#but it's a small town there's not many people and the clothes get worn until they're unwearable so it works out

[starpros-sunshine]

seb. seb bard wataru and secluded noble eichi as their cnstars exclusive cards au

!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes yes yes yes yes Ohhh I can see it I can see it

I'm gonna put this under read more because this could get longer

Wataru as a traveling bard and Eichi is a noble that lives a kind of isolated life dur to his weak constitution and Wataru comes by Eichis castle or mansion or chateau or whatever fancy piece of architecture he occupies and Eichi hears Watarus music and comes to the window and they have a moment of eye contact and initially Wataru doesn't think much of it and travels further after he played a few more pieces for Eichi -because of course if the audience enjoys it then the entertainer shall entertain for that is his job - and so after that little private concert is over he travels further. His eay leads him this small town that's not so far from the fancy piece of architecture, because I like to be a little cliché, and there he hears all sorts of rumours about the mysterious nobles that live in the...I'll just call it a mansion now it's a chateau-adjacent mansion. Any ways those rumours catch his intrigue and he decides to stay in the town a little and he stays at an inn maybe and he pays him rent by playing music for them in the evenings,,,

Oh and maybe this is where he runs into Yuzuru! He's on the street just observing and he sees this elegant and very pretty looking young man and he doesn't look like someone from the town but he also doesn't have the air of an aristocrat about him and he catches some older women gossipping about him and apparently he's a domestic servant of the strange nobles that everyone seems to be a little scared of because they never seem to show their face anywhere.

Maybe he tries to strike up a conversation with Yuzuru or maybe that process repeats multiple times but eventually he decides to snoop around the Mansion a little and maybe he runs into Eichi again,,,

And maybe he gives him a few more private concerts or magic performances I reckon he does those too and the intrigue grows and grows and by now the people in the town know Wataru by name and sometimes he gets free food gifted by them and they're still a little wary of him because he just appeared one day and nobody knows where this strange man with his birds and his heavenly voice came from but he seems to be nice so they come to like him.

And Yuzuru picks up some of the rumours about this strange bard that pays his room at the local inn by playing songs for the patrons in the evenings and sometimes helps out the elderly i the town and he notices he's seen this man before playing music outside of their house so of course he mentions these rumours to Eichi and Tori who in turn are intrigued and a little sceptic respectively.

When Wataru appears the at Eichis balcony the next time Eichi actually initiates a conversation with Wataru and that continues over the next few visits as well and eventually they go from "Bard" and "My Lord" to "Wataru" and "Eichi" or still "My Lord" but this is different though it's the same as when Wataru calls Eichi emperor it's more teasing than a formality you have to imagine a grin in his voice as he says that. Tori and Yuzuru have no idea about most of these visits because half of them are in the middle of the night (I imagine it a little like the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet right right).

And so they grow closer and as the time passes Wataru starts to actually settle a little in the town. The room he was renting at the inn is pretty much actually his room now, he could've moved out but he lives on a good deal and the older couple that runs the inn treat him like their own son now (he doens't even have to do shows every evening anymore, just sometimes a week) and pretty much all of the regulars know him personally now and on a first name basis (nobody actually knows his last name). This is the first time in forever he's stayed at one place for this long and it's all just because he has taken a liking to this feeble-ish blonde aristocrat that looks at him like he hung all the stars in the sky up by himself.

He still only knows Tori by hearsay and Yuzuru just briefly - somehow they never ran into each other when he was there during the day - But Eichi has joked about introducing them properly before.

in my mind there's this one specific image of Eichi and Wataru standing on his Balcony and they are both on opposite sides of the railing and it's the middle of the night and it's chilly so Eichi has his blanket draped over his shoulders because that's the sensible thing to do when it's cold and Wataru is standing on the opposide side of the railing, kind of standing on the edge of it and leaning more over the railing into the space of the balcony where you actually stand on and they are being disgusting in the way that they're flirting and maybe they also kiss a little,,, maybe,,,, because I want them to,,,,

And sweet innocent Yuzuru only hears about things between Eichi and Wataru via the rumour mill when he goes to run errands on the market and hears that the bard from the inn has been seen in the evening multiple times as he's walking the path to the mansion of the nobles nobody really knows. And he hasn't been back until the early hours of the morning. And so Yuzuru tells this to Tori. And they're both too awkward to ask him straight out so whenever they hear Eichi humming a tune while he does... whatever it is rich people do. They just look at each other and the question is in the room but nobody knows how to break it and they come to just. the weirdest conclusions because nobody in this house communicates like a normal person.

And maybe sometimes Eichi sneaks out to visit Wataru in the town (the first time this happened he put on a really big hood and changes his voice a little so it would be harder to recognise and actually caught Wataru off-guard for once). Watarus birds like him too...at least most of them do.

I like to think he once had to explain to Tori why he smells like bird and it was suuuper awkward because there aren't a lot of ways to talk yourself around having to explain that the night before you were basically turned into a pigeon nest and it took you and your bard-kind-of-boyfriend-but-also-not-really-but-you-have-something-going-on-you-just-don't-really-know-what-to-call-it-because-that-topic-has-been-successfully-avoided spent a good 20 minutes trying to get all the feathers out of your hair and clothes. Tori didn't buy his excuse but it made so little sense that he doesn't really think he wants to know either so he choses to live in ignorance for once. (when he does meet Wataru he remembers this and suddenly it all makes sense because Wataru also smells like birds. He choses living in ignorance was good while it lasted.)

After some more time of being acquainted with Wataru Eichi and Tori decide to also show their faces in the town for once and both parties have to warm up to each other and it's a little off for all involved (Wataru and Yuzuru are the only people who actually know both sides personally) but with the time the general unease regarding the secluded nobles ebbs out a little. There's still people who don't like them but it's civil still because they like Yuzuru and while they think Wataru is a bit strange they have come to like him as well and why provoke unneccessary comflict when you can just decide not to interact with those people.

I could talk sooooo much more but I don't think anyone actually wants to read this much or cares for it so I will try to stop now but just. Eichi bringing the traveling bard Wataru to settle down and "tying him down to humanity" by keeping in one place and Ohhhhhhh you can even have something EP:Link-esque in this like. Eichi is convinced Wataru will leave him eventually because he's a free spirit and tying him down would be unfair or impossible or something and Wataru gives him...I dob't know maybe not a mask but his instrument or something maybe a mask works too because he would probably still be a bard the man has to make a living somehow but symbolically the instrument would work better. But yes and he gives that to him and tells him "this is me and I offer this to you" and Eichi still doesn't get it so at their next redezvous it's like. the second part of that converstation where Eichi had to accept that Wataru wanting to stay is the only logical explanation left and he has to accept that and ooooh there's layers to this there is actually layers to this I'm so,,,,,hehehehehe,,,,laughing ecstatically and clapping my hands,,,,

[misswrittenword]

A Trolls Fee.

Male!Troll x fem!human ~ "I need to pay to cross this bridge?", p in v, oral (fem and male receiving), no protection, breeding kink (I have issues), degradation, boinking in broad daylight on a bridge, so there's exhibitionism, grumpy monster and mildly confused but enthusiastic girl, brat, dom. use of good girl, whore and slut, praise.

Excuse any grammatical errors :')

This was your third day on the road. Your bustling little seaside village had been brutally raided, and you had fled in the night. Having no family, you had only friends to mourn, but part of you was glad. Plus, who knew, maybe they made it out too. Your thin leather sole shoes scuff along the well worn path as you drag your feet, desperate just to make it to the next village in this forest.

So far you had been getting by on strangers kindness, people letting you sit in the backs of their wagons among hay and bags of goods. You were thankful for them, sure you wouldn't have made it far without the help. Unfortunately no one had offered you a ride today, so you were left to set your own pace. If it kept up like this you would stay in the next town, you decided. The woods around you were beautiful, and you began to daydream of soft beds and filling meals until you come upon a river.

Well, it was a small river, with a stone bridge arching gently between the two banks. You stop and tilt your head, staring at the well built cabin not too far from it. That was weird, you'd never seen a home so close to a bridge before, but then you hadn't seen many bridges. Having lived your whole life on the sea, you were mostly unfamiliar with the forest and how things operated. Maybe it was a caretaker?

Moving forward again, you wonder briefly if they'd let you rest for the night here. But the second you set foot on the middle of the bridge, a deep, booming voice has you jumping in fear and stopping dead still.

"Halt!" A masculine voice bellows. "You must pay for the right to use this bridge, wanderer."

You look up at the looming figure standing several feet in front of you and are shocked beyond measure. Faintly, you recall hushed stories of monsters in the woods, but you never expected to come across one.

A dark grey skinned man.. monster.. glares at you. He is hulking, arms and legs thick, shoulders so wide they strain under the linen shirt he wears. His nose is charmingly large, and small tusks poke out of the corner of his mouth. He screams masculinity, and you fear he'd be able to snap you in half with those deliciously huge hands. He has short black hair, and his ears are lined with golden rings.

"I... have to pay to use this bridge?" You whisper, looking positively caught off guard. What is he?

The monster scowls at you, "Speak up!" He barks.

You frown, crossing your arms under your boobs and you repeat yourself, louder and with a firm tone. If he wanted to act like a tough guy, you would too.

"And who the hell are you?" You demand. He eyes you up before beginning to stalk towards you, and you realize just how huge this being is. He's almost two heads taller, and the shadow he casts on you allows you to stare up into his strangely handsome face.

"I am Rhazin, troll of this bridge. Only those who pay my fee may pass." He grunts, peering down at you.

That seemed like a bit of a scam to you but you state your name nonetheless. "I have not a coin to offer you. Surely you have heard of the burning in Locklord Cove, I fled from there many days ago." You state, hoping that your pitiful story would stir some kindness in his heart.

Oh, how you were wrong. "There must be something else we can do."

The troll places his hands on his hips, and slowly looks you up and down. Under his heavy gaze, you suddenly realize that you likely have hay in your hair and are wearing a light cloth dress, something to keep you cool during the heat on the beach in your old home. Something that does nothing to hide your soft plush body or the swell of your breasts.

Your cheeks flush prettily, as Rhazin begins to circle you slowly. "You're a very tempting looking morsel. I bet you're delicious."

You glance down at the growing tent in his trousers, and realize with a mix of shock and arousal that the only thing stirring in this troll is his cock.

Despite the blush on your cheeks and warmth in your belly, you keep your eyes on him, and raise your chin. "You want to fuck me? Speak plainly, beast."

You were no virgin after all, but still, you were playing with fire. Yet... the idea of this monster taking you made your jiggly thighs squeeze together instinctively. And you wanted it rough.

He bares his teeth at you, "I am no beast, wanderer, but I may use your hole like one if you don't watch your tongue."

A smirk graces your lips, "You're all bark and no bite."

Eyes darkening, "Is it a deal then? Your body for your fee."

You nod your consent.

Rhazin wastes no time in grabbing you, ripping your dress and under garments from your body cruelly. You gasp in shock as the creature begins to palm your ass while he directs you to the side wall on the bridge.

"Here!?" you sputter, but he doesn't offer a response, already pushing you to your knees. He frees the ties on his pants, and you stare in disbelief as his cock is revealed. The dark grey skin is taunt on the shaft, the head leaking with pre cum already. It's giant, fitting for a monster his size, and your mouth waters. His balls are huge, and he grips you by the back of your head, guiding his cock to your lips.

"You've sucked cock before, haven't you girl? Or are you the one who is merely all talk? Get to work, slut." He growls.

You quiver, looking up at his face as you take him in both hands and open your mouth. You lick up the underside of his cock, it nearly dwarfs your head and blocks your vision partially. Sucking the tip into your mouth, you find yourself straining already.

He would undoubtedly split you open, and the thought made you moan as you begin to take more of his cock between your lips. Working your hands on what you can't fit, you suck him eagerly and sloppily, spit slicking your hands and wetting your chin. His hand guides you gently, holding you down for a few extra seconds as he grunts when you take him deeper. You gag and he thrusts into your mouth shallowly, barely restraining himself. You think he's about to cave and fuck your face before he yanks you off his shaft, and pulls you up at the hair.

"Enough. I want to fill this cunt up with my cum. Give you my beast whelps so you have something to remember me by." He growls, turning you around and pushing you forward until your naked body is leaning awkwardly over the belly button high wall. You whimper at his words, belly tightening at the thought of him breeding you.

Rhazin moves behind you, your breath catching in your lungs as you peer over the bridge at the water rushing below. He spreads your legs, and the cool wind against your wet cunt makes you shiver.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you shriek, and you jolt away from him just to be pulled back. He squats down behind you, a hand on your hip and the other spreading the lips of your pussy open.

"Look how wet you are, whore. Soaked from sucking my cock." His voice is a deep rumble, and you tense under his scrutiny.

He delves in, licking from your clit to your puckered ass, a gasp escaping your lips in surprised pleasure. He slowly starts to finger you, licking and toying with your clit until your legs are shaking. He adds another finger, and through the burn of being stretched, just two makes you sob and beg for more.

"Please," You whine, clenching down on him and crying out as you cum around his fingers. "Please God, fuck me. I need your fat cock."

A chuckle escapes him, sending shivers down your spine as he pulls from you.

"Begging a beast for his cock, slut? Who am I to deny you." he growls, lining himself up with your weeping hole.

He slips the head in, and your hungry pussy gobbles him up. Though he prepped you with his hand, the stretch makes your eyes roll into the back of your head by the first couple inches, and you're a blabbering mess by the time he sinks himself in until his balls slap against your tender clit. His hand caresses your plush stomach, and he groans, feeling his own cock creating a large bump in it.

"You take me so good, such a good slut for this beast."

You sob and push back into him as he withdraws. "More!" Your voice is high and breathy, legs trembling.

The troll sets a punishing pace, using your hips to pound into your fat cunt. You feel like a toy, and the thought makes you drip around him. The wet sounds of sex fill the air, and you wail as an orgasm starts to build.

"Slut," he grunts into your ear. "We have company."

The words rouse you from your stupor, and you look down the road from where you came. A man on a horse is slowly edging closer, now on the bridge. He's middle aged, and looks shocked by the sight of you impaled on the bridge trolls cock. Heat rushes through your body, and your cheeks blush brighter with a combination of arousal and embarrassment.

You moan out loud as a particularly hard thrust from Rhazin brings your attention back. The man eyes you hungerly, and you close your eyes.

The beast in your cunt keeps fucking into you, barking something at the man.

"That's twice the usual rate!" You hear him argue.

Rhazin snarls, "Half is for getting the pleasure of seeing me fuck my pretty little whore of a mate."

Brain mush from the thick, long cock rearranging your womb, you whimper and sob as he doubles down on his pace. He leans back down to your ear, whispering so only you can hear.

"Do you like that, pretty girl? He's watching me ruin you for any normal man again. Does it make your whore cunt twitch and ache knowing he's watching?" He asks. The only sound you can manage is a high pitched cry.

"Open your eyes, slut. Look him in the face. I own you now. And I'm going to breed this little cunt. Keep you as my cock warmer." His orders are punctuated with deep thrusts, but you only open your eyes when one hand grabs your hair and tilts your head toward the rider.

You look at the man who's gaze is fixed on your cunt spread as the troll fucks into you. You feel shame rise up your neck, but not just at being caught like this, but because you like it.

"Beg for it." He demands.

And you do. "Please!" You sob. "Fuck me full of your cum. Give me your babies. I need it. I'm yours to fuck when you want, just please-" You're cut off by your own squeal at a hard thrust. "Please use me, beast."

Rhazin releases your hair, hand going to your clit and rubbing a finger over your tender flesh. Your mind reels as you begin to clench down around his monster cock, and a wail leaves you as he spills his cum inside you, setting off your own orgasm.

A clear claim that sends the traveler away, adjusting his own trousers.

Rhazin thrusts into your over used pussy shallowly. You feel so full it almost hurts, but you relish the feeling, twitching and hanging limply in his hold.

"Such a good whore for me." He whispers into your ear. "I can't wait to watch you swell with my children. You'll want for nothing my mate. I'll keep this fat slutty cunt full every day for the rest of our lives."

You nod weakly. Who needed to stay in the next town when you could be used like the slut you were right here. Fucked full of babies and split open by him every day.

Body tightening at the thought, he begins to move again. Still speared on his cock on the bridge, he fucks you twice over, until your screams echo down the river. Your new home.

[miaurri]

I can finally drop her ref and add her backstory 😭 I made a post on insta with her lore but it's extremely water down so I might as well make a full post about it

CW// Animal death, Domestic Abuse, Grooming, Self Harm and Attempted SA

Kayo was born the first day of spring, a new beginning for her mother and father but over time she didn't came out "right" physically. She was beautiful no doubt about it but with such an odd looking eye she was almost incomplete.

Though despite this her family continued to raise her till she later on has a brother. They plan on raising him to become a samurai and bring wealth into the family home but Kayo insisit she can as well. Most of Kayo's early childhood was spent on taking care of the farm and help watching over her brother who was slowly getting ill. She was annoyed with him, not only for stealing the attention away from her family but as a "hindrance" to the family

As winter slowly arrived his condition had gotten worse and their money had gotten low. Nightly her parents argued on the money problem which lead to violence she'd witness, but Kayo wanted to show her family that she was able to provide as well. Unknowingly she went into the fields to look for some plants to use for medication and saw red spider lillies, entranced by then she grabbed a handful before sneaking back into the home as everyone went to sleep. Kayo proceeded to make a herb tea made out of the plants and gave them to her brother.

Even if she didn't like him she was willing to try and help her family out by watching after him. But no matter how many times she tried his condition had gotten worse, more and more Kayo started adding anything to make his medication work till she gave him all the remaining spider lillies she could find and made him drink it all that night. The next morning wasn't a pleasant one as her brother's body was layed cold. His face went purple and blood was left on his lips as Kayo's mother discover the dead body of her son and her daughter with a cup layed next to her her mother assumed that Kayo had intentionally poisoned her brother

Struck with grief and anger her mother shoved Kayo away from her brother as she cried and cradle his body. From then there her family had became worse. Her mother would always have bruises and was shaking in fear at any sign of touch. Kayo became distant but the guilt of upsetting her mother weighed more as Kayo told her she was willing to do anything to see her happy again.

That night Kayo's mother held her daughter for the last time. Not saying a word as by the next morning Kayo's mother lead her to a strange place. It was definitely more busier than their small village and everyone work nice clothing compare to the rags that they often wore. Kayo stopped by at a building and spoke to a strange man. Kayo felt nervous as she saw the man's eyes leering at her, she didn't understand what had happened but saw the man grabbing Kayo by her arm as he lead her further into the town.

As Kayo panicked she looked back at her mother who was walking away with a small bag of coins hand. Kayo was left to the hands of whoever now as she walked through the crowd of people. She finds herself heading into a tall building as the man lead her into a room, Kayo looking back immediately as soon as the paper door was slammed closed. But instead of something scary awaiting for her, there was a woman. She worn a ray of colorful kimonos that complimented her complexion well. Kayo was told that she'll be working with her as her Kamuro, her servant, but that for now on she'll be under her care

It didn't matter if she was only being nice, or that she perhaps pitied the child Kayo was happy someone was willing to take care of her. She had introduced herself as Fujinami and promised Kayo she'll never leave her side until she was ready. Hence that day Kayo was now renamed to the one we all now know her as. Her weeks with her were slow as she was just getting familiar to the environment she was in. Though she was well equipped with house keeping skills she was lacking a bit with grace and femmeninity.

Fujinami teaches her that in this industry that playing nice was an act, she was performing essentially but it made people happy. Though Kayo didn't seem as interested in playing pretend as she had more focus on being free and running around the house. Especially when one of Fujinami's client had been introduced to Kayo as he waited to see her. Isamu was a popular teacher at a dojo not too far from the district, but he had never met a young girl who was addamit on learning the skills of his craft, not even his younger students showed that much passion which intrigued him.

Kayo was a young spirit. High in energy despite her circumstances and loved playing games with anyone who was willing. It didn't take long for Isamu to start growing a fondness with her and even sharing a bit about himself. He was aware how odd it was for a girl like her to enjoy typically masculine things but even he admits he was like her growing up. He told her stories of him and his mother taking care of the flowers in their home and always enjoying them bloom at the first sight of spring, it was a long process and some don't even bloom in time but he'd personally think that's there's beauty of it.

As Kayo gotten older she'd completely forgotten her old life and now embraced her new one. She even made a friend with a boy from another house named Shotaro. The two would often spar and walk around the town, if they're lucky they could even buy some sweets with the small amount of money they were given. But not everything was great as with each winter's passing Kayo was slowly not forming into the image Fujinami wanted, eventually Kayo will be on her own and if she didn't start becoming the "perfect woman" she'll be left broke and dead.

Fujinami kept insisting that Kayo should start things more seriously as with the lack of skills Kayo was showing was getting worse. Fujinami explained that if she kept practicing and playing up this idea of beauty that one day a man will buy her out and she can finally escape the district on her own. But Kayo kept on failing, she was vulgar with her words, couldn't do flower erranging or even playing most of the instruments given to the house. All she could really do is fight but that's it

Stressed, Fujinami left Kayo to clear her head as she gotten ready to see her next client. Kayo feeling guilty for the lack of consideration wanted to do something for her. But as she's seen growing up, words mean nothing. They're fake and empty and only true dedication is necessary. She's heard from some of the women that there were times that the Oirans would send letters containing a piece of their finger, but usually it's never theirs. Maybe she couldn't get a finger... but she can do something better

Kayo had practiced once again as she was cleaned the table of the spilt sake as a sudden noise comes from the window. She looked down from the window and saw an injured bird on the ground limping. Feeling pity she took the animal in as she grabbed a cloth and scissors to wrap it's wings. But as she stared down at the helpless bird something overcame her, instead as the bird was flapping it's wing suddenly Kayo pierced into the flesh of the bird causing it to holler out in pain. When Kayo managed to rip off a chunk of it's broken wing Fujinami already came upstairs to see the commotion Kayo with glee presented her the bird, her hands coated in blood as she happily talked about how she was sorry for not practicing hard enough but she promised that she'll be good this time around. Disgusted at the bloody sight and the smell Fujinami ran off from Kayo causing her to follow her behind. Confused and worried she clung onto her begging for forgiveness before being shoved by her. Fujinami being scared of what Kayo is capable of shouts that she had wished she had been born a normal girl and not some animal. Struck by those words Kayo watched as she ran away from her as weeks passed and Kayo became completely focus on being more feminine.

If anything what she desired most was her approval, for that happiness she once had to still remain as she continued to perfect her craft. By the time she was old enough to "graduate" she had already perfected the image that was put upon her. Her vulgar language now light and flowery, she was gentle and graceful. Kayo hoped that Fujinami would see her growing into the woman she wanted her to be but alas, she was nowhere in sight. Thats when she heard that since she was old enough to work on her own Fujinami was no longer obligated to take care of her. As her graduation week came, she had herself presented to a crowd of people along the street. She kept a smile but deep down was distraught that she couldn't even be there to say goodbye. Each day she worn a new kimono and her hair was adorned with gold. But no amount of riches could fulfill that void in her heart, Kayo wept. Quietly at first before she had a meltdown as she trashed everything in her room. Stripping herself off of her kimono and hair piece she couldn't bare herself being parted from Fujinami. She was once again all alone. But as she cried a door opened and leaping from the floor begged Fujinami to forgive her and to take her with her. Unfortunately for her a old woman came to say someone had already bought her out for the night, her first customer. Kayo had to be as presentable as she could be but Kayo's heart grew heavy once she waited for her first client. But that feeling would only grow as she looked up and saw Isamu of all people coming to see her.

Kayo was conflicted, but she hoped that he was only there so he could buy her contract and let her live with him. She had decided to speak with him more formally as she poured him sake, but despite the circumstance that they're in Kayo smiled as she spoke fondly about how at least if there was one more figure in her life to trust it would be him. But as entertaining it was for him watching Kayo fumble with her words. He told her that he was only here for one thing most of all. After all, he said, "He enjoyed watching the flowers bloom in spring" and Kayo was simply a flower that was late to bloom. Kayo's face grew pale as he reached closer to her. "Sometimes you have to open the flower yourself to see it's true beauty" was the only words she could make out as she stood still, her body frozen as the image of what was the friendly man who took her under his wing became monstrous, almost unrecognizable. But Kayo wanting to play this role for Fujinami lets him get closer. But she was scared, afraid of what he can do to her that her body broke from it's spell as she grabbed her hairpiece and pierced his eye. Causing him to fall back as Kayo fought him off from trying to get to her. Kayo had lunged forward to him as she stabbed him multiple times. Blood soaking her soft orange kimono as she now stood in a puddle of blood. She could hear the sounds of the people downstairs celebrating and laughing as she processed what had happened. She realized now that staying her would mean a fate worse than death. And Kayo knew what she had done was wrong as she stormed out of the room. Bloody footprints following her as she ran out of the house causing on lookers to look in horror of the bloody mess she was. Kayo will escape the district even if it killed her. She didn't care her feet were burning against the ground or how dirty her garments were She felt more free than ever before and like an animal escaping from its home. She was no longer a house pet but a run away. But as her small foot can lead her she went into hiding. Slowly as she had gotten older she'd realized how poorly her body reacted to pain. Each day now she inflicted harm onto her body for her to handle the pain as cuts varied from small to deep until she could barely flinch from the pain. She started out rough though as all of her kills for hire only gave her scraps. But it was enough for her to go by. Luckily present to the story she had now perfected her skills, the thing that once brought fear into people she knew was now a necessary for her to survive. She had finally took care of herself and was now even able to afford some small goods like a beni that she cherished. Even though she knew there was no way someone would see her as a wife she still dreamed of someone accepting her the way she is. Everything was back to normal, as normal as things could be until one day she was sent a hit. A samurai who cut through a dojo but as well as the four fang, though she was tempted to decline once she heard how much she was getting paid for the hit suddenly changed her mind. Now finding herself walking along the snow path alone. She finds the calmness of the winter snow appealing but like a storm, she locked eyes with him- The rest you can figure out what happened :3

[tonyboneysblog]

ACCIDENTAL NAB P2

paring: thief!hawks x princess!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: profanity

Notes: part two! I really love this series sm😭 hawks his mean also

Summary: thief!hawks steals you away and takes you far from your home! On accident…

Part one: ACCIDENTAL NAB P1

You feel warm. you’re soundly sleeping after you dosed off, still not trusting the three men who took you away from your home.. (obviously)

your dreams have never been nice ones but for once they feel warm, you can vividly see all of your sisters crammed together trying to guess all the words in your fathers books.

you can hear them laughing while you walk into the room, they see you and their eyes brighten.

They practically beg you to read the book aloud to the three of them, you walk over and cuddle into their warmth. They whisper soft comments about the story while slowing falling under sleeps spell.

It’s so warm in this dream, you want to be here for- flick!

you open your eyes to see yellow ones staring right into your very soul.

“Morning!” He loudly chirps.

“…mph” your mouth is still gagged by the cloth, of course it is.

“Well I’m assuming that’s a good response instead of an insult…”

You look around the carriage, it’s not terrible but it’s not as good as yours back at home…obviously.

Dabi speaks up, “listen here and listen good, princess, we don’t need you causing a..ruckus while we’re in this god forsaken place.”

“Hey I quite like this trading post” the blonde responds.

“Shut the hell up hawks.” Dabi says curtly.

Hawks raises his hands in the air as a surrender motion, while Tokoyami hustles towards you. Guiding you out of the carriage .

“Just follow close to us.” Tokoyami says in a whisper.

You glance around the bigger town, many are staring, many scoff…for some reason.

Your used to the stares, mostly because your the princess, but still your surprised no one has recognized you yet? Don’t you people love you, shouldn’t they immediately recognize someone they worship?!

You wish you could just run away but, these three men are huddled around you like your some…Someone to be bought! And you are in fact priceless.

The four of you pass by many shops, some more worn down than others…god you miss your kingdom.

“There’s the bar…” Dabi says.

Hawks scoffs, “please Dabi, we’re with royalty at the moment, maybe don’t think about getting wasted?”

Dabi sighs, slouching down slightly in defeat…”her damn fault for hiding in a box.”

Tokoyami snickers softly, until you send him a glare that could envy your fathers.

He clears his throat, “don’t question the future queens decisions…”

Dabi laughs, “if she’s the future queen then we’re all doomed, thank the gods we took-“

“Could you two maybe not speak so loudly of us having the princess..?” Hawks angrily whispers towards the two.

They all finally shut their traps. You’d rather listen to your sister rant about how ‘gorgeous the gardener is!’.

you just want to be with your family honestly.

Your father always bossed you around anyways, you should be glad for this small bit of freedom! But, he only did it because he loved you…or maybe because you looked so much like your mother.

No, no, no thinking about the past…these men don’t even deserve to see your tears roll down your face! They’d probably collect them and sell it to the night market anyway…

You finally reached the shop you were supposed to be at, you watch as some of your most luxurious items go towards the shop keeper, as his eyes widen with glee.

“Sorry about your stuff…” Tokoyami whispers softly into your ear, “we do what we have to.”

“Mmphph”

The four of you leave after making a deals, the men stashing the shined golden coins into their pouches. How has no one recognized you still? Can’t they see your their next Queen?!

no matter how many eyes you stare dead into, no one even makes a move to help. Maybe they’re just scared to butt in!

or maybe…they don’t even know who you are.

you shake your head, I mean you weren’t as popular as your sisters, with all their beauty and charm…but! You were the oldest. Maybe that’s why no prince asked for your hand in marriage.

No, y/n stop that, you are just as great as all your sisters! Someone will have to recognize you, right?

“Should we rest here for the night sir?” Tokoyami says to hawks.

Hawks looks glances at you, then towards Tokoyami, “you tired ‘Yami?”

Tokoyami nods, “only slightly, I’m just worried for the…our friend here.”

Three kidnappers worried about your sleep schedule is absolutely perplexing to you.

“Yknow my favorite thing about SableStome has always been their amazing inns.” Dabi says with dullness.

Hawks laughs, “Can’t tell if you’re being serious or sarcastic.”

Dabi sighs, “Their beds are nice.”

Hawks then confidently starts to stride to the inn, “I suppose we have to stay then, right?”

confident men are always your least favorite, I mean no man has actually spoken more than 10 words to you but still.

Honesty you feel a twinge of excitement that you’ll be sleeping in a nice soft bed instead of a small, stuffy carriage…or box.

Hawks swings open the door to the inn and walks over towards the front desk, “two beds please~” he coos out.

The woman at the front desk smiles softly, “it’s nice to see you again hawks, new friend coming with you?” She ushers towards you.

no, your not their new “traveling buddy”, your the very popular and very kidnapped princess!

“Yep! She’s not the talker though…” says hawks.

Of course you’re not a talker, you’re being gagged by some nasty hanker cheif.

“Alrighty, here’s your key!” She slides the key over towards hawks.

“Thank you sweetie..” he says.

The sun has almost finished setting, you can tell from the window you’re looking out of, it’s gorgeous…reminds you of when your mother would take you to the shoreline and spill wise words from her mouth.

it’s truly terrible that you no longer remember a single thing she’s said.

“Hey, snap out of it” Hawks comes into your peripherals, “we got a nice room for ya, princess, cmon…”

He walks away. It’d be nice to get some rest..at least you couldn’t think about the past in your sleep, or atleast not too in depth.

You walk up the stairs, following behind hawks closely, opening the door then looking around the room.

It’s about the size of your closet, not terrible, the beds are kinda big at-least, only two…wait two?

Who in gods name is trying to cuddle up to you in the middle of the night? No princess should be…even sleeping near someone of their status!

Hawks looks towards your distressed expression, “What?”

“Mphpmph!” You muffle out.

“Do you want the gag off..?”

Well it would be nice, but that wasn’t what you were trying to say!

“Mrmphphpm”

“I mean…promise you won’t yell?” He says softly.

Well there’s really no point in yelling, what’s the clerk gonna do against three men….

You nod eagerly, hawks shakes his head letting out a small chuckle, “fine, fine.”

He pulls down your hood, undoes your scarf, then unties your gag, pocketing it. Slightly gross but at least it’s off now.

“You must be out of your damned, trivial, insignificant mind if you think I’m even sharing a bed with you, you big boned avian.”

Hawks sighs, “I didn’t take it off so you could just be mean…”

“you heard me.” You say.

Hawks looks at you, “what do you want me to do, sleep on the floor?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! glad your meager brain could think the same as me.”

“Alright the gag is going back on-“ “w-wait hold on!”

Hawks stops, raising his eyebrow.

“I-I uhm…it is improper for someone of my status to sleep with...you.”

Hawks rolls his eyes, “look, you may think your reallll important but your sisters are way more admired than you are. We barely even recognized you as royalty.”

well ouch…

He continues, “Not to mention that not one single person has even tried to help you, so stop complaining about who you sleep next to.”

Tokoyami steps in, “no need to be so harsh to her, Hawks, I doubt you would want to sleep near people who accidentally kidnapped you..?”

“Well she wanted to be all sassy!” Hawks says agitated.

Dabi speaks from the bed, “I say she needed the wake-up call.”

“You’re not helping.” Tokoyami says.

You stomp over towards the vacant bed, slamming yourself down into it.

“Hm, guess she’s over it!” Hawks says cheerfully.

Tokoyami and Dabi sigh, hawks looks at both of them, “what?”

Their voices slowing fade as you push yourself farther and farther into your own head. You’re already having a terrible time, being kidnapped and all, but they just rub the salt deeper into the wound!

How would mother respond? never mind actually, she would have never fussed in the first place. Father most likely would have beat their head into a plup. Mother made him soft, made you soft, then she was gone.

Your sisters barely remember her, but you remember her smile, your father says she looks exactly like you.

You can feel the a second weight be put onto the bed, you don’t care who it is, hopefully it’s the nice bird headed one.

do your sisters miss you as much as you miss them? Who’ll read to them, who’ll will be there to check their dress or if they look presentable enough to see the man who wants their hand in marriage?

You open your eyes slightly, looking towards a window. It’s dark out, how long have you been stuck in your own head?

You rise from the bed quietly, you look at the door, it’s locked tight so you can run out. You make your way towards the windowsill, sitting down.

Your tired but not tired enough to fall asleep just yet, your heads to full of thoughts anyway, when have you ever been this sentimental?

The moon is beautiful tonight, bright and fully lit. You’re glad your father taught you how to read because then you’d never know how the moon changes.

You didn’t know which one you liked more, the sun or the moon? Then again the sun could shine by itself while the moon needed the sun to shine even half as bright.

“What’re you doing..?” Says a soft, sleepy voice.

You look over to where the voice could’ve been, locking eyes with yellow ones.

“Nothing.” You says curtly.

Hawks rubs his eyes, “your one weird princess, huh?”

“That’s rude.”

“You’re rude.”

There’s silence after hawks speaks.

“Well-“

He cuts you off, “Come back to bed.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, I just don’t want a grumpy princess in the morning…”

You huff, “fine.” Then plop yourself onto the bed, “don’t suffocate me with your wings, I’m important.”

“Sure you are…” he says tiredly.

“I am.”

“I’m not disagreeing.”

“good.”

You close your eyes, the warmth he emits isn’t…terrible. In fact, it’s quite comforting.

“Hey” hawks whispers.

“what.” Your reply quietly.

“Why were you in that box, no judgement it’s just…weird?”

You sigh, “I was…playing hide and seek.”

He starts laughing, covering his mouth so he wouldn’t wake the others, “stupid…”

He flips around, facing you. “sorry that we took you…”

“yes, you should be..”

“You are so hard to be nice to..”

“My father-“

“I don’t wanna hear about your father, I already see his face in every town we go to.”

Well isn’t that insulting, your father is wonderful!…wait, do the people see your face too?

“Hmph.”

“What?”

“Do you see my face too?…in public?”

Hawks looks towards the ceiling, then back at you, “I see your sisters more.”

“Hm…”

That’s why no one recognized you, your barely even publicized.

“Don’t know why though, I personally think you’re prettier than your sisters” he says faintly.

“Really?”

“no.”

“Asshole.”

He starts giggles, his wings puffing up slightly.

“Such a way with words eh? I’ll leave you alone now”

“good, your terrible company.”

He snickers and turns to his side, facing away from you.

“Night, princess”

You only hum in agreement.

It’s not terrible here, but you oh so badly want out from this small freedom.

[chronicallycouchbound]

Winter Solstice Reflections / Homeless Persons Memorial Day

I was 16 when I moved from the Pacific Northwest to New England. I had recently come out as trans, and I was hoping the move would be a fresh start. But the physical abuse I had already been facing at home escalated. 

It was two days after Christmas when I was told to leave and never come back, so I packed what little belongings I had into a bag as quickly as I could and rushed out the door. I didn’t have food or a plan or anywhere to stay. 

It’s my luck that the first blizzard I ever experienced was on my first night of homelessness here. I remember the cold night air on my freshly bruised skin and it felt nice. It felt like freedom. As I crossed the bridge from one town to the next, the snowflakes were still small and gently falling. 

In exactly one week, it will mark 8 years since that first night in the cold. It wasn’t my first or last time being homeless, but it was the longest time, and I didn’t know many people, let alone people I could live with.

Most often, I stayed in the middle of nowhere. I slept on floors, in cars, on benches, under awnings, in abandoned buildings; and anywhere I could put my backpack down as a pillow and throw my jacket over me as a blanket. The cold no longer felt comforting– it was a threat to my existence. I prayed every time I closed my eyes to not freeze to death. 

I didn’t have proper clothes— Chuck Taylors which had too many holes to count, basketball shorts worn under my pants that were two sizes too big for me, well-loved band tees, and a jacket that wasn’t even close to waterproof. I felt cold in my bones. 

On nights I had nowhere else, I walked around all night until McDonald’s or Dunkin opened up. I remember counting steps to focus on anything but the stinging of cold. I would go into the bathroom and run my hands under the faucet until they turned from pale blue to bright red. My hands burned when they finally thawed out. Eventually, the blue became just another thing to carry with me, like my backpack and the weight of homelessness. 

For a few months, I spent nights all over the county, and then, after finally getting permission from my parents to access it, stayed at the youth shelter for three years. On my first night at the shelter, I arrived late– nearly midnight. I was afraid to go in. But, they set me up a bed anyway. 

Soon after I laid down, a guy a few years older than me came in from work. His bed was right next to mine. He leaned over and whispered to me in the darkness that if I needed anything, just to let him know. His name was Peter. 

That was the year I met my street mom who told me I reminded her of her younger self. Her name was Sarah. I couch-surfed with Abby, who always snuck me extra pizza from her work so I wouldn’t go hungry. 

Living at the shelter I met Ryan, who made us laugh as if it kept us warm. And Ariah gave anyone anything they needed if she had it. I miss Peter, and Sarah, and Abby, and Ryan, and Ariah, and all the many other friends I’ve lost. 

My friends were people who stood up for me, who gave me the clothes off their backs, food off their plates, and cared for me better than family. We all struggled together and never had to explain ourselves. We were welcome just as we were. 

It’s hard for me to exist in this town sometimes. I walk around and can see all the places where I nearly died, where someone else died, or where I slept at night. I’ve lost count of all the people I’ve lost over the years. I have fond memories of rooms and cars filled with people smiling and telling jokes, and then I remember that I’m the only one still alive out of all of us.  

People tell me I should feel lucky to have survived, congratulating me. Acting like I should be proud to "overcome" while the system still hurts us all. As my friends– my family, are still in the streets dying. I feel guilty to just be alive. Our whole community is grieving all the time. 

Tonight, as the sun sets, the temperature will feel like 2 degrees. There will be 15 hours and 18 minutes of darkness. This is only the beginning of a long, cold winter. Our community members will still be in the cold. We are still dying for warmth. 

We don’t need art installations, we don’t need benches with three bars, we don’t need air b&bs. We need fewer barriers and more supports. We need safe, stable, reliable, and affordable housing. We’ve needed it for a long time. As my good friend Ariah always said, “Keep your coins, we want change”

(From my speech on 12/21/23 for National Homeless Persons Memorial Day)

[eupheme]

Bookstore Girl | Day 7: Scarf Returned

modern!din djarin x gn!reader

Rated G | 1.5k

Tags: yearning, found family and fluff

A/N: named after a song (for the playlist), but this fic is GN!

It’s funny how such a small thing can bring two strangers together.

You supposed - as the owner of a local, used bookstore - that it wasn't really fair to have favorites. You should be grateful, honored, excited, to have all your customers. And you are...

...but there's a certain one that's seemed to have written himself into the pages of your story.

It's not just because he's interesting - it's a progressive town, filled with unique and beatiful, stylish people. It’s not just the dark clothes and heavy jacket, or the handmade scarf he wears wrapped around his chin and neck.

The colors drawing you to it - greens and golds and soft, buttery tan - so similar to one that you own. Its almost as if so used to it, that he doesn't even realize he's still wearing it.

No. It's his visits - always unexpected, never a set day or time he stops by. Always quiet, a polite demeanor as he slips inside, a kind nod your way as you smile at him in greeting.

The way he lingers in the children's books, going over the section you have set aside for new releases. Taking his time to pick something out - always a short book with thick pages, filled with colorful illustrations.

Usually about frogs.

His actions becomes routine with his visits. The way he stops for a small coffee - black - from the little table that stands off to the side, facing one of the bay windows.

It set up on the honor system - coffee, some seasonal toppings, cold bottles of water. A buck or so for each, something to enjoy while shopping. You’ve noticed he never fails to slip a little extra into the worn, wooden box.

Bringing his books to you, setting them carefully on the counter. Always paying in cash, flipping open his wallet, where you can just see the photo of his child, tucked right in the front. The edges of the picture worn and curled, as if he pulled it out often to look at it.

It always makes your heart flip, a warmth in your chest as you total up his purchases. Sometimes sneaking a wrapped cookie into his bag, even if he protests.

There’s a running deal you have with a small, up-and-coming bakery - you sell their cookies here, you get a very small cut of the profit, plus a free cookie per day.

You always save yours, just in case he comes in.

The protests stop after the first couple ones. Now, his eyes flick to yours above the wrapping of the scarf - kind and warm and a dark brown that you could find yourself getting lost in. His voice, muffled but low as he always tells you, "thank you."

You've been at this store for a few years. Already experiencing customers who would buy a book - sell it back for store credit a couple weeks later. It never bothered you, it was just business.

But he never did. You like to imagine the little library his child had acquired, each book hand-picked and sitting on a shelf. Wondering how many until it's filled.

A little sad - wondering if he'll still come back, when it finally is.

Until then, you cherish these meetings. Even if you're certain you're just another stop in the busy life he's sure to have.

Even if you're certain he doesn't think of you at all.

———

The scarves are what brought you to say hello to him in the first place. Yours was different - fringe at the end, a different pattern, but you felt like they could be cousins.

Yours hung from a hook to the side of the register - draped over your woolen coat. Liking to keep it close in case you had to dash outside to fix the rickety book cart, or if someone forgot one of their purchases.

It’s happened before, more than once.

He had stopped by in the past, and you had noticed him. But it took you another few visits before you felt comfortable enough to give a compliment - not wanting to scare him off.

It happens when you’re waiting for the system to come back up - your computer freezing, forcing you to restart it. Your nose wrinkling in embarrassment, murmuring a ‘sorry’ as you watch the spinning wheel on your screen.

His own eyes crinkled at the edges, “Not in a rush, no worries.”

The book sitting between you, your eyes bouncing around the room before landing on him.

“I like your scarf.” You ventured, offering a small smile, “It’s sort of like mine.”

You showed him yours, lifting the edge from the hook - the corner pinched between thumb and forefinger.

He smiled at that, at you drag it down - as he ran his thumb over the row of stitches, "It's beautiful. Did you make it?"

The compliment made your face heat, a little laugh falling from your lips, "No, this was a gift, from a dear friend. I wish I knew how to make one, I just never seem to have time."

He hummed in agreement, and you couldn’t help the little smile that lingered, even as you'’d notices that the computer was waiting you to log in.

Everything got up and running - his sale going through, the ending peppered with you, "Thank you for coming in."

Another squint of his eyes - his answering smile in farewell.

You realized you didn't get the chance to ask him if he made his - but it's almost nice.

Because that meant that it's something you can ask him next time.

———

It feels like horribly bad luck when you lose it.

Rushing out the door, your favorite scarf disappearing somewhere between your car, the cafe next door where you had grabbed breakfast, and the bookshop.

You mourn the loss, incredibly disappointed in yourself. It had been special. Certain little memories tied to it - not to mention the fact that you friend had crafted it for you, stitch by loving stitch.

Going out on your short lunch break to look - coming up empty. Wishing and hoping that perhaps you left it at home, but you're certain you remember pulling it up over your nose this morning, as the wind stung your eyes.

You're almost late getting back - a man standing at the little sign you had on the door, a "be back soon" hastily scrawled across the paper, with a little drawing of a clock.

The apology is sliding from you, fingers cold and fumbling as you slide the key into the lock - the to-go bag tucked awkwardly under your arm. Stopping when he helps ease the door open for you - when you notice who it is.

The kind man with the brown eyes. You don't even know his name, he always pays in cash.

"Thank you. I hope you didn't have to wait." You apologize again, as he follows you in, "I lost my - well, nevermind. You don't need to hear all that."

He hesitates. Like he would listen to your story, and the bit of kindess makes your heart flip.

Instead of continuing, you smile - gesturing over to a recently-updated display, "We got a couple new books in. I set some to the side, I thought you might like them."

Showing him the three you tucked away - their pages filled with colorful pictures, friendly life lessons.

He takes them all.

---

You're getting ready to close when he coming back through the front door - a gust of wind swirling behind him.

Where you're blinking at him - he's never stopped by twice in a day before. Twice a week was even unsual.

Snow clings to his coat, the canvas soaking it in, leaving dark stains behind on his shoulders. He fishes around in his pocket, before pulling out a small, folded bundle.

"You were missing this." He tells you, holding it out - as if he knew you were.

It unfolds in your hands, and you know it - the stripes of sage green bleeding into muted gold. Your scarf. Warm and soft between your fingers.

"Yes. How did you know?"

He shrugs, the movement made from unease, embarasssment. A hand, raising to scratch at the light patch of his beard near his jaw, "It's like mine."

For a second, you don't have words. The gesture so thoughtful that you can't think of what to say.

He mistakes your pause.

"You said you lost something earlier. I found this next to the curb just up the street. I would have been here sooner, but it was soaked, and I wanted to let it dry." It's the most you've ever heard him talk, the words almost rushed, "Glad I made it back in time.

"Thank you." You manage, at last - your eyes soft and warm, “I'm really glad, too."

“Happy to help.” His knuckles rap the counter, before he turns to leave.

Pausing, as he adds, “See you next week.”

He says it like it’s a sure thing - and maybe, it means as much to him, as it does to you.

“Yeah,” You smile, “Next week. I’ll be here.”

The words make you cringe internally as the door closed behind him - because of course you’ll be there. Where else? But you’re unable to help the small smile, as you watch him head up the street, his own scarf pulled up high over his mouth as the snowflakes drift down.

Thinking that maybe - just maybe - your luck has changed.

[dilfcember masterlist]

(tags - @andrewrussgarfield)

[azulsluver]

Twisted Tales In The Dark

Dead Man’s Treasure         Halloween event! 

tw. yandere, graphic violence, gore in general, noncon kissing, unhinged/possessive behavior, leona loses an eye.

❥ featuring the three pirates, Leona, Jack, Ruggie.

❥ special thanks to @v4mpirebit3z for helping me write the first bits!

 Something jabs at the side of your face, your breath watery yet horse. You wince at the sore feeling in your lungs, coughing up bits of water. You look up and see a group of dirty-looking men staring down at you–covered in rags and bloodied patches. Pirates. You jump up to your feet, startled, and back away. One of the pirates runs off and yells, "Captain! Captain, they're awake!"

You take in your surroundings, somewhere by the edge of the ship as you lay on the hard and dirtied floor. Your hand is incredibly sore, raising your hand to look at your wound. But you didn’t see the soaked bandages, your hand was clean and perfectly healed. Mouth agape, you didn't notice someone coming closer to your dumbfounded figure.

A young-looking pirate with black hair and a feminine face takes a slow step towards you, his arm extended, offering his hand.

You look at his hand hesitantly and harden your expression, still in shock at the whole ordeal. Your mind refuses to answer the questions of what had recently happened, everything was a blur even if you tried thinking back.

“Are you gonna take me hand lad?”

“Thank you.” He looks at you confusingly before grunting in response. Grabbing your hand to help you stand. “But why did you save me?”

Another pirate with thick brown hair and a long jagged scar over his cheek replied, "You were floating among the sea like a lifeless fishy. You just reminded me of an ol’ friend of mine, my poor brain must’ve been seeing things.” Jokingly ruffling your wet hair, he stands up to throw you a dusty towel.

Another pirate, his face worn with age replies, "Well… I guess yer would make good food fer the fishies- but a youngster like you could be of good use on the ship." You gave a small scoff, face softening at their kindness. Great, you can remember now. The story mentions a small crew of pirates, eager to find the treasure for the sake of their town who lived in poverty. As scary as they look, they were kind. Sadly only one lived while his crew gets cremated to sand or murdered. Your eyes land on a very young man who stands by the side awkwardly, he couldn’t be any older than 14.

‘The youngster who got away, life held by a thread as he’s washed up in the sea. Soon to be found by his people, and a single gold coin held tightly under his palm.’ That was how the story ended. 

Yet you couldn’t remember the aftermath of it all, how exactly did you end up on the sea. Your mind scratches and screeches terribly whenever you try to make sense of the pain and emotional trauma. Why say it if you don’t remember it happening? Yea, maybe you’re just overthinking.

“That’s a nice looking key you got ov’er there, something straight outta a royals bedroom key.” The man with thick brown hair laughs joyously, holding his stomach like the old man he is.

You make a confused face until he points at your waist, looking down there is a black key ring attached to your belt. Staring in awe at the beauty in beheld, red jewels and their dark patterns looked majestical. You trace your fingers over the key, mind now blanked from the cool touch.

“Yer kay lass?” Mumbling a quiet yes, you finish off drying your hair. The air was chilly and your soaked clothes could have made you catch a cold, so you wrap the small towel around you, caring little for how dirty or what it is used for.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, the life of a pirate. Being treated with a warm meal even if they didn’t have many supplies, you got to know the crew by name since the book never once mentioned it. The captain was an old geezer who gathered these young men to find hope for their town, hearing their personal stories of friends and families they had back home. His name was Edward, but he preferred to be called captain. The feminine-looking pirate was Klaus, a kind gentleman who had an interest in collecting small trinkets. He had two brothers on board named Hudd and Percy, both on cleaning duty. You remember the face of the one who had saved you, a cheerful grin showing missing teeth. Peter was very talkative, explaining to you how he fished a net and hooked you up on the ship, flexing his barely seen muscles now and then. And for him.

He stares at you once again, cutting up some vegetables as you chat away with the rest. You didn’t understand why they brought someone so young on board, it was a miracle he lived. You take a spoonful of fish soup in your mouth, moaning softly at the taste of fresh food. When was the last time you’ve eaten?

“Don’t worry about James over there, he’s a little shy.” You drop the spoon and stare widely at Peter. Your throat is suddenly dry and your nails dig into your palm.

“Pardon?” Your voice is weak, on the verge of crying from the sudden emotional wreck of the name. James, such a nice name it was, but hearing it made you sick. It made you think of things you don’t remember happening. It’s like you can smell the dirt and copper, the heaving of lungs, and a flashing image of flesh to bones. Peter holds the side of your shoulder and causes you to cry out, clutching your hands as the world before swirls into a fog.

A sharp sting comes from your cheek, making your eyesight slowly come back to normal. You hold the burning cheek as you stare back at Peter, a look of frustration and worry.

“What’s wrong with ya ey? You got poor ol’ James running away from his duty, did ya see a ghost or somethin?” Peter shakes you once again, letting you have small streaks of tears fall before apologizing to him. You rest your head on the small wooden table, Peter being a kind soul took your half-finished soup back to the kitchen.

It would be a burden to not help around the ship, you didn’t want to be a freeloader no matter how useless you were. Letting your head relax for a couple of minutes before heading to the kitchen. To start nice you wanted to apologize to James for giving him an ugly look. You were flattered knowing how the crew left you to your device, trusting you in such a short period to leave you alone on the ship. The kitchen was just across from you, James has been ignoring you. He was more focused on cutting the vegetables, with how much time had passed you guess he was struggling.

Knock

Knock

“Need some help?” You stand by the open doorway from where James stared at you, funny-looking pieces of potatoes and onions scattered across the cutting board. You stifled a laugh at his flustered face, but he didn’t refuse the offer. Holding out the large butcher knife for you to take.

You stand next to him, flipping the knife in your hand and chopping it down onto a new patch of potatoes. James leans in to watch your culinary skills, a small sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “You’re a pro at this, I’ve only seen ma cut veggies like that!” His childish nature brings a small smile to your face, you give the knife back to him and will show him a proper way of cutting. James was very shy in the book, talking and getting to know these people in person was enjoyable. They were so real you thought, looking at James and the rest of the crew made you rethink. You didn’t belong here. It’s not your first rodeo.

“Hey, James.” He gives a hum. “Don’t you think you guys can find a safer way of getting treasure? You’ve heard the stories so why to risk the danger?” James stops cutting and looks up at you. “My ma is very ill. We need the money to pay off her medicine, the king isn’t so kind after the death of his brother. So he started to collect more taxes from the whole town, we barely have enough to feed a family of four.” This was new, you haven’t heard of this part of the story.

“A king?” James nods. “The king had a brother who envied him, he became a pirate and sailed across the great seas. He owned a large fortune of money with the king, but the pirate refused to come back home. I heard it was because he wanted to start his own wealth elsewhere, but a terrible storm caught up to em. Causing it to crash on a faraway island just where we headin, even if the stories are true it’s too late to turn back.”

The silence fills in the space between you two, minus the sound of slicing.

“AY LASS WER HERE.” Both you and James were startled by Hudd and Percy who barged into the room. James drops the knife and runs past you. Who knew the time you fell into this world they were just in time for the treasure. A bead of sweat escapes your forehead as you follow suit.

The captain is already setting out a plank for the others to step foot onto the sandy ground. You quickly run up to him and place a hand over his shoulder. Brows furrow as you try to come up with a sentence.

“Ah, what got yer so worked up lad?” He turns to look at you.

“Captain please, let me grab the treasure for you! It’s dangerous out there and–” You stop yourself from explaining anymore, worried that if you told the truth they wouldn’t believe you. Leaving you on the island for such a nonsense imagination. Biting your lip, you give him a stern look that stops him from saying anything. “It’s the least I can do, please. It won’t take long. And once I’ve given you the treasure you must leave this island immediately.” Gripping his ragged clothes in protest, he gives you a reassuring look.

“Ok. If that's what you really wanna do then you have my thanks.” He pats your shoulders, you think you can see his glossy eyes irritating him. “Be safe. I’ll make sure everyone knows your name.” you give him a quick hug before snatching a sack away from Peter. Captain ordered everybody to stay back and scout for any sign of you. As you run past the rest you can hear a faint murmur from Klaus.

“Thank you.”

.

.

.

.

Stepping across the gritty land, you finally found the beaten ship, bodies of skeletons and swords lay in the pile of gold. There is a large hole in the middle of the ship, leaning against a dark and isolated cave. Clenching the bag tight in your hands, you try to recollect the outcome of the situation. As soon as you take one treasure you will be trapped on the island. James was lucky for how the ghost pirate was merciful or was that what happened? You kick the bundles of gold in the test, looking around to see if a key was around. You dared not to pick a gold coin, not until you found what you were looking for. The key to your way out of here. You hope you’re ready to have some sort of combat against greedy ghost pirates.

‘Shishishishi!’

Your body freezes at the sound, coming from your right yet no one was there.

“What the hell. I didn’t grab anything…” Twisting your body on time, you’re met face to face with one of the ghost pirates from the book. “Bucchi.” Ok, why did you say that?

“Hm, I knew there was something off about you. Say, the nice key you have there looks familiar. Are you perhaps looking for this?” He pulls out a golden yellow key, made of brown patterns and yellowish-orange gems. Spinning it on his index finger, he gives you a grin. Huffing, you needed to remember you’re facing another monster from the book, Ruggie Bucchi was ruthless to the crew by tearing their hope to live. You didn’t respond to him, only glaring back at him and the key. He was teasing you, he knows something about your situation by just the tip.

You held your breath before speaking. “Do you know something about this key?” The red key glints under his gaze, and he yawns before responding. “Keys. Yep. Used for transporting different worlds. I know an old buddy who had that key, strange to see it in the hands of a human.” Ruggie sits down under the piles of gold, leaning back and giving you a look of boredom.

“If you know about the key and its use, what are you willing to do to let me have it?” You hold out your hand, eyeing him up and down as his expression morphs; interested in what you have to say.

“You want this key badly huh? Shishishishi! Fine, humor me a little won't ya.” He throws the key at you, catching you off guard as you stumble to catch it mid-air. You looked perplexed as you examined the key, it felt real and didn’t turn into sand. Ruggie laughs at your face, standing up from his spot to stretch his limbs. You thought he wasn’t alive. Could have been the same cause as last time. Oh no, you’re head hurt again.

“You’re by yourself, odd. I was expecting to see a crew of fools digging into our precious booty, we put our lives under the line for this treasure ya know.” Ruggie caresses the edge of his hat, he gives you a dirty look. “Let’s play a game. If you want the treasure, you need to outrun us first. We haven’t had a visitor for years! So come on, I’ll even let you get some gold before I start counting.”

From a distance, you can hear a howl.

“1.”

You quickly kneeled to scoop up what you can grab, pearls, large and small gold, anything. Your fingers are in pain in a minute, and the bag is full. You hope it would be enough for them. It’s heavy, it’ll slow you down if you’re planning on running, luckily they didn’t set their ship far.

“70.”

With all your strength, you flip the bag over your shoulder and dash it, ignoring Ruggie’s annoyingly cute laugh as he calls out.

“Run! Run! Or he’ll catch you!!” A prick of needles is stabbed into your body as your feet pound the floor, in the distance, you can see the ship. The captain is waving his hands in panic, shouting at you to run faster. You can still hear him counting in your ear, irritating you further to hurry up.

You hurl the bag at the ship, hearing the treasure scatter.

“Go! Don’t look back and head home now!” James rushes over to the edge, tears in his eyes at the sight of you.

“Yer alive! You can come with us!” You suck in a breath and give a wheezed laugh. Shaking your head. He’s still counting. “Make sure your ma gets well, ok? Don’t come looking for me James, I won’t be here long.”

James attempts to jump off the ship to chase after you, Peter holding him back. You run into the woods, dodging branches and skulls. A rustling comes from behind you. A flash of white attacks your fleeting form, rolling down a hill with the beast on top of you. Its jaws are locked on your arm, making you bite your tongue till blood draws. Your other hand searches for a weapon, grabbing ahold of a rock and smashing it repeatedly over the head. You thought the hit was useless until you aimed for the eye. The white beast lets out a loud yelp before backing off.

Clutching your arm, you didn’t get to see the monster transform back. His devilish hair was stained with his blood. Alive or not?? He pulls out a sword from his chest, the flesh of his skin opening and closing. He lunges at you but you duck under, the sword hitting the tree behind you. You kick the back of his knee, making him stumble, and enough time for you to throw the weapon away from his reach.

“Oh my fucking god, you don’t give up do you.” His larger form looms over you as you look around for an exit. He resorts to lounging at you once again, keen on using his body weight to trap you. 

You feel light-headed when he grips the side of your face and slams it down on the floor. Spit flying out of your mouth from the impact, you struggle to breathe as his palm holds down your windpipe. You can feel the hot of his breath on your shoulder, his blood drips down on your face. Teeth tear at your shoulder blade, going past the meat and breaking the bone. The sound is horrific as you scream in pain, gagging noises leaving your mouth as he continues the assault. His eyes have an animalistic tint to them, a hungry wolf gauging down his meal he hadn’t had for ages.

The pain is unbearable, the body is uncontrollably hot when you wither. You can’t die. You made it this far. The sword, you look up to see the sword. Taunting you as you reach for it. He’s too busy feasting on your shoulder to see you struggle. You let out another cry when your hand gets a hold of the handle, pulling your arm back and striking underneath him. The sword stabs into his stomach, and with one final try you push it upwards; cutting past the clothes and opening a large wound, his intestines dangled above you.

He doesn’t make a sound but rolls over, clutching his stomach and staring at you with wide eyes. So much for being a ghost. His breath is heavy as you struggle to stand, the open wound of your arm ugly. You take one last look at him in disgust, his face is coated by a shade of pink as drool and blood seep down his mouth.

“You’re perfect…You’ll be a fine trophy.” You couldn’t tell he said that out of respect, he was a huge guy and you didn’t think you would make it.

Turning away with a limp, you find yourself back to all the riches. Leaving stains behind as you make it to the cave. A flame lights its way down for you. You’re in for a ride.

“You’re still alive?” 

A voice echoes from above. A man with an eyepatch stares down at you. His green hues are bright in the dark. “I must say. I’m impressed. Herbivores like you wouldn’t last a minute on this island.” He tilts his head at you before giving a sharp grin.

“Now don’t look at me like that, I didn’t cause that nasty scar on your shoulder.” He pulls out a sword from a rock beside him. “I plan on making my own.”

His body is fast and coming straight at you, with all the adrenaline building up, you back away from his hit. His moves are sharp and you couldn’t keep up, his sword hitting your body a couple of times and leaving cuts on you. Pain fills your body up once more, you’re not sure how much energy you have left to defend yourself. Behind him is a large mirror, so close yet so far.

He does a blow to your stomach, knocking you down with a thud. The heel of his boot presses down onto your chest, he looks down at you with disappointment. 

“Can’t fight more? Shame, we were just having fun.” He laughs, dropping his sword and holding the collar of your neck towards him.

His lips smash against yours, his teeth brutally biting down on your lip and tongue. Your consciousness is fading in and out, the taste of copper flooding your nose as well. He groans at the taste of blood, hungrily lapping up the fallen tissue of your ruined lip. His hand travels down to your waist, you can hear the keys jingling under all his breathing and licking. A pump of determination fills you, panic in your system as you knee him. Hard. He sucks in a breath, clutching himself from the humiliation.

Crawling away from him, you grab the sword beside him. These idiots love leaving their weapons around for you. He looks up at the sound of metal clanging, just in time for you to stab it down on his eyepatch. He lets out a blood-curling yell, you leave the sword there as you run for the mirror.

“I’LL FIND YOU. I HAVE JUST THE PLACE FOR YOU.” You turn back to look at him, and a sickening smile and a crazed eye stare back at you.

Shivering, you held your hand out to the mirror, the swirls sucking you in. You didn’t notice the glistening shine of the keys. Leona had made a vow to find you. Such treasure must be confined by his truly.

Shishishi!

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS Fic: "Carolina Moon" {Chapter Three}

Oh my goodness!! I feel like all I do is apologize to you lovely folks, but I am truly sorry once again that it has taken me so long to update. This is a lengthy chapter at least, and we are really plunging into the meat of the action now. I could try to promise that you'll have the next installment sooner, but that doesn't seem to be the way my life is working lately. I'll do my best though.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this one, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.

Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.

Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.

Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.

What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”

Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.

Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.

Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”

Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’  But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.

“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”

Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact. 

“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”

If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”

Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.

Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”

The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.

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

Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.

She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind. 

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”

Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.

She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”

As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”

Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”

Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.

“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.

Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”

“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”

Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.

Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.

Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.

If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.

David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.

“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”

The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.

She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”

She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”

Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”

Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.

“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”

David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”

“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.

“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”

She’d  placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”

Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door. 

Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.

She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.

If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.

Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.

Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.

Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.

Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart. 

He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault. 

Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.

At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.

She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.

Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.

It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.

Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”

Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.

“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing. 

Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.

Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.

“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”

But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road.  He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away.  I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before.  That monster killed her. I saw it.”

The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”

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[the-little-moment]

Part Six

Words: 2,690

Warnings: None

Summary: The Batch shops for new kit. Senna floats the idea of trying to find work, to a mixed reception. Tension is building between Echo and Hunter about the purpose of the squad.

Heat

The worst thing about Ord Mantell City was that it was in the middle of the kriffing desert. There was other unpleasantness, of course, that made the location of the Batch’s current berth less than desirable. The capital was perhaps not filled with the gentlest of the galaxy’s beings, but Senna could get used to that, just like she’d gotten used to dealing with Cid and her cronies, and just like she was almost, maybe, hopefully, getting used to living on a small ship with five other people. Five very different people, the doctor sighed to herself, tugging at the front of her shirt to create a breeze as she looked up from the stall of used clothing she was digging through. She could get used to a lot of things, but this dry heat apparently wasn’t one of them. 

The sound of a throat clearing made her turn to Hunter, who was looking at her sheepishly from the next stall, arms held slightly out from his sides, looking for all the stars like the galaxy’s most awkward mannequin.

“You like it?”

Senna looked him up and down, spinning her finger until he rotated for her. It was the first time they’d had enough credits to buy some new-to-them clothing, so today was a market day. 

“Honey,” the doctor grinned as she finished her appraisal, “I don’t think you have on a single thing that matches.” She cocked her head, taking in the random plates Hunter had selected from another vendor to replace some of his very obviously clone armor. “How many shirts are you wearing?”

Hunter looked down at himself with a wry grimace, finally dropping his arms. “Clothes are clothes, Sen. Besides, maybe it’s a fashion statement.”

“Senna! Hunter!” They turned to see Omega running down the narrow aisle towards them, a piece of red fabric flowing from her hand as she darted agilely between the other shoppers. “Here!” She skidded to a stop before the sergeant and Senna smiled as he bent down to let the girl wrap the scarf around his neck. 

“I don’t know how, but that really ties it all together,” the doctor laughed.

“That’s because I’ve got ‘the eye’,” Omega informed them smugly before sauntering back to the booth where she was assisting Wrecker with his ensemble. Senna knew the engineer would happily wear anything his sister picked out for him, so at least that was sorted.

The girl was a regular stylist, she admitted, looking down at the bundle of clothes Omega had helped her choose, a long-sleeved tunic of washed turquoise blue, woven with red flowers that reminded her of Chalacta, and soft, brown pants that were loose from the hips and tightened at the lower calves. She had already changed into the worn, brown boots that were almost as comfortable as her hospital shoes. And Echo had firmly pressed a leather gun belt into her hand with a promise to fill the holster with a blaster from the ship, but Senna was mostly happy for the large pouch on the hip opposite the holster. That was where she planned to stow her med scanner and emergency medical supplies. 

Hunter and Wrecker taken care of, she turned now to the booth where Echo was looking over his own clothing options, a bemused expression on his face. The market in the Old Town never closed, a massive, bustling animal of a thing, with overflowing stalls of goods packed so tightly together that there were spaces Wrecker couldn’t get through at all. To Senna, who had grown so used to smooth, white walls, and the structure of a military facility, it was overwhelming, the fear that she would turn a corner and be swallowed up forever always at the back of her mind. 

“I like that.” She nodded to the red vest the ARC was holding as she sidled past a large Zabrak to reach him. 

Echo regarded the item in question, his ever-present frown lifting slightly. “Yeah? I’ve never had to choose my own clothes before.”

Senna smiled softly at his uncertainty. “It’s been a while for me too. Wearing a uniform sure made getting dressed simpler though. Gave me more time in the morning to drink my caf and think about jumping into the ocean.” 

He snorted as she picked up a single glove, turning it over to reveal a palm that matched the color of the vest. “What about this?” 

“We’re going all in on red, huh?”

“Sure,” the doctor said absently, handing Echo the glove so she could rummage through an almost impressively disorganized pile of what seemed to mostly be pants. “It brings out the color of your…uh,” she paused her excavation to squint up at the soldier.

“Scars?” Echo smirked at her and Senna chuckled. 

“We’ll say it gives you a healthy glow.” She straightened to point to the glove he was holding. “Lucky it’s the left hand, because Maker knows an akk hound couldn’t find the other in all this.” 

Echo laughed as the doctor waved a disgusted arm at the display of unrestrained chaos before them. “That’s looking at the bright side.”

When they met up with Tech, who had insisted he was fully capable of accomplishing his own shopping, the pilot had indeed managed to select a completely reasonable outfit all by himself. Maybe there was some fashion sense amongst the brothers after all. 

It was a pleasant enough day, by Mantellian standards, so, once they returned to the ship, Senna set to washing the squad’s new apparel in a large, plastoid storage tub, filled with soap usually reserved for scouring engine parts, in the shade at the edge of the docking yard, while Omega oscillated between hanging things up to dry in the arid heat and running back to where her brothers were sitting outside the Marauder, making adjustments to their original and newly acquired kit. One of the day's other purchases had been a few small jars of cheap paint, and Omega watched with keen interest as the soldiers used it to disguise their armor. “That one’s my favorite,” she grinned as Hunter dipped his brush into the blue-green that Senna had called “teal”. 

“Well, you’ve got good taste,” her big brother smiled back as Omega watched him apply it carefully to the edge of one grey pauldron. 

Sitting cross-legged on a crate behind him, Tech frowned in concentration as he drew a wide, orange stripe down the center of his white cuirass. Wrecker’s curse brought a warning noise from Hunter as Omega wandered up to the big clone. “What’s wrong?”

“Ahhh, feels like I just did this, and now I have to paint it all over again,” her brother grumbled, leaving a streak of yellow paint on the side of his head as he reached up to scratch his ear with the hand that held his brush. The extreme wear to his armor’s old paint job belied his complaint.

Omega grinned at him. “I can help! Here, give me that pauldron while you do the other one.”

“Thanks!” Wrecker’s enthusiasm was cut off as Echo turned from his own work to look down at Omega from the ship’s ramp.

“Have you finished helping Senna?” he asked her.

“Oh, uh…” Omega lowered Wrecker’s huge pauldron to look guiltily at the doctor, who was still scrubbing at a pair of pants in the tub.

Senna looked up and laughed. “It’s fine, dear. Wrecker probably needs more help than I do.”

“Hey!” The frustrated artist stuck out his lip in a frown. “I can’t be good at everything. Wouldn’t be fair to the rest of ya.”

“That’s very kind of you, Wrecker,” Tech muttered, holding up his freshly painted cuirass for a critical inspection. 

“Thanks, Senna!” the girl sang as she settled down in the dust beside Hunter with the jar of yellow paint. 

“I still don’t see why we have ta wash new clothes,” Wrecker complained, returning to his pauldron. “Haven’t even had a chance to get ‘em dirty yet.”

Above him, Echo sighed, but it was Tech who responded with a well-worn air of long-suffering. “These are not newly manufactured clothing items, Wrecker. They have all been previously worn, by whom, we have no way of knowing. The previous owners may have had all manner of undesirable parasites, not to mention general bacterial growth, and I have no faith that the vendors apply any standards of cleanliness to their wares.” The pilot looked up from his work to cock an eyebrow at his target. “Do you want to contract Bothan lice again?”

“Maybe,” his brother muttered stubbornly, while Tech rolled his eyes.

“Quit complaining, Wrecker. It’s not like you’re the one doing the washing.” Echo stood from his step and went down to join Senna as she draped another large shirt over the handle of a borrowed repulsor cart. “Here,” he took the vest she pulled next, “let me.”

Senna paused her work, smiling as she watched the ARC wrap the vest around his scomp, twisting it until the excess water dripped out. “Thanks, dear.” She wiped her wet hands on her pants and sighed as she stretched out her stiff shoulders. 

“Not a problem.” Echo glanced over at the doctor as she tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and bent to fish the next piece of clothing from the rinse water. “I’m just sorry that you’re doing this instead of, you know, what you’re used to.”

“Surgery?” Senna smiled at him as she wrung out a pair of Wrecker’s huge socks. “Endless piles of paperwork? I’m trying to think of this as my first vacation in thirteen years.”

Echo snorted. “And how’s that working out for you?”

There was a sparkle in the doctor’s eye when she handed him the socks. “Lots of people take vacations to warmer climates. And, when you and Tech are bickering, it’s very like the trips my family used to take with my cousins.”

“We do not bicker,” Echo huffed, frowning at a hole in Wrecker’s sock. “Sometimes we have…professional disagreements.”

“Is that what they’re called,” Hunter contributed without looking up from his paint, happy to ignore the venomous glare his brother was shooting at him across the yard.  

“I was thinking…”

Echo turned back at Senna’s musing tone.

“I’m not doing you a whole lot of good on these missions. Maybe I should look for work here in the city.”

“Work?” The rest of the squad looked up as Echo furrowed his brow in concern. “What kind of work? You don’t have to do that, you do enough already.” 

“Yeah, Sen,” Wrecker called. “You’re workin’ right now.” 

“I did mean to earn money,” the doctor clarified, squeezing out Omega’s new jacket as she met Hunter’s eyes. The sergeant frowned, and Senna could see his pragmatism warring with his sense of duty to her. “It’s not a big deal. Most people do work, you know. I haven’t reached retirement age quite yet.” 

Echo huffed behind her. “It’s not that. It’s—well, it’s that you shouldn’t have to. We’re doing fine,” he lied. “And this isn’t exactly the safest place to look for employment.”

“I can take care of myself.” Senna kept her tone mild. She knew for a fact that they were not “fine”. They were barely scraping by and caught in a frustrating cycle of missions for Cid. Omega met her eyes with a nervous smile that Senna returned warmly. The little one shouldn’t have to worry about any of this. “I am the oldest,” she added, not missing the way Tech’s mouth twitched up at the corner. 

“A highly pertinent fact,” the pilot said, tightening the lid on his paint. “I suggest that we eat dinner while we discuss this.”

Dinner was, of course, dry rations, another clear sign that the family was not doing well financially, Senna thought, as she passed Omega a strip of nuna jerky. The food on Kamino hadn’t exactly been her father’s home cooking, but it had still been better than this. Thoughts of the last hot meal she’d eaten on Coruscant rose depressingly in her mind. She spent entirely too much time thinking about food these days.

Hunter caught the look of displeasure the doctor failed to hide and offered her a wry grin in return. The family was seated in the two rows of jump seats that ran along the walls in the middle of the ship, the only space that was really big enough to hold them all at once. During meal times, they would arrange cargo crates down the aisle as a makeshift table, not that there was ever much to place on it. Senna’s usual seat was portside, with Echo to her left and Wrecker to her right. Opposite them were Tech, Hunter, and Omega. 

“So,” the sergeant said, reaching for his cup of water, “about this job.”

Senna had opened her mouth to respond when Echo shifted next to her. “Before anyone does or doesn’t get a job, I think there’s something else we need to be considering. Sorry, Sen.” He grimaced apologetically at her raised eyebrow. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking. I talked to Rex when he brought you to us and, well, he could use some help.” Hunter frowned at his brother, but Echo pushed on, turning to the others. “There’s more we could be doing. We’re the lucky ones. The clones who are still trapped in the Empire, what’s our excuse for hiding out here while we could be working to free them?”

Senna saw Hunter’s eyes darken. “Wrecker,” he said to his brother without turning from Echo, “could you take Omega outside for a bit?” The sergeant’s voice was deceptively level.

“What for?” the big clone asked before Hunter shot him a meaningful look. “Ah, okay. C’mon, kid.”

Omega looked distressed as Wrecker stood to wait for her by the door. She turned between Hunter and Echo in confusion. “Why can’t I stay?”

“We’ll tell you if we decide anything important, alright?” Hunter smiled reassuringly, but the worry was still in Omega’s slender shoulders as she followed Wrecker from the ship. 

The moment he could tell she was out of earshot, Hunter turned back to Echo, friendly mask gone. “Our excuse,” he ground out, “is that we are trying to keep Omega safe. And that means away from the Empire. Helping Rex is just looking for trouble. We can’t afford any more trouble.”

The familiar stubbornness that had settled over Echo features stirred anxiety in Senna’s stomach. This was clearly a conversation they’d had before. Had Echo brought it up now because she was there? Did he want her help? She saw Tech watching both of his brothers carefully, drink in one hand and datapad in the other, as if mentally calculating how their argument would play out. Senna wished she had his insight.

“I want to protect Omega too,” Echo insisted. “But what kind of example are we setting for her by turning our backs on the others?”

“The kind that keeps her alive,” Hunter growled. “And what about Senna? You know she’s wanted too. The Empire doesn’t take kindly to traitors and that’s every single one of us.”

Senna sighed inwardly as she was dragged into the conversation. “Don’t make your decisions based on me. I’m an adult, and my choice to desert was my own. I know the consequences, Hunter.”

Hunter must have been counting on her to back him up, because he frowned intensely at the crate between them. “This is not up for debate.” He looked at her. “Sen, if you want to try to find work, we’ll see what we can do.” Echo’s protest was cut off with a sharply raised hand. “We’ll make sure it’s safe. Omega and Senna’s safety is our priority.” Hunter’s tone was final as he stood and exited the cockpit to retrieve the others. Echo made a noise of disgust, crumpling the ration wrapper in his hand before he stalked to the back of the ship by himself. 

Senna raised her eyes to Tech, still sitting mildly in his chair. “Well,” he said, “that went well.”

Taglist: @clonethirstingisreal @bad-batch-lurker @kybercrystals94 @freesia-writes @just-here-with-my-thoughts @lightwise @moonwrecked

[film-bro-hotch]

Queen of Nothing (Hotch x Reader) – Chapter One

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first time writing a Hotch fic, but I am super excited to see how this one goes! I’ll probably keep this up just for my own satisfaction, but I am a full-time college student, so updates will be slow. Also chapter names are probably going to be from songs/poems, so feel free to give them a listen or read. Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Warnings: murder (mostly alluded to, no details)

WC: 1.7k

Synopsis: Reader is an ex-BAU agent. There was only so much work profiling could do, and it was something you and your boss, Aaron Hotchner, seemed to clash over. So you decided to take justice into your own hands, hunting down those who had evaded justice. You have been traveling around the country for the last 5 years serving your own form of justice, that is until you end up back in northern Virginia. You run into your old boss and ex-boyfriend, Aaron. He invites you to dinner, and you can’t say no, but you also can’t stop the work you’ve been doing for the past 5 years. You were a profiler, you can evade the FBI, right? Anything for love.

“Rats and roaches live by competition under the laws of supply and demand; it is the privilege of human beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy.” ― Wendell Berry

You think he knew that day you left the BAU that you wouldn’t be back. You only had a few things from your desk, it was only supposed to be temporary. You remember the look on his face when you set that request for leave on his desk. The two of you had been arguing a lot more lately, about your relationship, about your differences in opinion at work. You told him it was getting harder watching some of these unsubs go because they didn’t have enough evidence for a court, but you knew they were guilty. Aaron had told you that sometimes that happened, that you would get used to it, that you hadn’t been working in the field long enough. So you requested leave, two weeks, and agreed to a psych eval upon your return. 

“I just need a little air between me and the BAU,” you had said in his office.

He swiftly signed the paper. “Enjoy your two weeks, Agent L/N.” His words were dry like normal, but you could see the hint of pain in his eyes, the little extra crease at the end of his brow and the way it tilted up just a little more than usual.

Part of you wished he called for you as you left his office. The other part didn’t let you feel a thing as you walked through the door, gave simple half goodbyes, the ones you give to a friend after hanging out but are sure to see them again. Hotch was right. You never came back to the BAU. 

No, now you were in the middle of nowhere town on the coast somewhere between Louisiana and Mississippi and a little too close to New Orleans. You usually brought your justice to larger cities if you could. With so many people coming in and out, no one was sure to notice you as you didn’t stay anywhere for long. You never killed in the same place twice. At least not for a long while. You had to stop in the little halfway town to get some rest before making the drive to your next destination - which you still had to figure out.

You had burned your clothes an hour before, scattered the ashes into the bay. The man you had brought to justice was a little messier than you would normally go for, but he was much more aggressive than the men you usually take care of. This one required a sawed-off shotgun. Untraceable, but blood managed to get on your clothes, and you would rather not risk it, so you burned a pair of jeans you really didn’t want to get rid of. 

In that motel bathroom, you scrubbed your fingernails with a small toothbrush, a part of paranoia making you do so even though you had worn gloves. You tried not to look up at the mirror, see just how tired you were. You didn’t like the way you looked after a crime. You hated to even consider it a crime. You were doing more than you had ever gotten done at the BAU. Justice the legal system couldn’t provide.

You scrubbed until the hot water ran out, splashing your face in hopes to wake yourself up a bit. You still had to decide where to go next. One more rub of the face, a deep breath, and you left the bathroom, only sparing yourself a partial glance. 

To ensure that your destinations were truly random, truly untraceable, you let dice decide. One triangular die with four points would determine the first number of the latitude while a ten-sided die would determine the second number for the latitude. Longitude would be determined by a twenty-sided die and another ten-sided die. The numbers would hopefully keep you in the parameters of the United States, though if you needed to, you would reroll.

The crumpled map you tore out of an atlas was scribbled with red, places you had already been and tried to stay away from, but you didn’t want to influence the roll too much. Somehow someone like Reid would find a connection if you didn’t keep it completely randomly generated. Pulling the dice out of your bag, you gave them a quick kiss and rolled the first set. 

3 and 9.

So 39N. The line that seemed to run right through the middle of the country. You could end up anywhere. “Let’s hope west coast. This humidity is a bitch,” you mutter. You gently pick up the other two, rolling them in your hand for just a moment before letting them fall onto the map in front of you.

7 and 7.

77 W. You trace your finger along the lines on the map and feel your chest constrict as they meet. Fairfax, Virginia. Too close to Quantico. Too close to D.C. Too close to all those people you left behind. In all 5 years of this, you hadn’t even landed in Virginia. And now you were to go into the belly of the beast. 

What are you even afraid of? So many of your coworkers could have moved on, gone to different departments, you thought. Maybe they don’t even live in Fairfax. Besides, you’ll be out of there in no time if you stay focused and don’t do anything stupid.

You grabbed the dice from the map, shoving them back into your backpack and haphazardly folding it. It seems you had a long drive ahead of you, and you were going to need to get some sleep so you didn’t psych yourself out on the drive. It’s what the dice said, so it will be fine, you kept repeating to yourself as you pleaded for sleep to take you.

--

            Most of the drive was coming up with ways that made you feel only slightly better about the move. You knew the area decently well considering you had lived there for some time, but not well enough to be considered a local if any authorities began to suspect you. Even if they did, you hadn’t lived in the area for five years. As far as anyone knew, you didn’t live there anymore. The more you thought about it, the more confident you felt. You couldn’t do your job worrying about little things.

            Once you reached Fairfax County, you found the cheapest motel you could, the one that probably looked the most rundown and maybe wasn’t the safest, but that’s why you were there. In your experience, the people who ran these didn’t ask questions. 

            There was a woman behind the counter, blonde curly hair that was more frizz than curl. She had a stocky build and wore an old shirt from some county fair. In one hand she had a lit cigarette, the other held some cheap tabloid. She didn’t look up when you entered, though she undoubtedly heard the bell at the door.

            “Any vacancies?”

            She didn’t look up at you, but she did put the tabloid and look at what seemed to be an old appointment book. “How long?” she asked in a voice that made it clear she had been smoking for years. 

            “Two weeks,” you settle with, pulling cash out of your bag to pay. She seemed to raise a brow for just a moment, but took it without another word, handing you the keys to one of the rooms. 

            “Room 8, outside and to your left. Checkout is at 11:00,” she says, scribbling your stay down in the book, not asking for a name before going back to her tabloid. 

            Like you figured, the room was run down and shitty, but it would help you keep a low profile. It smelled like cigarette smoke the moment you walked in, but the sheets seemed relatively clean, so you would take what you could get. There was no television, but you had grown accustomed to living without one. Doing your routine checks of the place, you gave yourself just a moment to relax. 

            It was then that you realized not only just how late it was, but how hungry you were. You didn’t make many stops on the way for food, only when you needed more gas. Most places you stayed didn’t have a minifridge or anything, but you usually kept a cooler in the car so you could have some meat and cheese for sandwiches. Not the best, but you got by well enough. That seemed to be the theme for your life the past five years. So like every usual move, you were tired after the drive but reluctantly got up and drove to the nearest grocery store to grab just the necessities. 

            By that time in the night, it was a little after 10:00, and there was hardly anyone else in the place besides the few workers that seemed to mill about. The fluorescent lights made your eyes ache a little, but that could also be due to straining them driving all day. You were trying to be quick, just wanting some food so you could go to bed. You had to be well rested to start your research for the next case.

You had grabbed what looked to be the cheapest bread and was around the corner when your cart hit something else metal, a loud metallic sound rang in your ears a bit. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You must have been a lot more tired than you originally thought if you clipped the shelf.

            “Y/N?”

            Oh. You didn’t hit the shelf taking a turn a little too sharp. You hit another cart, and you would have apologized if you hadn’t known that voice. That fucking voice that still hunted you every now and again and you prayed would go away. You hoped that this instance was one of those hauntings, that you hadn’t spent the past 16 hours in a car driving back to the place you fled. You would wake up in that little town outside of New Orleans and your dice would roll something else. But you weren’t that lucky.

            You could never be that lucky because the person standing in front of you was the last person from the BAU you ever saw. Right in front of you was Aaron Hotchner.

Chapter Two

[platonic-activity]

Ignis Fatuus (Chapter 1)

  Ignis Fatuus 

Foolish Flame

Rating: PG, NC-17 in some chapters

Catagory: Novel, X-Files Fanfic, Diverging universe

Spoilers: Up to Amor Fati

Chapter 1

Scully stopped in a small town with a park by the same name given by her psychic witness. The park was closed. She sat in her car on the main drive wondering what the hell she was supposed to do next. Frustrated with her inability to channel Mulder’s intuition and feeling silly that until that moment she had believed that she might be able to. There was no one to be seen. The roads were dusty and the main highway was miles away. You could lift this town out of Illinois and drop it in the remote desert and it would feel exactly the same. She gave up her small town surveillance and went into the one open establishment on the street. A small cafe. Determined to wake herself up to drive the 2 hours back to Chicago and fly home to her healing partner.  

“You don’t look like you are from around here.” the waitress said when she entered, taking in Scully’s trim black suit and styled hair. Scully uncharacteristically sat at the counter and responded in an open way that welcomed a conversation, explaining that she was passing through as a part of her job. She had driven hours out of the way. She might as well get one last feel for this place before leaving. 

“Where are you passing through from?” The waitress asked. She had a book open when Scully had arrived that she was now stashing away. An anthropology text book. Where could she be taking a class in this tiny town? 

“Washington DC.” Scully responded, pondering how she could avoid the whole I work at the FBI conversation. 

“That’s far. Right? It seems far to me.” She asked as she grabbed two cups of coffee, handing one to Scully and drinking the other while leaning her hip against the counter. Casually open and willing to put her work on hold and connect with her one lonely customer. “I don’t think I have ever been there. Not that I can remember at least.” 

Scully felt an almost immediate kinship with this woman who appeared to be about her same age. She was chatty, asking Scully questions. Did she like to travel for work? What kind of job brings you all the way from DC to a small town in Illinois? Scully dodged that as best as she could.

“What about you? Have you always lived here?” Scully asked, sipping her coffee companionably. Maybe she knew of a missing girl. Or maybe she had seen a quiet determined little girl with Melissa's face.

“Well, I am adopted. Scratch that. I survived foster care. But I have looked for my parents with every tool available in the state and I have had no luck. I don’t think I always lived here.”

“Do you have any suspicions? Do you remember living somewhere else?” Scully asked suddenly curious about this pretty but tired looking woman with her long wavy brown hair and dark circles under her eyes. 

“That’s the thing. I don’t remember anything from before I was 10.” She paused and then rushed, “Don’t sympathize… it’s fine. It’s just a reality. I suppose many people don’t remember their childhoods but it bothers me a bit. There aren’t really any records of me before then either. No parents to remind me of things” 

Scully sits rooted to her stool at the counter. Disbelief must be written all over her face. 

Lost. 

Scully is stricken, if for no other reason than that it is far from normal to not remember an entire childhood. She starts to pay closer attention. This woman is tall and slim. Her lean against her work surface brings her eye to eye with Scully at the counter. Her clothes are worn but stylish. They fit her well. Her lips are chapped but full and she wears no makeup. Her eyes are large and curious. She is stunningly beautiful.  

Carefully Scully smiles and takes a drink of her coffee hoping to mask her astonishment. Her hands shake slightly as she sets her mug down. 

The woman continues talking, unaware that the sky is falling down around the customer siting in front of her. “Anyway, the one thing I know is that I didn’t always live in Illinois. When I visited Lake Michigan we were all amazed at how big it was.” She is stacking dirty mugs into a dishwashing rack, barely acknowledging Scully, Like she would be talking even if she was alone. “One of my friends said that it must be like seeing the ocean, but I knew that it wasn’t. I knew that it smelled different. I don’t think people who have never seen the ocean know what it smells like.” 

She is right, of course. It is the type of connection that she would miss and that Mulder would catch. She rebukes herself for her leap of logic and momentarily convinces herself that she is just finding similarities that are not there. Apophenia borne of the sudden rending of her heart, its secrets spilled out and known…  of thinking about him constantly. He could read minds. Suddenly everything was possible. 

“Could you have visited the ocean at some point?” Scully prods, hoping to keep her talking as long as possible. 

The woman stands up straight suddenly wiping her hands on her dingy apron. She is at least 5 foot 8. “Just a visit?” She shakes her head no. “I think I lived by the ocean.” She sighed, “It’s just an intuition, you know? I guess I want it to be true. I have these flashes of giant whale bones behind a rope and it feels as though I knew them well. Like I had seen them many times and wanted to move on to something more interesting. I can’t imagine being bored seeing whale bones. It must have been a normal occurrence for me. I remember mostly small useless things like this.” She smiles wistfully, her roscoelite eyes slightly squinting and her lips drawing back as if she is holding back a bigger grin. Like she believes that what she is saying will be met with disbelief. It is a smile Scully has come to adore. She can’t help but hold the woman’s eyes in wonder. 

Whale bones. 

She casts her eyes around the small cafe, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know why I am telling you all of this! Slow day I guess.” She quickly turns back to the coffee machines and makes herself busy brewing more coffee than what would likely be needed in this empty corner cafe, in this one intersection town, at 3pm on a Wednesday. Her tank top strap fell off her sharp shoulder. Her hair needed to be brushed but somehow it was beautiful pulled back at the nape of her neck. 

Scully takes the moment to center herself. Just breathe. She is certain her heart could be seen pounding inside her chest. She can’t let this moment pass. “Do you remember a giant model of a whale’s heart?” She asks with the schooled indifferent curiosity she would normally employ when talking to a suspect. 

The woman turns, catching her eye. Her expression unreadable. Guarded. Scully pushes on, “I went to a whaling museum once and I remember standing next to a plastic whale’s heart that a child could climb into it was so large.” 

The door chimes as another woman hurries in, a small child in tow. Her apron slung over her arm while she navigates wet hair into a sloppy ponytail. Eye contact reluctantly broken they both look towards this interloper. “I am so sorry to do this, I know you have a paper to write. Thanks for taking him tonight, Anna. Don’t worry about side work. I’ll do it.” 

The woman, Scully now knew was named Anna, smiled and hugged her friend issuing a long string of reassurances that this was no problem. She whipped off her own apron and grabbed the sticky hand of what looked to be a 5 year old boy bundled up too much for the mild fall weather lifting him to sit on the counter next to her. She turned to Scully as she was gathering her things, a ratty backpack with some text books and donning her worn black hooded sweatshirt. “I remember crawling around in red tubes. I don’t know if it was supposed to be a heart.” She shrugged. 

“The New Bedford Whaling Museum in Massachusetts. That’s where I saw the whale’s heart. Near a ferry terminal to Martha’s Vineyard.” Scully said, hoping Anna would stay and continue talking. 

She just nodded, taking in the information and then, “Thanks for keeping me company.” With that smile again, “Good luck on your work trip.” and she was out the door leading her charge down the street and away from the cafe. 

Scully feels a panic rise up in her. She can’t lose this woman, again. She feels foolish. She watches as the new waitress gets set up and reaches over the counter, grabs Anna’s abandoned coffee cup and stashes it under her coat, drops some cash on the counter and leaves the coffee shop in a rush. At the corner she pivots and looks down each of the streets. She sees no one. The buildings end in both directions after only one block and past it all she sees are corn fields. 

Mount Carol, Illinois. Population 1,000 and potentially the home of one lost little girl, now a grown woman. She holds the mug like a lifeline as she gets into her rental car. What are the chances Samantha was lost to not only the Mulder family but everyone involved in her abduction? What are the chances that this cabal of powerful untouchable men could make such a huge mistake. What if she was always meant to be returned? Does anyone know that she is here? Safe? Loved by her friends, struggling to make rent and babysitting while trying to finish college at 36 years old? 

This cannot be. Scully pulls her car out onto the main street, not at all certain of what she should do next.

[allthatisleftinthedark]

@caustichatred

The descent to darkness is being lit by a crudely constructed torch that a gnome holds in her gritted teeth. Stationed on a stairwell with contemporary seating on a step, Maisie Doscedar's eyes canvas over the intricacies of a map drawn by hands that have long since passed into the next life. Her right thumb flattens out creases, but their lines have already darkened the vellum from time. 

It was several meters until she found the landing; those before who stumbled this deep managed with unfortunate luck. Proof for these unintended explorers' trip, nay their existences, are miscellaneous items left behind. The remains of a campfire lit by tinder, the littering of rations and sacks, and even coordinates etched into the walls by chalk are but a few spottings Maisie found. 

Those who came before, well... Maisie looks above. At the maul of the cave are sharp teeth, stalactites thin and long, dewy from the moisture trapped inside, glisten in the faint glow of torch light. To the fates that came before them, or at least rumored of, what came to them was their sudden and unexpected disappearances. 

How the ambassador of Dewburrow came upon these circumstances in the underbelly of an underground cavern was quite simple. Maisie never knew how to decline someone in need of help. Gossip spread like wildfire, fed by small communities, and the gnome was no stranger to that from her village, but these rumors only grew with the recent sleuth of disappearances. 

A whispered tale of a great beast entombed in a silvery coffin, an act of their god to save the people from the devourer looming in the forest, was reanimating itself. None of the stories clearly described the creature besides ink-black limbs and insatiable hunger for humans. For many, many, many years, it was a fable and myth in the area; the village closest to where the cavern was discovered claimed to be the site of the decisive victory against that beast. 

Elves claiming responsibility or creator to something with only hearsay as proof was not new. Hells, she labors with the Graneyean Empire; their legacy was built on the successes of others they robbed. 

Still, the social unrest and increasing paranoia from the missing (most likely deceased) people in the area warranted concern from Maisie. As the town's mayor heard of her interests, researching eldritch unknowns and ancient secrets, had rushed to query: "Did you hear of the Shade Dweller?" To only say, "It lives in these very woods now, eating anyone who gets lost, one by one." And drop to his knees. 

As it turns out, there was something rather alluring about a hole in the ground that had whispers of holding treasure. It's a shame that it might be the nest of the 'Shade Dweller' that has been abducting people; it must've been an acutely intelligent being to make its dwellings a lure. It does reduce the amount of effort and work of hunting.

Folding the map and returning the pouch resting on the right side of her hip, Maisie dusts off her hands and returns to stand. She grabs the torch again with her gloved left hand and continues down the staircase. Each foot forward is heavier than the last taken; if her assumptions are correct, this may be the last sight her living eyes will see. It was not the most climatic nor satisfying possibility, but there were worse things to live through (and had she not been them enough?). 

Awaiting her at the end of the staircase were tattered remains of something white. She scrutinizes the evidence. Most likely from an airy article of clothing since it was made of cotton. It was reminiscent of several shirts she had seen worn in one of the towns, the one most eastward, that also reported the most recent disappearances.

Taking a deep breath, Maisie's right hand rests above the clipped navy tome clipped on her hip. Gently, the pages of the book rustle as she concentrates; emanating from her palm are ribbons of an opaque mist, a rich purple with differing hues, swirling through the spaces between her fingers, with twinkles and sparks between them. If something awaits her, she will greet them with the same kindness.

Holding out the torch further, but still keeping at a distance, what welcomes her is a large entryway. Something glimmers beyond the doorway, but the gnome keeps her distance well enough. One foot slides before the other, muting her movement to whomever or whatever may be around. 

Was it the gold and treasures unclaimed in the cavern really what awaits here? Did the seekers of wealth have merit in risking their lives?

Maisie's eyes widen, brows raising. 

The light traces over something shiny and small, enough to fit in the palm of her hands. Instead of bounties of coin, it is something else of equivalent worth. Broken silver chainlink scatter across the ground, blending with the mossy cobblestone floor. Vines of roses swathe the buttresses and columns of the room. There was no speckle of sunlight to be found anywhere, but the flowers were in full bloom, their petals healthy and bright like the red flowing in her veins.  

In the center of the room was a coffin of silver slabs. The final seal, meant to inter the dearly departed and keep it closed, was disturbed. A crowbar rests at the foot of the burial site, with said long slab displaced from its initial space from the top. It was pushed outwards, perpendicular to the coffin. 

Maisie Doscedar stands not in a treasure trove of a former thief's hideaway or a nobleman's forgotten treasury but at the heart of a catacomb. 

[maladaptive-jcb]

Chapter 7: I See You

Jamie x female!reader

(fluff, safe for under 18)

Click here for chapter 6 if you missed it

Summary: Reader is an independent artist who lives on her own in a small town and meets Jamie, a musician, in an art studio where their budding relationship formed through shared interests of different forms of art.

Warning: There will be talks about trauma and PTSD from sexual assault, domestic abuse and dissociative episodes throughout the story.

I haven't felt like visiting the beach in a very long time. I try to avoid any swimming activities mostly so I can hide my skin better. It doesn't matter what kind of swimsuit I'll wear, the vulnerability will always overwhelm me and somehow it makes me believe that people will stare right at me… at my scars. It's now looking right back at me on my mirror reflection. I haven't worn this two piece bikini in so long. I wore it so much when I was back home and spending so many summers with my family. I chose this today specifically to make me feel better. And maybe… Just, maybe, I can make better memories with Jamie with this.

Yet, as I'm running through my fingers on my scars, my mind still flashes back to a certain awful memory. That night…

Aaron didn't notice I was bleeding. He was too drunk to notice much. I had to cover the cuts with pieces of clothes I could find in my closet. He was so full of rage that he turned off the lights in our room and passed out right after all his drinking. While I was wincing from pain, I tried laying next to him silently. It was a sleepless night for me until morning came and I drove myself to the hospital. The doctors told me that they found tiny shards of glass in my wounds and it took them almost an hour to clean them up before the cuts were stitched.

Everything went by so fast that I didn't even have time to process it during the incident. It even took me a while to finally realize how wrong the situation was towards me. And I guess, what hurt the most wasn't the wound and glass shards. It was my broken trust and love I had for him. His love, or so I thought, dissipated. He never looked at me like he used to anymore. I was no longer enough for him.

I turn to look at the mirror again. My lips are quivering.

Ding!

I shake my thoughts away and shift my focus to my phone. It's Jamie. He says that he's 10 minutes away from my apartment.

I grab my light, breezy beach dress and quickly put it on over my bikini. I can't do this again. I'll have to be strong for Jamie this time. With one final big exhale and gulping my glass of water, I calm myself down.

____

Jamie is wearing a slick back ponytail that highlights his cheekbones and jawlines even more than usual. His black form-fitting T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up a little bit flatters along with it. He has a really particular fashion sense and it's always working for him.

"Guess what I brought?" he asks excitedly.

I look at the backseat. "A basket?"

"A picnic basket, darling. Oh, and a blanket too so we can sit together," he raises his eyebrows in glee.

"Jamie, these are wonderful!"

"I hope you like bagels, blueberry muffins and juice boxes. I'm sorry, I… I haven't done grocery shopping yet," he scratches the back of his head.

"Stop, it's perfect! I wished you would have told me though I could have brought something!"

"You brought yourself. That's enough for me," he turns to wink at me.

After all these times, I still get flustered whenever he does that. I immediately turn my head the other way to the window. I hear him chuckling silently and then turning up the music that's playing on the radio. The music fills the air. It's nice. It's an R&B song I haven't heard before which is now followed by a low humming following the tunes. The melody of his voice captures my attention. I catch myself smiling as I silently listen to him, enjoying his sweet, sort of raspy voice that tugs my heart in ways that I haven't experienced before. I stare at him in admiration as he starts singing. He looks so serene.

"What?" He notices and smiles back.

"You were singing. It's… lovely. I love it," I smile at him.

"Really?" He almost looks surprised at my compliment. "Y/n, you're so sweet. Thank you."

"You're very talented. I'd really like to see you sing and play your music sometime."

"Actually, I'd really like to show you something that I've been working on. It's still a work in progress by the way so go easy on me."

"I'd love to hear it," my heart jumps at the thought.

He turns to me and asks again, "Would you like for me to continue singing?"

"Please."

Jamie sings throughout the ride and the sound of his tender vocals sent me into a deeper state of peace. My body sinks deeper into my seat and my eyelids suddenly feel a lot more relaxed than usual. I haven't felt this relaxed in so long.

_____

I feel a warm hand gently touching my face. Almost like trying to move my hair away from my face.

"Hey, y/n. We're almost here."

Shit.

I sit upright immediately. "Jamie, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to fall asleep!"

He laughs. "You're absolutely fine. Look!" He points to my right.

I turn to look and my gaze is met with the beautiful blue ocean that fills the horizon as we drive down the road. The sun is almost setting and the sky is painted with breathtaking colours of orange and blue as the sunlight glistens around the clouds.

"Wow," is all I could say.

"I know." He exclaims back. "I gotta tell you though the view of you sleeping is a thousand times better than this."

I gasp and turns towards him. He's holding his laughter. "Shut up, Jamie!", his arm is met with a smack from me.

"Alright little beast, not too hard. I'm driving here," he chuckles.

I adjust myself and straighten up before Jamie pulls over to park near the beach. We step out of the car together as Jamie holds the picnic basket. The breeze coming from the ocean feels cooler the closer we walk towards it. Jamie is now spreading his arms apart to feel the breeze and just taking it all in. I suddenly notice that my dress starts waving with the wind too. l sense a little panic when I remember what is hiding underneath.

"Let's lay our stuff out there," he points towards a spot with a tree over it. A little further from the shore but close enough to have a good view of everything. The sun is setting and it's such a beautiful view. It's been a while since I've seen a view like this up close. I've missed this.

I pull out my phone and hand it over to Jamie. "Take a picture of me with the view!"

"Alright, go stand over there!" He starts taking photos and gives me directions on how to pose. Jamie even tells me to jump as he counts to three. I start laughing and tell him that I got everything I need.

"Nope. One more!" He runs towards me, puts his arm around my shoulders and holds my phone up for a selfie. He sticks his tongue out and takes the picture.

"No! I wasn't ready!" I try to grab my phone from him but he quickly snatches his hand away. He just smiles and looks at the screen.

"God, you look beautiful," he says and hands me the phone. His clear blue eyes looking down at me in admiration.

"Oh shut up," I shove him playfully to hide the warmth in my cheek.

He just chuckles and finally hands me my phone.

"Well come on, let's sit," he nods his head towards our laid out blanket on the sand.

We both sit and he starts opening up the picnic basket. "Alright, miss. Would you like to see the specials on the menu today?" he says in an amusing manner.

"Aahh yes the blueberry muffin, sir," I say, committing to his bit.

We laugh while we eat and chat as the sun is setting. Jamie's muffins are delicious. Apparently he actually baked it the day before but couldn't finish it so he brought them for me. Of course he also bakes. I look at him, wondering what else has he not told me about?

Everything feels right. The view of the beach. The crashing waves. The warm sand in our toes. Seeing children playing around with the sound of their laughter in the distance. I feel so at peace for the first time in a long time.

"I knew you needed this," he says as if he just read my mind.

"Hmm?"

"The beach. There's… something about it. When you step into one it's like nature's telling you that you need to slow down in life too. The chaos in our minds… just goes away," he says as he stares at the ocean.

I put my head on his shoulder. "Thank you. For this."

He lifts his arm and put it over my shoulder. I just wish this moment lasts forever. Yes, the beach is breathtakingly amazing. The colours of the sky is like a real life painting. However, what makes the moment perfect is Jamie. Being right here with me.

We stare at the sun setting real low as we lean on each other. After a while, I feel his shoulder starts shifting and I look up at him.

He looks at me and asks, "Would you like to swim for a bit?"

My body freezes again. I want to say something but I just start stuttering in my words.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?" I hear him say as I try to control the tightness in my chest.

I try to control my breathing as much as I can before saying something. Jamie immediately notices my shaky hand clutching on my waist.

"Hey, hey, hey. You're okay. You're okay. Listen to me. You're safe," he keeps repeating in my ears while he holds me.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," is all I can say as I regain my breath control.

"Nothing is going to change the way I look at you. I promise," he calms me again in his low tone voice.

"I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm so sorry," are all the words that come out of me.

"No, don't you dare apologize for this. Look, we don't have to if you don't want to-"

"It's okay. I want to," I cut him off.

"Okay," he stands up and holds his hand out to take mine. I take his hand and pulls myself up.

"Can you… turn around first?" I ask him.

"Of course." He smiles and turns his back. I hear him taking off his shirt as I take mine off too. I take a deep breath for a minute to calm myself. Then, a tap on my shoulder.

"Are you ready?" He checks up on me.

I exhale. I look down to my waist and turn around slowly. I can't seem to find the courage to look up to his expression for the first time seeing me like this. I just can't and-

His fingers. I feel them on my chin.

Jamie lifts my face up to look at his. He beams like I have never seen him does before.

"You look fucking amazing," he smiles. Genuinely smiling.

"What?"

"You are smoking, y/n. That's what I'm saying."

I start laughing and then I feel the stream of tears falling down on my face. He then starts laughing with me as he gently wipes my tears away with his thumbs. I fall to his chest and feel his embrace. He likes me. I know that now.

"So you don't mind?" I ask.

"Nothing will ever change the way I see you."

Chapter 8 ______

Sorry I've been away from writing in a while but I'm finally back on my trip! I'm so glad I could continue this again and I hope you enjoy these really vulnerable moments in the chapter. I'm excited to continue again!

[faithfulcat111]

First Lines of 10 Fics Game!!

rules: share the first lines of 10 of your most recent fanfics and then tag 10 people. If you have written less than 10 fics, don't be shy and share anyways :)

...Again and again...because those I care for best, do me Most harm... (mature, in-progress)

“Nancy!” Nancy jerked her head up at the call of her name, away from where the melted monster that had been looming over her had been flung out the hospital room’s window. Sure enough, El stood at the door, blood dripping down from her nose. From behind her, Mike pushed past her to skid to a stop in front of her. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking terrified. 

this is the sun-filled sky (these are the singing blackbirds) (teen, completed)

His mom often told him that his curiosity would get him into trouble. Whether with the Lord or the Lady, with the farmers or village workers, with the Marshall. With somebody at least. He just never thought it would be…

Hand in Hand Together (teen, completed)

Maybe he should have been more concerned that nothing had shown up yet. But he found that he wasn’t. He had never been concerned with having that many names scrawled across his body. Having Will’s around the curve of his throat and his mom’s across the top of his shoulder was more than enough.

I tell you someone will remember us in the future (mature, completed)

Lure it in. Trap the damn thing. Kill it with fire. Seemed like an easy enough task.

Death is an evil. (mature, in-progress)

Maybe it was wrong to lie to Argyle about why exactly they had decided to take off for Hawkins, but he really shouldn’t have told Jonathan that he wanted to take a cross-country trip one day while high the whole time. Not if he didn’t want Jonathan to take advantage of it (although he probably had something other than running from the government and towards a potentially supernatural threat in mind.)

we may see less sleep than the piercing-voiced nightlong nightingale (teen, completed)

Steve threw himself from side to side, the sheets tangling around him as he huffed in annoyance. Robin being gone from his small apartment left it near impossible to sleep. It shouldn't be this bad, no one ever stayed the night at his place before Robin.

let the walls burn down, set your secret free (mature, completed)

Despite their best efforts, nothing could change the fact that no one had touched the cabin since it had been practically ripped apart last summer. The amount of work that would have to go into making it moderately safe was denied just like the drafts that plunged through the holes they couldn't fully cover and the lights that wouldn't work until the roof fully caved in over what used to be Hopper's bedroom.

chasing love up against the sun (teen, completed)

It was always easy to slip through the servant's halls without attracting any sort of attention to which direction he was heading. The other servants never seemed to care that Jonathan wasn't heading in any sort of direction he should be and his worn clothes and smaller build kept most attention off of him once he slipped across the main halls. All together, it made it simple to make his way towards the guard house and slip into one of the small bedchambers. 

surely once you too were a delicate child (teen, completed)

“What are you doing?” Carol’s voice was way too bored. The kind of bored that usually spelt that trouble was brewing. “I’m just checking in on her,” Steve said. “Now get out of my car.” He ignored Tommy and Carol’s shouts as he pulled away, driving back across town toward the suburbs where Nancy lived in. Normally, he wouldn’t care about leaving them to wait in his car while he did a quick check-in, but something about the way Nancy had looked holding that bat in her garage kept coming back to him.

survived all those long, lonely days (mature, completed)

"Shit, shit, shit!" Steve led the small crew running through the forest undergrowth, hacking at anything getting in their way with the Byers' machete. Jonathan blinked as he stumbled forward, the two bodies on either side of him barely keeping him upright as he tried to run despite the pain shooting up his leg. 

[yandereine]

Minerva Decides It’s Time for One More Round- Ch5

Three days passed since awakening.

Vincent toiled away in the ShinRa manor basement, stacking books.

He handpicked every single book doctored by Hojo, penned by Hojo and had any false narrative on the Ancients and Jenova. In the end, he had one hundred and three books stacked in front of a furnace. He didn’t need heat, but the ShinRa mansion’s ancient heating was going to be fully fueled for several weeks as he used it for kindling. There weren’t as many monsters stalking the halls as the last time he used the place as his abode, they were cleared out regardless. For now the old mansion would serve as his home base until he could truly figure out, how to prevent the quiet death of their world.

Smoke arose from the chimney, to which he hoped would give Tifa the signal that someone who shouldn’t be there, was there.

Five books a day, that’s what he would burn.

Any and all active security was disabled and the one saving grace of the accursed mansion was that it wasn’t connected to ShinRa HQ at all.

There were some spare clothes available, and while dressing as a butler wasn’t his primary choice of attire, he learned that people didn’t react too well to his red cloak at a first meeting.

Bed sheets were shredded and wrapped around his golden claw to look like a thick cast for an injured arm. Looking over himself in an old mirror, he had the appearance of a worn down, likely abused servant.

Apt.

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

Tifa’s hysterical episode had been followed by gossip and her father keeping an all-seeing eye on her until she convinced everyone it was a bad nightmare induced by spicy cooking.

She saw the smoke in the distance, coming from the old ShinRa manor and bid her time until it was ok to investigate. Given her age, physically, she knew gunning for the place was a bad idea, especially if it involved armed guards or staff that could turn her life into a tragic accident if she was not careful.

Day by day smoke floated through the air at the same time. Tifa understood it was a signal. For who, she could not be sure. She knew that Vincent was locked away in a coffin, waiting to be freed from his guilt, and the reactor was right there, providing minimal convenience for the people so far out, but she knew they could do fine without it.

Standing by the town gate that provided a path to the mansion, she weighed her options. Run off on her own right this moment? Or try and sneak away in the middle of the night?

Her body was so small, so weak. In a desperate need to confirm her own strength, she ended up hurting herself as her untrained body couldn’t withstand what she considered a basic work out. No way she was going to be punching and kicking her way through the threats of the Shinra Mansion.

She scuffed her shoes into the dirt, realizing her wardrobe was hardly practical for any exploration anyhow. Kitten heels, wedge sandals, short dresses and adorable skirts were jam packed in her closet. Thinking of what she wore when first meeting Sephiroth at age sixteen, none of it could serve as armor to protect her even if she did just try and make a run for it and get by with a few scrapes.

It was mid-day, and worry tugged at her from all sides. Concern about Vincent, finding Aerith, getting to Cloud and primarily, destroying Jenova.

Her similarly aged friends had left her alone.

She was in her twenties, being near children this young felt inappropriate even if she physically looked no different from them. And she was hardly offering them soup and blankets while she and Aerith worked their orphanage.

Dressed in something more conservative that dissuaded the boys her age from staring- really it was so weird, she wore her longest, below the knee skirt and a long sleeve, but thin blouse. Back and forth she paced, rubbing her hands together, and trying so hard to calm herself and think.  

What she could do in this body?

Her question was answered for her as the crunching of metal shoes on dirt sounded close by, and a familiar man descended. She knew the face, but without his cloak, dressed like a house butler, and his hair tied up with what was normally his bandana, she did a double take.

“Vincent!” she yelled, running towards the man with a big, bright smile. How he woke up didn’t matter, what did was that he was there.

Vincent’s eyes raised a mere fraction at seeing Tifa sprint in his direction. It appeared she remembered him. In his timeline she was-

She knocked into him, his body only being shaken from the impact as her arms circled around his thin waist and she squeezed.

“Vincent It’s so good to see you! I thought- I mean... we should talk.” she said, after catching her breath.

The man was mentally processing seeing her still, and smiled in the muted way that hardly reached his eyes.

“Yes, let’s.”

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

Tifa’s nighttime hysteria, as they called it, put her father on a protective alert since her childhood accident. Anything she did, he’d know about. It took minutes before he was storming into the inn, and looking for ‘the bastard that dared to lay a finger on his daughter.’

It was the other way around, but a hug was a hug.

The two were seated on the first floor at the dining tables when the man just short of burst through the doors like an exploding Grenade and drew himself to his full height while looking down at him. Tifa stood in a hurry, shielding the other man with her body. The outrage was clear on his face as his eyes blazed through her and into Vincent. The fatherly fury in his eyes was reserved for his worst enemies, to which the pale, unknown man was.

“P-papa- it’s not what you think! Vincent’s-”

“An acquaintance. You see, I’m new here and ran into a spot of trouble while on an errand for my lord. I mean you no offence, and came to offer my thanks for your daughter's assistance.” Vincent had stood as well, rolling his shoulder where the bed sheet sling around him kept his false arm bent.

“You saw smoke coming from the mansion, right papa? He didn’t know he could get firewood here in town and tried to get it himself, and hurt himself. Please don’t be mad.” Her pleading was accompanied by moving to her father’s side and gently pressing her hands on his arm.

This made his face turn a few shades less red, but instead of leaving, he pulled a chair from the table behind them, and sat.

“Alright Mr. Vincent. I’m sorry you were hurt. But I’m not leaving you with my little girl. The name’s Brian, and I’m the mayor.” His tone was not friendly.

Vincent gave a polite bow despite being spoken to like an immediate threat, and Tifa reigned in her exasperation as she took her seat again. “Papa, I know you’re worried but-”

She was interrupted by her father shaking his head.

“I’ve never seen you around, when did you get here?” He continued.

Vincent locked his red eyes onto Brian’s and realized he must have looked rather suspicious given, as others put it, he had an “intense gaze.” He blinked several times to force his eyes to soften, lids lowering and brow struggling to climb into a polite curve. Tifa could tell he was trying as hard as his stony expression would morph but realized her face was no better.

“Just a week ago. My lord was hoping to have a relaxing getaway and I was sent to survey and send in repair orders where they needed to go. It gets quite cold here, and I needed some firewood.” His voice was rough, and he forced his pitch to sound as non-threatening as possible. “I ran out of what was available, sparse as it was. That is when Tifa helped me and assisted with tending to my injury.” Vincent “smiled.”

Tifa’s eyes bugged wide as she looked down and scratched the side of her face.

Seemingly satisfied with the story, Brian nodded and looked down to Tifa who was doing her best to stare at the floor and forget what she just saw.

“What’s wrong, you’re embarrassed?” Brian laughed, seemingly at ease. “You did a good thing, but you have to be more careful. You should have gotten me of someone.”  

Her father reached out and held her shoulder, rubbing his thumb up and down.

“I just want you to be safe, you know that right?”

Tifa relented and nodded, looking up. Her father was alive, again, and she intended to keep things that way.  

“Yeah, I know papa.”

He, however, did not leave.

“So what were you talking about?”

She wanted to groan.

Vincent proved to be a master stoic, and story teller as Tifa struggled to say anything wrong to her father. He moved his eyes between the two of them casually as he took the lead, hinting that she should follow.

“At the moment, I am the only servant. I’d been expecting to meet with fellow employees, but it seems our meeting time was thrown off track. I am... anxious to have them here, but with my PHS broken, I’m afraid I cannot contact them.” There was a pause as Vincent looked back to Tifa, tilting his head.

“Oh- yeah, the signal out here is really bad for those too. I was going to say that maybe he can use our phone?” She was a little more slow on the uptake but caught on quickly enough.

“The mansion doesn’t have one? Seemed like the one place there would be a landline at least.” Brian had warmed to Vincent considerably, though maybe it was because it was hard to stay angry at an injured man.

“Ah, the electricity needs work and I am no electrician. However, there is no need to trouble yourself. The inn has a landline correct?” Vincent wasn’t actually sure, but he guessed.

“Ah that old thing needs to be replaced anyhow. Still uses rotary buttons!” Brian chuckled and nodded.

“Sure, you can use ours. C’mon I’ll show you to my place!”

[esther-lennox]

**esther lennox.

I would rather not go, back to the old house. There's too many bad memories, too many memories there.

basic information

Full Name: Esther Cecilia Lennox Nickname(s) or Alias: When she was in high school she preferred to be called E since she thought her name was too old for her but as she got older she really began to like it. She's usually only called Esther now but doesn't mind being called E still. Gender: Cisgender female Age: Twenty One Birthday: February 16th Zodiac Sign: Aquarius sun, Aries Moon, Aries rising Sexuality: Pansexual Nationality: American Religion: Agnostic City or Town of Birth: East Hampton, New York Currently Lives: Manhattan, New York Languages Spoken: English Native Language: English Relationship Status: Single

physical appearance

Height: 5′4 Hair Color: Blonde Hairstyle: Her hair is chest length and has a natural wave to it, she has wispy bangs that she'll sometimes pin out of her face. Her hairstyle usually depends on whatever outfit she's wearing. She enjoys doing intricate braids since it gives her hands something to do. Once in a blue moon she'll get her hair straightened but it never lasts for more than 3 days. Facial Hairstyle: N/A Eye Color: Brown Tattoos: None Piercings: She has both of her ears pierced but that's the extent she'll go. Scars/Distinguishing Marks: She has a few faint scars on her legs from falling a lot as a child, she was very clumsy. Preferred Style of Clothing: Esther is a preppy Upper East Side girl through and through, it's definitely obvious with her wardrobe. She loves blazers, sweaters, skirts, and well tailored trousers. She's meticulous about her wardrobe, everything has to fit her perfectly. She would never be seen in anything with a wrinkle, rip, or thread out of place. Frequently Worn Jewelry/Accessories: She always has on a pair of earrings either small gold hoops or pearl studs.

health

Smoker?: No, she thinks it's disgusting she can't stand the smell of cigarette smoke. Drinker?: Yes, she's been a social drinker since she was around fifteen. Her parents always let her have a glass albeit a very small glass of wine or champagne at holiday parties and special events. She tries not to drink now, she knows it can be a slippery slope for her so she tries to limit herself to a glass of wine, she'll take baby sips so it won't be as noticeable if she's drinking with other people. Recreational Drug User? Which?: Not anymore but when she was in high school she was a frequent cocaine, ecstasy, and speed. She hid her drug use well from her family and friends, so, people are her just assumed that she only used while she was with her friends and being "spontaneous". Addictions: Caffeine - Esther needs her coffee. She gets migraines and is in a general foul mood until she has at least 2 cups in the morning. Cocaine - While Esther has been clean for four years, she had a drug problem for around two and a half years. While her main three were cocaine, ecstasy, and speed...cocaine was the one she used almost every day. Allergies: Pollen and dust, they're not terrible but she will sneeze up a storm and get swollen eyes if there's too much dust or pollen in the air. Neurological Conditions: N/A Sleeping Habits: Esther isn't a light sleeper but she is a particular sleeper. She has to do her night routine exactly otherwise it takes her forever to fall asleep. She needs the room completely dark, a silk eye mask, and a white noise machine. It's very difficult for her to sleep at other people's places because of this. She also needs exactly seven and a half hours of sleep, otherwise her whole day is thrown off. Eating Habits: She's a relatively picky eater, she likes what she likes and doesn't really go outside of that. She's not completely against trying new things but she would prefer not to. She's a relatively slow eater as well, it takes her forever to finish everything on her plate. Exercise Habits: Esther isn't really the "working out" type, she hates sweating and exerting herself. The most she can do is a low impact yoga class, she doesn't want to twist herself up like a pretzel. She used to play tennis during the summer with her mother when she was younger which was how she discovered her hatred for physical activity, even though she was pretty good at it. Emotional Stability: She's definitely pretty good at keeping her emotions under her control and isn't the type of person to act out in a fit of rage or passion. Although this usually makes people think she's uncaring since she doesn't share what she's feeling. Sociability: It's hard for new people to talk to Esther since it's obvious on her face when she's not interested and in most cases, she isn't. When it comes to people in her immediate circle (or were in her immediate circle) they always said she was the fun and energetic one, always down for a spontaneous outing. However, it did take them a while to get to that point to see this side of her. Body Temperature: She's always cold which is why she's always layering. She has to have on a hat, scarf, and gloves once the temperature gets below 40 degrees.

personality

Label: The Fallen Angel Positive traits: Clever, focused, hardworking, independent, and sympathetic Negative traits: Aloof, blunt, critical, petty, and selfish Likes: Reading, gloomy weather, shopping, cats, merlot Dislikes: Reptiles, surprises, baggy clothes, pinot grigio Fears/Phobias: Having anyone find out about the reason she left Manhattan is definitely one of her biggest fears. She kept it under wraps and lied to everyone she cared about for so long, she can't risk it ever coming to light. Favorite Color: Sage green Hobbies: Reading and painting Habits: She often tugs on her hair while she's talking to people or just sitting around, she'll also twirl it Taste in Music: 

house and home

Describe the Character’s House/Home:

Do They Share Their Home with Anyone? Who?: 

family, friends and foes'

Parents Names:  Are Parents Alive or Dead?  Is the Character Still in Contact with Their Parents?:  Siblings? Relationship with Siblings? Other Important Relatives:  Partner/Spouse: None Children: N/A Best Friend: Other Important Friends:  Acquaintances:  Pets:  Enemies? Why Are They Enemies?: 

backstory

Describe Their Childhood (newborn - age 12):

Describe Their Teenage Years (13 - 18):