#Or Dragon attacks. Grabs the baby. And flees. Trying to look look for any sign of his wife. Leaving the stranger behind

[moongothic]

That is exactly something I've been wondering.

'Cause. Like if Whitebeard managed to hit Crocodile hard enough (=with Haki) to cut his whole hand off, then surely he would've done more damage than just leave a cut on Croc's face, right. Like his head should've ended up in two pieces. And I mean it's not impossible WB could be the cause of both wounds (like for example WB could've first just scratched Crocodile's face and then, when he was in shock, taken that left hand, or something, there's like a million ways this action scene could play out), it is entirely possible still. But it would ALSO be entirely plausible if Crocodile got his scar and lost his hand due to different people.

Also if Dragon is a former Marine then he could know the Rokushiki, and like I dunno about y'all but to me Crocodile's scar looks to me like it could've been caused by a Rankyaku to the face (or if Dragon is a Wind Wind Fruit user as many speculate, his attacks could very much be like wind-slashes similar to Rankyaku, any cutting attacks or even Croc's own Spada-attacks). Like the way his scar goes across his whole face, ear-to-ear, it looks like it could've been caused by a cut that hit him straight-on (but didn't cut through his whole head). As opposed to a cutting motion from a blade that'd go from like one side of the face to another (where I feel like it shouldn't go ear-to-ear, and instead, at most, like, ear-to-cheek, y'know? 'Cause the face would curve away from a blade etc? But also this is a manga and shit like this doesn't have to make sense, it just needs to look cool and be symbolic and shit)

(There is also the forbidden option that WB could've given Crocodile the scar and it was Dragon that took Crocodile's hand. And not in the romantic way 🥁)

In any case, if Dragon did attack Crocodile out of instinct because he couldn't recognize the strange, imposing man with a baby who showed up at the secret location at a secret meeting time when he was supposed to reunite with his wife and meet his child... Oh yeah. Dragon could've assumed the worst, thought that they had been found out, that his beloved had been taken out and baby kidnapped. Or something. And thus attacked. And boy howdy would this be one absolutely gut-wrenching way to cause a divorce, eh

((Only thing is that for Dragon to hurt Crocodile, either Dragon would've had to have gone in with the Haki right away, which is viabe but makes me question how Crocodile even survived to begin with, or the attack would've had to been moisturized ahead of time for some reason. Unless Dragon can add moisture to his attacks by default, or unless it was raining, it'd make no sense how Dragon could've cut Croc's face up. But hey we know Crocodile doesn't really like the rain, now does he))

[silverynight]

Tranquility

After publishing his first book, Newt's editor schedules his book signing; the magizoologist has already told him he's not used or comfortable being surrounded by people, but Mason assures him there will only be a few in there.

Even though he manages to convince him; Newt is really nervous and he wants Albus at his side.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," his boyfriend gives him a kiss on the cheek as soon as they arrive. Newt sighs, relieved, when he sees there are just three people there.

Perhaps it's not going to be that bad after all, they're really nice to him and they seem to be really excited about magical creatures. Also, his boyfriend is close to him, putting a hand over his shoulder or stroking his hair, making him feel better.

Theseus is not going to come; it's okay though, Newt knows he's busy, besides, he's promised he'll see him in three days.

It's fine of course, but Theseus's note or at least the fact that it arrives while Newt is happily talking about dragons with his small audience (there are five people now) it's something that makes him feel a little bit nervous for no reason.

There's no reason because Albus is right next to him and there are just... Well, there are seven people now.

It's okay.

Newt didn't know he was that famous until another ten people walk in the bookstore and don't even bother to wait for their turn and start asking questions at Newt. Some of them aren't even questions, they're just excited comments about him and his creatures.

The magizoologist takes a deep breath and tries to pay attention to everyone around him and prays to Merlin not to get overwhelmed.

"Are you okay, baby?"

"Yes," he lies to Albus and immediately feels bad about it.

Newt keeps signing books and talking about all kind of creatures while trying to ignore that concern and fear he's starting to feel. He's tired already of making an effort to look at everyone in the eye.

He's fighting his urge to walk away; he doesn't want to... fail.

Trying to ignore the way his body tenses whenever someone approaches him, Newt keeps going, but now there are even more people and some of them are too excited to listen to the library employees to wait for their turn.

There are many witches and wizards around and they're all talking to Newt, asking questions and a couple of them touching him. Albus tries to get closer to him, but he can't... Nobody is paying attention to anyone that is not Newt and the magizoologist has started to feel overwhelmed.

He's not sure what question he should answer first or if he should move out of that girl's way because she's reaching out to touch his hair.

Newt doesn't understand what any of them are saying anymore and there are so many people the room looks incredibly smaller now and he starts breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles to everyone and no one at the same time, rises from his seat, shaking and flees towards the entrance and disapparates outside of the bookstore.

When he gets home, he sits on the floor, feeling completely exhausted already and tries to calm himself. The problem is that once the anxiety fades away, he starts feeling terrible and like a failure for leaving everyone like that.

He doesn't even want to look at Albus in the eye when he hears the 'crack' in the living room that indicates that someone just apparated inside.

"Are you okay, baby?" His boyfriend kneels next to him on the floor and puts a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Are you disappointed in me?" Newt sobs, finally looking up.

"Why would I be, my love?" Albus smiles, blue eyes glimmering with so much fondness. "Actually... I'm sorry for not realizing before you were so uncomfortable."

"It's not your fault," Newt mumbles immediately which gets him a kiss on the nose; his face turns completely red.

"It's not yours either and I don't want you to think less of yourself just because of this," Albus gives him another kiss, this time on the lips and Newt giggles. "Many people have anxiety and panic attacks and that doesn't make them bad or a failure, alright? You're amazing, Newt."

The magizoologist looks at him and sighs, feeling a wave of love in his chest at that moment.

He leans forward, cups Albus face with both his hands and kisses him on the lips. The professor hums satisfied and kisses back with kindness until Pickett pulls them apart by grabbing Newt's curls.

He doesn't like being ignored.

Both Newt and Albus looks at the grumpy creature and then at each other before bursting into laughter.

Then, his grin fades away.

"What happened to the people in the library?"

Albus sighs and intertwines their fingers together.

"There are just a few people upset, but the majority of them understood what happened and they just want you to feel better. They have no problem with attending to another book signing if that's what you want," Albus explains, helping Newt getting up.

"I'll think about it."

"Now you should rest while I cook something because we're having dinner inside your case tonight," Albus says and chuckles when Newt beams at him.

"Really?"

Albus nods and Newt gives him a quick kiss on the lips (before Pickett starts protesting again) and goes upstairs feeling so much better already.

***

Kofi

Patreon

[frozen-prose]

Smoke Shadows

Just before dawn, Garfield Menlis made his way through his corn field over to his chickens. Outside of the fenced in area that kept his prized hens from taking flight out into the town (something that still happened at least once a year due to a hole he’d yet to fix), Garfield picked up the bag of feed he left there for convenience sake. He made a clucking noise as he spread a bit over the fence. Without a moment’s hesitation, his flock of twenty hens burst out from their little wooden home. He sprinkled a bit more of their favored meal before setting down the bag. Once all of his fowls had taken to their breakfast, Garfield entered the fenced in area. A red hen with a tuff of white down on her back looked up at him for a brief moment and uttered a quick shrill cluck.

“Good morning to you as well, Miriam,” Garfield said to her with a tip of his hat. He continued on to the hen house, stopping only to pick up the basket he left there for convenience sake (of course).

Just as he bent over so that he could make the small clearance into the little wooden home, a strange smell filled his nostrils. Garfield stood up and looked around, trying to discern the source. No stranger to less than pleasant smells, proprietor of a farm and all, Garfield was nonetheless unable to place the scent. It remotely smelled of cooking, but no meal came to mind. He shrugged, less than concerned by what any of his distant neighbors could be cooking so early in the morning, and went back to the task of collecting eggs for his own breakfast.

Garfield had just finished placing the last of the eggs in his basket when the smell seemingly doubled in intensity. Not only that, but it smelled worse than he had originally given credit. Where once it had been a far off early morning meal, the scent of burning waste filled the air of his farm. It brought to mind a trip Garfield had taken with his father a long time ago when he was only a lad and Papa Menlis had been the owner of the farm.

During that trip, so many years past, little Garfield and his father had made the long trek to the north to trade near the capital. He remembered that their business trip had been scheduled to coincide with Nethen’s Monarch Day, the only holiday in the kingdom. They had come within miles of the capital city where the king and his family lived a life of absolute luxury in their massive castle. Three days into the trip, Papa Menlis and little Garfield were stopped by royal guards just as they left the town in which they had slept. As they spoke with his father, Garfield watched in amazement as distant figures danced through the sky over the town he and his father planned to visit next. Flashes of oranges flew from the sky dancers down to the ground below, sending up great plumes of smoke. Garfield tried several times to get his father’s attention, but he and the guards were too engaged to pay him any mind.

It didn’t matter. Once the scent of burning rolled in, all of the men stopped their conversation and looked off towards the smoke. The looks of shock and terror on the faces of all those men didn’t make much sense to little Garfield on that day, he thought the figures in the sky were some sort of display for Monarch Day. One word did stay with him from that. A word that he would one day come to know was nothing to applaud or revere.

“Dragons…” his father had uttered in a small whisper.

That single word reverberated across time and stuck Garfield like a charging horse. He tossed the basket to the ground and scrambled from the hen house. He turned his gaze to the sky, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t see plumes of black smoke filling the sky. He saw none, but the smell had become even stronger. His lungs filled with the thickness of the suffocating burning of something (or someone) from someplace nearby. Terror poured into his veins like an icy venom as he thought of his family, sleeping back at the farmhouse. He had to wake them up, they had to flee. That was the only way to deal with dragons, get far away.

He broke into a sprint, eyes darting between the house he’d lived in since he was only a little passenger in his mother’s womb and the sky that would tell him if doom had finally arrived. He’d always known the dragons might come. Every town and hamlet in the kingdom lived under the threat of incineration. The crown attacked when and where it wanted, to keep the peasant in check. Apparently, Gableton and its people hadn’t feared enough.

Garfield reached the porch before the first screech tore apart the sleepy silence of predawn. The sound, augmented by the smell that only seemed to grow, sent bolts of nearly paralytic fear through Garfield. But he couldn’t let it stop him. His wife and two daughters needed him and by the goddesses, he would not fail them.

“Kathleen! Wake up, Kathleen!” he shouted even before he mounted the stairs, “Marlene! Sarah! Get up now!”

The panic was a vice on his heart. He’d never known fear like this in all his many days. Not even the sight of the Royal Army marching through Gableton, his hometown, after quelling the rebellion of which his older brother had been a part. Not even the time he had been attacked by raiders on a trip to market to make a few sales. Nothing had ever produced such paralytic fear in Garfield. But he couldn’t let that stop him, he wouldn’t.

His youngest daughter, Sarah, stumbled from the room she shared with her sister, rubbing her eyes in a daze. She looked wide eyed at her father once she had beat back the imps of dreamland, asking with her gaze the question his wife vocalized.

“What’s the matter, Pa? Is something ablaze?” she asked. The wrinkle in her nose answered the question of if they could smell the sign of impending destruction.

“We have to leave, now! Do not dally!” he replied. His urgency did the job of imparting his own terror onto his family. Sarah turned and began screaming for her sister to get up. Kathleen rushed behind her.

Garfield continued to fight off the numbing sensation of his fear by grabbing as many of their belongings as he could carry. In his mind, a long list of important/sentimental items grew ever longer. To grab them all would be suicide, so Garfield took only those things he could not live without. His father’s tunic. A hand stitched cap from his mother. The deed to the farm. Kathleen and his marriage certificate.

He stuffed the few things into a sack and hefted it on his shoulder. Through the single window in his room he spied the first columns of smoke rising into the sky from the direction of town. That was bad, but not the end all. He and his family could flee east, the opposite direction of Gabelton. If they were lucky, Magrithal, the next closest town, would still be standing.

“Get out now! We have to head east!” Garfield shouted to his wife and daughters as he dashed from the room.

“Come on girls, let’s go,” Kathleen spoke calmly to the girls, ages 14 and 8. They took the stairs at a brisk, but managed pace. Garfield trailed the rear. He admired his wife for her calm in such a horrific situation and wished he could channel some for himself. But he knew what the destruction reaped by dragons looked like first hand.

The Menlis family had barely reached the doorway out of the house when they were consumed by heat carried on a powerful gust. The power of the wind knocked them to the ground. The heat pulled much of the oxygen from their lungs. His daughters screamed with what little breath they had left. Kathleen scooped them both into her arms in an instant. Gasping for air, Garfield shepherded his family back to their feet, determined to see them to safety. He didn’t want to face the reality that lay in front of him. The doorway out was washed in crimson flames. There would be no escape. Garfield hugged his family with all his might. Kathleen, his childhood sweetheart, the jewel of his life. Marlene, his rambunctious eldest child, just a year away from being eligible for marriage. Little Sarah, so young, so little life lived. Their end was quick at hand.

“I love you, daddy,” Sarah said. The fear in her voice broke Garfield’s heart.

“I love you too, baby,” He kissed her on the forehead, “close your eyes, girls. Let us pray to the goddesses.”

In the aftermath of the siege of Gableton, the few survivors found themselves with incinerated farms and shattered families. Those who had escaped the flames of the crowns infernal beasts picked through what use to be farmland and the remains of the town for anything they could use to piece their lives back together.

One group of scavengers found their way to the late Garfield Menlis’s farm and were greeted with much of the same destruction as had been reaped all across the area. The farmhouse still stood, barely. Its charred wood looked as if it would crumble to dust with the slightest touch. In places where the flames had burned hottest holes peered into the house that had stood for three generations. Through one of these holes there stood a sight that both horrified and inspired the scavengers.

Four blacked frames huddled together in preparation for their fate. Three of the four smoke shadows had been herded beneath the largest, what had been Garfield Menlis. He had tried to shelter his family from the flames with his body, knowing all the while that it was a futile effort. He hadn’t thought of his prospect of success. Even as he urged his family to pray, he hadn’t. He had simply done all he could to try to defend them until his very last seconds.