#people just see her blonde hair and colorful clothing and desk covered and trinkets and go haha quirky analyst girl

[kerbubbles]

The way garcia is a pretty damn close match to reid in terms of intelligence but she leans hard into the bubbly, girly blonde personality

[all-might-can-smash-me]

Alive

Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fatgum x Royal! Reader

Summary: medieval/fantasy type of au. A princess sneaks out from the cold stone walls of the castle and finds her way into the colorful life of the village’s market square, though she finds herself striking a friendship with the blacksmith and soon finding herself completely in love with....you know, the fluffy shit because I live for that

Part 2 is here

Masterlist

You longed for the world beyond the stained glass window that you peered through. You wanted to see the bustling markplace that your servants would always talk about. You wanted to tag along with your own group of friends to see what fresh produce was available or what trinkets were on display from far off lands. You wanted to hear the hammering of the blacksmith away in his corner or listen to the weaver’s old stories from her life time as she skillfully did her craft while showing off her prized work at her stand. Or to even smell the foods that were being cooked and sold to the hungry wonderer who found themselves sucked into the busy scurrying of the market. You could already smell everything that seemed to play out before your fingers tips that brushed the color glass before you....

“Your royal highness....” soon spoke out the soft voice of one the women who stood off to the side as you soaked in the warmth of the bath water you sat in, relishing in the floral oils that had placed into the heated water of your bath. You almost felt a bit of anger claw at your chest as you watched your daydream melt before your fingertips at the young woman’s voice, but you only sighed it away before looking over your shoulder and at her. “I think it’s time for you to climb out, you’ll prune up if you stay in any longer.” The woman recommend, which you only gave a soft nod of your head as you stood up, the water sloshing around your legs as you stepped out, a cloth already wiping down your body and your hair. You only silently stood their as the women dried your off and soon clothed you in your chemise and kirtle.

It was the same routine every day either with the bath or not. You automatically seated yourself down before a vanity, the servants already brushing out your hair and pining it up in braids, soon a veil was placed over your hair to cover it, securing it into place with even more pens, but what was the use of that? The outside would never even see your hair anyway.

“Is that alright, your royal highness?” Soon asked one of the many women tending to you. You only gave a soft nod of your head as you poked your feet out to have your stocking slipped on and a garter tied below to keep them up, shoes soon placed upon your feet. They would continue to ask you if everything was to your liking, but what was the point anyway? To look good to only be trapped behind the stone walls that was your prison. Though you bid them a soft thank you as you finally broke free from their hands, escaping and finally finding your freedom within one of the many vast hallways of the castle you dwelled in. You could probably point every crack and uneven stone within the entire castle though by how many times your eyes have stared them down.

“Oh....don’t look at me like that!” You spoke out with a huff as you glared down to one of the tapestries that hung from the wall. Your eyes stared down into the threaded ones of the scene filled with people before you adorned with fanciful clothing....the scene that your eyes have wondered onto many time before. Though you only groaned as you let your hand slap that tapestry, only causing it to ripple a bit from where it hung along with shaking out a bit of dust that only made you try to quickly fan it away from your face. “I’m going mad within these walls! I’ve resorted to arguing with a foul looking tapestry!” You exclaimed, though stuck your tongue out to the tapestry before scurrying off down the corridor, veil billowing around your face as you rushed by. Soon your hands grasped the handle of a door to open it roughly, promptly slamming it shut behind you. With a sigh you let yourself slump down on the chair at your desk, a pout upon your lips as your eyes longing look to the large window within your room longingly. The market was just there, almost within your grasp beyond the castle gate.

That’s when an idea popped within your head. The blossoming of that idea lifted you from your chair, hands scurrying around within your wardrobe to tug out a cloak which you wasted no time to drape over your shoulders and tie it in place, now back to scurrying down the corridors of the castle and down many spiraled stone steps.

“I’ll just go on my own.....if I get caught I’ll just use the excuse that I didn’t know that it was off limits....yeah....” You muttered to yourself as you tried to calm your heart that raced within your chest, hand running along the stone walls and tapestries to try and stable the nervous jitters within your body. “I’ll also just sneak out through the back towards the laundry house...” you continued on with discussing your plan to yourself. Though it was scarily all too easy to do as you found yourself slowly crossing the border between the castle’s property and into the commoner’s world. It wasn’t at all exciting really, but it was for you as your feet had began to run down the dirt path that ran towards the market place, laughter bubbling out from your mouth at the feeling of your own rebellion as you gathered up the bottom of your kirtle to run as fast as you could even if your lungs screamed at you to stop.

You stopped to catch your breath, your laughter seeming to still plague your lungs as you leaned against one of the trees that lined the path, calming your laughter as a carriage bounced along the path before you, disappearing further down the path. Just experiencing that alone sent your brain on a frenzy as you continued your walk, though you still couldn’t help but feel that worry edge into your brain to bury itself there.

The market was better than you would have ever expected. A lyre was being strummed by a young man for coins, sellers yelled out their deals for their trinkets and goods, and many people filled the air with their voices and laughter, all the noises filling your sense as your eyes looked excitedly to everything that you had every dreamed of. It may have been a silly wish to see the sight before you and risk so much to see it, but I guess it’s easy to yearn for something this great when you couldn’t have it.

You had began to walk slowly through the many stalls set up, eyes wondering the many objects that were expertly display to capture any wondering fool’s eye, but you simply treaded on, wanting to see everything that market had to offer. Though you soon found yourself traveling into the less populated part of the market, the side where only a few tiny stands were set up and store fronts were waiting for anyone to enter. It was a nice rest from the constant life of the more populated area. Though something caught your attention. It was a slamming noise, loud and strong and it repeated itself over and over again. Carefully listening, you followed the noise down the cobblestone path, finding yourself standing before the wide opened doors of what you would guess was a forge.

The warmth within the forge lapped at your face as you peered in, the clanging now more prominent and practically rang through your ears. Before you, you saw a man, a tall man. Sweat glistened across his brow and his blonde hair clung to his forehead in a few spots, his eyebrows were furrowed together. Your eyes couldn’t help but trail down to the muscles that would flex and retract in the rhythm of the hammer in his hand that he would slam down upon the red hot metal upon his anvil. The man set aside the hammer before lifting the metal he was working on to toss it back within the flames that happily lapped at it, a few curses being muttered under his breath as he brought the back of his gloved hand to his forehead to wipe away the sweat that threatened to roll into his eyes.

“Hey you, you don’t have to hide back there you know.” His voice soon rose up, a smile crawling onto his lips as he turned away from fire, gaze now upon you. You on the other hand, could feel a raging blush upon your face as you looked over your shoulder before realizing that he mean those words for you. You slowly made your way within the forge, eyes trailing among the many tools that were scattered about, the smell of burning wood now filling your senses as you finally looked to him. “Use to I would get a lot of people in here to watch....but the hagglers further up the market are far more entertaining.” He said with a laugh as began to poke the raging fires. You took it upon yourself to look at some of his own works that he had up on display. Horseshoes, armor, weapons, even torture devices, but of course that was normal....but still it sent a shiver down your spine at the thought of you being in that. Though your eyes soon landed upon the many pendants that he had forged as well, necklaces, bracelets, pins. You let your finger trace the twist of the metal before you.

“A trade being done with expertise and care is far more entertaining than a few scammers.” You mumbled out as you soon looked over your shoulder and to the other. “Do you honestly think that their pots hold ‘magical abilities’?” You said with a little laugh as you stepped away from the work before you, soon crossing your arms and stepping back forward to his work area, watching him let out his laughter at your words as he brought out the rod of metal from the fire, hammer back in his hands.

“Or that their onions will honestly reverse one’s aging?” He said with a snort as the hammer went slamming down onto the metal. You couldn’t be flinch at the loud noise, but you watched with interest. It amazed you how the man before you could simply meld the iron into almost whatever he wanted with the strength he possessed and the hammer within his hands. “You must be new around here though...” he soon spoke out though after resting the hammer aside again, inspecting the rod of metal.

“Why you say that?” You asked, trying to surpress the nervousness that wanted to attack your voice and throat. You couldn’t have been caught that quickly, right? Did people within the market really know what you looked like? Of course not....right?

“Because I haven’t seen a beautiful girl like you around here before, I would have remembered....” He said with a grin as he dunked the rod into a trough of water, the metal sizzling against the cool liquid. If only you could have dunked your head in there as well to cool the blush that had risen to your cheeks.

That’s how your friendship had begun with the blacksmith. The next day you would find out his name was Taishiro and then the next day you would meet his apprentice Tamaki, and then the next day you’d bring him food. It went on for a while, of your bringing food for him and his apprentice, chatting away with him....feeling your heart constantly thrashing against your chest at just a mere glance of Taishiro. Though one day, you approaching the forge, only to see Taishiro dressed properly and out of the protective garb he wore within his forge.

“Come on, I want to spend a day away from this damned inferno.” He spoke out with a grin, already offering his arm to you to lead you through the village, into the part where the homes became sparse and the meadows and hills seemed to stretch on infinitely. It all looked like a painting that would have been among the others within the castle you dwelled in or maybe even a scene from one of the blasted tapestries. It sent a grin upon your face as you handed him the basket filled to the brim with food, hands clutching at your kirtle to ran through the semi tall grass, wind whipping at the veil pinned onto your head. You felt foolish to think simply walking through the market square or running down the dirt path from the castle felt like freedom. Running through the grass and taking in its scent that was carried upon the breeze is what truly felt like freedom. It felt even better though when you heard Taishiro’s own feet crunch upon the grass, laughing behind you as the two of you ran further out until you finally let yourself plop down onto the grass, lungs struggling for air through your laughter as you let your body rest upon the grass, eyes staring up to the blue sky that was riddled with clouds. Taishiro was soon sprawled out beside you upon the grass, basket set aside beside him, his laughter molding with yours as he also looked up to the sky. Finally managing to get air in your lungs, you sat up and reached over Taishiro, grabbing hold of the basket to tug out a canteen of water, setting it aside and soon pulling out bread, breaking it and handing a half to Taishiro before setting the basket asids and rest back down again.

“I’ve never felt so....free...” you finally mumbled out, finger tips twisting off bits of bread to eat, Taishiro already almost done with what he had. You found it amusing, how he seemed to inhale his food. Though everything about him you seemed to find amusing or attractive, that’s why your heart always felt like it was going to explode upon one single glance at him. You would steal glances at him, but right now you let your eyes close, enjoying the warmth of the sun shining down upon and enjoying the soft tickle of the breeze upon your cheeks

“It’s relaxing....to not be burned by metal or fire or having the smell of burning wood down my throat all day long...” he muttered out as he reached a hand over you to grab ahold of the canteen of water, already taking a few gulps before placing it away, a sigh of content escaping his lungs. Though glancing at you almost made him forget how to breathe. You looked angelic beside him, eyes closed and the sun eccentuating the soft features of your face and the veil that almost surrounded your face didn’t help either.

You were glorious before him.

Taishiro soon propped himself up with his arm, a hand moving to gently brush upon your cheek bone which your eyes shot open at the touch. It was like the world stopped when your eyes met his. They were wide, along with your own, but not of fear, but of the nervousness of the new territory that seemed to appear as the seconds went by. Slowly sitting up, he allowed his hands to move to the veil that was pinned upon your head, fingertips plucking away those pins slowly and setting them aside within the basket. You now sat up yourself, letting his nervous hands gently remove the white cloth, your hands reaching up to undo the braids pinned to your head, brushing your fingers through them and letting your long hair fall around your shoulders. Taishiro soon let his own fingers brush through your long hair and brush along your neck, and face. You were a sight to behold as the wind pushed your hair around gently.

“May I kiss you...?” Were the words that came flowing from his mouth as his hand finally came to rest upon your blushing cheeks. “Sorry, I just....I’m stunned by the beauty that’s before me...” he said with a soft, nervous laugh that you couldn’t help but giggle along to nervously as well as you nodded your head, forehead pressed against his. Your eyes were soon closed upon the arrival of his soft lips upon yours, leaning into his embrace as the two of you shared a soft kiss.

You felt your back meet with the grass upon the ground as his lips continued to move upon yours, your body plagued with nervous jitters as he was soon trailing his sweet kisses upon the many parts of your face and neck. Yours hands went to cup his face as he pulled away to look down at you, a large smile upon his lips as he caught his breath, looming over you. Though suddenly you felt tears begin to build up within your eyes as you let a hand run through the soft strands of blonde hair, a worrisome look now etched into his face as once of his callused hands moved to caress your face.

“What’s wrong? Why the tears?” He asked, finger tips gently pushing back the soft strands of your hair that the wind had pushed upon your face.

“I’ve never felt so alive....though I’m afraid it might cruelly end like waking up in the middle of a wonderful dream.....”

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #7: The path of the rose

Words: ca. 3,500 Setting: Canon Lemon: no CW: None

The path of the rose

The climb was steep; it was slippery, the narrow - barely threaded path, treacherous and unforgiving. Elsa’s hands were bandaged in bloodied rags, same as her feet, but the aching from the blisters had dulled days ago. When she finished climbing the side of the sharp ridge, she stood alone on the edge - almost defiantly - overlooking the great misty valley ahead; the whiskers of fur around her neck fluttered at the wild wind’s mercy, mirroring the few short locks of hair that framed her sunburned cheeks. 

Her pale lips were chapped, her arms bruised and cut, but her determination was stronger. Only the last step remained; only one final test to overcome.

Before she descended into the white unknown of the mists, she took out the small silver locket that hung from her neck and stared at the tiny, hand painted portrait of a copper-haired, care-free smiling girl. 

‘I will be home soon.’ Elsa thought; her image was the only warmth she needed deep into the mountains.

-ooo-

As each blast crossed the air, they all bursted into sparkling droplets, like diamonds shining under the gentle winter’s sun.

Anna watched - wide-eyed and riveted, as the girl danced in the middle of the forest’s small clearing.

Each movement brought another glimmering streak of pure white ice; as she moved, as her body twisted and her feet shifted elegantly, waves and pillars and spirals rose and fell on the whims of her hands’ motions and the determined gaze in her blue eyes. 

Badly hidden as she was - alongside the bushes that covered the edge of the forest’s clearing, it didn’t take long for the other girl to notice her. Those same crystal-blue eyes peered at the blushing redhead curiously, tilting her head as if she was looking at some harmless, cute critter.

Anna had seen those clothes before, if only in the few times her father had allowed her to accompany him to the northern market. The round strips of fabric falling on the sides of the skirt, knotted at the small of the girl’s back, the sleeveless, blue and brown shirt and the strange, spiral-shaped bracers that covered her forearms, only the Magi - the outsiders - wore such refined clothing. 

Once she noticed those exotic, sky-colored clothes, her hands immediately pulled at her dirty apron and plain long skirt, her feet shifting around shyly.

“Hello.” The girl’s voice was crisp and clear when she came closer, standing right underneath the trees’ shadows; small dots of light coming from the foliage peppered her face and shining, white hair. “Who are you?”

“Anna!” She squeaked. The Magi girl nodded, and after a few awkward seconds, Anna offered her hand, which the other shook, a soft smile pulling at her lips.

“I’m Elsa. Elsa Northwind.”

-ooo-

No matter how much her mother tried, Anna refused to be caged in the peaceful but boring rhythm of life in her small village. Sneaking out into the woods became a form of art for her: sometimes, all she needed was for Iduna to turn her head as they went about their business at the market for Anna to slip out of sight.

Anna’s teen years passed in a mixture of the smell of freshly-baked bread at her family’s tavern and the almost minty smell of pine needles from her excursions into the forest, accompanied always by Elsa. They would see each other in town as well every now and then, whenever Elsa’s people travelled down the mountains to trade with the villagers, but the harsh gaze of her mother kept them apart; at least, whenever she was around. Anna didn’t care about her parent’s prejudice, of course. Elsa’s magic was marvelous, a miracle that should be cherished and admired. It held great power, great dangers too, yes, but also, so much beauty that words sometimes failed her to describe it.

As time went by, Elsa’s powers grew stronger, and more intricate. She gave Anna small trinkets of ice that never melted: small delicate snowflakes, small mounted-knights like the stories the redhead found so fascinating and that soon littered the wooden desk on Anna’s room, and when the redhead’s fifteenth birthday arrived, a blushing Elsa travelled on her own all the way to the edge of town. Hidden behind a barnyard, her trembling hands put a pair of earrings and a simple but shining necklace on Anna’s hands.

“Thank you…” Anna whispered as she put the earrings, feeling her heart swell and expand, as it always did whenever her friend was around. 

“It was nothing,” Elsa smiled shyly, and then, her eyes went wide as Anna kissed her cheek, grinning brightly at her while her hands pulled nervously at her twintails.

It was a smile as bright as summer, Elsa felt. She had begun to understand what those feelings were, the ones that swirled and slow-danced in her belly any time she was alone with Anna. Unbeknownst to her, Anna too had begun to understand.

-ooo-

Small ripples broke the calm surface of the lake as Anna’s bare feet rested at its edge, mirroring Elsa’s. 

The world had stilled around them; the setting sun at their back enlarged the pine’s shadows, and the birds called their farewells for the day in casual chirpings. It was a feign calm, however, an illusion of peace like the lake’s surface, for underneath feelings stirred and moved around like wildlife.

Anna’s hand covered Elsa’s, and when she turned to look at the blonde, as naturally as a leaf’s fall, they leaned closer to one another, until their lips met shyly. Aged 17, Anna had her first kiss. Aged 17, she kissed her best friend for the first time.

It was as soft of a touch as she had imagined.

She cupped Elsa’s cheek as their kiss held strong, the sudden rupture of a years long-tension lifting her with the warmest of feelings. When they finally separated - the orange tinge of dusk blazing on Anna’s hair, Elsa’s smile was shy but sincere; her pale hand played with a curly lock of copper hair, the other raising to caress a freckled cheek with her thumb.

“Just like that…” She whispered, making Anna smirk at her.

“Yes…” she leaned forward again, whispering into Elsa’s lips. “Just like that…”

Their second, and their third kiss were even more sweet. A shared dream, finally made true; a joining of hearts, a bridge being built between two souls.

They held a small ceremony a few months later, not in the traditional ways of Anna’s people - whom would never bless their union - but in the Magi way, in the aftermath of a sleepless night, both sitting in front of a small fire, holding hands with a long shawl draped around both their shoulders.

Anna’s hair was braided, same as Elsa’s, with small red and blue ribbons, each one taking the other’s colours.

Neither of them had wanted to wait. It was clear there would never be someone else; Elsa’s soul reflected on Anna’s eyes, and vice versa, as the oldest of the Magi pronounced them soulmates, bound by the will of the land and the ancestors of their two bloods.

-ooo-

The first time Anna visited the Magi campament had been during the harshest winter in recent memory. Caught under the heavy storm - the snow hail thick and inclement, Elsa had insisted they went back towards her home instead of risking the travel through the forest and into Arendelle’s lands. Barely protected by Elsa’s magic, they managed to arrive before Anna had passed out. Her wavering consciousness, however, registered a few things as they dragged her towards what she presumed was Elsa’s tent: the weird cone-shape of the stone and wood structures and the curious gazes of the mages they came across.

Once inside, she was put in a bundle of furs - the same colours, she noticed, as the ones on Elsa’s winter coat - and momentarily left alone in front of a small fire. After she managed to regain some body heat so she could stop shaking, she looked around. Her love’s home was sparse, but that didn’t surprise her: she knew how little Elsa cared about wealth or status. There were a few things of note, of course: she saw some of her childhood paintings hanging above the floor-levelled bed, as well as the bead necklace she had made her after their… Anna blushed, thankful it would most likely go unnoticed given her whole face must’ve been red from cold exposure and the tent’s fire.

Finally, Elsa came back, holding in her hand some herbs that she quickly threw into the pot above the fire. After she sat down next to Anna, she hugged her, taking a few wet strands of auburn hair out the way before kissing her temple.

Now inside the safe confines of Elsa’s tent, Anna finally relaxed, leaning into her love’s embrace.

After a while, as sleepiness began to dampen her thoughts, she turned to gaze at the small assortment of trinkets close to the bed, and the blonde’s eyes followed her curiously.

“Do you know…?” Anna asked shyly, looking at the bead necklace. Elsa’s smile turned into a smirk, and that told Anna that she, in fact, knew its true meaning.

Each bead on it was meant to signify each year of her life before a couple consummated their marriage. It was an old tradition that her village still carried around and that she had wanted to preserve herself.

“Of course I do.” Elsa said, leaning forward and giving her a long, drawn out kiss that tasted of longing. Anna could understand why. They could never be together, as her mother and father were. They could never walk around town hand in hand, nor would they live the joys of motherhood… but it was something she had made her peace with, same as Elsa.

They had each other, and that was enough. For her, their marriage was real, as real as the stars in the night sky, as the snowy mountains and the glimmers of light from the morning dew.

Before both shed their clothes and shared Elsa’s bed, long hours passed, full of gentle kisses and whispered words, filling the humble dwelling with warmth. Anna knew of what lay ahead, but for the moment all she could do was to embrace her lover’s naked form, holding on to her and praying for the future to be gentle, to spare them of heartbreak and loss.

-ooo-

“You shouldn’t be here!” Anna hissed - yet unable to stop her smile. Elsa only smirked at her, her hands precariously hanging to the wooden frame of her wife’s sill. Thankful that the window didn’t creak too loudly, she fully opened it, allowing the cloaked blonde inside.

Elsa pulled down her hood, letting her waist-long hair fall down her back freely; it sparkled under the single candlelight that humbly lit the room.

“What if someone saw you?” Anna asked, trying to keep her tone down and putting her hands on her hips while her brow furrowed (and yet, still smiling). The young mage rolled her eyes playfully, waving her hand airily as ice tendrils encircled her fingers, turning black at the end.

“Mist spell,” she stated matter-of-factly. Nonetheless, seeing that Anna’s frown was still in place, she leaned forward, planting a quick peck on her lips, gently putting her hands on her freckled arms and gently rubbing her thumbs over her work-tanned skin.

Anna finally cracked, joining their foreheads and softly sighing while her hand caressed Elsa’s cheek.

“You should be preparing…” she muttered.

“Hush…” Elsa put a finger on those rosy, enticing lips, gazing into her wife’s worried eyes. Gently, she touched the small blue ribbon that hung from a small braid on Anna’s auburn hair.

“I brought you something.”

From her satchel, Elsa produced a single, red rose, of a shade not crimson but rather hanging in between the color of dusk and of blood. Before she gave it to Anna, she used her magic to envelope it in ice, the kind that had taken her years to master - if only to make her friend happy that her gifts would not melt.

Anna’s retort never came, much to Elsa’s joy. She fully knew that if she had allowed Anna’s questions to continue, both of them would cry. Elsa didn’t want that; she wanted her last memory of Anna before she began her journey to be one where her beloved smiled, where her light reached her eyes and her cheeks came alive, highlighting the freckles she had come to adore.

Suddenly, Anna embraced her, pulling her face against the crook of her neck.

“When do you leave?” Anna muttered, her voice thick and constrained. Her embrace tightened, a gesture that Elsa reciprocated fiercely.

“Tomorrow.” 

“Promise me…” The brokenness of Anna’s voice carried such a heavy weight Elsa’s heart could barely withstand it. Elsa nodded for a response. 

Her efforts had been for naught; the first tears began to fall from her eyes, soon followed by Anna.

The quiet summer night witnessed the two lovers say their farewells and claim their last, desperate kisses before Elsa vanished into the darkness. She did not tell her wife a small fact, one she wanted to keep a secret until she came back. She had gotten the rose from the same small clearing where they first met, more than a decade ago.

-ooo-

Each Magi - born of a unique element - knew of the trials that awaited for them the moment they came of age. Elsa had anticipated - and dreaded in equal measure - that moment.

A lonesome travel towards the white heart of the world, Ahtohallan, where her worth would be tested. Even with her magic, it would take her months to arrive there while sorting all kinds of danger: the great beasts of the North, immune to magic, and outcasts and renegade mages who had failed in their own paths.

The few ones who came back became full members of her tribe, wielders of power beyond belief.

She had prepared her whole life for it, and when the time arrived, she began her journey, armed with only her small satchel and her wits.

Then, when she finally reached the white valley - full of barren twig trees and ice-shards coming out the ground, taller than a man and so pure they contained every color imaginable, her resolve was tested.

This final trial, however, she failed.

-ooo-

Anna, aged 24, remained stubbornly single as the years rolled by - as it was the nature of time in such a small village - much to the chagrin of her mother and the enjoyment of the gossiping matrons. She didn’t care about the rumors, of course, and she didn’t give explanations to her mannered but firm rejections of the few men who had tried to court her.

None of them had seen her as she looked longingly into the night’s sky from her room’s window. None of them knew of the tears she shed when alone, of the shattered dreams and the broken illusions; none of them knew of the flower patterned she had kept, or the new one she had knitted for her - meant as a humble gift for when she returned, both resting in the depths of a wooden chest below her bed.

Elsa had not come back. Every gift she had given her had melted; even her parting rose had, but the flower - unfrozen and weak - had not died.

In the two years that had gone by since she left, Anna had turned to her everyday life, not in search of solace but in search of purpose. Her night’s at her family’s tavern were busy, and she had tried to share the simple joys of her people; she had tried to see past her grief, but a part of her never could. The moments of loneliness that remained were all filled with gleaming memories - full of the pale color of Elsa’s hair and eyes, full of the memory of her smell, of her lopsided, teasing smiles and the feeling of her skin, her hands and her lips.

She never allowed bitterness to rot inside her. Instead, she tried to smile when she remembered her, to honor her memory by living as fully as she could, as fully as someone who had lost half her soul and all her love could.

Outside the tavern, in the small backyard, Elsa’s rose now lay amongst many others, bushes and many kinds of flowers arranged into a vibrant garden that Anna took care of.

She didn’t care about the future. All she had was her own life, and those memories she had bowed to keep alive. It was all she could do, for now she knew miracles did not happen, and life’s cruelness left nothing behind.

And still, she kept on living, and remembering, each and every single day.

-ooo-

Anna yelped, pulling her pricked finger into her mouth. Stopping herself from cursing, she quickly dismissed the injury and continued her work, trimming the small branches of the flowers in her garden, careful not to touch the one that remained in the center, the one whose color resembled the tone of her own hair.

She continued to work under the heavy summer’s sun, pulling weeds, nursing the dirt and watering her small kingdom of color. Unconsciously, she whipped the back of her hand over the white cloth over her head, leaving some dirt marks on it.

From behind her ear, hung a small braid with a blue ribbon on it.

After a while, the pain from kneeling became too uncomfortable; after all, waiting tables at the tavern all night was hard on the small of her back. It was only when she stood up that she saw the cloaked figure standing right next to her garden, and Anna yelped once again, taking a step back while clutching her chest with her hand before her eyes properly looked at the lean person standing just there, who looked back at her with clear-blue eyes.

Anna’s teal eyes widened; the small shovel on her gloved hands fell with a soft thud.

The cloaked figure took off her hood, revealing a woman of delicate features: prominent cheekbones that complimented the small, badly cut locks of pale-white hair.

Anna thought herself mad; surely, the summer’s heat had made the apparitions of her dreams come to life. But if so, why did Elsa look so weary? Why were her arms covered in soiled rags, and why were her feet bare and dirty?

More than that, why was her beloved’s - her wife’s - face covered in scars, her cheeks sunburned?

But perhaps it was a feverish dream, she reasoned as her breath failed her, for Elsa’s eyes remained the same: gentle and caring, shining with a light of their own, the light that had made her fall in love for her as the years of her childhood went away and her feelings grew as they both did. 

Elsa stepped inside her backyard, kneeling in front of the roses. Her index finger graced the petals of the red rose, and when she turned to face Anna again, a long path of tears had already made its way down her cheeks. Unsurprisingly, Anna sniffed loudly, the hard beatings of her heart drumming against her ears.

“You kept it…” Elsa said, her voice failing her after that single sentence.

If this was truly madness, Anna was glad she could give away her sanity just for the chance of this moment to continue. Whatever was the case, she couldn’t wait; she had waited long enough.

Anna raced the few steps that separated them, practically jumping into Elsa’s open arms.

“Ouch!” Elsa whined a little, even if her smile was as big as Anna had ever seen it.

Anna peppered kisses all over her, all over the bruises and scars that marred the perfect skin of Elsa’s cheeks; her hands clutched her face, not willing to ever let go as they exchanged kiss after kiss, laughing and crying all the same.

She didn’t care about the astonished glances of the few onlookers. Whatever the world held, it didn’t matter to either of them anymore.

Anna would gladly live her life as an outcast, would rather go back to Elsa’s tribe and begin anew than to be swayed by people who didn’t matter. What could matter more than to have Elsa miraculously in her arms again, to feel her warmth and the intensity of her ocean-like gaze, full of love and full of life.

She had so many questions, but those were for later. As Elsa happily cried, murmuring muffled words of devotion, Anna knew the path that brought her back also didn’t matter; what mattered was this instant, made happen by the will of her wife, who had come back to her, never a moment late.

-ooo-

After she reached the heart of the world, the heart of winter, Ahtohallan, Elsa had been given a choice; to give up her heart, her memories, to share the power and might lay dormant in her blood.

She knew that choice was no choice at all. The ancient presence had not cared nor passed judgment when she made her decision; after a brief flash of light she found herself laying in the ground, staring at the clear blue sky. Deep in the wilderness of the northern mountains, she knew the path back home would take her a long time; her chances of survival - being stripped of all her magic - little to none.

All she could do was persevere, and so she did, travelling back through an entire continent, just to keep her promise. After all, it was to Anna to whom she had promised.

[saltpigsblog]

The Hidden Shop

"This place must be new" Julie states peering into one of the cloudy windows. Alex squinted into the building not being able to make out anything.

"I don't know seems pretty old," Reggie says as he nudged a squeaky sign.

'alchemy'

A loud squawking noise suddenly fills the air. A small owl sat near the entrance of the door. It ruffled its feathers at Luke, who was holding a stick menacingly.

"Leave the poor thing alone, Luke"

Ignoring Luke's pout Alex walks toward the disgruntled bird. At a slight glance, the owl looked normal. The feathers at the top of its head were pink and slicked back. Looking closer Alex could see tiny stars in its feathers.

"Why does that Owl's hair look better than mine?" Reggie jokes as Julie reangles the stick out of Luke's hand.

"Because it is," Luke says only to let out a squeak as Julie turns the stick on him.

"You don't get to speak until you apologies " She declares, swinging menacingly at Luke.

"To the Owl? No way I'm-" He stops as Julie raises a brow and readjusts her grip on her weapon.

With a small huff, Luke makes his way toward the Owl. Honestly, Alex sometimes wonders how Luke always ended up in weird situations.

"Look," Luke says arms crossed as stands in front of the bird, "I'm sorry I disturbed you or whatever"

The owl, however, would have non of it. Turning away from Luke and ruffling its feathers up. Alex wished he could inherit the level of pettiness in one movement.

"Oh, come on you don't have to be like that!"

Luke shouts when the owl turns away from him. He stomps his way in front of the bird and held eye contact.

"I'm sorry"

This time it seemed to work, or maybe it just got tired of Luke. With a small node of its head, the owl began to flap its wings. With one last look toward Luke, it disappeared through the entrance of the building.

"uh... guys, please tell me I'm not going crazy"

Reggie begins slowly inching away from the sign of the building. Alex was just as shocked as him.

The old building walls begin to change when the owl flew through them. The once flakey paint of the sign turned new and fresh. While the old wood of the doors straightened out.

The entire building seemed to grow bigger as the doors changed to accommodate. Even the writing on the sign seemed to have got a renovation. It know read in clean and steady handwriting.

Alchemy

"So" Luke walks toward the entrance doors and touches the handles. "We're going in right?"

And they did, despite Alex's protests, honestly, why did no one listen to him?

"Come on Alex, live a little," Luke says as he pushes the door inward.

"We're dead" Alex points out following closely behind Julie. Even with his unease, he would rather be with them than all alone.

The inside was just as pristine as the outside, with glittering marble floors, and oak tables. Most of the seats were filled and a faint whiff of cinnamon wafted through the air.

Alex had to force himself to not stare at the people scattered around the shop. People covered in amour, and strange clothes. Alex silently hoped he was losing his mind as a squid in a suit, holding a cupcake, slithered past them.

They made their way toward the cashier's desk situated at the back of the building.

"Um.. excuse me but, what is this place?"

Reggie says to a short-haired girl behind the counter. She looked normal enough, not counting the almost see-through wings on her back.

"You guys are new here, huh?"

She says stroking a small cat that lay beside her. The girl seemed unconcerned with their presence like she had been expecting them.

So not only was the place filled with magic, know they could be seen as well. Alex doesn't think he can handle any more shock in one day.

"Yeah, we're kinda new to this whole ghost thing" he finds himself saying as Luke and Reggie look at a sludgy creature passing by.

"Well," she says as she digs around under the counter "You've come to the right place,"

She comes back with two pieces of golden paper and hands them to Julie. "If you wanna work here, you have to ask Willie, he should be upstairs.

Alex peered over Julie's shoulder at the papers, it was a job application. Julie gapes at the other girl as she rings up a customer.

"How did you even know I wanted to-"

Julie doesn't finish as the girl shoos them toward some stairs. Well, they were already here why not go up a creepy set of stairs?

Not that he could call them creepy, the stairs looked just as good as everything else in this place. Honestly, it seemed like Alex was the only one questioning things.

"Alex I can feel you thinking," Julies says as they ascend the stairs, stopping now and again to move out of the way of other customers.

Alex has to grab Reggie before he runs face-first into a white-haired man, and a man dressed in bright colors. Did the other one have a lute?

"Yeah dude, you're like oozing anxiety"

"What did I say about that word"

Alex says as Luke opens the doors that lead to the second floor. Somehow this part looked weirder than the last.

"I mean how are you guys not freaking out? What don't even know what this place is-"

His train of thought is quickly derailed as he focuses on a short boy, quietly putting up bottles.

Why was he so pretty? Who was he, and how did he make Alex's heart skip a beat, and make his palms sweaty. They hadn't even talked yet, and Alex already feels like they've known each other for years.

"Guys, I think Alex died again" Reggie states as he waves a hand in front of Alex's face.

"Or maybe," Julie says with a teasing tone in her voice

"He saw a cute boy" she laughs as she follows Alex's gaze toward the boy.

Feeling his cheeks flush Alex sputters indigently as Luke wiggles his eyebrows at him.

"I wasn't-I just-he's so" Alex struggled to find the words as he mumbled.

"Pretty?" Julie says

"Handsome?" Reggie says in a singsong voice

"Hot" Luke says pinching at Alex's cheek

And honestly, that didn't help at all in Alex's crises, was he that obvious? If Luke noticed, then it must be obvious. Oh god, what if the cute boy noticed him staring. Alex doesn't think he would be able to handle that without dying a second time.

But it seemed like Luke had other plains as he dragged Alex toward the boy. Meanwhile, Reggie and Julie, the traitors, took a sudden interest in a candle.

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

Willie's day was pretty normal so far, well as far as normal goes with his profession. He opened up shop at 7, enough time to prepare for the many people who came in at 9.

But there was one thing that managed to slip his mind as he opened up for the day. Allision, one of his workers, had quit yesterday. She had reluctantly left to rule over her late father's kingdom.

Her leave was sudden and unexpected, so much so that Willie had forgotten she wouldn't be at the shop.

Usually, there would be two people for each portion of the shop to make sure everything was in order. And every week everyone would switch. And today was Willie's and Allision's turn to restock the magic part of the shop.

Only the problem arouse when Cherry and Oliver needed a few extra hands with the bakery. Willie's brain had just automatically assumed that Allision would take care of the work upstairs.

And with that in mind, he had opened as soon as he was done with the bakery.

Which meant he had to scramble to restock the various potions and magical items, thankfully no one needed them as soon as they opened.

He could ask Frank to come in a little early, but Willie knows the man's exams would be soon.

Letting out a small sigh Willie picked up the small box of potions in front of him. Willie could handle the magic shop, after all, it wasn't like he hadn't before.

Distracted by the small buzzing coming from the cards attached to his hip, Willie has to dodge to not run into Luie, a small sludge creature.

Stopping at a counter he pulls out a slim black card from the deck, and gently placed it in front of him.

"Hey, Boss so you remember how we need some help?"

Cherry's voice rings out from the card he had put down.

"Yeah, how could I forget?"

Willie refuses to acknowledge the slip up he had made, he grabs the first bottle to put on the shelf as he listens to Cherry.

"A human just came through, looking for a job for her and a friend"

She states with the ching of the register accompanying her voice. She pauses to take someone's order before she continues.

"There were also a couple of ghosts with her, I think the blonde one is exactly your type"

Willie holds back a groan as he hears Cherry laugh on the other end. For some reason, his workers loved matchmaking him. His one saving grace had been Cherry who had shooed everyone off when they tried putting him with the latest person. But it seems like not even Cherry could hold herself back.

Snatching the cards back up, thus ending the connection. Willie let out a huff as he continued putting the potions on the shelf.

Honestly, Willie can't understand why they thought he needed them to butt into his love life. He didn't want to date anyone, he had his shop and he doesn't need anything else.

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

Alex was going to faint. He had gotten Luke and Reggie to leave him alone by distracting them with the trinkets nearby. And Julie had dropped it on her own, seeing how uncomfortable Alex was.

And everything had been fine for about 10 minutes. They explored the shop, and Alex continued to sneak glances at the boy as he made his way to the back.

Eventually. Julie finally remembered why they were there in the first place.

"Guys, focus we're supposed to find Willie"

Alex doesn't know how, but as soon as Luke registered Julie's words he fell.....right where an owl soundly slept. Needless to say, the owl wasn't too pleased.

Loud squawking and shouting filled the air as the same owl from the entrance picked at Luke.

"Wow I've never seen her so mad before, what did he do?"

Alex glanced at the boy who had situated on the counter, swallowing back his embarrassment. Just act naturally he told himself, stuffing his shaking hands into his hoodie.

"He fell on her, though he did threaten her with a stick earlier,"

There short and to the point, he even managed to keep his voice steady when he said it.

"A stick? I'm surprised she didn't run him out already"

Alex feels the boy shift beside him as they watched Luke's futile attempts to get the owl away.

"Does she, uh do that often?"

Alex leans himself on the counter missing the other boy's stare as he watched Reggie cheer the bird on.

"All the time, especially when someone tries to steal...I'm Willie by the way"

It takes Alex's brain a few seconds to register the name, wondering how they didn't find out sooner. Willie was the only one who seemed to be working. Alex chalks it up to there excitement they had when they entered the shop. At least Julie didn't have to worry about Willie being a demon.

"Alex and my friend Julie is looking for you, she wants to know if she can work here"

"Well, why didn't you guys say anything sooner?"

Willie says as he hops down from the counter, letting out a loud whistle. Almost instantly the bird's focus changes from Luke, flying away from him and perching onto Willie's shoulder.

"So,"

He says once Julie helps Luke up from his place on the floor.

"I hear one of you wants to work here"

[jae-ha]

between silence and sound.  »「chapter two 」

Chapter Index (Ao3) // Chapter Index (tumblr)

.summary ––  [ Road trip // slight AU ] - Once Zack and Rachel leave the strange building behind, they realize, on long stretches of road and under diamond-bright stars, there are so many things to be discovered about one another.

.pairing ––  (slight?) ZackRay –– don’t like, don’t read, don’t comment. 

.chapter two » 「as dark things are meant to be loved.」

「 — sunday : 3 a.m. 」

The roadside hotel is a few steps above seedy yet several steps below refined. It smells strongly of some kind of floral detergent and the walls capture and absorb the muggy summer heat, giving the building an atmosphere akin to being inside a large beast’s mouth. The baseboards are laden with dents, the carpeting bears questionable green stains, and the light take a few tries before it turns on. When it does switch on, it does so with a hiss of circuits, illuminating the room for about ten minutes before fizzling out again.

Neither of them took kindly to the idea of sleeping in the car for the third night in a row, so when Rachel pointed out the sputtering neon sign advertising comfy beds and hot showers, Zack didn’t question it. He swerved into the parking lot and the two shambled their way into the establishment and up to the front desk.

It’s only because this hotel room is just a place to sleep and not to sightsee that neither Zack nor Rachel care about its miserable state. At the very most, the wrinkle-laden bedsheets appear newly washed, the bathroom is fully stocked, and the room smells fresh, clean even. Rachel especially desires to make good on the promise of a hot shower.

Zack knows this, and upon dropping the car keys on top of the chestnut-colored dresser and giving the room a judgmental once-over, he turns to her and says, “You go first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t take all night.” He punctuates the statement by flopping down on the room’s solitary bed to begin digging through the bag they’ve brought with them. It’s filled with supplies, all of which is stolen: a wallet that contains cash and three credit cards, several rolls of bandages, a handful of snacks, an old cellphone, and a few other small trinkets picked up along the way.

Rachel lingers, processing everything slowly, before disappearing into the bathroom. The light there works miraculously better than the main room’s fixture.

She finds a stack of towels folded in a compartment beneath the sink and turns on the shower’s faucet. After a few moments she checks the temperature, ensuring that it isn’t freezing nor scalding before stepping inside. She keeps her shower brief, not knowing if a slipshod hotel like this has a limit on their hot water. Once the grime of three days on the road is washed away, she steps out, dries off, and pulls on an oversized T-shirt and shorts— the only other articles of clothing she’s brought aside from her floaty white sundress.

She dabs at her hair with a towel as she retreats from the bathroom.

“Zack, you can go ahead.”

He slinks past her in wordless response, body slumped with fatigue and eyes as faded as the overhead lights. Rachel assumes he was searching the supplies bag for the roll of bandages he stuffs into his pocket upon passing her.

After folding the damp towel and setting it aside on a stiff-looking armchair, Rachel also sets her eyes on the bag. She’s been meaning to work on the trip’s budget.

She takes a seat on the bed, tucks her legs beneath her, and lays a notebook, calculator, and pen from within the bag before her. The credit cards within the wallet have been taken from three different people, all victims of Zack’s new scythe. Even with the true owners dead and unable to put halts on the card’s use, Rachel prefers to use them sparingly as not to draw too much attention to the card companies. She also knows that the cards will have to be disposed of and replaced when they begin traversing states.

She calculates the amount they’ve spent thus far on their trip, punching numbers in on the calculator and scribbling down values as they come to her. The hotel has been their largest expense with food being a close second, then gas. She remembers an incident only a few days ago when the car ground to a halt in the middle of a side street, the tank finally giving way to emptiness. Zack swore a lot that day— somehow more than usual. He knew neither how to pump gas nor where the nearest station was. After several minutes of trying to get a stable connection on the old stolen cellphone, Rachel determined a gas station forty-five minutes away. The walk took two hours, and by the time they reached the station, purchased four portable containers of gas (Zack wanted to make sure it never happened again), and made it back to the slumbering side street, it was an hour after midnight. He still didn’t know how to pump gas, but Rachel figured that she could look up a video later if the old phone managed to stay alive. If all else failed, she was sure a stranger would be willing to help them, so long as she was the one who asked.

That memory gives way to others, and Rachel soon finds herself lost in thought. For no particular reason (at least, none that she can pinpoint), those thoughts are all centered around Zack.

It isn’t as if he had done anything differently today. He spent most of the day behind the steering wheel, either smiling like a demon as he sped through a light that was quickly fading to red or grinding his teeth in the face of a three-car pileup. Yes, most days on the road repeat themselves, but the nights are always different.

Nighttime means silence, and there are always unfinished stories sewn within the fabric of that silence.

The previous night, Zack eased the car into the parking lot of a liquor store, deciding that it would be the place they’d settle in for the night. Other nights, they were tucked into a shadowy corner of a truck stop or under the large tree of a grocery store parking lot. All were dark with some semblance of coziness, and since it was long past closing hours, the liquor store was no different.

Rachel curled up on the passenger’s seat and waited for oblivion to find her, as was custom on nights where the car took the place of a comfortable bed and the stars selfishly offered no light. And, just as routine would have it, her sleep was choppy, dreamless, and full of holes. Only forty-five minutes passed before some phantom force roused her awake again.

Her eyes fluttered open to the same night-colored parking lot, the hum of some slumberless insect, and Zack watching the window with a faraway gaze. Perhaps it was the sharp edges of broken glass on the asphalt, the obscenities spray-painted onto the side of the liquor store, or the clashing of distant yet fiery voices that made Rachel start to question the location they chose to settle in.

As she quietly untangled her body from its cocoon of blond hair and warmth, she could feel Zack’s eyes following her.

“Can’t sleep?”

His tone wasn’t one of concern nor comfort, but it danced along the serenity of the night as if it naturally belonged there. In fact, in that moment, Zack blended in perfectly with everything the darkness had to offer, and Rachel thought it might’ve been because he had learned to move with it. He’d spent so much time in environments like that that his limbs seemed to disappear and reappear when he wanted them to and his breathing vanished no matter how much Rachel stilled her own in an attempt to hear it.

If the moonlight was just a tad dimmer, she never would’ve known he was still in the car with her.

She lowered her gaze, noticing only then that he was holding one of the plastic water bottles from the supplies bag. He offered it to her, but she refused it with a small shake of her head.

“It’s dangerous here,” she said.

He scoffed and took a sip. “I’m more of a monster than anything you’ll find out there.” As he turned his face to the window again, the moonlight raced to emphasize the features that not even his bandages could cover up— the rigidity of his jawline, the sharp curve of his neck, the bulb of his Adam’s apple, and, of course, that golden eye that glittered as something strange and bewitchingly colorful on a body of dark shades and drab hues.

“Go back to sleep. I’m keeping watch.”

In the hotel room, as her memories poke and prod at her, it’s then that Rachel realizes why Zack is on her mind. It’s the monster in him that captures her interest.

Monster.

Cathy had said it, Danny had said it, even Zack himself had said it. They’ve carved that word into him, stained his bones with it, made it an irrefutable part of him. The concept of it all touches only the edges of Rachel’s understanding. At what threshold does a human disintegrate into less-than human? She’s asked Zack to explain why he chooses to encapsulate himself behind such an ugly word like that, but his answer is vague and foggy, leaving her with questions rather than contentment.

Perhaps they use that word because of his strange appearance, because of the bandages and what hides beneath them. She hasn’t known Zack for any extended period of time, but because everyone else who’s come into her life seems to bear death’s handprint, Zack is now the person she’s known the longest. Even then, she’s never seen underneath his bandages. At least, not the ones above his waist.

She can hypothesize what he looks like beneath them, but actually asking to see him, actually requesting that he let her in that far, to let her be so close that she can see and feel him as he is — without barriers and borders— seems as difficult as crossing a minefield.

The story behind them has piqued Rachel’s interest in the past. Not long ago he told her that the burns he covers up no longer hurt. Regardless of how widespread and severe they had once been, time had healed them as much as they could possibly be healed. With that in mind, Rachel concluded that those bandages were nothing more than his security blanket, despairingly used to hide his most hated flaw.

When she thinks of Zack, she doesn’t initially place him as insecure, but she notices how he dresses, covering every inch of his body behind baggy fabrics and zippers. She notices the way he disregards any concern she shows for him, the way he turns his nose up when she attempts to care for him, as if he’s unable to accept the concept of meaning something to someone.

He’s tightly rooted in the belief that hatred awaits him beneath every stranger’s gaze, and because it’s all an endless cycle, everyone is a stranger. He scoffs at laws and sneers at restraints, not allowing anything the world labels as ‘important’ or ‘sensical’ to sway the way he lives. But there’s a small part of her that feels that some part of him may actually be soft. Something still breathes gently, still exists tenderly, beneath the calloused shell that’s hardened over him. She’s caught a glimpse of it in the way he smiles at her sometimes, the way the corners of his lips rise effortlessly and his eyes twinkle with a light he hasn’t had since he was much, much smaller— when the world handled him delicately.

She’s so lost in these thoughts, so wrapped up in trying to understand what may never be understood that she doesn’t notice when the shoddy overhead light fizzles out or when the shower shuts off. But all at once her body becomes like glass when she feels a small weight press down on her head. She immediately realizes it’s a dish from the hotel’s decor and that Zack is the one who’s placed it there. Said dish —a stained-glass creation fixed out of blue and turquoise pieces— is a stark, colorful contrast to the beige carpet and dingy wallpaper that greeted them upon entrance.

She can feel his eyes on her, assessing her, waiting for a reaction. He’s done this before, sometimes with cups, other times with soda cans. She’s confused each time he does it, and the only reason her body freezes up during this particular instance is because if it falls, there isn’t money in the trip budget to replace it. Or rather, no money she’s willing to spend on replacing it.

Her outward appearance doesn’t change, save for the second-long pause of her hand in the midst of writing a calculation. Her eyes flitter over to him; he appears amused.

“Zack, what are you doing?”

“Trying to get a reaction outta you.”

Her eyebrows knit together. He said something similar the previous times, too. Typically he aims for irritation or anger, but Rachel’s features only respond with confusion.

“I can’t write like this.” She reaches up, removes the dish from her head and puts it in its rightful place on the nightstand before turning back to the trip’s budgeting notebook. Zack responds with a dissatisfied click of his tongue before collapsing onto the bed beside her, causing the springs to groan.

The flurry of his movements allows a curious scent to reach her nose. A kind of citrus? Lemon, maybe? No, it isn’t that distinct or sharp. It’s mellow, something simple and clean. Hotel soap, but not the one she had used. She looks over, observing him for the first time since he arrived beside her.

He’s dressed in usual attire, though his head isn’t nestled beneath his hoodie. His hair is fully exposed, revealing tiny beads of water from the shower he’s just gotten out of. With his body mostly turned away, he’s winding a roll of fresh bandages. She can see that he’s pretty much finished the entire process of wrapping himself already.

Her black pen scratches out the new string of numbers displayed on the calculator. She doesn’t plan to say anything about the bandages in spite of her curiosity, but the bed jolts and an odd noise between a wince and a gasp hits the air.

“Zack?”

He leans sideways, unintentionally allowing her to see him much clearer than before. Pinched between his fingers is something thin and scarlet that he inspects with an expression that can only be described as nonplussed.

Rachel blinks, a phantom look of surprise swims in her eyes. “One of your stitches… It came out.”

“Looks like it.”

The disbelief gradually leaves his face, smoothing over into that look of irritated curiosity he sometimes has. He’s still seated in such a way that Rachel can see his fingers delicately pull back the stitched skin to inspect the affected area. Her stitching is, in no way, poor or inadequate. On the contrary, something has caused it to come undone. Something powerful that’s led to the entire top stitch shearing and falling apart in small bits in Zack’s hand.

With a curse Zack retracts his hand from his stomach which is now spotted with fresh blood.

Before he can say or do anything more, Rachel nudges the budgeting supplies aside, grasps her black pouch, and removes a needle and thread from her sewing kit. She doesn’t feel complete without having one with her, so before they had traveled even ten miles, she requested to purchase a new one as well as a new black purse to hold it in.

“Zack,” she murmurs, “I’ll fix it.”

“Huh? Now?”

She nods, and because he hasn’t any good reason to say no, he turns around and lays down against the pile of pillows at the head of bed.

The bed is wide enough for her to crawl over and sit beside him, though his position forces him to look up at her rather than at eye-level. She can feel his gaze as she observes the only area he hadn’t had a chance to bandage— the crimson-colored gash carved lopsidedly into his torso. The first stitch is completely torn with a thin remnant of loose thread sitting in a bead of blood. The second stitch is weak, threatening to detach and take the other two with it if enough force is applied or if Zack moves too fast or too hard and accidentally pulls it out himself.

Now that the wound is open again — even if that opening is a small one — she rinses her hands in the water from one of the spare water bottles from the supplies bag.

“What happened?”

“When I was breaking out of that shitty jail, some officer fought me head-on. I guess he pulled it loose and I didn’t notice.” There’s a phantom smile on his face, indicating to Rachel that the officer came out the loser in their skirmish. A faint part of her wonders if that man is still alive, though she doubts it highly. Zack has never shown mercy before.

“I’m going to restitch all of them,” she says. Zack responds with a dissenting grunt which Rachel chalks up to him remembering all the discomfort he felt when she initially closed the wound. She doesn’t have cotton balls, so she uses squares of toilet paper to pat away the blood. The area surrounding the injury remains an irritated red.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not yet,” he grumbles, eyeing her wearily.

“I’ll be gentle.”

He grunts again and turns his eyes away.

The first time she brought her needle to him, there was a tinge of urgency. A fire ignited inside her with the same persistence of a flower fighting its way through the dirt to bloom at the surface.

‘I can’t let my god die.’ Those words spilled over her, driving every movement of her small, steady hands.

Things are different now. Zack is no longer the stumbling mess of blood and chaos he had once been, so she allows her eyes to longer for as long as she wishes on what Zack always strives so earnestly to hide. Blotches of discolored skin and trembling red veins ripple out from the wound. She had sewed the injury shut in four stitches, all aligned in a weaving ‘x’ formation. She intends to replicate her work from back then, but she’ll have to undo the sutures first.

“Don’t move,” she instructs him, knowing that the process takes a remarkably steady hand.

He retorts with a simple, “yeah, yeah.”

She knows he uses flippancy to mask his apprehension. His insecurity spills out in the form of tense muscles and averted eyes. Once again, he’s exposing his wounds to her, and once again he can’t bring himself to look at her directly.

Because the hotel light no longer works, she’s forced to lean in closely which probably unsettles him more. Regardless of his discomfort, she can’t keep her eyes from roving and her mind from wandering. According to Zack himself, he doesn’t remember much about the incident surrounding his burns. He’s wiped most of it from his mind, but the evidence of that man’s sin is Zack’s personal souvenir. On his body lingers light and dark: healthy, pale skin juxtaposed against dark, charred shades. He’s not completely ordinary, but not completely abnormal. An uncomfortable in-between.

It all causes a twinge to seize Rachel’s chest, but she isn’t sure if that feeling can be called sympathy. What she does know is that his scars fascinate her. The blemishes he insists on covering up intrigue her. She assumes that he’s been called a monster ever since childhood, but as he breathes fragilely against her touch, vulnerable and open for one of the few times in his life, Rachel is awestruck. He appears so beautiful to her now. There are no burns, only beauty. No scars, only strength.

So she presses her lips to the bottom stitch, intent on validating that beauty.

And he crumbles.

His breath catches in his throat; a shaking hand clenches the sheets. He becomes a whisper, precariously tottering between rejecting the emotion and allowing it to drown him. He stammers out a fragile protest, but Rachel allows it to evaporate into the air. She can’t see his eyes —it’s far too dark— but she knows he’s completely turned his face away, concealing it in the edges of a pillow.

She kisses the next stitch, then the next, enveloping herself in the feeling she had the first time she sewed him back together. Whatever she brought her needle to became hers, perfect and complete. Her father, her puppy, her white bird. But there’s something different about Zack. He appears to her as a fragmented wish. She sews broken things together due to her fascination with the concept of wholeness and purity. But Zack is neither of those things. He’s the most broken thing she’s ever come across and his shards are scattered so far that she isn’t sure that he will ever be whole again. Not only his body, but everything about him is damaged, shattered, and some times fragile, but she’s never seen him as anything less than strong.

Just as she arrives at the broken top stitch, a hand shoves her away. Zack props himself up, adjusting so they’re now eye-level.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice is a touch breathless, but mostly riled. Seeing him so close now, she can’t describe the expression he’s giving her, but it makes her heart shiver. His shoulders, all the way down to his hands, are still trembling as if something inside has awoken and is trying to split him open to escape.

Her eyes are glassy as she asks, “Does it hurt?”

He hesitates, and for a split second Rachel can see all of the ghosts he’s held deep inside almost spill out through his gaze.

“No.”

There’s a weak resolution, a dull fire, behind his murmur, and once again he can’t meet her eyes. His fist clenches, his body tightens, but he says nothing more before lying down again. With an exhale he buries the side of his face into a pillow, just as it had been before.

“Just… hurry up and fix the stitch, damn it…”

Rachel nods. She grabs her needle and gets to work.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “She’ll Be Back”

This wasn’t the story I had planned to post today, but I went looking at @arianakristine‘s blog this morning, and it got me in a very Gremma-reminiscent headspace. Those who are used to Captain Swan writing from me needn’t be worried though, it’s really more Hunted Believer and Swan Believer than either of the romantic ships. Still, I've always loved Graham and find it sad that he's never mentioned, and that we’re supposed to believe none of them ever figured out what really happened to him. Anyway, I see this as fitting in way back at the beginning of OUAT's timeline, near the pilot. There are some imagined missing scenes here. Angst and fluff and feels abound – Enjoy!

By: TutorGirlml

His footsteps echo heavily as he trudges up the carpeted stairs, a twofold sense of dread near-strangling him at what awaits in either room. Sighing, he rakes a hand through his disheveled mop of wild curls, almost growling in frustration as his fingers tangle and pull at the mussed, honey-colored strands. Blowing out a short breath, he braces his hand for a moment against the cool wood of the door on the left of the spacious, silent upstairs hallway in the mayor's mansion. He doesn't know where Regina has gotten to, and he hopes he can get out of here tonight without knowing, but his conscience simply will not allow him to leave until he knows the boy is alright.

Knocking hopefully on Henry's bedroom door, his accent thick with concern, the Sheriff enquires, "Henry, are you okay? It's Graham. May I come in?"

He waits, not wanting to intrude on the boy's privacy, knowing how it feels to have very little space or power to call one's own.

After a moment, there are sounds of footsteps shuffling across carpet and then a rattling before the doorknob turns and Henry peeks out the partially opened door. The boy's eyes look so big in his pale little face; the charming grin he sometimes levies at Graham in the rare good moments the two of them are afforded, is entirely absent. Loss and disappointment are written all over his expression, even with just half his face showing around the wooden barrier. Those entirely too old and wise brown eyes gauge Graham for a moment, making the sheriff want to shift nervously from foot to foot, officer and adult or no. He can't decide if Henry is trying to divine his motives, or to make sure his adoptive mother is nowhere around, but finally the boy drops his gaze, says listlessly, "Sure, come in. Why not?", and steps back, opening the door fully.

Graham enters, glancing around the boy's small private domain with curiosity. He has always had a soft spot for the lad, felt for him since he seems so serious and oddly unhappy for one so young. For as long as he has known Regina, and frighteningly enough, he can't really pinpoint how long that has been, he has been amazed at her brainy, precocious child. Given the chance, he always takes a moment to speak to Henry, to hear about his day or bring him some odd trinket, and – if he is lucky – make the boy smile that guileless, gap-toothed grin.

There are Legos, and a toy chest, a book shelf crammed full and overflowing, a beanbag chair, and his bed covered by blue sheets emblazoned with knights and dragons. Graham's brow furrows, an odd twinge running through him at the glimpse of a few pieces of aged parchment peeking out from under Henry's bed, looking as though they have been ripped from an old, rather beautiful storybook. Something about them pricks at him, but he brushes it aside, knowing the sensation makes no plausible sense. Instead, he draws in a breath before asking softly, tentatively, "Are you alright, Henry?" He doesn't want to push, knows he is nothing to Henry really, and that the boy has no real reason to trust or confide in him. Still, once again, he only knows he has to try.

"She's gone," Henry laments, his tone desolate enough to snag at Graham's insides, echoing around hollowly in the sheriff's chest. Anger flares within him that Regina is not up here herself, comforting her son, soothing his pain and confusion, instead of downstairs gloating that she has run off the birth mother Henry risked so much to find and bring back. He wants to be angry at the blonde stranger – Emma – too, for leaving even after Henry's wrenching pleas, but he can't quite work up the indignation. He senses that there is more to that tale than he currently knows.

Henry walks slowly, head down, shoulders slumped, to his bed, sitting heavily on the edge. "She was supposed to stay," he continues sadly. "I brought her back. We need her here."

Graham hesitates a moment, then comes to sit beside Henry. He resists the urge to ruffle the boy's hair or wrap an arm around his shoulders, not wanting to seem overly familiar. He sighs, wanting to say something – anything – to bring Henry comfort, but he feels hopelessly out of his depth. He gathers that Henry feels alone, scared, and misunderstood, and that he desperately believed finding his birth mother would change that. Graham is not privy to the specific details, but he can sympathize acutely with feeling lost. He has no family, cannot remember ever feeling anything other than alone. Obviously, Henry's hopes have been crushed, and Graham wants to shore up his spirit.

"Henry," he finally offers, endeavoring to make his tone one of encouragement and understanding. "I realize that I'm just a friend of your mom. You don't know me that well. And I don't pretend to know what you wanted Emma to do here. However, she didn't seem like one to scare easily. Have faith. I have a feeling she'll be back." He doesn't have much else to offer, but he can honestly say his sense is that they truly have not seen the last of Emma Swan.

Henry's response makes his small gesture worth it. The boy doesn't speak, but he looks up at Graham, eyes crinkling with the first true smile he has worn since his mother left. A light is back on his face, and he sounds pleased when he asks, "You really think so, Sheriff?"

"I do," Graham avows, dipping his head in a slight nod of affirmation, even giving Henry a playful wink.

For one quick moment, Henry wraps his skinny arms around Graham, squeezing tightly with relief and thanks, and taking him by surprise. When he lets go, he is grinning more broadly than Graham has ever seen. "Thank you," he beams.

"No problem, Henry," Graham offers, standing again. "I merely said what I believe."

A mere few minutes later, the former Huntsman steps silently back out into the hall, leaving Henry to get ready for bed and closing the door behind him gently. He thinks for the briefest of moments that he will be able to sneak out without running into Regina. But it is not meant to be.

He turns to steal back down the stairs, only to find himself face-to-face with the Evil Queen. She reaches out her hand, beckoning him to follow, and to his utter dismay, Graham finds that he has no other choice. His limbs no longer obey his will, but hers. Horrifically, it has been this way many times before, and yet he can never understand why. The moment he sets foot in her bedchamber, Regina waves her hand to shut the door firmly and sends him flying back into it, holding him in place as if by magic. His brow furrows as he struggles to understand how this petite woman is able to trap him in unbreakable bonds without even seeming to struggle.

She crushes her lips to his, forcing herself on him in a way that makes his blood run cold, but that at the same time his body seems helpless to resist. He tries to gather the strength to push away, something inside of him ripping and tearing when the effort proves as futile as ever.

Suddenly, his cell phone buzzes, ringing from the holster at his hip and startling Regina enough to make her pull back. She nods to him that he may answer, straightening her clothes and smoothing her dark hair, and he feels himself freed to move again, as if released from some spell.

"Hello, Sheriff speaking," he answers brusquely, listening to the urgent voice on the other end of the line.

When he hangs up, Graham looks across at the Queen to explain. "There's been an accident out at the town line. Someone crashed into the sign, looks like a DWI. I'm needed at the scene."

He neglects to tell Regina, as she disgruntledly agrees he must go and allows him to leave, that the wrecked vehicle is a yellow VW Bug, and that his encouraging words to Henry have already proven true. Not only is Emma Swan back in Storybrooke…she never left.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Graham watches the blonde in holding from his desk – much more intrigued than he would like to admit. She is just starting to stir, having been out cold since he found her slumped over the steering wheel of her Bug out at the town line. He is still puzzling over what to tell her exactly; sure, Regina told him to call it just what had been assumed – DWI – but he suspects with the same niggling suspicions that he often experiences that there is more to it. She had seemed fine when she left the Mayor's house – and strange things did seem to happen to people on that particular stretch of road.

She – Emma, Emma Swan, he reminds himself – sits up slowly, her hand going to what has to be an aching brow, her face scrunching up in confusion. Her entire posture and expression radiate a "Where am I?" that she doesn't speak aloud; yet he hangs back, listening to Leroy and Marco picking at each other and talking to her, before he steps in himself.

"I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf," she states belligerently when he tries to offer his explanation of how strong Regina's drinks are.

"A wolf?" he blurts in obvious disbelief, not understanding why her words cause a quickening within him, even as he tries to discount them. Strange pictures flash behind his eyes of a white creature with one red eye, and he blinks back the odd familiarity.

Emma Swan steps forward to lean against the cell bars, hands poking through. Without understanding just why, Graham feels the urge to reach forward and twine his fingers with hers, to squeeze reassuringly, if only to say that he understands the confusion she must be feeling. Instead, he meets her serious, determined gaze straight on, knowing instinctively that he is in for a fight where she is concerned.

"This may have been somewhat of a blessing in disguise," he offers slowly.

Her eyes flick up, giving him a doubtful, challenging look, but she doesn't speak, clearly waiting for him to explain himself.

"I just think that perhaps you shouldn't leave town yet. Your boy took a huge leap of faith to bring you here…" Graham hesitates, knowing he is overstepping his bounds with someone he has only just met, but he can't seem to stop himself. He rakes his hand through his hair, clears his throat, and throws caution to the wind, plunging ahead. "Maybe you should get to know him a bit."

She narrows her eyes, not liking his meddling, and he can tell that if she weren't in the holding cell, she would be backing him toward his desk, pointing an accusing finger right into the center of his chest. "Look, Sheriff," she somehow emphasizes the word in a way that makes it sound derogatory. "Don't pretend that you know me, or that you have any idea what I need. I'll be just fine on my own…once you let me out of here anyway." But her outburst loses steam as she realizes that she doesn't want to get too haughty with the person deciding her freedom. Beyond that, Graham wonders if he also sees a flicker of doubt, of curiosity…maybe even longing. He is struck again by the sense that he does not know her whole story, that she is afraid to see Henry now, but can't help wondering about the little boy who is her own flesh and blood.

She bites her lower lip uncertainly, and he hesitates too; neither of them know quite where to go or what to say next. Then, Regina storms in, and they are looking for Henry once more. Emma Swan offers to help, and Graham finds himself growing surer of his instincts with every passing minute. He had been right when he told Henry the night before that it wasn't the end. This mystery birth mother already cares more than she cares to reveal. Something stirs deep in his chest at the realization. He feels sensation where there has been a dull, blank void for so very long. It isn't just for Henry's sake that he hopes she will stay a little longer.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Three Years Later

The autumn breeze is cooler than normal in the evening as Emma and Henry enter the cemetery through ornate wrought iron gates and walk slowly toward the back corner, kicking their feet through the crisp carpet of yellow, orange, and brown leaves as they go. The below-average temperatures have finally begun to right themselves as Regina and Emma have both taken turns counseling, mentoring, and befriending Queen Elsa of Arendelle, and the frightened young royal begins to bring her emotions and powers back under control. Still, there is a definite nip to the air around them.

Henry is quiet, and Emma studies her son's profile as he walks at her side. She cannot believe how much he has grown and changed in just the short few years that she has been in his life. He's a young man now, not a little boy, though the pained, solemn look on his face makes her want to gather him up close in her arms all the same. She can't help being ridiculously glad she has this chance to know him at all, that she stayed in Storybrooke for him, despite how hard it had been for her at first. "Are you sure you want to do this, kid?" she asks, unable to help brushing a quick hand through his soft, brown hair.

Henry just looks at her for a moment, not stopping their forward motion, and then simply nods in confirmation. Emma finds herself following his lead, but growing more anxious with every step. She clutches the bunch of mums and black-eyed susans in her hand that much tighter and tries to focus on supporting Henry instead of the trembling going on inside of her. Still without a word to break the silence between them, Henry takes her hand, as if he senses that they both need the other to hold onto.

A lot has changed in the three years that have passed since his death, and as they near Graham's grave, Emma thinks sadly that there should be more than just the two of them here to remember him today. When they finally come to a stop beneath the low-hanging bough of a weeping willow tree beneath which the simple slate stone is sheltered, Emma kneels to place the bouquet propped against the marker's front. She stretches out her left hand to rest atop the cool stone for a moment, seeing the lace from his boot that still adorns her wrist and recalling warm smiles, kind brown eyes, bear claws, and wicked aim with darts. She sighs softly, wishing the previous sheriff had gotten his second chance along with everyone else.

"He was always good to me," Henry breaks into her thoughts with a contemplative voice. "Sheriff Graham was at our house a lot, and he listened to me. I always felt like he wanted to make me smile. Is that crazy?"

Emma shakes her head, wrapping an arm around her young man's waist and pulling him into a hug. "No, it isn't. I'm sure you're right. He could sense when people were sad or lonely, and he wanted to help. When I first came here, he did the same for me."

They both simply stare at the headstone for a few seconds more, taking at least some small comfort in the peace and beauty of this, his resting place.

Henry's voice is small and raspy when he speaks again. "Why'd she do it? …My mom. She and Graham always seemed to be close. How could she…" he swallows hard, then grits out. "How could she kill him? He was good…and she crushed his heart."

Emma's breath steals from her lungs. There is no good answer to Henry's question, and all this time later, she doesn't really understand it herself. She has never broached the topic with Regina. At first, she had not believed it could be true, then she had been afraid of her own anger at what she might do to Regina if her suspicions about Graham's murder were confirmed. Now that she and Regina are enjoying a tentative rapport, and that Regina has somehow managed to find some of her light and honor once again, Emma simply cannot bear to bring the one crime she will never be able to forget to light between them.

Graham is gone, along with his goofy jokes, his acceptance when she had desperately needed a place and a purpose, his assurance that she was right to stay and find out about Henry. She does belong here, with her son, her parents, and their weird, unbelievable extended family. It had been her destiny, but she might not have stuck around long enough to see it if he had not offered her the deputy job and his friendship, been the first one to choose her instead of pushing her away for the greater good.

Her fingers trace over the metal star at her waist, which once belonged to him, and she looks Henry directly in the eyes. "I don't know, kid. It wasn't right, or fair. I ask myself why he couldn't get his heart back and be here with everyone else all the time." She shakes her head, feeling as if she isn't giving him enough of an answer. She feels incredibly guilty now, as she has countless times before. If she had taken Graham seriously when he started talking about his missing heart… If she had believed Henry sooner… Would she have been able to stop his death?

Henry is the one to hold onto her now. "It's not your fault," he says, his voice honest and steady and of infinite comfort. "You didn't know. You did what you could."

She nods, then gives her son a watery smile. "I'm glad he was there for you back then… that he cared for you when I wasn't here…when I couldn't."

Henry's responding grin is a bit wobbly as well, but genuine. "Me too," he affirms, turning once more to place something atop the smooth stone. It's a small, carved wolf figure, and Emma marvels at how exquisite it is for something so tiny and simple. "He gave it to me once," Henry offers by way of explanation. "I thought maybe he should have it back now."

She agrees with him, then stands, preparing to head back into town for supper at Granny's. "Bye Sheriff," she whispers fondly, letting her fingers trail over the letters of his name one more time before moving away. "I haven't forgotten you."

"Thanks Graham," Henry echoes, not knowing exactly what he is thanking the man for specifically, just knowing that when he had felt unloved and misunderstood, and so very small and lonely, the poor Huntsman with no heart in his chest had always shown him kindness. The boy's eyes glance to his mom, a few steps away waiting for him to finish, but giving him a private moment to speak with his old friend. She is here now – for good – and she loves him. She had always wanted him, only given him up for his best chance. Henry remembers that night three years ago, when he had felt so crushed and defeated, how Graham had told him that Emma would be back. Eyes twinkling now, Henry leans in to whisper, as if Graham's spirit still lingers nearby to hear. "You were right," he admits happily. "She did come back. And she stayed."

Tagging some who might enjoy: @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @bmbbcs4evr @resident-of-storybrooke @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @linda8084 @therooksshiningknight @darkcolinodonorgasm @ps1473-4

[blcckcct]

HOLY SHIT IS THAT [ MADDIE HASSON ]?! Oh, wait it’s just [ GEORGINA “GEORGIE” WILDE ] Damn, [ SHE ] looks good for [ 18 ], good thing that they’re [ HETEROSEXUAL ], I might have a chance. I hear that they call them the [ BLACK CAT ] of the [ NORTH SIDE ]. I guess that’s because they’re [ CURIOUS ] and [ ALERT ] But I don’t think a lot of people know that they’re also [ SHY ] and [ AWKWARD ].

01.  BASICS

·         Full Name: Georgina Wilde

·         Nickname: Georgie

·         Sex/Gender: Cis Female

·         Birthday: April 7th

·         Age: 18

·         Astrological Sign: Aries

·         Occupation: Student

·         Spoken Languages: English

·         Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

·         Birthplace: Riverdale

·         Relationship status: Single

02. PHYSICAL TRAITS

·         Hair Color/Style: Blonde and wavy, usually left down

·         Eye Color: Blue

·         Face Claim: Maddie Hasson

·         Height: 5’6”

·         Weight: 128lbs

·         Tattoos: N/A

·         Piercings: Earings

·         Unique Attributes: A bit of a stalker, but with no malicious intent

·         Defining Gestures/Movements: She never seems to quite know what to do with herself. She tends to look at anything other than whoever she’s talking to, and gestures a lot with her hands.

·         Posture: Straight.

03. PERSONALITY TRAITS

·         Pet Peeves: People who are unnecessarily condescending and/or rude

·     ��   Hobbies/Interests: People watching, theorising, choir, photography

·         Special Skills/Abilities: Incredible research skills. Seriously, give the girl a decent source and she can dig you up some dirt.

·         Likes: Conspiracy theories, friendly and patient people, God, secrets, hot chocolate

·         Dislikes: Spicy food, indecisiveness, mocking, half-assing things, anything too sugary

·         Insecurities: She feels like she’s too dark for her parents, but too innocent for people her own age, so she worries that she doesn’t really fit in anywhere

·         Quirks/Eccentricities: Has a strange fascination with anything dark or morbid, almost as if she’s drawn to it

·         Strengths: Patient, determined, strong willed

·         Weaknesses: Shy, socially awkward, overthinks

·         Speaking Style: Strong and loud, but disjointed, almost as if she’s always trying to explain herself or come up with excuses

·         Temperament: It’s obvious that she tries to act confident, but it doesn’t quite overpower her clear shyness

04. FAMILY & HOME

·         Immediate Family: William Wilde (father), Sylvia Wilde (mother), Kitty Wilde (sister)

·         How do they feel about their family?: They don’t really feel incredibly close to any of them. Not because of lack of trying, or because of anything particularly deep, she just feels like she doesn’t quite fit in with their near-perfect image.

·         How does their family feel about them?: They consider her a bit of a black sheep, and don’t claim to understand all of her quirks, but they try, even if they don’t always approve. At the end of the day, though, they’re still family and they love her.

·         Pets: A ragdoll cat named Kipper

·         Where do they live?: In the church house on the Northside 

·         Description of their home: An old, okay-sized home near the church and graveyard up on the Northside. It’s cozy, although not particularly impressive - especially when compared to some of the other properties -, but it’s just big enough for the small family.

·         Description of their bedroom: A bit of a mess. Her bed’s hardly ever made, and there’s a scattering of trinkets and more nostalgic items around the floor and desks. Several of the walls are covered in photographs, and whatever other space you should be able to see otherwise is covered by a layer of paper notes, which she tends to write on whatever catches her interest at the time. There’s also a laptop on one desk, in a small spot where everything surrounding it was clearly shoved out of the way to make room.

05. THIS OR THAT

·         Introvert or Extrovert?

·         Optimist or Pessimist?

·         Leader or Follower?

·         Confident or Self-Conscious?

·         Cautious or Careless?

·         Religious or Secular?

·         Passionate or Apathetic?

·         Book Smarts or Street Smarts?

·         Compliments or Insults?

·         Pajamas or Lingerie?

06. FAVORITES

·         Favorite Color: Black

·         Favorite Clothing Style/Outfit: Usually comfy, so a lot of knitted and warm clothing, generally very autumnal

·         Favorite Bands/Songs/Type of Music: Aurelio Voltaire, Ivy Levan

·         Favorite Movies: Zodiac The Exorcist, IT

·         Favorite Books: The Passenger, The Crucible, Shamanka

·         Favorite Foods/Drinks: Sour Patch Kids, Spinach, Kiwis & Mountain Dew, Hot Chocolate, Orange Jucie

·         Favorite Sports/Sports Teams: N/A

·         Favorite Time of Day: Midnight

·         Favorite Weather/Season: Autumn

·         Favorite Animal: Arctic Fox

07. MISCELLANEOUS

·         Fears/Superstitions: Going to hell, being judged

·         Political Views: Unsure

·         Addictions: N/A

·         Best School Subject: History

·         Worst School Subject: Gym

·         School Clubs/Sports: N/A

·         How does she get money?: She’ll sell people any proof she might have of anything they want to know, or if she does’t have any then she’ll dig some up, for the right price

·         How is she with technology?: Has a lot of the latest tech, so pretty good

08. PAST & FUTURE

·         Fondest Memory: Going to the fair with her sister as kids

·         Deepest, Darkest Secret: That she’s actually a bad person and trying to justify her behaviour by twisting the words of God into what she wants them to be

·         Dream Vacation: Czech Republic

·         Best thing that has ever happened to this character: Beginning to open herself up more & be more honest with herself

·         Worst thing that has ever happened to this character: Beginning to question the authenticity of her faith

·         What do they want to be when they grow up?: A photographer

·         Perfect Date: Quoting a Cult-Classic film together at the Twilight Drive-In with as much junk food as they can handle