#WELCOME BACK ROBIN FRINGE

[gay-pirate-anime]

SHUT UPPPP NO WAY BROOK CUT ROBIN'S HAIR THAT'S SO FUCKING CUTE AND WHOLESOME TT^TT

[skatingbi]

So hear me out on my headcanon guys:

Sanji with heterochromia (i cant spell that fuckin word man..) where one eye is blue and another is brown. He always hides the blue eye.

The first one to notice is Zoro, who is immediantly like "holy shit youre eyes are pretty" and sanji is like "what the FUCK"

Actually fuck it im gonna write about this nobody can stop me.

Sometimes, on lonley nights in the gallery, when Sanji is busy prepping, he looks in the reflection of his knife. Underneath the frizzy mess of a fringe that is part of his hair reveals the blue eye he struggles looking at. He stares, scrutinizing that light blue in the gleam of his knife gripped tightly in his hand. He looks away to force his attention back on prep work. His hands are always slightly unsteady after those moments. He always ends up with a cut on his hand one way or another on those nights.

When Sanji was a kid, his brothers would use his heterochromia as a weapon against him. He was the freak with two colored eyes. They would say his blue eye was creepy, too. Not only was he weak but also too different to be called their brother.

When you're a kid, you take these insults to heart. Eventually, when you're barely into adulthood, they'll still plague you. They become a part of you, just like how Zeff's teachings became a part of Sanji.

Judge looked at his eyes with disgust masked by indifference. It was another reason for Sanji to assume why he was the failure. The outcast. The runt of the litter.

His mother had blue eyes. She always claimed Sanji got his blue eye from her because her father had heterochromia, too. That was the only time little Sanji felt normal. When she died, Sanji started to grow out his hair to hide the only thing he had left of her: her eyes.

Now, Sanji still hides her eyes from view. Realistically, Sanji is fully aware that none of the crew would give a rats ass what he looked like. Regardless, old habits die hard. He feels safe under the mask he made for himself. As he goes about preparing lunch, perhaps grilled sea king again with how luffy is always eager to fight those things, he lets his mind wander to his eyes more. While hands expertly move through his knife like an extension of his body, he thinks about the mess of blond hair that's always in the way. He'd never admit it out loud, but his hair actually bothers him. Since it started growing out, it gets everywhere; his mouth, in his eyes, and tangled in the buttons of his shirt. Is sanji happy with his longer hair? Absolutely. It's a nusiance to leave it down constantly, though.

As he's thinking this, he's blowing the fringe of hair covering his face out of the way every so often so it stops tickling his nose. He continues to evenly slice through a portion of sea king meat until somebody, Nami he realizes immediantly, speaks up.

"Do you need a hair tie, sanji?" Nami asks sweetly. Her smile is radiant, as always, while she looks up from the map shes been studying. Sanji didnt even realize Nami came in and made the kitchen table into a study until now, but he doesnt dwell on it. Nami is welcome in his kitchen, after all.

"Oh no, thank you, Nami-swan! I think I just need a haircut soon," Sanji lies as he's moving through the kitchen. He gives Nami a quick smile before turning back to the meat on the cutting board and avoids Nami's gaze under the disguise of being busy. His lie wasn't as believable as he wanted it to be, especially when he's stumbling over his words while he is usually eloquent with them towards Nami and Robin.

"But until then, you should take one! I probably have hundreds lying around my room anyways," She says. It's a peace offering designed to be in Sanji's language of communication. It secretly says he's getting that hairtie whether he wants it or not, and Sanji is weak enough to accept the offering. He takes the hair tie with a grateful smile, wrapping it around his wrist and going back to his current task. Nami and Sanji work in comfortable silence after that, but the hair tie weighs on his wrist like a weighted bracelet.

A few days pass by. Through every single one, he stares at the hair tie in the morning. He really should tie his hair back. It reaches his shoulders for gods sake, and it keeps getting in his mouth - but that small part of him that clings onto grief like its all that he knows refuses to. He doesn't think he can bring himself to share the only part of himself that he truly loves deep down. What if the crew really thinks it's weird? What if his brothers are right?

These what if's roam in the back of his mind. They lurk just beneath the surface like an unknown predator hidden in murky water. He ignores it along with the anxiety that crawls up his throat every time he looks at his wrist.

Then, a week passes by. Now he's in his kitchen making a simple breakfast for his nakama. Franky, in particular, will enjoy this since his tastes lie within American style food most of the time. He focuses on seasoning the eggs, some of them cooked differently to cater to everyone's tastes. While he goes through the familiar and therapeutic motions of cooking, the door opens to reveal an annoying head of mossy hair and the steady noise of three swords bumping each other at the hip.

" Oi, go to sleep in your own bunk. I dont need you stinkin' up my kitchen while im trying to work." He utters without looking up from the stove.

"Why can't I just sleep here shit cook?" Zoro grunts. Sanji hears him shuffle around on the gallery's couch behind him. He's probably lying down, or maybe he'll sleep sitting up again, or maybe he'll watch Sanji cook. That's the most irritating one, which usually ends up with them fighting out on the deck one way or another.

"Because youre fuckin' annoying, get out."

"The hell I am, I'm taking a nap here."

"Oh my - You know what?" Sanji whips around to glare at Zoro, making sure the knife he was using is now in his hand to point at the source of his ire, "Fine, but if I hear a single snore out of you I'm kicking you into the ocean!" He threatens and turns around to finish up with breakfast. By now, all he has left is pancakes. The batter was prepped earlier, so now it's just focusing on pouring evenly. It's task that's menial but still important to him regardless.

His hair is covering his face too much. He tries to shake his head to flip it to the side. It falls back to where it was before he can pick the bowl of batter back up. He brushes it over his shoulder, and it simply flows back over it. He blows his hair out of the way, a classic move, but not even that works and he's slamming the bowl down on the counter before he can even stop himself and walks away from his work to grab the hairtie from around his wrist. In a few fluid motions, he ties his hair back haphazardly into a poor attempt at a low bun, but it's out of his face, and now he can focus.

He's too deep in concentration to even remember that he has heterochromia in the first place. Cooking lowers his guard unlike anything else in the world. The gallery acts like a safe space and cooking is his comfort. He still forgets, too, while calling for Zoro to get his lazy ass up to help since he's decided to loiter in his kitchen.

"Hey moss, if you're gonna laze around my kitchen, set the table for me." His request demand is met with a middle finger, which Sanji gladly returns as he walks over to the couch to kick Zoro on the stomach. The half asleep annoyance is now suddenly alert and glares at Sanji for a moment before it's quickly replaced with a look Sanji has yet to add to his mental notes he likes to call "Marimo Dictionary". Zoro's eyebrows are slightly raised, and his eyes glitter with something Sanji rarely sees. He's never been able to place a name on that look. Now he's confused. "What? Dont give me that youre tired crap youre not fuckin 10." He says.

Zoro is still looking at him, though, and now Sanji looks back with confusion because what the fuck is he-

Oh. His eyes.

Shit.

Sanji rips the hairtie out of his hair at light speed, probably pulling a few strands out by accident in the process but he could honestly care less when theres something more important. Like whatever the fuck just happened.

Before he can turn away and go set the table himself to distance himself from the marimo, Zoro's hand moves suddenly to grab his wrist, stopping him from running away.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Zoro pleads. And what the fuck. Zoro has never said anything like that and its fucking with Sanji's head because what the fuck. "You...uh." He continues in his signature graceless way. "Your eyes..." He pauses after that, sitting up and looking at Sanji, but not just looking, he's looking.

"Marimo," Sanji's own voice is riddled with anxiety with how shaky it is now. "Let me go dumbass," He demands but it could have been mistaken for him begging with how much he's struggling to keep himself together.

He's anticipating the worst. He knows what he's expecting. Sanji has experienced it countless times before, and he's aware he will again right now while a pancake is probably burning on the pan for all he knows.

It doesnt.

Zoro is looking at him still, maintaining eye contact but also darting between both eyes. He's looking at him like those golden eyes are looking into his soul and its too much.

It's too much because Zoro's response is uncharacteristically soft in so many ways. Zoro speaks to him like he's speaking with reverence, "Your eyes are beautiful."

Sanji shatters on the gallery floor there. His soul is bare for Zoro to see suddenly and that terrifies Sanji. Nobody has ever told him he's beautiful. Especially his eyes. He yanks his wrist from Zoro's grasp and speed walks to the stove to turn it off and remove the burnt pancake from the pan. He doesnt respond. He cant, not when his heart flutters when it should have been anchored down by rejection.

Then, Sanji walks up to Zoro, grabs onto both his shoulders, pushes him out the gallery door with surprisingly little resistance, and slams it shut. He leans against the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees. His face is burning and his face is probably red like a tomato right now. He stares at the ground with wide eyes and a weirdly giddy feeling in his chest and stomach nearly akin to happiness but also dangerously close to feeling freaked the hell out.

"What the fuck."

[joesbnbg]

cruel summer

part one of everybody wants to rule the world

in which the girls get ice cream, robin has a meet-cute, steve throws a pool party, and everybody gets high [4.4k words]

The summer of ‘85 in Hawkins, Indiana was a scorching one. Tarmac sizzled under the butter yellow sun, cotton candy clouds spun on the saccharine sweet taste of summer freedom. Perfect for soaking sunburnt bodies with chlorinated water at the Hawkins public pool; perfect for long bike rides against the wind, speed and sun burning the rubber of the thin tires; the perfect weather for ice cream. 

Which was right where April and DJ were headed, AC blasting in April's beat up ���74 Chevy Vega, sun reflecting off its faded orange hood as the two teenagers drove towards the Starcourt Mall. Blondie blasted from the speakers and April sang along lazily as DJ chattered over Debbie Harry with unprecedented speed about everything and nothing at all, fumbling with the fringes of her cut off shorts. 

April's fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she turned into the crowded parking lot, eyes scanning for a place to park as DJ craned her neck towards the entrance, watching couples and teenagers and families alike clamber inside the mall like sweaty zombies who sought cold air instead of brains. 

April pulled into the closest spot she could find, which of course wasn’t close at all, and quickly turned the car off, as ready to escape the summer heat as the rest of her town. She pushed her sunglasses back onto the crown of her head, black frames against copper hair, watching as DJ snaked out of the car window, falling to the ground with an ungraceful thump. April's passenger side door hadn’t worked since she had bought the car over a year ago, but DJ still hadn't gotten the hang of an elegant landing. 

“Let’s go,” April said with an impatient smile, head tilted towards the mall. DJ grumbled, wiping bits of rocks from the indents they had created on her palms as she scrambled to her feet, the old canvas of her black converse tearing slightly at her movement. 

“I thought when you got a car it would come with less injuries,” DJ said, catching up to her best friend as they began towards the building, beat-up shoes moving in tandem against the blacktop. “I’m fighting for my life out here.” April huffed out a laugh, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“If you were behind the wheel, we’d be fighting for our lives every five minutes. I much prefer these odds.” April responded, pushing through the glass double doors and into Starcourt, a well welcomed whoosh of cool air greeting her. DJ sputtered as she removed the wind blown hair from her face, tucking dark strands behind her ears.

“What, because I went airborne? That was one time.” DJ said as they rounded a corner, making April laugh again. 

“Two times.” 

“One and a half. Only the front two wheels came off the ground the first time.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Dot, but a car’s wheels aren’t supposed to come off the ground ever. Front or back.”

“They won’t be saying that when cars can fly.”

“Emphasis on ‘can.’ My car is not built for that. No car is built for that. Honestly, I’m starting to think you might have a better shot getting your pilot license.” April said as they walked into Scoops Ahoy, Hawkins’ newest and nicest nautical themed creamery. DJ whistled at the boy behind the counter whose face perked up slightly at the sight of the girls. How this schmuck in an ill-fitting sailor’s suit had managed to win over her best friend was still a mystery to her, but she tabled the thought for later as they approached the counter. 

“Too expensive. Yo, Harrington! How do we feel about another driving lesson?” She called at him, a grin tugging her pink lips upward. Steve shook his head vigorously as he moved towards the tubs of ice cream, head bent as he scooped USS Butterscotch onto a wafer cone. 

“Absolutely not,” He said, and although amusement colored his tone, it was clear he was being completely serious. He stood upright, passing the cone to April, who took it with a bright smile, one he shared as their brown eyes met. 

“Well, take it up with your girlfriend, because apparently, she’d rather sacrifice my palms than get her wizard cousin to fix the car.” DJ said, holding up her scratched up hand as April rolled her eyes.

“Okay, first off, he’s not a wizard, he’s a thirteen year old who happens to know a lot about science, and secondly, he’s not a fucking mechanic. He’s just a kid.” She shot back. DJ shrugged, taking a cone of cookies and cream from Steve’s outstretched hand. 

“Close enough,” She said as she licked a dribbler off the side of the cone. “But I’m pretty sure I saw him blow up Older Sinclair’s blender, so really, what’s the difference?” DJ asked, dropping a loose quarter from her pocket into the tip jar, which made Steve involuntarily grimace. 

“He’s also not even here,” April reminded her. “He’s at that science thing for another three weeks.” 

“Camp Know-Nothing or whatever,” Steve added.

“Camp Know-Where,” April corrected. 

“You want a bandaid for that battle scar?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised and eyes focused as DJ inspected the broken skin on her hand. DJ shrugged like it was nothing, because things like this were always happening to her. Steve turned, opening the partition to the back room, calling towards the coworker neither April or DJ realized he had. “Robin, can you get the first aid kit?” 

“What, did you sprain your wrist slinging ice cream, Stevie?” The voice called back, and Steve rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth with annoyance as he turned back towards his friends. April trained her eyes on the floor and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but DJ couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her. 

“Yeah, Stevie, hurt your little baby wrist?” DJ said, pouting at him. Steve’s eyes narrowed as he turned towards the back again. 

“It was for my friend actually, but forget it, because she’s being an absolute dick right now.” He said, and this time April couldn’t stop herself from laughing into her ice cream. “Let her bleed.” 

“Are you allowed to curse in uniform? Isn’t that, like, against the company image or whatever?” DJ asked, clearly getting more joy out of teasing the boy than the quickly melting treat in her hand. 

“Company image? What is this, Disneyland?” Steve retorted. 

“What? King Steve wasn’t an animated Disney classic? Since when?” DJ replied, eyes widening. She laughed, loudly this time, but all confidence and joy seemed to drain from her face as Steve’s coworker stepped out from the back room, first aid kit in hand. 

“Who needs the first aid kit?” The girl asked. “Had to look through, like, seven different cabinets to find it. I’m also pretty sure the instructions on this thing are in Russian.” She frowned, head bent as she examined it with bright blue eyes. DJ gulped, trying to steady herself, and April and Steve shared a knowing, amused look. 

“Robin, this is April, my girlfriend, and DJ, April's leech. April, DJ, this is Robin.” Steve said, and Robin looked up at them for the first time, eyes training on DJ’s just as DJ’s had trained on Robin’s. Pink rose to her freckled cheeks and she quickly looked down again, focusing on opening the first aid kit again. 

“Hand,” DJ blurted, pointing it out towards Robin, who looked at it like DJ had just shoved a knife in her direction. 

“She hurt her hand,” April quickly supplied. “Climbing out of my car, because the door doesn’t work.” 

“Oh,” Robin said, clearly nervous herself as she awkwardly opened the kit. She pulled out a bandaid and when she grabbed DJ’s hand to inspect it closer, DJ held her breath. Delicately, Robin placed the bandaid over the spot, patting the brunette’s hand lightly as she let it go. The air was thick with the smell of vanilla and tension, and Robin cleared her throat, stepping into the back room again. 

“...Huh,” Steve said after a moment, head tilted in thought. “I mean, she’s usually awkward, but she’s not that awkward.” 

“I wasn’t-” 

“I didn’t mean you, shit-for-brains.” Steve said, eyes on DJ, whose eyebrows knit in frustration. 

“I should slap that stupid hat right off your head.” DJ replied. 

“You’d be doing me a favor.” Steve said, and April chuckled. 

"How long has she been working here for?" April asked. "I've never seen her around." Steve shrugged.

"Dunno. She just sort of showed up and started insulting me."

"I like her already." DJ said, and Steve rolled his eyes.

"Clearly." He muttered.

“So, Stevie-” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Stevie, you know it’s really hot out today.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And you know what people like to do when it’s hot out?” Steve stared at DJ, unamused.

“Go inside and leave other people alone?” 

“Go swimming,” April supplied, and Steve turned towards her, raising an eyebrow before wagging a finger between the girls. 

“You planned this, didn’t you?” He asked, before turning his attention back to DJ. “Don’t you have a pool?” 

“Yeah, but you have something I don’t: absentee parents.” DJ said with a grin, and Steve glared at her, playing with his ice cream scooper. 

“Gee. Thanks. Rub it in my face, why don’t you?” 

“I’m just saying,” DJ continued, leaning on the counter to get closer to him, “We could have a super-fun-no-parents-pool-party to kick off the summer? I’ll get the drinks!” 

“You look younger than Henderson.” Steve shot back, and DJ grinned brightly at him. 

“Okay, then you get the drinks.” DJ amended, and Steve smiled with disbelief, shaking his head slightly. 

“Is that a yes?” April asked, looking at the boy hopefully. Steve rolled his eyes before finally nodding his head in agreement. 

“Fine,” He said. “Fine. Seven o’clock.” DJ broke out into a sly grin. 

“You’re the best, Harrington.” She said, and Steve rolled his eyes again, waving his hand. 

“Whatever.” He said as April dug into her purse for her car keys, extending them out towards her friend. 

“DJ, why don’t you go ahead and get the car started? I’ll be out right behind you.” 

“I don’t think the good patrons of Scoops Ahoy will appreciate the make-out session in the middle of their nautical ice cream experience,” DJ said as she took the keys, twisting them around her finger. 

“Shut up!” April said as Steve ducked his head down, blushing. 

“Wear protection!” DJ called as she headed towards the exit. “I am too young to be an aunt.” April laughed, turning back towards Steve, who gave her a smile. 

“So…” April started, leaning closer to him, “I was thinking…” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve said, grin growing with the girl’s words. 

“We should invite Robin to the pool party tonight.” Steve’s smile faded as he crossed his arms, looking at the girl in front of him. 

“Seriously?” He said, blinking. “Why?” 

“Because!” April responded, lowering her voice slightly. “She and DJ were really hitting it off back there.” 

“That was hitting it off? I’ve seen babies communicate more gracefully than that.” Steve argued, but April pressed forward. 

“There’s something there. Invite her, please.” 

“How do you even know she’s a lesbian?” Steve whispered, and April's eyes darted towards the back room, making sure Robin wasn’t listening. 

“I don’t,” April said, “But I have a feeling if we invite her, it’ll be a good thing. Come on, please?” Steve was silent, thoughtful as he weighed his options. “You know,” April said, closing the space between her and the boy even more, “If DJ has a friend, or somebody, she won’t be as interested in what we’re doing.” Steve stared at her blankly. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you, Steve?” 

April watched as the idea registered in his brain, eyes filling with recognition and mouth opening slightly. “Oh,” He said slowly, starting to break out into a thoughtful grin. “Okay. Okay.” 

“See?” April said, smiling, too. “Invite her.” Steve groaned, looking towards the back room, nose scrunching with disgust at the girl who sat inside of it. “Come on,” April pushed back Steve’s cowlick, moving the chocolate colored hair out of his face. “Please.” 

Steve huffed. “Fine.” He said. “Fine. God, I just do whatever you two tell me to, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” April agreed. “You must be real fucking whipped, Harrington.” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Get the fuck out of here. I’ll see you at seven.”

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When seven o’clock rolled around that evening, April and DJ found themselves once again inside April's car, bikinis on under cut off shorts and big graphic tees. The sun was dipping below the trees, filtering through the leaves and houses as they drove through Hawkins, the cool breeze that accompanied the late hour playing with the ends of their hair. 

“I wonder what else we could get Steve to do because he’s in love with you.” DJ said, watching the clouds pass by as they drove, hand draping lazily out the window.

“He’s not in love with me.” April said quickly, and DJ quirked up an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean? He’s definitely in love with you.” DJ said. “I mean, come on, who else would put up with me just to date you? Not many people.” 

“Found that out the hard way.” April added. “But can we not… we’re just taking it slow for now, okay?” 

“O…kay,” DJ said finally, a little lost. “I wonder what we could get him to do because he likes you so much,” She amended. “Do you think he’d kill someone, or is that, like, a six month anniversary present kind of deal?” 

“Jury’s still out on that one,” April replied after a moment. 

“No, the jury definitely thinks he’s innocent. They’d think a man who uses that much hairspray probably wouldn’t have any brain cells left to murder ‘cause the aerosol in the can would have killed them all.” 

“Okay, he doesn’t use that much hairspray,” April argued, although she barely even believed herself. 

“Have you ever seen him without hairspray before, or are you guys not that serious yet? Does that also come with the six month anniversary murder?” DJ kept going. “Like, maybe he murders someone because they’ve seen him without hairspray, or maybe they discontinue it so he murders whoever makes - or, I guess doesn’t make - the hairspray, or-” 

“Okay, we get it.” April said as they turned onto Steve’s block, pulling into the empty spot in front of his house, right beside a tree with a branch convenient enough for DJ to use to haul herself out of the car. 

She managed the escape a little better this time, huffing as April retrieved her things from the back of the car. DJ frowned at the sight of an unfamiliar bike resting in the driveway as they got closer, nudging April to make sure she saw it, too. 

“Is that Steve’s?” DJ asked, and April stared at it, doing her best to pretend she didn’t know who it belonged to. 

“Hmm, I don’t know.” She said. “Maybe it’s one of the kids.” 

“He’d invite the kids to a pool party where there’d be alcohol?” DJ said incredulously. “Mr. Mother-of-the-Year? I don’t think so.” 

“Well, who knows?” April asked as she knocked on the large wooden door. “They like to just randomly appear in places. Could be one of them.” It was a few more seconds until the door swung open, and Steve stood behind it, looking far more comfortable in clothes that fit his body correctly. 

“Retired from the navy so soon?” DJ teased. “I thought they were about to promote you.” 

“Shut up,” Steve replied before kissing April in greeting as the girls walked inside. 

“Where’s mine?” DJ asked, puckering her lips at him. He made a face at her as they walked through the house. Music played softly on a speaker outside as Steve made a pit stop in the kitchen, passing cold beer cans to the girls before sliding the glass door to the backyard open. 

“Hey, guys!” DJ almost dropped her drink at the sight of the sandy haired girl in front of her, laying out in a navy blue two piece, nursing a beer. 

“You guys remember Robin,” Steve said, gesturing at her as if it wasn’t April's idea to invite her in the first place. 

“Yeah!” April said brightly, hoping her excited attitude would draw away from the fear growing in her best friend’s eyes. “It’s good to see you. Isn’t it, DJ?” She turned towards her friend expectantly, whose green eyes only grew wider. 

“I-it’s great! Or, or cool! Or, it’s very normal. Awesome. Fun…tastic to see you.” DJ sputtered on her words, drawing a quiet laugh out of Steve. Robin didn’t seem phased as she took another sip of her beer. 

“You know, I think we had English together sophomore year,” She said, eyes focusing on April, who smiled with recognition. 

“Yeah! I think you’re right. God, Mr. Shipman was an absolute trip.” April replied, twisting her hair up into a bun. 

“I took English!” DJ offered, and Steve moved towards her, patting her on the shoulder. 

“Take a lap, champ.” He said, and DJ nodded, still flustered as she moved to dip her toes in the deep end of the pool. “That went so badly I hope she doesn’t drown herself.” Steve muttered softly against April's ear, causing her to stifle a laugh. 

“So how long have you two been going out?” Robin asked. DJ was still on the other side of the pool making splashing sounds with her feet that were loud enough to cause a scene. Steve and April looked at each other.

“Like… five months at this point?” Steve asked, and April shrugged in agreement. Robin looked between them with a smile.

“How exactly did you pull her, Harrington? She seems a little too cerebral for you.” Robin tilted her head, smile taking form into a shit-eating grin as April giggled and Steve’s face dropped. 

“That’s what I’m saying!” DJ shouted from the other side of the pool. 

“Well, considering the fact that I don’t even know what ‘cerebral’ means, yeah, you’re probably right.” Steve said coolly. “We met through her cousin-” 

“Her cousin who is a child.” DJ added in a yell, cutting Steve off. 

“Who I, y’know, look out for sometimes-” 

“He’s a glorified babysitter who doesn’t get paid.” DJ continued, and Steve turned towards her, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Shut the fuck up, Dorothy.” Steve shouted as DJ padded her way back over to them, wet feet slapping on the concrete. 

“Make me, Harrington!” DJ gestured towards him and he moved ever-so-slightly before April put a hand on his arm, redirecting the conversation back to where it had started. 

“I tutored him.” April said. “And to be honest, I thought he was a major douche. But he actually turned out to be a big softie.” 

“Is that why he can’t get it-” Before DJ could finish, Steve turned towards her and pushed her in the pool, causing all three of the girls to yelp as DJ landed smack in the middle of the water. 

“Jesus, Steve!” April exclaimed, though she was laughing. Robin was laughing, too, and Steve cracked a smile, guzzling the last of his beer. 

“Took care of that problem, huh?” Steve said as DJ spluttered, spitting chlorinated water out of her mouth and pushing her sopping wet hair out of her eyes.

“Not fair!” DJ exclaimed, although she was smiling, too. Before she knew what was happening, a whiz of a blue bathing suit was making its way into the pool with a whoop, landing beside her. Once she had popped back up out of the water, Robin smiled at DJ, eyes reflecting the color of the pool. 

“Couldn’t leave you alone in here, could I?” Robin said, and DJ did her best to keep her body from short-circuiting. Still on land, April eyed Steve nervously, body tense as she waited for him to push her in, too. Steve stared at her, his hands on his hips. 

“I’ll at least give you the dignity of taking your clothes off first.” He said, eyes drifting towards DJ, whose large shirt was fanning around her like an underwater overcoat. 

“Gee, what a gentleman.” April grinned, stripping off her denim shorts and t-shirt to reveal an emerald green bikini underneath. Steve waited with amusement as April tossed them to the side, then scooped her up bridal style and tossed her into the pool before chucking off his own shirt and cannon-balling after her. 

DJ swam towards the shallow end to peel off her now soaking denim shorts and t-shirt, tossing them with a loud plop onto the side of the pool. She felt a lot lighter in just her maroon bikini. 

Once the group was officially cooled off and fully chlorinated, they removed their soaking bodies to lay out by the side of the pool, each nursing cold beers, condensation dripping onto the already wet concrete. 

“So,” Robin said, a grin plastered on her face as she reached her free hand towards her bag, “I brought something that might make today a little more interesting.” Steve raised an eyebrow, his interest piquing. Robin whipped a baggie out of her purse, holding it up for the friends to see, and April laughed. 

“Magic oregano,” DJ said, making April laugh harder as Steve stood up, grabbing the bag from Robin’s outstretched fingers. 

“Brownie points for Buckley.” Steve moved towards the nearby table to begin rolling the joint. 

“I didn’t know you smoked, Robin,” April said, prompting the girl to shrug. Steve scoffed.

“Are you kidding? Look at her. Her nails are painted black and she’s in band.” Robin made a face as both April and DJ laughed. 

“Okay, okay, fair,” April conceded. 

“I wouldn’t think you guys smoked,” Robin said. “DJ, maybe. Steve, sure. Definitely not you, April.” 

April shrugged. “I like to have fun.” 

“She likes to have a break from talking all the time.” Steve translated, licking the rolling paper. April grinned. 

“What does that mean?” Robin asked. 

“I go really quiet when I get high.” April explained, and DJ nodded enthusiastically. 

“Nonverbal, almost.” DJ added. “It’s really kind of funny.” 

“Wish you’d go nonverbal,” Steve muttered, and DJ’s head whipped towards him. 

“Do I have to remind you you’ve never won a fight, Harrington? Want to make that record zero to three?” DJ said, and Steve gave the girl a wary look, going the long way to avoid her as he moved towards Robin, who held her lighter outstretched towards him. “You’re lucky I don’t have that. All it would take is one jab of that fire in your direction and the amount of hairspray up in that wig of yours would make you go bald in an instant.” April couldn’t help but laugh as Steve flicked the lighter in DJ’s direction before bringing the joint to his lips, taking a puff. 

He handed it to April, who took a small drag and suppressed a cough as she handed it to Robin, who took a similar hit, who passed it to DJ, who held it to her lips far too long just to stop herself from thinking about the fact that her hand had brushed Robin’s. She coughed up a storm, handing the joint back to Steve, who laughed. 

“Little smaller next time, Wilkerson.” He advised, and she glared at him with watery eyes, trying to stop the coughs from coming out of her. They each took one more hit, then another, until a little less than half the joint was left, which Steve stubbed out to save for later. 

It didn’t take long until all of their brains were humming, tuned on the frequency of a certain kind of tranquilness that only came from joints like these. They all stared up at the sky, admiring the way the clouds went by, the shapes they made, the way they danced in the air. 

“This is nice.” Robin said. “I honestly wasn’t gonna come, but… this is nice.” 

“Yeah,” DJ agreed with a lazy smile. 

“If I’d have known you’d had weed up your sleeve, I would’ve invited you over a long time ago, Robin.” Steve said, turning towards her slightly. “Where’d you get it?” 

“You guys know Eddie Munson?” Robin asked. Steve frowned.

“Who?” He asked. 

“He’s a senior. He’s in that Dungeons and Dragons club, with the long hair? Looks like he could be straight out of Metallica, or something, and he’s kind of weird, but in a harmless way, and definitely nicer than he looks - but anyways, he sells weed, good weed, obviously, and my friend told me about him, and his prices aren’t too bad, so around last year, I started buying from him and was like ‘Oh! This is cool!’ and so I’ve kept going back and-”

“I think you've made your point.” Steve said, shutting the girl down before she could continue. DJ sat up, staring at him. 

“Let her speak.” Steve rolled his eyes as DJ laid back down again.

“So, anyways, yeah. I buy from Eddie. That was really the end of the story.” Robin said with a shrug. 

“I have such an urge to jump in the pool right now.” DJ said, eyes on the sunlight that danced across the water’s surface. 

“Don’t,” Steve warned, shielding his face from the sun with his arm, “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

“No, I’m not,” DJ argued. “And even if I did, you’re a lifeguard, right? So you could just save me or whatever.” Steve gave her a pointed look. 

“I’ll go in the pool with you!” Robin offered, sitting up in her own chair. DJ grinned, looking towards Steve again. 

“See? Two against one. April, you in?” April shook her head. 

“No, I’m good.” She said, eyes closed as Steve played with the ends of her hair. DJ shrugged, moving towards the edge of the pool.

“Okay, still two against one. That’s fine. Majority rules. But don’t worry, Mom, I won’t, like, backflip into the pool or anything.”

“You don’t know how to backflip.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Get in the pool before I push you in.” Steve said, and though he made no effort to move, DJ cannonballed into the pool without another moment’s hesitation. 

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i hope you guys enjoyed this part! these characters are so special to me and i'm having such a fun time with their dynamics :)

[cauldronoflove]

Good luck with the recalibration 💕 a two word prompt instead of three: workplace shenanigans

i love a robin and eddie dynamic where anyone that doesn't know better would think they hate each other so bad but all their friends are like theyre literally obsessed with each other your honor

||||

The bell over the door sparks for the first time all day and it makes for an immediate scrabble. Magazine pages flapping, the hollow drag of the chain on his jeans scraping off the front counter. He draws himself upright, a glancing pain up his spine and down the tight skin of his side.

Chin angled toward the defaced name tag affixed to his chest, Eddie clears his throat and musters a, "Welcome to The Record Emporium what's...spinning today," that's laced with only negligible levels of disdain. He sighs under his breath, eyebrows ratcheting covertly up behind his fringe.

His manager's a gem, all things considered, her only vice the religious fervor she holds for the stupid opening line. It's like she can tell when he doesn't do it. Growing up with Wayne's old union stories he'd think she has the place wired, but life lessons since learned, he's not above considering it some kind of preternatural echolocation. Or maybe their customer-base is just skewed toward narcs.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," comes Robin's voice across the store. Pitched slightly higher, vowels drawn out, but unmistakably hers. "Do you have anything with a like, stupidly long guitar solo in the middle?"

"Fresh out," he demures with apologetic hands fanned wide. "Anything else?"

They--because Eddie never doubted it was anything but the package deal--come around the corner grinning, only to remember it gives the game away all too quick. Steve schools his face fastest, notching an elbow on Robin's shoulder and tipping his head toward hers for quick conference. He comes out on the other side with: "What about one of the ones if you play it backwards you can hear Ozzy's grocery list?"

Be still thy traitorous heart. Eddie tips onto his elbows, which are so potently numb they don't feel like his at all, and clasps his hands, twiddling his thumbs absently. "Mm, no can do. Boy George's grocery list, if you're lucky. And for the lady, a fine selection of real music, aisle five."

She sketches a curtsy with the hem of her oversized blazer, something jangling ominously in one of the pockets; she doesn't look skittish, so Eddie figures live and let live. "Let me know when the coast is clear," she orders with a lazy salute off the brow before peeling off for the vending machine.

Eddie notches his chin atop his hands, rings digging into the underside of his chin, the soft skin of his throat. But he's unaffected, nonchalant, even. Workday visit from the boyfriend, totally in bounds, such is the illustrious life of one town freak and his geeks. If he can feel his heartbeat all the way in his teeth, who's to know.

He flicks his brows up in question. "So, to what do I owe the distinct pleasure of a visit from the wonder twins on this fair Monday? I can't clock out before three or Heather's gonna kick my ass. So, y'know, any world-saving 's gonna have to wait for the factory bell to toll."

Steve shakes his head, huffing a little laugh. "I haven't even heard from the little shits today." Snagging something from his back pocket, he waggles it once, twice, and tosses it over. "I just figured you might need that."

Eddie only fumbles it a little, so maybe the whole shacking up with a jock does something for hand-eye coordination that gym class never did. The brief flash of congratulatory vigor sputters and dies a coward's death when he finally registers the who and what of the cracked black leather caught between his palms.

Any clever entendre is choked off in his groan. "You're kidding," he mutters, the crooks of his ears feeling suspiciously, disastrously hot. It's muscle memory that makes him thumb the seam and flick it open, eyes scanning from the frayed ticket stub peeking out of one of the card slots to the shitty photo on his I.D. he's still got two years with.

Steve folds his arms on the counter, clearly happy to be on the other side for once, and glances at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, a shit-eating grin winning the fight of neutrality. "If you wanted a call back, you didn't have to leave your wallet in my backseat."

His flush snakes down--up?--tangling with the scars along his throat, and a small, pleased smile curves at the corner of his lips. "Fuck off, man. No fuckin' way has anyone ever actually done that to y--" He breaks off in face of the baleful, almost pained expression Steve makes.

"Seriously?" Eddie sputters, tossing his head back in laughter. "Jesus, and I'm getting all this for free."

The lines by Steve's eyes crinkle when he smiles then, and Eddie considers hanging up the whole inquisition and hauling him into one of the security camera blindspots for a brief reminder of what got them here in the first place. But there's something itching at him still and he's a junkyard dog with a bone at the best of times. He tips the wallet back and forth between his hands, absentmindedly weighing it.

"Tell me it was in the floorboard, at least."

"Robin was looking for her retainer case, or something. I don't know, she didn't exactly stop for detail." Steve looks at Eddie full-on then, all windswept and easy. Pulling off unaffected and nonchalant with decided precision because he's a bastard. "Which she didn't even find. That," and finally, finally he has the decency to look at least faintly abashed, marginally sympathetic to Eddie's plight. "Was between the seats."

A few things connect for Eddie then--the off-balance weight in his hands, the rattle in her pocket, the thump of the vending machine--and he's scrambling over the counter before most of it has time to lodge permanent residence. His belt buckle scrapes the Formica, and his sneakers crinkle the open face of his notebook, and it's all plenty of warning for Robin before he ever even yelps, "Buckley!" as he tumbles to the floor. "Quit pilfering my change--and don't give me that 'I'm poor' shit, it doesn't work on me!"

"I make seventy cents for your dollar, Munson, you can buy me a soda for my emotional damages," she shoots back, leaning around the corporate-approved 'employee picks' display with a can of RC at her lips. Jesus, she can't even use his hard-earned quarters for good. "That was the all-clear, right? I just want to be clear, because if I have to see you two, like, debauching each other in clearance I'm letting the next demo-creature eat my face, okay?"

"Clearance?" Eddie tuts, scuttling close enough to shove a hand in the nearest pocket of her blazer, fingers glancing off paper scraps and what his passing grade in shop tells him is a screw. "I'd at least debauch your boy in view of full MSRP. I'm a courteous suitor. Respectful."

She makes exaggerated gagging noises as one of her long-fingered hands swats what of him she can reach. Wrist, shoulder, forehead. "You're an asshole," she tells him, all kinds of fondness behind it.

He grins. "Yeah? That's the way you like 'em, anyway."

[mindshelter]

dearer than fine opals for the ask meme?

“Hey, hey, woah,” Kon says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Rob, man, it’s just me.”

Tim can’t move. Kon’s voice doesn’t echo through the hollow underbelly of the Tower. Tim thinks, for the hundredth time, Not real.

“Cassie’s right, you know?” Kon tells him, folding his thighs to his chest before propping his chin against his knees. “Even if you got it right, it wouldn’t have been me.”

It would have been something, Tim had said.

“None of my memories,” Kon says, “none of my history, good or bad. Would you call him my name—the one Kal-El gifted me?”

Oh God. Tim hadn’t even thought—

“I couldn’t believe it, Tim—I was just Superboy, or Kid for so long,” he continues, arms crossed over his heart and grin wide in a loud echo of the day Kon had flown into a Young Justice briefing and Tim’s bite of You’re late crumbled to ash on his tongue when he realized Kon had been crying. There’s a wetness to Kon’s next words, a reverence; “Then Kal welcomed me into the house of El. Me, a real Kryptonian. Isn’t that amazing?”

He loathes to admit it now, but Tim had never given Superboy’s identity much thought back when their partnership had still been a fledging, still delicate, still breakable. If Superboy had a life outside of their team and Cadmus, it was his business. Robin didn’t exist beyond the fringes of his cape to keep his family safe, and Tim would never be weighed down with him if he was ever recognized.

Kon’s expression shutters. “I was so scared Clark would take it away if he knew what I really was.”

This is the best day of my life. Best day of my life, Kon once declared while still in that hand-stitched leather jacket. He had been spinning on his own axis, buoyed and flushed with joy. The heartache that had suffused through Tim’s ribs a moment later had caught him by surprise; the boy wearing a face-splitting grin hovering over him had staggered out of his tube for well over a year, and no one had given him a name. Cadmus had given him room and board, and Superboy had seemed content enough there, but he didn’t attend classes, Tim had realized. He never hung out with friends after school. Superboy’s smile hadn’t wavered despite Tim’s delayed reaction, and had offered Robin a red, gloved hand. Call me Kon.

Robin smiled back. Kon’s joy was always contagious.

“Are you really going to call him Kon-El?” he asks again. The question is quiet and fearful, and Tim flinches.

Kon looks mournful, almost apologetic. It’s a gut-punch that’s worse than the anger Tim deserves.

“I—stop,” Tim says. Stop, stop, stop. He can’t do this. Not tonight. Not ever. He just wanted to clean up his mess. Cover this up. Forget about it forever.

“You don’t want someone wearing my face, Tim,” he adds.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “Into the Unknown With You”

Another one shot from my assorted collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” - this one playing with some of the ideas I would rather have seen in 6x10 and 6x11, it certainly diverges from canon at that point...

Summary: As Emma searches for a way back home from the Wish Realm, help comes from a surprisingly welcome source...

{One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.}

Can also be found on AO3 or ff.net 

“Into the Unknown with You”

by: @snowbellewells 

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked to Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at Regina, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck.

‘What now?!?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend, but one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart to remind Regina just yet that she had spent the last day preaching that none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real, and hurry her along. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

Even if her heart was still crying out for her home and her family, for Henry’s soft hair tickling her nose when she placed a kiss to the top of his head, and Killian’s arms enfolding her, she didn’t know where to go in this topsy-turvy version of the homeland she had never actually lived in, and so she had to wait – more impatiently by the minute – until one of these two, either queen or thief, snapped out of their spell and led the way…

As it turned out, Robin Hood was not the sort of outlaw who would truly do harm to two ladies passing through his territory. He wouldn’t have even made to steal their jewels and furs once the same trance that had overcome Regina seemed to strike him mute as well, but Regina offered him a pouch of coins that had been strapped to her waist and a ruby ring, pressing it into his calloused palm with a quirked smile and the assurance that “she insisted, she was much more partial to his cause than he knew”.

Emma wanted to snort at the ridiculous understatement those words were, and she only barely managed to hold back a roll of her eyes, which she sensed the thief saw but let slide with a conspiratorial wink.

Before she could make an argument for trying to catch up to Gold – or Rumplestiltskin here, she supposed – or ask where they were going to find another bean, it was evening, they were entering a forest in the gathering dark, and soon they had been welcomed to sit around a roaring fire with Robin’s motley crew, and even been offered the ale and venison passed around the circle as if they were part of the merry band.

“Now,” the archer began, seated beside Regina, his boy nodding drowsily on his lap. He looked around her to meet Emma’s gaze head on. “You must be thinking that I owe you an apology. Clearly you were about to leave this place, and because of me, you missed your ride.”

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could get a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, Princess Emma,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The following morning dawned misty and cool, but fair, and Robin greeted Emma at the simmering coals of the previous night’s campfire with a welcoming grin, Regina at his side on the stump they used for a seat, looking as soft and at ease as Emma had ever seen her, her head resting on his strong shoulder seemingly still half asleep. She and Regina had talked at length the night before, and at long last Emma had accepted that Henry’s adoptive mother wasn’t returning with her yet. “I know he isn’t the same Robin, that this whole place is built on a whim, but I’m not losing him again,” she had whispered vehemently. “There has to be another way to get back…one that he could take as well…if he wanted to…” The emotion welling in Regina’s dark eyes had been raw enough that Emma finally consented to go on without further fighting to change her mind, only giving a nod in affirmation when Regina had asked, “You’ll explain to Henry? Tell him I mean to return as soon as we both can?”

“Ready, your Highness?” the sandy-haired outlaw asked, breaking into Emma’s recent memories once more and looking down at her from where he now stood at the ready. “We should make the harbor by noon, if we set out now.”

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

“Yes,” Robin answered her spoken question with an amiable nod as he kissed the back of Regina’s hand in farewell and turned to head off with Emma on his heels. “I happen to know a pirate with whom I sometimes trade my less than lawfully acquired goods. He might have just the sort of thing you need to return home…”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The sound of gulls crying and wheeling overhead and the creak and groan of the wooden docks as they reached the edge of the shore town and neared the sparkling blue harbor was enough to take Emma’s breath away. Robin took a step forward to lead her down the docks, already offering to make introductions, but Emma stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

There before them, as recognizable as always, was the Jolly Roger, bobbing proudly at anchor. Though most might be intimidated by the sight, Emma drew in the first full breath she’d had since remembering herself in this strange realm – as if she had gotten her first real glimpse of home at last. He might still be the vengeful Captain Hook in this reality, but somehow she wasn’t afraid. He would never truly hurt her – and she only wanted to be at his side again without further delay.

Reassuring Robin that she could take it from there, Emma bid him goodbye. Though he looked uncertain, the archer took her at her word and left her with his best wishes. If she clutched his hand a moment longer and a bit tighter than would be normal and bid him be safe a little too fervently – well, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone here…

At her first step onto the gangplank, a shudder of recognition ran through her, as if the vessel itself was welcoming her back aboard, shivers skittering along her spine. At first glance, the ship seemed deserted, her crew perhaps gathering supplies or unwinding at the nearest tavern, but the air around her wavered, charged suddenly, letting her know she was not alone. Emma felt even before she heard heavy footfalls on the planks or that deep, commanding voice at her back, asking who went there, that she had not gone undetected by the ship’s captain.

Turning, her eyes found him, hungrily drinking in the details; altered, but still without doubt the man she loved. The dark hair was windblown and unruly, practically begging for her fingers to delve into its soft abundance and brush the fringe back off his forehead. Though the strands might be shaggier and generously shot through with grey, it made him no less attractive to her starving eyes. In fact, she only wanted to stare at him all the more, to catalogue every difference, trace the deeper crow’s feet around his eyes and the added lines on his forehead. Those fathomless blue eyes were lined so liberally with the kohl she hadn’t seen him use for some time in their modern Storybrooke life that she almost wanted to chuckle at the effect until she registered the way the blue of his gaze also looked paler – as if washed out by too many tears shed alone and without comfort, or dulled by pain held back because he couldn’t afford to let it show.

Brandishing his moniker, and that dastardly, flirtatious mask he had long since let drop around her, to full effect, Captain Hook stepped well into her personal space. “And who might you be?” he questioned, breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned in, hook lifting the heavy rope of her golden braid and tucking it back over her shoulder. It was an achingly familiar gesture and he stood much too close for calm comfort, sending her pulse fluttering again, and yet no recognition lit his gaze as he studied her; the fond devotion she had come to rely on more than she could say was utterly absent, making her heart ache and crack in her chest.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” she answered as sturdily as she could, raising her chin and meeting his eye with as much confidence as she could muster. “I had hoped to speak to you on a delicate matter of some importance.”

“A delicate matter, is it?” he asked, his enunciation and the way his tongue caressed his words seductively had not been altered or diminished in the slightest, whatever else had changed. He stood back to his full height, fingers in his waistband, hips thrust forward and looking every bit as sinfully irresistible as he ever did, complete with that wide-open, chest-exposing red vest she had witnessed once in their trip to the past through Zelena’s portal. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been fooled by the bravado, but knowing his heart as only a True Love could, she saw the emptiness behind the lascivious look, the pain within the façade – the proper, honorable lieutenant he had been, hating the persona his course had forced him to adopt. Even as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, letting his eyes trace her curves from head to toe almost lewdly, she could see the regret clouding the pupils and the wistful longing – as if he could sense what might have been.

Unable to stop herself, Emma reached forward impulsively, grasping both his hook and hand tightly as she spoke, “Yes, very…but just maybe…I was meant to find you. Maybe you’re the only one who would believe me.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Another hour found them below deck in his cabin, seated at the scratched, weathered wooden table which had served him in his lonely meals for ages, Emma’s hand still clinging to his hook where it rested on his thigh, but the other reaching up tentatively to trace that faded scar she knew so well beneath his eye. Hook – though more and more her Killian with every passing moment – had scooted closer to her on the roughhewn bench, blinking in awe as she saw hope returning to his face. He appeared both afraid to believe her words, but also desperate for them to be true.

“So you’re telling me that all of this around us – this whole life – is an illusion?” he asked haltingly, not daring to move his eyes from her face, as though he thought she might disappear as quickly as she had come to him.

“Well, yeah, basically,” she tried to explain. “Or more like…it’s a possibility that didn’t actually come true. There’s this v-villain in my home, in the real timeline that I come from, who made a wish that reset things, and I was sucked into it. I have a son, family and friends, a-and another version of you…who’s my True Love…there missing me. And I have to get back to them.”

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

“Yeah, we are,” she whispered, laying a hand over his rapidly beating heart and drawing comfort from its rhythm. She already felt stronger, more certain, even with this iteration of her pirate. Her watery smile quirked up into a bit of a smirk at one corner, “And don’t worry, he’s still devilishly handsome.”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

Emma hummed under her breath, reaching out to run her fingers along a grey streak in his longer hair. “I don’t know about that,” she offered. “There’s something pretty appealing about this model, grey hair and all.”

“You flatter me, Milady,” he teased, that voice still a sinful purr rumbling from his chest as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to its back. Still, emotion welled up beneath the flirtation, making his magnetic gaze all the harder for her to escape. She was blinking, nonplussed and floundering for some audible response, when he straightened and pulled her to her feet with him. “Enough lollygagging then! I’ll prepare the old girl to set sail. It’s time we got you back where you belong!”

For a moment, Emma was stunned anew. This full-on piratical version of her True Love, who didn’t really even know her and had no reason to do anything she said, had not only chosen to believe her story, but was going out of his way to help her – just as he had ever since he turned his ship around to take her to Neverland. The lump in her throat was almost too much to speak around, but Emma managed to croak out, “You really would give anything to help me, wouldn’t you?” even as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Aye,” he affirmed, looking a bit like he was marveling at that fact himself. “I am not sure I fully understand, nor can I explain it to you, but I sense that I would – that I am almost compelled – to help you in any world or time you would appear to me.”

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ear flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Standing beside him at the helm just a few short hours later, wind in her hair and the salt spray on her face, it struck Emma that though she was desperate to get home, to make sure her son, her family, and her Killian were alright, she didn’t want to simply abandon this pirate captain beside her. She didn’t know what would happen to him, if he would find something to live for, something to be part of, or if she was dooming him to his quiet desperation…even if he might simply vanish into nothingness with the rest of this ill-fated wish. She didn’t know what happened next, to be completely honest. Laying a hand on his forearm, she gazed up into his face, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what becomes of you, or this realm, when I leave here and go home,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if you all just go on like it never happened, if you cease to exist, if you wander here aimless forever…I just…I don’t know…”

Covering her hand with his, he guided the ship with no more than his hook rested capably on the wheel. “Worry not, Princess,” was his confident response, fervent resolve painted over his strong, careworn features. “We shall still set things right, as they should be. Whatever comes after this – infinity or oblivion – will be an awfully big adventure.”

Tagging: @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @laschatzi​ @jennjenn615​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @therooksshiningknight​ @thislassishooked​ @winterbaby89​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @hollyethecurious​ @artistic-writer​ @stahlop​ @elizabeethan​ @donteattheappleshook​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @apiratewhopines​ @lfh1226-linda​ @xsajx​ @ineffablecolors​ @drowned-dreamer​ @thisonesatellite​ @kday426​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @xhookswenchx​ @hookedonapirate​ @blowmiakisscolin​ 

[northoftheroad]

Dick Grayson – 80 years of hairstyles

Welcome to my ongoing TED talk about Dick Grayson. This week I’ll be talking about hairstyles. Just because fashion in hairstyles is kind of fun. 

The general hairstyle during the 1940s was short on the sides and back, longer on the top. One common variant was to have the top hair section parted on one side and combed over and slightly back to create a wave. (Wavy hair was in fashion in the 1940s.)

Dick did start with hair like that; longer on top and short side and back. In the very first panels, the top hair falls over his forehead. But he has been adventurous enogh to try out different fashions over the years to come. 

The original Dick Grayson hairdo – short sides, longer on the top.

Detective Comics # 38. By Bill Finger, Bob Kane and Jerry Robinson (1940).

As Robin. Top hair combed back, curls over the forehead. 

When he becomes Robin, the top hair is combed back; a cowlick makes part of the front hair fall in two curls over his forehead.

Detective Comics # 38. By Bill Finger, Bob Kane and Jerry Robinson (1940).

Silver Age/New Look. Parted on the side. 

His hairstyle will look the same for more than two decades. With the Silver age/New Look in Batman (1964), Dick’s hair is more likely to be visibly parted on the side, and sometimes a curl will fall down over the forehead.

Detective Comics # 327. By John Broome, art Carmine Infantino and Jie Giella (1964).

Longer fringe.

At some time in the very late 60s/early 70s, Dick grows a longer fringe that falls over the forehead (isn’t it a bit like the style popularized by The Beatles, you think?). This style will pretty much stay with him in the 70s, 80s and into the 90s.

Batman # 209. By Frank Robbins, art Irv Novick and Joe Giella (1969).

Tales of the Teen Titans # 44 (1984). By Marv Wolfmann and George Pérez, inkers Mike DeCarlo and Dick Giordano. 

Long hair (mid-90s).

A few years in the 90s, Dick has long hair. Sometimes it was drawn as a mullet (short on front and sides, long at the back), sometimes just long all over; the artists don’t seem to be able to agree. It was Mirage, posing as Kory/Starfire, who cut his hair to this look, over Dick’s mild protest, in New Titans vol 1 # 88 (July 1992). 

At times, Dick would have his long hair in a ponytial; funny enough, his hair was always much longer when he had it in a ponytail than when it was loose. It was that way he lost his long hair, in a fight in Nightwing vol 2 # 1 (October, 1996) when a thug cut off the ponytail.

Edit. Brian Stelfreeze, who designed the “fingerstrip look for Dick, wrote in the model sheet: "The "whip" is not all hair but keeps the look streamlined. It also changes Dick's appearance."

New Titans vol 1 # 88. By Marv Wolfman and Lein Wein, art Tom Grummett, Al Vey, Ian Akin and John Statema (1992).

The New Titans vol 1 # 99. By Marv Wolfman, art Tom Grumment and Robert Campanella (1993).

Robin vol 4 # 13. By Chuck Dixon, art John Cleary, Phil Jimenez, Ray Kryssing (1995).

Nightwing vol 1 # 1. By Dennis O’Neil, art Greg Land and Mike Sellers (1995).

Brian Stelfreeze’s model sheet. 

Nightwing vol 2 # 1. By Chuck Dixon, art Scott McDaniel and Karl Story. (1996)

Curtains hairstyle/fringe and some variations (1996 to 2018). 

After that, Dick went for what I think should be classified as the 90s curtains hairstyle, where the top hair is grown into a fringe that often falls over his forehead or even his eyes, and the hair is parted in the middle. It’s a lot like his original Robin hairstyle, to be honest, but his hair is often a bit longer on the sides than when he was a little Robin.

The following decades, he would mostly often stick to the curtain style, though sometimes the hair is parted on the side and he will look more like he did in the 80s. And in the Grayson comic book, the top hair was combed back, but often a few strands would fall forward.

Nightwing vol 2 # 14. By Chuck Dixon, art Scott McDaniel and Karl Story. (1997)

Nightwing vol 2 # 50. By Chuck Dixon, art Greg Land, Jose Marzan Jr and Drew Geraci. (December, 2000)

The Titans # 36. By Jay Faerber and Barry Kitson, art Rich Faber (2002).

Batman # 688. By Judd Winick, art Mark Bagley and Rob Hunter (2009).

Grayson # 15. By Tom King and Tim Seeley, art Mikel Janín. (2016)

Nightwing vol 4 # 10. By Tim Seeley, art Marcus To. (2017)

Batman vol 3 # 55. By Tom King, art Tony S Daniel and Danny Miki.(November, 2018)

Dick as a blonde – more likely than you think

Dick was supposed to be a blonde with a new secret identity, post his death in Forever Evil. Batman Eternal artist Jason Fabok made a Thanksgiving picture with a blonde Dick included (sitting behind Batman). 

However, plans change, and Dick kept his hair black in Grayson. According to the writer James Tynion IV on Twitter, “it mostly got dialed down to him removing a blonde wig on a case in the opening pages of Grayson #1″. 

Grayson # 1. Written by Tim Seeley, art Mikel Janín. 

Dick did, however, occasionally use a blonde wig in the New Teen Titans years, as a disguise.  

New Teen Titans vol 1 # 40. By Marv Wolfman and George Pérez, inker Romeo Tanghal.

Recently shot in the head; buzz cut. 

... And then came that unfortunate event when Dick was shot in the head on September 2019 (which had everyting to do with the story in the Batman title and nothing to do with telling good Nightwing stories). He came out of that with a buzz cut, short all over. Since then, his hairdo has gone through a few variations on short hair, including longer on the top but shaved on the sides. Incidentally, the shaved sides hairstyle for men was in vogue in 2019, so Dick continues to keep up with the fashion trends.

Nightwing v 4 # 50. By Benjamin Percy, art Travis Moore. (December, 2018)

Slightly later after being shot in the head; hair starting to grow out a bit.

Nightwing vol 4 # 57. By Zack Kaplan and Scott Lobdell, art Travis Moore.

Even later after being shot in the head; shaved sides.

Nightwing vol 4 # 63. By Dan Jurgens, art Ronan Cliquet.

And a little bit later again – his hair is a little bit longer. 

Nightwing vol 4 # 69. By Dan Jurgens, art Ronan Cliquet.

Sometime in the future... 

Still, I’m sure we’re all waiting for Dick to become the one and only Nightwing again, and let the hair grow a bit. And actually, we have had several stories where Dick is and looks like his normal self, while the amnesiac story drags out in the current Nightwing and other Bat-titles. 

Doomsday Clock # 9. By Geoff Johns, art Gary Frank (May, 2019.)

Concrete Jungle. By Mark Russel, art Ryan Benjamin and Richard Friend. Batman: Gotham Nights. # 5. (May, 2020).

[kneipho]

Submitted by: @mantrabay​​

–

Rush Amid The Rapids.

Rush Amid The Rapids.

“Must I always be posting transactions?” I said to myself, Landon Croaker, accountant, adjusting my backpack as I rambled up a ragged winding woodland path.

A granite strewn gulag odyssey lay ahead.

There was the usual green stew of ornate plants.

Ancient Fir Clubmoss which grows into a chalice- like shape.

The St Patrick’s cabbage, with thick leather zig zag veins.

Hapless Fraochan and Whortleberry shrub’s pendant fruit so symmetrical.

I brought my notebook with me.

Closet novelist or bard one day?

Canopy of lattice branch springboards abound.

Shrieks

from stunned squirrels leaping in the arc of a trapeze with blue jay alarm signal.

Rustle of rabbits under slender stalks.

Puffball cloud and brown-dust spore floaters.

A wastrel I was within the wilds.

I was getting close to where my friends, a husband and wife team lived and ran a fringe publishing company.

They resided in a cherry wood log cabin with tongue and groove cladding and a pine timbered roof lantern peering down a mountain side.

Like a watchtower the mountain sat in sinister observance.

A fallow deer suddenly appeared.

It looked furtively with startled eyes as if it knew something I didn’t.

Within minutes it vanished.

Flies swarmed about, the spooky whistleblowers on this solitary hiker’s grazed cheeks.

My clothes were wringing wet from the sweltering heat.

The curious urban spirit drove me on.

Chambered cairns, those passage tunnels from the past that act as stone markers for the venturer were rife.

Platform mounds whose ribboned cracks and gouges play host to strongly rooted Chasmophytes.

There was a lurking presence as the cabin became visible.

“Hello, there. Fancy seeing you here.

Welcome back.”

Chelsea, in a croaking baby twang.

“Oh …you frightened me.” Landon said.

I nearly toppled.

Chelsea dashed towards me.

“A bit worried there, Landon.

What a surprise!

We like surprising people too.”

I paused and replied.

“It’s the unexpected that adds spice to this life business and others!”

Landon sardonically.

“You sound tired.”

Chelsea replied.

“We’ll change that. We’ll change everything about your life now you’re here.”

The ramifications of that would soon unfold.

“The last time I was here we talked about having children.

Any decision yet?

You could always adopt.”

I continued.

“Don’t have to.

Got my husband and he’s got me.” She said.

“We’re both kids at heart.”

Her sad voice trailing off.

“This location seems ideal but there’s schooling and everything.”

Chelsea hesitantly.

“Nothing that couldn’t be resolved.”

Landon in reply.

Croaker sensed Chelsea’s unease and didn’t continue.

“Hey, what’s this?” Croaker cried as two apples landed at his feet.

“Yahoo. You two.”

Chesney, Chelsea’s husband shouted.

“It’s been so long.

Doesn’t time fly?”

Chesney again.

While walking it dawned on Landon how dewy-eyed and child-like this couple were.

.

Entering the cabin seemed like something from a storybook.

Cartoon mosaics attached to fool’s gold borders, zip purse smashed purple bead inserts, and shredded comic strips.

“There are shrouds of deep mystery here.”

Croaker thought.

“Hey Snap.

What’s accountancy like these days?”

Chesney’s smug question.

“Nothing really changes.

Investment investment hazards and the like.

It’s a world I drifted into.

How about your company in paradise.”

Croaker sarcastically.

“Publishing is odd.

You almost become the stories submitted.”

Chesney observed.

“Birth and regrowth are gaining interest.

Am I boring you?” Chesney enquired.

“Well, it beats accountancy.”

Landon tactfully.

A salad of roasted lemon, fennel fronds and pomegranate was served with

guacamole dip based on chunky avocado.

After our meal we washed up

Chelsea’s phantom figure scurried outside with Olympic speed.

It was so redolent of the suddenness about.

A rapt cocoon descended around Chesney and Landon’s interaction.

Landon quizzed Chesney about the urban country rift.

Tranquil timberlands have their own stressors.

“See those creatures slumped awkwardly on fragile twigs?

They sense pending doom.”

Chesney observed.

“Can you really escape hectic city life?”

A querulous tone from Chesney.

“Maybe these divisions are fictional.”

Landon archly.

“Thud. What’s that?”

Chesney shaking.

Chelsea entered.

“Oh dear .. let’s say a homing pigeon.

They’re a strange breed.”

She said smugly.

“Very strange indeed.”

Chesney out loud.

Chelsea and Chesney exchange strained silent glances.

A circus of the wilds continued outside as species vied with species in an ego fanfare.

Chirping robin red breasts,

wing scraping crickets in high chorus.

Vulcan steam curtain as backdrop.

Horseshoe Bats that weave rainbow shafts.

Daddy long legs with their cancan dances on sodden patches.

“Excuse me …..ring a bell?” Chesney diverting Landon’s attention with a broken fragment.

Landon bought this autumn crocus crystal vase on a previous sojourn.

It slipped from his hands in a butter fingers incident.

Croaker uttered the words “my lasting gift” as it fell.

Cackles erupted but frustration for Landon.

“A hilarious keepsake after a fashion.”

Chelsea opined.

“Really?”

Said Landon embarrassed by this anecdote.

The hours passed and they were both tired.

Landon saw Chesney remove a letter from a ring pull drawer.

“Just an old bill. Must shred it.” He said.

“Why would Chesney explain that?

His face reddened.

Curious.” Landon thought.

Shuffling to bed Landon did notice

pink salmon eiderdowns, pillows with children sleeping under moonlit skies, and Milky Way throw blankets.

The night passed uneventfully.

There were some noises in the kitchen as morning approached.

Having woken sluggishly Croaker walked into the dinning area.

A sense of foreboding filled the room.

Landon grappled awkwardly with claustrophobia.

It was disrupted by the chatter of the chestnut -sided warbler.

An oak hook tip moth added charm with its zoom and flutter acrobatics.

“I’ve the creepiest feeling.”

Croaker reasoned.

“BUZZZ ……..Buzzzzz ……Boing.”

My old cell-phone’s text tone.

My boss. Wonder what he wants?”

Landon to himself.

“Dear Landon,

When you return I would like to speak to you about your future with this company.

I can’t go into further details

as it involves a lot of interested parties.

A wide -ranging discussion is in order,

Regards,

Tom Wright

Managing Director.”

Landon’s worst fears now confirmed.

“I’m confused.

Just how pressing is this or …. what is this in front of me?”

A letter from Chesney and Chelsea.

“Hi Landon,

We had to leave quickly.

Help yourself to whatever largesse there is.

Don’t know how long we’ll be.

You can hang around of course or leave.

Don’t break anything!!

Ha ha,

Ches and Chels.”

Incredible! Between the text and the letter who wouldn’t be alarmed?

Landon limped outside to an ear splitting din and a mist laden detritus that merged into pockets of streams steeplechasing each other.

A slimy frog vaulted and cast a damp viscous oil spray in Croaker’s direction.

Something ….a shadow.

“This has been the most peculiar visit I’ve ever had.

Intrigue seems encoded in it.”

Croaker’s anxiety growing.

A tap on the shoulder followed by a crystal shard at his feet.

“The vase remember?

Don’t be so serious ……..we’ve something to discuss with you.”

Chesney said pointedly.

“An Agatha Christie mystery novel has nothing on this.”

Landon fretted.

“We’ve been reflecting, Chelsea and I.

Your presence is an extraordinary coincidence.”

Chesney quizzically.

“We’d like to offer you a job as our accountant.”

Chelsea suggested.

Croaker now shivering.

“You know by now we love to jumpstart even our closest friends.

This post is tailor made for you.”

Chelsea once more.

“Your boss will understand.”

Croaker’s head was now in a spin.

“You like writing don’t you?

There’s plenty of stories here.”

Chelsea opined.

“All this trouble to offer me a job?” Croaker queried.

“We don’t do things by halves.”

Chelsea with Chesney nodding.

A carousel of thoughts flashed through Landon’s mind at this juncture.

He walked in a trance struggling with everything.

“What was in Chelsea’s sports bag I wonder?” Thought Croaker.

“Let’s go for a swim, Landon.

I’ve got swim trunks for us all.”

Chelsea tossed a nylon mesh swim trunks at Landon as everyone changed.

Something slipped out of Chesney’s pocket without him noticing.

It was that letter Chesney removed previously and read as follows.

“Dear Chesney and Chelsea,

As your doctor I regret you won’t be able to have children. It’s with a heavy heart I share this with you.

There are many reasons for this…”

The rest of the letter was creased and illegible.

It was subsequently swept to the river’s edge underneath a Crested Iris by a slight breeze.

Meanwhile, we were all breast stroking energetically while taking the occasional breather.

“You can make up your mind, Landon, at the end of this swim whenever that is and wherever it is taking us.”

Chelsea giggled as she circulated in the eddying stream.

We all started off again as we followed each other’s course.

“Awh, the child within!” Cried Chelsea.

As Landon pondered his fate the mountain looked down imperiously upon us all as the stray deer suddenly reappeared from nowhere.

Maybe that deer did know something after all!

Photograph and short story mantrabay copyright protected.

Many thanks for reading this and other submissions.

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

***

also on ff.net and ao3

***

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin, @kiwistreetswan and whoever else asks me.

***

A/N: Part 2 of 2. Surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me!

***

Killian

How do you feel about improv? ES

Trepidatious. KJ

What if I told you some random just gave me last minute tickets to a Jane Austen inspired improv drag show, and I have a spare? ES

Curiosity alone compels me to say yes. Pleasance? KJ

George Square. ES

Thank fuck. I forgot my umbrella. KJ

If Killian had any sense, he'd approach the month of August the same way Robin did every year. Which mostly amounted to renting his house out to a troupe of Hungarian acrobats for extortionate sums of money and taking off for the south of France, thus avoiding the whole sorry spectacle.

A privilege reserved for those not living out of their older brother's spare room. Nor stuck writing Fringe reviews for his ailing periodical.

He thought his latest was his best yet.

Do you value your time? Your money? Your life? Then walk, don't run, as far from this act as you can. No one this incompetent should be wielding chainsaws, let alone juggling them. I may have been the only one-handed man at the preview, but with this shambolic spectacle set to run for the rest of the week, I expect I won't be the last. 0 stars.

Liam had accused him of being deliberately cruel, but he hadn't seen the show firsthand. The phrase 'culpable and reckless conduct' came to mind. His review went up online, unchallenged.

To his great surprise, his favourite show so far had been the improv show Emma had dragged him along to. It had all the subtle snark and invariable romance of Austen's classic novels, with the added benefit of Emma nearly passing out from laughing so hard. That alone would have justified his five star review, but the cherry on the cake had been when the man dressed as the elderley Dowager had picked August out from the crowd, and made him part of the act.

Killian generally condemned the casual cruelty of audience participation. Indeed, he lived in constant fear of it at every show he reviewed. But when it came for a certain novelist, he found his views on the matter suddenly rather... fluid.

Try as he might, he couldn't see what Emma saw in the man. What hidden virtues he possessed that had provoked such a ferocious loyalty. Killian wasn't stupid enough to voice such thoughts, of course, but that hadn't stopped him trying to figure it out.

The opportunity to continue this study was surely the only reason he'd opened an unsolicited DM from the man himself, when he should have been watching a Swedish comedy troupe send up classic films in a series of skits.

We have a mutual friend in need. How's your schedule looking uhhh… now?

Killian looked back to the stage. He couldn't be sure, but he thought the red streamers might signify blood. They were either up to Carrie or Jaws.

Trouble? Killian typed back.

Emma. The next message read.

We're in a bar in Leith and things have gotten a little… messy.

Killian checked the time. Barely past one in the afternoon. And fucking Leith? That didn't bode well. But at the same time, his review of the show was supposed to be online within the hour.

With a growing sense of unease, he typed out his reply. Which pub?

***

Stepping into The Marksman on Duke Street was not unlike stepping back in time. More precisely, to somewhere smack dab in middle of the Thatcher era, when Leith was a byword for deprivation and whatever comes after heroin chic. It was charmless, grimy and depressing, and Killian might've never understood the appeal until he caught the sign in the window. It opened at 6am.

Trying to avoid the abject stares of the locals, Killian found his quarry sat at the end of the bar on mismatching stools. Emma slumped forward, her face hidden, but August turned around swiftly at his approach, the alarm in his eyes quickly giving way to recognition.

"Oh thank god." August swept off his barstool, his relief so palpable that Killian thought he might hug him. He didn't look well. Thoroughly debauched, if one might say so, and in desperate need of a bath.

"Nice place," Killian remarked drily. "A bit off the beaten path…"

August pinched the bridge of his nose, looking weary. Or… wearier. "It's been a long night. And morning." He glanced back to where Emma sat propped by the bar, apparently still completely unaware of his absence, and drew closer, his voice lowering.

"You know that Graham guy?"

Killian couldn't explain it, but something inside his chest caught. Like flint striking steel. "Aye," he growled, not liking where this was headed.

"Married," August supplied, without preamble. "She didn't know. No one knew. She ran into them holding hands in the Tron. Matching wedding bands. The whole bit. So she threw her beer in his face and called it a day, right? But this morning, no, yesterday morning, the wife showed up. At the apartment. Emma's apartment."

Killian's fist clenched by his side.

"Yeeaah. It got pretty heated. Long story short, it's been a day and a half. I don't even remember how we got here. I'm not sure I even know exactly where here is. I have to be on a train at 4 to King's Cross or my publisher is going to sue my ass. Now, I can trust you? To get her home safely? You look at her like you're half a drink away from belting out Jessie's Girl at any given moment. I didn't imagine that, did I?"

Of all the places to grudgingly admit his feelings, not least in confidence to this man he wasn't sure he even liked, The Marksman was not the venue he would have chosen. And yet.

"There's very little I wouldn't do for that woman."

He was caught by surprise when the man launched forward and kissed him on the cheek, more still when he went back for the other cheek. August grinned enormously, grasping Killian by the shoulders. "Welcome to the family! Please don't fuck it up." And then consulting his phone, "I really need to go."

August made short work of the rest of his goodbyes, pulling Emma into fierce hug from behind, whispering something into her ear as he let her go. Then, with a wink in Killian's direction and a kiss blown at the nearest crusty Leither, he picked up his messenger bag and fled onto the street.

Steeling himself after that prologue, Killian turned back to where Emma sat by the bar, unseeing reddened eyes peeking out from under a tangle of blonde hair. He pulled out August's vacated stool, and took a seat.

"Swan," he began, with an imaginary tip of his cap.

"Jones," she replied, her voice flatter than he'd ever heard it.

"Of all the gin joints…"

She grimaced. Though her frown was so pronounced already, it didn't make much of a change. "We don't talk about the gin."

"At least tell me it was the good stuff."

She tried to smile, but the action seemed to cause her pain. "Don't do that. Don't be nice to me right now."

"Why not? You're not the villain in this story."

A small noise escaped her, half laugh, half sob. "Sure feels like it."

"No, that's the supermarket gin talking. We've talked about this. Nothing good ever came from a clear spirit at 35p a measure."

She sank further forward in her seat, her forehead resting against the bar top. "Don't be cute. Please just leave me alone to die," she mumbled.

He couldn't resist tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, making sure she could see him. "I'm not going to do that. I have a duty of care."

"Why? Because you'd have to find someone else to write a column about?"

"No," he replied levelly. "Because you're my best friend."

That had her lifting her head off the bar, albeit wincing as she did so. "I thought Robin was your best friend?"

He tapped his chin. "No, it's definitely you."

She considered that. Though how much of her internal brain processes had survived the pickling process over the last 24 hours, Killian couldn't be certain.

Of course, it was at that moment their bartender appeared, a middle aged woman with an ill-fitting polo shirt and bright green acrylic nails she drummed against the bar top. "Another top up, hen?" She didn't even glance at Killian.

He put his hand over Emma's glass. "Actually, I'm afraid we're on our way out."

Their server didn't much like that, a hand finding her hip. "Well that's up for the lass to decide, no?"

"It's okay, Tracy," Emma said, managing a consoling smile. "He's a friend. Are we all settled up?"

"We are." She gave Killian a cool once over. "Friend, you say? Mind you keep it that way. Looks like nothing but trouble to me. And you still raw after the last one. Liars and cheats, the lot of them."

Killian thought to take offence, but Emma already had him by the arm, pulling him off his stool. "Thanks, Tracy. Can you call me a cab?"

***

Getting her into the cab took some doing, not least because she had to pause twice to throw up in the gutter, and the first guy had driven off. Fair play to him. Thankfully by the time the second cab arrived Emma's stomach had settled, and she spent the drive curled harmlessly against Killian's side.

"Your lassie alright?" the cabbie asked, as Killian half lifted, half dragged her from the backseat out onto the gravel driveway. "You need a hand?"

It was a testament to how preoccupied he was that Killian didn't even stop to consider that might've been a crack about his prosthetic until Emma was already inside and passed out on his bed.

He texted Elsa first. A simple heads up.

There's an unconscious woman in the house. Don't freak out. KJ

It went about as well as you'd expect.

At least he had sisterly back up when he broke the news to Liam that he wasn't getting his review.

Needless to say, by the time Emma raised her groggy head from his pillow, the house was no longer silent, and it was no longer still. Elsa had insisted on rushing home, and boyish shrieks permeated the air, punctuated by the usual crashing and banging.

Killian sat in his one armchair, an ugly monstrosity of purple velvet which had been forbidden from the rest of the house, sipping his tea as she came awake. It took some time. One eyelid slithered open. Then the other. Never both at the same time.

"Do I want to know why someone is screaming in the next room?" Her voice was scratchy, and he motioned towards the glass of water by the bedside.

"Nephews," Killian said by way of explanation, as she crawled forward to grasp the glass in both hands, shaking with the effort.

She took a long draught, surveying her surroundings. He wondered how much she remembered from the last two days, if anything. If she even remembered his arrival at The Marksman, or August's leaving. She examined the ornate cornices, and floating beams. The collection of spent paperbacks stacked by the bed and the shabby, unmatched furniture.

"Your house. Your room?"

"My room," he confirmed. "We have guest rooms, but they're upstairs. And quite frankly, just getting you this far was nightmare enough. You're heavier than you look."

He earned a pillow to the face for that remark. It still smelled of her, which in her current state, wasn't much of a testimonial.

"Shower?" he ventured.

"Please," she said, rolling over until she could place both feet on the floor.

"Second door on the right. Elsa left some things out. Towels. Fancy shampoo. Paracetamol," he added with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Should be a set of clothes too."

She cringed. "Elsa knows I'm here?"

"Sorry. It's a new house rule of theirs. Radical honesty. Elsa knows you're having a rough time of it, and are convalescing. But that is the extent of her knowledge. Whether that remains the case, is entirely up to you."

"Right."

"Oh," he said, smacking his forehead. He scrabbled around on top of his dresser, before presenting her with a wooden triangle.

She took it automatically, seeming annoyed at herself for doing so. "Uh, thanks?"

"The bathroom door doesn't have a lock on it. Best wedge it under the door. Trust me when I say, you don't want Lachie walking in on you in the altogether. It's stressful for all involved."

"Good tip," she said, with a ghost of a smile.

She edged past him awkwardly to the door, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She'd already slipped into the hallway when her head appeared back around the door.

"Killian?"

"Aye?"

"I'm horrendously hungover so you probably can't tell, but I appreciate, uh…" she waved the wedge around vaguely. "All this."

"Swan?"

"Yeah?"

"I mean this in the nicest possible way, but please do shut up," he said with a wink. "Also, you're taking me out for pancakes after, so don't be too long."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, am I just?"

"You are indeed. Best thing for a gin hangover, in my limited experience. And it was very generous of you to offer."

"Very generous," she agreed, dubiously. "And Killian?

"Aye?"

"You're so full of shit. But... I do love pancakes. And one more thing?"

"Hmm?"

She kicked a toe into the carpet, eyes evasive. "You're sort of my best friend, too." Then she disappeared back behind the door, leaving Killian slack jawed.

***

He'd nearly finished two chapters of his book by the time Emma returned from her trip to the bathroom, shower soft and minty fresh.

"Better?" he asked, putting the novel aside.

"Much," she agreed. "Though full disclosure, I think I just used a $300 tube of lotion, and I kinda smell like a baby Porsche."

"The very best kind of Porsche," Killian assured her, offering her his prosthetic to take. "They're terrors once they hit the teenage years. Shall we?"

They crossed Bruntsfield Links just after sunset, the sky still streaked with pink and orange. He'd always loved summers in Scotland, that neverending twilight. It almost made shivering through six months of winter worthwhile. He was so busy admiring the scene, he nearly missed it when Emma detached herself from his arm, stopping in her tracks.

"Emma?"

She was standing entirely still, her eyes shut.

"Are you alright, love?"

Her eyes flickered open, almost surprised to see him still standing there. "Sorry, just… cataloguing."

"Cataloguing," Killian repeated, deadpan.

"Yeah, smartass," she said, walking forward to loop her arm under his again. "Cataloguing. Sometimes I forget, but this-" she indicated the kaleidoscope sky, the green-gold expanse of grass disappearing into the distant smudge that was Arthur's Seat, the group of laughing teenagers nearby trying to finish their mini golf game before they lost the light, "-Sometimes I still have to pinch myself."

She didn't elaborate, and Killian found himself oddly lost for words. He just reached over to squeeze her hand, and led her back towards the city lights.

For the time of year, they got lucky. The line was short, and it wasn't long before they were led to a red vinyl booth, complete with its very own mini jukebox. They both stared at it for a good minute before Emma fished a spare pound out of her pocket, and dropped it onto the table between them. "Your call. I'm going to the bathroom. Anything but Don't Stop Believin'."

Lord help him, but he thought he might love her.

He settled for a less foreboding tune, which morphed into another, then another, before he was fishing out his own coins to keep the party going. If he didn't know her any better, he might've thought she'd done a runner on him. Fortunately, he did know her better. Or at least, he was starting to.

She came back just in time for the guitar solo in The Chain, her I'm-bearing-up smile indicating she was doing nothing of the sort.

"Ruby texted," she explained, taking her seat opposite him. "About twenty times. She wouldn't stop until I FaceTimed her. I miss anything?"

"Just side one of Rumours. And your drink order." He indicated the glass of fizzy orange liquid in front of her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Fanta?"

"Irn-Bru. Best hangover cure there is."

She cast him a doubtful look.

"I'm serious. There's been studies."

"Oh well, if there's been studies." She slid the glass minutely closer, but didn't partake. Instead she watched as Killian lifted his own glass, and made a face.

He lowered his glass. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about how I'm never drinking again. I didn't even know they served beer here."

"They do, but this is Dry Ginger."

She raised an eyebrow. "Ginger ale? You?"

Killian shrugged. "It's something I'm trying. Like a cleanse. But instead of drinking juice and doing yoga, I drink post-mix dry ginger and be less of a twat."

"Sobriety." Emma slapped her hand against the table. "I wish I'd thought of that. But I've barely seen you, when did you decide this?"

"Roughly…" he counted back the days, "43 days ago." When I thought I'd lost your friendship forever. But he didn't have to say it. From the look on her face, she already knew the significance.

"Huh." Emma sat back in her seat, absorbing that. But if she was planning on expanding on that thought, she was saved by the arrival of their waitress, who was all too eager to expound on the daily specials.

By the time they were alone again, Emma had cracked and was halfway through her Irn-Bru.

"I mean, it's not repellent…" she offered, by way of grudging approval.

"Trust me, it works." And then because he felt like they'd danced around it long enough, "So do you want to talk about it?"

She set down her glass, letting her fingers trace along the edge of the table top. "Nope. But somehow I feel like we're going to anyway."

"It was only about eight hours ago you wanted me to leave you to die in Leith's most depressing pub. I feel like it warrants at least a conversation."

She grimaced at the memory. Or perhaps where the memories ought to have been. It was hard for him to be sure.

"I fell in love with a married woman once. If you're worried about my judgement, you needn't be."

He wasn't quite sure where it had come from. This sudden urge to talk about Milah. But it was how they'd always operated, wasn't it? If he wanted Emma to take down her walls, he had to offer up a few bricks from his own. Well, this was more of a boulder, really, but at least he had her attention.

She snorted. "I wasn't in love with Graham."

"So what's the problem?"

"Because," she reasoned, tears springing into her eyes. "It's just so fucking mortifying. To be played for a fool, again. I thought I was smarter than that. I thought I could just, I don't know, flirt with a cute, intelligent guy and feel good about myself for five fucking seconds without it ending with his wife beating down my door demanding to know if I'd fucked her husband!"

She'd gotten a little loud towards the end there, with more than a few wary eyes glancing their way. Killian quickly stood up, and made his way over to her side of the booth, slipping in beside her. It was a tight fit, but it did succeed in sheltering her from most of the stares.

"Alright, so he's a tosser."

Another snort.

"Liam's bookie knows a guy. I could make a few calls?"

She shot him a sideways glance. "Don't tempt me right now. I just feel so stupid. But like, in an angry way."

"You're not stupid for being taken in by him. It's not a weakness to want to see the best in people, Emma. In fact, considering how many people in your life have disappointed you, myself included, I'd say it's pretty bloody brave."

Emma shook her head. "Is it though? I saw red flags. Even from the start he was kind of flaky. I wasn't even sure if I really liked him. It just appealed to my vanity, that he seemed to like me. So don't I deserve this? Just a little?"

"No." Killian wasn't sure where the vehemence came from, but he could feel it, welling up. "No, you don't deserve to be lied to, and dragged into the middle of someone else's messed up marriage without your knowledge or consent. No, you don't deserve being made to feel like the side-piece. You're not the side-piece. You're the heroine. And he's just a fucking wanker. What you deserve..." He looked up to see their server approaching the table, platters piled high with maple syrup topped goodness. He shot Emma a smile. "What you deserve, is pancakes."

***

It would've been remiss of him not to foot the bill, after his earlier declaration about her deserving pancakes, so there'd been a little bit of an argument about that as they wended their way down Clerk Street in the growing darkness. That Emma could argue about not paying for the pancakes he'd goaded her into in the first place, was a testament to the healing powers of Irn-Bru and a triple stack. No truly hungover person would have committed to such a futile battle.

But when they arrived at the beginning of her street, Emma stopped arguing and grabbed a hold of Killian's arm, pulling him up short.

She was shaking her hands out, like she was fighting off an attack of nerves, and Killian was instantly on the defensive. "Swan?"

She stopped when he said her name, plastering on what seemed to him a rather brittle smile. "Hey. Sorry. I'm just wondering, would you do me a favour?"

He had to chuckle at that. "Swan, if the last twelve hours have proven anything, it's that yes, I am available for favours. Unless of course they involve you paying me back for the pancakes. Because I'm afraid I'm rather immovable on that front."

"Great. So umm… Ruby has this theory."

"Ruby has a theory?" he repeated, hoping at some point, things would start making sense. "What manner of… theory?"

"Oh, god this is so stupid," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm just going to say it. I'm just going to come right out and say it: I want you to kiss me."

Something very violent was happening inside Killian's chest, a feeling which was neither happiness, nor disappointment, but a crushing combination of the two. He felt hot and cold. He felt light-headed.

"You want-" he started.

Emma's eyes were screwed shut, as if bracing for a blow. Or in this case, the fallout. She already had regrets. And more than that, it had been Ruby's idea. But why would Ruby…?

Of course.

The best way to get over a man, was to get under a new one. Wasn't that the old adage?

It wasn't about him. It wasn't about them.

No, she'd been clear. I want you to kiss me. She'd chosen him. She trusted him to be the one to soothe her wounded pride. Maybe she'd hoped it would be him. Maybe he was just the most convenient option. In any case, the wondering would certainly kill him.

But not as much as going through with it.

He reached out and took her hand, waiting until she opened her eyes. By Christ, people weren't supposed to look so beautiful by yellow street light. It wasn't scientific. And yet.

"No."

Now it was her turn to look like someone had punched her in the stomach.

"Oh." She made to release her hand from his, but he held firm. In fact, he pulled her closer, just a little.

"No, I'm not going to kiss your bruised pride back into place. Because I promise you, it's going to heal just fine on its own. You don't need a kiss from me or anyone to remind you what you're worth. You never have. It's one of my favourite things about you. Understand?"

Her reply was a little choked up when it came. "Got it."

She gravitated closer, her eyes shining, and he felt like he was losing his mind. He was certainly losing his nerve. He settled instead for raising her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles.

"That's one for the road."

He released her then, though nearly every part of his was screaming at him to do the opposite. Thankfully, she looked just as shaken as he felt. He nearly twisted his ankle in a gutter trying to put a little distance between them. And then he had one perfect surge of stupid confidence, and turned back to face her. She was still standing under the streetlight where he'd left her, looking oddly incomplete.

"Will you do me a favour, Swan?" he called out.

She held up her hands in a helpless shrug. "Sure."

"When the time is right, ask me again."

Then with his heart hammering a million miles a minute, he turned away and slipped into the adjoining street, and back into the night.

[fericita-s]

Epilogue

The end has arrived for the A Mansion House Murder!

Big thanks to all the writers of this quarantine round-robin: @jomiddlemarch, who had the idea to begin with and wrote so many good chapters, @broadwaybaggins and @sagiow who dragged us all across the finish line, and @mercurygray and @tortoisesshells for their wonderful chapters and effusive comments and @the-spaztic-fantastic for the faithful beta-ing. I think this story probably set a record on AO3 for the comments to kudos ratio.  300 comments and 20 kudos?! We are a chatty bunch.  And I love it.

“Thank you, Belinda.  For so much. Not just today,” Emma said from the doorway.  Belinda hadn’t invited her in and Emma didn’t want to assume.  She’d already assumed too much about Belinda’s desires, or discounted them completely. “I’m going to see Mother and explain about Jimmy.  And Frank.”

Belinda looked to Emma’s arm looped through Henry’s, to the pale circle of white around her ring finger where a wedding ring had been.  “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, Belinda. I won’t ask that of you. I just wanted to tell you all of that myself before you hear it gossiped about.” 

“Well,” said Belinda, a smile turning one corner of her mouth. “I think I’d like to see her take the news.”

“Even if she asks you for laudanum?” Emma asked, matching her smile. It was a sad thing to tell her mother that her brother was arrested, her husband dead, her sister currently in hysterics that Percival was trying to soothe with one arm while signing away the family hotel to Mrs. Morris with the other.  It was sad. But the lightness and laughter kept rising in her chest and she couldn’t stop smiling over the freedom she felt and the relief that she would be leaving soon.

“I can tell her where to find it if she does,” said Belinda, reaching to the peg by the door for a shawl.

***

“It’s a fair price,” Anne said, though she knew it was a bargain. She also knew how desperate they were to sell and she knew what being desperate felt like, so she didn’t push further. Emma, at least, deserved the money and Anne was eager to send it to her.  Anne had more money than she could spend and Charlotte’s idea for a school was the first thing to excite her about the future since Frederick’s death.  They could scrub the blood out of the walls, purge the secrets from each closet.  The Greens had done it once before.  Anne was determined she and Leah and the Diggs would do it even better. Bridget too, if she could persuade her.  

Percival nodded and might have shaken her hand, but his arms were currently around his wife who was crying.  Anne couldn’t tell if Alice was genuinely grief-stricken and whether it was for the loss of property or the loss of life, and she didn’t much care to find out.  She’d had her fill of mysteries. 

***

    They went to Boston before Williamstown and Mary took her shopping.  In Boston, it was easy to find ready-to-wear, though Mary took her to a favorite tailor and dressmaker and insisted on some pieces made to Emma’s own measurements.  They moved slowly through town, at Mary’s normal pace and Emma’s preferred one for seeing a new city. It wasn’t so different from Alexandria, not really, not until people spoke to her or their eyebrows shot up at her accent. The kid gloves were to guard against the cold more than the sun, and she’d never had nor needed a sealskin toque or fur muff.  But the Yankees weren’t the fearsome lot her mother had promised they would be, practically drowning out the vows she and Henry made to one another in the Green family drawing room with a subdued Dr. Hale doing the honors. 

    After a wool cape and fur-trimmed pelisse that Emma bought with Henry’s money (our money he had said, pressing it into her hands that morning as he kissed her forehead), Mary bought her a silk Paisley shawl with fringe, calling it a wedding present.

“If I was really spoiling you it would be Kashmir.  These are going out of fashion now what with everyone’s desperation to show off their bustles.  But I find them the best way to keep warm at home, at least when Jed’s not there.” Mary pulled the shawl around Emma and fiddled with the fringe. “I hope you’ll be happy here.  I know Henry wishes it too. But I know what it is to lose a husband.”

Emma put her hands in Mary’s and smiled at her friend. “I am happy.  Or, I will be. I’m not sure what I am now, but it’s better than I was.”

***

    He married her in Virginia but, all he had offered since then was a chaste kiss or an arm for hers to loop through as they navigated trains and carriages. Their overnight at the Foster’s home was a late night of reminiscences by the fire, mulled wine, and the steady interruptions of Johnny and Daniel and then even Elias coming to complain about the loud ruckus downstairs.  When Mary finally shooed both the boys and the adults to bed with a meaningful “They’re newlyweds after all, Jed,” Emma and Henry had both hesitated when he shut the door behind them.  

    “You’re weary from the travel; I’ll let you - “

    “Henry,” Emma said, her hands already reaching for the buttons of his waistcoat. “Don’t make me wait any longer.  Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

    Henry closed his eyes and reached for her cheek, remembering his first touch there years ago. When he had wiped away a tear and wished he could kiss her. 

    “Is it that you don’t want me this way? That I’m - “

    “No, Emma not that.” He opened his eyes and stepped back so he could see her clearly, reaching for her hands and squeezing. “I want you very much. So much I hardly know how to start.”

    “Then let me show you, Henry,” Emma said, pushing on him gently until they were at the bed and he sat down heavily, off balance and out of breath. She nudged his knees open with her own and stood between them, her hands on his shoulders and his at her waist, leaning in to kiss him behind the ear and to whisper “I am my beloved’s and he is mine.”

***

Henry and Emma continued west to Williamstown, waving from the carriage that took them from the Foster home and promising to return soon for a visit and to write even sooner.  One week later the Foster boys welcomed their much desired puppy, and one year later, a rather less desired sister.  Jed’s apprehension turned to delight when Mary reached for her daughter with eager arms, bringing her to her breast and leaning back into the pillows with a laugh.  “There’s two of us now.  Three if you count the dog.  We’ll be evenly matched soon, Mr. Foster.”

Jed washed his hands in the basin and looked at the brightness in her cheeks and the sweat on her brow, walking to her to check for fever. He kissed her forehead and then the baby’s.  “Oh, I’m very happily outmatched already.”

***

Frank didn’t haunt her.  But sometimes her own inaction did. Her complicity. 

The cold of Williamstown was nothing to the bone-chilling terror of life in Franklin County, the shiver of fear she felt as she heard horses whinny in the dark and hooves pound the dirt as Frank and his most loyal congregants rode off to wreak whatever hateful havoc they could. 

In Williamstown, Henry knew how to stoke the fire just so, and soon afterwards the Rumford fireplace in the house was replaced by a coal furnace, the intricate ironwork and decorative finials as fancy as any etched crystal her mother had been proud to show.

She did not long for her life in Virginia and it took a while before Henry’s encouragement to write letters to her mother and sister and Belinda yielded missives sent south.  She hardly wrote to Mary because they visited so often - heading east for Boston meetings of the American Woman Suffrage Association with Mary and her friend Josephine Bhaer and then later to meet baby Penelope Foster.

Emma taught Sunday School and led sewing circles and an auxiliary chapter of the AWSA. She waved to Henry’s students as they walked by their house and he brought her flowers that Alice might have called weeds but Emma would not.

When Henry’s hands were on her, she never thought of Frank. The way he loosened her corset and spread his hands over her stomach and chest, pulling her to him before it was dark and he could see her best, it was uniquely Henry. He had started hesitant and unsure, but she showed him with her sighs and fingers spread across his shoulders and legs wrapped around his middle that she wanted this too, so much.

In the end, all of her new fitted dresses and smartly tailored coats that Mary helped her buy were useless by her second winter as it became clear the Reverend and Mrs. Hopkins would welcome a baby with the spring.

***

The first students at The Lou Morris School knew there were ghosts, and they knew Ms. Leah Gordon took care of them.  They knew there had been a war and they knew about loss.  In their beds, under clean cotton sheets, they whispered about the cries they heard in the night, the thuds and thumps and rhythmic banging.  Laughter too, though only when patrons Doctor and Mrs. Hale came on their weekly tours and Mrs. Diggs walked them to an upstairs room.  The children decided the ghosts liked ornate bustles and lacy flounces like Mrs. Hale wore and drew elaborate flourishes on the pictures they drew of the spirits they imagined. 

But after a few years, no one spoke of ghosts, even though Ms. Gordon still sang at night to calm them and Jack and Harriet had been there the whole time and remembered.  The children knew people came in different colors; the grown-ups said black and white, but to them, they were all brown and beige, with a few pink, with freckles all over their faces, like Miss Brannan. They also knew people had different skills; some spoke with words, others with their hands, and some, not at all. Some could run and jump over the fence they weren’t supposed to jump over, earning a scowl from Old Mrs. Green who seemed to always walk by when they were at play in the yard.  Some could walk with some help, and others had special chairs with wheels that needed to be pushed - slowly! the teachers always said, Mrs. Morris most of all, her eyes all seeing, her tone sharp but never mean.

When the cries in the night and the thumps and thuds sounded, it wasn’t with fear that the children strained to listen.  They stilled in their beds to listen for Ms. Gordon’s voice floating down the halls.

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Nobody knows but Jesus

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Glory, Hallelujah

[sdv-lostatsea]

Tracks- SDV Sebastian

Uh well this is the first thing I’ve written in a while so I’m pretty rusty, but I liked how this turned out so I’m gonna throw it to the internet anyway. Of course it’s angsty as hell because what’s new with me.

Sebastian & Farmer/Reader: You meet him at the train tracks during an unforgiving night.

It was almost ridiculous how visible the stars were, but then again light pollution wasn't really a problem in Pelican Town. However, it was cold enough for your breath to be visible, small clouds obstructing the nearly flawless view above. 

You don't know why you agreed to come out here. The night made the cool air sink into your bones and it was going to be a long hike back to the farm. And yet here you were lying on your back with your head cradled by steel rods made to carry trains and not human heads full of overwhelming thoughts. 

To your right he takes a deep breath, face illuminated by the glow of the cigarette, then exhales. Smoke mixes with the cool air in a slow moving dance, extending it's fingers outward until the night swallows it inch by inch. Nothing remains but the smell. 

All of this you see from your periphery as you still have not looked over at him. Not fully. You know that at some point you will probably have to, drawn in by his voice as he asks what's up with you tonight. But he hasn't yet and he probably won't until he has discarded the cigarette. 

For now it is quiet. 

Through the hood of your winter jacket you can feel the hard metal and resist the urge to shift into a new position. String in the pocket of your jacket keeps your fingers occupied and you long for this moment to be over, to be able to go home and crawl into bed and rethink every little encounter you've had with him until your mind shuts down. But you're stuck here with him in a silence that you wish wasn't so damn awkward because they never used to be. Silence had always been welcome, it showed trust. Now though, now it was twitchy movements and spiralling thoughts and-

"Stop thinking so loud."

It's the first thing he's said since you laid down beside him. You shut your eyes tightly and try to overcome the embarrassment that has heated your face. After a moment of internal debate, you turn your head slightly so that his face is mostly in view. He's not done with his cigarette.

He's not looking at you, eyes focused on the moon as he lazily takes a drag. If you hadn't known him for almost a year now you would think he looked almost serene, but there were emotions roiling under the surface of his resting face. He flicks the ashes off to his right, away from you, and then takes one last drag before discarding it. 

Now comes the moment you've dreaded.

He turns to face you, fully shifting to lay on his side. He uses an arm to cushion his head from the steel and he huffs slightly in attempt to move the fringe from his face. And then silence settles again. 

You want to look away but his dark eyes bore into yours, a steady gaze that holds you captive. If it wasn't so cold out you're sure you'd be sweating but instead you're trying to transfer some of the numbness of your fingers to your emotions. If you couldn't feel the sting maybe it would all just go away and you could walk home with blissful apathy and a mostly intact friendship.

"What's wrong?" 

You're not even sure he spoke but the question lingers in the frozen air between you. 

You're about to sputter out an undeniably horrible excuse when the truth rushes forward in the worst form of bile you've ever tasted. 

"I saw you and Sam earlier." 

His eyes only widen a fraction before returning to normal and he looks at you with a gaze more scalding than you've ever seen on him. He's defensive, you realize.

"I-it's not… it's that…"

A lump forms in your throat and you struggle to breathe in the cold air for a while. He won't stop staring at you.

The few minutes it takes for you to compose yourself are deafening and it's like he's solidified into all the fears you had going into tonight.

"I just thought… I hoped it could be me." Your voice is meek and shaky but his face softens a touch. The hard facade melts into a soft frown and worrying eyes. 

"(Y/n)..."

"It's fine Sebastian." You turn away as pity starts to form in his eyes, yours burning with the threat of tears.

He sits up, movements sluggish, and he reaches into his pockets for another cigarette. He puts the stick between his lips and fumbles with the lighter, clicking it once, twice, and a third time with no success before muttering sharply under his breath and putting it away. The cigarette dangles from his lips while his hands remain in his pockets. He won't look at you. 

You knew this was a bad idea but some part of you was hoping you had misinterpreted the scene, that maybe Sam had laid his hand sweetly on Sebastian's cheek after the kiss as some platonic gesture of gratitude. But you weren't that naive. It didn't take more than a glance to see the emotion in Sam's eyes or the burning of Sebastian's ears. 

And you will him to look at you, to say something, anything. He doesn’t. Instead he pulls a hand out of his pocket, fingers trembling, as he takes the cigarette from his mouth. He doesn’t put it away, choosing to hold it tightly between his thumb and forefinger. His face is turned away from you and you wrap your arms around your chest to try and retain any semblance of warmth. 

“I don’t know what to say.” His voice is quiet, strained. 

“I don’t know what I want to hear.”

He shakes his head gently, as if the notion is absurd. 

“I know what I would want to hear if I were you… but I can’t say it. It wouldn’t be the truth.”

You knew, had known since you walked away from where Sam and Sebastian had been in the back of the saloon, that he wasn’t going to love you back, but hearing him voice it feels like cracks in already thin ice. The cold air hurts your lungs but you try to focus on pulling air in, visualize the tissue there freezing outward in the pattern of snowflakes until your whole body becomes like one of Robin’s ice sculptures. At least then Sebastian might look at you. 

Through the hood of your jacket you can feel the hum of the rails. For a moment you close your eyes and will everything to disappear, but then the vibrations grow stronger and you force yourself up. You stand, forcing your gaze to him as he rises as well. He doesn’t look at you and you take this as your cue to leave. 

You make it a few steps before he calls out to you. When you stop you don’t look at him, but you can hear his footsteps crunch in the light frost. 

Finally you’re looking at each other again. His eyes are solemn, jaw clenched, looking like he wishes he had all the answers to every question he’s ever asked because maybe then he could resolve this. But that’s the funny thing about the situation: there is nothing to resolve. There’s no conflict, no issue, no pent up anger to dissipate. Just the splintering of a dream you had clung to at night. And while it hurts, there is nothing to apologize for. 

You want to tell him this but he opens his mouth first. 

Whatever he was going to say is drowned out by the sound of the train’s horn as it comes howling down the track. A strong gust of wind accompanies the noise and you have to focus on not losing your balance. His hair whips around wildly but his gaze is steady, never leaving yours. It’s so cold and windy and the night has been an exceptional disaster, but for a moment there is no one here but you and Sebastian, eyes locked as if letting go means losing every last trace of your fragile friendship. And, as the train carries past on squealing wheels and rattling cars, you can feel your heart beating in your throat, a rhythm so steady for the most disquieting night you’ve had since moving to the valley. 

It’s over too soon. The train continues onward and your moment ends.

He’s still looking at you but the atmosphere isn’t the same. What could have been mended is lost, sinking below a sheet of ice into a frozen lake. You could try to resurface it but it would be changed, maybe even unrecognizable. And you know that whatever emotions he’s feeling are too destructive to heal you right now. 

So you say goodbye. Not with words since the time for talk has long passed. Instead you take a step forward and place a kiss on his cheek, but rather than waiting to see his expression as you would have just yesterday, you turn on your heel without so much as a glance his way.

Maybe with time the waters will thaw and you will be able to go back to late night track talks, but for now you just want to curl up in bed and sleep the rest of the abysmal night away.

[midoridragonuus]

plague | ice | fire

the world of sornieth as defined by schwartz industries 

PLAGUE

the wandering contagion - plague is an incredibly populous district, filled with large (and environmentally hazardous) businesses. however, because of the growing job market and booming economy, the city has grown exponentially and continues to expand. currently, they're looking into purchasing part of the starwood strand.

the blight sanctum - one of the prestigious universities of sornieth. the blight sanctum is the leading university for medical study. it boasts an impressive immunology department as well as genetic engineering and predictive DNA studies. (rhodyle claims to have graduated from here, but this can't be confirmed).

the wyrmwound - the second most populous city in the plague district. it's home to most of the businesses that schwartz industries does business with. there's little restriction on mass production, leading to an overabundance of smog. it can be difficult to breathe in the heart of the city, yet it also produces the most results.

quarantine zone #128 - the other 127 zones remain under government secrecy. #128 is the newest, and most well-known to the general public. after a catastrophic meltdown by a testing facility, radiation and chemically permeated air make it a no-go. the zone remains closed to anyone without clearance, and what's really inside remains a government secret.

hellwell undercroft - the capital of the plague district. it's one of the most ruthless places to live. the climate has been compared to the harshest areas of the ice district. those with health problems either move away or die. unsurprisingly, morticians are in high demand.

the seedscar - much like its counterpart (the pox consulate), the seedscar was founded in an attempt to foster diplomacy between nature and plague. unfortunately, it never came to fruition. the flora brought by nature reacted harshly to the unforgiving plague environment and mutated out of control. it too has its own quarantine zone where various officials try to prevent the spread of its tendrils.

ICE

frigid floes - once a massive glacier, the landscape has begun to crack and drift apart from global warming. plague's contribution to lightning and fire's environmental issues have caused the acceleration of the floes fracturing. however, there have been many scientific discoveries based off of what has been unearthed in the ice. some are mere skeletons of creatures that once were. some are more heinous in nature.

snowsquall tundra - the most populous area of the ice district. while it maintains a winter environment, it's temperate enough to host year-round hiking and camping. oddly enough, it also lends to an agricultural lifestyle. there are various plants that can't grow outside of the snow, and are used in medical production.

cloudscrape crags - perilous mountains that are often desolate. avid hikers avoid climbing this mountain range, as they know how deadly the shifts in weather can be. more than a handful of inexperienced hikers go missing every year. (the legend of beauford the returned originated here).

the frozen sanctum - one of the prestigious universities of sornieth. the frozen sanctum frequently makes trips to the frigid floes and takes samples back to its labs to study. various medical breakthroughs have been made here, although widespread production of any vaccines it creates are allocated to plague. (robin graduated from here!)

the rimebone stockade - the ice district is rich with history, and the stockade makes it all the more apparent. many of the specimens recovered from the ice are displayed within the stockade. while most of the stockade is open for public viewing, several recovered jewels, forgotten treasures, and interesting creatures are locked away from the public eye.

fortress of the ends - the capital of the ice district, the fortress of the ends is a hostile place that many refuse to visit. it's not kind to tourists, and frequently issues arrest warrants for menial reasons. those who own property within the area are generally royalty from ages past whose lands have existed for hundreds of years. (mina hails from here).

FIRE

magmablood rebuke - one of the newest geological phenomenon in sornieth, the magmablood rebuke is an active volcano that surfaced after a particularly terrible storm. while both ice and wind tried to claim the land for their own, fire's populace got to it first. while there's debate on whom the island legally belongs to, the blacksmith guild that currently inhabits it has made it apparent that no others are welcome unless they hail from the fire district.

the flintlock fumaroles - an area of great tectonic activity, lightning has partnered with the fire district to harness volcanic activity to power the many construction firms in the area. because of the increased production and centralized businesses, the area is covered in a thick smog (not unlike that of the plague district). however, the fire district, unlike the aforementioned is currently trying to develop a green plan to reduce emissions.

molten scar - a long, wide area that is generally seen as a flat plain, though it is permeated with lava flow in several areas. it's said that this is the remnant of a battlefield of old, and that the lava flow follows the pattern of a great creature's claw marks. (this is the origin of the legend of nikandros the scarred).

blacksand annex - this is the most populous city in the fire district (and its capital). it's where any and all blacksmiths go for training, despite the existence of the magma sanctum. considered to be the home of more technical jobs, it also boasts a booming economy as various districts contract fire for its ability to construct.

the magma sanctum - one of the prestigious universities of sornieth. although it does have a blacksmithing program, the majority of students who attend the magma sanctum focus on architecture or geology. the university has partnered with the oculus for a dual meteorology program.

cinderslag - another large city in the fire district. unfortunately, because production relies on access to water, the blacksand annex has thrived while the cinderslag has not. while it borders the water district, the aforementioned is rather stingy with allocation of resources and refuses to allow access to anything near the shoredeep presage. because of this, cinderslag has become more of a slum, although many fringe groups have tried to revitalize the area in recent years.

[mantrabay]

Rush Amid The Rapids.

“Must I always be posting transactions?” I said to myself, Landon Croaker, accountant, adjusting my backpack as I rambled up a ragged winding woodland path.

A granite strewn gulag odyssey lay ahead.

There was the usual green stew of ornate plants.

Ancient Fir Clubmoss which grows into a chalice- like shape.

The St Patrick’s cabbage, with thick leather zig zag veins.

Hapless Fraochan and Whortleberry shrub’s pendant fruit so symmetrical.

I brought my notebook with me.

Closet novelist or bard one day?

Canopy of lattice branch springboards abound.

Shrieks

from stunned squirrels leaping in the arc of a trapeze with blue jay alarm signal.

Rustle of rabbits under slender stalks.

Puffball cloud and brown-dust spore floaters.

A wastrel I was within the wilds.

I was getting close to where my friends, a husband and wife team lived and ran a fringe publishing company.

They resided in a cherry wood log cabin with tongue and groove cladding and a pine timbered roof lantern peering down a mountain side.

Like a watchtower the mountain sat in sinister observance.

A fallow deer suddenly appeared.

It looked furtively with startled eyes as if it knew something I didn’t.

Within minutes it vanished.

Flies swarmed about, the spooky whistleblowers on this solitary hiker’s grazed cheeks.

My clothes were wringing wet from the sweltering heat.

The curious urban spirit drove me on.

Chambered cairns, those passage tunnels from the past that act as stone markers for the venturer were rife.

Platform mounds whose ribboned cracks and gouges play host to strongly rooted Chasmophytes.

There was a lurking presence as the cabin became visible.

“Hello, there. Fancy seeing you here.

Welcome back.”

Chelsea, in a croaking baby twang.

“Oh …you frightened me.” Landon said.

I nearly toppled.

Chelsea dashed towards me.

“A bit worried there, Landon.

What a surprise!

We like surprising people too.”

I paused and replied.

“It's the unexpected that adds spice to this life business and others!”

Landon sardonically.

“You sound tired.”

Chelsea replied.

“We’ll change that. We’ll change everything about your life now you’re here.”

The ramifications of that would soon unfold.

“The last time I was here we talked about having children.

Any decision yet?

You could always adopt.”

I continued.

“Don’t have to.

Got my husband and he’s got me.” She said.

“We’re both kids at heart.”

Her sad voice trailing off.

“This location seems ideal but there’s schooling and everything.”

Chelsea hesitantly.

“Nothing that couldn’t be resolved.”

Landon in reply.

Croaker sensed Chelsea’s unease and didn’t continue.

“Hey, what’s this?” Croaker cried as two apples landed at his feet.

“Yahoo. You two.”

Chesney, Chelsea’s husband shouted.

“It’s been so long.

Doesn't time fly?”

Chesney again.

While walking it dawned on Landon how dewy-eyed and child-like this couple were.

.

Entering the cabin seemed like something from a storybook.

Cartoon mosaics attached to fool’s gold borders, zip purse smashed purple bead inserts, and shredded comic strips.

“There are shrouds of deep mystery here.”

Croaker thought.

“Hey Snap.

What’s accountancy like these days?”

Chesney’s smug question.

“Nothing really changes.

Investment investment hazards and the like.

It’s a world I drifted into.

How about your company in paradise.”

Croaker sarcastically.

“Publishing is odd.

You almost become the stories submitted.”

Chesney observed.

“Birth and regrowth are gaining interest.

Am I boring you?” Chesney enquired.

“Well, it beats accountancy.”

Landon tactfully.

A salad of roasted lemon, fennel fronds and pomegranate was served with

guacamole dip based on chunky avocado.

After our meal we washed up

Chelsea’s phantom figure scurried outside with Olympic speed.

It was so redolent of the suddenness about.

A rapt cocoon descended around Chesney and Landon's interaction.

Landon quizzed Chesney about the urban country rift.

Tranquil timberlands have their own stressors.

“See those creatures slumped awkwardly on fragile twigs?

They sense pending doom.”

Chesney observed.

“Can you really escape hectic city life?”

A querulous tone from Chesney.

“Maybe these divisions are fictional.”

Landon archly.

“Thud. What’s that?”

Chesney shaking.

Chelsea entered.

“Oh dear .. let’s say a homing pigeon.

They’re a strange breed.”

She said smugly.

“Very strange indeed.”

Chesney out loud.

Chelsea and Chesney exchange strained silent glances.

A circus of the wilds continued outside as species vied with species in an ego fanfare.

Chirping robin red breasts,

wing scraping crickets in high chorus.

Vulcan steam curtain as backdrop.

Horseshoe Bats that weave rainbow shafts.

Daddy long legs with their cancan dances on sodden patches.

“Excuse me …..ring a bell?” Chesney diverting Landon’s attention with a broken fragment.

Landon bought this autumn crocus crystal vase on a previous sojourn.

It slipped from his hands in a butter fingers incident.

Croaker uttered the words “my lasting gift” as it fell.

Cackles erupted but frustration for Landon.

“A hilarious keepsake after a fashion.”

Chelsea opined.

“Really?”

Said Landon embarrassed by this anecdote.

The hours passed and they were both tired.

Landon saw Chesney remove a letter from a ring pull drawer.

“Just an old bill. Must shred it.” He said.

“Why would Chesney explain that?

His face reddened.

Curious.” Landon thought.

Shuffling to bed Landon did notice

pink salmon eiderdowns, pillows with children sleeping under moonlit skies, and Milky Way throw blankets.

The night passed uneventfully.

There were some noises in the kitchen as morning approached.

Having woken sluggishly Croaker walked into the dinning area.

A sense of foreboding filled the room.

Landon grappled awkwardly with claustrophobia.

It was disrupted by the chatter of the chestnut -sided warbler.

An oak hook tip moth added charm with its zoom and flutter acrobatics.

“I’ve the creepiest feeling.”

Croaker reasoned.

“BUZZZ ……..Buzzzzz ……Boing.”

My old cell-phone’s text tone.

My boss. Wonder what he wants?”

Landon to himself.

“Dear Landon,

When you return I would like to speak to you about your future with this company.

I can’t go into further details

as it involves a lot of interested parties.

A wide -ranging discussion is in order,

Regards,

Tom Wright

Managing Director.”

Landon’s worst fears now confirmed.

“I’m confused.

Just how pressing is this or …. what is this in front of me?”

A letter from Chesney and Chelsea.

“Hi Landon,

We had to leave quickly.

Help yourself to whatever largesse there is.

Don’t know how long we’ll be.

You can hang around of course or leave.

Don’t break anything!!

Ha ha,

Ches and Chels.”

Incredible! Between the text and the letter who wouldn’t be alarmed?

Landon limped outside to an ear splitting din and a mist laden detritus that merged into pockets of streams steeplechasing each other.

A slimy frog vaulted and cast a damp viscous oil spray in Croaker’s direction.

Something ….a shadow.

“This has been the most peculiar visit I’ve ever had.

Intrigue seems encoded in it.”

Croaker’s anxiety growing.

A tap on the shoulder followed by a crystal shard at his feet.

“The vase remember?

Don’t be so serious ……..we’ve something to discuss with you.”

Chesney said pointedly.

“An Agatha Christie mystery novel has nothing on this.”

Landon fretted.

“We’ve been reflecting, Chelsea and I.

Your presence is an extraordinary coincidence.”

Chesney quizzically.

“We’d like to offer you a job as our accountant.”

Chelsea suggested.

Croaker now shivering.

“You know by now we love to jumpstart even our closest friends.

This post is tailor made for you.”

Chelsea once more.

“Your boss will understand.”

Croaker’s head was now in a spin.

“You like writing don’t you?

There’s plenty of stories here.”

Chelsea opined.

“All this trouble to offer me a job?” Croaker queried.

“We don’t do things by halves.”

Chelsea with Chesney nodding.

A carousel of thoughts flashed through Landon’s mind at this juncture.

He walked in a trance struggling with everything.

“What was in Chelsea’s sports bag I wonder?” Thought Croaker.

“Let’s go for a swim, Landon.

I’ve got swim trunks for us all.”

Chelsea tossed a nylon mesh swim trunks at Landon as everyone changed.

Something slipped out of Chesney's pocket without him noticing.

It was that letter Chesney removed previously and read as follows.

“Dear Chesney and Chelsea,

As your doctor I regret you won’t be able to have children. It’s with a heavy heart I share this with you.

There are many reasons for this…”

The rest of the letter was creased and illegible.

It was subsequently swept to the river’s edge underneath a Crested Iris by a slight breeze.

Meanwhile, we were all breast stroking energetically while taking the occasional breather.

“You can make up your mind, Landon, at the end of this swim whenever that is and wherever it is taking us.”

Chelsea giggled as she circulated in the eddying stream.

We all started off again as we followed each other’s course.

“Awh, the child within!” Cried Chelsea.

As Landon pondered his fate the mountain looked down imperiously upon us all as the stray deer suddenly reappeared from nowhere.

Maybe that deer did know something after all!

Photograph and literary piece by mantrabay copyright protected

[casually-inlove]

Psycho-Pass S03E01 - Laelaps Calling

Now that a good chunk of my temporary work files had been busted thanks to a failed drive, I've finally found time to watch Psycho-Pass S03E01. Oh, the irony of it -- finding time to enjoy something I like only because I temporarily can't work. Spirit of time, eh. I'm too used to being a workaholic :')

Back to the matter at hand. Beware the spoilers.

I admit I'm pleasantly surprised with the pilot episode. After the disastrous S02, a slower pacing and a seeming return to the pressing social circumstances are a welcome change. If anything, it helps to build up suspense and tension. Naturally, there is a downside as well. Due to the episode length and the sheer number of new characters introduced all at once, some details become easy to miss. I had to rewind the video multiple times just to refresh my memory. The narration appears to be disjointed at times, although not quite as incongruous as the Sinners of the System were. 

Now let's get to the real fun. 

Bifrost and Fenrir

As it turns out, I was right about Bifrost and certain Norse mythology references. For that matter, I was right about the wolf-like figure as well. 

Many of you know that in Norse mythology Bifrost is a legendary rainbow bridge that connects the realm of men (Midgard) with the realm of gods (Asgard). I wouldn't have paid it any attention had it not been for the wolf figure in the trailer. Fenrir, the monstrous wolf, is yet another figure from Norse mythology. It is said that one day Fenrir (or his offsprings, accounts vary) will break free of his chains and will ultimately swallow the Sun/Moon. Fenrir gaining freedom signifies the beginning of Ragnarok, i.e. the apocalypse and the death of gods. This episode, however, confirmed both -- at very least the Bifrost thing is real. 

Bifrost

From what we saw in the pilot Bifrost is mentioned within the context of the game/tournament that was taking place in a secret hideout.

The process of participating in the game creates a "relation" which I assume to be the "link" or a "bridge" (i.e. the Bifrost) to whatever system they are tapping into. Since Bifrost is meant to link the "world of men" to the "world of gods", could it be that they have found a way to hijack into some Sibyl controlled processes? I've got the impression that they are gambling with the stock exchange. One of them is pulling strings to orchestrate accidents that would make certain indices fall, thus profiting from the share market losses. Oh and round-robin is a kind of a tournament setup, all-vs-all type, that is supposed to provide equal chances to all participants. The one who wins the most games in the round wins. 

Oddly enough the very design of that hub/interface is reminiscent of the world structure as represented in Hindu philosophy, but that's probably just a chance coincidence.

Fenrir

Now the wolf-figure is unquestionably linked to Arata. It has been made clear from the very first minutes of the episode. Peculiarly, Arata's design sports "wolfish" features, for i.g. his hair is styled akin to beast ears and he has yellowish eyes. 

If they truly intend to use Norse mythology for this, then I'd wager to guess that the monstrous wolf is "Fenrir", who is bound to Arata's subconsciousness -- the menacing figure appears only when he's sleeping or using his mental tracing.

In other words, Arata either IS the monster himself or is a vessel for the dark being. Something will happen to him and the "monster" will override his personality, thus "breaking free from chains". According to the myth, Fenrir will aid the "Ragnarok", i.e. the death of gods. Who are the "gods" within the world of PP? That's right, the Sibyl System. 

Also, in the opening sequence, both Kei and Arata are shown facing off with their guns drawn. Could it be that Arata will turn against the system and become the “bad” guy?

And by the by, is it me, or does Arata appear to be narcoleptic? 

Laelaps Calling

The name of the episode is a spoiler itself since it hints about the general direction of the plot. You see, Laelaps is yet another mythical figure. This time -- from Greek legends. The tale of Laelaps and the Teumessian Fox tells a story of an ill-fortunate and a paradoxical matchup of a hound and a fox. Laelaps is the hound that is destined to catch whatever prey it's after, while the Teumessian Fox is a beast never to be caught. Think of a catch-22 or something in that spirit. 

Within the context of the plot, it appears this season of PP will focus on murders that are impossible to prove as such. In other words, we are likely to witness a face-off between a skilled detective and an elusive criminal. The detective strives to find evidence that what seems to be an accident at first glance is, in fact, a meticulously planned crime. 

I guess that fellow with a stylish fringe or the one with the diagram is our Teumessian Fox. Or maybe the criminal underground as a whole is, that's anyone's guess. 

Btw the business card Enforcer Mao Kisaragi pulls out of the victim's wallet sports a Fox logo.

Quite a canine story so far, no? 

But there's more. Interestingly enough, if you take a look at the Laelaps myth, Arata is hinted to be a wolf, not a dog. But do you know what returning character had been likened to a hound in Season 1 and in the side materials (”Psycho-Pass Legend Enforcer Shinya Kogami - The Hound of Utopia, a novel”)? That's right. Kougami. Kougami, who was noted to be an extremely skilled and intelligent ex-inspector. Could it mean that he will be directly involved in catching the final bad guy and proving the crimes?

Fathers and Sons

Lastly, not mythology but still. The episode featured a character by the name of Bazarov, which is a reference to Ivan Turgenev's novel "Fathers and sons". As such, Turgenev's Bazarov forestalled Nitzsche's ideas on nihilism by rejecting everything that the older generation ("fathers") stood for. Not much of clue itself, yet the episode has drawn attention to Arata's father several times, who allegedly used to be an Inspector as well. A coincidence? 

If you go back to the beginning of the vid, where Arata is shown sleeping during the car ride, you'll see that in his dream sequence it is his dad who's driving the car. Later the image shifts to that of a monstrous wolf.

So could the dark figure in Arata's mind represent his father?

Welp, that’s quite a read again, but I had to jot my ideas down.

[kiaronna]

I have 2k of a Geraskier Enchanted AU and I am working towards more

blurb below the cut

There’s something in the mud, just off the road. Geralt would think it dead, but it’s still breathing, flexing its fingers woefully towards the path, like it’s begging.

Ciri reaches out to gently tap at the too-soft fringe of the thing’s hair, the puff of his frumpy clothing. Geralt deftly moves her back. Often, the deceptively welcoming can cloak the worst of threats.

“Don’t know where it’s been.”

“But look at him,” Ciri commands. “He’s dirty, and probably hungry. Geralt, can’t we help? We have plenty of coin, after your last fight.”

Geralt gives her a look that communicates, he could be dangerous.

Ciri scoffs. “I could explode him with a scream, and you could probably snap him in half with your pinky.”

The odd being raises its head. Below the scent of dirt and grime, he smells—delightful. Like—like fucking fields of daisies. Like scented handkerchiefs, and wood well-treated with oil, and the rich, sweet earthiness of leather that hasn’t been splattered with blood a thousand times.

That smell is a danger all its own, Geralt recognizes. And then the terrible thing opens up its mouth.

“Hello!” He’s scrambling to his feet, and trying to dust himself off. Unfortunately, mud clings, so he just begins dripping. “Hello, fellow travelers, I—my name is Jaskier. I’m sorry to bother—“ no you’re not, Geralt thinks “—it’s just that, that I seem to be a little lost.”

“Village is half a day’s walk south,” Geralt grunts.

“Oh!” The creature sways towards him. Geralt shoves Ciri behind him, and bares his teeth. The wretched thing smiles, bright and guileless, the exact opposite response. “You know the way. You see, I’m just looking for my home. I decided to leave the Grand and Sparkling Castle, and its Esteemed Court. To go back to my forest friends, and my dear cottage.”

“There aren’t cottages around here,” Ciri pipes up. The thing tilts at its high waist, puffy clothes yielding, to smile at her.

“Hello, little one. It’s wonderful to have run into friends to help me along my way.”

“Not friends, you loon,” Geralt grunts. Now the situation is clearer—this is not a threat. This is a madman.

Now the madman looks concerned. He’s clasping his hands together, in front of him, still dripping mud, looking—pathetic. Lost and mad and helpless. Hopeful, in the middle of a fucking forest ravaged by beasts. His eyes are robin’s-egg blue, standing out in the grime.

“Please,” he says, softly. His voice is almost melodic.

“Hey,” Ciri says, from Geralt’s waist, and he groans like his soul’s about to depart his body.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Geralt,” Ciri urges. She’s watched him help too many poor people with too little coin. Gods, parenthood is terrible. All these shit morals she expects him to display, constantly, especially when it’s least convenient. Even when her grandmother had been a sociopath, half the time—she has expectations for Geralt.

“Fine,” he grunts. “Where, exactly, is this cottage?” He’s going to regret this, he can already tell.

The thing—Jaskier—brightens. “Of course,” he says, “it’s right past the Waterfall of Wishes, on your way to the Fields of Fair Dreams.”

So much regret.

“Fuck,” Geralt exhales, with feeling. Jaskier blinks at him.

“Fuck,” he echoes back, as if he doesn’t know the word. “Fuck! Oh, that’s a fun sound, is that your name?”

“Yes,” Ciri confirms with glee, before Geralt can stop her.

“Glorious Fuck,” Jaskier half-sings, “and his lovely little companion, my guides to home sweet home. Such fun, with his distinguished white hair, his brooding dark clothes, his—his two swords?” He gasps. “Oh! Oh, you didn’t say.”

“Say what?” Ciri asks.

“He’s a Hero,” Jaskier replies, practically whispering. “Who else would bear a sword? He’s a Glorious Hero, of old.”

“He’s pretty old,” she agrees.

“Glorious Hero Fuck,” Jaskier says, sticking out one grimy hand. “You honor me with your presence. Thank you for letting me accompany you on this adventure, if just for a time.”

Geralt lets all his air out, very slowly, through his nose. “Ciri.”

“Come on,” she says, patting Roach’s flank. “If he’s still annoying in an hour, you can just push him into a different pile of mud.”

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: Into the Unknown with You

Good morning all! Here’s a little alternate take on what could have happened in 6x11 as Emma looked for another way home. I wrote all but some of the last scene before the midseason premiere of 6B, and when I didn’t get it finished before then, I debated even posting this, but I decided I wanted to anyway. I’ve come to be even fonder of it since then, so I hope that someone finds a bit of enjoyment in it! Clearly I don’t own them, as I would sometimes have had wildly different things happen (particularly in this stretch of episodes).

One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.

On AO3                     On ff.net    

“Into the Unknown with You”

by: @snowbellewells​

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked at Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at the older woman, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck.

‘What now?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend. However, one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart just yet to hurry Regina along or to remind her that she had spent the last day preaching how none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

Even if her heart was still crying out for her home and her family, for Henry’s soft hair tickling her nose when she placed a kiss to the top of his head, and Killian’s arms enfolding her, she didn’t know where to go in this topsy-turvy version of the homeland she had never actually lived in, and so she had to wait – more impatiently by the minute – until one of these two, either queen or thief, snapped out of their spell and led the way…

As it turned out, Robin Hood was not the sort of outlaw who would truly do harm to two ladies passing through his territory. He wouldn’t have even made to steal their jewels and furs once the same trance that had overcome Regina seemed to strike him mute as well, but Regina offered him a pouch of coins that had been strapped to her waist and a ruby ring, pressing it into his calloused palm with a quirked smile and the assurance that “she insisted, she was much more partial to his cause than he knew”.

Emma wanted to snort at the ridiculous understatement those words were, and she only barely managed to hold back a roll of her eyes, which she sensed the thief saw but let slide with a conspiratorial wink.

Before she could make an argument for trying to catch up to Gold – or Rumplestiltskin here, she supposed – or ask where they were going to find another bean, it was evening, they were entering a forest in the gathering dark, and soon they had been welcomed to sit around a roaring fire with Robin’s motley crew, and even been offered the ale and venison passed around the circle as if they were part of the merry band.

“Now,” the archer began, seated beside Regina, his boy nodding drowsily on his lap. He looked around her to meet Emma’s gaze head on. “You must be thinking that I owe you an apology. Clearly you were about to leave this place, and because of me, you missed your ride.”

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could find a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, your Highness,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The following morning dawned misty and cool, but fair, and Robin greeted Emma at the simmering coals of the previous night’s campfire with a welcoming grin, Regina at his side on the stump they used for a seat, looking as soft and at ease as Emma had ever seen her, her head resting on his strong shoulder seemingly still half asleep. She and Regina had talked at length the night before, and at long last Emma had accepted that Henry’s adoptive mother wasn’t returning with her yet. “I know he isn’t the same Robin, that this whole place is built on a whim, but I’m not losing him again,” she had whispered vehemently. “There has to be another way to get back…one that he could take as well…if he wanted to…” The emotion welling in Regina’s dark eyes had been raw enough that Emma finally consented to go on without further fighting to change her mind, only giving a nod in affirmation when Regina had asked, “You’ll explain to Henry? Tell him I mean to return as soon as we both can?”

“Ready, your Highness?” the sandy-haired outlaw asked, breaking into Emma’s recent memories once more and looking down at her from where he now stood at the ready. “We should make the harbor by noon, if we set out now.”

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

“Yes,” Robin answered her spoken question with an amiable nod as he kissed the back of Regina’s hand in farewell and turned to head off with Emma on his heels. “I happen to know a pirate with whom I sometimes trade my less than lawfully acquired goods. He might have just the sort of thing you need to return home…”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The sound of gulls crying and wheeling overhead and the creak and groan of the wooden docks as they reached the edge of the shore town and neared the sparkling blue harbor was enough to take Emma’s breath away. Robin took a step forward to lead her down the docks, already offering to make introductions, but Emma stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

There before them, as recognizable as always, was the Jolly Roger, bobbing proudly at anchor. Though most might be intimidated by the sight, Emma drew in the first full breath she’d had since remembering herself in this strange realm – as if she had gotten her first real glimpse of home at last. He might still be the vengeful Captain Hook in this reality, but somehow she wasn’t afraid. He would never truly hurt her – and she only wanted to be at his side again without further delay.

Reassuring Robin that she could take it from there, Emma bid him goodbye. Though he looked uncertain, the archer took her at her word and left her with his best wishes. If she clutched his hand a moment longer and a bit tighter than would be normal and bid him be safe a little too fervently – well, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone here.

At her first step onto the gangplank, a shudder of recognition ran through her, as if the vessel itself was welcoming her back aboard, shivers skittering along her spine. At first glance, the ship seemed deserted, her crew perhaps gathering supplies or unwinding at the nearest tavern, but the air around her wavered, charged suddenly, letting her know she was not alone. Emma felt even before she heard heavy footfalls on the planks or that deep, commanding voice at her back, asking who went there, that she had not gone undetected by the ship’s captain.

Turning, her eyes found him, hungrily drinking in the details; altered, but still without doubt the man she loved. The dark hair was windblown and unruly, practically begging for her fingers to delve into its soft abundance and brush the fringe back off his forehead. Though the strands might be shaggier and generously shot through with grey, it made him no less attractive to her starving eyes. In fact, she only wanted to stare at him all the more, to catalogue every difference, trace the deeper crow’s feet around his eyes and the added lines on his forehead. Those fathomless blue eyes were lined so liberally with the kohl she hadn’t seen him use for some time in their modern Storybrooke life that she almost wanted to chuckle at the effect until she registered the way the blue of his gaze also looked paler – as if washed out by too many tears shed alone and without comfort, or dulled by pain held back because he couldn’t afford to let it show.

Brandishing his moniker, and that dastardly, flirtatious mask he had long since let drop around her, to full effect, Captain Hook stepped well into her personal space. “And who might you be?” he questioned, breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned in, hook lifting the heavy rope of her golden braid and tucking it back over her shoulder. It was an achingly familiar gesture and he stood much too close for calm comfort, sending her pulse fluttering again, and yet no recognition lit his gaze as he studied her; the fond devotion she had come to rely on more than she could say was utterly absent, making her heart ache and crack in her chest.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” she answered as sturdily as she could, raising her chin and meeting his eye with as much confidence as she could muster. “I had hoped to speak to you on a delicate matter of some importance.”

“A delicate matter, is it?” he asked, his enunciation and the way his tongue caressed his words seductively had not been altered or diminished in the slightest, whatever else had changed. He stood back to his full height, fingers in his waistband, hips thrust forward and looking every bit as sinfully irresistible as he ever did, complete with that wide-open, chest-exposing red vest she had witnessed once in their trip to the past through Zelena’s portal. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been fooled by the bravado, but knowing his heart as only a True Love could, she saw the emptiness behind the lascivious look, the pain within the façade – the proper, honorable lieutenant he had been, hating the persona his course had forced him to adopt. Even as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, letting his eyes trace her curves from head to toe almost lewdly, she could see the regret clouding the pupils and the wistful longing – as if he could sense what might have been.

Unable to stop herself, Emma reached forward impulsively, grasping both his hook and hand tightly as she spoke, “Yes, very…but just maybe…I was meant to find you. Maybe you’re the only one who would believe me.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Another hour found them below deck in his cabin, seated at the scratched, weathered wooden table which had served him in his lonely meals for ages, Emma’s hand still clinging to his hook where it rested on his thigh, but the other reaching up tentatively to trace that faded scar she knew so well beneath his eye. Hook – though more and more her Killian with every passing moment – had scooted closer to her on the roughhewn bench, blinking in awe as she saw hope returning to his face. He appeared both afraid to believe her words, but also desperate for them to be true.

“So you’re telling me that all of this around us – this whole life – is an illusion?” he asked haltingly, not daring to move his eyes from her face, as though he thought she might disappear as quickly as she had come to him.

“Well, yeah, basically,” she tried to explain. “Or more like…it’s a possibility that didn’t actually come true. There’s this v-villain in my home, in the real timeline that I come from, who made a wish that reset things, and I was sucked into it. I have a son, family and friends, a-and another version of you…who’s my True Love…there missing me. And I have to get back to them.”

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

“Yeah, we are,” she whispered, laying a hand over his rapidly beating heart and drawing comfort from its rhythm. She already felt stronger, more certain, even with this iteration of her pirate. Her watery smile quirked up into a bit of a smirk at one corner, “And don’t worry, he’s still devilishly handsome.”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

Emma hummed under her breath, reaching out to run her fingers along a grey streak in his longer hair. “I don’t know about that,” she offered. “There’s something pretty appealing about this model, grey hair and all.”

“You flatter me, Milady,” he teased, that voice still a sinful purr rumbling from his chest as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to its back. Still, emotion welled up beneath the flirtation, making his magnetic gaze all the harder for her to escape. She was blinking, nonplussed and floundering for some audible response, when he straightened and pulled her to her feet with him. “Enough lollygagging then! I’ll prepare the old girl to set sail. It’s time we got you back where you belong!”

For a moment, Emma was stunned anew. This full-on piratical version of her True Love, who didn’t really even know her and had no reason to do anything she said, had not only chosen to believe her story, but was going out of his way to help her – just as he had ever since he turned his ship around to take her to Neverland. The lump in her throat was almost too much to speak around, but Emma managed to croak out, “You really would give anything to help me, wouldn’t you?” even as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Aye,” he affirmed, looking a bit like he was marveling at that fact himself. “I am not sure I fully understand, nor can I explain it to you, but I sense that I would – that I am almost compelled – to help you in any world or time you would appear to me.”

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ears flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Standing beside him at the helm just a few short hours later, wind in her hair and the salt spray on her face, it struck Emma that though she was desperate to get home, to make sure her son, her family, and her Killian were alright, she didn’t want to simply abandon this pirate captain beside her. She didn’t know what would happen to him, if he would find something to live for, something to be part of, or if she was dooming him to his quiet desperation…even if he might simply vanish into nothingness with the rest of this ill-fated wish. She didn’t know what happened next, to be completely honest. Laying a hand on his forearm, she gazed up into his face, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what becomes of you, or this realm, when I leave here and go home,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if you all just go on like it never happened, if you cease to exist, if you wander here aimless forever…I just…I don’t know…”

Covering her hand with his, he guided the ship with no more than his hook rested capably on the wheel. “Worry not, Princess,” was his confident response, fervent resolve painted over his strong, careworn features. “We shall still set things right, as they should be. Whatever comes after this – infinity or oblivion – will be an awfully big adventure.”

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