𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

（   𝐁𝐖.   )          Instead of the usual predatory gaze he looks at everyone else, those wolfish eyes stares at snow with deep care and concern. He worries about her, more than he worried about anything or anyone in that damned city. He didn’t necessary needed to hear or look at her to feel that she was in the verge of falling apart: her scent was all that took him to deceive her suffering. And it was always like that with snow, he knew her scent so well that every little change on it, he would immediately perceive.  ❝ And how you could possibly know that?   ❞ His voice is low, calm. At the same time he doesn’t want to push her, he wishes that she could trust him enough, to speak about what desesperately shaked her.  ❝ Try me. ❞

Arthur Rackham (1867-1939)

Illustrasjoner til det tyske folkeeventyret “Snehvit” fra brødrene Grimm.

Les eventyret på EventyrForAlle.no: https://eventyrforalle.no/brodrene-grimm/grim053

𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 || Accepting

"Shut your fuckin' mouth" His anger boils over as better judgement takes over. Sweaty palms wrap tight around the high ranking Fable's neck.

"I'm so fuckin' tired of hearin' you talk. So fuckin' tired of all you pompous fuckin' Business Office goodie two shoes walkin' around like you're so much better than everyone else." Ringed fingers squeeze tighter. "Almost like you think you're untouchable."

𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 || Accepting

Well now. This was unexpected. But it didn't remove the shit-eating grin from his face. Honestly he didn't think that the Fable had it in her. And yet. Here they were.

"Hey, Snowflake. You're only supposed to have your finger there if you plan on pullin' the trigger."

 𝑻𝑾𝑶 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺. || Accepting

"I am!?" He feigns surprise. It wasn't often that Business Office folk made it all the way to the Crooked Mile. But that expression didn't stay on his features for long.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. || Accepting

"The fuck does it.... look like." The Urban Legend groans, laying on his unsheeted cot that was in the room above the shop. He knew better than to roam around downstairs without a glamour. He'd put off putting one on again if he can help it. Healing always went smoother when in ones original form. "Your wreckin' ball of a sheriff came through."

"... I'm FINE." — Well, whatever 'fine' looks like for him. It's been a few months since the Crooked Man fiasco. Everyone's still trying to recover from it. Snow, especially, from what he can only assume. She still has a lot of shit to clean up. The last thing she needs is to worry about another person. It's why Bigby LEAVES IT BE. Suspicions from what Nerissa had told him that day. But there's no good in digging back into it. Not since everyone involved with the murders has been jailed.

... Almost all, at least.

"Really, Snow. I mean it. I'm just thinkin'. You really don't gotta worry about me." He folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the desk behind him. "... Are YOU okay? No one's givin' you any trouble?"

          oh, the irony of that statement... they were supposed to have the perfect lives, according to the mundy fairytales; a HAPPILY EVER AFTER. of course, things were never really that easy. things hadn’t been easy for any of them since the exodus- forced out of the homelands into the mundy world. truth be told, even back then, things weren’t as perfect as they seemed. but things were especially not perfect NOW.

          “ too bad it can’t be, ” beauty laments with a sigh. she doesn’t mean to sound like such a sad sack, but she’s tired of barely scrapping by and having to keep things from her husband and worrying for their livelihoods.

          still, snow didn’t have to listen to her venting, but she appreciates it. a small, almost apologetic smile graces her lips as she lifts her gaze back up to meet snow’s.