#Esmeralda strain

[katiestardoodles]

[thursdaynights]

(Sitting in a work party, coding appts)

Me: hey c-level, can yo-

My alarm: THIS IS A REMINDER.

All 6 Cs: 👁️👁️

My alarm: HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE

Me:…. Sorry, it’s going to g-

My alarm: THIS IS A REMINDER. HYDRATE OR

(Mutes)

[theemporium]

maybe 🧸for Carlos and Butterfly and their first baby? Just wee innocence and fluff and cuddles?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

The room was silent when you woke up.

It was still dark outside when you found yourself waking up, tired and bleary eyed and a little confused. The room was still pitch black and the only light came from the small digital clock on your bedside table that read 02:50AM.

You let yourself fall back against your pillow, your hand reaching out to tug your husband closer and settle into the warmth of his body. However, your hand was just met with the cold sheets beside you.

You frowned, blinking your eyes open. You reached for the lamp, clicking the button before looking around the room, but it was empty.

Your ears strained to listen, thinking that maybe Carlos was in the bathroom or just getting a glass of water from the kitchen. But the house was silent.

With a spark of concern growing in the pit of your stomach, you threw your legs over the side of the bed and slipped your feet into your fluffy slippers. You reached for your robe, wrapping it around your body to battle the early winter chill before leaving the room.

It took less than thirty seconds before you found Carlos.

“Ah, mi oruga, you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

You peeked through the ajar door to the nursery, seeing the small night-light you bought for the room switched on and illuminating the room. Carlos was sitting in the corner on the large armchair, your baby girl in his arms and pressed against his shirtless chest. His hair was a mess, his eyes were hooded but he looked absolutely content where he was.

“Don’t tell your mother but you’re my favourite girl,” he murmured in a soft voice, his accent a little thicker. “My prettiest girl.”

“I’m offended,” you teased, leaning against the doorway as your husband’s head snapped up.

“Mi mariposa,” he grinned sleepily, and even though he couldn’t with his arms full, you could see the urge sparkking in his eyes to reach for you. “Why are you awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you retorted as you started to close the distance between you both. “Did she wake up? I didn’t hear her cry.”

“No,” he admitted, a sheepish expression on his face. “I just…I missed her.”

“Carlos,” you scolded playfully as you settled on the arm of the chair, your fingers naturally finding their way to rake through his hair.

“I’m sorry, mi amor, but she’s just too perfect,” he mumbled as his eyes casted down to look at the baby fast asleep in his arms, barely three months old but already having him wrapped around her little finger. “I just needed a small cuddle.”

“You’re getting clingy,” you mused. “What are you going to do when you’re racing again?”

“Ay, don’t remind me,” he whined with a small frown on his face. “I’m taking her with me.”

“I’m sure little Esme would love that,” you murmured as you smiled at the sight of your husband leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “She’s a daddy’s girl.”

“Yes, she is,” he grinned as he puffed his chest out a little.

You snorted. “Come on, put her back in the crib. I don’t want her to wake up before sunrise.”

Carlos pouted, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Five more minutes, mi amor, please?”

And just the way Esmeralda had her father wrapped around her finger, he had you wrapped around his.

“Five more minutes,” you relented as you nuzzled yourself into his side, letting Carlos grin as he pulled you close.

“Mi familia,” he hummed, his body sagged in relief with both his girls cuddled beside him.

.

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Gargoyle/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,974 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist Part 1, Part 2 (here)

You’re a new volunteer at the halfway house and a dear friend of Esmeralda; you expected working here to be tough, but you didn’t expect to fall in love with one of the monsters seeking shelter here.

Laurent stepped into the hallway, his wings half-unfurled, every movement deliberate and tense. You hesitated for only a moment before following him, your heart pounding as you crept behind him, trying to stay out of sight.

“Stay back,” he rumbled, a quiet warning.

You didn’t listen. Flattening yourself against the wall, you peeked around his massive frame. The hallway was chaos—splinters from the busted front door littered the floor, snow swirling in through the gap. Esmeralda stood in the centre of it all, her usually calm face taut with anger. 

Lucas stepped forward, palms up, his stance cautious but ready.

The source of the commotion was clear. Three men stood in the entryway, silhouetted against the faint moonlight. The first was burly, with a thick coat and a beanie pulled low over his forehead. He gripped a crowbar in one hand, the jagged metal gleaming faintly. 

Beside him, a wiry man held a shotgun, its barrel trained toward Lucas. The third man, who seemed older, had a handgun clenched in both hands, his knuckles white.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lucas’s voice was calm, but the undertone of a growl was unmistakable. “You’re trespassing.”

“We know what you are,” the older man snarled, his voice hoarse with tension. His gun wavered for a moment before steadying again. “We’ve seen it. All of you. This place—it’s not normal.”

Esmeralda’s laugh was sharp and cold, but you could hear the strain beneath it. “You’ve broken into a private residence based on rumours; do you know how foolish that sounds?”

“Don’t lie to us!” the wiry man snapped, shifting the shotgun slightly. His eyes darted nervously between Esmeralda and Lucas, as though expecting one of them to attack at any moment. “We’ve seen the lights, the shadows moving. People don’t come here for no reason.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, panic clawing at your chest. These men weren’t just suspicious—they were ready for violence. You could see it in the way the older man’s finger hovered over the trigger, his posture rigid with fear and fury.

“Look,” Lucas said, his voice softer now, though his body remained tense. “You’re scared. I get that, but you’ve got the wrong idea. We’re not what you think—”

A sharp intake of breath from the burly man cut him off. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Laurent, who stepped further into the light.

“The fuck?” he shouted, his voice rising in panic. “That thing—what is that!?”

The shotgun swung toward Laurent just as the older man raised his handgun.

“No!” you shouted, but the sound was drowned out by the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Laurent moved faster than you thought possible. His wings flared wide as he turned, shielding you completely from the line of fire. The bullet ricocheted off his stone-like shoulder, sending sparks and a ringing echo down the hall.

Your heart stopped, fear rooting you to the spot. Laurent didn’t flinch, his massive body blocking you from the men entirely.

“Laurent!” Olivier’s voice was sharp, his wings snapping open as he stumbled into the hallway.

“Stay behind me!” Laurent barked, his voice louder, harsher than you’d ever heard it. He shifted slightly, his claws flexing, but you saw the faint crack in his stone-like skin where the bullet had hit.

The older man’s hands shook, the gun still aimed at Laurent. “Monsters,” he hissed. “You’re all monsters.”

Lucas moved first. His calm facade snapped like a twig, and the shift was instantaneous. A guttural growl ripped from his chest as his muscles bulged, and his bones began to snap and realign. His shirt tore at the seams as dark fur erupted along his arms and shoulders. His face elongated into a sharp, lupine muzzle, and his hands curled into claws. 

“Get out!” Lucas’s voice came as a half-snarl, more animal than man, as he lunged toward the man with the handgun.

The sharp retort of a gunshot rang out, deafening in the enclosed space. Lucas jerked back, a spray of blood darkening his fur as the bullet tore through his shoulder. He roared in pain but didn’t falter, using his good arm to swipe at the weapon.

Esmeralda moved in a blur, faster than your eyes could track. Her dark hair streamed behind her like a shadow as she dashed past the chaos toward the back of the house. “Maisie!” she called, her voice sharp with urgency as she disappeared down the hallway.

Olivier took advantage of the distraction. His wings unfurled with a snap, and he surged forward, claws outstretched. The burly man barely had time to react before Olivier knocked him to the ground, the crowbar skittering out of reach. The man struggled, punching and kicking, but Olivier’s weight pinned him with ease.

Meanwhile, Laurent stayed rooted in place, his massive frame shielding you completely as bullets ricocheted off the walls and the floor around him. You could feel the tension in his movements, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

“Get back to the kitchen,” he barked, his voice low and commanding, but your legs refused to move.

Another gunshot exploded, this one closer, and instinct finally kicked in. You stumbled backward, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts as you backed into the kitchen. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sounds of chaos—shouts, gunfire, the growl of Lucas—blurring into a cacophony.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath when movement from the dining room caught your eye. Your stomach dropped.

The wiry man with the shotgun had circled around. He stepped into the kitchen through the dining room archway, the barrel of his weapon gleaming faintly in the dim light. His wild eyes locked onto you for a split second before shifting to Laurent, who had followed you into the room.

“Get out of here!” Laurent shouted at you, his wings snapping open as he moved to block you.

The man fired.

The shot hit Laurent square in the chest, the force of it slamming him back against the counter. You screamed, your voice raw, as the sound of stone shattering filled the air.

Laurent staggered, his claws digging into the edge of the counter as he struggled to stay upright. Cracks spread across his chest and shoulder where the shotgun blast had struck, the stone skin fractured and jagged. Blood seeped from the wounds, dark and thick, stark against the mossy green.

He growled low, his amber eyes blazing as he straightened despite the obvious pain. “Stay... down,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice a rough rasp.

The wiry man fumbled with his shotgun, breaking it open to reload, his movements hurried and shaking. The faint click of a cartridge sliding into place was the only sound in the room besides the pounding of your heart.

Laurent didn’t wait.

With a guttural roar, he surged forward, his massive wings unfurling like a storm breaking loose. He collided with the man, claws outstretched, the force of his body slamming the intruder into the floor. The shotgun clattered away, spinning across the tiles. 

Laurent didn’t stop. He reached for the weapon, his powerful hands snapping it in two as if it were made of brittle twigs.

You stared, frozen by the sheer ferocity of him. His amber eyes burned with an almost feral intensity, the cracks in his chest glowing faintly with each heaving breath. Blood oozed steadily from the jagged wound, dark and viscous, soaking into the fabric of his trousers.

The man beneath him screamed, his fear raw and animalistic, but Laurent only growled low in his throat, his tusks bared as he loomed over him. In that moment, he was something more than terrifying—he was magnificent, every inch of him a living weapon.

“Laurent!” Olivier’s voice echoed from the hall, sharp and commanding, snapping you out of your trance.

Movement caught your eye—a flicker of darkness at the edge of your vision. You turned, and there was Rio, his faintly glowing eyes floating in the shadowed hallway beyond the kitchen. His indistinct form twisted and flickered, one insubstantial hand beckoning you forward.

“Come,” his voice rasped, thin as smoke. “Hurry.”

The urge to run was overwhelming, but not away—from Laurent, from the man, from the chaos—but toward the safety Rio offered. You ducked into the side hallway, the thick shadows swallowing you as you pressed yourself against the cool wall.

The sounds of the fight spilled into the hallway—shouts, the scrape of boots against the floor, the low growls of Lucas still transformed. You didn’t know how long you stayed there, your breath shallow, your hands trembling. Rio hovered near you, his presence strangely grounding, though he didn’t speak again.

Finally, silence fell.

You crept back to the kitchen, your stomach twisting as you peeked around the doorframe.

The chaos had settled. Olivier stood by the counter, tying the wiry man’s hands behind his back with practiced efficiency. The burly man was slumped against the wall, groaning as Lucas—half-shifted now, his face still lupine but his body more human—secured him with strips of fabric torn from a curtain.

Laurent leaned against the counter, his broad shoulders hunched, one hand pressed to his chest. Blood still dripped from the cracks in his skin, pooling on the floor beneath him. His wings drooped slightly, their edges brushing the ground, and his breathing was laboured.

Even in his injured state, he was striking, his amber eyes flicking to Olivier as he handed over the last set of makeshift bindings. His hands trembled faintly, but his expression was stoic as ever.

You stepped into the doorway, your voice catching in your throat. “Laurent...”

His gaze snapped to you, sharp and assessing, before softening just slightly. “I’m fine. It’s over,” he said, though the rough edge of his voice betrayed the effort it took to say it.

Esmeralda swept into the kitchen, her sharp heels clicking against the blood-speckled tiles, a mobile phone already pressed to her ear. She glanced at you briefly, her face pale but composed.

“Yes, George, we’ve had a break-in,” she said into the phone, her voice smooth but steely. “Three men, armed. They’re restrained now, but we’ll need you to... handle it.”

She paused, her dark eyes flicking to Laurent, then to the men tied up on the floor. “Yes, I know what this means,” she continued, lowering her voice. “They’ll be out of sight before you arrive. Just make sure no one else shows up, and I’ll owe you… again.”

She ended the call with a curt tap of her finger and turned to the group. “The deputy will handle it. He’s reliable, but we need to get upstairs before he gets here. Laurent, Olivier—you all know where to go. Take Maisie and...” Her gaze shifted to you, softening briefly before returning to its commanding edge. “Follow them. Rio will make room in the attic.”

You hesitated, glancing at Laurent. He was still leaning heavily against the counter, the blood on his chest vivid against his cracked, mossy-green skin. “Should we call a doctor for him?”

“I’m fine,” Laurent said gruffly before Esmeralda could answer. His voice rumbled low, and he straightened with visible effort.

Your protest died on your lips as you watched him. The cracks in his stone-like skin were closing, knitting themselves together with slow but unmistakable purpose. Even the worst of the jagged fractures over his chest had begun to seal, the blood drying into dark patches that flaked away.

“See?” he muttered, catching your stare. “We heal fast.”

You blinked, torn between relief and disbelief, but Esmeralda was already ushering everyone toward the hall. “Come on. The police won’t take long.”

Maisie clung to your arm as you followed the others up the narrow staircase to the hidden attic. Her mossy hair clung damply to her face, and her watery grey eyes darted nervously in every direction.

“Are they going to come back?” she whispered.

“No,” you said firmly, though your heart still raced. “Not after what happened tonight. You’re safe, Maisie.”

The attic was dimly lit and packed with old furniture, boxes, and the flickering shadow that was Rio. He hovered near a far wall, his glowing eyes steady as he melted into the background to give everyone space.

Olivier and Lucas busied themselves with Maisie, pulling her to sit near a stack of blankets. You took the chance to edge closer to Laurent, who leaned heavily against the doorframe, his wings drooping slightly but his amber gaze steady.

“Laurent.” Your voice was quiet, tentative. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable as always. “Thank you,” you said, stepping closer. “For saving me. If you hadn’t...” You swallowed, the memory of the shotgun blast still sharp in your mind. “You didn’t have to do that.”

His gaze softened just slightly, the tension in his jaw easing. “Of course I did,” he said simply, as though there were no other option.

Your chest tightened, warmth creeping up your neck as you took another step closer. “You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “You’re...” You hesitated, feeling your cheeks flush. “You’re incredible.”

His amber eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “I was built to be a protector. I was just doing what I’m supposed to do,” he said, his voice rougher now, though his gaze didn’t waver from yours.

“Well,” you said, managing a small smile, “you’re really good at it.”

For a moment, the air between you felt charged. Heavy. His massive frame seemed to fill the space, but instead of intimidating, it was grounding, steadying. You felt an urge to reach out, to touch the edge of his wing or the curve of his arm, but you held back, unsure if he would pull away.

Instead, you stayed close, your voice soft. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Laurent hesitated, his wings shifting slightly as his gaze lingered on yours. The air between you still felt weird, but his voice, when it came, was surprisingly soft.

“We’ll be stuck up here for a while,” he said, glancing toward the dim attic space. His amber eyes returned to you, their glow softer now, like smouldering embers. “Maybe I could... tell you my story.”

The words caught you off guard. You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. “You don’t have to,” you said quickly, your voice low. “Not because of me or Esmeralda or—”

“You’re ready,” a quiet voice interrupted.

Both you and Laurent turned to see Maisie sitting on a pile of blankets, her knees drawn to her chest. Her mossy hair clung to her face, her wide, watery eyes fixed on Laurent.

“It’s okay,” she added softly, her words tentative but full of earnestness. “If you want to. I think it must mean a lot.”

Laurent’s gaze softened further, his jaw working for a moment before he gave a slow nod. He gestured toward a shadowed corner of the attic, near what looked like a makeshift nest of pillows and tattered cloth—a space you guessed might belong to Rio.

You followed him, settling onto the floor beside him. The attic was quiet now, the others murmuring in hushed tones on the far side of the room. Laurent’s massive frame loomed beside you, but as he shifted his wings and sat, his presence felt smaller, somehow.

He rested his forearms on his knees, his claws flexing idly against the fabric of his bloodied trousers. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, and you wondered if he’d changed his mind. Then, his deep voice broke the silence.

“Olivier and I weren’t born the way most people are,” he began, his amber eyes distant as he stared at the floorboards. “We were created. In seventeen-sixty, to be exact. A stonemason and a magician worked together, binding magic into stone to bring us to life. We were made to protect a castle.”

You leaned forward slightly, your heartbeat steady but your curiosity growing. His voice, with its gravelly cadence, was captivating.

“The castle was grand,” Laurent continued, his tone touched with something like wistfulness. “High walls, great halls, endless staircases. Olivier and I guarded its gates and walls, standing watch through the night. At first, it felt... right. Purposeful.”

“At first?” you prompted gently.

Laurent nodded. “The family who lived there died out, one by one. The servants left. No one rebuilt or restored it. By the nineteen hundreds, the castle was a ruin, and we were nothing more than statues in an empty courtyard.”

You could almost see it, the desolation of a crumbling castle, the quiet despair of being left behind.

“Esmeralda found us,” he said after a moment. “In the twenties. She was... younger then, though you’d never guess it now.” His lips twitched faintly, almost a smile. “She was trying to start something—a place for people like her, like us. She offered us sanctuary when no one else would have. We’ve been here ever since.”

He fell silent, his gaze turning inward. You let the quiet stretch, sensing he needed the space. Finally, you said softly, “That’s a long time to be here.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice low again. “It’s better than being nothing at all.”

Your chest tightened at the rawness of his words. You wanted to say something—something comforting, something that showed you understood—but you couldn’t find the right words. Instead, you reached out, resting your hand lightly on his arm.

Laurent looked at you, his bright eyes unreadable for a moment before softening again. He didn’t pull away.

“Olivier manages better than I do,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how, but he does. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t think too hard about what we were made for. He’s... adaptable.”

“You’re not?” you asked gently.

He shook his head. “I can’t let it go. We were created with purpose, something clear, something that felt... right. Here, we protect the house, the people in it. It’s not the same.” He turned his head, meeting your gaze. “It feels like there’s a piece of me missing. Like I’m waiting for something I’ll never get back.”

His words hit something deep in your chest, an ache you couldn’t name. “Laurent...” you started, but he interrupted, his voice softening.

“Tonight, though,” he murmured, his amber eyes holding yours. “I wished it had never happened, but protecting you... that felt right. It reminded me of what I was meant for. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just about standing watch or fixing broken windows. It was real.”

Your breath caught as his words settled over you. The way he looked at you, the faint vulnerability behind the strength in his gaze, made your heart race.

You sat there, watching him for a moment, the silence stretching between you again, but this time it was heavy with something else. Something electric. You weren’t sure where the courage came from, but before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you.

Your lips brushed his, tentative at first, testing. His skin was cooler than you expected, rough and textured like stone, but it softened where your lips met his. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, and you thought you’d made a mistake. Then his claws, so sharp and dangerous, settled lightly against your waist, pulling you closer with surprising gentleness.

Laurent kissed you back, slowly at first, his lips firm but tender against yours. The faint rumble of his breath vibrated through his chest, and his arm curved around you, the weight of it solid and comforting. His hand rested at the small of your back, steadying you as if afraid you might slip away.

You slid your fingers along the edge of his jaw, marvelling at the texture of him. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and you felt a rush of warmth low in your belly.

When you finally broke apart, your breathing was unsteady, cheeks flushed hotly.

Laurent’s amber eyes flicked across your face, searching for something you couldn’t name. His breathing was still deep and uneven, a faint rumble in his chest as he leaned closer, his claws gentle against your back. Slowly, he lifted a hand, his massive fingers brushing your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

The gesture was so soft, so tender, that your chest tightened. His claws grazed your skin lightly, their sharpness startling but not unwelcome, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

He tilted his head, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, the faint scrape of his tusks and fangs against your skin igniting something low and warm in your stomach. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch, the texture of him rough but strangely perfect, grounding you in the moment.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words barely more than a whisper. “For listening. For... this.”

You opened your eyes to find him watching you again, that same hesitant vulnerability in his gaze. “I don’t have much to offer,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly. “I can’t even leave the grounds. My life is here, within these walls. I know that’s not enough.”

“Laurent,” you interrupted softly, your hand resting on his chest. The hard planes of his stone-like skin were warm now, the faint cracks from earlier already healed. “It’s enough.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed hard, his claws flexing at your back. “I want you,” he admitted, the words tumbling out as though he couldn’t stop them. “I’ve wanted you since you arrived, but it’s selfish. You deserve more than this, more than me.”

“Maybe I don’t want more,” you whispered, your fingers curling against his chest. “Maybe I just want you.”

The tension in his shoulders melted, and the hand at your back pulled you closer. His lips claimed yours again, more insistent this time, the pressure sending heat spiralling through you. His claws dragged lightly down your spine, the sensation just sharp enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

He growled low, a sound that vibrated through you as he kissed you deeply, his fangs grazing your lower lip with exquisite precision. Every movement of his mouth against yours felt deliberate, as though he were memorising the shape of you, the taste.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed lightly to yours, his wings curved around you like a cocoon. “You make me feel alive,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. “That’s funny, I feel the same,” you said softly. “I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.”

[shellyseashell]

fun facts about zephyr! @leftbehindtorot

- his birthday is may 18, but he doesn’t celebrate it. for reasons :)

- he is 5’10

- he has multiple aliases. he’s known widely as the viper due to his coalition work, but everyday he goes by haley chevalier. being widely known as a chateaupers would be very dangerous, but certain people (the coalition, the other roma, and obviously his family) know who he really is.

- he has multiple scars on his face, from run ins with slavers when he was a kid, and multiple on his arms from tinkering and alchemy

- his parents often travel around for guild work and in attempts to protect the other roma, and while he doesn’t always join them, he’s always ready to run if needed

- he’s a lurker. he lurks everywhere.

- clopin is the closest thing he has to a grandfather, and quasi is like an uncle. he’s very close with both of them.

- he had a bit of a strained relationship with phoebus, because phoebus finds it hard to not treat zephyr as a soldier, and zephyr struggles to follow orders.

- on the other hand, he’s very close with esmeralda. they celebrate holidays together, and sometimes they do mother-son performances

- he and anxelin used to perform at the ugly duckling, but he stopped when anxelin was sent to the isle

- he collects books

- he’s a very good inventor. he’s been able to take some “old” (what we’d consider modern, but no long works in their world) tech and make it functional again

- he’s also an alchemist, and he makes anything from medicine and soap for the village to poison for enemies

- he wants to go to school, but he’s unable to for various reasons. when the war is over, he will get a full scholarship to the avalor science academy, funded by the crown.

- he is very physically affectionate. he’s known to just drape himself over his friends.

- he is very very good at talking himself out of trouble. if he’s caught.

- he has both ptsd and a panic disorder, and had panic attacks frequently. being alone can be tough for him, so his friends and family take shifts hanging around him. they don’t have to talk, but just being in the room with him is comforting.

- he likes storms

[mamavino]

Fuegoleon & Esmeralda flashback

The grand halls of the nobleman’s mansion were eerily quiet as Fuegoleon Vermillion, 18 years old and already rising in rank, strode confidently through them. His purple eyes were sharp, and his every step echoed with authority. He had been sent to this noble’s estate with one purpose: to bring him to justice for exploiting the village’s people through outrageous taxes. The townspeople were suffering, and Fuegoleon would see to it that justice was served.

The noble, Lord Galfrey, had a notorious reputation. A man of great wealth, but that let gluttony and greed rule his life. He was heavyset, with a bulbous belly that strained his fine silk robes, and his face was flushed from years of indulgence. His jowls quivered as he spoke, always sneering down at those he considered beneath him.

Fuegoleon approached the large oak doors of the noble’s office. He steeled himself for the confrontation, but as he opened the door, the sight that greeted him froze him in place.

Lord Galfrey had a woman pinned against the wall. She struggled beneath his weight, her face twisted in fear. The moment her eyes met Fuegoleon’s, they widened in recognition, and he felt a jolt of surprise.

Esmeralda.

She was a con artist, notorious in her own right, someone who always seemed to slip away at the last moment. She had crossed Fuegoleon’s path more than once, always with a sly smile and flirtatious charm. Her honey-dark skin glistened with sweat under the dim light of the office, her black hair falling messily around her shoulders, and her emerald green eyes were filled with terror — an expression he had never seen from her before.

For a brief moment, their shared history flashed in his mind, but Fuegoleon remained composed. He couldn’t acknowledge her now, not with Lord Galfrey watching.

“A young Vermillion,” Lord Galfrey sneered, his voice dripping with false authority. “I’m glad you’re here. I demand that you arrest this woman. She’s a thief, a con artist, and has been trying to swindle me out of my wealth.”

Fuegoleon’s eyes flickered between the noble and Esmeralda. She trembled under Galfrey’s grasp, a look of desperation in her eyes that silently pleaded for help. Fuegoleon's jaw clenched, but he kept his tone steady.

“I am here to arrest you, Lord Galfrey,” Fuegoleon said, his voice low and authoritative. “For extorting the people of the village. Step away from her.”

Lord Galfrey’s sneer deepened. “You think you can come into my home and dictate what happens here? This wench is nothing but a criminal, and you’re wasting your time with these peasants' complaints.”

Fuegoleon’s blood boiled, but he held firm. “Release her, or I’ll make you.”

Galfrey laughed, his fat hand still pressing Esmeralda to the wall. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Fuegoleon didn’t wait. In one swift motion, his hand ignited with flames, and he sent a searing blast towards the noble’s arm, forcing him to release Esmeralda with a pained yell. She stumbled, catching her breath, her eyes never leaving Fuegoleon as she backed away from the wall.

Fuegoleon stepped forward, his fiery aura intensifying. “You’re under arrest, Lord Galfrey,” he said coldly, his patience wearing thin.

Just then, his teammates burst into the room, having heard the commotion. They quickly arrested the noble, who cursed and struggled as they bound him with magic restraints. Fuegoleon watched silently as Lord Galfrey was dragged out of the room, his cries fading down the hallway.

Once the doors closed and the mansion was silent again, Fuegoleon turned to Esmeralda. She leaned against the wall, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, her fear slowly giving way to that familiar playful glint in her emerald eyes.

“You saved me,” she said softly, her voice lilting. “I didn't think you cared.” She took a step closer, her hand brushing lightly against Fuegoleon’s chest. “Thank you, sweetie ”

He stiffened, trying to maintain his composure. “I only did what was right,” he said, his voice stern, though he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as her fingers traced small circles on his chest.

Esmeralda smiled, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know, you’re always so serious. Maybe you should loosen up a bit.” She stepped even closer, her hand sliding up to his shoulder, and before he could react, she was pressing against him, her lips close to his ear. “You can pretend you don’t know me, but we both know you don’t feel that cold.”

Fuegoleon swallowed hard, trying to fight the warmth spreading through him, but it was impossible to ignore the way her touch sent a spark through his skin. He grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her hand away from his chest, but the gesture was softer than he intended.

“You should leave,” he said quietly, his voice betraying the tension he was trying to suppress.

Esmeralda grinned, leaning back but not breaking eye contact. “I’ll leave... but I’ll be seeing you again, handsome lion. You can count on that.” With a wink, she turned and disappeared through the side door, her footsteps light and confident.

Fuegoleon stood there, his heart pounding, the heat from the brief encounter lingering long after she was gone. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts of Esmeralda aside.

But he knew, deep down, she’d always find a way to get under his skin.

[airasora]

Oh, I will send more later because they are super interesting but this one immediately got my attention: 33, What is their wedding day like? For Hollina, Rolfmaine, Quaselle and Sinric (I didn't plan on having two straight and two gay couples LOL those are the ones that are very intriguing to me in regards to the wedding)

What is their wedding day like?

Hollina

Holli and Lina's wedding would be a big event. They both know a lot of people and care about making their wedding be as great as their love for each other. Even though they have had their disagreements about certain aspects of their wedding (like Holli wanting something elegant and modern, and Lina wanting something princessy and fairytale-like) they have managed to meet in the middle and their wedding will be remembered for decades. Their wedding day is filled with flowers, fairy lights, karaoke, glass tiles for the dancing area, and you better believe their first dance is choreographed to the max! And they have a first song too, because of course they do.

I also made a short fanfic about Holli's feelings about wearing a wedding veil you can read here.

Rolfmaine

Both John and Anastasia agreed they wanted a big, disgustingly elegant wedding. John Rolfe is used to fancy parties with stuffy clothing and waltzing around in a ballroom, and while Anastasia can't dance to save her life, she loves the same things John does. Their guest list, however, would not be exceptionally big. Both of them have few family members and a few friends, so despite the elegant setting and atmosphere, the wedding would still be intimate. John would consider playing a diplomatic move and invite acquaintances, but ultimately he didn't want to have to put pressure on Anastasia on her wedding day.

Quaselle

Simple and sweet forest ceremony, not truly a traditional wedding. I don't see Belle being religious and Quasimodo would have a very strained relationship with Christianity after all the religious trauma he's been through. So their wedding would be much more about having a day where they tell the world they love each other and intend to be together till death do them part. Neither Belle or Quasimodo would want a big, fancy wedding either. And while some might have expected them to get married in Notre Dame, ultimately the place has too many bitter memories for Quasimodo despite Notre Dame holding a lot of good memories for him as well. And Belle is a simple girl, ultimately she only cares about marrying Quasimodo and sharing the moment with friends and family. The party AFTER the ceremony though? Big street party. Even though Belle and Quasimodo are somewhat introverted and prefer small gatherings, they have a huge amount of acquaintances who would want to celebrate them, and they wouldn't be against that. But the ceremony would be just for them, Maurice, Esmeralda, Phoebus and Zephyr.

Sinric

Eric's a prince; his wedding WILL be the event of the century, which is absolutely fine with Sinbad. They're both massive extroverts and thrive in big crowds, Sinbad especially loves all the attention and the jealous glances he'd get all day from bitter, rejected suitors of Eric. There's also the fact they had to hide their relationship for a while so once it's finally out there, they both want to show each other off to the world. Sinbad would hog Eric all night, dancing with him so much they'll both be exhausted by the time their wedding WEEK is over.

Want to ask a question about one of my OTPs? Check the OTP asks here!

[kaoticspoonie]

Made cat toys for the art fair this weekend and made sure they were Esmeralda approved.

Used two strains of catnip and silvervine.

[coloradohq]

WELCOME TO DENVER, victoria! you’ve been accepted as vincent gagliardi (MILO VENTIMIGLIA), zane neptune (CODY CHRISTIAN), angelo cortes estrada (MIGUEL GOMEZ), and alvaro armas mariscal (oscar isaac)! please have your account sent in within 24 hours; don’t forget your CHECKLIST!

if you’re hearing BURNING MAN by DIERKS BENTLEY playing, you have to know VINCENT “VINCE” GAGLIARDI (HE/HIM, CIS MAN) is near by! the FORTY-FOUR year old PSYCHIC has been in denver for, like, THIRTEEN YEARS. they’re known to be quite CURIOUS, but being PERCEPTIVE seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble MILO VENTIMIGLIA. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those COUNTRY MUSIC ON THE RADIO, CANDLES IN DIMLY LIT ROOMS, WORN OUT FLANNELS, DENIM JACKETS, NIGHTTIME DRIVES vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the WASHINGTON PARK DISTRICT long enough!

if you’re hearing BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS by GREEN DAY playing, you have to know ZANE NEPTUNE (HE/HIM; CIS MAN) is near by! the TWENTY EIGHT year old LINE COOK AT NIGHT AND DINE has been in denver for, like, ALL THEIR LIFE. they’re known to be quite SELF DEPRECATING but being KIND HEARTED seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble CODY CHRISTIAN. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those 80S MOVIES, COOKNG HOMEMADE MEALS, DRIVING AN OLD TRUCK, NECK KISSES, PERPETUALLY MESSY HAIR vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the RIVER NORTH ARTS DISTRICT long enough!

if you’re hearing WELCOME TO MY LIFE by SIMPLE PLAN playing, you have to know ANGELO CORTES ESTRADA (HE/HIM, CIS MAN) is near by! the THIRTY EIGHT year old BOUNCER AT AMBROSIA LOUNGE has been in denver for, like, SIX MONTHS. they’re known to be quite DISTANT, but being HEDONISTIC seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble MIGUEL GOMEZ. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those BRUISED KNUCKLES, STRONG DRINKS, FLANNELS WORN WITH BLUE JEANS, MUSCLES STRAINING AGAINST T-SHIRTS, DRIVING FAST ON AN EMPTY ROAD vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the LAKERIDGE DISTRICT long enough!

if you’re hearing LET’S FALL IN LOVE FOR THE NIGHT by FINNEAS playing, you have to know ALVARO ARMAS MARISCAL (HE/HIM, CIS MAN) is near by! the FORTY FOUR year old FORMER BOYBANDER/CURRENT SOLO ARTIST has been in denver for, like, HIS WHOLE LIFE (ON AND OFF). they’re known to be quite INDULGENT, but being OVERZEALOUS seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble OSCAR ISAAC. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those NOTEBOOKS FILLED WITH LYRICS, CROWDS CHEERING WHEN THEY HEAR THE FIRST NOTE OF A SONG, BLURRY PICTURES ON A CAMERA ROLL, NAMELESS HOOKUPS, LATE NIGHTS & TOO LITTLE SLEEP vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the DOWNTOWN DISTRICT long enough!

if you’re hearing DROPS OF JUPITER by TRAIN playing, you have to know ESMERALDA “ESME” LOOMIS (SHE/THEY, CIS WOMAN) is near by! the THIRTY FOUR year old STUNTWOMAN/PERSONAL TRAINER has been in denver for, like, HER WHOLE LIFE. they’re known to be quite OUTSPOKEN, but being FEARLESS seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble MAME-ANNA DIOP. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those DYED HAIR, WEARING LOTS OF JEWELRY, SPENDING TIME WITH FAMILY, LATE NIGHT CONVERSATIONS, THE KIND OF PEACE ONLY 2 AM BRINGS vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the DOWNTOWN DISTRICT long enough!

[warningsine]

Ecuadoreans will this weekend choose between a centre-right presidential candidate who is the scion of one of country’s wealthiest families, and a leftist disciple of the former president Rafael Correa, in an election overshadowed by violent crime and the assassination of a third candidate.

Polls ahead of Sunday’s vote put the banana industry heir Daniel Noboa, 35, slightly ahead of Luisa González, who has promised free medicine and increased worker protections.

Both presidential candidates have promised to militarise ports and airports to fight drug trafficking as headline-grabbing violence becomes ever more brutal and commonplace, particularly in coastal regions around the port cities of Guayaquil, Manta and Esmeraldas, where gangs vie for territory and trafficking routes with the backing of Mexican cartels.

The campaign has been marked by bloodshed, including the brazen assassination of the anti-corruption candidate Fernando Villavicencio, who was shot in August as he left a campaign event. Last week, six Colombian suspects in the assassination were themselves murdered in prison. A seventh suspect was killed in another jail the following day.

In just a few years, Ecuador has gone from being an island of peace compared to its cocaine-producing neighbours, Colombia and Peru, to becoming one of the most violent nations in the region.

At more than 5,900, the number of murders so far this year has already surpassed records from previous years. More than a third of those killings were committed in the Guayas region around Guayaquil, Ecuador’s largest city.

Just on Wednesday, there were five street killings in Durán, a riverside district lying east of Guayaquil just across the Guayas River. Warring gangs have turned this neighbourhood, crippled by protection rackets, into a battlefield of tit-for-tat murders.

At the scene of one such attack, the bodies of two men lay crumpled on a fallen motorbike after they were ambushed in broad daylight.

Behind a line of yellow police tape, a crowd gathered, some distraught relatives, others curious bystanders.

An anguished wail went up as the mother of one of the victims arrived, her whole body shaking as she sobbed. Another older woman was held back as she strained to push past the tape.

“Let me pass, he’s my son. Just let me hug him one last time,” she implored an impassive police officer, as a forensic van pulled up and hazmat-suited officials marked out a dozen bullet casings with numbered yellow plastic blocks.

“A year ago, we lived in peace. Now the people are terrified,” said one onlooker, who did want to be identified. “People shut up their shops early, they don’t let their kids out to play anymore.”

Ecuador’s national anti-narcotics director, Gen Pablo Ramírez, insisted the country is not a lost cause. “This is not a lost war,” he told the Guardian, but he said it was not an equal fight. “We fight in unequal circumstances, [the gangs] have more weapons and money and we are constrained by the rule of law.”

The country’s most powerful criminal group, Los Choneros, splintered in 2020 with the killing of its leader Jorge Luis Zambrano, alias Rasquiña, spawning a web of rivals – the Lagartos, Tiguerones and Chone Killers to name a few.

Run from inside and outside prison, the gangs have complex alliances with Mexican factions such as the Sinaloa and Jalisco Nueva Generación cartels, as well as Colombian guerrilla groups and Balkan traffickers.

The battle for control used to play out in the immense El Litoral prison complex on the outskirts of Guayaquil, the site of a string of grisly riots and massacres. But now the fighting has spilled onto the streets.

“Organised crime is a parallel state in Ecuador; they have taken the judiciary, the legislature, they are even in the political parties, they are everywhere,” said Arianna Tanca, a political scientist and researcher in Ecuador.

“They have much more power than the president, much more resources, much more money and they have the weapon of fear,” she said.

Built on islands in the delta of the Guayas River, Guayaquil is a shifting landscape of shiny high-rise buildings, luxurious gated communities and riverside slums wracked by crime and neglect.

The waterways provide rich drug smuggling possibilities and the city’s ports – mainly designed for the export of bananas – had “poor controls”, admitted Ramírez. He added scanners were being installed, which he said would be able to inspect 100% of exports by the middle of next year.

The police had stopped more drugs so far this year than any before, seizing 172 tonnes of mostly cocaine, 55 tonnes of which was seized at ports, he added.

Last month, in one of those poor neighbourhoods, Joaquín Pérez, 11, was sitting on the pavement, drinking a soda with friends and neighbours when motorbike-riding gunmen opened fire with an automatic weapon. Joaquín was hit by more than 30 rounds.

“I saw him on the floor. I thought it was just one bullet and I went running to pick him up and take him to the hospital,” sobbed his sister Gema Pérez, 23.

Three adults were killed in the attack, and six people – including two girls aged five and eight – were injured. Police believe the gunmen’s target may have been a neighbour who escaped unharmed and later fled.

“[Joaquín] was my special boy. Now it’s so quiet here without him,” she said, sitting in a one-storey breeze-block home, as other relatives cried softly in the gloom.

“My nephew was the hope of the household, he was going to be the one who would graduate, study, get ahead – but that dream was cut short,” said an uncle, Alex Peréz, 42.

The daily toll of victims has focused attention on Ecuador’s flailing political class, locked in rivalries and infighting, and apparently incapable of reining in the violence.

“Whoever wins, I hope they try to work with the other one,” said Tanca, the analyst. “Politicians are fighting each other about nonsense, but every day Ecuadorean people are dying in the street.”

[emcads]

@norringtxn said: “ i’ll  be  good,  i  promise. “

❛❛ hm. ❜❜

Esmeralda eyed her dear husband discerningly, even MOCKINGLY, and yet ––  his words flared up within the pit of her stomach, black embers of desire sparking with the promise of CONTROL. he was pathetic, really, that boyish blush incriminating pink at the apples of his cheek, breeches straining, eyes wide at merely the PROMISE of his wife's barest attention. as if she had promised a schoolboy dessert before his supper, if he paid due effort to his lessons, drowning in the indulgence of gluttony he had not the faintest idea what to do with. it was almost endearing. would have been, had he not the real UPPER HAND in their lives here. how comforting to know the keys to my cage lie in the hand of a rutting, flustered boy.

the pirate bride stalked closer, a faint smile on her lips and it seemed, for only a heartbeat, that she meant to REWARD HIM for his piety.

❛❛ you will. ❜❜

with an edge to her words, she grabbed him by that signature bulge in cream-colored silk, teetering on that ledge between pleasure and dismemberment. had she blade in hand he might have whined for that, too –– anything to relieve the pressure of blood.

❛❛ it is customary for wives in London to show their husbands nothing more than indifference. if you want my attention you had best beg for it. ❜❜

[norringtxn]

@emcads​ said: ❝ Let’s just assume for the moment that everyone in here doesn’t like me. ❞

"Esmeralda, that is a ridiculous thought."

The pair linger on the outskirts of the terrifying land that is Governor Swann's banquet hall. It isn't the room that causes strain on the pair, but rather the others who inhabit it. 

To James, he is dreading having to approach and join the other men and husbands that are barking with laughter over something he'll likely find terribly trivial. He can smell the alcohol and the tobacco from here. Awful things.

To Esmeralda, having to be left to fend for herself amidst the other wives seems a fate worse than death. James cannot understand why. Yes, he, personally, would rather have his eyes pecked out by crows than have to listen to their endless drivel, but surely they and his own wife have things in common with which to bond over, even if he can understand why Esmeralda would feel like an outsider.

"They can't be that terrible. Just start a conversation over how vexing you find me and I'm sure you'll all be friends before the first course is served."

[pengychan]

[The Great Ace Attorney] A Case of Identity - Prologue

Summary: On that fateful night in Lowgate cemetery, the bullet finds its target in Enoch Drebber. When he awakens he's locked behind an iron mask, facing a lifetime of imprisonment as the mass murderer who survived a botched execution - the Professor. However, help is afoot. Characters: Enoch Drebber, Esmeralda Tusspells, Herlock Sholmes, Yujin Mikotoba, Tobias Gregson, Mael Stronghart, Gina Lestrade Rating: T

Prologue and all other chapters will be tagged as ‘case of identity’ on my blog.

A/N: Let's be honest, shooting the witness that night would have made a lot more sense. This idea hit me over the head with a spoon until I gave in and decided to write it. I gave in pretty quickly.

***

Give me a lever and a place to stand, Archimedes of Syracuse had once said, and I shall move the world.

The boast of being able to move the world may be a slight exaggeration, of course, but Enoch Drebber understood the principle perfectly. As long as the distance from the fulcrum to the object in need of moving - in this case, a stone slab - is shorter than the distance between the fulcrum and the input force - in this case, him - the lever - in his case, a spade - amplifies the input force, and makes heavy objects relatively easy to move. 

Relatively being the key word there, because it couldn’t be argued that lifting the stone slab covering the freshly-dug grave was precisely easy. Enoch knew where his strengths lay, and his muscles was not it; he’d have better luck counting on his own meager weight to prove Archimedes right and move, if not the world, at least that damned slab. 

Possibly before the guardian of the cemetery happened to walk by, spot what little light emanated from Enoch’s oil lantern, and caught him in the act. It would force him to flee empty-handed and maybe even abandon his spade there, and Hell knew he didn’t even have money to buy another one.

Things would be a lot easier if he had money to bribe the man, clearly, but lack of money was precisely the reason why he was there in the first place. Graverobbing was unpleasant work but always worth it in the end, with coin to last him a good month or even two as long as he was wise in his spending. Some of his fellow students did not see it that way, saying that all the money in the world was not worth the nightmares, or eternal damnation, or whatever it was they feared most. 

As luck would have it, Enoch Drebber held no more belief in divine retribution than he did in ghost stories; if not for the risk of being caught, he’d fear those nocturnal walks across cemeteries in the faint light of a lantern no more than walking down the halls at university. Whether it had belonged to a murderer or a saint, a body was a body: a husk of flesh that no longer served a purpose, valuable to no one but the surgeon under whose scalpel it would fall and the students who’d learn from it. And to him, as a decent source of income. 

It wouldn’t be long, either way. He was so close to graduation and soon all would be very different, with so much to look forward to. He could change the country, change the world. Within the next ten years, he imagined he’d--

A scraping sound of stone on stone interrupted his musings and brought him back to the present - on an uncharacteristically non-foggy night in the Lowgate cemetery, straining to push down onto the handle of his spade, the other end wedged in a crack beneath the slab that was finally widening. 

Ah, Enoch thought, not a moment too soon.  

A few more heaves, more scraping sounds, and Enoch was finally able to move it halfway to the side and reveal the coffin within. There was no layer of earth on it to dig out; unusual but,  still panting a little for the exertion, he was only glad for it. He shoved the head of the spade in the crack beneath the lid, and pushed it down again. This time, it didn’t take much force.

Crack.

The sound of nails and cheap wood giving in was louder than Enoch would have liked and he stilled to look around, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, making sure he hadn’t been heard. The air was still, the night clear, and to his relief he could see no one: he was alone amongst the tombstones, no sign of the night guardian. Just him, and the faint flickering shadows cast by his oil lantern.

… Maybe it would be best to move it closer, though, to better see inside the coffin and make sure its light would attract no unwarranted attention. Enoch Drebber stood, spade still in hand, and went to pick up the lantern. His left hand had just closed around the handle when noises reached his ears, faint but unmistakable. 

The squeal of a hinge being pushed open, a groan, someone moving around and wood splintering further...

… and again the scrape of stone on stone, as though the slab was being pushed further aside to… to...

No. It’s not true. It’s not happening.

Enoch Drebber was, at heart, a man of science. He believed only what he could see and touch to be real, and only what precise calculations and proven theories told him was possible to be possible. Corpses did not, could not, sit up and leave their graves. It was a scientific impossibility. The dead did not return to life, and the temperature in London on a warm Spring night could not drop by a dozen degrees within seconds.

And yet something was moving behind him, and the sheen of sweat on his skin seemed to have turned into frost. Suddenly, the hand holding the lantern shook so hard the tiny flame was almost extinguished. If that happened and he was left in darkness, Enoch was sure, no amount of logic and good judgment in the world could keep him from screaming.

Above him, dark clouds hid the moon. Behind him strone scraped against stone once more, followed by a noise that chilled him to the bone, carried by a faint wind.

“Uugh…”

Run.

No. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s someone trying to scare me off-- the guardian, another grave robber, some urchins from the slums--

He should have ran, dropped the lantern and spade and just left the cemetery as fast as his legs could carry him, but he did not and he would live to regret it. As his rational mind desperately fought to cling to a logical explanation and keep the growing panic at bay, Enoch Drebber gathered his courage and turned, mouth dry, to lift the lantern with a shaky hand. 

“Who--” he began, but his voice died in his throat. There in the flickering light, face covered by an iron mask and halfway out of his grave, was the corpse. Enoch strained to open his mouth, to cry out, but no sound left him as he watched a dead man climb out of his coffin. The thing’s eyes seemed to shine from the dark abysses of the mask’s eyes, and Enoch knew they were fixed on him. It may have made him tremble, if he wasn’t frozen on the spot.

Divine retribution, he thought. They'll find me in the morning. I will make the papers sooner than I thought I would. 

No!

A faint sigh of wind hit his face, chilling him through. A scream tried to claw its way through Enoch’s throat, but something held it back. He stared, eyes wide and terror paralyzing every limb, now certain he would die unless he could force his voice out; the silence and darkness all around him suddenly felt unbearable, suffocating, pushing down on him like gravity. He struggled to draw breath through the obstruction in his throat, and tried to scream.

He never got the chance: another sound cut through the silence of the night before he could.

BANG.

Something hit Enoch Drebber’s back with stunning force, sending him sprawling on the ground with scarcely a sound. He dimly heard his lantern shattering, but he didn’t get to see its light being snuffed out: his face was pressed in the dirt, and he didn’t have the strength to lift his head. The smell of earth filled his nostrils, along with another smell his mind refused to identify as blood. His back burned, but it was a distant burn with little pain as he tethered on the edge of unconsciousness. His fingers dug into the earth, but he was unable to move.

He’ll take me to Hell, he thought. Someone help me, he tried to call out, and again he could make no noise. He faintly heard something over the ringing in his ears - steps, someone’s voice - but he couldn’t make out any words. Enoch’s eyes fell shut and he let the dark claim him, utterly certain he would never awaken again.

He was wrong.

He’d wish he hadn't been.

***

Earth. He smelled earth and blood, something was 

d r a g g i n g him

away from where he’d fallen

where had he fallen

why had he fallen

and whatever it was

the corpse

he was powerless to stop it. He was cold

so so cold

and couldn’t move, his tongue remained a dead weight in his mouth, his eyes remained shut as he 

f e l l

and hit something hard, a clang of metal on wood

why metal and why was his head so heavy 

covering his faint groan. It had felt like such a long fall, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was not. A hole in the ground large enough for a coffin was not a long way to fall. 

“Wrong place. Wrong time .”

A voice so. far. away. So far. So close.

Enoch’s eyes cracked open only a few moments to see the waning moon high above, a dark shadow blotting out most of it. A sigh.

“... Wrong target. Damned fool.”

Enoch Drebber tried to call out

help me

what happened

God

mother

someone

but his tongue did not move, his head was much too heavy, and his eyes slipped shut again. The creak of hinges, a lid slamming shut, and all was dark. Above him, the scrape of stone on stone

give me a lever

sealed him in, but Enoch did not hear it. For a time, he heard and felt nothing.

***

Air. A clack like a metal latch right by his ear and then cool night air blowing on his face brought Enoch back to a state of faint awareness. He breathed in, or tried to, because suddenly something

pressed

on his face, something soft and yielding, and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to push it off, but he couldn’t move, fingers barely twitching. 

No no no stop please I’m sorry I’m so sorry someone help--

Then, as his lungs began to burn, the pressure was gone and air hit his face again. He drew breath in a shuddering gasp; above him, someone else gasped much louder.

“Mon Dieu!”

The clang of tools being dropped, a silence and stillness that seemed to stretch on forever. Beneath close eyelids, he realized a light was being shone on him. The voice came again, this time a whisper.

“This… how… blood…? What happened here?”

A soft touch on his forehead, so so cold 

or maybe he was feverish

and another whisper. “Monsieur, what happened…?”

“Who goes there!” 

Another voice, loud as thunder, and the touch on Enoch’s forehead was gone. He groaned again, and strained to open his eyes. In the faint glow of the lantern he saw there were two figures standing above him. Neither was trying to keep their voice down, but all sound still seemed to be coming from so far away, words barely intelligible and blurring together.

“... doing here…”

“... still alive, call the wardens…”

“... botched the hanging, clearly…”

“... buried him alive…?”

“... will answer for the mistake…”

“... how…?”

“... none of your concern… national interest…”

Enoch groaned again, and tried to move. His body was too heavy, and something behind his shoulder hurt, a burning pain that seemed to flare all the brighter the more he regained consciousness. “H-- help--”

He managed to force out the word in a husky whisper, causing the two dark figures to fall quiet and look at him. The larger one, a man, heaved a sigh. “... Go fetch the guardian and tell him to warn the prison wardens at once. We will discuss your trespassing later.”

“I… oui. Right away.” 

The woman seemed to pause a moment before she ran off, picking something up from the ground, but Enoch didn’t see what it was and neither did the man. Suddenly he was kneeling over him, blocking out the moonlight, staring down at him with piercing eyes. The oil lantern's light flickered across his features as he grimaced, pulling his lips in a tight line.

“Yes, Professor,” he said, very quietly. “It is clear that the execution was botched.”

The… the Professor, the infamous mass murderer? A botched execution? Then maybe… maybe he hadn’t seen a corpse return to life. The man-- the murderer -- was never dead. It happened rarely, but neither botched hangings nor men buried alive were unheard of. There were stories among grave robbers of such instances, bodies found with bloodied fingers from trying to scratch their way out, but Enoch regarded them as nothing more than legends.

After that night, he never would again. He had let a murderer out in the streets, the monster had tried to kill him and left him for dead. And now he was out there, he was… he was...

“A-- alive…” Enoch managed, his usually nimble mind struggling to put the pieces together. The man nodded gravely.

“Yes, unfortunately. You should not be alive. This is going to be a dreadful headache.” A shake of his head, and the man reached to pick something up from the ground - the iron mask that had been on the murderer’s face when he’d emerged from the grave, now open like a beast’s maw. The mere sight of it made Enoch shudder. 

“T-the Professor, I saw… I…!” he choked out, trembling.

A long sigh, and the man nodded again. “Oh, yes. I know,” he said. Suddenly the mask was over Enoch’s head, and closed with a clack. He made a noise of surprise, looking at the man’s face; his expression remained unreadable. What… what was going on? Was he listening to him?

“The Professor--” Enoch tried again, struggling and failing to hold up his head. A large hand on his chest kept him from trying to rise, his head spun, and he knew he wouldn’t be conscious for long. 

“No need to repeat your title, Professor,” the man said, and reached for the mask again. Another sound, like a key being turned into a lock, and those blue eyes once again bore into his. There was no joy nor sorrow in that unwavering gaze: only a steely resolve more terrifying than anything else he'd seen that night. 

Enoch's own vision swam and everything went dark again, the next words barely reaching him as he felt himself sink into nothingness. 

“We know exactly who you are.”

***

[Next]

[rosalia-bonet]

Full name: Rosalia Esmeralda Bonet Nicknames: Rosa, Rosie, Bonnie Age: Twenty Eight Birthday: 13th August Pronouns: She/Her Occupation: Seamstress at a bridal shop Hometown: Camp Pendleton, San Diego, California, USA Residence: Downtown (Apartment) Martial Status: Widowed

Please Note Trigger Warnings: Familial Death, Cancer, Suicide, Pregnancy

Rosalia was the daughter of a general and a housewife. She was raised on the Marine corps base called Camp Pendleton in Southern California. Her mum always imagined a nice simple life until she met Rosalia’s father when he was on a marine mission in Mexico. They fell in love and she came back to America with him. Within 5 months, they were married and her mum was pregnant with Rosalia. For the start of her life, everything was perfect. Sure, her dad would work away for potentially months at a time but when he returned, they were happy. Her mum was very loving and cared so much for the family she had made. It was when Rosa was 10 that this started to change. Her mum began to get increasingly more tired and more poorly but by the time she stopped being stubborn and actually went to the doctors, it was too late. She was quickly diagnosed with breast cancer and her outlook wasn’t good. Within six months of her diagnosis, she was being buried which was surprisingly three months more than what the doctors gave her.

Following her mum’s death, her dad became very different. He was colder. Distant. His logic? Rosalia always looked so much like her mother that it hurt him to even look at her. He’d promised his wife that he’d look after their daughter but as time went on, it just hurt too much. He started to take on more responsibility in his job to distract from his pain. It meant he wouldn’t be home as much. It meant he didn’t have to think about it all. Instead, Rosalia was practically raised by other families in the base who felt sorry for her. Rosa, herself, never really understood why her dad couldn’t stand to be around her. It strained their relationship and even more so when she became a teenager who had a dead mum and a distant father. She became angry at the world. She became rebellious. She’d make her way off the base and just take time to go crazy. However, the one thing she always remembered from her drunken binges was stopping outside this one bridal shop and staring at the pretty white dresses in the window. She would always feel so magnetized to it. Her mum often made outfits for Rosa and taught Rosa a lot about sewing and designing outfits.

Rosa began to clean up her act and get away from her dad by moving off the military base. She needed a fresh start and started to work at the same bridal shop she stopped at so often in town. First, she was just a person on the shop floor to sell the dresses but soon, she began to take lessons with the in-house seamstress. Very quickly, she became a professional seamstress by the age of 22. Rosalia was making dresses all by herself and not just editing pre-made ones and her own dresses were actually being sold soon after. It was when she designed the dress for her high school friend that she got an invite to her wedding and met the groom’s best man, Liam. They instantly clicked and it was no surprise that after a fair few drinks that they ended up in bed together. In the morning, they exchanged numbers and parted ways.

Liam was a police officer back in Colorado so they both knew it couldn’t actually work out with it being such a long distance relationship when they didn’t know each other. But still, they messaged constantly. Mostly as just friends but still, it was rare to go a day without a message. Liam ended up surprising Rosa by coming back out to California and made it clear how much he actually liked her. They would try to get out and see each other as much as they could until after a year, Rosa decided to make the move to Colorado when she was 24. They were finally able to be just a normal couple. After 2 years of dating, they finally got married (and of course, Rosa made her own dress). Following the marriage, they started trying for a baby which... didn’t quite go to plan. Every month just ended with disappointment. It was a rough time and although Rosalia worried about herself being the problem for why they couldn’t conceive, it was actually Liam that took it the worst. His head went to a dark place. He thought he wasn’t “man enough” to get his wife pregnant. He felt like he couldn’t give her what they both wanted. He was getting pressure from his parents asking when he’d give them a grand child. The more people asked about kids, the more upset he got. But the problem was: he never spoke about it. He kept it all inside which only made him worse. Rosa knew something was wrong but it felt like any time she tried to address it and tried to make it better, the more he pushed her away.

Just over a month ago, Rosa began to feel nauseous for a few days and very sensitive to smells which prompted her co-worker to tell her to take a pregnancy test. She didn’t tell Liam because if she wasn’t, she didn’t want to disappoint him if she wasn’t. She took the test and finally, a positive. She rushed home, knowing Liam had a day off to tell him the good news but when she came home, the house was quiet. She thought maybe he’d gone for a run since the car was still there but something just felt off. She went upstairs and poked her head in to the bathroom to notice the medicine cabinet was open and there were pill bottles scattered around. She followed in to the bedroom, calling Liam’s name and that’s when she found him. He’d taken as many pills as he could in a bid to go out peacefully. A note on the bedside table for Rosalia saying sorry. She called the ambulance before seeing the note and begged him to wake up but he didn’t. He was already done by the time the ambulance came. He died without knowing that he was going to have a baby.

Rosa has been absolutely destroyed by Liam’s death. All she wanted when she watched his casket getting put in to the incinerator was a bottle of alcohol but knowing she was pregnant with the last remainder of her husband, she couldn’t. She needed this kid to carry on Liam’s legacy. However, because she was only 1 month pregnant, she didn’t actually tell many people at all about the pregnancy. In fact, only her nearest and dearest know and some of them don’t even know. She just doesn’t want to tell anyone until 3 months when it’s safer to tell people. She is now 2 months pregnant and mostly just trying to keep working to distract herself. It’s now that she’s began to notice why her dad did everything he did to her in a sense, following the death of a spouse. Rosalia is simply trying to get through each day the best she can. She moved out of her house, not being able to stay in the house where he died and moved in to a two bed apartment in Downtown that she can afford on her salary and keeping the money left by Liam for the baby and the baby only.

POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS

Police Officers in Providence Peak - they would have known Liam as he was on the force for 8 years so would know Rosa

Anyone in the wedding industry or got married in Providence Peak in the last five years - Rosalia could have potentially been making the wedding dresses for brides and such

If your character fits in to any of these categories, feel free to message me and we can defo plot something out!

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Confidant - one of the very very few people who actually know that she’s pregnant and someone she can talk to about everything going on without feeling judged and vice versa

Foodie Buddies - literally just always have food together - be that take out or cooking for each other. just a wholesome friendship based on food

TBA

[moral-turpitudes]

Butterflies 🦋: Part 1

A/N: Tumblr is a bitch so I had to re-upload this lol. Idek why I wrote this but I had an idea about butterflies and I just went with it. Sorry if the ending is a bit lame but I hope you enjoy this cute shit. There will be a Part 2 soon. 

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Mentions of neglect, and Swearing.

Word Count: 2,435

Characters: Bonnie Gold x Reader

+ I also made Esmeralda have more of an appearance as well and mentioned his younger sister a tiny bit since they absolutely failed at acknowledging them in the show lol.

Summary: Y/n leaves her hometown after she and Bonnie learn they’re going to be parents. But after getting news of some urgent blinder business, Bonnie’s priorities shift as he prepares for his next mission by Tommy, and as he prepares for his new life with Y/n.

Requested: No

Part 1 | Part 2 

Y/n never thought that she’d leave Small Heath, knowing that the very city she was born in was nothing but trouble. She was like a butterfly trapped in a cocoon that wouldn’t budge, wanting to go off and live and do as she pleased without facing the hollow shell of her parents that awaited her at home.

But she never thought she’d get that chance so soon, until she met him. The brown haired boxer boy who came in with stars in his eyes to where she was working on sewing the fighters robes at the ring, asking if she’d do some repairs to his. She always stayed after hours to get time away from her parents, causing her to have more run-ins with him than she could count. And little did she know, he’d tear a small hole in his robe on purpose every now and then just to get the chance to stay after with her and talk, and ultimately walk her home after the sun went down.

The two quickly started dating after a couple more of his boxing matchups, causing a jealous stir in the crowd of girls that she’d always seen sitting up front. But in a flash, she and the infamous Bonnie Gold had been going steady for a full year now. During this whirlwind of a year, she found out she was pregnant with his child and they both, along with his father’s insistence, decided that having her move in would be good for the both of them considering the circumstances back at home and the fact that they had a new addition coming.

But because this was Small Heath, and because nothing ever happened without the blinders coming into any conversation, the town quickly knew of them, along with the growing tensions between outside gangs and the blinders. There had been explosions and chaos ever since the other gangs stepped foot in Small Heath, and they no doubt stalked the boxing rings while the blinders were there, which was making it more risky for her to stay there as Bonnie had been working with the blinders as of late. And everyone in town knew full well that anyone who carried a razor-blade cap also often carried a possible death sentence.

Y/n shuddered at the thought as she reminisced on how she got here. She hated he was working for them, but she wanted to support his dreams nonetheless. As she shook herself from her thoughts, she laid in the back of the vardo, watching the sunlight streaming into the wooden structure. The inside was painted a dark green color, much like the vast expanse of trees surrounding the spot they all stopped at. As she looked up aimlessly, she marveled at the intricate gold-painted wood details that lined the inside of the space, nicely contrasting with the rich colors of the various curtains and small decorations hanging from the windows. As her eyes wandered, she saw the small drawers and a lamp that was resting on the wooden flooring, and a rug with floral patterns and golden thread weaved throughout, taking up the majority of the space.

As she took in her new surroundings, she heard the voices of Bonnie and his father Aberama talking with some people outside. They were voices she didn’t fully recognize.

Y/n stepped out carefully, the fall air creeping up around her dress as she walked down towards them. On her way over, Bonnie’s sister - and her new best friend, stopped her and pulled her gently to the side over by where her and her other sister were setting up breakfast.

“Hey y/n, let me know what Bon says when he gets done meeting with them, I hate him getting involved in that blinder business.” She said, skeptically looking out at them talking with a stone-faced man with two others behind him. They all had their razor-blade caps on, including Bonnie. Y/n knew the men they were talking to as Bonnie had mentioned them before, back when he had just started working with them. She had also met them at plenty of his boxing matches over the year.

“I know Esmeralda. But I’ve met them enough to know they’re not all that bad, but I’ll have a talk with him. Promise.” Y/n said hugging her.

She walked over carefully, draping a hand over her small bump she had forming under her blue dress. The blinders looked over and Bonnie and his dad followed suit, Bonnie tensing a bit as she made her way over. He watched her with a sweet smile, desperately trying to hide the strain in his eyes as he had been told some news about the gangs.

“Good morning love. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” He said as she put her arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“What I was saying Mr. Gold, was that we’ll need you both in Small Heath by 9 tomorrow. We have to be ready.” The stone-faced man, Tommy Shelby said to Aberama quietly.

Y/n observed the others and saw that they looked a bit uncomfortable, their trigger-fingers itching for action as usual. But no blood would be spilled, not here anyways.

She felt Bonnie relax as they said goodbye to them, the two of them watching as they walked off towards their cars that were glistening in the sunlight.

“What was that about Bon?” She asked as he walked with her back to where everyone was gathering for breakfast.

“I’ll tell ya later. It’s nothing for you to worry about now love.” He said pulling out a chair for her to sit at and then fixing himself and y/n some of what Esmerelda had cooked.

Y/n tried her best to eat as the morning sickness was more prevalent than in the previous weeks. But she ended up running off anyways to bring it up once again, frustrated at not being able to keep anything down. After getting herself under control, she wandered off to the creek nearby to rest, loving the sounds of the water rushing amongst the trees.

Bonnie sat for a moment fumbling with a small ring in his pocket while talking quietly to his father about the plans for tomorrow. His father noticed and winked as he took it out to glance at it, it was Bonnie’s late mothers ring, but Aberama made sure to keep it for him when he found “the one.” As he talked about his plans, he couldn’t shake the thoughts of y/n and how she was doing, so he excused himself, hastily shoving the ring back in his pocket, and running towards where she went off to.

Bonnie knew she was having a hard time adjusting to being away from her family, while also not wanting to go back. Her family were like ghosts in a way, they were present, but were never available when she needed them. They never once offered to meet him nor did they take their daughter seriously when she told them her news, and when she left they barely muttered a goodbye.

As he walked into the forested area he remembered that day and how she was sad to leave the town she grew up in, but seeing her finally open up once she was out of the confines of her house was one of his favorite moments. In his eyes she was like a butterfly bursting from a cocoon, ready to see what this new life had to offer. She had always been fragile in a sense, but at the same time so strong which he admired her for.

He heard her crying as he saw her sitting by the creek in the distance.

Slowly walking down towards her, he saw her stand up, wiping away the last of her tears on her hands.

“Y/n? Love are you okay?” He asked quietly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned around and smiled weakly, more tears falling reluctantly to the ground.

She immediately hugged him to her, letting the rest of the tears fall that she had held in for so long.

“What’s wrong love? You can tell me ya know...” he said patting her back gently.

She looked up as he wiped some of the stray tears from her face and sighed.

“I guess I’m just frustrated. I’m frustrated that I can’t eat, and I’m frustrated that you have to go and get involved in all these things for Tommy and them. You all are basically my only family now and I just don’t want you all to get hurt.” She said.

Bonnie pulled her closer to him and kissed her forehead and sighed, looking out at the trees as their branches swayed around them. What he would give to not have to do the things he did, he just wanted to box and to be able to support her but he had to do what he had to in order to keep them safe. Even it meant killing people.

“I’m doing this for us love, you know that right? I know what I’m doing, and so does my dad. No one will hurt you. I promise.” He said.

“Why were they telling you to meet them tomorrow? What was all that about Bon? I doubt it’s about boxing.” She said, a bit of anger taking over as she undid herself from his grasp and sat on a nearby tree stump.

“It’s about the gangs y/n...they’re planning to attack him and have already blown up one of his supply yards and they need our help. He wanted to come to tell us his plan. We’re leaving at 8 tomorrow to meet him, just me and my dad and a couple of the lads.” He said.

“I’m going.” Y/n said looking away from him.

He came over and sat by her, putting his arms around her as she leaned into him.

“As much as I want you to, I can’t let you sweetheart. You need to stay here where it’s safe, because none of them know we’re out here, Tommy made sure of it. It’s not just you I’m thinking about anymore you know. I need you, and I need you both safe.” He said placing a hand on her small bump, as she placed her hand over his, sighing in defeat.

“I guess you’re right, but you better come back so help me god.” She said and got up. Bonnie smirked and joined her as they walked back. A pretty blue butterfly fluttering past, making him smile.

“What’re you smiling at?” She asked smirking as their steps crunched the leaves that were beginning to blanket the ground.

“Did you see that butterfly going past?” He asked.

“No, I was too busy looking at you.” She said smirking as she held his hand.

He grinned. “Well, I was just thinking about how you remind me of it. Beautiful, yet fragile in the best of ways.” He said.

“In what ways am I fragile? Do I look like a mirror or a glass vase or something?” She asked laughing.

“No my love, you’re just fragile in the sense that you’re precious and I’d never want to hurt you. You care so much about everyone and it’s one of the reasons I love you, and why I’m so glad you’re going to be the mother of my child. I mean that...you’re strong and you’ve always been the one to help me out and put up with all my shit for so long. I just want to be able to help you for once. I want you to know that I care about you and that no matter what I’ll always be there for you.” He said stopping and looking down at her.

Y/n smiled and looked up at him, feeling like she could stare at him forever if life permitted.

“I love you too. And I care about you more than you know. We care about you more than you know.” She said cradling her stomach.

“We just want you to be safe, we just want you to come back to us.” She said quietly and walking ahead.

“Y/n...I’ll always come back to you, and with this I definitely will.” He said as he fished for the small ring in his pocket.

Y/n turned around to see him on one knee holding the diamond ring shakily.

“Will ya marry me at least? I’m 100% sure I’d come back knowing you’re the one wearing this.” He asked cheekily.

Y/n stopped and smiled.

“Bonnie fucking Gold are you serious?” She asked stretching out her hand for him to put it on.

“C’mon is it a yes?” He asked as she looked at the ring.

“You could’ve proposed with a piece of string tied together and I would’ve said yes! of course I’ll marry you.” She said smirking and bringing him in for a kiss.

Not soon after, they made their way back to camp and y/n immediately went over to Esmeralda.

“So what’d he say? Oh my god why are you so happy?” She asked raising an eyebrow and sitting down with a cup of tea.

Y/n took a deep breath and told her, no matter the outcome, it had to be said.

“He said they’re going to help the blinders with some peaky business...I tried to tell him I’d go with him and he said no because they’re going to take down a gang that’s been fucking Tommy over. And despite my protests he said it was unsafe for both me and the baby. Anyways, that means it’s me and you running this place until they get back....” Y/n said looking off to see Aberama hugging Bonnie, congratulating him.

“Okay...and that’s a good thing?” She asked as you smiled.

“Well no, I obviously don’t want them to go, but we’d get the place to ourselves for a couple of days, save the couple of others around. Maybe then we could start planning...” Y/n said.

“Planning for wh-“ Esmeralda stopped short as Y/n slowly held her hand up.

“Oh my god yes! I was going to whack him upside the head if he didn’t do it soon. I’m so happy for you! We’re definitely planning this wedding.” She said giving y/n a hug.

Bonnie came over after their little convo and sat with them around the fire, his arm around Y/n’s shoulders as she curled up next to him. As much as she feared for him leaving tomorrow, she believed he’d come back to her, and no matter what happened he’d always make sure his family was safe.

[justjessame]

Sins of the Father: Chapter 5

The next time I woke up it was to voices that were doing a tremendous job of mimicking the worst case of stage whispering I’d ever had the misfortune of overhearing.  Groaning, and rolling over from where I’d had my face pressed into my pillow, clearly having tried to blind out the brightness of the sunlight - I once more found myself trying to blink open my heavy lidded eyes.  

“If the two of you are trying to NOT wake me,” I muttered, feeling slightly vindicated when the sounds ceased.  “You’re failing miserably.”  I managed to fight past the lead lining that my eyelids had grown overnight and the brilliance of the sunlight glowing through my curtains.  A couple more moments fighting against my bed linens and my own limbs and I’d managed to get myself sitting up against my headboard.  

Dad and Danny were watching me with rapt amusement, silent as they waited for me to situate myself.  “I came looking for you little brother,” Dad finally spoke, deeming me ready for information now that I had both eyes more or less open.  “And I was trying to convince him to go down and get breakfast -”

“But YOU promised that we’d spend the day together, Esme,” Danny butted in with the Roper spirit stubbornness.  I bit my lip when my gaze met Dad’s over his towhead.  “And that should include breakfast.”  He crossed his arms over his chest and I was struck by how like our father he was growing.  

Clearing my throat free of the cobwebs of sleep, I shook off a sigh.  “If you’ll give me time to dress and do something with what I can only imagine is a birds’ nest of curls, I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast and then we’ll start our day.” I countered, and Danny started to agree, but of course Dad had to remind me of my newest family chore.

“Esmeralda, I think you might have forgotten our guest -” His eyes narrowed and I knew he wanted me to take care of my duties alone, but honestly this hero of Danny’s hadn’t shown any likelihood of saying or asking anything untoward while we were alone.  Why would having the object that caused his convalescence in the room while I took care of him be problematic?  

“I haven’t,” I argued, my eyebrow arching to remind him that Danny was still very present.  “Danny can come along so I can show him how easy it is to change the bandages, in case I’m indisposed.”  Danny’s nose crinkled in distaste which shocked me, given how he felt about this man.

“You want me to come with you while you rip off his bloody stuff?”  I nodded and he shook his head.  “No thanks.  Couldn’t Jed do it?”  

“No, Jed can’t do it.” Dad told him.  “Who changes YOUR bandages when you rush headlong into madness?  Or Corky’s or Frisky’s or -”  Danny sighed.  “Esme knows what she’s doing, and so she’ll do it.  If you insist on spending the day with your sister, then -”

“Fine,” Danny’s excitement was draining at the idea of a full day of being with me now.  “Does it take long?”  

I chuckled.  “Not too long, but I will take him lunch as well.  And I make sure he eats it.”  Another long suffering sigh.  “Maybe for lunch you could do something else?”  

“What?”  He stared at me in a clear challenge.  I thought about it for a bit and then smiled.

“Pick a movie for us to go to tonight.”  His eyes widened.  “Just you and me.  And we’ll have dinner out as well.  How does that sound?”  

“Well the two of you and -”  I rolled my eyes and Danny laughed.  Dad would never allow us to go completely alone, but it didn’t matter.  I’d made my little brother happy again.  And that was all that mattered.  

Breakfast was followed by a day that most people wouldn’t think was all that special, but what Danny missed.  We spent part of it watching some of the shows he wanted to show me, and he promised me, while he watched me preparing the bandage portion of the tray for our guest, that he’d be looking for the BEST movie for our night out.  

“I know you will,” smiling down at him, I went back to adding the things I’d looked up online that would give some comfort to Mr. Quince’s ribs - at least that’s what the websites I’d found had assured me.  

“Will you dress up?”  I glanced up to see Danny studying me and waited to see where he was going with this new tangent.  “We never got to celebrate your graduation -” My stomach flipped at the thought of their celebration without me and what it had led to, but his mind wasn’t on that, it was on happier things - our night out.  “So you’ll dress up, won’t you?”  

Swallowing past the lump that had formed at the thought of what COULD have happened if Mr. Quince hadn’t stepped up and saved him from disaster, I hoped he wouldn’t notice my hands shaking as I kept adding my supplies to the tray.  “Of course I’ll dress up if you want me to.”  Anything he wanted me to do, I’d do.  He could celebrate my return, and I’d celebrate the fact that he wasn’t - no, I wouldn’t do that, focus on the here and now, Esme, I reminded myself.  You’re a Roper.  

Lunch wasn’t soup today.  And Mr. Quince didn’t try to argue against my aid in getting him sitting up, nor when I insisted on helping him with his meal.  We put off changing the bandages until after, since I’d done it just the day earlier and I couldn’t see any blood peaking out.  Taking my spot beside him on the bed, I started cutting up his food and he chuckled under his breath.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”  Not looking up, my lips were twitching at the corners as I fought against a grin.  

“I dare not,” he murmured, as I picked up the first bite and moved it toward his mouth.  “Lest you attempt the airplane in the hangar.”  My smile grew as his own flashed, before he took the food I offered him.  

Once his lunch was finished, I asked him if he’d rather I start with his face or his ribs and he looked startled.  

“I did some research and found that we had some salve on hand that might give you some relief along with a bit of wrapping, if you’d like?”  He gave a small nod and started to pull at his shirt, but I stopped him.  “Give me a moment to get everything ready, then I’ll help you again.”  Fussing a bit with the tray, I moved what I needed to where it would be within easier reach and then with his help, we got his shirt over his head and out of the way.  Pressing gently, I watched his face for signs of distress.  “You have to tell me which parts are the most tender -” he sighed and so did I.  “If you don’t, then the salve won’t be of much use.”  

Giving in wasn’t something he did willingly or simply, but he weighed the wisdom of what I was saying and finally pointed out the places that hurt the worst.  Picking up the pot of gooey medicine, I opened it and warned him that it wasn’t very pleasant smelling before sitting beside him again so I could reach him.  Coating my fingertips with the sticky substance, I leaned closer, and applied the cream in gentle circular motion over the darkened skin that even battered I could tell was corded with muscle.  

He tried to stay still and silent, but there were hisses and rippling across his abdomen that he couldn’t hide.  The warmth of his skin working with the salve, I hoped, to soothe the pain and discomfort he’d earned when he saved Danny.  Once I felt confident I’d gotten him covered, I put the container back on the tray and picked up the elastic wrap bandage and helped him lean forward again so I could wrap him up. 

“I read that this will help -” I told him what I’d learned during my online search and he listened while I wrapped my arms around him and worked, our bodies close enough so I could feel his breath flutter my hair.  “There,” I pulled back and smiled up at him, since we were still very close.  “Isn’t that better?”  

“It’s different,” he sounded conflicted, unsure.  Which was strange since we’d only known one another for a few hours and in such an odd context anyway.  “I - I should put my shirt back on.”  

“Right,” I blinked, confused about how I’d gotten off track for those few beats.  “Let me -” But we both reached for the white cotton at the same time and our hands linked, different from when he’d stopped me during my last visit, this felt intimate and - I pulled away as if I’d been burned.  “Sorry.  I - Do you need me to help?”

“I think I can manage,” we were still close, his breath fanning my face now and I had to swallow to try to fight a dryness that wasn’t there before.  “Does my other bandage need to be changed as well?”  

A glance down, which I’m sure made me look slightly cross-eyed, told me no - it could wait.  I shook my head.  “I think it’s fine for now.”  My eyes flickered back to his and found him waiting for me.  “I should go.”  

“I’m sure you have,” his gaze flickered down, was he looking at my lips?  “A great deal of plans now that you’re home.”  

Plans?  Did I?  Danny.  Right.  That pulled me free from the bed, the gaze, his warmth.  “Yes.  I do.”  He flinched, as if I’d slapped him.  How odd.  He pulled his shirt on as I stood up and started gathering the tray together.  “Danny and I are going to the movies tonight.”  When his head broke free of the fabric of his shirt, his gaze met mine and I bit my lip.  “Hot date with my little brother.”  

“That sounds fun,” he offered, less strained and more natural - but how would I know what was natural for this stranger?  “You seem close?”  

Ah, there it is, the questions.  “We are,” I agreed.  Anyone would tell him as much.  “I made him a promise when I went away to university.”  He waited, listening as if I were about to tell him a wondrous secret.  “If he didn’t throw tantrums or give Dad and everyone too much trouble while I was away, and during my breaks when I’d have to go back, then when I finished I’d come home forever.”  

“Forever’s a long time.”  My smile grew.  “He’s a good kid.”  

“Danny’s -” I sighed.  “Danny and I know each other better than anyone else in the world.  And that’s all that matters to me.”  

“He’s a lucky boy.”  

“I’m the lucky one.”  I gathered up the tray and bid him a good day.  And I could have swore that he said something about hoping that I really was the lucky one.