catch me | demi lovato • moonlight | ariana grande • YOUR UNIVERSE | rico blanco • mess we’ve made | aj rafael feat. tori kelly • latch (acoustic) | sam smith • first heartbreak | tori kelly • wait for you | elliot yamin • lost stars | adam levine • heart like yours | willamette stone • shelter | ray lamontagne
“Elsen” is a real nice-sounding name for the people that live in the Zones; but every time I see it used that way, I’m always reminded that it’s just the name of the first tramway station you come to in Zone 1– and that is named after someone in the past who was named “Elsen.”
Mortis is cool with it and tagging them as “Elsen” makes them way easier to find, but dang can you imagine not even living in Zone 1 and here’s this weird baseball dude calling everybody an “Elsen” because that’s the first word he read when he started touring around.
They’ve been canonically confirmed as being humans, too– they’re just unwell and stylized.
I am in under the wire but proud to add this little offering for the Monster Hunter + Soulmate day of Fantasy Pretzel Week. I haven’t a clue if I will ever get more than this little bit down but @barpurplewrites encouraged me to go ahead and just write up what I could and I am glad she did because this was really fun and I really hope I get the chance to share the rest of the story with you guys.
1.2k | Rated: T | I’ll link archives if I ever finish it.
Despite the wind and rain lashing the Irish countryside the small pub was warm, awash with light, laughter, and the smell of hearty food, it was quaint, too quaint, and as Emma Swan stood on the threshold she felt a warning run up her spine–not everyone here was human. She evaluated the room with the practiced ease of years dealing with the preternatural but there were no obvious signs of what she was up against, no dark spots, no color shifts, no shimmers indicating magic, no malicious, hungry eyes, staring back. A few patrons gave her a passing glance or a nod but none seemed to be overly interested in the soaking blonde in a red leather jacket and jeans. If she had been younger she might have ignored the warning but she had learned to trust her favor, had scars both physical and emotional to remind her that while the Gods were fickle their favors could always be relied upon, and so she kept her guard up–an easy task since she rarely let it down.
She strode to the bar and slid onto the stool. A short, bearded man approached her with a dour expression. Emma ordered a hot chocolate which earned her a huff. So much for the friendliness of the Irish. Not that Emma wanted to make friends, she was here on a job and once it was finished she would move on to the next one and the next. It was a good life, rewarding in its way as she used the favors the Gods had bestowed to help humans with their problems or with the more vile preternatural elements in the worlds. She wasn’t strictly a Hunter but had been known to kill or trap a monster when needed. She hoped, for Belle French’s sake, that there would be no creatures this time around.
When Belle had contacted her about her missing child Emma had wanted to refuse. When babies were taken they were rarely recoverable–eaten, used in spells, transformed, taken to another world, whatever it was the kid wasn’t coming back– and she told Belle to just accept her son was gone. But the woman was stubborn, full of a fire that Emma couldn’t help but admire, and not afraid to play dirty.
“Don’t you wish your parents had tried to find you?” Belle had asked.
“How did you–?”
“I do my research. You were weeks old when they found you on the steps of the temple. You grew up in and out of foster homes, never knowing who your parents were or why you were left.”
“My parents abandoned me because I was Blessed,” Emma said darkly.
“Or you were stolen by a god and then blessed and your parents are still looking for you.” Belle shot back.