

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter Four • How Insensitive

TAGLIST FORM

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⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI AGENT OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU talk • SA, kidnapping, human trafficking (women and minors), Murders, Death, Weapons, Drugs, underground auctions |Mention of not sleeping and bad habits | Mention of SEALS missions | Fight scene • broken glass, giving and receiving blows, blood, falling from a building, mention of stabbing and strangling, head underwater - drowning.

ϕ

MONDAY, AUGUST 22

Manhattan 16th Precinct, 11:04 AM

The summer sun hung high over Manhattan, casting sharp shadows on the pavement. It was late morning, but the heat was already creeping in, making the air thick with the scent of exhaust and the faint lingering bite of freshly brewed coffee from a cart down the block.

Miles leaned against his car, a to-go cup in one hand, phone in the other, scrolling absentmindedly while he waited. He wasn’t in a rush. He knew Alexis would show up exactly when she meant to—never late, never early, just right on time in that way only she managed.

The month had flown by at lightning speed. It had been a game of coordination, chasing bad guys while maintaining a peaceful ground to work with the Special Victims Unit. At this rate, Miles was certain the Sixteenth Precinct had become more familiar to him than his own home. He saw it as a never-ending race. Wandering from his desk at the Bureau, to the SVU bullpen, to the sometimes darkest streets of the city. It was the cost of working with Alexis.

It was a heavy, complicated case: an entire ring to dismantle, traffickers to track down, victims and future targets to protect. Time was running out, and they'd dragged on long enough as it was. Though other agents would have taken their evenings off, Miles spent his by his partner's side, seeking a gentle balance between work and a list of natural needs. And when he finally took a break, Alexis was always the last to leave.

As the navy blue SUV finally pulled up, the agent pushed off the car and turned just in time to see the woman step out. He didn’t need to see any more. Alexis looked like she hadn’t had a break in months. The usual sharpness in her green eyes was dulled by exhaustion, her movements a little heavier than normal, like she was running on fumes and sheer force of will. There was a stiffness in her shoulders, a tension she carried like it was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t new—Miles had seen it before, too many times to count—but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

—You look like hell. He grabbed the extra coffee he’d set on his roof earlier and held it out. Drink.

—You’re a saint.

Alexis didn't mind the slight burn in her throat. The coffee was hot and didn’t taste like anything she’d been served earlier. It wasn’t much. She could only feel the warmth relaxing her for a moment. Just enough to keep both feet on the ground.

—Nah, snorted Miles. I stopped being one a long time ago. I just know you well enough to know you didn’t stop to grab one yourself.

She took another sip, exhaling slowly as if the coffee was the only thing tethering her to reality. The day had started early, right before dawn. A sharp morning run, a shower and a protein bar had been enough to get Alexis on the road. From then on, it had been nothing but meetings, files and a liquid barely able to keep her awake.

—I had things to do.

—Yeah, like not sleeping.

Miles sent her a knowing glance, though his lips tightened in concern. Ever since he'd started working with Lexi, it had been the same old story. Evenings spent alone at the office, meals consisting of military rations and coffee, and a certain taste for workaholism. He already knew she hadn’t slept a wink all night, busy with reports and tactical fieldwork to catch their targets.

—I sleep, promised Alexis, lips quirking into something that wasn’t quite a smirk.

—Sure. When’s the last time you spent a full night in your bed?

—My couch is comfy.

He opened his mouth to fire back, probably with some quip about actual beds and adult life choices, but the low hum of an approaching engine cut him off. A black SUV pulled up to the curb, smooth and precise, right behind Gray’s vehicle.

Lieutenant Olivia Benson parked with practiced ease, sunglasses down her nose, jacket slung over the backseats. The engine off, she was already moving, long strides and sharp eyes that missed nothing. Rollins was a step behind her, blond hair tied back, forehead glistening with fine droplets of sweat. For a brief moment, she could see her reflection in a mirror, finding in Miles a sense of familiarity.

—Morning, greeted Olivia, already sensing a curious vibe. Is this a bad time?

She pushed her sunglasses up on her head, pushing back her dark hair. The two agents stood right in front of her, a somewhat awkward silence between them. She glanced briefly at Amanda before turning her attention back to the feds. Miles wore a soft frown, lips pursed as if he’d been stopped dead in his tracks. Alexis was leaning against the hood, coffee burning in her mouth, wearing her usual look.

—We were just talking about comfy couches.

—Can’t say I’d put ‘comfy’ and ‘couch’ in the same sentence. Amanda raised an eyebrow, a smirk ghosting over her lips. What’d yours ever do to you?

—Nothing. It’s my bed that’s holding a grudge.

Olivia crossed her arms, the corner of her lips twitching. She caught Miles’ eyes for a second–enough to understand the depth of his thoughts. He was worried. Alexis wasn’t just any agent. She was his partner, someone who hadn’t emerged from Quantico with a college degree. A woman who had enlisted right out of high school, who had experienced combat zones, war, and who had never once revealed to anyone the reason for her departure from the Navy.

—Rough night?

—Rough month, muttered Miles, earning a stern look from the SEAL. What? If you wanted me to lie, you should’ve said so.

Gray just rolled her eyes, finishing her cup of coffee bottoms up. She didn’t need some barstool therapy sessions. This wasn’t about her. Or the fact that her bed felt too soft to sleep in, even after three years. A trafficking case awaited their full attention. They had to focus on that.

—We’ve been tracking Manovich and other guys for the past few weeks. Alexis led the way, her stride unhurried but purposeful as she guided everyone into the precinct. He was never the big fish, but he did exactly what we hoped–led us straight to his boss.

She reached a door, and without hesitation, held it open. Olivia and Amanda exchanged a quick, almost imperceptible glance, understanding each other without even using words. They weren't used to this, least of all from the feds.

Still, over the past few weeks, the unit had discovered Alexis's quiet, old-school manners. Opening doors, saying thank you and showing the same respect to everyone, no matter their position or whatever made them a unique individual.

They were still getting used to this. To her.

—Dmitri Kalinov. He’s been hiding out in a villa on Staten Island with his inner circle.

Alexis was the first to step into the elevator. She wedged herself at the back, arms folded tightly over her chest, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors. The small space forced her closer to Olivia than she’d like, the Lieutenant standing just to her left, close enough that the brush of a sleeve or the shift of weight felt magnified.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, and the hum of the precinct faded into an almost uncomfortable silence. That is, until Miles cleared his throat and picked up seamlessly, his tone a little warmer, a little more conversational.

—Kalinov used to run a private security firm back in Russia. Real high-end stuff–politicians, celebrities, oligarchs. Then he got mixed up with the wrong crowd. A few arms deals, some money laundering, and he burned too many bridges. Came here to start fresh. Now he’s got his hands in everything–drug smuggling, human trafficking, underground auctions.

—Auctions? asked Olivia, voice edged with disbelief.

—Not just trafficking. He sells people. Women, mostly. Some minors. His network’s tight, but we’ve seen enough to know he’s preparing for another event.

Alexis’ voice was sharp, a fierce edge in her eyes reflecting all the cruelty she’d carefully studied over the last few weeks to even have a chance of dismantling a ring of such magnitude. Reports from the coroner’s office, photos, old eastern documents she’d had to translate. The land was colder, further north, but the horrors had the same source: evil.

—And the villa? Amanda’s lips pressed in a thin line, fingers curling into a fist at her side.

—It’s his fortress. We’ve confirmed his inner circle is there. At least four victims too. The place is big: high fences, security cameras. He thinks he’s untouchable.

—He’s not.

The tension in the small cabin only increased at the SEAL’s firm conclusion. She remained focused on the glowing floor numbers, her expression tight. The other agent already knew what he’d find if he dared to look, he had watched his partner all too closely before. Instead, he just turned a little more towards Amanda, trading a tight smile with her.

Still, a certain someone couldn’t quite shake off the intrigue surrounding the brunette. Olivia’s gaze found her, studying the lines of exhaustion beneath the surface, the set of her jaw, the way her hands remained fisted at her sides.

The elevator jolted slightly as it slowed, the movements pressing them all just a little closer. Olivia’s shoulder brushed Alexis’, the brief contact sending a pulse of awareness between them. It was subtle, but it made the Commander’s spine straighten, a rigid line against the press of the metal wall.

—You look tired.

—Been a long week, replied Alexis, finally glancing toward the other brunette. I’ll sleep when it’s over.

—That an FBI thing or just you?

A ghost of a smirk touched Alexis’ lips. Green eyes focused on the way a few strands of Amanda’s hair were beginning to fall from her updo. She could breathe in slowly, away from the captivity of the woman’s gaze.

—Maybe both.

The elevator dinged, the spell of the enclosed space breaking as the doors opened to the bustling SVU floor. Miles moved first, slipping through the gap with a stride, the detective hot on his heels. Back in her corner, Gray invited the unit head to step forward first, arm braced to keep the doors open. She offered a simple nod to Olivia’s thanks, her face a mask of professionalism, prior to following suit.

The Lieutenant’s office had not changed since last time. The smell of coffee was ever-present, as was the sweet perfume of the person who worked there. Alexis couldn’t help but allow her gaze to wander, unconsciously mapping out every detail. Lots of folders, awards, framed photos. The little boy must have been barely four years old and had a smile that lit up the city. Yet even that couldn’t overcome the world’s wickedness.

—Kalinov’s got three points of entry at the villa, began Alexis, her voice steady. Front, back, and a service entrance through the basement. We’ve been monitoring the place for weeks. His guys are good, but not perfect. We’ve identified patterns in their movements.

—The villa’s got a full security system, stepped in Miles. Cameras, motion sensors, likely armed guards. We’re thinking a coordinated approach–FBI handles breaches, SVU focuses on victim recovery and processing.

Olivia nodded, briefly meeting Amanda’s eyes, before finding the commander’s tense face again. She stood on the side, allowing everyone enough room, her arms crossed, the shadows under her eyes more pronounced in the harsh overhead light.

—And if Kalinov decides to go down swinging?

—We make sure he doesn’t get the chance.

ϕ

MONDAY, AUGUST 22

Staten Island — Kalinov Villa, 06:04 PM

The villa loomed over them, its stone facade cloaked in shadows as the late afternoon sun dipped behind a line of pines. The air was thick with salt and the distant murmur of waves crashing against the rocky shores. Tactical teams worked their way in with precision, dark silhouettes against the crumbling elegance of the estate.

Alexis moved through the first floor, her Glock steady in both hands. Her breaths were measured, her steps a careful rhythm on the aged hardwood. She swept each room, eyes sharp and unyielding, every corner a potential threat. Behind her, just a few feet away, Olivia mirrored her pace, their unspoken coordination an uneasy truce.

—Ground floor clear, signaled Miles through the comms. We’ve got Kalinov’s men in cuffs. No sign of the boss.

—Roger that.

The commander stopped near yet another door, waving to her colleague of the day to keep an eye on the corridor. Olivia positioned herself, weapon in hands, and didn't move again until she felt a tap on her shoulder. Another room without Kalinov's presence. It felt like a manhunt. A long and bumpy road, in the care of a woman who had spent years carrying out operations of this kind.

It was a far cry from anything Gray had ever experienced. There were no bomb threats, no war material pointed at her, not even mines under her feet. Still, Olivia could feel all the intense energy emanating from behind her. There was something about the way the brunette walked, so silent that the lieutenant doubted she was even there at one point.

She was the first to step onto the wide landing that overlooked the grand foyer. There, extensive bookcases lined the walls, stuffed with antique and Russian books, whose covers echoed the rugs on the wooden floor. There was a small lounge, a desk and a few plants. The kind of place that’s quite comfortable if you forget the numerous trafficking activities held there.

As she approached the railing, Olivia spotted Miles on the floor below, directing officers and agents, his voice firm but calm. A line of suspects had already been placed against one of the walls, with the task force keeping an eye on them. As they did so, Amanda, Carisi and Fin led each of the victims out of the same fortress that had held them captive.

The Lieutenant, clearly distracted, heard the commotion before realizing what had provoked it. The impact echoed through the space, a harsh thud followed by the rapid shuffle of feet and the harsh scrape of furniture being shoved aside. She turned around just in time to see both Kalinov and Alexis crash into the ornate bannister of the villa’s grand hallway.

The two hit the polished hardwood floor, the impact rattling through the bones of the old house. Their target recovered quickly, twisting beneath the woman and slamming an elbow into her ribs. Alexis grunted but didn’t lose her hold, her grip like iron as she rolled them over and forced his face against the floorboards.

—Stay down, she commanded, her voice low, dangerous.

Except Kalinov wasn’t the type to surrender. With a growl, he planted his feet and bucked, sending her off balance. She hit the bannister again, wood splintering under the force. The Russian was already on his feet, fists raised, eyes cold and calculating.

He struck first–a jab, then a cross, as she weaved under the blows, her movements sharp and economical. She countered with a brutal hook to his jaw, the sound of knuckles on bone echoing through the hall. He stumbled for a second, retaliating with a sweeping kick. What he hadn’t expected was for the brunette to catch his leg and twist it until his knee gave a sickening pop.

The commander watched him collapse to the ground, howling from utter pain. The man was relentless, already pushing up to the glass coffee table to retrieve a heavy vase. In a matter of seconds, almost desperately, he hurled it straight at her. The porcelain shattered as it collided with her shoulder, causing a slight tingling sensation on her skin.

Alexis hissed at the sharp sting of pain, but it only seemed fuel to her. She charged him, her shoulder slamming into his chest. They crashed again, this time shattering the glass of the furniture, creating hundreds of tiny pieces that still reflected the sun. The rest was an explosion of blows, a gentle dance between giving and receiving.

From the corner of the room, Olivia didn't know precisely where to look. She was doing her best to follow the movements, weapon in hand, determined to find a shooting angle. Only the fight was faster and tougher than she'd ever experienced. Gray and Kalinov both had blood on their faces, their fists clenched and ready to strike again. He was flying her from one side of the room to the other. She used the computer screen to punch him in the face before stabbing two pens into his thigh.

Before Olivia could react, Alexis charged at their target and dragged him through the window with her. They tumbled through the air, glass shattering as their world turned into a chaotic swirl of sky, shards, and fresh air before they plummeted into the stone fountain below. Water exploded around them, the force of their fall cracking the basin. Alexis hit first, the shock of icy water stealing her breath. Kalinov landed on top of her, his weight pinning her down as they both scrambled to find footing in the shallow pool.

The trafficker didn’t waste a second. His hands were around her throat, fingers digging into her skin as he forced her head under the splashing water. Alexis barely heard Olivia’s cry as she struggled beneath the surface. Her vision blurred, bubbles rising to the surface with her last gasp. Outside, her hands never stopped moving, finding the edge of the fountain and using it as leverage. She brought her legs up, boots connecting with Kalinov’s chest and offering a solid push that sent him reeling backward.

The air had never tasted so good. Back at the surface, Alexis barely had time to get up and gasp for air, water streaming from her hair and clothes, before he charged again. She met the man with a spray of water to the face, blinding him for a split second. It was all she needed. Makes him unaware of his surroundings–her every move.

She surged forward, her first connecting with his nose in a wet crunch. Kalinov’s head snapped back, blood mingling with the water. Next came a swift elbow to his jaw and a tight grip on his collar that helped her slam his head against the stone edge of the fountain. The impact left a crimson smear against the pale stone, Kalinov’s body finally going slack as the water lapped his head.

—Gray!

Olivia's voice echoed again from the broken glass on the top floor. Alexis didn’t respond. Her breathing was ragged, chest heaving as she released the target’s collar. She stood in the fountain, water dripping from every angle, a dark silhouette against the pale stone and clear sky.

Slowly, she raised her gaze to her day’s partner and found only worry plastered on her face. The Lieutenant's eyes were full of questions. She'd gotten used to the idea of the federal agent's career, but she'd never imagined she'd be at the forefront of such a fight. Was this her daily routine? Did she consider it a heavy struggle like Olivia did, or was it just one of those days?

—Target neutralized.

ϕ

TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

Manhattan 16th Precinct — SVU Bullpen, 9:17 PM

Dmitri Kalinow was dead.

This was the first successful co-operation between Violent Crimes and the Special Victims Unit. The major trafficker and his entire network had fallen. His men were in custody, his operation dismantled and his victims taken to hospital. It was a win. Justice, finally, had a chance to breathe.

The day following the raid had been long and trying. The villa had been seized–agents, officers and technicians from various departments engaged in a hunt for evidence. The paperwork had piled up, interviews had stretched into the late hours, and by the time the clock hit 9 p.m., exhaustion sat heavy on everyone’s shoulders.

The precinct, however, hummed with an unusual lightness. The end of a hard-fought case called for a celebration, and as the last files were signed off, Olivia stood in the bullpen, a rare, genuine smile on her lips.

—Alright, everyone. Bar down the street in twenty minutes. First round’s on me!

There was a beat of silence before the room came alive with murmurs of approval. Everyone had been through their share of tough cases, but it was true this one was enough to put some people off. Though the FBI had handled the drugs, weapons and organized crime part, Olivia's unit had been present for each of the young women who had fallen victim to Kalinov. Four of them were still in the heart of the villa, as planned. Others were not so lucky and had been murdered. And yet others had been discovered during interrogation - names, dozens of them.

Miles leaned against a desk, arms crossed, watching the energy shift. There was something different about the air tonight. It wasn’t just the end of another case–it was the kind of win that didn’t come often. A dismantled operation, a dead trafficker, and victims who could finally have a shot at something close to justice. Cases like this usually ended with frustration, loose ends, loopholes that let monsters slip through the cracks.

This time, they had won.

—Langford, Gray–you in?

The agent barely had time to glance at his partner. Alexis was already pulling her jacket from the back of her chair, ready to leave. She shook her head gently, car keys in hand.

—Can’t. Gotta get home to my boy.

The words were casual. Alexis hadn't meant to catch anyone by surprise, but she did. Rollins watched from her desk, eyebrow raised in curiosity, as Sonny emerged from the last file he’d been working on. Even Fin–who rarely engaged in idle speculation–made a small sound of interest. The woman who had struggled with their main target the day before had someone waiting for her at home?

It was Olivia's reaction that Miles found most intriguing. It was subtle, but it was there–the slight pause, the way her head tilted ever so slightly at Alexis’ words. He could sense a hint of disappointment, as if the brunette had hoped to enjoy the SEAL's company for a while longer.

—Your boy, huh? Olivia echoed, her voice carrying the same tone she used when pressing a suspect. Didn’t know you had someone waiting on you.

The commander barely looked up as she zipped her jacket, shrugging one shoulder. Miles could practically hear the gears turning in Olivia’s head. She was taking in the faint bruising along Alexis’ knuckles, the way her left wrist was wrapped, the shadow of a cut just along her temple. The remnants of her fight with Kalinov–of the moment she and the trafficker had gone crashing through a second-story window and landed in the villa’s fountain below.

She moved stiffly, a little slower than usual, but she hadn’t complained once. Hadn’t even acknowledged the bruises. If anything, she seemed to wear them the same way she wore anything else–like they were nothing more than another part of the job.

—Yeah. He’s a handful.

Once again, the words came to her easily, so naturally, and yet there was an undeniable finality to it–no opening for further questions. That didn’t stop anyone from wondering. Didn’t stop Olivia from watching her walk out the door after waving them all goodbye, files and duffel bag in hands. She was looking, not just at the bruises, but at Alexis herself.

And Miles didn’t miss that.

—She’s got a boyfriend? asked Amanda as soon as Gray was out.

—Or a kid. Either way, I wouldn’t have bet on it.

Fin said nothing, his gaze falling on a silent federal agent. If anyone here knew Alexis better than anyone else, it was probably Langford. They were partners, spending their days and nights together, protecting each other. Of course, he knew.

Miles exhaled slowly, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. He knew they were waiting for him to confirm or deny, to give them something–anything.

Instead, he just smiled.

—What can I say? She’s full of surprises.

ϕ

TAGLIST: @nciscmjunkie @certainlychaotic @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @makkaroni221 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr @hi-i-1

[dawntilduskclan]

Chapter title is a reference to the Cats song yes

And here we meet Nightstar's mother and Duskstar's mate, Starlingblaze

Also, I wonder who that Pantherpelt is in the flashback 👀

I apologize for how long it's been between updates. But I'm really excited to get back into this story and share all the things I've worked on it.

Previous / Next

[boonalina]

Excerpt from Chapter 4 of my LMK Successor AU

Mei's goodbye to Macaque:

Yes, I know that Mei was wearing a bag on her back, but I was too lazy to add it in. Plus, it would make the pic look way too detailed for just white board drawings.

Also, I got new markers! So now Mei's green actually looks green on camera.

[keeping-writing-frosty]

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

(Author's Note: I rewrote this a couple times and changed it up, yet I still consider it a first draft. So, there are probably some mistakes. Sorry about that! Enjoy :3)

Chapter One - A New, Weird Home

Chapter Two - Once Upon A Cat

Chapter Three - A Bully This Way Comes

Chapter Four - An Unfamiliar, Familiar Place

The sound of a strong, steady, rhythmic rain falling pitter-pattered against her bedroom window, which created a soothing ambiance. The faint light from the bathroom filtered underneath Cara’s door that left lingering rays of light from under her door. Suddenly, her cellphone lit up with a message from her best friend; the soft glow lit her pale features, which softened her face ever so slightly, but then it became a deluge of messages in Rowan’s distinctive way. With the cracked window, it allowed the aroma of fresh rain to linger in the air, and it rejuvenated her senses in all ways. Cara felt a sense of calmness as she read her friend’s message about homework, demanding teachers, and how annoying her brothers are, finding it amusing how different her life might have been if she wasn’t an only child. Even the mere thought of it caused an annoyance to grow in the pit of her stomach; and rightfully assumed it was better she had no siblings.

Rowan’s text barrage finally ended with a singular question: are you sleeping? Your lights are off.

You know I have a curfew every freaking day. Cara’s eyes rolled as she typed that.

Dude, that sucks every freaking day.

Their nightly routine of messaging late into the hours has become a comforting part of the day, with a smile that grew ever-wider as they chatted. Far past when she would finally close the cover of her book, and well before her mind could settle into a peaceful sleep. As for her mother’s-imposed curfew, no matter how much Cara complained that it was far too early. Mother made it quite clear it would not change until her thirteenth birthday.

They talked for just over an hour before Cara’s eyes finally grew tired enough to droop. With the exhaustion of the day, hell, the entire week consumed her and demanded sleep. That’s when a familiar shadow appeared from under the door, visible through the broken light beams, and scampered over into the middle of the room, where the shade-mouse cleaned its face with its tiny paws. Squeaking softly which had Cara stirring under her blanket, yet it did not wake her fully, as she had disappeared into that twilight state of consciousness where not fully asleep, not fully awake, yet lingered just enough in this world.

Then, with one more insistent squeak, Cara’s eyes shot open just as the shadow-mouse climbed up onto her bed. Where it stood for a moment, its beady, black eyes stared deep at the girl but did nothing for the moment. Until it climbed upon her with a weight more than any shadow or mouse should have.

Cara groaned, “go away, okay? I’m tired.”

Several furious squeaks followed in reply as the mouse jumped up and down, but Cara did not budge. Not until the mouse jumped off the bed and ran through the door. She let out another groan, curiosity would always win, before Cara kicked the covers off of her. “Fine,” she spoke to no one.

Once up and out of bed, Cara summoned all of her sneaky-sneak skills and tip-toed from her bed over to the door. She pressed her ear against its cool surface; subtle, soft vibrations, and the occasional groaning and moan of the house and its foundation. All muffled by the constant rain, yet Cara heard snoring and soft breathing, and her parents had to be asleep.

So, when she opened the door with its familiar—creyeak!—to the darkened hallway, that faint light from the bathroom lit her way. There at the top of the stairs stood that shade-mouse, who scrambled down the stairs once her eyes laid upon it. Unlike before, Cara did not hesitate as she sneaked downstairs and listened for any sign that her mother had woken up. Yet she couldn’t wait for long and scampered down the rest of the steps to where the mouse stood in front of the door. Where once a padlock held it shut—mother’s attempt to keep the curious Cara out—now sat open with said lock sitting discarded nearby. A faint music box melody, instantly recognized by her, emerged from the dark depths.

Somehow this space used for storage any other time, seemed to change at night, or as Cara sat there and thought, perhaps it only changed at night for her. To open its way to something deeper, even more insidious than anything anyone could imagine in what was, or perhaps is, depending on the time of day, just a cubby space filled with dust, cobwebs, and an old, long forgotten cigarette crate.

Instead of a weird, nauseous feeling that would gather in the pit of Cara’s stomach whenever she got scared, it was replaced by a warmth, a very comforting warmth she had not felt in some time. It carried with it a strong nostalgia, as she hadn’t felt it since before her grandmother passed, when she would hold Cara while reading a book to her even if the young girl didn’t understand any of the book at the time. Now, however, her mind slipped back into those times; she went to bed so many times with the adventures penned by Mark Twain, Ernest Hemmingway, and even Mary Shelly’s scary stories. Her parents protested it then, but Cara smiled when she remembered grandmother not caring. Oh, how long ago that was.

With her eyes closed, Cara could almost feel her grandmother’s warm, safe hands—markedly different from how her mother ever felt—as they rubbed her back just like grandmother used to do whenever Cara was sick or upset. Then, somehow, those warming, comforting hands pushed her with such unknown strength that forced Cara into the darkness where the door slammed shut behind her—the padlock clicked into place

“Shit!” It was all that came out of Cara as she sat there in the complete darkness.

Off in the distance, but in all truth Cara couldn’t tell if it was even just six inches from her, a speck of light revealed itself as a tiny pinprick that grew and grew until it overtook her and blanked out the world in utter white so bright she had to close her eyes.

Before Cara could open her eyes, everything smelled like home. Not like where she lived now, but home, a totally different concept that Maine could never become. An almost persistent aroma of freshly-baked cookies that both her aunt and grandmother would make on a daily basis, along with the strong smokiness of grandfather’s cigars that permeated from the mid-seventies recliner that sat beside the equally-as-old couch.

It was picture perfect. The same wood paneling on the walls, which grandfather installed himself between shifts at the fish processing factory. Various pictures hung off hooks, nails, and screws—majority did not make the trip with the family to the east coast, left in the care of her aunt. Everything was in its place, from the dust-covered ceiling fan that had not seen any use in her lifetime to the thin crimson carpet stained beyond measure from over the years. Both home and yet, never would be again. And somehow, someway, Cara found herself standing in this slice of time and place. She knew that this was not real, even if every one of her senses disagreed with her. It was just a forgery in the darkness of the void.

Taking far too long to look around at the nostalgic filled scene, Cara heard that same music box song playing from the kitchen. It dug a pit deep into her stomach as dread filled every fiber of her body. Followed by a distinctive humming, that same type of hum both her grandmother and aunt would hum while in deep focus as they cooked and baked.

Cara stepped into the kitchen; very much still looked like it did in the seventies, with the same ancient lime-green refrigerator that hummed ever-so-softly in the corner. Matching green countertops and cupboards, scrubbed clean of any grease and dust to perfection. The stainless-steel sink sat empty—grandmother would never allow a dirty dish to sit for more than three minutes. With a black natural gas stove where she would simultaneously cook on, bake with, and light a cigarette as she did both. The music had stopped, and Cara just realized this while she gazed around the tiny kitchen.

“Oh, hello there. I always love guests,” came a voice which sounded neither like a man nor a woman. It dwelled within the shadows of the doorway that led into the laundry room. “Can you see me? You can, can’t you? Well, I’ll be damned. Do you know how long it has been? I mean, you can see me, right?”

She gave a slow nod as Cara watched the outline of a figure appear from the shadows. Taller than any man could be, and one wondered how it even fit inside the room. Vaguely human-shaped, Cara felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as her stomach churned and everything inside her screamed at her to run—where would she go, anyway?—where its eyes should be, sat two bright orange-red orbs that seemed as expressive as any other. A slit of a mouth grew into a wide, disconcerting smile as it glided towards Cara as if on a pair of roller skates.

Scrambling backwards away from whatever it was, Cara answered, “y-yes, I can see you. What are you? W-where am I?” In the facsimile of her old home, there seemed to be no quick escapes. Even as she glanced through the window, Cara saw nothing but the black nothingness.

“Please, do not be afraid,” it whispered yet emanated from all-around Cara.

“I’m not,” she lied. “What are you?”

“That’s not a simple answer,” it retorted as it sat on a chair that stood beside the oval-shaped dining table. “Depends on who you ask. The ancient people that used to live where you live called Atsolowas, but not exactly correct in what I am. I’ve been around for a lot longer than they were.” It stared at Cara, as if it wanted to study her features. “Sit down, will you? I promise I don’t want to hurt or scare you.”

As Cara sat down, taking in the familiar yet strange room—dust motes danced in the fake moonlight which lit up the room, the scent of old linoleum and faded memories filled the air—she inquired, “do you live here in my old home?”

It laughed and laughed with a riant energy as its fingers tapped against the tabletop, bristling with such mirth and joy. “No, no, no, my dear girl,” it finally spoke up. “I just hoped it would make you more comfortable.”

“More weird than comforting but fair. So, why am I here? Am I, like, your prisoner or something? Was hoping for a more Narnia-like experienced if I ever got pulled into a different dimension.” At this point, her hair no longer stood on end, and the only pit in her stomach grumbled at its emptiness.

Another laugh came from it. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there was no grand scheme. Do you think everyone can look through the Door Under The Stairs and hear my music box? Maybe once I realized you held The Sight, that I just wanted a friend,” as it went on, its tone suggested a lot more behind its façade.

“The Sight?” Cara cocked her head. “What’s that?”

It inquired with a smile across its non-lips, “have you ever seen something or felt something no one else could?”

Nodding, Cara remembered the will-o’-the-wisp she had seen since moving to Mount Desert Island, but beyond that, there always existed something weird that even right at this moment, she couldn’t put into words. She didn’t discount it could be a bunch of bullshit as well.

“So, you just wanted a friend?” She dead-panned.

“Perhaps I just wanted to lure you in and consume your itty, bitty soul.”

Cara scoffed as she looked at the figure, rather unimpressed. “If’n you wanted my soul. You would have taken it already,” she stated rather matter-of-factly. “So, I gotta wonder why you brought a twelve-year-old girl to some random no-place just to hang out and make friends? Are you some sort of creeper or something?”

“What’s a creeper?”

“You know, those people who like to diddle underage kids or something. They are awful people, you know? My cousin Stacy had a teacher like that, thankfully she never had to deal with it,” Cara rambled on as if it was an old friend.

It took on an indignant look, as much as a shadowy figure could, and scoffed before it rose out of its chair and floated in tiny circles around the kitchen. “What? Gods, no. Here I thought I was an evil bastard.” Yet it seemed to take it to heart, and an anger welled up inside of it that was beyond palpable.

Cara stood up and took off from the kitchen towards the living room, where when she crossed over the threshold the shadowy figure appeared on the couch. “Want to leave? You can go right ahead through the front door. I won’t stop you.”

There existed nothing beyond the front door. Nothing at all but that inky darkness that once encompassed Cara. Who let out a sigh and asked, “okay, so what you are is something ancient, strong, and evil—”

“I’m not anymore evil than you are.”

“Fine! So, you are ancient, strong, and not evil, but you must still have a name.” Cara cocked her hand on her hip, biting her bottom lip as she stared daggers at the thing.

It formed itself into a real-looking brown field mouse, not at all like the shadowy form it took earlier. This one would be hard to distinguish from an actual rodent; large round ears that twitched occasionally, a pink nose with several whiskers, and the demon-mouse raised its little paws as it cleaned itself. Then it raised up; its beady little eyes peered into Cara’s.

“Maybe I just want to be a pet mouse,” it chuckled betwixt its words.

This time Cara had to join in with a laugh of her own. “My pet?” She scoffed. “First of all, my mother would never allow it. She’ll toss your ass outside to be eaten by stray cats. Secondly, why me?”

“The Sight,” was all it said, and Cara had no time to contemplate on what that could even be.

When dawn finally cracked the horizon the following morning, Cara opened her mismatched eyes to that singular beam of light that always streamed in and struck her face. She groaned, bemoaned with several mumbled, incomprehensible words, turned over without a single desire to wake up. Until she heard something far-too-familiar—the squeaking of a mouse—and she bolted upright. After a thorough search of her room: under the bed, all corners of her wardrobe, through the mess on her desk, she found no mouse.

“I’m losing it,” she muttered while running a hand through her unruly reddish-blonde hair.

Then there came a rapping, a gentle tapping, from the other side of her bedroom window, much like a bird pecking at the glass. It repeated over and over with an unwavering insistence until Cara stood up. Outside the window there sat no bird on the sill, just a fog so thick that it seemed beyond natural, as one could not see more than several yards ahead, other than the forest. Where the forest was barely visible through the mist, with only a faint blue light giving any kind of movement within. The wisp looked different this time, instead of the little ball of fire she had seen before. This time, it took on an almost humanoid form, like that of a child. It didn’t float this time. Instead, it stood there and seemed to stare up at her.

“You have The Sight,” that same voice from last night spoke to her. “Not everyone can see wisps. Especially as they were and not as they are now.”

The mouse appeared on the desk beside her; it looked up at her with its beady, intelligent eyes. Before squeaking and climbing up her arm to sit on Cara’s shoulder. “I do not know much about them. The island stretches back to the mists of time, before humans and dinosaurs. When there were only the old gods and the cosmos. The Wisps? They are both and neither.”

“What? You don’t know?” Cara asked.

“I only know so much. There’s a lot I do not know as there’s a lot in this world, and the other, that make themselves rarely seen or heard. I just—”

Before the mouse could continue, there came a knocking on the bedroom door. “Cara, wakey-wakey! I’m making chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Come on down, please.”

“Shit, my parents. They can’t see you,” Cara’s attempt to hide the panic in her tone failed miserably.

“Nary a soul will see me, unless I want them to, or if they got The Sight. I hope your parents don’t have it.”

“Doubtful” — Cara shook her head as she left the window and moved the mouse down onto the desk — “but I am going to shower and I’d rather not you come with. I need to clear my mind before I even think of seeing and talking to my parents.”

She wouldn’t tell them anything at all, but even so, Cara needed to refresh every sense and take some time to think. Something that a shower was perfect for, and what she was in dire need of.

****

Tag List:

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa

If you would like to be a part of the tag list, please click here and interact with the post, or just send me a DM. Thank you.

[mtqcomic]

#277: There Is Life

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You know, I still haven't actually included Maezala's name in the text, which means it isn't fully canon. I could still rename xem to Carl. You never know.

Alright, I know I literally made a bonus post recently just to talk about the few sprite edits I've made, but this one might be my favourite one yet. I wasn't planning on using this outfit for Maezala outside of this flashback, but I might have to bring it back just so I can use this sprite again...

[kittylittersmoothie]

While Chapter Three of the B&B rewrite (finally) nears completion... here's a sketch of the Chapter Four scene that inspired the entire fanfic.

⚠️TW: SH implied; some blood (in graphite)

❗Spoliers for "Brews & Bandage" and its new rewrite

[its-wabby-stuff]

Oh look, a completely innocent chapter. There couldn’t be some secret overarching meaning for the whole plot. No, no.

[ranmacapss]

[Ranma ½] ✥ Chapter 4, Never, Never, Never

[vicetrevni]

I have a theory that the orphans aren't actually real.

Even if they were truly down there for that long, being in cryogenic sleep doesn't stop aging. Or the fact that they need things like food and water. So they are most likely *all* dead, if not used to create more toys after the Hour Of Joy. Or maybe the Prototype is going to use the dead bodies to transfer themself and Poppy, thus completing the full experiments and ending the cycle of life and death for them.

I just don't see the kids still being a thing, it's just a tactic to keep Poppy here and the Prototype is delusional enough to do all this to keep her from leaving. Because if the kids *are* somehow still alive, it would be even worse than them being dead the entire time.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Four

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Fireheart didn’t have much time to mull over Whitecloud’s words; the next evening, before anyone had a chance to leave camp, Bluestar walked in and silently jumped onto the meeting stump, sitting down and waiting for everyone to notice her and circle around.

“What do you think’s up?” Greystripe whispered to Fireheart as he and Ravenwing joined him.

Fireheart just tilted his head in acknowledgement. “We’ll see in a moment.”

“The time’s come,” Bluestar called when everyone was close, “for Frostfur’s kits to become apprentices.”

Surprised chatter bounced through the crowd. When Fireheart glanced at Frostfur's way, she was slightly frowning and muttering to herself, “I could’ve sworn we had another half-month to go…”

Sitting close by, Speckletail too had a look of confusion and—if Fireheart wasn’t mistaken—slight frustration. Fireheart didn’t get a chance to ask her about it before the buzz settled down and Bluestar called, “Kits, come forward.”

Fireheart was nearly pushed over by Brightkit as she led Snowkit up to the front of the crowd, which was in the process of backing up to give the litter space. Thornkit and Brackenkit soon followed, and the kits began shuffling around to stand in a line (as, of course, ordered by Thornkit).

“Bit disorganized,” Teaselfoot murmured to Mousefur beside him. “Did she not tell them what to do?”

“Huh,” was all Mousefur said. She had the air of mild disappointment. “I was hoping she’d talk to me about mentoring. I guess she’s already got her list settled.”

Speckletail’s eyes narrowed just a fraction and she looked Mousefur’s way. “She didn’t talk to me, either. I think—”

“Thornkit, step forward,” Bluestar said loudly, cutting her deputy off.

The brisk little tom marched a few steps closer, standing with his chest puffed out.

Bluestar leaned down a bit to talk to him. “Are you ready to train to serve your Clan, and care for your Clanmates the way they have cared for you?”

Thornkit gave one firm nod. “Am. I am.”

“Then with StarClan’s blessing, I name you Thornpaw.” Bluestar’s eyes flicked to one side of the crowd. “Your mentor will be Dustpelt. I entrust him to teach you diligence and honor, and pass down everything he knows.”

Dustpelt blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly and trotted into the empty ring, meeting with Thornpaw, who looked a little lost. Bluestar definitely hadn’t told him what to do the way she had told Fireheart when he received his own name. Dustpelt saved it by whispering something to Thornpaw. Quickly, the two touched noses and Thornpaw nodded respectfully to his new mentor before following him back to the edge of the crowd, where they stood together, the little tom’s eyes wide and sparkling.

“Brackenkit, step forward,” Bluestar said now, and was quickly and eagerly obeyed. “Are you ready to train to serve your Clan, and care for your Clanmates the way they have cared for you?”

“I am!” Brackenkit shouted, earning a few titters.

Bluestar nodded once, not looking particularly amused herself. “Then with StarClan’s blessing, I name you Brackenpaw. Your mentor will be Willowpelt. I entrust her to teach you focus and clear-headedness, and pass down everything she knows.”

Again, the new mentor had a look of surprise, and again she took it in stride and went to meet her apprentice. Brackenpaw’s tail flailed about in excitement and he almost banged his nose into Willowpelt’s, just barely catching himself in time.

“Call their names,” Bluestar said to the crowd as the pair moved away. “Welcome Thornpaw and Brackenpaw to apprenticeship.”

The Clan immediately cheered, “Thornpaw! Brackenpaw! Thornpaw! Brackenpaw!”

The brothers, standing next to each other, shared a glance, and in that glance was the very same overwhelming wash of joy Fireheart had felt when he’d first come to the Clan, and again when he’d been named a warrior. Granted, Thornpaw looked a little more stoic, but the happiness was palpable.

“Brightkit,” Bluestar said when the cheering was done.

Brightkit did not walk forward so much as bounce, and when she remembered to stop, she was vibrating with glee.

“Are you also ready to train to serve your Clan, and care for your Clanmates the way they have cared for you?”

Brightkit bounced on her pads. “I am! I am!”

“Then with StarClan’s blessing, I name you Brightpaw. Your me—”

Brightpaw poorly contained a squeal of joy that came out as an energetic whine. Again, the crowd rippled with amusement, and she ducked her head. “Sorry.”

Bluestar, to her credit, did not scold her—in fact, she didn’t react at all, simply continuing with the script. “Your mentor will be Mousefur.”

Fireheart immediately turned his head to the dusky molly. She straightened up, eyes wide and ears perked in delight.

“I entrust her to teach you wit and tranquility, and pass down everything she knows.”

Mousefur quickly wove around the cats in front of her and went to meet her apprentice. Both of their faces shone with joy, and Brightpaw whispered something that Mousefur snorted at before she led the apprentice to the edge of the crowd.

“Now, Snowkit,” Bluestar continued, and at this the crowd went dead quiet. She made eye contact with the little white tom and beckoned him to walk forward with her tail, which he did. She returned her attention to the rest of ThunderClan. “Snowkit is a special case. He cannot hear the oath he’ll take to become an apprentice, and he will require a mentor that can learn to communicate with him, and teach him to communicate better with all of us, and us with him in turn. Therefore, we will do this oath a little differently.”

Her eyes roamed over the gathered cats… and they landed on Ravenwing. The black tom suddenly stiffened.

“Ravenwing, join Snowkit,” she said.

Ravenwing didn’t move, but his tail immediately started shaking. “Wh– um– …Why?”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes. “Because you are going to be his mentor.”

The shaking swept over every hair on Ravenwing’s body. Fireheart watched in shock (as did everyone else) as Ravenwing gasped and trembled even harder, until it looked like his unsteady legs were about to buckle.

He barely managed to find his voice. “I– no, Bluestar, I ca– I c—”

“Come forward and meet your apprentice,” Bluestar snapped.

Speckletail stood up, looking between the panicking Ravenwing and the annoyed leader. “Bluestar, did you talk with him about this?”

Bluestar ignored her, simply glaring at Ravenwing like a rabbit still in its burrow.

The poor tom was visibly fighting to control his terror, but he still shivered and breathed shallow breaths. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused.

Fireheart, sitting next to him, eased his side on Ravenwing’s. Greystripe scooted closer and mirrored the gesture, nearly drowning the oddly scrawny tom in his warmth. When Ravenwing’s head snapped between them, Fireheart gave him as encouraging of a nod and a blink as he could, and Greystripe whispered, “You got this, bud. We’re right here.”

Ravenwing gulped down another chestful of air, screwed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and then barely managed a nod back. Despite his shaky legs, he stood and shuffled past Willowpelt and Brackenpaw. Fireheart tried to mentally send his support to the skinny warrior as he stood by Snowkit. The kit looked up at him, his excitement fading a little to concern.

“Though you can’t hear me,” Bluestar said to Snowkit, “I know you will agree to what your littermates agreed to: training to serve your Clan, and caring for them as they have cared for you. Therefore, I name you Snowpaw, and your mentor will be Ravenwing.” She now looked to the warrior in question. “Ravenwing, I entrust you to teach him wisdom and carefulness, and pass down everything you know to him.”

Ravenwing, fighting to breathe normally, turned to Snowpaw, and with a quaking paw gently nudged him to stand. Snowpaw did so, his pretty blue eyes shining again. At the eye contact, something in Ravenwing settled just a little, and he managed to lessen his shaking enough to touch his nose to Snowpaw’s. The apprentice straightened up and beamed, giving his mentor a nod like his siblings had done to theirs.

“Welcome, Brightpaw and Snowpaw, to apprenticeship,” Bluestar said, not waiting for the pair to move.

Again, cheers. “Brightpaw! Snowpaw! Brightpaw! Snowpaw!”

Snowpaw didn’t acknowledge the cheering, but he did bump his head against Ravenwing’s shoulder, purring quietly. Ravenwing nervously blinked at him when he pulled his head back.

The crowd dispersed, chatting among themselves or congratulating the apprentices on their ceremony. Fireheart tapped Greystripe with his tail and led him over to Ravenwing and Snowpaw.

“She– she didn’t tell me,” Ravenwing stammered out to his friends. “I just– I could’ve told her– I can’t mentor, I’m not—”

“None of that,” Fireheart said, gently but firmly. Ravenwing quieted, staring at him. “You can do this. And if you need help, you’ll have me and Greystripe around any time.”

Greystripe nodded. “And really, you’re the best one to teach him. Frostfur’s got a couple signs for him already, doesn’t she?”

Ravenwing sighed out a trembling breath. “I mean, yeah? I’ve seen her, but I don’t know how many signs, or what they mean—”

“I can help with that.”

The toms turned their heads, gradually followed by Snowpaw, as Frostfur padded up to them. Snowpaw went up to meet her and she licked his ear, nodded and blinked twice.

“I’m sorry you didn’t know ahead of time,” she said to Ravenwing. “I didn’t either. I would’ve talked to you and given you a headstart on communicating with him.”

Fireheart chanced a look back at Ravenwing; to his surprise, at Frostfur’s words, he seemed to have calmed down a little, saying with focus in his eyes, “I’d– I’d appreciate everything you can give me.”

Snowpaw looked almost upside-down at Ravenwing, still purring. Ravenwing slowly gave him a blink, and Snowpaw fluffed up, looking back now to his mother.

“He’s starting to understand lip-movement,” Frostfur said, gently ruffling her kit’s head. “But that’s still slow-going. He’s got pel* signs that he knows, and they should be enough right now for you to start with.”

“Can you share them with us, too?” Fireheart asked, Greystripe nodding in agreement. “We want to help however we can.”

Frostfur gave him a grateful face, but still spoke to Ravenwing. “This, what I just did—” she blinked twice with a nod “—that means ‘yes’. Or ‘well done’. He’ll know the difference. You can just nod for yes, but you have to nod and blink for ‘well done’.”

Focus burned brighter in Ravenwing’s eyes, and he leaned forward a bit, nodding for her to go on.

“For ‘no’, you can just shake your head,” Frostfur continued. “If you want to make him understand you’re not happy with him, put your ears back, too. He reacts pretty well to discipline, but don’t be cruel to my son.”

“Of course not!” Ravenwing blanched. “No, I’ll– I’ll be kind, of course. What else?”

“He also has ‘stop’ and ‘go’.” Frostfur folded her left ear back and lifted her left paw and lowered it just enough to leave it in the air, then did the same to the right, with the right paw landing on the ground again. “In that order. ‘Stop’ is for when he’s being too rowdy or when he’s doing something he shouldn’t. ‘Go’ is to let him have fun or do something he wants to do. He’ll check in with you with a head-tilt.”

Ravenwing nodded. “How do I tell him to ‘go’—like, to walk or crawl forward, when it’s time to show him how to hunt?”

Frostfur twitched one side of her mouth. “I haven’t gotten to that one yet. I think maybe you can work with ‘go’ and change it a little. Tap the ground twice, perhaps?”

“That’ll work.” Ravenwing paused, eyes squinting a little, then asked, “What’s the sign for ‘prey’?”

“Well, for food-prey, I’ve been pretending to chew three times.” Frostfur exaggeratedly opened and shut her mouth. Fireheart noted that she was rotating her jaw like a deer chewing—maybe that would keep Snowpaw from thinking she was talking out loud. “For huntable prey, I’d say he’ll get it best if you do something to pretend you’re hunting.”

Ravenwing hummed in thought. “…Maybe I can chatter my teeth. I’ve seen your kits do that when they were pretending to hunt each other a time or two.”

“Hey!” Mousefur called, and trotted over to the little group, a bouncing Brightpaw in tow. “Ravenwing, we were going to show the chriil** the territory. Do you and Snowpaw want to come with us?”

“Oh—” Ravenwing startled, glanced back at Fireheart and Greystripe, then said to Mousefur, “Uh– yeah, we’d like that. I was just getting some signs from Frostfur.”

“Oh, good idea.” Mousefur gave him an approving nod. “We can wait a little more, if you want.”

Ravenwing looked at Frostfur for her deliberation.

“I think you’ll be okay with those right now,” she said warmly. “Thank you for this, Ravenwing. I can see you’ll do well with him.”

Ravenwing weakly breathed a chuff. “I’ll try, at least.”

With that, he nosed Snowpaw to get his attention. When the little tom looked his way, he cocked his head in the direction of the rest of the apprentices at the camp entrance. Snowpaw nodded eagerly and followed after him as Mousefur led them back to the new trainees, Ravenwing glancing back once (weirdly past his friends) and relaxing his steps a bit.

“Maybe we should go with?” Fireheart said to Greystripe. “In case he needs support—”

“Don’t do that.”

The toms and Frostfur almost jumped in surprise, even though Whitecloud’s voice was low and raspy. He had approached without any of them seeing him and was sitting politely, waiting to be acknowledged.

“This is something he needs to do himself,” he elaborated after a moment of letting the surprise settle. “He has your help in many things in his life, but now is the time for him to grow on his own.”

“But—” started Greystripe.

Whitecloud shook his head. “You can always help with training on your off-nights. But Bluestar gave him this challenge for a reason. He’s smart, as you know, and very quick to pick things up, and you know that too. Let him do this alone. Give him the chance to come out of his shell.”

“I think I agree with that,” Frostfur said to the boys. “He can always ask me about signs if he needs to. You two just focus on yourselves for now.”

Fireheart tip-tapped the sand anxiously. “But what if he panics again, and we’re not there?”

Whitecloud gave him a calming tail-wave. “Have some faith in him. He’s not as fragile as he thinks he is.” His voice dropped even further. “You know better than anyone that he’s a lot more capable than he looks.”

The investigation was all his doing, Fireheart thought immediately. He drew in a breath, sighed and nodded. “We’ll try too.”

Greystripe grimaced, but copied the nod. “If he’s struggling still, then can we step in?”

Whitecloud purred. “Yes. But let him get through the initial struggles of first-time mentoring. He’ll learn on his own.”

Fireheart exchanged a look with Greystripe, both worried but cautiously optimistic. Whitecloud tilted his head to them and then walked off, heading to speak with Speckletail. Frostfur looked over at where her kits had gone, eyes fond and a bit sad.

He’ll be okay without you, a voice in Fireheart’s head gently told him. Like Whitecloud said. Give him time.

Even with his own subconscious encouraging him, Fireheart had to fight to not hurry out after his friend and offer support. He flexed his claws to get his anxiety out.

“He’ll be okay,” he said out loud.

Greystripe, looking equally less-than-confident, only sighed softly in response.

 *”Pel”: a vague amount between five and eight.

 **”Chriil”: plural of “chrii”, meaning “little changing cat”. Essentially equivalent to calling a young person “kid”.

[greenhousethree]

Chasing chapter four - Feint

She stood there in her towel a little longer, pressed up over the sink the way she remembered watching the older girls do. Longer, curvier bodies than she’d ever imagined herself fitting into, impossibly grown up. Women. Searching for imperfections, she’d assumed— anything they could magic or pluck away before slipping on higher skirts and fuller bras. But maybe instead they’d been doing what she was now, studying themselves to figure out whether this was it— a glimpse beyond the fleetingness of adolescence— if the person staring back was the one she had grown into, not one she would grow out of.

Reflections, rain, and revelry.

Many, many thanks for all of your check-ins/questions during this unexpected hiatus; they've truly meant the world! This one's long and a little heavy— prepare for teenage riffraff and two parties for the price of one— and if you're craving more scenes with a certain green-eyed someone, stay tuned for chapter five!

Listen below for Hermione's party soundtrack and Ginny's character theme!

Playlist can be found here. 💫

Songs for chapter four (real bangers here): Maybe Sprout Wings - The Mountain Goats Begging for Rain - Maggie Rogers Flying Sails (Ginny's Theme!) - The Gothard Sisters Bones - Radiohead I Hope I Didn't Just Give Away the Ending - New Radicals

P.S. - Quick update on the progress of this fic:

Life and work have been a runaway train these past months, but I'm finding more time for ~balance~ (read: writing) and am hoping to keep that going. That said, I won't continue promising quick updates because I'm terrible at delivering those, but rest assured this fic isn't going anywhere, and I'm looking forward to posting more regularly. Thanks a million to all of you following along; answers to asks are forthcoming 💕

[mtqcomic]

#281: Outmatched

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[icarianlibrary]

BOTS Chapter Four ygs !!

The wind slams my back as I walk away from my sun. I am mad at him, no, not mad, furious. Why would he do such a thing? It’s cruel. Thamyris never deserved that. No thing, mortal, or immortal can have that happen and have it justified. 

The wind whips my hair against my vibrant cheeks once more.

A gust of wind uproots the flowers from the green grass, which is now stirring around my curls.

A boy, who could not be much older than me, gives a sympathetic smile, his wings fluttering behind him. 

“Has something happened? You look wrong.” He tilts his head with curiosity.

“Sorry, who are you?” I inquire as I step back onto a flower breaking the stem.

“I’m Zephyrus, Hyacinthus.” He grins.

“Oh! Well nice to meet you- How do you know my name? Have I met you before?” I pick up the broken flower, a Wild Geranium, its purple pedals smashed from my foot.

“Oh no, but I know you.” He riddles.

“Sorry?”

“I have been watching you. I know all about your fret with Apollo. Oh, such an arrogant man. I hope you are doing alright now.” He attempts to sympathize.

“Apollo is not arrogant, he’s a kind god, and I quite like his company.” I counter, a bit offended.

“That’s too bad. Are you still speaking to him?” He asks.

“I asked for a break after a situation that happened between us.”

“Yes, him blinding Thamyris. What sort of ‘kind god’ would blind a mortal?” He plucks the flower from my grasp.

“Uhm, he is not like that. He was just trying to protect me-”

“By making you more upset with the situation you were already put in, which you were uncomfortable to begin with?” He blows the flower out of his hand, it floats away.

“Well, I guess he did, but I just need some time by myself, he will understand!” I counter.

“Oh, but will he? Has an olympian ever ‘understood’ a mortal?” Zephryus chuckles.

“Yes, countless times!” I start to get emotional with Zephyrus’s apathy.

“Who?”

I find a blank in my train of thought. “Well-” I stop myself.

“A break should not hurt anyone, should it?” He suggests.

For a second I leave my guard in hopes that maybe he is right. It wouldn’t hurt to stay with Zephryus until I am ready to go back and talk with Apollo.

“I guess it could not harm anyone” I agree, a bit reluctant nonetheless.

Zephyrus takes my hand, “That’s a good boy” he grins.

He slowly moves his hands down to my arm, which travels to my waist. His hands barely feel like anything, a weightless touch.

“What are you doing?” I snap and shove him away, feeling more than violated.

He pulls me back, “Trust me” his wings start to move back and forth in an angelic motion. 

We start to lightly float up in the air, he flashes a malicious grin. I pull him closer, nervous that my feet are no longer on solid ground. Wrapping his arms around me we go faster, flying towards the mountainous range east of us.

While we fly he does a few spins in the air which makes me more anxious than I already was. He then does a swan dive in mid air, letting go of me. 

His once weightless touch feels like one hundred cows were lifted from my body. I quickly scrabble for composure as my skin feels like the strength of the gods is ripping it up, while my hair flips and twirls in every direction.

As I feel the vast field of grass, I feel soft hands under my arms, Zephryus.

He throws his head back and laughs, keeping a hold of me high in the air.

I am distraught in such a way that my vision starts to blackout in the corner of my vision, but soon reaches the center of my eye.

I lose consciousness.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS23 Fic Update: "Carolina Moon" Chapter Four

I am more than a little embarrassed and sorry about how long it has taken me to update this story. It was never my intention to keep you waiting so long. However, here at long last is an update, and I hope to have another one to you this week yet - and this to be more regular (at least close to weekly) in the future. Thank you THANK YOU to those who have been patient and stayed interested in this story. I hope you will enjoy this new chapter!

Thank you as ever to the @cssns for running such a wonderful event that I have always been thrilled to be part of. And thank you for the gorgeous fic cover art to @eastwesthomeisbest and to @xarandomdreamx for the massively encouraging beta reading and thoughtful comments.

Can be read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Four: No Use Running Anymore

Killian Jones felt his own breath rasping frighteningly in his lungs, barely forcing its way raggedly through his chest as he watched Emma shuddering in his loose embrace, her whole body trembling and the gaze in her eyes glassy and faraway. It scared him, the intensity of the power which had taken her over - beyond either of their control - and he wasn’t sure what to do to help her. He could keep her from collapsing to the ground and lying there boneless in the dark, from hitting her head or flailing her arms, but Killian was at a loss as to how he might reach her wherever she had retreated to in her mind.

Finally, drawing in a sharp gasp for oxygen, Emma’s lungs seemed to fill, and she began to breathe more normally, her eyes were on her trembling hands and she edged far enough away that there was some distance between them, as if embarrassed at having leaned on him and letting him witness her what she’d just gone through. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and it  was clear she still felt uncertain and off balance; the weak tremor still running through her limbs as the after effects were visibly obvious. And yet it was the haunted pain clouding her eyes that held him captive, unable to blink, move, or even look away - though he could sense she would like him to do so. Emma might be able to read most of the folks around her and think to hide her own thoughts and feelings, but to him she was an all-too-open book.

At least somewhat assured that she was herself again, well on the way to recovering her breath and her composure, Killian’s mind returned to her staggering revelation without any conscious effort on his part. “Emma… what you said… about Rose’s killer? What did you mean?” he questioned gingerly. His dark brows lowered over his eyes intently, studying her with a concerned but necessary focus. “You said she wasn’t the only one.”

Looking up to meet his searching gaze, Killian could see Emma’s reluctance, and he hated himself for pressing her, even as he knew she needed him to do so. Still, the film of tears he saw in her green eyes and the way one spilled over the lower lid and trailed down her cheek, was almost his undoing; he bit back words rescinding the question with all the force he could muster. This was important, painful or not. Though he knew Emma had to recover, and that she had lived with her abilities - her “sight” - being pushed aside, ignored, belittled, even persecuted, all her life, there was a reason she could see the things she did. Her supernatural knowledge could help as well as hurt. He knew she had used it for just such a purpose in the years she had been gone. He might not have found the right time to tell her yet, but he had followed her successes in Boston, devouring each news story of the “psychic” - he could just see her huff of disbelieving annoyance at the catch-all term too - who could find missing people when all others had lost hope. He had cherished each article of a child found, holding every tidbit of praise for her close to his chest. He didn’t know how things had fallen apart in Boston, or what exactly had brought Emma back to Storybrooke, but he mourned the scars of youth that still lingered in her bearing. A part of him had never stopped hoping she might one day return, but he would never have wished for her to remain so alone and so haunted.

Her trembling fingers caught at his suddenly, as he moved to brush her hair from her flushed cheek, and she held on tight, needing his steadiness like a lifeline in a howling gale. Those wide, emerald orbs were searching his as if not sure what to make of his question. “W-what did you just ask me?” she murmured, voice fragile as a butterfly’s wing on the still night air amidst the crickets chirping and bullfrogs calling from ponds hidden in the trees at their backs.

Was she really so used to being doubted? After so many times she had saved lives, provided answers no one else could, and proven herself over and over, was it still that much of a shock to be taken seriously? Killian was ready to follow her lead, to charge into action at her back, once she had her bearings again and he was sure she would be alright.

“You aren’t going to ask how I know? Where the pictures come from? If - If I’m sure they’re real?”

He shook his head gently, never breaking eye contact with her for a second. This was important, and he needed her to see he meant every word. “Of course not, Lass,” he finally answered, words calm but sure. “I’ve known you all my life and have never known you to lie - or to be wrong in the visions you’ve seen… no matter how they might hurt.”

Looking down at their joined hands, their fingers now intertwined as he held onto her just as tightly. “No questions asked?” she mumbled dazedly, as though encouraging herself to take him at his word. “Really? Just like that?” And when she raised her face to meet his eyes again, there were still the shining tracks of tears on her cheeks, but they were no longer falling; she had blinked them away and a look of willful determination was taking over her features. “Why?” was all she whispered then, staring at him so open and raw it seemed as if she wanted to drink in his every word. “Why would you do that?”

Killian brought their joined hands up to his lips, bowing his dark head slightly over them as he hardly dared breathe, pausing to make sure she wouldn’t pull away before pressing the softest pursing of his lips to her knuckles and holding them there, breathing warmth against her skin. “Because, Emma, as I said… I know you. Love and trust, even basic kindness, have been all too rare in your life. People have always treated you a certain way - the wrong way - doubting you, hurting you, using you until they don’t need you anymore, and then throwing you away.” He wet his lips, trying to gather his nerve and praying he wasn’t about to say more than he should - or that he hadn’t done so already - then plunged on. “I aim to be different. I’m right here with you for the long haul, if you’ll have me.”

For a moment, Emma seemed frozen, stunned beyond response, but she finally shook her head wonderingly and offered him a tremulous smile, still clutching his hand but moving to stand, which he did as well, then helped her up beside him. “How did you…?” she finally asked breathily.

A crooked smile pulled at one corner of his mouth as Killian sighed, gingerly moving to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow and guide her back toward his truck, still idling on the rough shoulder of the quiet country road. “I know that lost look in your eyes all too well,” he explained as best he could while he helped her with the high step up into the cab. “Our circumstances may be different, but the feeling is the same. We’ve both been lost for too long.”

He closed the door with those words, but Emma caught at his sleeve through the open window, keeping him in place before he could round the front of the vehicle. “Thank you,” she whispered - only two small words, but full of meaning. She would take the support, the belief in her, he was offering. She had been fully prepared for him to back away, to be too discomforted by what the visions did to her for him to stick around. She’d experienced more people like that in her life than she could count or even remember. But instead, Killian had witnessed the flashes of horror and darkness sweep over her, seen how much it took out of her and he was still standing right there looking at her the same way he always had. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rose had been the only person who truly seemed able to understand the magnitude of her gift and curse and was always there trying to help in any way she could. It made a poetic sort of sense that her brother might do the same.

“We have to look into this, Killian. If Rose w- wasn’t the only one…” she stumbled at the thought of her friend’s pale, bruise-mottled limbs against the muddy ground that morning so long ago, swallowing down the nausea in heaving gulps. “If her killer’s kept on all this time… I should have known. I should have done something…”

Tremors seized her once again until Killian pulled her into his chest, holding her tight until she steadied, and then pulling back just enough to firmly cradle her cheeks in both hands, pulling her focus back before she could sink into the void grappling to pull her under. “Hey, no, none of that,” he coaxed firmly, holding her steady until she nodded her assent. His own heart was beating against the confines of his chest, but he would calm it later; Emma needed his certainty. “We’ll figure it out, Swan. I promise you that. If you’ve seen there are others we need to find, Love, then that is exactly what we’ll do.”

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Early evening dusk had come to rest lightly on the rumpled covers, smushed pillows, and his clothes tossed haphazardly all around the room when Dr. Graham Hunter blinked back into awareness near the dinner hour. Groggily, he berated himself for dozing off so early while attempting to piece together why he had stripped stark naked and went to bed before even having any supper. Then, his brain caught up with him, and he sighed, Ruby’s arrival in his office downstairs, her seduction and his weakness in falling for it once again, all coming back to him in a rush. He scrubbed a tired hand down his face and felt the weight of realization pressing heavily on his shoulders - even before he turned to look at the pillow beside him and his hand reached out for her to find empty space.

He was a fool. When it came to Ruby, he always had been, Graham admitted to himself as he rolled over with a frustrated curse, allowing himself a whiff of her decadent camelia perfume and honeyed musk on the pillow before flinging it away with a growl. How he fell into this pattern with her - crawling to her on his knees when she crooked her finger or batted an eye his way, and then waking up alone and picking up the pieces of his shattered dignity when she vanished (and she always did) - he wasn’t quite sure. He had fallen for it years ago, and yet somehow, despite knowing better, he was still such a lovesick pup over her that he settled for the scraps she offered him every time.

A noise downstairs caught his attention suddenly, breaking into the well-known litany of shame and self-recrimination. Maybe her trying to slip out unnoticed had been what woke him from his doze. Without pausing to think or second guess, Graham vaulted out of bed, pulled on the track pants he’d draped over the chair in the corner after his morning run, and pounded down the stairs, intending to catch Ruby before she made her quick exit. Fueled by angry hurt and adrenaline, he could only think she wasn’t going to get off quite so easily this time.

He caught her with her fingers grasping the door handle, her wicked heels held tightly in her other hand; her intentions blatantly clear. At his strangled call of her name - sounding a far sight more desperate than he’d meant for it to - she whipped around with a guilty, wide-eyed look painted across her face as she stared back at him over her shoulder. Neither of them moved or spoke for several long moments; Graham because he was practically vibrating with desperation, hurt, and anger in equal measure, Ruby seemingly waiting to see what he would do.

‘Or figuring out if she could sweet talk her way back into his good graces,’ his more realistic inner voice chided. ‘Had he still not learned how ridiculous he was to hope for anything else from her?’ Trying to steel his heart against the natural inclination to charm and cajole her back upstairs, to try to get her to stay while he made supper and to spend the evening together - just spend time with him out of bed, actually allow him to get to know her, or even show that she could want something more from him than the occasional physical thrill he could provide.

Before he could find a way to put any of this into words, Ruby tilted her head slightly, a guarded and slightly embarrassed half smile pressing a sweet little dimple into her cheek as she prepared to wheedle her way out of the awkward spot, just as he had predicted.

“Hey there, Handsome,” she crooned, the smile growing when he didn’t interrupt, clearly gaining confidence in her comfortable and familiar ploy. She let her graceful fingers release the door, her hand falling back to her side as she took a step closer to him. “Sorry if I woke you. I wanted to let you rest, even though I got a call and had to head out. No reason you shouldn’t be able to enjoy a break. You work hard enough, you’ve definitely earned it.”

Damn her for knowing exactly what she was doing to him! Graham swallowed hard as Ruby stood before him coyly biting her lower lip and staring up at him through her lashes innocently. One brightly lacquered red nail traced up along his bare chest between his pecs, and he struggled not to flinch, not to let the way his body immediately reacted to her touch be known.

But, of course, she did know what a word, a look, the slightest caress of hers could do to him. He had allowed her to play him like a fiddle too many times before for her to be convinced now by feigned indifference. Graham clenched his fists, closing his eyes for a moment and praying for strength, before catching her wrist and removing her hand from his chest, holding her gaze determinedly as a muscle in his jaw flexed with his aggravation and the amount of restraint it took not to pull her into his arms and give into her playful touch, pretend to buy the poor excuses and give into her charms. He didn’t want to force the coming confrontation; he knew it was going to hurt and likely wouldn’t end in any way he would hope for. Yet, he couldn’t go on blindly like this either - not anymore. He could only hope, deep down somewhere, as he barely allowed himself to wish in his quietest, most raw moments, that she needed more too, that she did care for him more than she wanted to admit. Maybe - just maybe - if he forced her into honesty, she might grasp it and open herself up rather than let him go.

“Please,” he managed to choke out, his voice rasping, but steadier than he had feared it might sound. “Just stop with the excuses,” he pressed on, hating the way her eyes clouded with hurt, those ridiculously big, liquid brown eyes he usually couldn’t deny a thing. “We both know there was no phone call. You just wanted to get out of here before I woke up and tried to get you to stay, to really be here with me longer than it takes for a romp and to scratch your itch. I’ve done a poor job of showing it,” he hurried on, seeing she was about to interrupt, “but I’m not a puppy to trail along behind you and be at your beck and call. You know how I feel about you, Ruby; I’ve been more than half in love with you since we were about ten years old. But I can’t live on scraps anymore. No matter how much…” The words back up and he shook his head angrily, turning his face from her when she reached out to him again.

He’d heard her gasp sharply at his declaration, but she too was shaking her head, a lone tear running down her cheek. There had never really been much hope left within him that she could give him what he needed; she wasn’t ready, or wouldn’t allow herself. The expression on her face and the tension in her long, lean frame - poised to run - told him all he needed to know.

Finally, his eyes dropped to the floor, no longer even wanting to look at her and think of all they could be together, and what he would never have. With a final exhalation of defeated breath, he gave her his terms. “Don’t sneak in here like this anymore, knowing how I feel about you, when you plan to sneak back out again with the sunrise and not give me anything of yourself in return. I can’t do it anymore.”

Ruby’s breath caught on a ragged inhale, as if she were gathering herself to argue with him and then the words fled her in the face of his honesty. He knew if he met her gaze it would be glossed  over with unshed tears, panic covering her features at losing the passion and connection they had always shared, but unable to expose her true self - her psyche, her heart, her soul - to keep him. He forced himself to hold his resolve; if he allowed her pain to catch at him, he knew he would have to comfort her. It was who he was, and where his weakness had always been when it came to Ruby Jones.

“Graham…” she finally whispered shakily, her voice a wavering breath not much like the silken purr she usually employed. “I can’t - you don’t understand - “

But he cut her off, gently taking a step back, a safer distance away from her before he crumbled and gathered her up in his arms. “I understand more than you think, Ru. You’re not the careless, untouchable vixen you try to play. There’s more to you, more than anyone else has bothered to see, more than you let show. I want that for you… and for us. And I can’t keep tearing myself apart hoping while nothing ever changes.”

Her shoulders slumped as she saw that his mind was made up, and she blinked moisture from her lashes quickly, biting her lip in determination that she wouldn’t be hurt enough to cry. “You’ll regret this, Graham. You know that, right? Can’t the fact that you are special to me, that I always come back to you, be enough?”

“Not this time, Ruby,” he murmured, sorry already, even as he spoke, but still adamant that he deserved more than the dregs of her attention, even if that meant she left his arms forever.

“You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Hunter,” she commented sadly, one last plaintive attempt at banter with a half-hearted smile that died before the upward curve of her lips was completed. “Ever think maybe you’re asking too much of me?”

But he shook his head slowly, studying her intently now - in a way that didn’t allow her to avoid him. “No, I don’t.” He spoke softly, deliberately, intoning the words that he genuinely believed. “For far too long, I haven’t asked enough. There is so much more within you, Ruby Jones. A capacity for love and greatness that you refuse to let yourself experience. I know that… whether you can see it yet or not.”

She shook her head regretfully, mouth twisted in a sort of grimace. “Then you may need to have your head examined,” she retorted, her hand on the door again.

With her almost gone, and not knowing when he would see her again, or be able to speak with her or touch her, or smell the sweetly ripe and enticing scent of the shampoo she used on that silky mahogany curtain of hair, Graham panicked a bit and recklessly reached out, clutching her upper arms and pulling her just close enough to press his lips to her forehead and breathe her in once more, knowing it might have to hold him indefinitely. He almost took it all back, but clung to his pride by the very tips of his fingers.

“You know, I’ll be here… right?” he murmured, breath hot across the skin of her brow. “If you ever decide you want to make a real go of this…”

Ruby had her pride too though, and that wildness and fear which twined together to keep her running and at enough of a distance from everyone that she had convinced herself she couldn’t be hurt. Tall and as elegant as a statue, that poise trained into her since she could walk, she let out a watery chuckle. “You had your chance,” she warned, trying for offhanded nonchalance. Though it fell far short of her mark, she didn’t back down. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” She pushed the door open and slipped out of the clinic as quickly and quietly as she had appeared hours before.

Sadly, Graham sighed as he raked his hand through his disheveled curls before bowing his head in defeat. It hadn’t seemed that he had another choice, and yet in the moment he felt as though he had just made the worst possible mistake… and lost something he might never get back.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Once she’d left Graham’s clinic, Ruby found herself wandering aimlessly. Of course she’d returned to her snazzy little car and rummaged around in the duffle she’d stashed in the back for a more normal and less blatantly seductive outfit. She didn’t have any trouble wriggling into it in the backseat undetected. It was a slow, sleepy, late afternoon in a small town, creeping toward dusk, and there was no one in sight. However, by the time she had finished and settled herself back in the driver’s seat, Ruby was sniffing back tears and angrily wiping the silent tracks of those which had already escaped down her face. ‘Why did he have to ruin everything?’ ran on a fuming, repetitive loop in her head, crying out against her desire to shrug it off as if it didn’t matter that much anyway. They’d had some good times, and he was a catch, sure, but Graham Hunter wasn’t irreplaceable she tried to convince herself.  ‘He wasn’t happy with her in his bed? Fine. He’d be sorry once he’d been without for a little while.’

The rant she was trying to build up in her head sounded good, but she couldn’t put any feeling behind it - not really. She wasn’t even fooling herself. Graham was different from the other men she had charmed, toyed with, and strung along for a time. He always had been. She simply hadn’t wanted to admit that truth, and now it was boring its way into the center of her chest with all the strength of a drill bit. ‘How in hell had that happened?’ She’d sworn she wouldn’t give a real damn about anyone - not since even her own parents couldn’t be bothered to save a care for her. ‘How did he sneak through the cracks?’

‘Because he does care about you,’ a chiding but concerned voice that sounded a lot like how she remembered Rose’s whispered in her mind. He was there before you tried to lock everyone out, it added, and she shook her head, trying to scatter the unwanted reminders. With a growl of frustration, she swung back out of the little two-seater, noticing vaguely that though Storybrooke did not look very lively there were several small shops heading back toward the town square that had not yet closed for the day. ‘A distraction,’ she decided firmly, with a sharp dip of her chin and squared shoulders. ‘Take my mind off it for a minute, and before long, he’ll be in my rearview.’ The self-comfort rang a bit hollow, but she was already loping down the sidewalk with purpose, looking for something to catch her fancy.

The Sweet Shoppe on the corner had their door open, allowing a decadent and enticing scent of buttery pastry to drift out to passersby. Ruby grinned, cheered at least a little by the prospect of flaky layers of cinnamon sugar, crackly baked dough and butter in one of their famous pinwheels. One of those treats certainly wouldn’t right all that had gone wrong since she’d woken in Graham’s second story apartment an hour ago, but it surely couldn’t hurt, and she was grinning in spite of the hollow ache which had settled beneath her breastbone by the time she opened the door and entered the shop to the sound of the little bell above it chiming merrily.

Sure enough, she did feel rejuvenated after biting into the freshly-made and still warm delicacy. By the time she stepped back out of the bakery onto the sidewalk - one pinwheel happily devoured after practically melting in her mouth, and another bagged up for later in her hand - things didn’t look quite so bleak.

As Ruby headed on down the sidewalk, slowly starting to convince herself - for the time being at least - that she was recovering her equilibrium, she found herself reaching Emma Swan’s new store front, the displays in her window truly beginning to look much like a big city gallery and the potted flowers out front on the walk looking nearly ready for the upcoming grand opening. Some old, deep-seated pettiness stirred at first, as her dark eyes took in the signs of Emma’s determination not to quit - every bit as stubborn as any of the Joneses, too much so to back down, no matter who tried to keep her away.

But the longer she stood there on the pavement hopefully out of sight of anyone who might be inside since she was standing there gawking like she’d been frozen in place, Ruby couldn’t muster up the indignation and hateful bitterness she’d harbored before. Much as she had been hopeful to at last please her mother with her compliant agreement, or continue to feel hurt and jealous over the kinship Emma Swan had shared with her lost twin, the anger just wouldn’t come. In hindsight, with the light of day and the wisdom of years in between, she knew that Rose’s murder, the horror of that nightmarish day lost in the muggy, strangling soup of that long, horrible summer had not been Emma’s fault. In many ways, Emma had been another victim; one who kept being punished instead of laid to rest.

Despite the messes she had already made that day, Ruby determined that she was going to stop following the chosen family line. She would never earn Cora Jones’ elusive approval anyway, so why should she continue making herself and others miserable in pursuit of it? She had just reached out to try the door, just in case Emma was there, when the woman herself pulled into a parking space and exited the ancient VW that Ruby actually remembered her leaving town in years ago.

“Ruby Jones?” Emma questioned, her brow knit in concern as she moved to stand beside her on the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?”

Ruby shrugged a bit sheepishly, with what she hoped was a convincing smile. She wasn’t about to admit all that she’d just been thinking, and so she was at a loss for how to explain her presence. 

“You can’t think I’m crazy enough to leave the place unlocked, surely?” Emma queried, moving the bag she carried to the opposite arm and fishing a ring of keys from the bag at her side. “Not with how many people hate me setting up shop here. Speaking of, wouldn’t egging the place be a little simpler than trying to break in?”

She quirked a challenging brow at Ruby, but also waited patiently for an answer, standing in the opened doorway as the warm air drifted through around them. And Ruby had to give her that one; she had never dropped even a single hint that she would simply pay Emma a friendly visit.

Finally relocating her usual sass, she winked, slipping in the door on Emma’s heels before the other woman could change her mind. “Nah, that’s for the riff raff. I can do better than egging if I really want to make my point.”

“I bet you can,” Emma drawled, looking bemused by the whole situation.

Rather than saying anything else for a moment, Ruby roamed around the small but beautifully arranged space, taking in all that Emma had done to make the building her own and have it looking its best. She couldn’t help being drawn in by the photographs themselves as well. While she might have been too hardheaded to acknowledge it before, her eyes were open now to recognize that Emma Swan truly had a gift - one for capturing her subjects in a way Ruby had never seen the like of before.

Emma, meanwhile, had moved to the counter to deposit her things and turned to watch Ruby Jones with genuine curiosity. Not speaking, she merely observed, wondering what had changed to bring a self-appointed enemy to her doorstep, seemingly anxious to play nice. Someone could have knocked her over with a feather, as the old saying went, when Ruby suddenly turned with a broad smile from where she’d stopped to study a huge canvas bearing a close-up of a single, stunning, blood-red azalea blossom as its focal point. Some sort of mischievous glint was in her eye that Emma didn’t fully understand until she asked, “Any chance you’d sell this one to me before your official opening? It’s just the thing my mother ought to have for her birthday.”

Too startled to catch the surprised snort of laughter that escaped at Ruby’s words, Emma slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. The brunette vixen she had always somehow felt was looking down her nose at her, looked genuinely pleased with her reaction, her pearly white smile broadening even more to look sharp and dangerous as well as alluring.

When she thought herself capable of calm speech instead of disbelieving laughter, she met Ruby’s eye and replied, “Oh, that can certainly be arranged, especially for such an illustrious recipient as your mother.” Emma was capable of her own sweet as pie with steel beneath expression, and she employed it now with a stealthy smirk of her own that made Ruby’s eyes widen in their turn. “Of course, I might have to charge you extra for not letting me be there to see her face when you gift her with one of my photos.”

The deal was struck, and somehow the unexpected exchange between them was healing. Nothing more needed to be said, but the years of avoiding one another, skirting painful history and old grudges, were past, and a weight fell from both their shoulders. They were two completely different people, with very different experiences and unique wounds to bear, but the one person they both had in common, and the fierce, proprietary love each had held for her - which had always stood between them - had brought them together at last. Just as Rose had always wished. As they laughed at their own impudence, and the vision of Cora’s affronted face when she realized the full import of the present, Emma gift wrapped the large frame, and Ruby gladly paid her for her first sale. Emma could almost feel her old friend’s presence over her shoulder and the echo of Rose’s sweet voice cheering her on.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

He’d nearly gotten caught that morning, lingered almost too long as the dawn’s first rays spread across the sky, bringing light and warmth to the the early gray and beginning to dry the dew on the grass. ‘Should have remembered the little hellcat can’t sleep through the night! Never has been able to!’ he cursed to himself as he awkwardly lunged into the deep underbrush a few feet from the porch. He felt damned lucky she’d chosen to come back to the little cabin of horrors so close to the woods, and so secluded from any neighbors… That could have been a fine end to things before they could really get going - and he’d bided his time far too long already, been more patient than a man should rightly have to bear - to get caught with his hand in his pants on her front porch and blow everything he’d worked for. She’d go running then - just like she’d done before.

Emma Swan would not escape him a second time. Just as they had been all those years ago, all the points were aligned, but now he was ready and prepared - he wouldn’t allow her to slip from his trap. Still, he needed to be careful… couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Dark, hungry eyes watched from the safety of the trees as the screen door flew open and his quarry dashed across the porch, down the rickety steps and into her car. He drank in her curves like a wino would savor the first sip from a hard-won bottle. Hard again, he gritted his teeth before succumbing to the empty pleasure of his own hand. ‘Not much longer,’ the mantra repeated in his head. ‘Not much longer, and she will be mine.’ 

It was almost too easy; she had stepped into his web better than he could have planned, more naturally than he had dared to hope. It wouldn’t pay to get overconfident, but he could feel everything falling into place.

Oh, he could bide his time a little longer - after all, he’d waited this long - but soon she would be within his grasp. Just the two of them, and no one near enough to interrupt, or be any the wiser. She wouldn’t be able to run from him then.

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